You have a voice, God hears you and will answer; but everyone else has a voice, too, all are welcome, so you’ll want to get on that path.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 20 A
Text: Matthew 15:(10-20)21-28

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

This is absolutely clear and certain: from very early in the Church’s life, the mission was to all people, Jews and non-Jews.

It began with Jesus, God-with-us, who reached out inside and outside Jewish boundaries, and it continued in the early Church with the ministries of Philip and Paul, and then beyond. This wasn’t without conflict and tension. Many of Paul’s communities struggled to live into this multi-cultural life in Christ. The Jewish Christian leadership in Jerusalem needed convincing. But from nearly the beginning, the mission was to all people on earth.

The question is, when did Jesus know that? Luke and John suggest this was the plan from the start, John reaching back to the creation itself, Luke foreshadowing it before Jesus’ birth, and making it clear in Jesus’ first sermon. But Matthew and Mark seem to see it differently. Before this, there’s a healing of a centurion’s servant in Matthew, and in both Mark and Matthew a Gentile demoniac is healed. But the mission is overwhelmingly to the Jewish people so far.

Only Matthew and Mark tell today’s story, and it feels like a turning point. In their narratives, this is when Jesus truly embraces a new path, re-focusing the entire Christian mission in the world.

Which means this woman is the one you really need to be looking at.

She’s Canaanite, not Israelite. She’s definitively outside every boundary Jesus and his followers have. She has no standing with them, no voice, no power, no reason they should heed her. Yet she’s heard enough of this Jewish rabbi that she knows this man might have an answer to her desperation over her daughter’s mental and spiritual health. So she comes and asks for help.

First Jesus seems to ignore her. Then, when the disciples want her sent away, he appears to affirm them, saying, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.” In effect, “she’s not my problem.”

But she won’t have that.

2,000 years before “and yet, she persisted,” Matthew anticipates that bravery. He starts verse 25: “But she came.” She came? She was already there. Which means after verse 24 and Jesus’ declaration, the disciples started moving her out of Jesus’ presence. But she came. Pushed them aside. Did what she had to do.

She claimed her voice, her right to ask. And in response, Jesus uses an unmistakable racial slur, saying you don’t take children’s food and give it to dogs. You don’t need to grasp ancient idioms to hear how horrible and indefensible that is. It would be just as insulting and awful for anyone to compare human beings that way today. And people do that today.

But she came. Even when Jesus called her a dog, this marvelous, beautiful woman claimed her voice again, said, “fine, call me a dog. But even dogs get crumbs.” And she broke Jesus. For the second and last time in Matthew, Jesus praises someone’s faith, and once again it’s a Gentile. Second time’s the charm, because now Jesus is changed. She reminds him of his love for all God’s children, and that she herself is a beloved child of God. He hears her. He heals her daughter.

And the floodgates open.

From here, Jesus immediately continues around the north side of the Sea of Galilee, in Gentile territory, and does all kinds of healings and exorcisms. Then he feeds another huge crowd, this time 4,000 or more, all Gentiles. The abundance of God’s bread of life is now for all the world.

She started that. She might be the most important person in the history of the Church. And if you’re troubled by Jesus’ language, and you should be, please note the very rare thing Jesus does: he hears the powerless person and changes his mind and direction. The insult, the rejection of someone who isn’t his concern, people in power do that all the time. But Jesus listens, and this woman changes his mind. And the world was never the same.

There are two things to note:

First, if you’ve been marginalized, oppressed, your voice has been disregarded, she’s your hero.

If people’ve ignored you, your gifts, your thoughts, your opinions, if your suffering or experience has been discounted because of who you are, or because you were raising inconvenient and threatening things to people in power, this woman says, just keep coming.

Claim your voice. Ask your question. Tell your truth. Even if followers of God’s Christ push you away, ignore you, marginalize you, even if God seems to, don’t let them. Be the one of whom the narrator says, “but she came.” Because God will hear you, and you may even change God’s mind. Your voice counts, you count, and you are beloved child of God.

But if you’re a follower of this Christ, God-with-us, learn from this.

If you’re following Jesus, and wish he’d send away all the people with inconvenient voices, all who don’t believe as you do or think as you do or look like you or act like you, watch Jesus carefully here.

If you’re tired of people saying they’d like you to use different language to refer to them, tired of people calling you privileged, tired of people talking about their suffering and saying they experience a very different world than you; if you’re tired of those saying they don’t feel safe with the same police you’ve always trusted; if you wish all these voices would go away so you could just be with Jesus, watch Jesus very carefully here.

Because this is where God-with-us takes a fork in the road. And that path is going to lead further and further away if you miss the turns he makes.

The road of Christ divides here, whether it was new to Jesus or always the plan.

The Triune God who lived among us as Jesus, the Incarnate One, and now lives among us as the Holy Spirit in each of us, is also living and moving in all people. Because all people are God’s children, not dogs.

This is the mission. And the one you’re following is going on this divergent road. Along with all those voices that are inconvenient and challenging, with all those who change God’s mind from time to time. There’s every reason in the world to follow Jesus on his fork in the road and absolutely none to stay in the other direction. One way leads to life for you and for all. The other leads to death, because there is no hope or love or joy on it.

And remember: the good news is for all. Even if you’re worried about taking this diverging road, even you can come to God, claim your voice, and be heard. Because you, and all, are beloved children of God.

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

What if we sang the Magnificat in a way that we didn’t have winners and losers, but all at the same level of God’s grace and love, all fed, all sheltered, all whole?

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The feast of St. Mary, Mother of Our Lord
Texts: Luke 1:46-55, Isaiah 61:7-11

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 if Mary’s not singing about winners and losers?

What if God’s reign isn’t a competition? What if the Magnificat is not a call to revolution that puts new people in positions of dominance and power-over, but something else?

Even for those of us who delight in Mary’s song, who on this Tuesday night have come to worship the Triune God and to remember and honor the young woman who bore God’s Son into the world, even for us, so much a part of our western culture’s addiction to success and winning at all costs, it’s a struggle to hear Mary in any other way than winning and losing.

So we hear Mary’s song as a blast against all who are on top. Turn the world upside down, God. Knock down the mighty. Throw away the rich. Let other people run the world, and punish those who get pushed off their high seats.

But what if that’s not what Mary’s singing? What if God’s reign isn’t about making new winners and new losers, but about something much more profound and beautiful and even a little scary?

Most western theologians see the Magnificat as revolutionary.

But some women theologians, many from oppressed and marginalized cultures, sing a different song when they sing with Mary. They remind us that oppression damages both the oppressed and the oppressors, and simply reversing those roles only continues the abuse and suffering. Just with different people doing it.

What we hear from these voices is that God is bringing through Mary and her son a new world where all are on the same level. All fed. All blessed. All secure. A world where the common good is the ideal. One female theologian has called Mary’s song the “Great Equalizing,” rather than the “Great Reversal.”

Maybe if we heard Mary this way, we might truly find the joy that vibrates through her song. The joy Isaiah gets from God causing righteousness and praise to spring up before all nations.

It turns out this is what Mary’s son taught, too. That should count for something.

Her boy said that all God’s law was fulfilled in loving God with all you have and loving your neighbor as you love yourself.

Loving your neighbor as you love yourself. If you live in a culture like ours which promotes and rewards selfishness and self-centeredness, do you see how radical such a call is? Whatever love you have for your status, your life, your world, your family – have that for your neighbor. (And who is my neighbor, you ask? Well, Mary’s son told you that pretty clearly, too.)

Mary sees a world shaped by love of neighbor, a love for each other like what you have for your own life. Where you can’t bear eating when someone you love is starving. You can’t stand living in a house when so many you love can’t afford one. You can’t stomach earning more than you need to live while others you love work their hands to the bone and still see their children suffer.

Everything Jesus teaches shows he’s not interested in shoving some people into the dirt and lifting up others. He feeds thousands with a few loaves and fish, regardless of their ability to pay. He offers God’s love to rich insiders and destitute outsiders. He saves his anger for those religious teachers who know God’s priorities, but crush God’s people, laying unfair and unshared burdens on them. And even those he invites to join the common good of love for all.

Those of us who are rich aren’t off the hook in this way of singing. But it’s different.

The dirty secret to hearing Mary’s song as overthrowing those on top is we conveniently ignore this overturning in our daily lives. There’s a dissociation between what we think Mary sings and how we actually live in the world and hope the world will be. That’s because most of us with privilege don’t like the idea of being cast to the ground. Singing Mary’s song this way becomes a lie, because if we’re honest, we don’t want that revolution.

Now, if God’s reign is truly a great equalizing instead, there’ll be changes, too. Changes we’ll feel and know and experience. So we might resist them, too. But if it’s not about winners and losers, what might happen if we let the common good, this dream of God, change us for the sake of all?

Take taxes. Even the most magnanimous of us are happy to take whatever tax breaks we can. And yes, government leaders need to spend tax dollars wisely and carefully and avoid corruption.

But what if we boldly proclaimed our support of our taxation, because it led to the good of all? Instead of complaining, or letting others dominate the nation’s stage declaring as an absolute truth that all taxes are bad, all government is bad, what if we said, “we’re glad to share. We’ll share more. And we need to work together.”

Because here’s a truth about Mary’s song. If every congregation in Minneapolis started a food bank, we’d still have starving people. If every congregation in Minneapolis bought a house and refurbished it and rented it out affordably, we’d still have thousands homeless.

But if we change a law that makes wages fair, or housing affordable, or school meals free, we can affect the lives of thousands, even millions. If we build housing and infrastructure with our taxes, if we support those who dismantle unfair housing practices and the embedded racism in our structures, if we insist that our cities not create gangs of armed soldiers to enforce our prejudice and ease our fear, but rather officers who truly protect all – starting with the most vulnerable – if we do all these things, it will cost us. Cost me. Cost you.

But I won’t be a loser. Neither will you. Those of us who have so much won’t be thrown away. We’ll come down to a level that’s sustainable for all, workable for all. A common good, no winners, no losers. Just a holy grace that Mary so beautifully sees.

But remember: Mary says God is doing this.

So does her son. We can hesitate and resist moving toward this reign of God. We can actively work against it. We can try our best to live into it. But God is doing it. God’s Spirit is moving in this world to make it happen.

Through those who teach us to listen and sing differently. Through all who live in the gracious “yes” that Mary modeled, and bear God’s life into the world. Through all who follow Mary’s Son in the path of love of God and love of neighbor. God’s promises are going to happen, Mary says. So, do you want to be a part of all this joy?

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

God’s reign is a treasure for you and the creation: all belong, all will grow into their fullness as God’s children, all will make an impact for God’s grace in the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 17 A
Texts: Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52; Romans 8:26-39

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 if you unexpectedly found a great treasure?

You weren’t looking or anything. You just came upon it, and there it was. What would you be willing to do to get it?

What if you’d searched your whole life for a treasure, spending time and energy and hope looking for it, and one day, you found it? What would you be willing to do to get it?

Jesus says God’s reign – a world where people live and love according to God’s will and desire – is a treasure like that. Some people find the reign of God almost accidentally, stumbling over it. Others seek for it earnestly their whole lives. But for all who find it, it is a precious treasure beyond imagining.

The women and men who followed Jesus found that treasure in him, in who he was, in what he taught, in how he treated them and others, in what he said about God. People dropped everything to follow, changed their lives and their futures.

But you see what this assumes: the unexpected finder and the lifelong searcher, the fishermen and tax collectors, the women of Capernaum and Bethany, they all recognized a treasure when they saw it, found it.

So there’s really only one question. Can you see a treasure in God’s reign that means the world to you?

Maybe Jesus’ parable about the dragnet can help.

Watching people pulling in nets on the lake, Jesus said, “That’s what I mean! God’s reign is like that.” A net pulls in more than fish, though. Driftwood, old boots, what some call trash. Only the Netminder gets to decide what’s worthy.

Now, Matthew’s extra interpretation added here says in the end the good will be kept and the evil thrown on the fire. But that’s not Jesus’ verdict. Jesus promised he would draw all things to himself at the cross. “Every single thing in this net, in this world, in this creation, is mine and loved and redeemed by this,” Jesus says. Nothing and no one is thrown out.

Paul agrees, saying that everyone God knew of before time – which is literally everyone – is called, justified, loved. Nothing in all creation can separate you, or anyone else, from the love of God in Christ.

Is the truth that you are caught up in the net of God’s love worth anything to you? That you’re drawn into the embrace of God by Christ’s arms on the cross? That you are in God’s heart, and no one can take that from you? Is that a treasure worth having?

But what if it’s hard for you to trust in God’s love, your faith feels weak?

Well, walking alongside a field, seeing a mustard plant, Jesus said, “That’s what I’m talking about! God’s reign is like that.” A tiny seed, hiding the whole life and future of the plant inside it, will germinate and grow and become a shelter for birds, a giver of shade.

Jesus says, that’s what you are! You might feel insignificant, unable to do much trust God’s love, but you have the glory of God’s love and grace already contained within you. Living in God’s reign, you will grow and thrive in that love, and give shade and shelter in ways you can’t imagine, be a blessing to others.

Is that worth anything to you?

But what if you think you’re not good enough, capable enough, to be effective as Christ in the world?

Well, glimpsing through a doorway a woman making bread, Jesus said, “That’s what I’m talking about! God’s reign is like that.” Just a few little organisms placed in a big pile of flour start to grow, eat sugars, and a miracle happens: a loaf rises out of that sticky lump, and once baked, is a delight to the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the stomach.

Jesus says, that’s what you are! You might feel insufficient, and the problems of the suffering world immense. But when you join with others and love as Christ in your little space in this suffering world, you change the chemistry of your world, giving nourishment for all, like beautiful bread.

Is that worth anything to you?

Now, Jesus’ parables of the treasures do raise a question.

Both the accidental and intentional finders sold everything they had to get the treasure. But the treasure Jesus is really talking about is yours freely, without your doing anything. You don’t need to sell all you have to be forever a part of God’s embracing love, or to grow into the fullness of being God’s child, or to work with others to transform the reality of the world. All this treasure is gift and grace, given through the Holy Spirit.

But you and I are invited to give everything we have to become part of the treasure ourselves. To be people who are visibly God’s inclusive net to everyone we meet, people who grow in stature as God’s children until we blesses all we meet, people who together create a new chemistry and life, transforming the world.

If you love this freely given treasure, you are invited to become the net, the mustard plant, the busy yeast, so others can find the treasure of God’s reign, too. So, Jesus asks, what will you do to be a part of this? What will you have to sell, let go of? How will you change?

I need to add one thing.

When I preach, I usually don’t end with a list of action items, detailed ways to live out Jesus’ words. Once in a while, folks tell me they wish I would give specific ways that they could live this out in their lives.

There are a couple reasons I don’t. First, Christ called individual people. Each of us has different gifts, experiences, struggles, families, worlds, and each of us might answer differently. How I envision living as God’s inclusive net might be different from how you do.

But Christ also did put us into community together. Like Jesus’ parables, sermons are never done when they’re finished. The Spirit takes God’s Word through the preaching and out the other side where we talk with each other, imagine with each other, encourage each other with what the Word is calling out.

So now the treasure leaves this sermon and is among us. If anyone here can’t see it, how can we all help? If anyone here doesn’t know what this means for their life, or our life together, how can we all help?

This reign God is bringing to the creation is the greatest treasure we could ever imagine. Let’s get it out of the ground and start sharing it.

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

The Great Farmer’s plan for the harvest of good in the creation is that in the end, all will be transformed into life-giving plants, healed and whole and good.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 16 A
Texts: Matthew 13:24-30 (also Matthew 5:44); Romans 8:12-25

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

Goodness is stronger than evil. Love is stronger than hate. Light is stronger than darkness. Life is stronger than death.[1]

Nine years ago on the Sunday today’s readings also appeared, I began and ended my sermon here with those powerful, hope-filled words of Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Each section within the sermon also began with those words. They were the bones that held together God’s promise to always be with us in the face of evil, hate, darkness, and death.

Nine years later, and three years after the last time we heard this parable while reeling from the death of George Floyd and separated from each other by COVID, now in the face of continuing evil, hate, and the shadows of death that pervade our world, now I hear something else in this parable.

I hear Jesus say to his beloved servant Desmond, “your words are grace and truth. But listen, and I will show you a deeper mystery beyond your imagining.”

And that mystery is this farmer’s idiotic plan.

If you’ve studied this parable, or heard sermons on it, you know the two plants Jesus refers to are virtually identical looking. It’s extremely hard to tell them apart, and anyone who tried to do the weeding might easily make mistakes. Of course you don’t want people who don’t know what they’re doing digging around when plants are first coming up.

But no gardener, no farmer in their right mind would let weeds grow up with the desired plants all the way to harvest. Weeds choke out the desired plants, and severely reduce the yield. Jesus knows this – he literally said it in the parable we heard last week.

Now, this isn’t the first or last parable Jesus told that sounds ridiculous. Jesus was a rural person, and spoke to lots of rural people. So, every farmer in his crowd would’ve said this parable’s solution was dumb. But every shepherd in his crowd would’ve said that risking the safety of 99 secure sheep in the wilderness to find one lost one was the dumbest thing you could do, too. And most parents in his crowd would’ve said that a father who lets his two sons walk all over him, giving them everything, loving them even when they reject him, was just foolish, and a bad parent.

But when Jesus tells you a parable that absolutely crosses the line into foolishness, that sounds ridiculous and naïve and wrong and you know it, that’s when you really need to pay attention. Because when you say to Jesus, “that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” that’s when Jesus says, “now you’re getting it. Now you’re really listening.”

And now you’re ready to hear God’s deeper mystery.

If your grasp of God’s love doesn’t ever make you think God is naïve, unaware of reality, you aren’t ready for the truth of God’s love. If your awareness of God’s love doesn’t ever make you say, “I don’t see how this can work,” or, “that would just be foolish,” you aren’t ready for the truth of God’s love.

The farmer is completely non-anxious about the servants’ rightful fears at his foolishness. Because the farmer is banking on a deeper mystery: evil isn’t to be destroyed. It’s to be changed. This is the farmer’s plan: by the time of the harvest, there will be no weeds to burn. All will be ready to share goodness for the life of all.

So today Jesus says to our brother Desmond, how about this? “Goodness will heal evil. Love will transform hate. Light will open up darkness. Life will raise the dead.”

In the wisdom of the Triune God, who came as one of us into a world sown deeply with evil, it’s not a question of who’s stronger. It’s a question of restoring the whole creation. All of it.

Jesus is always absolutely clear about this. But we don’t want to hear it.

Because it’s so foolish. So we say things like: It doesn’t take into account the real world. Evil needs to be destroyed. Some people are just bad. You need to do whatever it takes to end the power of evil.

Unless you follow the Son of God. Who, as God-with-us, engaged evil and hate and darkness and death at their core, by loving them. Offered forgiveness as he was nailed to the cross. Refused violence and the tools of this world, refused to take power.

Who commanded this: love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you. That prayer, that love, will heal evil. Transform hate. Open up darkness. Raise the dead.

Of course we stand against what evil does in this world.

It’s our job. We stand in solidarity with all who are crushed and oppressed by the evil and hate and darkness and death that has been planted in this world. We do whatever we can, with whomever we can, to dismantle the systems and structures that perpetuate evil and hate and darkness and death. We join hands in love and grace and witness to the healing power of God’s death-breaking love.

But we do not hate. We do not demonize any of God’s children. We do not ever use violence or authorize others to do violence for us. We do not relegate anyone to the scrap heap of the bad who need to be burned. We don’t overpower or try to win. We love our enemies and pray for them, and that will heal the world.

You don’t have to like the plan. But it’s the only one Jesus has. It’s God’s way.

And there’s more to this plan.

Years ago in a previous parish, I had a confirmation student who had serious attention problems. It’s not uncommon, lots of folks do. But over three years I would’ve said this one heard nothing that was taught. It was so hard for him to sit still, and his comments were often random.

But then in one class in eighth grade, this amazing kid asked a simple question: “Do you think Jesus is delaying his return hoping that even the devil might finally come back?”

This kid got the plan. He didn’t care if it sounded dumb or foolish. He had ears to listen.

Because if this Farmer’s plan comes to fruition, that’s exactly what will happen. Even the great Enemy who first planted the weeds will be healed. Even the great Enemy who first planted the weeds is welcome to the harvest. Even the great Enemy who first planted the weeds is beloved.

It’s not going to be easy.

Listen to Paul, who says it’ll involve a lot of sharing suffering with other people, that the whole creation is groaning in labor pains, waiting for the birth of this new thing. Listen to Jesus, who knew something about suffering and dying for love, knew what it was to set aside power and violence, knew what it was to love enemies and pray for them.

But it is a birth God is making, Paul’s right. And only goodness can give birth to goodness. Only love can give birth to love. Only light can give birth to light. Only life can give birth to life.

This is the plan that will heal all things. It’s absolutely foolish. So trust it with your life.

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

[1] Copyright 1995 Desmond Tutu, admin. Random House, Inc. and Lynn C. Franklin Associates, Ltd. Used in Evangelical Lutheran Worship, hymn no. 721.