This utter foolishness of God, the cross of Christ, is the only wisdom that will give us, and the creation, life.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Holy Cross
Texts: 1 Corinthians 1:18-24; John 3:13-17

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

None of this makes any rational sense. That’s what we celebrate tonight.

You understand that Paul’s not embarrassed when he says the cross of Christ is foolishness and will trip people up? He’s saying with hope that what we cling to for our life and the life of the world is ridiculous by the world’s standards. But it is God’s wisdom that will heal all things.

The world says: use power, control your environment.

Isn’t that what makes human beings great? We can dominate and rule all creatures and the natural world, can even control and dominate our fellow human beings. Might makes right.

But you see what that’s given us? Dysfunction and grief in families because people seek to get their own way at any cost. The oppression and devastation of systemic sexism and racism, embedded in the very fabric of our society and in our own minds and hearts, even if we don’t want it there. The violence and destruction of war, whether it’s nations destroying millions of people or one person taking out a gun and shooting someone else (and often dozens). Our world is riddled with pain and suffering caused by human beings seeking power and control.

But at the cross we see the God of the universe do something completely different.

The holy and Triune God has literally all power to do anything. But on the cross, God-with-us said, “I won’t fight you or anyone. I will love you with my whole heart, my mind, my soul, my strength. Even if you kill me.” This is the path to true life. You’ve seen what power and domination does, God says. Now see the true power of weakness.

That’s the foolishness we proclaim. But it’s God’s wisdom. Healing comes when we set down our weapons. When we don’t control. When we let others harm us rather than hurt them. When we love with God’s foolish unconditionality, God’s reckless vulnerability. This will make a world where all can be safe and whole and loved. Because this weakness can even break down all the systems and structures of power and domination in this world.

And there is great beauty in such vulnerability. Even if the world sees ugly scars.

There is life-transforming beauty in the gift of forgiving offered from one to another. There is life-restoring beauty in someone losing so that another might live. There is world-changing beauty in a society embracing letting go of power for the sake of the powerless.

The path of vulnerable love, God showed at the cross, is the only path that brings hope and healing, and life to all people, not just the strong. The only path that shares God’s abundance rather than hoarding it. The only path that sees the beauty of a precious human being in the eyes of every person.

Can you rejoice in the foolishness of this? Trust the ridiculousness of how you are healed by God and of the shape of your love, your path?

In our worship, we do things to help us get there.

We eat a meal of the body and blood of this crucified God. And we say with Paul, “when we eat of this bread and drink of this cup, we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” Taking this food into our very bodies we eat the foolishness of God and proclaim the foolishness of God. And this food makes us foolish like God.

We bow to a cross as it’s carried into our midst, as it hangs over our altar, to show in our bodies we once again accept this cross-shaped life, this cross-shaped love, as our own life and love to live.

With our hands we draw a cross upon our body made of dirt and breath, renewing our commitment to that shape of love, and agree again to let God’s foolish wisdom shape us.

None of this makes any rational sense. That’s what we celebrate tonight.

God’s foolishness is actually the only thing that can break what truly makes no sense: this world’s obsession with power and violence and control, an obsession that is killing people and their spirits, killing species, killing this planet. That’s the true nonsense, the truly ridiculous – to continue to play by the world’s rules knowing they lead to death and despair.

Tonight we celebrate. And we pray, as we celebrate: shape our lives to your cross, O Christ. Shape our love into a cross-shaped grace that will bring your foolish love ever deeper into this broken world. So that no one will be lost but all will find life and healing in you.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

God’s love is the only factor that matters, and it’s all-inclusive, all-loving, nonsensical, and the best news you could ever have.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 24 C
Text: Luke 15 (adding the third parable to the reading)

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 time, Jesus told a story.

Sometimes when faced with opposition, Jesus might rebuke or lecture. But this time, criticized for “welcoming sinners and eating with them,” Jesus wanted to see if he could help these leaders open their imaginations. So they might see the truth about God’s love for them. So he said, “Let me tell you a story.”

The religious leaders can only see stereotypes here. All these people drawn to Jesus are “sinners,” not individuals with lives and stories. They’re broad-brushed as a dismissable group. Bad, to be avoided. We do the same with the Pharisees and scribes, seeing them as a stereotype – they’re all bad, they’re ignorant, let’s all boo whenever they come on stage.

But Jesus – God-with-us – doesn’t see stereotypes. He sees with the eyes of the Triune God, eyes that lovingly see each child of God. So he wants to tell you a story. Maybe two or three. So your imagination can expand, and maybe you can see as God sees, and find good news for you, too.

The first thing to notice is these stories are all about God.

These stories have nothing to do with repenting. Luke has added a little tag verse about sinners repenting after each of the first two parables. But those verses have absolutely nothing to do with Jesus’ actual stories. The sheep does nothing to help itself, it’s just found. The coin is inanimate, it literally can’t repent. And neither of the two lost sons repent, at least not that we hear from Jesus.

Sometimes Jesus does invite repentance. Just not today. Not in these stories. Today, Jesus just wants you to imagine how astonishing God’s love for you and for all really is.

Jesus says, can you imagine a God who sees all as precious and treasured?

A shepherd who loves his sheep so much he risks life and limb to find it. A woman who treasures her meager wealth and desperately searches until she finds what she lost. A father who loves his two sons no matter how they treat him or each other.

Jesus is brilliant here. He completely ignores the question of whether his companions are sinners, or even if the Pharisees are. Most Christians claim these stories say God loves you even if you’re a sinner.

Not Jesus’ way. Not God-with-us. Whether you’re a tax collector or a Pharisee, someone who’s a known screw-up or someone admired, someone with privilege or someone cast aside by your world, you are precious to God. Period. End of sentence. Not in spite of who you are or in spite of what you’ve done. Or only if you confess and do better.

Jesus tells these stories of precious things in order, so you understand this. A sheep that does nothing to help itself. A coin that can’t. Then a last story is about people like us, but they’re the same as the sheep and the coin. Even people are loved by God simply for being who they are, not for what they have and haven’t done.

And that’s really good news for you, treasured child of God.

But Jesus isn’t finished. He says, can you imagine a God whose love for everyone is non-negotiable?

Every shepherd in thousands of years of human history has expected some losses. Sheep get sick, get lost, wolves eat them. But Jesus’ shepherd isn’t satisfied with writing off losses. No. All one hundred must be found, all one hundred must be home. It’s not God’s will that a single little one be lost, Jesus has said.

And of course this woman needs all ten of her coins. Wealthy people can write off losses, but she needs to look until she finds her lost coin. Every one is precious to her, every one means life to her.

And this father doesn’t write off the younger son who despises him and leaves with his inheritance. He keeps looking, searching, watching, waiting. And he isn’t satisfied at the celebration party when he notices his older boy is not there. He leaves the party to search for his other lost son. This father loves his sons beyond everything and will not be satisfied unless both are at home.

Jesus says, can you imagine that even when you fear you’re worthless, or regret what you’ve done, or feel you’re not appreciated, or others diminish you, can you imagine God isn’t complete if you aren’t home? No one gets written off by God. Not tax collectors or Pharisees. Not you. God will only have one hundred out of one hundred.

And that’s really good news for you, who might sometimes feel you’re not in the count.

And Jesus says, wrap your mind around this: God’s love makes absolutely no sense.

It’s not rational. It’s foolish. Any shepherd listening to this story would laugh. None of them would leave ninety-nine alone to look for one. Ridiculous.

And this poor woman throws a party when she finds her coin? How many of her precious coins did that cost? Ridiculous.

And this deluded father, how foolish is he? He lets his younger son treat him as if he’s dead, and, splits his estate in two. He welcomes the boy back with no conditions, no required groveling, ignores the manipulation, and throws a huge party. He risks offending his cranky older son and breaking that relationship to get them to reconcile. This father so loves his sons nothing can get in his way. Ridiculous.

Can you imagine that? God’s love is so expansive, so strong, so deep, so risky, it makes no sense? God will risk everything to love everyone home, will go to a cross to prove it. Ridiculous.

And can you see why that’s good news for you?

These stories don’t really end.

We don’t know if the shepherd loses more sheep, or how the woman copes with poverty, or if the younger son is changed, or if the elder son ever reconciles with his brother.

But look at how these stories do end: celebration and joy that the sheep is found. Celebration and joy that the coin is found. And the last word of the last story is the utterly beautiful statement of a father’s love: you are always with me and everything I have is yours, but we also celebrate because your brother was dead and now he’s alive.

Imagine that, Jesus says to you. Imagine that God’s first word to you is a love that will always seek you out wherever you are, and God’s last word to you is joy and celebration that you are found. Can you imagine what your life could be like if you could trust God’s foolish, absolute, starry-eyed love is for you? Can you imagine how this world could be healed if everyone could imagine such love from God for them and for all?

Jesus can imagine it. Listen to him. He’ll tell you a story. Maybe you’ll see for yourself.  

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

You are a precious human being, made of dirt and God’s breath, and God, who knows what it is to live as you, invites you to see and love all others made like you.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 22 C
Texts: Luke 14:1, 7-14; Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16

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

God loves playing in the dirt.

That’s what our ancient Hebrew forebears tell. After their first creation account of an eternal, almighty God speaking creation into existence, they tell a completely different creation story. In the second account, they tell of a God who gets down to earth on divine hands and knees, plays around in the mud, and makes humans.

Then, this hands-on God breathes life into them. Even what the Hebrews called humans in the story tell this wonder: the man isn’t referred by name, only as “earth,” or “dirt,” in Hebrew “adam.” Adam. The woman isn’t referred by name, only as “life,” or “breath,” in Hebrew “chavah.” Eve.

These ancient Hebrews give us the gift of understanding each human being as a precious, miraculous merger of dirt and breath, earth and God’s Spirit.

Hold that for a moment as we listen to Jesus today.

Because Jesus asks you and me, who hear this story of an awkward dinner party, to be humble.

In the Greek of the New Testament, as well as in the Aramaic Jesus spoke, and the Hebrew of the Jewish people, the words for “humble” and “humility” meant to “bring down.” You could use it to describe leveling a hill, or, as we know well from Isaiah, a mountain being laid low.

But “bring down” gets us into all sorts of trouble. It leads to proud, privileged people telling oppressed people to be humble, literally putting them down, and covering that sin with the assumed virtue of divine command. We still see that today, especially from people who do the same job I do. But it also leads people who are struggling, who do not have privilege and status, to put themselves down, trying to be obedient. Neither is what Jesus means.

It’s the Romans who help us. Latin speakers used a different image for this concept than “bringing down.” “Humus” in Latin means earth, ground. And the Latin words you and I still use for this idea come from that word for earth: humble. Humility. Literally: grounded.

To be humble is to be down to earth, Latin says. And if you join that to what the Hebrews believed was the heart of humanity, earth filled with divine breath, you see an astonishing wonder in Jesus’ teaching today.

Actually, Jesus is his teaching.

The Word of God from before all time, God’s Sophia, Wisdom, creating with the Creator and the Spirit at the beginning, became human. A being of dirt and breath, just like you and me. The ancient Hebrews thought God liked playing in the dirt. But the first to trust in Jesus as God’s Messiah believed God actually became dirt.

To be down to earth, humble, the divine, all-powerful, eternal God became one of us. Lived in and experienced being made of the same minerals and water and breath that make us who we are.

Because – and this is most important – God loves these beings of dirt and breath. Loves you. Loves me. And God needed to see us as we are, from our view. To learn about us from inside our skin.

That means today’s writer to a different group of Hebrews is giving the wrong incentive.

This preacher says “do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that, some have entertained angels without knowing it.” But Jesus, God-with-us, sharing our dirt and our breath, says, “do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that, you will entertain a human being. No more, no less. But a beloved person made of dirt and breath, like you.

The preacher of Hebrews isn’t wrong. We might entertain angels among us. And Christ taught us to look for his face in every person we meet. That’s a blessing we don’t want to forget.

But today Jesus says, how about seeing everyone else as dirt and breath, just like you, when you look in their eyes? Whether you see one of our smallest, Annika, baptized with her brother James today, or the two revered saints among us whose centenary-plus birthdays we rejoice in today, from youngest to oldest we’re all dust, dirt filled with God’s breath. And that is precious and holy to God.

All the things we seem to notice and categorize most, color and gender and size and age and culture and language and customs, all these are just God’s frosting on the cake, God’s delight in diversity. They are to be treasured and valued and enjoyed. But at the core, Jesus says, remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. And so are all you meet. So love them, because they are you.

And if Christ can change how our eyes see, so many things will be healed.

All our categories – rich, poor, friends, enemies, stranger, neighbor, race, gender, creed – make objects out of beloved people. If you’re jockeying for good seats at the party or for the front of the line, you’re seeing objects, not people. If you support oppressive structures and value some people more than others because of how they present themselves, you’re seeing objects, not people. If you live in privilege and expect you deserve things, and are offended if you don’t get them, you’re seeing objects, not people.

But Jesus says true life is found when you look into the eyes of every human being you see, and see another human being. Not a category or a type or an object. A beloved child of God. And as more and more see with these eyes, all oppression and violence and hatred and all that ails our world will fall apart.

So, if you want to be humble as Jesus asks you, just remember your Latin.

Remember that to be humble is to be down to earth. To be who you are. Rejoice that you are a precious, miraculous merger of dirt and breath and you are not the only one.

Open your eyes, and see all these others God has made and rejoice. Find and live in that mutual love for and with all people that the preacher to the Hebrews urges, and then see what God will change inside you and in this world.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

God’s long-term plan for healing all things is a path of joy and hope, which we’ll find when we choose to walk it.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 21 C
Texts: Isaiah 58:9b-14; Luke 13:10-17

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

It’s easy to see and smugly point the finger at the bad person in this Gospel.

This synagogue leader, working his way through the crowd repeatedly telling people in need of healing to go away and come back when it isn’t Sabbath, is clearly wrong. How could he not rejoice that this woman received life and healing from God on this Sabbath day?

But there’s a trap in how easy it is for us to point that finger. We see these stories and easily say, “those Pharisees, those scribes, those leaders – what idiots they were, and how ignorant of what God was doing.”

Be careful, Isaiah says. When you point the finger, the prophet declares, whether at our indignant, angry friend in this story, or at others we could name, you are missing the life God hopes for you. You’re missing a truth God is showing that you need to see to live. And today, that truth is we’re often very much like this synagogue leader.

It’s easy to mock our friend here because this is so obviously a reason for joy.

In a small village like this, this woman, crippled with scoliosis, bent over double for nearly two decades, was likely known to everyone. To have this visiting rabbi stop his sermon, call her over, and heal her, would have been joy and wonder to all, Sabbath or no Sabbath.

That’s why we love Jesus’ healing miracles. God’s goodness is obvious, God’s healing is immediate, and it’s time to celebrate. We’re stunned at the religious leaders who repeatedly can’t see this obviousness.

But Jesus didn’t come to do healings. He often resisted doing them. Many times afterward, he told people not to tell anyone. His mission was far different. The healing the Triune God intended in coming as Christ in our human body was far greater than these miracles.

God’s greater mission is to bring healing to the whole creation. Everything.

The healing God sees the world needs is so much greater than individual diseases. God’s children are dying of hunger, are being destroyed by war and violence. So many of God’s children can’t find homes in which to live, so many work multiple jobs in a vain attempt to feed their families on unfair wages. God’s children are crushed by other children of God because of their skin color or their gender or their orientation, crushed by laws and systems and embedded behaviors and attitudes. God’s children living in other countries suffer because God’s children living in this country hoard resources and abuse the planet at a rate far beyond our numbers.

And it is the healing of all this that the Triune God intends to bring this world, the prophets declare and Jesus proclaims. But such healing isn’t a one time, immediate thing, like this woman today. It takes much longer. Such healing comes when God changes me and my heart. You and your heart. This community and our heart. And more and more communities and cities and nations. God will heal the whole creation by transforming God’s children one at a time, putting them in community, and sending them into the world on a mission of God’s love and justice and mercy and peace.

And now we recognize our own inability to see and our unwillingness to do.

We’re astonished that anyone wouldn’t be blown away by such a healing as this woman received. But healing that unfolds so slowly is much harder to see, and easily derailed by God’s own children. And the problems that ail our world are so great they seem intractable. So we can despair and even become apathetic.

But we can also resist being a part of God’s mission. If God’s long healing is going to happen, all sorts of changes will come for you and me. If systems need to be dismantled, that’s going to affect you and me. If you have embedded biases keeping you from seeing certain others as God’s children, those will have to be changed. In all that needs to be healed by God through you and me and all people, countless things will inconvenience, or frustrate, or frighten, or anger you and me.

So we can easily fall into our friend’s pattern today, grumbling around the edges that there have to be other ways, that this shouldn’t have to change so much, that surely all this isn’t necessary. We can say, sure, God desires justice and peace and mercy for all. But can’t I stay the same while that happens? Does this have to really change so much inside me, and in our community, and in our society and world?

Now, you and I can say no to working in God’s healing mission, just like this leader.

We can say we’ve got other priorities, we don’t really want to be changed, or see our society and world change as they need to for God’s dream to become reality.

But if we do that, we have a serious problem. You see, just this summer we promised Felix at his baptism, and Oren and Joanna at theirs, that they’re joining us in this mission. Today we’ll promise Isaac, and next week James and Annika. We welcome those who are baptized into the mission of Christ we claim to share. We promise to join them in bearing God’s creative and redeeming word to all the world. We promise to pray for them and their parents and sponsors so these children can learn to trust God, live this mission of God’s healing in their words and actions, care for others and the world God made, and work for justice and peace.

The Triune God’s part of baptism is not in question. Today God will claim Isaac as a beloved child in Christ, wash him and seal him with the cross of Christ. The Holy Spirit will continue to work in him, transforming him to be Christ.

But if we’re going to make promises, we’d better be ready to mean them and live them. We can’t send these six, and all the other children we’ve carried to baptism’s waters, into God’s healing mission for the world, God’s reign of love for all God’s children, God’s dream of justice and mercy and peace, all by themselves.

God’s mission sounds dauntingly hard to do. That’s why we hesitate.

But that’s because we haven’t really understood the joy God is offering. If we focus on the challenges of walking Christ’s path, we miss that it is the only path of life and hope and love and grace. It’s a beautiful life, living in God’s reign, loving God and neighbor, even in a broken world in desperate need of healing.

Isaiah says when you stop pointing the finger and start offering your food to the hungry and satisfying the needs of the afflicted, you enter an amazing new world of hope and life together.

You become a light that breaks through the deep shadows of night that cover our world. You become a watered garden that feeds and nourishes many. You become like a desert filling with rivers and grass and fruit trees. You become a spring of clean water that never fails.

That’s the delight of the path of Christ, the joy of the mission of God’s healing.

If God can open your eyes to see this joy in God’s long plan of healing, you’ll never want to walk another path. And we can take the hands of Felix and Oren and Joanna and Isaac and James and Annika and all we’ve promised to join in this mission, and walk with them together bearing God’s healing in our life and in our world.

After today’s miracle, two groups emerged. Some, shamed by Jesus’ rebuke, were filled with anger. But the vast majority of those in the synagogue celebrated the wonderful thing God had done.

That’s the group we want to choose to be in, the people of joy. There’s nothing keeping you from that party except maybe you yourself. And if God can convince more and more of us of the joy of this path, then the healing of all things God desires so deeply can come even sooner than we might ever have dreamed.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen