We may sometimes feel surrounded by all the signs of the end times Jesus gives us, but we live trusting our access to the Triune God through the work of the Son, holding onto our hope of forgiveness, and encouraging one another to love.  

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, Time after Pentecost 33, year B; texts: Hebrews 10:11-25; Mark 13:1-8

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

There’s a lot of interest in the end of the world these days.  People see wars and famines, natural disasters, shifts in global climate, and think the end must be near.  As a result, many Christians are buying into a deadly theology of destruction, Christian triumphalism and exclusion, such as that portrayed in the “Left Behind” series, as a way of dealing with fears the end times can inspire.  Some of this reaches into our political life, where these Christians believe that the end times demand that our government become an instrument of God’s plan, even if that means inciting war in the Middle East to bring about the end times, which makes the tension in this week’s news from Israel all the more concerning if such a political view would ever hold sway here.  However, a brief overview of history indicates that throughout the history of the Christian church, such fears and concerns are not a new thing.  Generation after generation seems to see their times as reflecting the approach of the end of the world.  Both Martin Luther and the Apostle Paul believed their own generation might see the end.

That all should give us a little perspective as we consider Jesus’ words in today’s Gospel.  It’s part of a large chapter of warnings and visions of the end times.  The perspective we find comes from two directions.  First, since virtually every generation has felt the anxiety ours seems to feel, perhaps we can set our fears aside a bit: we may be wrong, too.  And second, Jesus consistently asks just one thing of us whenever he talks of the end times: not that we anticipate the end and try to predict it, but simply that we live lives that are always ready.  So even if you’re someone who isn’t terribly anxious about the end times, there is still a call to live and be as a disciple that these readings give to us all.

What’s helpful about the reading from the letter to the Hebrews today is that this section not only gives us a way to calm our fears but also a very simple plan for living as “the Day approaches,” as the letter says.  In fact, the writer to the Hebrews essentially gives us the outline for an old-fashioned three point sermon, offering three simple encouragements for living in such times, regardless of when the end comes.

The three points are built on one of the key arguments of this letter: that Jesus has made a sacrifice once and for all that brings God’s people to perfection, that saves us, and that gives us forgiveness.  Jesus throughout this letter is portrayed as the great high priest, the one who brings us permanently into God’s presence.  There is no longer need for Temple sacrifice, atoning sacrifice, or any sacrifice anymore, because Jesus, our great high priest, in his death and resurrection has made all right with God.  In Jesus, as the writer quotes today, the prophecies of Jeremiah are fulfilled, that God will make a new covenant, a new promise with us, a covenant of forgiveness written on our hearts, a covenant of divine forgetfulness where God remembers our sins no more.

And then the writer says, “since.”  “Therefore, my friends, since” we have this confidence because of Jesus, we can do three things.  And that’s our context today.

First, let us approach God with a true heart and full assurance of faith, our writer says.

Because Jesus has opened the door for us to God, we can walk through it.  We don’t need a high priest to do this for us anymore, because the Son of God has opened this access for all.  So we can confidently approach God in prayer, in life, in all things.

And as we consider whether we might be in the end times, this is good news.  There is now nothing between us and God.  I think we sometimes take this for granted.  But it’s a tremendous gift.

Consider that no matter what happens in your life, in this world, nothing can separate you from God’s love in Jesus, as Paul says in Romans.  Not even wars, or natural disasters, or human evil, or anything that is terrifying.  Not even our own sinfulness.  We now have access to God.  I remember as a child that the thing I needed to know about my parents was not that they could fix everything that happened or could happen.  What I needed to know was that they were there for me, that I could come to them if I was in need.  This is the gift Jesus gives us, that God will always be open to us.

We can pray, knowing that Father, Son, and Holy Spirit hear us and promise to be with us always.  We come here in worship knowing that the way to God is open to us, that here in this place we will be filled with the presence and grace of almighty God because of what the Son of God has done.

So sisters and brothers, since we have this access to God, let us indeed approach God with a true heart and full assurance of faith.

Second, let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for the one who has promised is faithful, our writer says.

You see, not only can we approach the Triune God, we know that God will never abandon us.  Our hope is based on this work of Jesus, that we are made clean and forgiven and have life with God now and in the world to come.  So we can approach God not only because Jesus has opened the way, but we also know what our reception will be.  We know we will be welcomed into loving arms every time.

It’s our hope and promise – a promise made by a faithful God – that we belong to God forever.  As the writer to Hebrews reminds us today, where there is forgiveness of sins, there is no longer any offering for sin.  God will remember our sins no more, and that is assured, a promise.

And no matter how difficult the world gets, no matter if we think it’s the end of all times or not, God will be faithful to this promise.  We don’t have to worry that the door will be closed, or that anything can take us away from our access to God in Jesus.  Our trust is in a faithful God who keeps promises.  And a God who knows all we’ve done and still claims us as beloved, as forgiven, as restored children.

So sisters and brothers, since we have this access to God, approaching God with faith let us hold fast to this confession of our hope, because God will always be faithful.

And third, living in these first two ways, let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, the writer says.

This, then, becomes the center of our life: living connected to God, holding fast to hope, we provoke, irritate, exhort, encourage each other to loving actions.

The legend is that when Luther was asked what he’d do if he knew the world was ending tomorrow, he said he’d plant a tree.  Whether he really said that or not, that would be living as Hebrews suggests.  No matter what time is left, we live encouraging each other and ourselves to be loving.  We live doing good for the sake of God’s ministry to the world.  There is nothing else we need do, or are called to do.

This is consistent with the rest of the message of the Bible, that love of God and love of neighbor are the shape and focus of our lives.  And if it does happen to be the end – as the Day approaches, as Hebrews says, or even just the end of our individual lives – what does it matter?  We’ve got access to God, we’re forgiven by God, and now we’ve got plenty of good to do, plenty of God’s love to share.

We’re commissioned in our baptism to be agents of God’s love in the world.  To give all this Good News we’re talking about, all this perspective, to the rest of the world, so that the “us” we’ve been talking about now includes everyone.  And we can now help each other, remind each other, provoke each other to such love, such good in the world.

So sisters and brothers, since we have this access to God, approaching God with faith, holding fast to our hope, let us indeed consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds.

Here’s the truth: our Lord Jesus teaches us we need not be afraid, whether we’re near the end or not.

We have access to God in Jesus, we can approach God with confidence, holding fast to the hope of God’s love, and encourage each other to love and good deeds.  This is a way of life to live that gives us rich, abundant life.  We belong to a God who will be with us in this life and in the next.

What more do we need to know?  Well, just this, our writer says: it is in this place where God strengthens and fills us as we gather together.  So the way the writer says we encourage and provoke each other is by not neglecting to meet together in this place, this place where we are filled with God’s Word and Meal, and where we support each other.

That’s why we gather here week after week: it is here we are fed, strengthened, empowered, forgiven, loved, encouraged, by God and by each other.  That’s why it is fundamental to our life here that we welcome the stranger and sojourner here, and invite them into our worship life, our gathering, that they might also have assurance and hope.  Here is our life and hope, together, and here we are fed and sent to the rest of the world, until that day when our Lord does return.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Jesus asks us to give all of ourselves to God and neighbor.  Yet, our gifts often do not live up to this call because often we give out of inspiration or guilt.  Only by receiving faith through the Holy Spirit can we give as the Triune God calls us to give.

Vicar Neal Cannon, Time after Pentecost, Sunday 32, year B; text: I Kings, 17:8-16, Mark 12:38-44, Psalm 146

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

Our readings today are about two widows.  One widow gave her last two coins to the church and one who gave her last bit of bread to Elijah.  Our lessons are about two incredible women, who gave everything they had to God.

A few weeks ago I wrote an article in the Olive Branch about how these sorts of lessons make us aware of our own guiltiness and sin.  They drive us to fall on our knees before God and seek the grace and forgiveness that Jesus Christ offers on the cross.  To respond with grace is the right instinct to have and true to the Gospel.  But after writing this article a question lingered in my mind:  Does Jesus really ask us to give everything like the two widows in our readings?

I have to answer yes because Jesus is clear in Gospel.  Our call is to give everything to God.

Just before our story today, Jesus proclaims the two greatest commandments are to love the LORD your God with ALL your heart and with ALL your soul and with ALL your mind, and to love your neighbor as yourself.  This is tantamount to Jesus saying love God and your neighbor fully.

In the gospel today, Jesus addresses wealthy people who are making a big show of giving large sums of money in church.  And even though their gifts are large, their only giving a small portion of their earnings.  So Jesus lifts up the example of a widow who gives two small copper coins, practically nothing in comparison, and says the widow has given more than the rest of them combined.

Now, just to be clear, through Jesus, we are given grace and forgiveness whether we give 1%, 10%, or 99% of money, and time, and gifts to God.  So our generosity is not a matter of salvation.  But still, it’s clear that the scriptures are always calling us to fully give our hearts to the Triune God and to our neighbor.

And I wonder if we can actually do it.

Sometimes as wealthy Christians in a wealthy nation we give out of guilt.  We give because we feel bad about having more than others.  But that never causes us to give what Jesus is asking us to give.  It causes us to give just enough to feel better about ourselves afterwards.

For example, have you ever walked past a homeless person and then felt guilty about it?  Think about how much that really inspired you to give, and how long that feeling lasted.  If you’re like me, you feel guilty for awhile, and that might inspire you to do something, but not much and afterwards nothing has really changed in your life.  So often we tell ourselves that giving everything we have like the two widows in our stories is impossible.

Yet, we know that all throughout history people have given up everything to follow Jesus.  A few weeks ago we remembered St. Francis of Assisi.  St. Francis was once a rich young man, who is not altogether unlike the rich young man in the gospel.  The main difference between the two was when St. Francis encountered the gospel, he gave away everything he had to the poor and followed Jesus.

Mother Theresa is another who believed that we could give all of ourselves to God.  She once famously said, “By blood, I am Albanian. By citizenship, an Indian. By faith, I am a Catholic nun.  As to my calling, I belong to the world.  As to my heart, I belong entirely to the Heart of Jesus.”

One of my heroes of faith is a man named Shane Claiborne who wrote the book Irresistible Revolution.  Shane is a person who gave up everything to follow God.

One day I heard Shane was going to be in Minnesota, so I went to see him speak.  He had a really great presentation, so afterwards I went to talk to him and I was really excited and said, “Hey Shane, my name is Neal, thanks so much for that talk.  It was really great.”  Shane smiled politely and said the usual courtesy, “thanks for coming.”

And I stood there for a second, and after an awkward pause I said, “Your book really changed my life.”

I thought about this afterward and I realized, “well, that’s not true… my life wasn’t changed.”  I was inspired to write a small check to the Simple Way and then go hear him speak, but my life wasn’t really changed.

Inspiration, like guilt, is only a passing feeling.  And just like guilt, giving out of inspiration doesn’t move us towards giving in the way that Jesus calls us to give.

These heroes of the faith inspire us, but there is a disconnect in our lives where we’re inspired by our heroes, but we really don’t think we can be like them.  And whenever we pause to consider giving all of ourselves to God and neighbor like our heroes of faith, what we end up experiencing is either inspiration or guilt, and ultimately we say that we can’t do it.

Giving is not difficult because we don’t care; I believe we care immensely for our neighbors.  We feel guilty because we do care.  So when I look at our gospel today and reading from I Kings, I wonder what keeps us from being the people we want to be and how the Gospel drives us towards great acts of love?

In I Kings Elijah has just proclaimed that a drought will come over the land because the Israelites are worshipping other gods.  And so the drought comes, and Elijah is affected by this drought along with the people.  In order to survive, God tells Elijah to go to a widow in Zarephath of Sidon and she will give him bread and water.  Now, Sidon is an area in the Middle East that worshipped other gods. This is important because it tells us that the widow is not an Israelite.

So God commands Elijah to go to the widow.  He does but there are two problems. First, the widow doesn’t seem to recognize she’s been called by God to feed Elijah, and second, the widow and her family are dying from the drought.

You can hear the anguish of the woman’s voice when she speaks. “As the LORD your God (notice how she says your God, not my God) lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die.”

Her pain and fear and anger are palpable.  It’s like she’s asking “Who are Elijah and his God to ask me to give everything when I have nothing?”  Because she knows that if she gives up her last bits of food she will be staring into pure emptiness and death.

Still, Elijah persists in asking for bread, telling the woman that she will not go hungry.  To me this is shocking and incredibly bold because I would be ashamed to ask someone in this situation for food.  But Elijah trusts God, so he persists saying that God has said the meal and oil used to make the bread would not go empty until it rains again.

Then two incredible things happen that I want to lift up.  First, is that it works.  The meal and oil multiply.  But the second amazing thing that happens in this story is that the widow says yes.  She looks at her meager portions, contemplates having nothing, contemplates death for her and her family, and says yes to Elijah and thereby yes to the God of Israel.  She gives everything to him.

What makes this incredible is that we know the widow doesn’t do it out of guilt, because she is the one who is starving.  If anything, Elijah should feel guilty for asking her for bread.  What’s more, we know that this pagan widow had no faith in the God of Israel to begin with, yet by a miracle she was given faith in God’s word, and God’s word did not come back empty.

True, it is a miracle that her rations increased but to me the greater miracle is that this pagan woman in a terrible situation said yes to God.

I think what helps me understand both miracles better is a phrase I learned in seminary, creatio ex nihilo.  This is a Latin phrase and what this means is that God is constantly creating (creatio) something out of nothing (ex nihilo).  There are tons of examples of this all over the Bible.  In Genesis the story of Sarah and Abraham teaches us that God gives Sarah a child in barren womb.  In Exodus, God gives manna and water and quail to his people in the desert.  And in the Gospel, Jesus is raised from death to life.  In all these stories God takes something that looks like nothing and through faith and trust creates something incredible.

And this idea of creatio ex nihilo helps us understand how the saints are able to give everything they have to God.  These people were given faith by God so much that when they face poverty and death and destruction they see emptiness, but they believe, and hope, and trust that God is at work – that God is doing something in empty places.

To have this kind of faith is difficult in America because we are a consumerist culture and we’re told every day to have faith in things, not in God.

In college I was a business communications major, and one of the things we learned is that businesses don’t sell you products anymore.  They try to sell you love and community and freedom because these are things the human heart actually desires.  Next time you turn on the TV during commercials hit the mute button and try to guess what they are actually selling you, or what they are actually wanting you to believe.

For example Best Buy’s logo awhile back (maybe still?) was, “You Happier.”  Think about what that’s telling us.  It’s promising the emptiness in our lives can be filled by cool electronics.  I’m not picking on Best Buy because nearly every company does this these days.  And this message is so pervasive that sometimes without knowing it we believe the message that things do make us happier.

And when we start trusting in things, there is not a lot of room to trust in God.

And its not just things that we trust in, sometimes we trust ideas and politicians and a number of other things.  But as often as not, they let us down.  I don’t know if this past week’s election was good or bad for you, but at the end of the day as Christians we have to claim that the government is not where we put our trust.  Politicians make endless promises, but I think we know that whether they are well intentioned or not, they can’t fulfill them all.

As our Psalm tells us today, “put not your trust in rulers, in mortals in whom there is no help.”

The world makes lots of promises, but the Triune God tells us they are empty promises.

This week Mount Olive is sending out pledge cards in the mail to all its members.  And I hope when we are called to give to Mount Olive, or to the poor, or to the widow, or whatever ways we are called to give, that it is not out of guilt, but out of trust that when God calls us to give of ourselves we trust that the Triune God is at work doing incredible things like turning our emptiness into community and love and freedom and grace and forgiveness.

And I pray that like the widow of Zarephath, the Holy Spirit comes to each of us, so that we may receive this faith and say yes to God and then believe that God is at work in our lives calling us even now to do things that we don’t expect.  Let us say yes to God’s word and respond, not out of inspiration or guilt, but out of the faith we are given by the Holy Spirit.  Let us give our whole heart to Jesus.

Amen.

The Incarnate Son of God is with us now, offering life on this side of the grave, promising to be our life and joy in the bleak ugliness of a world of death, and giving us our song of Alleluia.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, All Saints Sunday, year B; texts: John 11:(17-31) 32-44; Revelation 21:1-6; Isaiah 25:6-9

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

This is a day when we speak of death like no other except perhaps Easter Day itself.  We gather to worship, as we always do, with those who have died and are at rest in this nave, at the side of our gathering space.  We gather to worship, as we always do, with those saints who have gone before us and surround the throne of God, sharing our praise and our worship.  We gather to worship, and on this day we sing of those saints of times past and of our past, icons of the faith and loved ones who taught us the faith, and we remember that they even now live in the presence of the God whom we have gathered once more to worship this day.  And in this space it’s a beautiful thing: beautiful sights, beautiful music, beautiful words, beautiful smells, beautiful people whose embrace of peace gives us life.  Our celebration of all the saints who from their labors rest is one of the more beautiful liturgies we do every year.

But this is a day when we speak of death like no other except perhaps Easter Day itself.  And on this day we hear Martha of Bethany speak a truth that is not beautiful, it is ugly.  On this day we encounter two sisters who see nothing but grief and sadness, anger and disappointment, not beauty and joy.  Martha’s truth is the reason: “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.”  Nothing can sugarcoat her reality, no words, no song, no beauty.  Her brother sickened, suffered, struggled, and died.  And now he rots, and he smells.  And if the Lord Jesus doesn’t understand that, Martha thinks, well, someone ought to remind him.

This is a day when we speak of death like no other except perhaps Easter Day itself.  So let us not forget what dear Martha said, the truth about this death we all face.  It is ugly.  It smells.  It terrifies us.  It is absence, not presence.  Helplessness, not strength.  There are tears.  It disrupts our lives, causes us to wake at night in a sweat.  Whether it’s the sudden death of a dear brother in Christ from our midst, or the unspeakable tragedy of hundreds dying at the waves of an incomprehensible storm, or the lingering, painful dying of someone we love, or the catastrophe of children lacking enough food to see their fifth birthday or even their first, there is little beautiful about death for us.  We cannot live a day without the presence of death, and to be honest, the fact that Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead 2,000 years ago really has no meaning for us today.  Good for him.  Good for Lazarus.  But we stand at gravesides in so many ways in our lives, the people we connect with in this story are these two sisters.  Because they, like us, are on this side of the grave.  They, like us, have faced the ugliness of death.  They, like us, have questions of Jesus, the Son of God.

These two beautiful sisters help us.  And they help us in the way they are different from each other.

Martha, the bold one, the one who is unafraid to speak up about her sister when she’s not helping with the dinner for their guest, Martha reaches the depths of her anger and disappointment in her pain.  She comes out on the road to confront Jesus, her Lord and master, the one in whom she hoped.  She is so angry that her brother died, as we all can be, but she is the more angry because she believes Jesus has caused this death by his indifference.

Her disappointment and wrath are palpable as she goes to meet him, not waiting for him to arrive at their house: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”  Death faced them, their beloved brother suffered, and they had sent word to the only One whom they knew could help.  They’d seen him heal others, this would be easy for him.  But he blew it.  He didn’t care.  He didn’t come.  And now my brother lies dead, and he stinks.  And all this stinks, Jesus.

Mary, the quiet one, the one who sat at Jesus’ feet to listen while her sister banged pots in the kitchen in annoyance with her, Mary reaches the depths of her sadness and disappointment in her pain.  She does not come out to meet Jesus at first.  She remains in the house, overcome by grief.  She weeps in her loss and pain, unable to speak, unable to do anything.  And only when he calls for her does she come out to see him.

Then her sadness spills out, her disappointment: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”  Death faced them, their beloved brother suffered, and they had sent word to the only One whom they knew could help.  They’d seen him heal others, this would be easy for him.  But he didn’t come.  And Lazarus died.  And Mary can only weep.

And for us, our grief and fear at death moves between the anger and sadness of these sisters.  But mostly, we share their disappointment: if Jesus is who we say he is, if he is the Son of God, if he truly loves us and can heal, then how can all this happen?  If the Triune God has created a beautiful world, and given us all we need, and loves us enough to become one of us, then how can any of this be allowed?  Why all this ugliness, this stench, this desolation that seems to pervade the world?

Isaiah says it well, it’s as if there’s a great death-shroud spread over the entire world, and if we sometimes get glimpses of sunshine and light, it’s only when there’s a brief tear in the fabric.

What is so powerful about Martha is her clarity of what she thinks she needs at this point.

Jesus doesn’t defend himself.  He says, “Your brother will rise again.”  And isn’t this the promise we always remember?  There will be a resurrection.  There is life in the world to come.  It’s the promise of Isaiah, and of Revelation today.  It’s the promise of Easter Day, the resurrection of Jesus himself, which promises life for us all after death.  That in the days to come, on the mountain of the Lord, in the new creation, the Lord will make all things new, will wipe away every tear, and death will be no more.  This is the salvation we have waited for, says Isaiah, says us.

Martha wants to hear none of this.  Not now.  She is still on this side of the grave, and has no interest in a future promise, at least not right now.  She says to Jesus, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.”  But she seems to suggest that doesn’t do anything for her problem with Jesus.

And perhaps that’s an honesty we would admit if we could.  As much as we believe and hope in the resurrection of the dead on the last day, and so we do, there are times when that hope doesn’t seem sufficient to counter the ugliness of today.  When we, like Martha, aren’t terribly helped by promises such as Isaiah and the Revelation give today.

It’s not that we don’t believe that we will be together in eternal life after we die.  Certainly we do.  Certainly Martha does.  It’s just that right now we’re not there.  We’re grieving, or angry, or disappointed with God.  We’re struggling with senseless tragedies and painful losses of loved ones.  And hope for the future sometimes doesn’t seem like enough.

Yes, yes, that’s beautiful, we say with Martha.  But we’re in the midst of the ugly right now.  What will you do about that, Lord?

And since we’re standing with the sisters, let’s look where they are looking.  Let’s look into the face of Jesus when we ask that question, and see, and open our ears and hear.

Because Jesus’ most important acts in this story happen before he ever gets them to roll the stone from Lazarus’ tomb.  Here are the really important things he does for them and for us:

He stands unafraid of Martha’s anger and disappointment and meets her where she needs to be met.  You have theological questions, Martha?  Let me give you one, he says.  What if you understood that I AM the resurrection and the life, and that you have life in me now and always, even if you die, and if you believe in me you will never die?

He isn’t just talking about resurrection at the end time, because Martha wants more than that.  And he gives her more.  He promises that trusting in him regardless of apparent circumstances, regardless of how ugly things seem, will mean life, even on this side of the grave.  And he asks Martha if she believes this.

But he also stands unafraid of Mary’s paralyzing sadness and disappointment and meets her where she needs to be met.  He doesn’t offer her theological argument, because Mary doesn’t want that.  He stands with her, loves her.  And weeps with her.

And in so doing he puts into action what he was telling Martha: that he will never leave us alone on this side of the grave, and he will grieve with us, and weep at the ugliness and stench of this broken world alongside us.  And that he will bless us and our grief by being present with us in it.  By being resurrection and life in the midst of an ugly, dead world.

And you know what?  As we stand with these sisters, then the question put to Martha in words and to Mary in presence is now put to us: is this enough?  Do you believe?

Do you believe, says the Lord, that I love you enough not to abandon you here in this ugliness?  That not only do I hold your loved ones and all the dead in my arms and raise them to everlasting life, but I come to be with you now, and will never leave you?

Do you believe that I am here in this place as you worship, blessing you with beautiful words, beautiful music, beautiful smells, beautiful sights, beautiful people to embrace you with peace, because that gift of beauty can help you through the ugliness?

Do you believe, says the Lord, that I actually come to you in that bit of bread and wine, that it’s me, your Resurrection and your Life, and that through that meal together you are fed by my life and sustenance and you are sharing that meal even with all those who have gone before you?  That my Word is alive and active in this place and in your lives and will lead and guide you into all truth, truth that frees and gives you life?

Do you believe this? Jesus says to us.  Is it enough? he asks.

John the seer heard these words in his vision, a voice coming from the throne of God himself, words he shares with us today: “See, the home of God is among mortals.  “He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them.”  And the Son of God says to us today, Do you realize that this vision is not just of the future but of the present?  That I am with you always, now, on this side of the grave?  That the home of the Triune God is among you, and God is living with you now?

This is Jesus’ answer to the sisters, and to us: I was here when Lazarus was sick, and died.  And I am here now, with you.  And in every way that matters I will always be with you, because this is where I am home, with you.  And I will hold you and bless you in the midst of all suffering and pain that this ugly world has, until you can see its beauty as I do.

This is a day when we speak of death like no other except perhaps Easter Day itself.  

And we speak truthfully of the ugliness of death, but it does not overwhelm us or destroy us, because of Easter Day itself.  Because this Jesus, our Lord, the Son of God, has destroyed death’s power and is able to keep the promise he made to those sisters and to us, to be with us here, on this side of the grave, until it is our time to go to our own rest.

Because the home of God is among mortals, and it is here we need our tears wiped and our questions answered, here we need the gift of trust and faith in the One who did not stay away but has come to be with us always.  So that it is more true than anything we know that we say, “even at the grave we sing our song: Alleluia.  Alleluia.”  And it is beautiful.  More beautiful than we ever could have imagined.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

God’s truth for us, that we are loved and forgiven and called to new life is freedom for us.  We are free in God’s love to reject it, to make no room in our hearts, but there is always room in God’s heart for us.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, Reformation Sunday; texts: Jeremiah 31:31-34; John 8:31-36

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

We’re all powerfully tired of the election by now, I’m sure.  And one of the things I’m tired of is the abuse and misuse of the concept of freedom.  Americans have a convenient way of trumpeting the words of our founders and shaping the tune to mean whatever they want it to mean.  So we find ourselves each election year struggling with this peculiar American sin of people wanting freedom to do what they want, but who don’t want others to have the same freedoms.  Or people who want to be free of the government’s influence and control, but who wish the government to control others.  People who fail to realize that denying freedom to others always restricts and abridges their own freedom.  Freedom is a wonderful thing.  But we’ve become so used to having it that we barely recognize when we misuse it, or deny it to others.

Which makes Jesus’ words so compelling as they arrive in our lives near the end of this election cycle.  Jesus promises freedom to those who live in his word.  It’s a good thing, we think, to be free.  But if that means we have responsibility for our own lives, and for the lives of others, that’s also a very frightening thing if you think about it.  So when Jesus tells us today that when we live, abide, dwell in his word we find the truth that frees us, we need to be careful to ask ourselves if we know what that means, and once we know, if we want that freedom after all.

In one sense, we’ve never lived without this promise of freedom, for most of us have lived most of our lives hearing the promise of God’s forgiveness.

Jesus brings up the idea of slavery versus freedom, concepts easily understood in his day, but perhaps less clear to us who live in a relatively free society.  Those who do not face the reality of their sin, who simply act and live without thought, who continue trapped in their broken human nature without recognizing it, live as slaves to sin, Jesus says, even though they might think they are free.

Those who always know it’s someone else’s fault when they do wrong, live as slaves to sin.  Those who judge others while justifying their own wrong, live as slaves to sin.  Those who don’t resist their own tendencies to do wrong, but go with “it’s the way I’ve always been,” live as slaves to sin.

And it’s attractive, that’s why we do it.  You never have to face the hard questions, make the hard decisions.  Just act as you want, and justify it on that basis.  Go with the flow, and you don’t have to work to be different.

And so God’s love for us in Jesus is a word of life: we can be free from that bondage.  We need not be controlled by our instincts, unable to choose.  Forgiven and loved by God in Jesus, we are free.

We’re free to make decisions about our lives, to do what we choose to do.  To take responsibility for our lives and for the world.  And that’s God’s real problem.  Once we’re free, we can still choose wrongly as easily as well as when we were unaware of our enslavement.  And that we certainly do.

God takes a great risk in freeing us: what if we don’t choose well with the responsibility we’re given?

We don’t often think of God’s faith in us, but that’s the reality of our lives.  Think of a parent’s faith in a child.  At each stage of a child’s life there are things a parent needs to learn to trust the child to do.

And for that child, the trust is the key: When I think of times my children have wanted to know if I trusted them, the worst thing I could do was voice my doubts.  I needed simply to give them the message, the concrete sense, that I did trust them.

And of course parents have doubts.  They don’t know at any of the stages of their child’s life if they can handle that new level of trust.  And children often have very high opinions of their own ability to be worthy of that trust.  But at some point if any are going to be effective and good parents, they take a leap of faith and trust their children.  They are there if they fall; they pray that they can fix things if they go seriously wrong; but they must learn to trust.

And this is God’s reality: freeing us from slavery to sin, giving us freedom to choose right from wrong, to choose to love God and neighbor or choose not to, all lead God to a leap of faith.

There is no guarantee that we will live in love with God and each other.  In fact, human history suggests that it’s a good bet we won’t.  Yet Jesus reveals to us that the Triune God has decided to take that risk.  To risk faith in us.

And the image our readings today use to show this is the image of our hearts.  God makes a new covenant, a new promise, in Jeremiah.  Where God’s law, the way of God for us in the world, is written on our hearts, so we know it intimately.  And God promises to forgive our failings, even to forget them.

But the risk is that we won’t allow this to be written on our hearts, to change our hearts and lives.  And powerfully, that’s just what Jesus says in today’s Gospel has happened.

“You look for an opportunity to kill me,” he says, “because there is no place in you for my word.”  That’s incredibly chilling, hearing these two words from God together.  “I will write this on your heart – but there is no place in you for my word.”

Our freedom means this: we can make room for God in our hearts.  Or we can close them.

We can open our hearts to see all we have is gift from God, entrusted to us, and give back joyously and generously.  Or we can close our hearts and see all that we have is ours to keep.

We can open our hearts to look at others and see Jesus, and so reach out to them in love, offer them grace and forgiveness, be God’s love for them.  Or we can close our hearts and judge others and treat them as less than we are, unworthy of our love and attention.

We can open our hearts and see our brokenness and sin, and confess it to God, trusting in God’s love and forgiveness.  Or we can close our hearts and pretend we are righteous, needing no forgiveness or correction or grace from God because we know what is right even more than God.

“You look for an opportunity to kill me,” Jesus says, “because there is no place in you for my word.”  Is there room in our hearts for God’s love, God’s direction, God’s guidance?  Or in our freedom are we keeping it closed, lest by coming in God might change us, redirect us, make each of us into a different person?

We’ve been hearing this from the Scriptures now for most of the summer and fall, that God wishes to change us from within, make us new people, free us that we might become like the children of God we were meant to be.  But are we still seeking to kill Jesus’ influence in our lives, in our hearts, if it means we’re going to be someone different, as if we have no room for him in our hearts?

This is a hard word to think on.  But as we do, we remember this: no matter whether or not we have room for God in our hearts, what we know absolutely is that there is always room in God’s heart for us.

“If you continue in my Word,” says Jesus, “you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”  And this promise is never taken back.  This gift is never withdrawn due to rejection.  Even after the disciples’ betrayal and failure on Thursday and Friday, the risen Jesus returns to them in love Sunday, and after.  Offering them forgiveness, even breakfast, and loving them.  That love is not withdrawn.  There is always room in God’s heart for you.  And that is our hope.

And the miracle is, no matter how often we’ve closed our hearts to God, not only is there always room in God’s heart for us, God always takes the chance that this next time, this once, we’ll make room in our hearts, too.  Again, the risen Jesus comes to the disciples and not only forgives and loves them.  He calls them to love, invites them to follow once again, charges them with a commission to spread God’s love to the world.

Jesus takes the leap of faith once more.  And so Jesus continues to do with us each day.

Freedom is a frightening thing.  It’s easier to be a slave to sin, to shun responsibility for our actions and our lives.

But freedom as God gives us is life.  Freedom in the love of God is life.  Freedom to be the love of God is life.

Do we have any room for this in our hearts?  Our good news is that God’s heart has room for us, for you, and always will.  God has taken a leap of faith in you, in all of us, hoping we’ll respond with our love for God and for the world.  This is the truth that is Jesus.  Once we know it, then we’ll really know what it is to be free.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Jesus is a new kind of king who gives us a new perspective to see the world.  He walks the path to Jerusalem towards the cross, something we would never expect our king to do.  Through this unexpected journey, Jesus changes how we view God, the world, and our identity.  

Vicar Neal Cannon, Time after Pentecost, Sunday 29, year B; text: Isaiah 53:1-12, Hebrews: 5:1-10, Mark 10:32-45

As many of you may have heard, I spent these last few days out in Bismarck, visiting my grandmother who is in the last days of her life.  Much of my family was there, and when we weren’t sharing a tear or two together, we were telling stories.  So I was sitting there, sandwiched between my two uncles, who are the greatest “story” tellers of the bunch, and they start telling me stories of all the characters in North Dakota that they had gotten to know over the years.  Some were more memorable than others, and some were more repeatable than others. One in particular stands out that I wanted to share with you all today.

They were telling me a story of two family friends.  They were an older couple who had passed away within a short time frame of one another.  And after they passed away the sheriff came in along with some family and friends, and started to kind of go through their things, as people do when somebody passes away.  These people didn’t have much.  In fact they had hardly anything.  They lived on a farm and between them shared an old beater pickup truck.  They had no TV, and only had space heaters to heat their home in the winter.  They didn’t have particularly fancy clothes, and they were living in a very modest home, so much so that their floors were basically nothing more than floorboards on top of leveled dirt.

When they were going through their things, one of the family members remembered that they hid some of their savings under the floor, and when they found it, they found $90,000 in cash that had been tucked away underneath those floorboards.  And I think this gets us all wondering, what in the world were they doing storing $90,000 in the floorboards?!

Now, I don’t know about you, but I could find a lot of things to do with $90,000 in cash.  In fact, I’m pretty sure I could burn through 90,000 dollars pretty quickly.  I’d probably go out right away and buy a new car, get myself some new clothes, and probably go on a vacation or two before the year was over.

I got to thinking about this and I realized that this must have been a matter of perspective.  From an outsider’s perspective, they were poor.  This couple hardly had any nice things.  They didn’t have enough.  But to them, and perhaps a few people who were closest to them, they had plenty. They had a roof over their heads, a bed to sleep on, family, friends, and everything they needed in life.

Oh yeah, and $90,000 tucked underneath the floorboards that they apparently they couldn’t think of a way to use.

Our Isaiah text today is all about perspective as well.  The text starts out as a confession.  The author of Isaiah introduces a servant to us, and he admits, he’s overlooked this figure.  The servant is not rich, tall, or exceptionally attractive.  In fact, the servant wasn’t well received by those around him and so he was persecuted and rejected.  Then the author goes on and describes this person.

Tell me which person in the Bible this sounds like.  Verse 5 says this person was wounded for our sins.  Who in the Bible was wounded for our sins?  Verse 6 describes us as sheep?  Who in the Bible is our shepherd?  Verse 9 tells us that they killed the servant alongside wicked people?  Sounds a little bit like the crucifixion, doesn’t it?

Some of my professors at the seminary and most of the scholars I have read would probably take some issue with what I’m about to say next, but this is one time where the Sunday school answer is OK.  These lines make us think of Jesus.  As a Christian, I can’t help but see anything but Jesus in this verse.  It looks and smells and tastes like Jesus to me.

And I find it really interesting and helpful to us that our author admits that this servant of God just doesn’t look like much of anything at all.  The servant doesn’t look like the arm of God, but yet by the end of it all the author admits that there is something special about this character.  Something that changes the way he sees the servant.  The servant gives our writer a new perspective, a new lens to see God and the world.

And when I was reading this, I began to wonder if we would have the right lens to see Jesus today.  I mean, if you’ve been a Christian for a long time you’ve heard a lot about Jesus, what he was like, the things he taught, and if you put it together that Jesus was Middle-Eastern, you might have an idea of what he could look like, and what kind of things he might say, but what if he was in the back of the room?

Would we be able to pick him out? Would we welcome him right away?  Or would we be suspicious and unsure of him because he’s a stranger?

I think this comes down to what we’re looking for.  Sometimes when we think of Jesus we think of the divine Jesus, with light coming from his body, clothed in splendor and majesty, just like the songs, because, after all, Jesus is our king and lord.  But if Jesus came to us, as he was when he lived on Earth, he might just look like an ordinary guy.  And I wonder if we would notice him.

In our gospel lesson today, the disciples James and John have seen a whole lot of things from Jesus already.  Jesus, just a few short chapters before, gives a blind man sight.  He has performed a number of miracles and people are wondering who he is.  Who is this guy?  And the disciples think they have a pretty good answer.  He is the Christ.  The son of God.  He is given miraculous abilities and is clearly being lifted up by God.  Peter affirms this in the previous chapter when he calls Jesus the Messiah.

But James and John recognize this too because they have seen the things that Peter has seen.  And they start thinking to themselves that Jesus is more than an ordinary guy, Jesus is a king.  And what are kings good for?  Well, kings have power and authority, and so kings are good for asking favors.  So James and John go to the king and they ask him for a favor.

But here’s the problem.  Jesus is not the kind of king they are expecting.  Their minds are stuck on human kings.  But Jesus is a new kind of king.  Jesus is a servant king. And the disciples still don’t get it even though Jesus, for the third time in Mark, shows them where he is going, and he points to Jerusalem, and says there the Son of Man is going to die.

This changes the way that we see things.  When Jesus becomes a servant, this changes the way that we see God.  Before, God was on high, a cloud on a mountain, he was distant and over there sitting on a throne.  But what happens when God puts on flesh and looks like a person?

I think this is what is so moving about our text in Hebrews today.  The text tells us that Jesus went through everything that we go through as humans, all of our pain and suffering, and hardship, and God heard Jesus’ cries and tears. But what does it mean when Jesus cries?  We don’t want a Jesus who cries because to cry means too close to the human heart.  Sometimes I think we are a little more comfortable with a God that is far away.  To cry also means to be human, to some it even means to be frail, but we want our God to be untouchable.  But the problem is that when Jesus puts on flesh, he is frail.  He hurts, the same way we hurt.

This is what James and John are having trouble with in our text today.  They want Jesus to be their kind of king, but Jesus shows them that in his kingdom, influence comes through service, not power.  So when Jesus gives sight to the blind, heals the sick, and walks on water, they see his power, but they can’t comprehend his service.

So James and John approach Jesus to sit at his right and his left, Jesus says, you don’t know what you’re asking.  Do you see where I am going?  I am going to Jerusalem to serve the world.  And do you know what’s going to happen there?  I am going to be killed. And then he goes on and says that they have to drink this same cup and be baptized with the same water.  James and John, say they can drink from the same cup, but it’s clear here that Jesus is trying to flip their perspective.  Jesus is trying to show them that being his follower is not a road for self-glory.  This is a servant’s road.

And this changes how we see ourselves doesn’t it?  Because following Jesus cracks us open and makes us look at ourselves.  When we get a little too full of ourselves, Jesus brings us back to earth.  It reveals our flaws but at the same time it reveals our worth.  It tells us that God values humanity enough to be with us.

Following Jesus means that we see our communities and neighborhoods differently, because when we see how much the Triune God values the world and chooses to be in the world, it helps us to see the value of our neighbor more fully.  By asking to sit at Jesus’ right and left, James and John seek to be above their peers and their neighbors.  So Jesus changes their perspective, and tells them to be last.

Think the different ways we treat our neighbors here at Mount Olive.  What is the community meal about if not a new way of seeing our neighbors?  The community meal is not only a way to serve this community, but it’s also a new way of being with the people in this neighborhood and valuing the people here.  If you have not been I encourage you to go sometime and get to know some of the people and their stories.  Some are homeless, some are down on their luck, some are families struggling to make it.  And in following Jesus we choose to be with them and for them in loving service.

My friends, let us walk the path to Jerusalem with Jesus.  Let us see the world through this lens.  Because when we do we see everything differently and we see Christ more clearly.  Christ shows us that authority comes from service, not power.  That love comes from being with our neighbors, not above them.  Let us gain a new perspective.

Thanks be to God.