Jesus chooses us–even to enduring the pain of living and to the point of us crucifying him.

Vicar Mollie Hamre
Passion Sunday, Year A
Texts: Isaiah 50:4-9a, Psalm 31:9-16, Philippians 2:5-11, Matthew 26:14-27:66

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

Today Jesus chooses us. 

Jesus, God with us, does what he has always done: choosing to love his people and creation. Pouring himself out as a covenant. Showing compassion amidst rejection. Offering love to his disciples, and us. Telling us that we are beloved, important to this world, and receive this love freely–calling us back to look upon the cross.

And yet today, we also see our Triune God on the cross crucified by us. We are the ones betraying and ignoring Jesus. The ones choosing fear and power over love and compassion. And no matter how many times the Passion is read, it is still uncomfortable, still heavy, and sits on one’s chest as we look to the cross.

In hearing this, speaking it, feeling the weight of it, we see our fears and doubts on display asking questions about what is happening in our world and where God is. These cries intensify as we reflect on how they appear in our world. Lives that are lost in school shootings. Voices that are oppressed. Questions that are left unanswered. 

And Jesus, God with us, experiences it with us too. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” In a time when we crave to hear words of comfort from Jesus that we have become so familiar with in the Gospels, his voice is filled with pain. He is forced into silence by injustice. Rejected by his friends. Left in grief, sadness, and affliction. But still Jesus reaches out. 

What does that mean for us? 

That our Triune God chooses us, to dwell with us, to experience fear and being human? That our Triune God experiences the violence and oppressive forces of the world? That amidst it all Jesus, God with us, chooses us. Even on the cross. 

When we betray Jesus, Jesus answers with love, forgiveness, and mercy. When we reject Jesus, Jesus answers by sharing a meal with us. When we place Jesus on the cross, Jesus answers with compassionate, outstretched arms. And when Jesus dies on the cross … we wait in hope to one day rise with him.  

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

Vicar Mollie Hamre

Midweek Lenten Service, Week 5 Year A
Texts: Amos 5:18-24, Psalm 15, Romans 12:1-13, Mark 12:28-34

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

Work for justice and peace.

That is the last statement of our Affirmation of Baptism liturgy that holds the promises we have with our Triune God, with one another, and with the world. Working for justice and peace are simple enough words, but words that also carry weight, responsibility, and an obligation to one another. As we know, describing justice and peace can range from reaching all corners of our world to the day-to-day relationships we have. So, if we want to work for justice and peace, what does that even mean?

Looking to the Gospel, Jesus gives us a starting point. 

He tells us that we are to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength. And then, take that wholeness embodiment of love, and show that to your neighbor too. Jesus asks today we live that kind of life. The one that reminds us that we are dearly beloved and the one that reminds those around us that they are dearly beloved too. Although the statements appear as two commandments, they turn into one as we live our lives together. In order to love God, we must love the neighbor too. Working for justice and peace looks like emulating Christ and following the example of Christ.

To go further, the Psalm even gives us direction.

Psalm 15 was used as an entrance liturgy before going into the temple. These words describe the characteristics of people that were thought worthy to enter. The people who do what is right. Who speak truth from their hearts. Who do no evil and who do not reproach against each other. These were the people that are seen worthy enough to dwell, just for a short amount of time in God’s “holy hill.” Working for justice and peace looks like living among God’s faithful people and holding one another accountable.

And we hear Paul calling to us too. 

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds.” Paul is not asking about a change of thought in one’s mind, but a bodily renewing transformation. Note that I did not say a completely new transformation, but one that starts from where we are as our whole selves. One that embodies God’s call as the body of Christ with our gifts and our struggles. All called to the same table. Working for justice and peace looks like sharing an ever-growing table, gathering and being transformed.

Hearing all of this might feel like a big ask.

Because we are not perfect. We will not walk into worship each day with clean slates. And yet, in our baptismal promises, seeing our imperfections and struggles, our Triune God comes as Jesus, God with us, to be with us. To show us how to love God and one another in the Gospel. To dwell with us, not only for a short amount of time, but to walk with us in our daily lives. Be among us in community, that wherever we embody Jesus that is what makes places holy. To call us to be renewed and transformed.

Do you see the connections?

Jesus is telling us about proclaiming the good news of God in Christ to one another and serving one another. The Psalmist is talking about living together among God’s faithful people as we enter into our worship communities. Paul is talking about being renewed by hearing the word of God, sharing together in the Lord’s Supper and our own bodies being renewed. They all work together so that justice and peace may abide within us.

Working “for justice and peace” is at the end of promises in baptism because if we are up holding the responsibilities that we trust God and one another with, we will be working towards peace and justice. Growing together as a faith community, sharing in scripture, sacraments, proclaiming the Gospel, and following the example of Jesus. They all connect together. Work together. So that we are constantly called back to the waters of new life.  

Hear these words of your Affirmation of Baptism one more time.

As you receive the gift of baptism, you are entrusted with these responsibilities for yourselves and for one another:

☩ To live with God’s faithful people 
☩ To bring the word of God and the holy supper, teach the Lord’s Prayer, the Creed, and the Ten Commandments 
☩ To hold the holy scriptures and be nurtured in them in faith and prayer so that we may learn to trust God 
☩ To proclaim Christ through word and deed, care for others and the world God made
☩ To work for justice and peace 

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

Pastor Paul E. Hoffman

Fifth Sunday in Lent A

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

“Take off your clothes.”

Sources as reliable as Hippolytus of Rome and Cyril of Jerusalem attest to this shocking rubric, with which the bishop opened the baptismal rituals of the ancient church. In places as beautiful as Florence’s baptistry or as ordinary as a French country church, the presider began the baptismal rite: “Take off your clothes.”

They got the language from Jesus himself. John’s Gospel prefigures the dying and rising about to take place in the life of Jesus. Standing by Lazarus, John’s risen Christ commands: “Unbind him, and let him go.” That’s a close first cousin to the ancient church’s invitation, “take off your clothes.” Lazarus is about to be born again. And so are we.

Jesus invites us daily to step into the New Creation that he is about to forge on the cross. He looks with compassion on the emptiness of our lives as one might gaze upon a valley of dry bones. He wrestles out of the depths of the grave to be the first to rise from that grave-turned-womb into new and everlasting life. Even Jesus left his old clothes behind there in the tomb. They are the vestiges of a soiled and sin-filled former world.

That former world is a world of “if onlies…” The If only…. If only, Lazarus’ sisters mutter in their pain. And so do we.  If only I were smarter, thinner, richer, sexier, more content. If only we could agree. If only the planet weren’t overheating. If only this unprovoked war would end.  If only spring would come. 

So here’s an “if only,” of a different stripe. If only we could see ourselves in Lazarus, if only we could see ourselves as Lazarus. If only we could put ourselves in his place in this story, then we will hear Jesus invite us to lay aside all that clothes us in pain and sorrow, sin and death. Then from our muttering and pain, we will hear: “Unbind them, and let them go.” That is Jesus, talking through the Scriptures, to us, his beloved Church, today. “Unbind them and let them go.”

If only we could see that Christ offers to wrap us in new life. It is a cloak he has been weaving for us since Lent began:

 +To walk away from all in the former life with which the devil tempts us…

+To be born again, has Jesus reminded Nicodemus he must be.

+To drink of living water, the kind that Jesus shared with the Samaritan woman at the well.

+To proclaim, along with the man born blind, that Jesus is Lord.

+To allow the gifts of the Church to empower us to freely live in God’s good and renewed world, in ungrudging service to others

Breathe in the Spirit’s breath of New Creation. I encourage you to hear with ears of the resurrection our Christ proclaimed today at the table of new life:

With this bread and cup, we remember your Son, the first born of the New Creation.

By his own baptism into death, Jesus left behind the lifeless, stench-ridden clothing the world. From the grave he rose to make all things new. Just as the prayer says, “the first born of the New Creation.”

Into the valley of this beloved sanctuary, across our weary bones, his resurrection breath blows once more this holy day. He invites us to leave the old worn and ratty clothing of the past behind.

Free from fear, free from selfishness, or shame, free from the empty idle promises of this deceptive world. Free from death, itself. Free to leave that all behind, so that with him, we might live each day charged with the breath of the Spirit. We no longer live by the breath of the flesh. We live by the breath of the Spirit.

There’s one more thing. And it’s a big thing. It’s about why Jesus raised up Lazarus, why he stripped him of the garments of the graveyard. It’s about why he said, “unbind him, let him go.”

Jesus did not do this so that from here on out Lazarus could live an endless string of chicken soup for the soul kind of days.

Jesus did not say, “I am the resurrection.” He said more. “I am the resurrection and the life.”  As Lazarus is given new breath, new life, so are we each day. Every day. And not for our own sake. Listen in again on the Eucharistic prayer about to be proclaimed:

With this bread and cup, we remember your Son, the first born of the New Creation. We remember his life lived for others, and his death and resurrection which renews the face of the earth.

There it is: his life lived for others. Life that really is life. Our baptism promises us that own future is held eternally in the nail-printed hands of Jesus Christ, the first born of the New Creation. He raises us up new each day not to live for ourselves, but to renew the face of the earth. Tenderness. Care. Acceptance. Healing. Hope. Welcome. These are the sinews that stitch together a life that is really is life. A life that really is life for all people.

As Lazarus was buried in the tomb, so were we buried in baptismal waters. And as with Lazarus, Christ will raise us up, daily unbind us, and let us go. He will reclothe us, that we may serve those in need and bring to the dry and lifeless bones of a world destined for death the breath of resurrection.

The Lord Christ did unbind us, and he has let us go. We are free. Free, that with each new day we might shed our old and worn-out clothes and be dressed in the dazzling robes of Easter life. A life lived for others. The only life that really is life.

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

Pastor Paul E. Hoffman

Lenten Midweek, Fourth Lent A

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

It’s really the all in this baptismal promise that hangs us up, isn’t it?

Do you promise to serve all people, following the example of Jesus?

Let’s face it, we’re pretty okay with serving some people, or even most people, or we wouldn’t be here, would we? For most of us, the opportunity to serve is one of the things that draws us to the community of Christ, that keeps us here. We don’t have a problem with serving. It’s the all – serving all people – that trips us up.

Are you like me in this regard? Do you like serving people who you know will serve you back when you’re down and out? Do you find it easy to serve those who will lavish praise, who will go the extra mile to thank you and love you up when the shoe is on other foot? That kind of serving isn’t always easy, but it comes with at least some modicum of reward. Serving people you like, serving people who are like you, is almost infectious in its appeal. It feels good.

But. But following the example of Jesus, we are called in our baptism to serve all people. And all people includes those who are not like us, who cannot return the favor when the tables are turned. Serving all people, following the example of Jesus means reaching out in grace and mercy to those we don’t understand, those with whom we do not agree, even to those who might do us harm, or be our enemies. Serving in this way is both God’s way of seeing that all the families of the earth are blessed, the partnership with God first offered to Abraham. And serving all people is also a pathway to the steadfast love of God that celebrates one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of us all, who is above all and through all and in all. Serving all people, following the example of Jesus is the vision of a God who enters our human story and, with grace unbounded, offers life and freedom to all people. All.

From the lofty reaches of heaven, this Samaritan Jesus come to men and women who are driven by guilt and fear and offers hope and opportunity. Here we lie in ditches of our own making. We are beaten and bloodied by the challenges of the world. We try to love as God would have us love, but fail, and in human weakness fall prey to those who beat us up or knock us down. Sometimes the forces that do that are from outside ourselves, and often, they are from within.

It makes no difference to this foreign God who comes among us, just as in Jesus’ parable the Samaritan comes upon the beaten, bloodied one. With the gifts of the church, wine and oil, our God stoops to heal our need. Our God understands our failure to embrace all people as fully as we are called to embrace them. Our God understands our failure to answer the call to love ourselves with confident eyes that see ourselves and every other living thing as beloved, created, cherished by the never-ending compassion of our God.  Our God understands that day in and day out, one way or another, we end up abandoned and alone on roadways far from home, where those we would most expect to bind us up pass by on the other side. And where, at the same time, we are often the ones passing by on the other side of those who need us most.

The One who is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love comes for one, for all on life’s dangerous and threatening winding roads, and binds our wounds with wine and oil. To the inn of the Church, Christ takes us, providing for our care in the company of either stranger or friend, until he comes again. His promise to return, and to repay, is all we need.

Do you promise to serve all people, following the example of Jesus?

Some days in our lives we will be the caregiver, and some days we will be the cared-for. But all days, we will be found in the loving embrace of the one who carries us in love and provides for us in his own body, the Church.

So here in the Inn, until Christ comes again, we learn and grow. We are challenged by all our baptism calls us to, not the least of which is the promise to serve all people, following in the footsteps of the one who died and rose again to save us all.

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

How do we hear our call, recognize it, and live it out when we are not able to see past challenges ahead of us?

Vicar Mollie Hamre
4th Sunday in Lent, Year A
Texts: 1 Samuel 16:1-13, Psalm 23, Ephesians 5:8-14, John 9:1-41

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

The man’s “blindness” is not the headliner for the Gospel today.  

It’s not an ailment that needs to be fixed or even the focus of the story. Blindness is not a condemnation, something that even Jesus notes in the Gospel. The focus is the way this man’s story grows into a proclamation. This man lives and recounts his story of gaining sight five times. And each time, his awareness and conviction grows stronger. In verse 11 we hear him say “the man called Jesus” and this description of Jesus grows. It turns to calling Jesus a prophet, to stating Jesus is a man from God, and ends with declaring Jesus as Lord. This man from the Gospel does what many of us seek out: hearing one’s call, recognizing it, and proclaiming it. 

Hearing, seeing, and knowing Jesus is not something that is granted upon those who are chosen or just blessed enough. It is like anything else we do, when we compassionately seek and ask questions with open minds, God is there. 

The first time the man born blind interacts with Jesus, he can not see Jesus. 

He can only hear Jesus’ voice giving two small directions: go and wash. When the man returns, being able to see, Jesus is no longer there. Which leaves the man to describe his experience to those questioning around him where this person who helped him gain sight went. His reply is simple: I do not know. What he does know is that something has taken place and his life will never be the same. This man is someone who was looked down upon, who people accused of sinning, and yet, he is the one who teaches in the end. He is the one preaching that God listens and works through those we would least expect. 

So, when we hear this Gospel, we hope to be the man born blind.

The person who hears Jesus’ voice and follows it amidst the confusion. But sometimes we don’t and instead are left with the sinking question: “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Our biggest fear. What if the one’s blind to God’s call is actually us? That we could be the ones not doing enough, ignoring the voices of those that are oppressed, and missing the call to love one another. It is a scary thought that weighs a guilty conscience on us in a world full of turmoil. If only we could fix every problem, every lie in the media, and sweep away the oppression that is happening in our world. And when we ask where Jesus, God with us is, sometimes the answer is: I do not know. And that as a starting point, for all of these daunting questions, is okay. We will sometimes be the blind and yet, we are told that Jesus comes to us to open our eyes.

Notice the places our community is already doing this:

This past month of February 109 families with 163 babies total were assisted with receiving diapers through the diaper packing and delivery program. Partnerships with Align Minneapolis provided rental assistance for families that are at risk of being without homes. And we hear prayers each week for our global and neighborhood partners addressing food insecurity, mental health services, and relief to those around the world. There are many more ways our community impacts those around us that I have not mentioned, and these are wonderful ways God calls to this community. Do not ignore the power of that call. 

With all of these extraordinary things, we know there are places for growth too.

 In this past month alone, 72 people came through our doors seeking help. 13 families were added to the waiting list for diaper deliveries. People in our community here are without homes and affordable housing is hard to find. Our shelters are overwhelmed. Our community knows families seeking out safety and being faced with immigration policies are difficult to navigate. It’s a lot. 

So where do we start?

It makes me think about learning a new language. If I have never spoken a language before, I will not recognize it at first. I will not know how to speak it. But if I talk to those who speak the language. If I seek out understanding and lessons. If I seek out times of growth to be immersed in the language. If I try speaking the language and see how it feels coming from my own mouth, I will learn a new language. It takes time and persistence. These are all aspects of a long-term commitment to immersing oneself in the call that our Triune God has to each of us. By listening to one another. Holding one another’s burdens, vulnerabilities, and listening to each other stories of loss, questions, and worries. By looking to our community and listening to where the Spirit calls us. 

These words and this work are not a light load.

And not one that rests on a single individual’s shoulders either. Discerning where the Triune God calls us as individuals and as a community, all at once, working together. It asks that we recognize and seek Christ in one another. It asks that we listen to the ways God is calling us to love our neighbors, locally and globally. If we are to hear God’s call, in our community and life together, we must begin at listening for the voice of Jesus. To the voices of one another and our neighbors outside these walls. To trust that even if we are walking into challenges blind, that Jesus, God with us, meets us along the way. 

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