Jesus, the Incarnate Son of God, became one of us to turn us to the way of God in the world, a way which is diametrically opposed to the way of the world; we cannot live in both ways.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, Time after Pentecost, Lectionary 25, year C; text: Luke 16:1-13

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

Well, that’s a strange one, and no mistake.  That might be the oddest and most confusing parable Jesus tells.

Before we can talk about this parable, though, we need to remember a little bit about Jesus.

We can just stay with what Luke says, to keep it simple, since he’s the Gospel the lectionary for this year is using, and the one who relates to us today’s parable by Jesus.

Luke from the beginning tells us that Jesus is the Son of God, the anointed one of God.  Jesus is filled with the power of Holy Spirit from before his birth, and certainly during his life and ministry.  And he has come to save us.

And from the very beginning of this story, we are told his coming was intended to overturn the way of the world in favor of the way of God.  The proud will be scattered and the lowly lifted up.  The hungry will be filled and the rich sent away empty.  This Son of God came with a radical overturning of the way this world works, and invited all to join him.

In fact, for Luke, that’s central.  As much as Jesus is God-with-us, filled with the Spirit, turning the world upside down to reflect God’s true values, so much so are we called to share that role, also filled with the Spirit.

Let’s also then remember some other key things about Jesus’ ministry in Luke so far.  He has healed many, even of demon possession.  He has forgiven people of their sins as if he had God’s authority.  He has spent time with people whose sinful lives were public knowledge and scandal, and even sought them out.  He’s declared that God’s blessing and new life, this overturning which leads to the salvation of the world, is for all people, both Jews and Gentiles.

So that’s where we stand now as we hear this story Jesus tells.  We understand that Jesus is God’s definitive message to us, God’s very presence among us, and he is declaring a way of life that is completely opposite the way of the world.

And he’s inviting people to follow him in that way, completely.  It is a way where we win by losing.  A way of love over hate.  A way of giving, not taking.  A way that doesn’t count wealth by money but by trust in God.  A way of grace instead of judgment.  A way where enemies are loved not feared.  A way where dying leads to life.

And now we’re ready for Jesus’ brilliant parable that is very confusing unless we understand that context.

One more piece of context to remember: Luke has placed this parable immediately after chapter 15, the three great parables of grace, the parables of the lost being found.  And the last image we have from chapter 15 before we hear this story is the elder brother and the father standing eye-to-eye, but not seeing in that way at all.

And then Luke relates this parable of Jesus.

It tells of a dishonest manager who works the system to make sure when he’s fired he still lands on his feet.  And what seems to confuse everyone who reads or hears this parable is that there are no redeemable characters in it, and there is this incredibly strange commendation at the end: the cheating manager is commended for his shrewdness, by his master, and by Jesus’ comment which follows.

But listen to what Jesus actually says:  He says, “the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.”

Do you see?  No?  Then look at the parable once more:  The manager is cheating his owner and is caught.  He has to give an accounting.  He’s scared – too proud to beg and too lazy to dig ditches – so he cooks up a plan.  He connives with people who owe his master money and re-writes their debts.  All so that when he’s fired, these grateful people will welcome him into their homes.

And his master commends him for his cleverness.  But that’s not really all that odd.

Commending someone for their cleverness doesn’t mean you approve of what they did.  Consider any movie or book you’ve experienced and enjoyed where the hero of the book is the classic archetype of a rogue thief or charming criminal.  Of course we don’t condone their thievery or whatever crimes they commit.  But when the person is clever, and works the system, and has a little panache, we at least have a bit of admiration for their skill and focus, if the story’s told well.

That’s what’s happening here.  The master is impressed: he thought he had this guy on the ropes, and he figured a way out.  It doesn’t mean what the manager did was right.

But there’s still Jesus’ commendation to consider.  Why is he telling this story at all?

The answer is in what we’ve already said about the way of God he has come to lead us into.  From the Pharisees to the confused and half-committed disciples, Jesus constantly is running into people who are attracted to what he’s saying but aren’t ready to commit to it whole-heartedly.

So earlier he tells parables of seeds that start to grow but fall away because of cares and concerns of the world.  He tells of servants who fail to be at their work when the master returns.  He tells of people who want to follow him but keep turning back to their affairs.

Then he tells this parable, about a man who never turns back from his vision, his way of life, his code.  The manager knows what his priorities are and he constantly works for them.  He will be comfortable and happy, that’s his goal.  So he cheats his owner, and when caught, cheats him some more to make sure someone else will care for him.  He knows how the game is played and he plays it fully, no holds barred.

And Jesus says, “why can’t the children of light be that shrewd?”

Do you see?  He’s saying that the people of the world know where their bread is buttered and they do everything they can to make sure they get their butter.  From Wall Street to Main Street, if you are living by the rules of the world, by the rules of making money, by the rules of winner take all, you follow those rules faithfully.

But Jesus keeps finding people who seek the way of God, but not fully.  They still want to keep one foot in the way of the world.  They divide their focus.  The world never does, Jesus reminds us.

Jesus keeps encountering elder brothers who are staring into the face of pure grace, pure forgiveness, the face of a father who says, “Everything I have is yours, and I am always with you,” and still want to play by the rules of “Those who do the right thing should be blessed and those who do not should suffer.”

Jesus is saying to the disciples, to the elder brothers, to us, “Follow me and live.  But take a cue from the world: commit your everything to this.  You can’t be partially in my way and partially in the way of the world.”

He throws in a little ironic statement in verse 9 to make this point: “Make friends for yourselves by dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes,” Jesus says.  In other words, live by the world’s ways if you want.  But good luck if you expect the world to save you.  They’re not going to be able to give you eternal homes, that’s for sure.

Remember Jesus’ previous parable, as proof: the younger son found no welcome from the friends he made with his wealth once it ran out.  He only found welcome in the arms of his astonishingly loving father who loved him without condition or hesitation.

You cannot serve both God and wealth.  That’s Jesus’ last word today, and his main point.

And it is about money, in part.  The rest of this chapter tells that.

From another confrontation with the Pharisees, again over money, to the story of the rich man and the poor one who sat at his door with the dogs eating scraps which concludes this chapter, Jesus points out that God’s way is not the world’s way of seeking security and wealth.

Trying to follow Christ but still trying to make ourselves secure by the way of the world – by gaining more wealth, by gaining more status, by having all sorts of rules about who’s in and who’s out, by caring more about institutions than people, by trying to limit where the Triune God can and cannot move – all of this is a vain hope.

Only when we lose everything, all sense of our status, all our sense that we’ve earned anything, all our belief that we have some rightness to bring to this party, only when we lose everything can we see the face of the Father looking at us in love saying, “all that is mine is yours, and I am always with you.”

If we are going to try and live by the way of the world, and cling to the things we think make us secure, be they material or emotional or spiritual things, and then also try to live by the way of Christ, we will find we cannot do both.

You cannot go both east and west in the same walk.  And you cannot serve two masters.

This is not easy for us.  It never has been.  Pretty much every follower of Jesus has had to face this struggle, we see that even in his first followers.

But in the end, we know where we need to be.  We need to be with the One who seeks us forever, no matter how lost we are.  The one who himself died that he might take up his life again and offer it to the world.  The one whose love will always welcome us home.

The clarity of purpose we seek as his followers is that we see as he sees, we live as he lives.  Risking all, not worrying about anything, but trusting always that we are in God’s hands.  Loving all, not trying to put limits on it, but trusting always that it is the truth that we are so loved by God.  Offering this new way to the world as our mission, and inviting all to follow Christ into this life as well.  So that the world might actually be saved.

In the end, our Prayer of the Day has it right, though: we can only ask God to make this so among us.

It’s part of that paradox of losing means winning that we can’t secure ourselves in this way of God, either.  But we can pray, as we did, that God “turn our minds to your wisdom and our hearts to the grace revealed in your Son.”  We can pray that the Triune God so fill us with the Spirit that we, children of light that we are, can be as shrewd about living in the way of Christ as the people of the world are in living by the rules of the world.

Because God has come to be with us, to show us the way of life, and to walk alongside us in that way.  Why would we ever want to go a different direction?

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

The true nature of the Triune God is opened up to us by the Son of God himself: God is a loving, merciful God who relentlessly searches for all who are lost, and who will not rest until all have been brought home in joy.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, Time after Pentecost, Lectionary 24, year C; texts: Luke 15:1-10; Exodus 32:7-14

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

The glimpse we see of God in our first reading is terrible to consider.  In reaction to the idolatry of the people of Israel, God’s anger is as hot as the blast of a furnace.  “Get out of my way,” God says to Moses, “so I can burn with anger against these people and destroy them.”  It’s only by the intervention of Moses that God is deterred from executing this judgment.

The Pharisees and scribes who witnessed Jesus in today’s Gospel would appreciate such a God, such righteous anger.  When Jesus, who is supposed to be a godly teacher, spends time with openly sinful people, they grumble, they complain.  If ever there was a sign to them that Jesus was not of God it was this association he had with clear, unabashed sinners, and his offering of God’s love to them.

It’s a little more complicated for us.  We confess that Jesus is the Son of God.  We call him Lord, we say he is the Eternal Word of God, the Second Person of the Trinity, the Christ, the Savior of the world.  What he reveals to us about the reality of the Triune God is the definitive truth we have about God; that’s what we claim.  As John the Evangelist says, it is the Son who reveals to us the truth about the Father.  So Jesus’ welcome of sinners, his willingness to touch those who by religious standards are untouchable, all this should tell us this is the very nature of God.

But we also hear this story of the God of creation prepared to wipe out the people of God in the desert for their sinfulness.  Only after the desperate pleas of a human being, Moses, does God change his mind.  This seems a very different God.

So which is the true nature of God?

This is a tremendously important question.  There are plenty of people who boldly claim God’s retribution and judgment on those whom they call sinners.  There are plenty of people who claim God’s grace and love for all as well.  We can’t simply choose a version of God which doesn’t threaten us.  There is no value, no hope to claiming God’s grace for us and for all if we aren’t assured that is actually true.

What Jesus reveals to us today is a God of mercy and relentless searching for any who are lost.

The question in these parables actually has almost nothing to do with why the lost are lost.  The Pharisees and scribes are angry that Jesus consorts with sinful people.  Doubtless they would like further conversation about the proper types of people for a Jewish rabbi to befriend, and why these are unsuitable.  This is typical of those who value and wish to highlight God’s righteous anger at sin.  Long conversations about what sin is and why it is unacceptable to God are the order of the day.

But in these first two parables, nothing is said about that.  When Jesus defends his practice, his associations, he tells a story of a lost sheep that is all about the shepherd.  A story about a lost coin that is all about the one who lost it.  And a story we already heard last Lent, the next one in this chapter, which, while it does outline in more detail why the son got lost, is still a story that is all about a welcoming father who never demands an accounting for the lostness.

And surely it cannot escape our notice also that nothing is said in these stories today about how the lost need to get themselves found.  By all appearances, the sheep just sits wherever it is until it is brought home.  And we have yet to see a coin that can hike its way back to our nightstand and join its comrades.

So these parables are all about the searcher, and the joy in finding that the searcher and the searcher’s friends share.  They are all about the nature of God, not the nature of sin.

And the nature of God, revealed by the Son of God himself, is that the Triune God cannot stand to lose a single child.  Remarkably, the only percentage of children present that is acceptable to God is 100 percent.

When Rachel, who is now 19, was 3 years old, Mary and I lost her for 15 minutes in a mall.  And not just any mall.  We were in what was then Camp Snoopy at Mall of America.  I had gone off to do another errand, and as Mary and the children were cutting through Camp Snoopy to meet me, somehow in the huge crowd Rachel took a turn in a different direction.  But you know our Rachel, and won’t be surprised that “somehow” had nothing to do with it: Rachel has always had a sense of her own will.  She did not think she was lost; she was going wherever it was she thought she needed to go.

We were absolutely terrified as the minutes dragged on.  I felt sick to my stomach immediately.  When it was five minutes, then 8, then ten, it got worse and worse.  I have never felt more scared or sick in my life.  I literally began to think about having to put up missing child posters, and wondering how you go about doing that, where you put them, that sort of thing.  Then, at about ten minutes, I was hit with this realization: I had no idea how I would live my life without this little girl in it.

That’s what Jesus says God is like.  That’s God’s true nature.

And it doesn’t mean that God doesn’t care about sin.  It just seems that according to Jesus God’s highest priority is how to get us back when we do sin.  The sinfulness, the lostness of those whom God loves is a problem that is solved only when they are found again.  At three years old it was hardly sin for Rachel to go her own way.  But as a parent, why she was lost was the absolute last thing I could think of.  In fact, it made no difference.  That she was lost was everything.  And finding her was the only goal.

And in these parables, when the lost are found there is still no retribution, only joy in the finding.  In each of these parables Jesus claims joy in heaven over the lost being found.  In each of these parables Jesus has the searcher, now the finder, throw a party with the words, “Rejoice with me!”

Finally on one of our frantic trips around the park area, Mary saw Rachel with a woman, and the woman was leading her up to a security guard.  There are good people in the world.  As quickly as our fear had come, our joy and relief were overwhelming.  We know this.  It’s how God has made us to care for others.  Perhaps that also is a sign that this is God’s true way.

But what are we to do with God’s righteous anger?  Because it is righteous, and deserved.  And it is fearsome to behold.

But look at that story again.  What Moses is interested in here is not the sin of the people.  What Moses is interested in is what we are seeking to know.  He cares about the true nature of God.

It’s not that he doesn’t recognize the people’s sin.  Read the next verses to follow our story today, when Moses actually gets to the camp of the Israelites.  He is furious at what they have done.

But what’s interesting, what’s powerful here, is that like Jesus, the only issue for Moses is not why the people sinned, or whether God is right in being angry.  No, as with Jesus’ stories, the sin is never in question.  It’s just not the main thing.

Moses reveals what he considers the important, main thing, as he calls God to account for God’s own, true nature.  Moses talks to God as if God is exactly as revealed by Jesus.  And he talks not about the people, but about who God is in relation to those people.

He claims they are God’s people, “your people,” something God had forgotten in wrath.  Why would you want to destroy them, your people? Moses asks.

He reminds God that others will see this and believe the wrong thing about God’s nature: why should the Egyptians think you had evil intent and took these people out in the desert only to kill them?

But most importantly, Moses recalls God to God’s own promises to the ancestors of these people.  Moses says, “Remember.”  Remember how you promised to Abraham, to Isaac, to Jacob, that they would be a blessing, and numerous, and God’s children forever.

This is a marvelous thing.  Moses knows all he knows about justice, mercy and love from the God of his ancestors who called him to lead these people.  Now he turns to that God and recalls all of that.

It’s not hard, in this context, to understand God’s anger.  As much as a parent fears the loss of a child, anger at what they did to get lost can often bubble up along with the fear.  Anger and fear are partners, co-workers.

Jesus doesn’t mention it, but in the three parables of chapter 15 in Luke, is it hard to think that the shepherd was angry that this one sheep got lost, that the woman was angry at herself for losing the coin, or that there were moments for the father who was waiting for his son where the father felt anger at this wayward child?

What Moses understands is that just because God is angry it doesn’t mean that is God’s true nature.  And that’s the powerful gift here.  Moses trusts God’s nature is that of love and mercy, what he has learned from God over the years.

And he is so confident in that true nature of God he puts himself between the people and God and says, “Lord, this is not what you want to do.  I know you and your love for these people.  Think.  Remember.”  If Moses is wrong about this he will die.  That is how confident he is that he knows truly who God is, and the love God has for the people.

So it is what Jesus has said: the true nature of the Triune God is to relentlessly search for the lost and welcome them home.

We can live in this world in that reality and make it shape our lives and our witness.  Because it is not always the witness God’s people make in the world.

For us, a challenge will be when we are in the position of the scribes and Pharisees, and even Moses, and we see people whose sin is obvious and hard to find empathy for.  Nothing here says we shouldn’t care about their evil, or the harm they are doing.  Moses cares.  Jesus, the Son of God cares.

But the true nature of God is to find a way to bring them home, forgive them, and bless them with life.  That needs to be central to our lives, our witness.  Even when it’s hard for us to see it or want it for some.

And it is also part of our witness to each other and to the world that there is no one outside the loving search of the God who made all things.  Some of us might find ourselves feeling lost from God for any number of reasons.  It’s unlikely that any one of us would have a hard time thinking of others who feel lost and separated from God.  Our witness is to be part of the search team, and help bring people back to the God of all who loves each one, not just the group.

And perhaps, as people who also know what it is to be lost, this is where the conversation about sin best takes place.  Elsewhere Jesus says that he has not come for the healthy but for the sick, the only ones who need a doctor.  Of course he says it to people who are also sick and lost, but who refuse to believe it.

Maybe the reason Jesus “welcomes sinners and eats with them,” as the scribes and Pharisees complain, is that they’re the only ones who know their need, and they see the loving welcome of Almighty God in the Son of God’s eyes.  Perhaps we can become a people who help each other and the world recognize what lostness looks like, what sin can do, what it means to separate ourselves from God.  That would be a gift, because then we could help ourselves and others know the love of God.

But the ultimate good news here is that regardless of whether or not the sheep or the coin knew they were lost, they were being searched for.  Maybe only the sinners knew enough to look for Jesus and hang out with him.

But Jesus was looking for the scribes and Pharisees, too.  And in the economy of God, even those lost ones need to be found and brought home.

That’s the best news we could ever hear.

In the end, for the people of Israel, for the sheep, for the coin, the only thing that mattered was what God was going to do.  The only thing that counted was the nature of God.

And it is the nature of the Triune God to care about every last one.  Every last one.  It is in the nature of God, even if we might sometimes need to remind God about this, it is in the nature of God to love and to seek the lost and bring them home.

All the lost.  Every single one.

And that’s why we call this Good News.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Paul’s letter to Philemon gives us a picture of what Christ has done for us and what it costs to be a disciple. In Christ, God has set us free from our possessions so that we might live as Christ in the world.

Vicar Emily Beckering; Time after Pentecost, Sunday 23, year C; texts: Philemon 1-21(22); Luke 14:25-33

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

It is an uncommon and even illegal practice in our country to read other people’s mail. And yet, here today we find ourselves reading the personal correspondence from Paul to Philemon and to the church of Philemon’s house. Because it is personal communication regarding very specific circumstances, the letter might seem cryptic to us today. Questions arise: How did Onesimus come to Paul and what exactly is Paul asking Philemon to do?  How does this private conversation regarding a specific situation in one household apply to us?

The Church decided to add it to our canon of scripture, most likely because it was circulated between the early churches, and in those communal readings, Christians found the gospel to be at the heart of Paul’s argument. As such, this letter gives us a picture of what Christ has done for us and what that means for how we are to live as his disciples. When we listen in on this letter, we, like early Christians, might also hear Paul’s words to Philemon as God’s words to us.

Paul, who has been instrumental in Onesimus’ and Philemon’s conversion, is writing this letter to Philemon from prison. Onesimus is a slave in Philemon’s household. Because the letter does not explicitly tell us, we cannot be sure as to whether Onesimus is a runaway slave, or if Philemon found him useless and sent him to serve Paul who was dependent on his friends for food and resources while in prison. Nor can we know with certainty if Paul is asking Philemon to free Onesimus from slavery. It is clear, however, that the relationship between Philemon and Onesimus is strained, and that Paul seeks to redefine that relationship. This relationship is no longer what it once was. Before, Onesimus was useless to Philemon. Now he is useful to both Philemon and to Paul. Before, Onesimus was a slave. Now, he is no longer a slave but much more: a brother. The term brother signifies a very different relationship than master and slave, for now Onesimus and Philemon are to treat each other as equals who love one another as deeply as brothers.

What has occasioned this change? Christ. Christ has changed everything between Philemon and Onesimus, and everything between them and Paul. By naming them each as a “brother,” Paul challenges the ordering of the traditional familial structure in the Greco-Roman culture in the 1st century and smashes it together: in Christ, there is no longer a hierarchical ranking, but a sibling relationship. The Old Structures—master and slave, have and have-nots, dominator and submitter—these structures that once defined Philemon and Onesimus and their relationship have passed away and no longer hold any power over them. Christ has transformed their identities, their relationships, and their obligations to one another.

If they are faithful to Christ and what Christ asks of them in this new relationship, then there is also risk. As a brother in Christ, Onesimus cannot lord his new identity over Philemon. Discipleship requires him to seek reconciliation with Philemon on the basis of love. At the very least, he risks chastisement and rejection. If he is indeed a runaway slave, he risks his life because Philemon would be entitled to punish him physically or put him to death.

However, Christ also requires something new from Philemon. As a brother in Christ, Philemon cannot use his status to dominate Onesimus or treat him like a possession. Discipleship requires him to receive Onesimus as his beloved brother. If he does so, he risks giving up the security of his position as the dominant overseer of the household and risks ridicule from his peers for treating a slave as a family member. What is more, I had the lector read verse 22 today so that we could also hear that Philemon is accountable to Paul, for Paul hopes to return to them once he is released from prison.

Not even Paul is free of responsibilities. As a brother in Christ, Paul cannot keep Onesimus as his possession or use his apostolic authority to control Philemon. Discipleship requires him to send Onesimus back, to appeal to Philemon on the basis of love, and to trust Philemon to do the same.

And so we see that Paul’s letter to Philemon is a real-life example of what it costs to be a disciple. Being liberated through Christ does not mean that we have the freedom to do whatever we want. Discipleship is a costly path that has real consequences for how we must live. What God has done in Christ for Philemon and Onesimus determines what they must do for one another. In the same way, what Christ has done for us changes everything about us: our identity, our relationships, and what is expected of us. No longer are we slaves to sin: we are free and reconciled with God. As a result, no longer can we be captive to the patterns of this world where we advance our own interests at the expense of others. Instead, we are called to align ourselves with God’s vision and God’s purposes.

This is precisely what Jesus calls for in today’s gospel. By using the hyperbolic expression, “hate,” Jesus calls for uncompromising loyalty toward himself and his Father. To hate our possessions means letting go of the world’s empty promises and instead clinging to what we have been promised in Christ. The call to hate our father and mother, brother and sister—even our own selves—does not mean that we cut our families out of our lives or that we abuse or neglect ourselves or those whom we love. No! Instead, Jesus’ call to “hate” is a call to turn away from the old ways of measuring ourselves according to wealth, prestige, praise, and how valuable we are to others, and instead to turn towards Christ, who Christ would have us be, and what Christ would have us do.

This turning is what God demands of disciples, and yet God has found a way to make it possible for us to hate our possessions. God has found a way to set us free from their grasp on us: through Jesus Christ our Lord. Through our baptism into his death and his resurrection, we too have died to those possessions and their powers over us and have risen to new life in Christ.

This new life isn’t promised to be easy or without the pain of persecution, rejection, or ridicule; these we will experience if we are living like Christ. But what Christ does promise us in this new life is that all of those things that we once perceived as risks—even death itself—do not threaten us for they have power over us. Just as Christ offered Philemon, Onesimus, and Paul freedom from fears about reputation, retribution, and self-preservation, so too have we been freed from the burden of our possessions: our reputation, our financial security, our intelligence, our talents, our credentials, our academic or athletic achievements, what other kids at school think about us, our value to others, or our power to influence. All of these things no longer define us: we are defined by Christ alone and Christ’s love for us. We are freed to do what Christ would actually have us do, which is to listen to his voice and respond to his call. This is discipleship.

Because God has done all of this for us, it is evident that in writing his letter to Philemon, Paul follows in the way of our Lord, for our God also appeals to us out of love: a love lived out unto death on a cross. Rather than overpower, punish, or destroy us for our waywardness or force us to obey, God has instead chosen the way of love: a self-emptying love through which we have been given God’s own self.

And now, having listened to Paul’s letter to Philemon and to Jesus in today’s gospel, I wonder if we might hear their words as God’s words in a letter to us. Could it possibly sound like this?

Beloved, 

I know well of your love for all the saints and your faith toward me. The faith that you have been given will deepen your understanding of all the good that belongs to you in Christ. I indeed have much joy from your love, because the hearts of the saints have been refreshed through you, my children.

For this reason, though I am bold enough to command you to do your duty, I would rather appeal to you on the basis of love, and I do this as your Father. I am appealing to you through my child, Jesus. Formerly, you did not know him, but now he has changed everything for you and for me. I sent him, that is, my own heart, to you in order that your good deeds might be voluntary and not something forced. This is the reason he was separated for you for a while, so that you might have him back forever. Now you are no longer a slave. Do not live as one, but much more than a slave, you are a beloved child, especially to me. 

So, if you consider me your Father, your savior, your partner, welcome others as you would welcome me. If you come to me but do not listen to my voice or if put your reputation, your money, your security before me, you cannot be my disciple. Give up all of these possessions. Take up your cross and follow me. 

If you have been wronged in any way, or if anyone owes you anything, forgive them on my account. I have written this on your heart and in my own hands for the world: I have redeemed it. I have made you new and set you free; you owe me even your own self. 

Yes, child, let me have this benefit from you. Refresh my heart as my disciple. Confident of your obedience, I say all of this to you, knowing that you will do even more than I say.

One thing more, prepare room for me, for I am hoping through your prayers to be restored to you. 

Amen.

The gift of belonging to Christ is that we are given eyes to see as the Triune God sees, and to see in the face of all others the face of Christ, which is the loving and gracious face of the Triune God for us and for the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, Time after Pentecost, Lectionary 22, year C; texts: Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16; Luke 14:1, 7-14; Proverbs 25:6-7

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

I love the image of secret identity that flows throughout literature.  Superheroes who are ordinary people among us, but special and gifted to help the world.  Or secret kings, like Henry V who walks among his troops the night before Agincourt, disguised so he might share this night with them free of royal honors, and honestly hear their true, unfiltered thoughts.  Sometimes not recognizing that identity leads people to act badly, to their regret, as in the fairy tale “Beauty and the Beast”, where the arrogant young prince turns away a poor old woman on a stormy night and she is a sorcerer who enchants him as punishment.

But the theme is always the same: you never know whom it is you are meeting, so take care.  The person might be a queen in disguise, or a hero, or even God.  So it is that Leo Tolstoy tells the beautiful story of Martin the cobbler who is promised that Jesus will visit him on a certain day.  All day long he waits for the visit.  Throughout the course of the day several people cross his path who are in need and he helps them with love and grace.  And that night, as he prepares for his bed, disappointed that Jesus didn’t come, Jesus comes to him and says that he was there all day, in those people.  They were his visit, his coming.

All of this makes what Hebrews says today very compelling.  We are invited to show hospitality to the stranger, because, we’re told, “by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”  This is something to consider.  A stranger, just as in all the stories, might actually be an angel of God.  Suddenly the wisdom about not putting ourselves above others that we hear from Proverbs and from Jesus makes good sense.  We don’t want to elevate ourselves above another: she might be an angel of God.  We can’t know who the other person we are encountering truly is, and we need to respect that, honor that, just in case they are someone special.

But are we missing something more profound here?  Jesus told other parables than this one, and there are a couple in particular that suggest that we are on the verge of a wonder we perhaps haven’t fully appreciated.  A wonder that has the possibility of transforming our lives as children of God, and connecting us to the life of the Triune God in ways we’ve not known before.

In fact it is Tolstoy who understood a deeper truth in this mystery.

It’s not just that sometimes angels of God visit us and we don’t recognize them.  It is in fact Jesus’ promise that in the other person we meet we will always see his face.  That in the economy of God, there is no such thing as “other.”

In Matthew 25, Jesus tells the parable of the return of the King, the story we better identify as the one about the sheep and the goats.  And what is significant about the people in that story is that those who did not feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, care for the sick, visit the prisoners, clothe the naked, give water to the thirsty, did not intentionally neglect the Lord Jesus, the King.  Had they known he was in all those people in need, those strangers, those “others,” they would have helped willingly, joyfully.

And the whole point of the story for us is, now we know.  Now we know where Christ is: hidden in everyone, everyone we meet.

And so with another of Jesus’ parables: instead of considering the place of Christ to be in the person of the good Samaritan, we realize in light of Matthew 25 it’s different.  Christ Jesus is the half-dead man in the ditch.  Serving him is serving Christ.  Loving him is loving Christ.

Do you see how this brings us to the edge of a new world?

We are invited by our Lord Christ to see all others as if we were seeing him, his face, his needs.  Franciscan priest Fr. Richard Rohr has said this: “If God is Trinity and Jesus is the face of God, then it is a benevolent universe.  God is not someone to be afraid of, but is the Ground of Being and on our side.” [1]

This is a wonder to embrace: Christ Jesus is the face of God, and shows us that the Triune God is benevolent, loving, and “on our side.”  If this is so, and we proclaim it is, what then of seeing Christ’s face in every “other,” in all?

Do you see how this changes everything?

If our eyes are opened to see in all others the face of Christ, which in turn is the benevolent and loving face of the Triune God, then we cannot but fall on our knees in the presence of anyone.  If the Incarnate One, God-with-us, now claims that this divine incarnation extends into all people, all God’s children, then we have a new reality.

But that’s not often how we’re used to thinking of this.

You see, we too often take this parable Jesus tells as a call to be “humble,” and we think we know what that means.  Too often we consider humility to be something we need to learn, something we need to assume.  We read Jesus’ words as telling us not to think too highly of ourselves, and to consider others as more important.

The problems with this are many, but let’s consider a couple.

First, some of us have more difficulties with pride and needing to be reminded not to push to the front of the line than do others.  There are people all over the spectrum, even in this room.  Some who feel they’ve never measured up as important, certainly not in comparison to others.  And others who feel that it’s a burden Jesus places on them to have to put others first, that they truly are special and worthy of notice.  And all of us are somewhere in between those two poles.  So taking Jesus’ words as a “one size fits all” pithy statement cannot work.

Second, Jesus is inviting a change of vision here, not a change of mind or attitude or action.  He’s inviting us to consider what it would be to look at others as if they were important.  Not put ourselves down, not force ourselves to stand back, not remind ourselves to act humble.  But actually see others as important in God’s eyes.  That’s a huge difference.

Humility is not about feeling bad about ourselves, or even proud that we acted humble once.  It’s actually seeing the light of Christ in the other and honoring that.  It’s a completely different thing Jesus invites, especially if we consider Matthew 25 alongside this.  We don’t take the better seat because we quite literally see in the other person the face of Christ, which is the face of God.  So of course we move lower.

It may be helpful for us to consider what we know in this room and see how that might carry beyond these walls.

When we gather for liturgy, we come here expecting to see the face of the Triune God.  We see God’s face in Word and Sacrament, in each other.  We love the silences because in them we hear God’s movement in our hearts and minds.  We love the Word, the music and song, the people, because through these gifts we are brought literally, literally, into the presence of God.

Not everyone always experiences this in worship; there are times when we do not.  But if we experience it at all it is because our eyes have been opened to it.  Much of what brings me into the presence of the Triune God in this space comes from my experiencing worship with all of you.  You have taught me that you expect God to be here, and in that I, too, have come to see God’s face.  That’s how communal worship works.

And once our eyes are opened, we see God more and more.  Yes, there are dry spells, times when our vision is less clear.  The life of discipleship, even worship, wanders through deserts as well as lush landscapes.

But we help each other in those times: those who are seeing more clearly stand with those who are not.  And together, we experience the grace of the presence of the Triune God who made all worlds, right here as we worship.

So what if what Jesus is telling us is that if we continue to open our eyes in the world, not just when we think we are “worshipping,” we would see his face, Christ’s face, there, too?  Do you see how different that feels?

Just as we have learned to see God here, to expect to see God here, we might also learn that “out there.”  And then everything we do in this world is worship, because we are constantly finding God and seeing God’s gracious, benevolent face of love for us and for this world.

And once we see Christ where he is, we will be led to act in a couple different but important ways.

First, we will love all others not out of false humility, not out of a patronizing sense of obligation, and certainly not because we think there’s an off chance they might be special.  We will love others because they are special.  They are Christ to us.

So living in grace and love toward others is like living in grace and love toward the most important people we know in the world.  Consider the people you love most, honor most, admire most.  How would you want to be with them?  How would you want to care for them?  We quite naturally want to love them, care for them, offer them the best place.

That’s how you care for all others, Jesus says.

When we see Christ where Christ has promised to be, we become people who live in the world with a joyful awareness of everyone’s secret identity, and who treat all accordingly.  Unlike those in the parable, we care for all because we know who they are.  Not because they might be angels.  But because they are Christ.

But second, it seems that if Christ is in all others, then we also come to others as we come to Christ, expecting blessing, grace, life.  When we come here and expect to see the face of God, we come hoping for the blessing only God can give us.  We experience grace, forgiveness, love, full acceptance, no exclusion.  We see in each other in this room that grace and love of God.  In fact, for all of us one of the most important ways God actually touches us with grace and love is through our fellow believers in this place.

But now we go out these doors and we are told we can expect Christ to be looking at us from everyone out there, too.  So we look at others not only seeking to love them as Christ.

But we look at others expecting they will be the Triune God’s blessing for us, to us, in us.

Think of that woman who visited our worship earlier this summer and bathed at the font.  It was clear she had many issues that tormented her, and I was deeply grateful that literally every question I had from members afterward was directed at her well-being, at hopes for her health and her future.  People loved her in Christ’s name here, loved her as if if she were Christ.

But what if we also consider that she was not only Christ to be served but Christ who blessed?  I don’t know what that might mean fully, but I can see important ways she brought the blessing and grace of God to us that day.

That’s the new vision to which Jesus invites us.

We must pray about this.  Consider this together.  And most of all, seek the grace of the Holy Spirit to give us new eyes for seeing.

Because if Christ Jesus really is out there, really in literally every person we see not only in this room but everywhere we go today, tomorrow, and beyond, then everything is changed.

Then liturgy becomes the actions of our lives and worship becomes our living and breathing.  Then music in praise of God becomes our daily voice and prayer our every word.  Then welcoming becomes our way of life and hospitality our heart and soul.

Because when we see another person we see the face of Christ, the face of the loving Triune God.  And there is no one on earth or in heaven we’d rather see.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

[1] https://cac.org/dm-themes 

The worship the Triune God desires of us is one where our lives are centered on God, our rest, our care for others, our work for justice, and when all that happens, our lives will be a watered garden in the presence of God.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, Time after Pentecost, Lectionary 21, year C; texts: Isaiah 58:(6-9a), 9b-14; Luke 13:10-17

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 live in a broken world, a world where people suffer, where the creation itself suffers.  Where we suffer.  A world where evil seemingly thrives in more places than we can deal with, where we often feel powerless.  A world that we ourselves have divided into things sacred and things secular.  A world where we wonder where God is, and why God doesn’t do a better job.

We live in a world of our own making.  It is not the Eden of old, and that is certainly our fault; much as we would like to blame our forebears, we are thrown out of the garden by our own doing, our own actions, our own inaction.  We know this.

Yet when we come here in this place, on the Lord’s day, for a brief time we feel as if we are truly in a different world.  A world of beauty and grace.  A world where God’s word is “yes,” where healing truly is possible.  A world where we know that we are loved by God and that all are loved by God.  And we wonder: “why can’t this occur outside of here?”

We have a word of God from Isaiah that suggests God actually intends to make this world as it was meant to be, that what we experience here belongs out there, everywhere.  That what we see “out there” is not what is meant to be, that what we experience is not God’s will.

Because the LORD God, through Isaiah’s words, is telling us that part of our problem is that we have divided our world inappropriately.  That we call what we do in here on a Sunday worship, and what we do out there in the world something else.  That we seek God in this place but rarely expect God out there.  For God, according to this word of Isaiah, worship is far greater than we imagined.  And the way back to the created beauty of such a place as Eden is through true worship of God for whom there is no sacred or secular but only one existence in which the true God is moving and calling to us, and to all God’s children, who in turn live their lives in healing, restoring worship.

The people of Israel are sorely misled, Isaiah boldly shouts, if they believe that true worship of God is unrelated to their whole lives.

I asked the lector to start the reading from Isaiah a few verses before what was assigned so we could get a fuller context to our reading, but we could easily have gone back to the beginning of this chapter.  The LORD tells Isaiah to shout out the rebellion of the people, that they pretend to be a people who seek the ways of God, people who delight in the LORD, but God says they are not so.  They fast, they practice the proper religious rituals, but they don’t understand why God has seemingly abandoned them.  This is prophetic word from after the exile of the Jewish people in Babylon.

What is clear from the prophet in this chapter is that there is a disconnect between the worship of the people and their sense of God’s blessing on their lives and their world.  They complain, in verse 3, “Why do we fast but you do not see?  Why humble ourselves, and you do not notice?”  In other words, we’re worshipping faithfully here, and you don’t seem to care, God.  Life still has problems, pain, suffering.

What follows is the rebuke of the LORD toward these people.  In the verses preceding our reading this morning, God says that the people look to their own needs and interests on the LORD’s day.  Worse, they oppress their workers; they fast, but then go off and quarrel with each other.  They even fight and “strike with a wicked fist.”

Why on earth would God consider this worship and faithfulness? Isaiah asks.  What we heard this morning is God’s answer as to what true worship really is, what God is seeking from the people.  And, we must say, from us as well.

And it’s a lot more than we thought worship was.

“Is not this the fast that I choose,” says the LORD?  (It’s hard to be clearer than that.)  There are two elements to this “fast,” this true worship.  Both are non-negotiable.

The first element of the fast the LORD chooses, the true worship, is centered on our relationship with others.  Jesus would say, quoting the Old Testament, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”  It’s a powerful vision that God’s sense of true worship begins with our care for others, in three specific areas.

First, true worship begins with the breaking of the yoke, the removing of the yoke.  Using an agricultural image, the prophet speaks of a tool placed on draft animals that draws on their energy to make work happen.  So we are told that when others’ lives and energy are used for our profit, our benefit, when others suffer so that we might enjoy what we have, we are using them as slaves, as pack animals, beasts of burden.

True worship of God begins with removing such injustice from our society, from our institutions, from our world.  We cannot pretend to be free, we cannot pretend to be delighting in God, when we participate in structures that bind, oppress, and harm others.  When we take advantage of other people.

Second, true worship begins with the ending of evil between us and other peoples, when we stop pointing the finger at each other, at friends, at enemies.  There is no way we can consider ourselves truly in line with God, truly worshipping, if in our lives we point blame at others instead of ourselves, speak evil of others, and act as if we are blameless.

It’s hard to find a more direct and appropriate prophetic word about our culture and our lives than these two, both the yoke of oppression and now this “pointing of the finger” Isaiah names.  So long as we refuse to consider our participation in the evil of this world, the evil of our lives, even the oppression of others, so long as we speak ill of others, we are not truly able to worship God.

Third, true worship begins when we “offer our food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted”.  When we bring the homeless poor into our homes, share the abundance of bread we have with those who cannot find food, and clothe the naked.  Little wonder Jesus told the parable of the sheep and the goats: it is in meeting such needs, even Isaiah says, that we truly worship God, truly see God.  Or as Jesus would say, “when you do this to one of these, you do it to me.”

The second element of the fast the LORD chooses, the true worship, is centered on our relationship with God.  Jesus would say, quoting the Old Testament, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength.”

This Sabbath worship Isaiah speaks of is not the same as the rule-loving Pharisees speak of in our story of Jesus today.  For them, keeping Sabbath is following the form, the rule, more than the spirit of Sabbath.

Isaiah, rather, speaks the word of the LORD that when we spend seven days a week year round on our own interests, our own needs, our own priorities, we leave little to no room for God.  It is remarkable that in this passage keeping a Sabbath rest, taking one day in seven to focus on God, on living in the love and grace of God’s priorities, is as important as caring for the neighbor.

Isaiah’s people are “trampling” on the Sabbath.  They’re not just ignoring it.  They’re willfully doing their own things, caring for their own needs, even on Sabbath.  But Isaiah says that cannot be worship.  Until they, until we, take time for Sabbath rest every week, time to focus on God and not ourselves, we cannot truly worship.

This is part of what we are all doing here this morning, to be sure.  But it is so much more.  There is a sense in these verses of a life that is shaped and fed and described by weekly rest with God.  When you call the Sabbath a delight, when you find the holy day honorable, then, then, Isaiah says, you shall truly take delight in the LORD.  It’s hard to love the LORD your God if we never take time away from our own interests, and nigh on to impossible to care for God’s concerns if we focus only on our own.

Interesting, isn’t it, that Isaiah’s order is different than we are used to hearing: here neighbor is first, then God.  But both are necessary for the promises to be revealed, fulfilled, lived, experienced.  Because that’s the real joy of this word of God in Isaiah today: if we do these things, then wonderful things will happen.

Now, let us say this clearly: “If and then” is not a question of conditional love of God; it is a statement by the Triune God that if certain things happen, there will be wonderful consequences.

The unconditional love of God for us and for all people is not at risk here by our self-centeredness and lack of love for our neighbor or for God.  Rather, what the LORD God is saying to us in these verses is simple cause and effect: if we live in such love of neighbor and love of God, we will see amazing things.

There will be a unity to our lives where we do not see part of our lives as “ours” and “secular” and part of our lives as “God’s” and “sacred.”  All things become holy, all our lives become God’s, and everything, everything becomes worship.

When we break the yoke, stop pointing the finger, stop speaking evil, and start sharing food and caring for the needs of others, the world becomes a beautiful place, the LORD says.  Light shines into our lives and into the world.  Our bones, and the bones of our neighbors, will become strong, God says.  Ancient ruins will be rebuilt, roads repaired, safe streets created.

It couldn’t be simpler: caring for others and dealing with all that entrenched evil is the pathway God says leads to a world as God intended it to be.

Likewise, when we take our Sabbath rest and focus weekly on our love of God, we not only are filled with that love.  We actually begin living in such a way that we are children of God, sharing all the delight that means.  We take our inheritance alongside Jacob and all the other ancestors of faith, Isaiah says.

Our lives become one with God and with each other.

When God’s people see their entire lives as worship, their entire lives as shaped by love of neighbor and love of God, things in God’s world will dramatically improve.  That’s the promise.  The world will become one with God’s will and intent.  And God’s healing will begin to flow everywhere.

The image that seems to come to my heart the most in these words is this line: “You shall be a watered garden.”

Our whole lives of faith begin with the sense of the loss of Eden, the loss of intimacy with God and with each other.  Ever since, humanity has fought with each other, fought with God, separated our lives from each other and from God, and lived as if we were in charge.

And we wonder why things are so horrible.

Now we know: if we find true worship in God’s answer, we will find our lives and this whole world becoming like a watered garden, and we will find God restoring the creation through us, through all, into the world God has intended from the beginning.

And all things will be full of the knowledge of God, all our lives, everything will be worship, and we will see things we only have dreamed until now, for “the mouth of the LORD has spoken this.”

In the name of Jesus.  Amen