sermon – Page 15

Enough is Enough

August 4, 2024 By Vicar at Mount Olive

We often can’t help but worry “Will there be enough?” but Jesus is enough, and all we need to do is trust that enough is enough.

Vicar Lauren Mildahl
The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 18 B
Texts: Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15; Psalm 78:23-29; Ephesians 4:1-16; John 6:16-35

Beloved friends, grace to you and peace in the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Now what?

We’re standing in the wilderness. Just weeks ago, God did something amazing! God freed us from slavery in Egypt! God sent the plagues and parted the water and made the bitter water sweet and just days ago we were singing and laughing.

And now it’s today. And we’re hungry and tired and still have a long way to go. Maybe it would be better if we had just died.

Now what?

We’re standing on the shore of Galilee. Just yesterday, God did something amazing! God fed us! Five thousand people, out of just five small loaves and two fish. Jesus turned the smallest of gifts into the greatest of blessings. And then, miraculously, crossed the sea without a boat.

And now it’s today. And we’re hungry again and Jesus is nowhere to be seen.

Now what?

We’re sitting in our pews. Just last Sunday, God did something amazing! And we ate our fill and we sang. I mean, we usually sing, but last week, we sang. As if we really wanted to make sure that Bach and Schutz and Handel heard us. As if we really wanted to make sure that David heard us. And the Spirit showed up and last week we were fed and filled.

And now it’s today. And we’re hungry again. And maybe, just a tiny bit, worried.

Now what?

And sure the Holy Spirit showed up last week, and sure Jesus promised that if we trust we’ll never be hungry, and sure God is able to accomplish more, far more, abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine…

But will that be enough?

It’s amazing how quickly that question comes to us. Amazing how quickly that full, fed feeling begins to slip away. Emptiness starts to creep in. And the hunger returns. It doesn’t matter how amazingly God has shown up or how recently–weeks ago, last Sunday, yesterday–it doesn’t take long and we’re looking around thinking “Now what?” Sure there was enough yesterday. There might even be enough today. But what about tomorrow? Will there be enough?

Enough food? Enough money? Enough time? Enough talent?

Will there be enough health? Enough work? Enough rain? Enough votes?

Will there be enough leaders? Enough friends? Enough music? Enough church?

Will we be enough? Will I be enough? The fear sets in. And the hunger.

That feeling of lack – of craving…something. That feeling that prompted the crowd to jump in the boats and go looking for Jesus across the Sea. To ask with desperation when they had found him: “What must we do to perform the works of God?”

There must be something we can do – something we maybe should have already done. Because we are afraid and hungry, but maybe, maybe if we just try harder, be better, do more? Maybe if we work a little bit harder, stockpile a little bit more, then there would be enough. Maybe then, we wouldn’t be hungry.

“What must we do?” the crowd asked, “to perform the works of God?”

And Jesus’s answer? Trust.

That’s it. “This is the work of God, that you trust in the one whom God has sent.”

You don’t have to do anything. It’s not about what you do, it never was.

“I am enough,” Jesus is saying. And enough is enough.

So, trust. Trust that I know what you need, and I’ll give it.

Trust that my grace is sufficient for you.

Trust that there really is enough.

And that enough is enough. For today. Enough really is enough.

This is the lesson that God has been trying to teach us since the manna in the wilderness. “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day.” “So,” the Psalmist picks up the story, “mortals ate the bread of angels; God provided for them food enough.” God, who is above all and through all and in all, who came as Christ to fill all things, gave them enough to fill them. And enough is enough. “So the people ate,” the Psalmist sings, “and were well filled, for God gave them what they craved.”

So why is it so hard to trust? And why does that hunger keep coming back when Jesus said we’d never be hungry?

And as I was thinking about that this week, I kept thinking about this scene from an episode of Seinfeld. Kramer and George are sitting in the diner and Kramer asks, “Do you ever yearn?” and George replies, confused “Yearn? Do I yearn?” and he takes a second to think about it and says, “Well, not recently…I’ve craved. I crave all the time – constant craving. But I haven’t yearned.”

And Kramer gives him this look of pity and says “Look at you – You’re wasting your life.”

And I keep thinking about that scene because it encapsulates so well what Jesus is getting at here. Jesus is talking about two different types of hunger: physical and spiritual, and two different kinds of longing: craving and yearning.

Craving is fleeting. It’s a longing for something physical and it can be satiated, but never for very long. You can crave a snack or a cigarette or a touch. We often crave things that are comforting in the moment, but that we suspect in the long run might not be good for us. But craving is also part of being human. And God cares about our cravings – sending the literal bread – giving us “what we crave.”

But yearning is something else entirely. It’s prolonged. It’s a longing that is earnest and sincere, often for something that can’t be touched or tasted. You yearn for love or for purpose, or for closure, for acceptance,…or for God. And when yearning meets its object, it isn’t just filled, it’s fulfilled. It’s transcendent and holy in a way that satisfying a craving never is.

And when Jesus meets the crowd that went looking for him in Capernaum, he’s asking the same question that Kramer asked George. “You are craving the food that perishes,” he tells them. “But what are you yearning for?” Are you listening to your deepest longings, are you searching for what you really need? The craving will come back, but your yearning, that can be fulfilled. If you trust.

Jesus cared about their cravings, of course he did, he just fed all five thousand of them, but he wants to dig deeper, to their yearning. Because he knew that they were craving the bread– but that they were yearning for life.

“I am the Bread of Life” he says. And I am what you’re yearning for. You’ve found me. I’m here to give you life and give it abundantly. I am here to fill all things because I am enough and here’s the best news of all– you are enough too.

Even with your hunger – all your cravings and yearnings. You are enough. Enough for God to live a human life for. Enough for God to die a painful and humiliating death for. Enough for God to go to every length to save you and gather you in and give you life.

You are enough. Which isn’t to say you are finished. You’re still growing and becoming and being built up, as Paul says to the Ephesians, to the full stature of Christ. You are learning everyday how to live that life in Jesus, to live a life worthy of your calling. You are being equipped everyday for the work of ministry, for the work of caring for one another. So that you can be God’s hands and you can rain down blessings, providing for each other, meeting everyone’s needs–satisfying every kind of hunger.

Not because you have to perform the works of God. But because you trust. You trust that in God there is enough. You are enough.

And I’ll say it again until you feel it in your bones. You are enough. And enough is enough.

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

Abundantly More

July 28, 2024 By Pr. Joseph Crippen

God is able to do, by the power at work in you, abundantly far more than we can ask or imagine: what if you learned to trust and expect that?

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 17 B
Texts: Ephesians 3:14-21; John 6:1-15

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

“I pray that God may . . . strengthen you in your inner being with power through God’s Spirit,

and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend . . . the breadth and length and height and depth and to know the love of Christ, . . . that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”

That’s Paul’s prayer for you. For all God’s children. What if that could truly happen?

But it’s hard to be filled with God’s fullness, to know Christ’s love dwelling in your heart, when you’re starving to death.

Paul’s hope is much easier to find if you have a full stomach, shelter over your head, clothing and other necessities, and a life of justice and freedom. If we proclaim the love of God in Christ in our words only, we’re not going to reach people. The letter of James says “If [one of God’s children] is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?” (James 2:15-16)

So, Jesus made sure that the thousands who’d come to see him got dinner that night. Christ comes to offer life and hope, to proclaim God’s reign. But if you’re hungry or oppressed or afraid or attacked or marginalized, how can you trust God’s love with those desperate needs unmet? This is a simple story of Jesus seeing a great physical need and suspending his teaching and calling to make sure that physical need is taken care of.

So, if we are bearing God’s love in the world, we start with caring for our neighbor’s needs.

People need food, shelter, a living wage. Wars need to be stopped. Justice needs to happen. Real needs need to be addressed before any other good news can get through.

But Philip shares our concerns today: we don’t have enough money to feed these people, he says. Likewise, the problems of hunger and homelessness, injustice and discrimination, hatred and violence are so great, we fear our resources aren’t going to make a dent.

But Jesus operates with a power and abundance Philip doesn’t yet know. And Paul promises that God, by the power at work in us, “is able to do abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine.” We despair at the intractability and overwhelming nature of the world’s problems, but Paul says we haven’t even begun to imagine what God actually can do through the power of Christ’s love at work in us.

So let’s try imagining. Let’s definitely ask. And let’s learn to trust that the same power that multiplied bread and fish and that broke the power of death will be at work in us to accomplish even more than we can dream in this broken, suffering world, and bring real life.

But it’s also hard to imagine, to dream, to ask to be a part of God’s mission, when your heart is starving to death.

Just as lots of things contribute to physical hunger and suffering, lots of things keep our hearts from being open to Christ entering and living within us, so we can know God’s fullness and love. Our stubborn pride or deep-rooted shame. Our inability to honestly look at our biases and prejudices. Our fear and anxiety. Our struggle to confess and seek reconciliation with each other. Our easy hate and anger toward others we disagree with. So many things starve our hearts to death.

And isn’t that the problem with our country? Yes, all the physical needs need to be dealt with. But what prevents that happening is hearts filled with fear and hate and anxiety and selfishness, spirits warped and crushed. Our nation has a heart and spirit problem, and until those are healed and transformed, we’ll continue with our polarized, unjust society, our oppressive structures and ways, our destructive path.

So, if we’re going to bear God’s love in the world, God must first open and heal our hearts.

Help us unclench from what we’re clinging to, pick out the seeds of fear and anxiety from our hearts, and pull the thorns of hatred. The Spirit needs to help us be open to our own failings and biases and prejudices, our struggles to be honest about who and how we are.

If God’s going to transform the world, this has to go beyond those of us in this room today. But right now, in this moment, in this room, we at least need God to start on us. On you. On me. Start to heal our hearts and spirits so we’re ready for God’s fullness to live in us, ready to know and comprehend the deep and abiding love of God in Christ for all of us and all God’s children. Then we’ll be ready to bear Christ in the world.

“God, by the power at work within us, is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine.”

That’s Paul’s promise.

There are enough resources on this planet for all to be fed and sheltered and cared for. God’s abundance knows no limits except those we place on it. There’s enough love of God in Christ for every child of this planet, including you, for every creature, every thing in creation to be filled with God’s fullness. God’s abundant love knows no limits except those we try to place on it.

Thousands of people suddenly had all they needed to eat. Millions of people have been transformed by the love of God dwelling in them. God can do abundantly far more than all you can ask or imagine.

What if you trusted that?

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

He Liked to Listen

July 14, 2024 By Vicar at Mount Olive

Like Herod, the good news might perplex us, but it also attracts us–and we are called to live into the fullness of God’s shalom by speaking peace and justice.

Vicar Lauren Mildahl
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 15 B
Texts: Mark 6:14-29; Amos 7:7-15; Psalm 85:8-13; Ephesians 1:3-14

God’s beloved, grace to you and peace in the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

There’s not much good news in our gospel for today, is there?

I mean, it’s a good story. It has all the elements: scandal, power, seduction, revenge, tragedy, death. The kind of story that gets told and retold, for sure. Painted and repainted. Adapted and re-adapted. It’s a good story – but is there any good news here for us today?

Because it sure seems like bad news. It sure seems like the power of the world wins. John the Baptizer was sent to prepare the way for the reign of God, but when the reign of God comes head-to-head against the reign of Herod, all it takes is one pleasing dance, and one foolish promise, and then there’s one head on a platter.

What’s good about that?

For me, there’s only a glimmer of good news and it’s in this one line that Mark includes: “When Herod heard John the Baptizer, he was greatly perplexed, and yet he liked to listen to him.”

He liked to listen, even though he was “greatly perplexed.”

The Greek word for perplexed is ἀπορέω, which means to be at a loss – literally “to be wayless” – and translators go lots of different ways with it: “thoroughly baffled,” one version says, “miserable with guilt,” “greatly confused,” “much troubled.”

And I don’t want to defend or acquit Herod, but I have to confess that I sympathize with him a little bit. How often have I felt wayless, baffled, miserable with guilt, confused and troubled when I’ve heard the word of God? The Psalmist says, “Let me hear what the Lord God is saying, for you speak peace to your faithful people…” but it doesn’t always feel like peace to me. Especially when that word exposes the ways I’ve chosen the reign of Lauren, rather than the reign of God.

But maybe that’s the point.

Because, after all, Herod was supposed to feel troubled by the word from God that John was bringing to him: “For John had been telling Herod, ‘It is not lawful for you to have your brother’s wife.’” Commentators often say that the problem with this relationship was that it was considered incestuous and that’s why it was not lawful. But if you know the full story, you can see that the problem is bigger than that.

The law exists to promote life, and this unlawful act brought a lot of death.

Not only John’s, as we heard, but countless others died later because of this marriage. It started a war! Herod and Herodias divorced their spouses in order to marry and this so angered Herod’s ex-father-in-law that he joined up with Herodias’ ex-husband, and they declared war and marched on Galilee. An untold number of soldiers and bystanders died in this conflict. And it didn’t turn out great for Herod and Herodias either, who both died in exile when they had lost the favor of the Roman Emperor. Death, violence, separation, all born from breaches of the law: from coveting, adultery, and lust.

And John tried to warn them. God sent John to speak the words that Herod needed to hear, to offer Herod and Herodias an alternative path, to “speak the peace” that might have been.

That’s what prophets always do, really.

It’s certainly what the prophet Amos was doing. Over seven hundred years before John was sent to Herod, God took Amos from following his flock, and said to him, ‘Go, prophesy to my people Israel.’ And so Amos begged them: “Seek God and live! [Amos 5:4]” He begged them to choose another path so they could experience the thriving, abundant life in God’s peace!

Because if they didn’t, Amos had harsh truths to share about where that path would lead: that God would “spare them no longer;” that ”the high places of Isaac would be made desolate, and the sanctuaries of Israel laid waste,” and that God would “rise against the house of Jeroboam with the sword.” And when the priest Amaziah heard these harsh words, he felt perplexed, baffled, confused and troubled; protesting: “The land is not able to bear” these words.

These words didn’t feel like God “speaking peace” to God’s people.

But what was hard for Herod and for Amaziah to understand, what is hard for us to remember, is that speaking peace doesn’t just mean saying nice, comforting, calming things. Speaking peace isn’t just the absence of conflict. Speaking peace is speaking shalom, speaking deep wellness and wholeness within and without and between.

And shalom doesn’t just appear.

Which means that speaking peace means speaking the conditions that are necessary for peace. It means speaking justice. Amos sees the people “selling the righteous for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals…trampling the head of the poor into the dust of the earth and pushing the afflicted out of the way.” There can’t be peace in these conditions, not when injustice is perpetuated, not when the poor are suffering, not when the powerless are exploited.

No justice, no peace, Amos warns.

This is what speaking peace looks like, it looks like Amos trying desperately to draw the people back to true peace that is available in the reign of God, but to get there, they have to live justly. To live in such a way that everyone has what they need. That everyone is loved just the way they are. That everyone’s tender wounds are transformed into sacred scars. That’s what it’s like in the reign of God. And if they seek the reign of God, they will find it.

And I think that’s why Herod, even though he was troubled, baffled, confused, and perplexed, he still liked to listen to John.

Because shalom is wonderful. Even Herod could recognize that. He liked the idea of it. He recognized the goodness of the world that John the Baptizer was proclaiming.

And we all like to listen when God speaks peace.

Because there is something deeply appealing about the shalom of the reign of God. It’s what draws us to this room week in and week out. We long to listen to words like the ones Paul offers to the Ephesians: “With all wisdom and insight God has made known to us the mystery of God’s will…to gather up all things in Christ, things in heaven and things on earth.” We like to listen to words like that.

But it isn’t enough just to listen.

“Repent!” John said. “Repent! for the reign of God is near!” That’s the next step after listening, and it’s the step Herod never gets to. He is too afraid for his own status, clinging too tightly to his sense of power and control, and he’s too reluctant to challenge the injustices that benefit him. He wants peace, but won’t help create it. And, in the end, that’s why John died.

Herod chose violence, but that still didn’t bring him peace.

Because when he hears about Jesus – he thinks it’s John the Baptizer, the man he knew for sure was dead, come back to haunt him. Herod can’t experience the love of God-With-Us or the joy of God’s shalom in the flesh. And he can’t have peace because he is hounded by the memory of his own cruelty and cowardice, haunted by injustice: No justice. No peace. Given the chance to seek God and live, Herod chose death instead.

We are all still processing the aftermath of the shooting at the Trump rally last night.

Many of us are perplexed and baffled and confused and troubled. We mourn those who died and pray for healing for those who were injured. And we fear for the fallout, because we can be sure that this act of violence won’t bring peace, even if the shooter, whoever they were, even if they liked to listen, liked the idea of peace, but chose death instead.

Let us choose life.

We are all called to speak God’s peace. There is no ordination, no roster for prophets – we are all prophets, plucked from our flocks. We are called to speak peace in Christ and to speak the justice that is its prerequisite. Not only to speak it, but to bring it into existence by loving God and loving our neighbors, and making sure that everyone, no matter who they vote for, that everyone is gathered into the fullness of the Holy Spirit.

It won’t be comfortable. We will have to repent again and again. And it might even be dangerous, speaking truth to power often is. But it’s worth it. For the good news. The good news might perplex us but it also attracts us, like gravity pulling us to our God who loves us so much and wants to gather us into the fullness of shalom.

Earlier in the book of Amos, the prophet says: “The lion has roared; who will not fear? The Lord God has spoken; who can but prophesy?”

Speak peace this week, beloveds. Speak justice.

We need it today more than ever. Who can but prophesy? The good news is just so good.

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

Listen

July 7, 2024 By Pr. Joseph Crippen

You and I are called to follow Christ, proclaim God’s love with our lives, and we help each other both hear that call and live it.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 14 B
Texts: Mark 6:1-13; Ezekiel 2:1-5; 2 Corinthians 12:2-10

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

As recruiting pitches go, these stories are pretty bad.

If God’s Word today means to call us to serve God, follow the path of Christ, and proclaim God’s love with our lives, these stories are pretty counterproductive to that goal.

Ezekiel is called to speak God’s Word to people God calls “impudent, stubborn, and rebellious.” There’s a good chance, God says, they won’t listen. Paul today says his service to Christ is filled with “weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, calamities.” Seriously, he was stoned nearly to death for proclaiming Christ. And Jesus, with a near total rejection in his hometown that limited his divine abilities, sends out followers in pairs to do the same job, clearly instructing them what to do if they’re also rejected.

It’s important not to oversell a recruiting pitch. But you and I could be excused for walking away from today’s readings thinking, “thanks, but no thanks. Not the job for me.”

But we could also say we’ve not heard a call as clearly as these.

When was the last time you heard God’s actual voice calling to you, as Ezekiel did? Paul met Christ on the road to Damascus, who set him on his way. And these initial twelve were sent out by Jesus himself, God-with-us. Maybe they faced hardship and rejection, but at least they heard their calls clearly.

Those of us who’ve been Christian our whole lives, and maybe even those who came to faith later, likely say in this age that our sense of faith isn’t attached to God’s direct voice calling. Most of us don’t get visions. We rarely claim to hear God’s actual voice, and these days that might lead you to seek medical care rather than the road of discipleship.

So are these readings at all meaningful to us today? Since most of us don’t share a call story like these, and most haven’t had major setbacks and persecution because of our discipleship, maybe we’re off the hook.

But God is supposed to speak to us through Scripture, to lead us to faith and life in Christ. So don’t climb off that hook just yet.

Maybe it’s a question of how we listen for God’s call.

What are you looking for? What do you need to feel God has called you to follow Christ and proclaim Christ to the world in word and deed?

Now, this may actually distract from that question. But my call to ordained ministry was nothing like these calls today. In high school I thought medical school might be a path. But then I considered what I was good at and loved to do. I wanted to help people, and had gifts for that. But I felt I’d struggle if, as a doctor, I couldn’t save someone. I loved my church and serving in the liturgy, and the whole community of faith. I found theology exciting. I was good at public speaking. So simply on practical terms, I decided I should be a pastor. It wasn’t until years later I could say with confidence it was a call from God.

Here’s why that’s distracting: we’re not talking about career calls today. My call to Word and Sacrament ministry is no different from calls any of you have received that led you to a certain career path or life choice. All jobs, paid or not, are holy vocations, Luther taught us.

What God’s Word today is asking is much more important: how am I called, as Joseph, to be Christ in the world, beyond my paid job? And how are you called that way?

But I shared that story for the process.

I didn’t expect nor receive a vision. I didn’t think I’d hear God’s voice speak aloud. It was just practical.

And maybe that’s how we could think about our life in Christ God might seek in us, since most of us won’t have a dramatic experience like so many in Scripture.

What do you see in yourself? Are you good at some things that others aren’t? Are there things you understand and care about more than other things? Are your passions drawn to certain problems in the world? Do you have wealth you could share? Some way that you might weigh your wealth against the needs of the world, as Paul talked about last week? Do you have time that you could give to something? What if you put all this information together, along with anything else you can think of? What do you then hear from God?

Theologian Frederick Buechner describes it this way: “The kind of work God usually calls you to is the kind of work (a) that you need most to do and (b) that the world most needs to have done. … The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”[1] The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.

So each of us has some listening to do.

And let’s at least address the poor recruiting pitch.

It’s true that if you live as Christ you might get pushback from others, feel threatened, have to let go of things you’ve clung to tightly. Jesus never said that we’d have it easy. He talked about sacrificial love. He modeled vulnerability to others, even those who are evil. He called us to love our enemies and pray for them. If you and I listen, and hear, and then follow, sure, there will be hard consequences.

But since when is this an easy world to live in? We’ve got setbacks and challenges of all kinds. Not being Christ in the world doesn’t change that. Playing it safe with our wealth or time, holding onto prejudices and biases, ignoring the pain of our neighbors, doesn’t ensure a safe and happy life.

But the witness of people of Christ through the ages is there is a joy and peace and hope that comes with following, even in adversity. A sense you are part of God’s healing love that leads you through all circumstances. Following Christ might be hard, but living in this world is hard. And in following, the joy of the Spirit lives in you and fills you with peace from God and hope for the world.

And remember: we’re in this together.

We help each other listen, and see gifts and abilities in each other. We don’t serve Christ alone. None of us has all the answers we need, all the resources, all the patience, all the endurance and strength, all the vision. But in this grace of our community, together we can be a wonder of Christ’s healing in this world.

So listen for where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet. And let’s each help each other listen, because God is calling. Together, we’ll also help each other live into that calling, until God’s hope for the world’s healing comes to be.

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

[1] Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC, Harper and Row, 1973, pp. 118-119.

I Call to Mind

June 30, 2024 By Pr. Joseph Crippen

God’s healing is coming, and therefore we have hope.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 13 B
Texts: Lamentations 3:(21)22-33; 2 Corinthians 8:7-15; Mark 5:21-43

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

Jeremiah found hope.

In the middle of his grief over the destruction of Jerusalem, lamentation after lamentation, verse after verse filled with sorrow over the exile of the people to Babylon, suddenly this ray of light shines through tears: “This I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: the steadfast love of God-Who-Is never ceases, God’s mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.”

As we lament the pain and suffering of our world, can we find hope in God’s love like Jeremiah? For thousands of years, the suffering and pain people were aware of was close by, people you knew and lived with and could even help. Now we not only hold our own personal sufferings and grief, but day after day after day we’re constantly made aware of the pain of people we’ll never meet, from every corner of the world. This awareness is so recent in human history, we’re not at all evolved to handle that. But still, the news, the pictures, the grief, keep coming.

But can we, too, see a ray of God’s hope?

It seems to shine from our Gospel today.

There’s a beautiful pair of stories of Jesus, God-with-us, healing a woman sick for twelve years, raising a twelve-year-old girl from death. God’s hope and light shines through these stories.

But what about the others? How many other children in villages around the Sea of Galilee died that year whose parents never found this joy? How many women and men suffered from long-term disease that year (just think of cancer), and didn’t find Jesus in a crowd and touch his cloak? God’s mercy seems limited.

And that’s before we ask about the children of Gaza and Israel. About Ukrainian and Sudanese children. And adults. Caught up in the evil of war and violence and being killed day after day. Is there hope for God’s healing mercy in these stories that gives hope for today’s children and vulnerable people?

Our faith tradition commonly doesn’t lean into these stories of healing.

At least when it comes to our own expectations. Lutherans have always been a little leery of expecting God’s healing of our own disease, let alone healing all that ails this world. We’re not raised to expect miracles either on an individual or a global scale as some Christians are. It is enough, we seem to say, that we name these things before God in prayer. But we’re usually not expecting to be blessed like these parents or this woman.

But what if the hope we’re seeking comes from learning to pray with trust?

This father didn’t know if Jesus would heal his daughter, but he asked. He pleaded repeatedly that Jesus come and do something. This woman reached out and touched Jesus’ cloak, thinking it would be enough. They risked expecting God to heal in Jesus.

So what if we set aside our rationality a little when we prayed and simply, whole-heartedly, expected God to bring healing to those who need it? God still might not heal that person or situation as we ask. Fine. But maybe it would give us more hope to remember that sometimes God does. What if we could learn not to expect disappointment?

And what if we believed God’s Word that God deeply grieves for the children of this world, for those vulnerable to others’ evil and violence and oppression? What if we prayed for God’s healing in the Middle East, in Africa, in Ukraine, and actually expected God might move leaders to end war? Jeremiah didn’t have any evidence that this pain and suffering was nearing an end. But he clung to a hope that God was a God of love and healing.

Holding that hope, we can also learn about other ways God heals.

We have witnesses across the ages who asked for God’s healing, whether individual or collective, who didn’t receive exactly what they prayed for. For every fall of the Berlin wall and ending of apartheid in peace, there are so many wars that end only when one side has died so much they can’t go on. For every miraculous healing there are thousands who succumb to their diseases.

But people who learned to trust in God witness to a deeper healing in the face of adversity, a peace in their hearts even if their world is collapsing around them or their body failing. A sense that their lives, and the lives of their community and beyond, are in God’s love no matter the circumstances.

That’s a healing we can also pray for and trust we will receive. And find hope.

There’s one more thing.

The people of Corinth didn’t have the internet. They had no idea about the suffering of the Christians in Jerusalem. They had no idea that their Macedonian neighbors had given well beyond what they could afford for Paul to bring back to Jerusalem to aid in that suffering.

But Paul – as we heard today – made them aware of all this, just as we’re now aware of suffering far away. And Paul invited them to be a part of God’s healing.

This is also where we find hope. We are part of God’s healing mercy for the world. For our loved ones. For our neighbors. Now that you know, like the Corinthians, what others are doing to help, you can find a way to be of help. Now that you know, like the Corinthians, that others are in need, you can offer yourself to be a part of their hope.

Because this only works for God when we all share this ministry together. Macedonians, Corinthians, you, me. God needs more than one or two, God needs all to join together to be a part of God’s healing mercy in the world.

In the midst of lamenting the pain in the world, Jeremiah calls this to our minds.

And now you can call it to your mind, and therefore have hope: “the steadfast love of the Triune God never ceases, God’s mercies never end, they are new every morning.

It is good, Jeremiah says, that one should wait patiently for the salvation of God. Because that salvation will come to you. And it is good, Paul says, that one should also be a part of that healing of God. Because you are critical to it. And this is how God’s mercies are renewed every morning.

So this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope.

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