God in Christ is making new eyes in you, to see others and yourself as the beloved of God you and all God’s children are.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
All Saints Sunday, year A
Texts: Matthew 5:1-12; 1 John 3:1-3

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

Jesus once did a healing that didn’t take at first.

Mark says people brought a man who was blind to Jesus. Jesus did that strange thing he’d done elsewhere, took some of his spit and spread it on the man’s eyes. But when the man opened his eyes, things were blurry. “I can see people,” he said, “but they look like walking trees.” Jesus touched his eyes again, the man looked around, and saw everything clearly. The result was good, but at first this poor man must have thought the healing was a failure. (Mark 8:22-25)

I know that feeling. I first got glasses at age 7, and was very nearsighted, with an astigmatism. I hated wearing glasses. So about 20 years ago I had the LASIK procedure done. It was over quickly, and I was told to keep my eyes closed for a couple hours, so I took a three hour nap.

When I woke up, I panicked. Everything was blurry. I thought something must have gone wrong. Then I put my hand over each eye in turn. Both times the open one saw perfectly clearly. The problem was my brain hadn’t yet figured out how to process the new input. In a few hours my brain miraculously adjusted, and I was seeing 20-15.

This feels like how we live into Jesus’ words today.

The elder in 1 John today says we’re not yet fully revealed as God’s children, even though we are already God’s beloved children. You’re going to be like Christ, the elder says, but you’re not quite yet in focus. Either as you look at yourself, or as others encounter you.

And that blurriness is what Jesus’ words today feel like. In these beautiful verses, he describes a clear way of seeing and understanding people. Clear to him as God-with-us, God’s anointed, because it’s the Triune God’s way of seeing.

But when we look at what the Triune God sees so clearly, to our eyes it’s fuzzy.

For example, there are people who just don’t seem to have it in them. Faith is hard for them. Spiritual gifts seem to be lacking. They struggle to keep afloat mentally or spiritually. And we are taught to see such people as weak. Even in the Church, a struggle with faith is sometimes seen as a failing.

But God looks at people who are poor in spirit and says: they’re closest to my heart. They’re in God’s reign right now, even if they don’t know it. They are the blessed ones of God.

We all know people who grieve, who mourn. All of us have been there, and some of us, on a day like today, are in the midst of it. And we also grieve deeply for all those who are suffering and dying around the world. And while we are taught in this world to pity those who mourn, even pity ourselves, those who grieve are subtly pressured to get beyond it. Get over it. As if it’s a failing.

But God looks at people who are grieving and says that gives them a special gift. They know they need comforting, and so they will have it. What a blessing that is.

We live in a world, and if we’re honest we sometimes see things this way ourselves, that sees gentleness as a weakness. That sees mercy as a flaw. That sees peacemaking as naïve. We might call it being realistic, we might not even realize we’re doing it. But this world praises toughness, praises judging and hating, even praises violence – if it’s deemed necessary. And so often we call it necessary.

But God looks at people who are gentle with others and with the earth as the ones to whom the earth really belongs. It’s the way to life here. God sees those who show mercy as living in God’s heart. God sees those who make peace in their own lives and families as well as the world as the ones who are living most truly as God’s children. What a blessing they all are.

Do you want Christ to heal your sight so you can see as God sees?

It won’t happen overnight. Like Jesus’ odd two-part healing, changing your eyesight into God’s eyesight will take time. It might take your whole life. It’s the reality of life in a broken world. You might hear Jesus today and say, “I kind of see what you’re seeing, but it’s blurry. Sometimes I really do value strength and power and dominance, maybe because I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t act in those ways. Because I’m afraid to trust that this is really my path, that this weak and vulnerable way is the way of life and hope. The way of the blessed.”

But be patient. You are already God’s beloved child, the elder says, even if you’e not fully revealed as Christ to others or even to yourself. Your healing has already begun. You’ve got God’s eyes to see, but maybe your brain hasn’t yet caught up, or your heart, or your actions. But with the Spirit’s grace, all will become more and more clear to you. Your heart will be made pure and you will even see God.

Because you are hungering and thirsting for this righteousness, and Jesus says you will be filled with it.

This is a difficult path in a world of loud, angry, hate-filled voices who lust for power and control.

If you see how this world sees, embracing the Triune God’s vision looks risky. Admitting you’re lacking a strong faith, or trying to be gentle or merciful or peaceable, or standing firm in your love of your neighbors near and far, all can expose you to ridicule from others. Or from yourself.

But not in this place. Here we’re all getting new eyes. Here we’ve met the God who is gentle and merciful and pure in heart, who hungers and thirsts for righteousness in you and in me and in this broken world, who longs for peace in this creation, who even faced a crisis of faith on the cross, who mourns for the suffering of all God’s children.

This is the God who sees and loves you as you are. Who wants you to see and love all as God does. Who is even now touching your eyes again to keep bringing things into focus. Until all are seen and loved and are themselves able to love and see.

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

God is alive and beyond our control: but the Good News is God is working for the healing of all things and needs you and me.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 29 A
Texts: Isaiah 45:1-7; 1 Thessalonians 1:1-10; Matthew 22:15-22

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

Is God doing anything in this world? How would you know if you saw it?

Israelites in Babylonian exile saw God’s hand in a foreign general, Cyrus of Persia, who destroyed Babylon’s power and made an edict that they could return home, to Judah, and rebuild. Isaiah says God-Who-Is, the one, true God, anointed Cyrus Messiah to save Israel. Israel trusted God enough to have the imagination to see God working in ways beyond their comprehension.

The Pharisees seem to lack the imagination of their ancestors. They defended God’s law, and were good at it. And this rabbi from Nazareth played a little too fast and loose with it. He challenged their authority, questioned their interpretation, didn’t clear things with them before saying them. In these last days of his life, they tested him again and again. Even though, as we’ll see next week, the center of his teaching, summing of all God’s law into love of God and love of neighbor, was taken straight from the Torah itself.

The question behind this is, do you get to decide where and how God is working?

Maybe some ancient Israelites had doubts about calling a foreign emperor Messiah. But they saw what happened and concluded God was behind it. The Pharisees can’t see Jesus as from God because he’s outside their control.

That’s the real issue. It’s not about choosing Caesar or God, Cyrus or Jesus. The question is do you get to control God? But surely a God whom you can control is no god at all.

Today Paul praises the Thessalonians’ trust in a living God, not in idols.

“In every place,” Paul says, “your trust in God has become known, how you turned to God from idols, to serve a living and true God.” We can control idols because we make them. In ancient times, idols were made in human images, animal images; today they’re reflections of our wants, our desires. Reflections of us.

But we can’t make a true God. It is the very truth that we do not control God that tells us we’re connected to the true God. If we create our gods, there’s nothing we don’t know about them, nothing we can’t explain or control. And there’s nothing real about them.

The true God creates us, comes to us from the outside, and we can’t always know what God is doing. And we can never control what God is doing.

But that makes life in a painful world challenging.

There’s no shortage of people who know for sure what God is doing in international affairs and politics, sure their view of God’s law and ways should be forced on everyone, sure they know who’s with God and who isn’t. People of most faiths can often act as if they’re in charge of God. And need to control things to make sure their view of God prevails. So they feel comfortable.

But when we live with the humble certainty that we’re not in charge, and we look at the wars in the Middle East, in Ukraine, in Sudan, at the oppression and violence that shape our world, at the paranoid politics that infect the spirit of our nation, at the violent rhetoric that just keeps on a crescendo, and we know we don’t have all the answers, we do wonder: what are you going to do, God? Do you care? Is there a plan?

And in the imagination of the ancient Israelites, we find an path. They trusted God was working in the world, and had promised restoration. And they trusted God worked through people to do that restoration. Even unexpected people. Even through God’s people themselves.

What if we follow their lead?

Theologian Tom Wright has said, “Because of the cross, being a Christian, or being a church, does not mean claiming that we’ve got it all together. It means claiming that God’s got it all together; and that we are merely, as Paul says, those who are overwhelmed by [God’s] love.” [1]

If we trust God’s got it all together, and we don’t, we can trust God’s promise, that God is working to bring hope and life to this world. Even to the most devastating of places and scenarios. That every act of grace and kindness, every step away from the usual human violence and hatred and retaliation and revenge, is inspired by and led by God. That can be our hope and prayer.

And if God can use a Persian emperor to bring about restoration, God also can use you. That’s central to Jesus’ hope. He called people to follow, to become like him, to be shaped by love of God and neighbor, because God needs as many hands as possible to bring about the healing that is needed.

And yes, we feel we aren’t up to the task. We feel helpless here, in our place. We don’t elect every leader in Congress, we don’t have the ability to shape foreign crises personally. We can’t even fix our own city. We despair that it seems we lack the ability to help in anything that really matters.

But Jesus seems to think you’re critical to all this. That you, with a changed, new heart, filled with God’s Spirit, will make a difference that will tip the scales. That your love of neighbor, your careful voting, your engagement with your neighborhood, your prayer and supplication, your ability to hold in tension seemingly contrasting truths and find hope, all this makes a difference. You make a difference, Jesus thinks. Even if you can’t see it.

Like Paul’s Thessalonians.

Their trust in a living God whom they can’t limit or control, instead of whatever idols they’ve had, made them into people of grace and hope and healing that became known all over the region. They had no ability to control the Roman emperor, or probably even affect much beyond their own towns and villages. And yet Paul says the word got out: these people are living as Christ in the world and making a difference.

And since you are loved by God in Christ, since you are made in the image of God – that’s the image printed on you, not Caesar’s – when you give to God what is God’s, you give yourself, and you, too, will change the world. And even if you can’t see it, God can.

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

[1] N. T. Wright, For All God’s Worth, p. 20; Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., Grand Rapids, MI; © 2007.

The feast of the Triune God is a feast of welcome and restoration of the whole creation, starting now and continuing into the life to come, and you’re invited. Period.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 28 A
Texts: Isaiah 25:1-9; Psalm 23; Matthew 22:1-14

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

There’s only one question for you today: are you coming to God’s party?

It’s going to be glorious. David says the cups will overflow and the feast will be spread between enemies, it’s a reconciliation feast. Jesus says the feast celebrates the joining of the Son of God with the creation, and all can come. Isaiah says God’s feast starts here but continues beyond death, destroying death in the process, and it is for all peoples, a feast of rich food and well-aged wines. It sounds wonderful.

And you’ve got the invitation in your hands, embossed with the royal seal: “child of God, beloved of God, come to my party, eat and be filled with my goodness.”

So, are you coming or not?

You realize, don’t you, that we don’t have to read this whole parable, with all the destruction, right? You can stop early. If the invitees had come, there just would have been a party, a feast, a celebration. No one has to miss this feast, not in Isaiah or Psalm 23 or Jesus’ parable.

But, maybe you think it’s cheating to stop the parable early, when the meal’s ready, and all are told to come.

That’s fair. We should look at the painful parts of this parable.

The first invitees ignore the invitation, abuse and kill the people who came to get them. Their city is burned to the ground with everyone in it. One guy who comes in the second sweep rejects the robe provided for him and gets bound hand and foot, tossed into the outer darkness, where there’s weeping and gnashing of teeth. Many are called, but few are chosen, you say. That’s how the parable really ends.

Fine. Let’s consider that. Matthew says all these parables we’re hearing in these weeks were told by Jesus in the first days of Holy Week. And we can’t pretend these late parables aren’t filled with strong warnings of punishment by Jesus for those who don’t comply.

There are a couple possibilities. Jesus is under intense stress as he approaches Good Friday. He’s running out of time to teach, and knows he’s going to suffer horribly. At least half his disciples – the male half, since the women seem to acquit themselves much better – keep missing his point and misunderstanding his mission. Maybe he’s frightened they’ll never get it, so he fills his parables this week with threats to get their attention.

Or maybe he meant every word. Maybe Jesus really meant you don’t get second chances. You turn from God’s invite, and that’s it. You’re outside God’s grace and love. It’s a horrible thought, but it’s possible.

But if I can’t stop reading the parable early, you can’t stop reading early either.

If I have to read all the way to “many are called and few are chosen,” I insist you read all the way to the end of chapter 28, the end of Matthew. (While you’re at it, check out the other three Gospels in full, too.) You’ll going to see an entirely different picture. There may be mystery over why Jesus said these harsh things, but there’s absolutely no mystery about what Jesus actually did.

Because whatever Jesus meant to say with his threatening words in Holy Week, he does none of it when he rises from the dead. He does the opposite.

The king burns the city who rejected the wedding, and kills everyone? The Risen Christ sends his disciples back into the city to proclaim the Good News of the resurrection, even to those who rejected it before, in hopes that now they’ll come to the party. He insists they start with Jerusalem.

The king takes a guy and throws him into the outer darkness? Jesus, God-with-us, on Friday will allow himself to be bound hand and foot and thrown into that very outer darkness, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth. And will bring back everyone from the darkness into resurrection life.

And “many are called, but few are chosen?” The Risen Christ sends the Holy Spirit at Pentecost and pours God’s grace and power over anyone who wants it, and then sends out those Spirit-filled ones to try and get to every person on earth. Christ chooses everyone.

There is something so simple and joy-filled about all of these late parables of Jesus.

But we obsess over the judgment parts. It’s as if we need to insist that the awful punishments threatened by the Son of God still apply, still must be accounted for, or else we despair about how God’s love in our human flesh would make such threats.

But why focus on those parts? Every single parable here starts with invitation and joy and can stop right there. If you just focus on that invitation and joy. If you hear Jesus’ loving voice saying, “come to me.” You’ll find a joy glorious to behold.

So – are you coming to God’s party or not?

It’s a party for here and for now. God’s clear about that. God intends the abundance of creation to be shared with all God’s children on earth, with all having enough to eat and drink, all sheltered, all whole, all happy. We’ve got more instructions than we need from God’s Word as to how we can help that feast happen here in this life. But if you don’t want to be at a feast with everyone, if you’re worried that if everyone’s cup runs over, yours might go dry, maybe it’s not your thing.

It’s a party for everyone, “good folks and bad folks,” Jesus says. David says your enemies are invited to God’s feast, too. Maybe that’s the dealbreaker. You only want to feast with God with your people.

Why reject Isaiah, though? Isaiah says the party’s going to keep going after you and I and everyone dies. Eventually, the party favor everyone gets is that no one ever has to leave the party. Death is now a blip, and the feast just keeps going. In even more raucous joy and celebration. For all people, Isaiah says.

In a moment, we’re going to have a feast.

It’s not exactly the same as these we’re hearing of. We sometimes call it a “foretaste of the feast to come,” a sign of what God’s feast will look like not only in the world to come, but if God’s way is done, in this world as well.

Because you and everyone are welcome to come and eat God’s very being, to be blessed by God’s undying love for you, to be forgiven and healed and made whole. Anyone here who wants to come to the feast can come. This feast reveals what God’s greater feast is meant to be, even on this earth. So we never turn people away.

Maybe this time, as you eat and drink, you can imagine the overfilled cups and groaning tables of the feast God intends for all on this planet, now and forever, and say, “yes, I really want to come to that party. And I want to help make sure everyone else is there, too.” Because Good News: the invitation has always been there for you. And for all.

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