We learn from Mary to say “yes” to God’s call, and to joyfully live into that yes with our lives, and we learn from Mary that it is God, not us, whose power transforms and upends the world through us.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The festival of St. Mary, Mother of Our Lord
   text:  Luke 1:46-55

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

What might we learn from our sister Mary who walks with us on our journey of faith?

There are saints who live in our lives, model faith to us, teach faith to us, walk beside us in the flesh for part of our own journey, pray for us, love us, and are God’s love to us.  These continue to be our inspiration, our guide even after their path has left ours and we walk on without them.

The great saints of the Church are more remote to us, they can’t compete with such closeness, such life as those blessed ones we knew.  But the Church has lived for 2,000 years knowing that all the blessed saints continue to be our fellow travelers on our journey.  The crowd of witnesses surrounds us, walks with us: those near to our lives and those, like Mary, further away.  In the mystery of the Body of Christ, we know they celebrate Eucharist with us, but we don’t know how.  They are with us.

Like those whom we knew ourselves, these great saints of the Church are as important as teachers, as fellow travelers, as guides.  Not because they were more special than we, but because, like we, they walked the great journey of faith in the Triune God, blessed by the resurrection life of the Son of God, our Lord Christ.  They, like we, stumbled.  They, like we, were faithful.

What, then, might we learn from our sister Mary when we realize she still walks with us on our journey of faith?

Perhaps she can gently remind us that we can also answer “yes.”

God asked something of her, and she agreed.  She didn’t bargain.  She didn’t say, “I’m not qualified.”  Mary simply pointed out the biological difficulty: she was a virgin, so how she could bear a child?

Father Richard Rohr says this:

“[Mary’s] kind of yes does not come easily to us. It always requires that we let down some of our boundaries, and none of us like to do that. Mary somehow is able to calmly, wonderfully trust that Someone Else is in charge. All she asks is one simple clarifying question. Not if but how, and then she trusts the how even though it would seem quite unlikely.” [1]

Whatever we might speculate about why God chose Mary, this openness is the truly remarkable thing about her.  We know the many difficulties she would face with her yes, possible death, almost certain ostracism by her family, her betrothed.  But she said yes.

What might happen if we let Mary teach us such openness and trust?

We are called to bring the Good News of God’s love in Jesus into the world.  To let our lives be turned upside down by the Holy Spirit, changed utterly, that we become bearers of God’s love into the world.  That in our bodies, in our hands, in our voices, in our hearts, God’s incarnate Love might continue to be in the world.

Our sister Mary, walking alongside us, hears our Lord ask us her question: will you do this?  And she gently says, “say yes, without bargain, without argument”.  She says to us that it will be all right, because we can trust that Someone Else is in charge, and all will be well.  In our fear, our selfishness, our anxiety, our reluctance, this fellow companion calmly opens up the possibility that we could also be a part of God’s saving the world.

Perhaps Mary can also encourage us to see that God did bring life to the world through her.

She said “yes,” and God did what Mary was promised.  From the beginning, she knew and sang, in her beautiful song, that it would be “the Mighty One who does great things” for her.  Even in her yes, she claimed that strength: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord.”  She knew she wouldn’t be doing this, God would.

And with God’s gracious strength, we, too, will see God do wondrous things in us.  Our sister Mary’s life alongside us reminds us that even saying “yes” with confidence doesn’t stop the path from being difficult.  Mary’s path certainly wasn’t easy, nor should we expect ours to be.  Once we face the reality of what it might mean to be changed into Christ, our desire can weaken.  There will be times we are tempted to falter and believe God cannot do anything through us.

Mary speaks to us graciously, encouraging us to trust that God is charge, not us.  That this Spirit-changed life is lived in Christ, not in ourselves.  She reminds us that, as she stayed with her Son and Lord, that is where we need to be for our strength and life, to live out our “yes”.  To live the Word, to come to this great Meal of life and forgiveness, to seek out this body of Christ in which we are blessed to live, our fellow travelers in God’s community of love here.

This is how the Triune God will shape us to bear Christ in the world in our own flesh and blood.  To give us power and help to do what we say “yes” to, to forgive and bless us in our failure, that we might start bearing Christ into the world anew.

We rejoice in the mystery that our sister Mary is among those saints who surround us, pray for us, and support us.

The goodness and mercy of the Triune God is almost more than we can comprehend, that we are not left to walk alone, we are surrounded even by those who have passed through death into eternal life.

It is that Triune God whose call to us to be the same to others on their journey, to be Christ-bearers, love-bearers, that our sister encourages us to answer with a “yes”.  May the Holy Spirit likewise give us her courage and grace, for the sake of the world.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

[1] Fr. Richard Rohr, Daily Meditation for August 3, 2014, https://cac.org/

What really challenges our faith is not doubt, but fear; the reason even a tiny bit of faith is enough is because it’s about the death-defeating, eternally loving Triune God in whom we believe, and what God can do, removing our fear and doing wonders through us.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 19 A
texts:  Matthew 14:22-33; 1 Kings 19:9-18

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

Is doubt really the main problem Elijah and Peter have?

Elijah has just stood alone on Mount Carmel against 400 screaming, dancing prophets of Baal, 400 with royal support and encouragement.  Elijah’s absolute trust in the one true God lets him stand before them; the power of fire from heaven consuming his altar and sacrifice shows there is only one God, the LORD of Israel, and no other.  This is a man of faith.

Peter, alone among his fellows, dares to speak to this being that looks like a ghost walking on the water.  He absolutely trusts his Lord and Master, stepping out into the wind and waves, alone walking on water while others cower.  This is a man of faith.

Yet Jesus says Peter’s problem is doubt; Elijah’s looks much the same.  Jesus gives Peter a new nickname, calls him “Littlefaith.”  “Littlefaith, why did you doubt?”

But is doubt the real problem?  The word for doubt carries connotations of “waver,” “hesitate.”  Maybe that’s what Jesus meant.

Because Elijah and Peter are filled with fear, not doubt.

Oddly, though 400 prophets didn’t frighten Elijah, the queen’s death warrant and threats against him did.  He fled into the wilderness, to Mount Horeb, afraid for his life.  Elijah is the greatest prophet Israel ever had.  Yet fear, not doubt, drives him to panic, to struggle with his faith, to run.

Peter doesn’t doubt, he walks on water in faith.  But he looks at the fierce wind, the high waves, and becomes terrified.  He sinks.  Peter, the acknowledged leader of Jesus’ disciples, is always the one who steps forward boldly.  Yet fear, not doubt, drives him to panic, to struggle with his faith, to sink.

There is a question of how much faith these two have, Elijah and Littlefaith.

Jesus once compared a little faith to a mustard seed.  We might’ve missed his point.  The disciples, weak in faith, come to Jesus; he tells them if they had faith only as big as a mustard seed they could uproot mountains.  (Matthew 17:20)  It’s tempting to think of faith this way, dwell on its size, assume more is better.  To compare ourselves to others, thinking they’ve got more than we do.

Maybe that’s not what Jesus meant.  Maybe the size of the faith is irrelevant, unimportant.  Mountains can be uprooted only by the power of God; maybe Jesus is saying God is the important thing, not the amount of faith.

Elijah and Peter are surprising, how quickly they act as if they have no faith.  How can such heroes falter: from a dominant performance on a mountaintop to quivering in a wilderness cave; from walking on water to sinking like a true “Rock”?  Maybe our mistake was thinking either of these were giants in the faith.

Jesus calls Peter “Littlefaith.”  That could just be the truth, about him, and Elijah.

All this suggests two important things.

If Elijah and Peter only had a little faith, the things they did are astonishing.  If they’re not faith giants but people who have only a tiny, seed-sized, faith, the great deeds both did, the honor two major faith traditions accord them thousands of years later, the faithful discipleship they lived, is even more impressive.  Jesus was right: even a tiny bit of faith goes a long way.

Second, fear is the great opponent of faith, of whatever size, not doubt.  Believers have had doubts for millennia and still lived in faith: Peter himself, Mother Teresa, Luther, even mentors we’ve known.  We worry about our own doubts, but we have seen that because people doubt doesn’t mean they don’t believe, that you can act in your faith even with doubts.

Fear is what has the ability to stop us in our tracks.

Fear can freeze what little faith we have, make us start to sink, or crawl into a cave.  Fear like Elijah’s, of a world where people attack innocents and seek to destroy others, a world we know well.  Fear like Peter’s, of external and internal circumstances, storms in the world outside, storms in our hearts.  Fear we aren’t good enough for God or for others, fear the world is out of control, fear of illness, fear of death, fear we cannot be loved, fear we aren’t loved.

Fear creates enemies that threaten us, enemies that weren’t there when we weren’t afraid, enemies that are real people, enemies that are thoughts in our head.  That’s what pushes faith away.  Elijah and Peter don’t doubt God – both cry out to God in their situations – their fear is what immobilizes them.

In the end, Elijah and Peter had just enough faith to say, “Lord, save me.”

In the depth of fear, they called out to God for help, knew where to turn in darkest terror.  They only had a little faith, a tiny grain, but it was enough.  That’s when they heard, “don’t be afraid.  I am with you.”

Elijah is so afraid he needs it twice, to hear the LORD God is with him.  He’s promised retirement, told whom he will anoint as his successor.  God says, “I know, it’s been tough.  So you’re coming to the end of your service, I’ll give it to someone else.”  Afraid, he receives comfort, strength, and promise of rest.

When the disciples are afraid of ghosts, Jesus says, “Be of courage, it is I.  Don’t be afraid.”  Peter acts in that courage.  When, afraid, he starts to sink, he calls out in faith, and finds a hand reached out, a beloved voice speaking.  Yes, the voice calls him “Littlefaith.”  But the hand pulls him up out of the water, into the safety of the boat.

Jesus looks at you and at me today, and says, “Littlefaith, why do you hesitate?  Take heart, it is I.  Don’t be afraid.”

“Littlefaith” isn’t an insult, it’s just the truth.  We don’t have much faith.  That’s OK.  It is the God in whom that little faith is lodged who has the power and ability to change the world, to love evil back into good, to turn death into life.

Our faith is little, but it’s always enough because it’s never been about what we have, what we bring, what we can do.  It’s always been about the Triune God who made heaven and earth and who wants to heal this broken, terrifying world.  Whatever frightens us, from within or without, whatever freezes our hearts, we belong to the God whose love for us and the world cannot be stopped by anything, not even death.  The one who says, “Take heart, it is I, do not be afraid,” who brings us into the safety of the boat, who has entered our existence and, as one of us, has passed through even death to love us and the world.

Here’s the wonderful thing:  If we are “Littlefaiths”, if our weakness of faith isn’t a hindrance to God’s work, what astonishing things can we expect God to do through and with us?  If Peter and Elijah were who they were with tiny faith, well, that’s something to think about.  If they were told not to be afraid so that they, with their little faith, could not just be freed from fear but continue to be vessels of God’s power and grace in the world, well, what does that say about us?

Two Sundays from now we will hear Jesus say this to Nathanael, inviting him to follow: “you will see greater things than these.”  That’s God’s promise, that through the children of God the healing of the world will happen, even through us, even with our little faith.

And that’s a marvel to consider.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

As Jesus Christ is the embodied love of God for us and for all, the Triune God calls us to now embody that love for the world.

Vicar Emily Beckering
Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 18 A
    texts: Matthew 14:13-21; Is. 55:1-5  

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

Let us consider this morning three portraits. Three stories. Three witnesses to how the Triune God works in this world in order to reveal an unsurpassed, unfailing love.

The first: a modern-day account of the feeding of the 5,000.

It did not happen in a desert, but it was a wilderness of sorts: the wilderness of South Dakota’s prairie in the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. A friend of mine from seminary went there when she was in high school on a mission trip with her church youth group. One morning, their group was entrusted with the task of making caramel rolls for a communal breakfast. It was my friend’s job to make sure that there was enough caramel to keep the rolls coming. To her dismay, she discovered early the morning of the breakfast that they were short on corn syrup. They had one pint: what she thought was nowhere near enough to bake the hundreds of caramel rolls needed to serve the whole community. They sent out word for anyone who had corn syrup to bring it along, but as the other volunteers arrived, it was clear that there still would not be enough. My friend informed her youth director, who simply said, “Pray about it.” Though surprised that she could pray about something so small, my friend did. Soon, families who lived on the reservation started showing up with corn syrup by the tablespoon, by the cup, in jars and plastic bottles, and the youth group went to work. By the end of the morning, there were still containers of corn syrup lined up on the counter, everyone was fed, and there sat the original pint of corn syrup: unopened.

The second: a tale of transformation a little closer to home.

You may have heard of or volunteered in A.C.T.S this summer, that’s “Adults and Children Teaming in Service,” the summer jobs program launched here this year for neighborhood kids. One of the children who participated in the program had not chosen to be there, but was instead required to as part of their education, and it showed. The first week for them was difficult: they didn’t know any of the other kids, and so sat off by themselves. They didn’t talk to anyone except to express how unpleasant the work was. The second week of the program, God changed all that through a member of Mount Olive. When the child protested that the work was too hard, the Mount Olive member encouraged them until the task was complete. When the child isolated themselves, the Mount Olive member sought them out. When the work was done, they played games together, and through it all, the volunteer never gave up on that child. By the end of that second week, rather than separate themselves from the rest of the kids, the child became the life of the party. Rather than complain, they began to ask how they could help. But what is more, they noticed and sought out another child who was shy and didn’t know anyone either, and soon the two of them were working and laughing together: and so the Holy Spirit left her mark.

The third: one voice among many.

When I found out that I would get to be the vicar this year at Mount Olive, I knew that I would learn a great deal from you about worship, preaching, teaching, and caring for one another and the neighborhood. What I didn’t know was how God would take this year and transform it into a greater gift than I could possibly imagine. What I wanted was a successful internship, which meant getting approved, not making any mistakes that were too catastrophic, and learning what I need to be able to lead faithfully. What I got was a resurrection: a year overflowing with grace and joy. Through you, Christ has revealed to me and to many, more of who he is for us all. Christ is with you, and Christ is at work in you when you worship, when you love one another, as you seek after justice and feed the hungry, when you welcome strangers, and when you prepare your vicars by offering an abundance of understanding: this all witnesses to God’s love.

I daresay I am not the only one who has had that experience here in this place. We can probably each name people here at Mount Olive through whom we have heard, seen, and felt the love and forgiveness of the Triune God. This experience is not unique to our community.

This is how God brings healing, transformation, and faith: through Christ who is at work in us all for the sake of one another and for the world.

These stories and today’s gospel testify to us that God is at work in this world in real and tangible ways.
This, in fact, is what the incarnation is all about: embodied love, forgiveness in the flesh.

The Triune God did not redeem the world or restore our broken relationship with the wave of a hand, but with an offering of love, by entering into that world and living that love to the point of death on a cross. Through Jesus Christ, we are promised love that we cannot end and forgiveness that we cannot not earn. All this has been done so that we and the entire world could know without a doubt, God’s love, mercy, and desire for us and for all.

We are reminded of that love and offered that forgiveness week after week in another embodied way, through something to which we can cling: the Eucharist. At this table, we see, hear, touch and taste these promises in his blood and body. At this table, the Holy Spirit unites us to be that same body.

Now, you are that body, the body of Christ. You are the visible sign and the tangible love of God.
God feeds great crowds through the generosity of a few, God comforts the lonely through attentive adults and compassionate children, and reveals the greatness of his love through congregations, through you.

That day in the desert, it might have been a lot more impressive of a miracle if Jesus had made bread and fish rain down from the sky or suddenly appear in people’s laps. The same is true of the corn syrup at the community breakfast. But God does not use magic tricks. God works in intimate and tactile ways: by opening the hands and transforming the hearts of people, turning them—turning us—to the needs of one another and the world so that all people might be given what they need.

Notice how Jesus responds to the disciples when they ask for him to care for the crowd: he says, “You give them something to eat.” He calls them to share what they have with their neighbors, but he gives them what they need to do what he has asked. Jesus took what they had to offer—five loaves and two fish—and made it enough for everyone. The disciples even objected saying, “We have nothing here, but…” All they could see was deficiency, inevitable failure, but Christ saw a way to reveal love, a mustard seed that would soon become a great tree, a bit of yeast that would leaven measures and measures of flour.

The same is true of the three other stories this morning. None of us– the disciples, my friend, the student worker, nor I— knew how God was at work. None of us thought that we had enough, but Christ saw to it that we did through the people around us. And all of us got more than we expected. God took care of our human needs, but even more, used those moments to draw us closer into relationship.

Think of the times in your life when you were going about your business, checking things off the list, perhaps even serving as you thought ought, when Christ showed up in someone else and drew you closer to his side.

If you can’t think of any such times, then be on the lookout this week.

God is always working to reveal to us again the depth with which we are loved, to show us that we can trust our Lord, and thus, to meet our deepest need, that for which we were created: to live in relationship with the God who loves us.

In these three witnesses and in today’s gospel, we see just what God can do when we are willing to let go, to share ourselves, our time, our possessions as signs of God’s gracious love. We see just what can happen when we trust that God has something to say and something to do, even when it seems like there is not enough, even when we don’t fully know or recognize the movement of the Holy Spirit.

In the words of Isaiah, we will call upon people who we do not know and those who do not know us shall run to us because God will lead us to one another. As God works in our midst for our mutual transformation, all will see the glory, the abundant love, and the mercy of the Triune God.

Today our Lord asks us, “Are you beginning to realize how much I love you? Are you beginning to know that you can trust me? Are you beginning to see that I will give you and all people what you need?”

May we pray these questions in return: How are you calling us anew today? Of what are you asking us to let go? To whom are you sending us or inviting us to receive? And how are you tugging at our hearts to show, to share, to be signs of your gracious love?

In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

As Jesus Christ is the embodied love of God for us and for all, the Triune God calls us to now embody that love for the world.

Vicar Emily Beckering
Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 18 A
    texts: Matthew 14:13-21; Is. 55:1-5  

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

Let us consider this morning three portraits. Three stories. Three witnesses to how the Triune God works in this world in order to reveal an unsurpassed, unfailing love.

The first: a modern-day account of the feeding of the 5,000.

It did not happen in a desert, but it was a wilderness of sorts: the wilderness of South Dakota’s prairie in the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. A friend of mine from seminary went there when she was in high school on a mission trip with her church youth group. One morning, their group was entrusted with the task of making caramel rolls for a communal breakfast. It was my friend’s job to make sure that there was enough caramel to keep the rolls coming. To her dismay, she discovered early the morning of the breakfast that they were short on corn syrup. They had one pint: what she thought was nowhere near enough to bake the hundreds of caramel rolls needed to serve the whole community. They sent out word for anyone who had corn syrup to bring it along, but as the other volunteers arrived, it was clear that there still would not be enough. My friend informed her youth director, who simply said, “Pray about it.” Though surprised that she could pray about something so small, my friend did. Soon, families who lived on the reservation started showing up with corn syrup by the tablespoon, by the cup, in jars and plastic bottles, and the youth group went to work. By the end of the morning, there were still containers of corn syrup lined up on the counter, everyone was fed, and there sat the original pint of corn syrup: unopened.

The second: a tale of transformation a little closer to home.

You may have heard of or volunteered in A.C.T.S this summer, that’s “Adults and Children Teaming in Service,” the summer jobs program launched here this year for neighborhood kids. One of the children who participated in the program had not chosen to be there, but was instead required to as part of their education, and it showed. The first week for them was difficult: they didn’t know any of the other kids, and so sat off by themselves. They didn’t talk to anyone except to express how unpleasant the work was. The second week of the program, God changed all that through a member of Mount Olive. When the child protested that the work was too hard, the Mount Olive member encouraged them until the task was complete. When the child isolated themselves, the Mount Olive member sought them out. When the work was done, they played games together, and through it all, the volunteer never gave up on that child. By the end of that second week, rather than separate themselves from the rest of the kids, the child became the life of the party. Rather than complain, they began to ask how they could help. But what is more, they noticed and sought out another child who was shy and didn’t know anyone either, and soon the two of them were working and laughing together: and so the Holy Spirit left her mark.

The third: one voice among many.

When I found out that I would get to be the vicar this year at Mount Olive, I knew that I would learn a great deal from you about worship, preaching, teaching, and caring for one another and the neighborhood. What I didn’t know was how God would take this year and transform it into a greater gift than I could possibly imagine. What I wanted was a successful internship, which meant getting approved, not making any mistakes that were too catastrophic, and learning what I need to be able to lead faithfully. What I got was a resurrection: a year overflowing with grace and joy. Through you, Christ has revealed to me and to many, more of who he is for us all. Christ is with you, and Christ is at work in you when you worship, when you love one another, as you seek after justice and feed the hungry, when you welcome strangers, and when you prepare your vicars by offering an abundance of understanding: this all witnesses to God’s love.

I daresay I am not the only one who has had that experience here in this place. We can probably each name people here at Mount Olive through whom we have heard, seen, and felt the love and forgiveness of the Triune God. This experience is not unique to our community.

This is how God brings healing, transformation, and faith: through Christ who is at work in us all for the sake of one another and for the world.

These stories and today’s gospel testify to us that God is at work in this world in real and tangible ways.
This, in fact, is what the incarnation is all about: embodied love, forgiveness in the flesh.

The Triune God did not redeem the world or restore our broken relationship with the wave of a hand, but with an offering of love, by entering into that world and living that love to the point of death on a cross. Through Jesus Christ, we are promised love that we cannot end and forgiveness that we cannot not earn. All this has been done so that we and the entire world could know without a doubt, God’s love, mercy, and desire for us and for all.

We are reminded of that love and offered that forgiveness week after week in another embodied way, through something to which we can cling: the Eucharist. At this table, we see, hear, touch and taste these promises in his blood and body. At this table, the Holy Spirit unites us to be that same body.

Now, you are that body, the body of Christ. You are the visible sign and the tangible love of God.
God feeds great crowds through the generosity of a few, God comforts the lonely through attentive adults and compassionate children, and reveals the greatness of his love through congregations, through you.

That day in the desert, it might have been a lot more impressive of a miracle if Jesus had made bread and fish rain down from the sky or suddenly appear in people’s laps. The same is true of the corn syrup at the community breakfast. But God does not use magic tricks. God works in intimate and tactile ways: by opening the hands and transforming the hearts of people, turning them—turning us—to the needs of one another and the world so that all people might be given what they need.

Notice how Jesus responds to the disciples when they ask for him to care for the crowd: he says, “You give them something to eat.” He calls them to share what they have with their neighbors, but he gives them what they need to do what he has asked. Jesus took what they had to offer—five loaves and two fish—and made it enough for everyone. The disciples even objected saying, “We have nothing here, but…” All they could see was deficiency, inevitable failure, but Christ saw a way to reveal love, a mustard seed that would soon become a great tree, a bit of yeast that would leaven measures and measures of flour.

The same is true of the three other stories this morning. None of us– the disciples, my friend, the student worker, nor I— knew how God was at work. None of us thought that we had enough, but Christ saw to it that we did through the people around us. And all of us got more than we expected. God took care of our human needs, but even more, used those moments to draw us closer into relationship.

Think of the times in your life when you were going about your business, checking things off the list, perhaps even serving as you thought ought, when Christ showed up in someone else and drew you closer to his side.

If you can’t think of any such times, then be on the lookout this week.

God is always working to reveal to us again the depth with which we are loved, to show us that we can trust our Lord, and thus, to meet our deepest need, that for which we were created: to live in relationship with the God who loves us.

In these three witnesses and in today’s gospel, we see just what God can do when we are willing to let go, to share ourselves, our time, our possessions as signs of God’s gracious love. We see just what can happen when we trust that God has something to say and something to do, even when it seems like there is not enough, even when we don’t fully know or recognize the movement of the Holy Spirit.

In the words of Isaiah, we will call upon people who we do not know and those who do not know us shall run to us because God will lead us to one another. As God works in our midst for our mutual transformation, all will see the glory, the abundant love, and the mercy of the Triune God.

Today our Lord asks us, “Are you beginning to realize how much I love you? Are you beginning to know that you can trust me? Are you beginning to see that I will give you and all people what you need?”

May we pray these questions in return: How are you calling us anew today? Of what are you asking us to let go? To whom are you sending us or inviting us to receive? And how are you tugging at our hearts to show, to share, to be signs of your gracious love?

In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

In these parables Jesus shows that we are not saved by what we do, or by who we are. We are heirs of eternal life because God has chosen to make us so through the cross and resurrection. To us is left simply the opportunity to say, “yes.”

The Rev. Art Halbardier
Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 17 A
     texts: Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52; Romans 8:26-39

This is the third week we’ve heard parables about seeds, weeds, planting and the like – the stories Jesus told to describe the kingdom. As a result, over the past two weeks we have essentially exhausted the ELW corpus of hymns that sing of planting, harvest, seeds, soil, gardens, and even weed control.

We’re out of hymns, but we’re not done with the parables. Today we have the climax of Jesus’ teaching about “the kingdom.”

Jesus was a master of clear speaking. He frequently astounded the religious leaders with his ability to explain fine points of scripture. Even as a 12 year-old, the temple priests were amazed at his understanding. People said of Jesus, time and again, that he taught with “authority;” he was direct, plain-spoken – not like the scribes and Pharisees.

But, when Jesus taught about the kingdom – the new relationship between God and the creation Jesus was sent to establish – for this, he turned to parables.

The core of that kingdom/relationship we call “grace.” How do you explain the unrestricted, undeserved love of God for rebellious and hateful sinners, whom God still so loves in spite of our arrogance that he sent his own Son to pay the debt of our sins? Such love, such “grace” defies explanation – even for a master of explaining. So Jesus described it in parables . . . in stories. Each parable holds up to us a facet of that grace, to ponder, to wonder. One after another, each brings us a bit closer to understanding, and if not understanding, at least to believing it is true.

Let us retrace our steps. Two weeks ago came the story of the sower. It depicts someone who doesn’t give a fig about agronomy, but it’s a great image of grace. This sower throws seed everywhere. Throws seed on rocks, under thorn bushes, on the hard path – not just the plowed field. Seed covers every square inch, whether it has a prayer of growing there or not.  Rain falls on all the seed; there is hope it will sprout and grow. That’s the way of God’s grace.

Then last week, Jesus told of another farmer. This fellow had paid closer attention during classes at “Ag School”; he plants carefully for a great crop. But, some scoundrel, determined to settle an old score with him, comes along at night and plants weeds in his field. Both weeds and wheat come up healthy as can be. The workers don’t know what to do. Ripping out the weeds would certainly damage the wheat in the process – this was before the advent of selective herbicides.

The farmer decrees, we must let them both grow. At harvest, I, the farmer – of course this is Jesus – I will deal with the problem myself. Which, we can expect, since it is Jesus, will tell us something about divine grace. We’ll find out more about that later.

The disciples of Jesus are embarrassed . . . they don’t get the point of either story. But they save face by waiting until they are in private to ask for an explanation. Jesus explains, but his explanations, as we heard are truly a belaboring of the obvious. As a result, it’s easy to assume that the disciples must have been particularly dense to not have gotten the point.

But, hold it. Flag on the floor! No one, including us, could have gotten the point of Jesus’ parables until after he was crucified and rose from the dead. Only after God’s plan for saving sinners was clear, did the amazing grace in these parables begin to make sense to anyone.

But, I get ahead of myself. Today, we’ve added almost a full “six-pack” of parables to the first two. All seven must be considered together, for the stories are like beads on a string, like facets of a stone, individual pieces of a puzzle.

Today’s stories are brief, one or two sentences each, delivered rapid fire, without a word of explaining. The kingdom is like a “mustard seed,” Jesus says; like “a woman baking bread,” a “found treasure,” a “especially valuable pearl,” “a net.”

After #5, Jesus turns to the disciples, asking, “Do you understand?” These guys who have just asked to have the sower and the weeds explained, now pipe up as one, “Oh, yes, Master! Absolutely!”

RIGHT!

But, eventually they do understand. And, we can, also. When the light of cross and resurrection lights the way. Behind the stories is the knowledge that Jesus gave his precious life for every seed, weed, speck of flour, every saint and scoundrel, the greatest and the worst of us.

But, again, I get ahead of myself.

The kingdom, Jesus tells us first, is like a “mustard seed” – one lone, tiny little seed, lost in a field of tomatoes, bush beans, broccoli, whatever. But this mustard seed has a trait no seed of comparable size possesses – the capacity to grow into a large bush with many branches.

Describing it as a “tree” may be a bit of hyperbole, but certainly the mustard becomes the most prominent plant in the field – its branches large enough to provide a home for birds if they choose – that’s something no brussel sprout or pepper plant can claim. The mustard bush towers over the other plants. The grace of God dwarfs other promises of hope, security, and salvation. This any eye should clearly see.

Hardly taking a breath, Jesus says the kingdom is like yeast which a woman uses to make bread. A WOMAN, mind you! For any of you who wish there were more female images for God in scripture, take note. The woman baking bread is Jesus. He is, after all, the one assembling the elements of the kingdom.

And this is a REAL WOMAN. Forget that little slip of a maiden on our bulletin cover, or a delicate French lady assembling her daily pair of baguettes. THIS WOMAN dumps 3 measures of flour onto the board . . . that’s somewhere between 10 and 16 five-pound bags. It takes a couple of gallons of water to make it come together into dough. Any woman who can knead this mountain of dough into bread is a force to be reckoned with. But, without yeast, all you’ve got is 100 pounds of wallpaper paste.

The kingdom is like the yeast.

The King James Bible says she “hid” the yeast in the dough. Any baker knows, yeast must first be dissolved in water. Water and yeast go in together. Then the kneading begins. Until not a grain of flour is left untouched by the power of the yeast.

If it’s wet, it’s leavened. If that suggests baptism to you, that’s points for you. But, that’s another sermon. We have more than enough to deal with today.

Onward we go, for Jesus did. Now he takes a slightly different tack. The kingdom is like treasure hidden in a field. Too great and heavy a treasure to dig up and carry away. But, knowing it’s there, who would not immediately convert all liquid and non-liquid assets to cash and buy that field?

Hardly pausing for a breath, Jesus continues: The kingdom is like a merchant in search of fine pearls. One day, sorting through piles of fake gems and costume jewelry, he finds an exquisite, perfect pearl – the finest he’s ever seen. Immediately, he liquidates his entire inventory of cubic zirconia, rhinestones and resin beads to buy this one incredibly valuable pearl.

Those listening may have wondered: Well, of course he would! What fool would pass up such an opportunity? What fool would not bet the whole farm in order to buy the field with the hidden treasure?

And we, too, are led to wonder: What fool would settle for less than the free gift of God’s grace, or pass it up for a cheap imitation? What fool indeed? But there is unfortunate truth to the saying, “There is one born every minute!”

Finally, just in case anything was left unclear after the story of the sower, or the story of the yeast, Jesus doubles back to this theme, saying the kingdom of heaven is like a net thrown into the sea. Here, we need to pause for a breath. And a brief lesson in Greek. The Greek word for “net” here is a word used only this single time in the New Testament.

Think not of the nets used by Peter, James, and John on the Sea of Galilee, or any other nets mentioned in scripture. Those are two different Greek words entirely. This word used only this once in this parable is a sagéne (sah-gay-nay). A “seine” – a “dragnet” pulled along the bottom of a river, lake, or shoreline collecting everything in its path. Lots of fish, of course . . . but also lots of flotsam, jetsam, rocks, old tires, boots, bottles, and beer cans. All are gather up in the sagéne. Nothing is left behind.

When the net is full, then the sorting begins. The fisherman separates “good” from “bad”. Now what is GOOD? Of the fish, perhaps Chilean Sea Bass? Walleye? Trout? Salmon? BAD may be “trash” species, or fish too small to be worth anything, or are sickly looking. In other words, GOOD is purely in the eye of the beholder, what is judged valuable, pleasing, and useful to the one doing the sorting.

But, maybe there’s more to the image. The sagéne is full of fish, but also whatever other garbage and debris it may have scooped up.

It’s curious that the word “fish” which appears in our English language Bibles, though it may be implied, “fish” doesn’t actually appear in the Greek text. The Greek only says “of every kind” was caught in the net. So who’s to say it’s only fish that the fisherman may deem as GOOD?

A still useful left boot to replace the one that washed overboard last week? That may be good, also. Maybe he thinks that rusty old anchor would look really fine on his mantel if he just cleaned it up?

The point is, be it only fish or more than fish, nothing in the net is inherently bad, just because of who it is, or because it’s not something else. It’s all left to the judgment of the one doing the sorting.

“So it will be at the end of the age,” Jesus says. When we stand before the divine judgment, the one judging us surrounded by angels is our Lord Jesus Christ, the one who gave his own life for the the world and rose in triumph to live and rule.

Before him there will be not one person standing who has not been redeemed by his blood, reconciled by his suffering and dying and rising. All this Judge sees before him is GOOD . . . for he suffered and died to make them so. In the end, the truth is that both heaven and hell will be populated entirely of forgiven sinners. But, the sorting will occur.

Yes, we cannot forget the two middle parables in today’s gospel – the pearl, and the treasure in the field. Despite the fact that no one is left out of being redeemed, that God’s forgiveness is a free gift, there are still those who think faith is foolishness, or who think they are essentially good people and that’s enough.

There are indeed fools for whom selling everything to get the precious pearl or the field with the hidden treasure is just too much. Or, perhaps see the world to be full of pearls just about that precious, and a lot cheaper to boot. Or, who simply don’t like pearls. Who just don’t get what’s so amazing about God’s grace for them.

No wonder, after that final separating of good and evil, there is “weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

This is not pain inflicted by the “furnace of fire,” whatever that is. “Weeping and gnashing of teeth” is misery that springs from within, for there is no greater pain than anguish over the opportunity they spurned, the free gift they trampled underfoot, the Christ they rejected.

We are not saved by what we do, or by who we are. We are heirs of eternal life because God has chosen to make us so through the cross and resurrection. To us is left simply the opportunity to say, “yes.”

Jesus chose parables to describe the new relationship with God created and sealed in his own suffering and death. Because explanations, even for the master of explaining, were simply inadequate.

Now St. Paul was NEVER at a loss for words, and he was certainly a most gifted explainer as well. And, he lived as do we, in full knowledge of the cross and resurrection; its light shines through his many, many words about God’s grace.

Paul’s point in today’s second reading sums up the message of the parables: “We are MORE than conquerors through Christ who loved us.” The threats to that faith in the world are many. Death, life, the ruthless violence of the present, anxiety about what may come, all these threaten and challenge our confidence in that promise.

But, yet, nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Nothing is greater than the grace of God.

Philip Yancey once summed up the meaning of grace in many fewer words than St. Paul, but no less memorable ones: He wrote, “There is nothing I can do to make God love me more. There is nothing I can do to make God love me less.” Nothing I do can make God love me more…or less.

There’s really nothing more to say beyond that, than, “Thanks be to God!” And, “Amen.”