Pentecost is our Annunciation, your call to let the Spirit fill you and transform you for the healing of the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
St. Mary, the Mother of Our Lord
Text: Luke 1:46-55

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

Pentecost is our Annunciation. It’s that simple.

Today we learn to model Mary, not worship her. Mary stands alongside us, urging us to join her in answering God’s invitation. To join her willingness to open herself completely to God’s work, even if it meant her world turned upside down. To say with her “let it be so,” and let God’s Spirit transform us for the life of the world.

Sharing Mary’s “yes” means letting down all sorts of boundaries with God.

And maybe only a pregnant woman can show us this. From the moment of conception, a pregnant mother shares her body with another being. There isn’t a breath taken that isn’t shared. Blood runs between the two. Food eaten, physical movement, all affect both. There’s distinction between the two, but the boundaries seem nearly transparent.

This is what God asked of Mary: to let down all boundaries and join with God for the healing of the world. To say, “let it be as you will,” and let God into her life wherever God needed to be.

And as much as we desire God’s presence in our lives, God’s grace in our hearts, there are some places inside our hearts with a “no admittance” sign, places where we say to God, “this far, and no further.” Where we say:

I don’t want you to challenge my preconception, my way of thinking. It’s mine to keep.     OR

I don’t want you to prod at that sin, that habit that hurts me and others. It’s comfortable to me.     OR

I’m not ready for you to change me fully into Christ, to set aside my needs. I like being number one in my plans.     OR

I don’t want you to open my heart fully to love you and love others. That vulnerability terrifies me. I’d rather limit my love, protect myself.

And God will let you give these answers. You, like Mary, can always say no.

But if God allows your “no,” what does that suggest about the Magnificat?

This powerful, brave, joyful song to God’s overturning of the world pours out of this young woman and still thrills us. God will cast down the mighty from their thrones. God will send the rich away empty and scatter the proud. God will lift up the lowly, fill the hungry with good things. God will bring healing and wholeness to the entire creation.

But if God inspires this song by inviting a teenage girl to bear Christ into the world, and if God waits for her “yes” before proceeding, that surely means this is how God will fulfill Magnificat’s promise with us, with you.

Mary, who wasn’t forced into “yes,” couldn’t sing a song about God forcing anyone else, either. When Mary’s child grew to an adult, Jesus invited people into the reign of God, called people to lose everything to find God’s life. The Son of God was so committed to not forcing humanity to follow, so committed to invitation rather than coercion, that he let us torture and kill him, rather than take up force against us.

So the Magnificat can’t be a manifesto for God’s forcing the world upside down. God’s approach to Mary, the Son of God’s consistent approach in preaching and teaching, dying and rising, declare this is also the only way God will accomplish Magnificat’s promise. Through you, and me, and all God’s children, saying “yes, let it be as you say, as you ask.”

We who are mighty, powerful, aren’t threatened to comply by God’s armies.

We’re invited by God’s sacrificial love to step down from our thrones of privilege and lift up those who are trodden down. We who are full, rich, sated with plenty, are invited to empty ourselves, to step away from the buffet table, so that all can feast, all are fed and housed and clothed. We who are proud, self-centered, who act consciously and unconsciously more out of self-interest than we care to admit, are invited to scatter all that pride, let go of all those self-satisfied thoughts. So we can truly become Christ.

This won’t be easy. Mary’s “yes” led her to great joys, but also pain and suffering. Dropping all boundaries and letting God enter in, for the healing of our world, for the healing of our own lives, always has cost, loss, risk. Mary’s “yes” led her to the foot of the cross where she saw her son brutally killed. A world turned upside down means we move down so that all might live.

But Mary’s path didn’t end at that cross.

She was there in those confusing, glorious days after Easter, able to take her beloved son into her arms again. She saw him ascend to his divine life. And she was there with about 120 women and men on that day, fifty days after he rose, when the Triune God came to all the believers in the wind and fire of the Holy Spirit, asking the same question Gabriel asked Mary. When the Annunciation came for the whole Church, when believers were invited to welcome the Holy Spirit into their hearts and lives, to drop all boundaries, to join with God, bearing Christ for the healing of the world.

Pentecost is your Annunciation. The Spirit will enter you, change you, when you say yes, and you will be richly blessed and become a blessing to the world. A part of God’s Magnificat overturning. Whatever you let go, whatever you’re asked to lose, you’ll realize they’re nothing compared to the joy of bearing Christ. You’ll find life and love in God’s heart on this path.

And Mary will walk alongside you, holding out her hand, saying, “All will be well. Come, let’s walk together.”

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

Don’t be afraid: God is pleased to give you the reign of God, here and in the world to come, for you and for all creatures and the creation.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 19 C
Texts: Luke 12:32-40; Genesis 15:1-6; Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16

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

Don’t be afraid, Jesus says.

God-with-us says it is God’s good pleasure to give you the reign of God.

Trust that, Jesus says. Trust that no matter what you think about the world, what you fear, despair about, all will be made new in God’s reign. Trust that no matter what you think about yourself or whether you’re worthy, God loves you unconditionally and says you are welcome, forgiven, beloved, enough. So you don’t have to be afraid.

For the second time in a couple weeks, you’re invited to trust God. And once again, Abraham’s trust is your model.

Two weeks ago Abraham trusted God’s nature, God’s goodness and mercy and spoke his heart to God. Today, he learns to trust God’s promises.

This is such a powerful moment in the history of God’s people that Paul builds a whole theology of grace out of it, and the writer of Hebrews spends a lot of time considering it. Abraham and Sarah are very old, and the promises God made seem impossible to Abraham. How can they have a child? Where will this promised land be? How will his descendants bless the whole world? Nothing has come of these promises. He’s leaving his goods to a slave since he has no heirs.

But God speaks to him, again, and says, again, “no, it will be your own children that will continue this promise.” And God shows him the stars and says, “that’s how uncountable your family will be.” And once again Abraham trusts. That’s what amazes Paul and the writer of Hebrews. With little evidence, Abraham continues to walk in faith, to serve God, to await the fulfilling of God’s promises. Look at him, they say. You could trust in that way, too.

But what promises are we talking about here?

Not Abraham’s list, so what is this reign of God? Hebrews here focuses on the heavenly city yet to come. There’s also a lot in this letter about our earthly pilgrimage, but here the writer says the ultimate promise of a life to come is what these faithful followers of old trusted from God.

And this is the reign of God Jesus promises: you can trust you have life to come after you die, a home in God’s heavenly reign. Even if you can’t see it, it’s there. But since no one can see this promise fulfilled unless they die, trust is your only option with this.

And yet, Jesus says God’s reign is also here now, in this life.

Jesus, the face of the Triune God for us, lived and proclaimed a reign of God here – on earth as in heaven, as he taught us to pray – where no one goes hungry. Where all who are thirsty are filled. Where strangers and aliens are welcomed and loved, where people imprisoned are cared for, and the sick and destitute are brought healing. Where the naked and homeless are clothed and sheltered. All that is promised for here.

And yet, this world doesn’t look at all like that. We live in a country that despises and abuses strangers and aliens, that burns 500 tons of food meant for starving children rather than give it to them, that targets vulnerable children and adults for abuse and hatred and exclusion under law. And the same is happening all over the world. There are few signs that God’s promised reign is here.

But, like Abraham, you’re asked to trust this promise anyway. Because what else Jesus says today.

The problem isn’t the promise. It’s how the promise is meant to happen.

Jesus’ coming as God in our flesh was to enlist God’s children, enlist you, enlist me, in making God’s reign happen here.

So Jesus says “don’t be afraid, God’s reign is yours” and then immediately says how you’ll be a part of this reign. Sell your possessions and give to those who lack, he says. Always be dressed for action, lamps lit, ready to serve God wherever needed. This is how God’s reign will happen. When you and I keep at it, doing our work, being God’s love.

Didn’t Christ say “you will serve me when you serve someone who is starving, or thirsty, or naked, or sick, or in prison, or a stranger”? When you serve the world in love, you’re in God’s reign. When you see God’s face in all people, you’re in God’s reign. When you realize God’s Spirit is in you and in all, you’re in God’s reign. When you see God in your enemy and are drawn to love them, you’re in God’s reign.

And remember, this is all God’s idea, God’s passion.

We didn’t come up with the idea of this reign of God that you and I so desperately want to see happen here. Everything we care about – justice, ending oppression, welcoming all, making peace and shelter and food and safety for all, building a world of hope and healing – all this is the Triune God’s idea first. God’s reign. God’s plan.

We sometimes forget that. We despair because we see so much wrong and think we can only do a little. But this is the Triune God’s dream, that all live in God’s reign. You can’t see how your little part, your love, your kindness, your activism, your devotion, your prayer, your work, is going to affect the whole thing. But you don’t have to. Let God see the big picture. Trust God is bringing this reign about, and do what you find yourself called to do. That’s how it will happen.

Don’t be afraid. The Triune God is pleased to do this, Jesus says.

Even if you die – and you will – there is life in God’s reign waiting for you. Trust that, and don’t be afraid of death.

And since God is also bringing this reign here, you get to be a part of that, too. If you can’t see how that could be, look at Abraham and remember he trusted with very little evidence. Ask the Spirit to help you find that trust, too.

And even if you and I don’t live long enough to see this all come to be, that’s OK, too. God’s got the big picture. As you serve and love as Christ, you’ll see parts emerge that bring joy.

So don’t be afraid. God has promised this and will do it. You can trust your life to it. And the life of the world.

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

The grind and anxiety of modern life can make us as “What was it all for?” But our risen life in Christ leads us to contentment that leads to true joy.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 18 C
Text: Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14, 2:18-23; Psalm 49:1-12; Colossians 3:1-11; Luke 12:13-21

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

What was it all for?

Our readings today beg us to ask this question–a teacher at the end of their life, tired and regretting all their time working, spending time doing things they thought would make them safe and happy, calling it vexation and vanity, meaningless and painfully temporary.

And a rich man, so focused on himself that when he has an abundant harvest, he stores up for himself and plans on a life of luxury with no mention of anyone else to share it with. But his life ends that night and his plans go to waste.

And Jesus tells this parable in response to a man that wants Jesus to settle inheritance arguments with his brother, instead of restoring his relationship with his brother and loving him…

Where is the joy in that? Where is the hope?

What was it all for?

These are not the Scriptures we want to hear on a Sunday morning, they don’t immediately proclaim the good news that uplifts us and heals us. Instead, they confront us with our own anxieties in the grind of modern life, the endless pursuit of more, and the lie that if we work harder or have more, we’ll finally be safe and happy. 

But what was it all for?

Ecclesiastes calls it chasing the wind, Jesus calls it foolishness. And we know it all too well. We see how this endless pursuit of stuff, of success, of money digs its way into hearts and minds, and goes far beyond responsible planning for the future and turns into greed and self-centeredness. We’re horrified when we see our leaders make decisions out of greed that ends up hurting millions of people. Or when we realize just how much of our society rewards and perpetuates greed and grind culture.

But what hurts the most is when we, as children of God, fall into the same traps, when we catch ourselves believing the lie that more stuff, more money, or more influence will make us happy, or will provide us the safety and security that we crave. When we try to live a life of generosity, but we still stumble into greed. When we let fear and self preservation guide our decisions and priorities. This way of life is exhausting, and makes us feel empty and anxious, like we’re walking around with the cares of the world like a suit of armor, weighing us down.

And this way of life is so deeply woven into our world, it can feel impossible to break free.

But hear this.

We’ve already been freed. “You have been raised with Christ.” That’s past tense. As in already done, decided, finished. Christ has already freed you from that way of life and already took off the armor and clothed you in love. A different kind of life is accessible for you. Christ sealed this promise in your baptism and took away the things that lead you to sin, death, and greed, and gave you a new self, a new heart, and a new mind, one that helps you live into this simple truth: Life is a gift and love is the point.

Life is a gift, and love is the point. 

And when we live knowing this truth, everything changes. We realize that we were brought into existence by the love that created the universe. And we’ve been given this one life to live abundantly. And that abundance has nothing to do with anything that this world could give us. And now our life’s purpose is to live in God’s love that already abides within us, to be God’s reconciling and healing love embodied, to serve and to share with others, and to become fully aware of how interconnected we truly are.

Our hearts, our priorities, and our actions begin to change. And when we truly grasp that life is a gift and love is the point, the things that we once chased lose their grips on us. Success no longer looks like personal gain, it looks like lifting someone up. Security no longer comes from our things or our bank account, it comes from God’s ever-lasting presence in our lives. We start to make decisions not out of scarcity and fear, but out of compassion and trust in the Holy Spirit. 

We no longer see other people as obstacles or competitors, but as fellow image-bearers sharing in God’s reign with us. And the posture of our lives shifts from self-preserving to self-giving, from grasping to generosity. And God transforms our toil and work into opportunities for service and our possessions into gifts we use to bless others. Beloved, God’s spirit is always making you new and leading you into deeper trust and a renewed sense of purpose for this one life.

There will be days when this transformed life feels hard. Somedays you’ll stumble and fall back into old patterns. The love and the service you do, feels like too big a sacrifice. But Christ is with you and helps you set your mind on things above and reorients your thoughts, desires, and energy to God’s vision for your life. 

This transformation is not an overnight thing–it’s a daily process of renewal and growth. Ask anyone who’s picked up a new sport and they’ll tell you it’s hard at first. You make mistakes. You feel weak. But God is with you, molding you into the person you’ve been called to be, helping you wake up everyday and choose love, reminding you that you have everything you would ever need for this life in Christ, because you’re drawing from the overflowing well of God’s goodness. And over time, the things you thought were impossible for you become possible, and then they become instinct, because love becomes who you are.

And our love isn’t just dust in the wind and it doesn’t fade after we die. We pass our love along, from person to person, it’s nurtured by generations of spirit-led people and, like a mustard seed, blooms into an abundant garden that changes cultures and minds, and leads us into a more loving future.

And that, friends, is a good way to live a life.

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

Trust in the goodness and mercy of God that you know, and live heart-to-heart with God, speaking your mind, listening, and expecting God to answer and change you and your life.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 17 C
Texts: Genesis 18:20-32; Luke 11:1-13

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

Abraham trusted God. That’s the heart of this story.

There’s no question Sodom was a city of great sin and evil. Abraham likely agrees with God’s assessment of the city. And yet he stands face-to-face with God and begs for their lives, for mercy.

Abraham only knows goodness and mercy and justice because he knows God, because he learned them from God. And now, amazingly, he’s the one to remind God of God’s own values and goodness. Because he trusts in the very nature and truth about God.

The people of Israel’s understanding of God needed to catch up to Abraham.

When they looked back at their entry into the promised land, something archaeologists are pretty sure was a gradual event, they described it as a great conquest, whole cities burned to the ground in God’s name, every living thing killed. The Hebrews were like everyone else. If your god was worth anything, it would destroy your enemies.

But as they considered Abraham’s talk with God here, a crack appears in that understanding. In the end, they interpret the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah as usual, that God destroyed the cities and their wickedness. Except they remember that their ancestor argued that God’s true nature, God’s true justice, was different. They start to think maybe it isn’t God’s justice to destroy, but to offer mercy.

By Jonah’s story, that crack is wide open. There’s another an evil city, but now God demands the right to mercy. Jonah wants God to be a proper god and wipe them out. But now Israel knows what Abraham did, God’s true nature is mercy and love, not vengeance.

And the God revealed in the face of Jesus embodies that love.

Everything Abraham knew, now Jesus reveals in his life, teaching, mercy, death, and resurrection.

A few chapters earlier in Luke’s Gospel, as Jesus and the disciples traveled, they weren’t welcomed in a Samaritan village because Jesus was a Jew. James and John wanted to call fire down from heaven on that poor little town. Jesus rebuked them. Abraham’s vision is reality: this isn’t God’s way.

At Gethsemane what Abraham understood becomes truly clear. God’s response to wickedness and evil is to take it on and bear it. God’s final answer to Abraham’s plea is revealed: I will not destroy, I will forgive by taking on death myself. In this, I will bring life. At the cross we see God is a just and loving God who shows mercy, not vengeance. A God you can trust.

And now you’re ready to hear Jesus teach you to pray. There are three things.

Ask, Jesus says, and you will receive. “Ask” can trap you, if you have a limited view of prayer, God as divine vending machine. It’s what most people think prayer is. Jesus says asking is good, he encourages it. But Jesus instantly refocuses by saying God’s answer to every ask is the Holy Spirit. Whether you pray for the health of others, the pain of the world, your own struggles, God’s answer is “I am with you.” And since God’s answer to your asking is giving you the Spirit, your answer will also likely include “go, with my strength, to be my grace in that situation you are praying for.”

“Search and you will find” is maybe the most important of the three. When was the last time you thought of prayer as “searching”? But Jesus is clear: search for God and you will find God. If your search is for meaning, purpose, guidance, hope, direction, you’ll find that. God’s Spirit is yours. If you’re searching for where God is in this broken, frightening world, you’ll find God, and hope. You’ll find God is never on the side of hate, or exclusion, or oppression, or violence. God is always on the side of love, and restoration, and mercy. And when you search, you’re on a journey, with the loving Spirit of God at your side, encouraging, strengthening, giving wisdom, comforting, laughing, crying.

And please “knock” on God’s door, Jesus says. It will always be opened to you, and you’ll rediscover that God is living inside you in love and grace. God’s door is the door into your own heart, where you join to the life of the Triune God through the grace of the Spirit.

It’s all about trust, Abraham shows.

Abraham models a beautiful way of living with God, trusting God to speak your mind, even to challenge or criticize, but also receiving God’s strength and grace and promise. Just remember to leave space in your prayer for your listening, too. God will have things to say!

Because God’s way is goodness and mercy and love. And when you trust that core nature of God, when you search for God constantly, the Spirit will change your heart fully, transform your understanding of God’s nature even more, and the world, and help you hear how you will bear God and God’s love in the world. And even be God’s answer to the prayer of someone else.

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

Jesus helps us slow down and take a pause even when the world feels chaotic around us.

Vicar Natalie Summerville
The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 16 C
Text: Genesis 18:1-10a; Psalm 15; Colossians 1:15-28; Luke 10:38-42

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

All Martha is trying to do is be a good host.

She’s taking care of the people dear to her who showed up at her door. Traveling groups like Jesus and his disciples depended on people like Martha opening their homes and providing food and shelter along their journey. Martha’s hospitality is a lifeline; it’s vital; it’s a good and beautiful act of service; and in this moment, it’s her ministry.

And then Jesus says “Martha, martha, you are worried and distracted by many things.”

After hearing the Good Samaritan last week and Abraham’s story in the first lesson today both featuring men being uplifted for their service, Jesus’ words for Martha are confusing and potentially hurtful. Throughout the Gospels, Jesus makes it abundantly clear–service is a primary way to love God and our neighbors. And especially if we hear Jesus scolding Martha in this text–as we’ve been taught to do over the years by preachers and theologians, majority of them men–then we might feel shame.

Because we can all be like Martha: doing many things–many good things–and becoming overwhelmed by them. Our service to God and to our neighbors alone can make us worry or become distracted–now more than ever. Everyday we read countless headlines about the evil and tragedy in our world, the ways our neighbors are being hurt. And everyday, there’s more and more work to do. We want to work for justice. We want to serve our neighbors, as many as possible. 

The need feels greater than ever before, and that makes us want to serve more people in better ways, to pour out more of ourselves than we ever have–to call our legislators more often, to give more hours to organizations working for justice, to go to more protests. We don’t have time to sit at Jesus’ feet when people are hungry and scared, when we’re worried our neighbors’ human rights are being violated all over the world. We don’t have time to sit at Jesus’ feet when our own day-to-day lives take up so much time and energy or when we’re in the midst of the pain and suffering we all experience in our lives.

Doesn’t Jesus get that?

Today, it’s important for us to know that Jesus recognizes Martha’s service as a beautiful thing, vital to the people on the receiving end of her hospitality. She’s tending to her flock. Jesus is not scolding her.
But Jesus can see the many tasks piling up on Martha, weighing on her heart and mind. Jesus sees his friend distracted, pulled in many directions, as the Greek word suggests, and worried about many things. 

She’s spiraling, her head is far away from her home, and it’s causing her to be stressed out and frustrated, and suddenly she’s upset with her sister. Jesus is trying to bring her back down to earth and give her some peace.

So with a tender voice, Jesus lovingly redirects Martha to pause, as a dear friend would. 
“Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things.”

Pause. 
Slow down.
Breathe.
Come back down to earth. 
Come be here with me.

And we should hear Jesus’ words for ourselves. Because it’s not our ministry or our desire to do good that’s our problem. It’s when those many good things make us worried and distracted and lead to burnout, anxiety, weariness, when we’re pulled in too many directions and stretched too thin.

And we forget why we do what we do, and who we do it for.
We forget our belovedness.
We don’t see Christ, within us and all around us, and in each neighbor we meet.
We forget that we’re in this life in Christ together, and that we support each other.
And we feel alone, isolated from each other, and we think we have to do the work all by ourselves, in this moment.

That’s where Jesus steps in. Whether through a friend gently reminding you to breathe or take a break, or your body telling you it’s time to slow down, or in the words we hear in this place as we gather together, Jesus interrupts our anxiety, our worry, and our distractions to help us focus on the one thing–dwelling Christ’s presence and seeing Christ all around us, even as we’re living our lives and serving those around us. And as we pause, we let go.

Of the need to do it all.
Of running ourselves ragged.
When we pause, we acknowledge our need for God.

And we make room to take quiet moments listening for God’s voice within us and around us, to pray or read scripture, to be with our community of faith, to get outside and experience God’s love for us in nature, or to do whatever it is that connects us with God and refreshes our spirits. Even if it’s just one short moment dwelling in God’s love in the midst of our busy lives and ministries, God meets us and fills us. 

Our pause makes room for the source of love to remind us that we are beloved beyond anything that we do or any checklist we complete, and God transforms our hearts and our minds–our worry becomes trust. Our distraction becomes focus and listening to the Holy Spirit’s guidance. And our overwhelm becomes a peace that passes all understanding.

And we serve God and our neighbors differently–we realize that it’s God, and not us, who sustains all things–and it’s God that fills our cups so we can pour out into this weary and broken world. So we come to our own ministry and our own lives with our purpose reframed, with fresh eyes and our spirits restored. Because we know our task is to listen and be guided by the holy spirit everyday. 

And the Holy Spirit helps us discern what is today’s ministry, tomorrow’s ministry, and what ministry doesn’t belong to us.

She speaks to us through each other, through our bodies, through our worship. She’s always guiding us. Beloved, listen to the spirit’s nudges to go and serve. And then to pause, rest, listen, and recharge. 

And as we go in peace to love and serve as Christ, like we say every week here at Mount Olive, remember to actually go in peace; and let the God of the universe who holds everything together hold you. Take moments away from all the tasks and the worries, to practice peace, breathe, and let love herself fill you, so you can pour out. Because it is not only okay, but vital and beautiful to pause.

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