Trust in God’s love for you and the creation; all the rest will come from that.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Day of Thanksgiving, year B
Text: Matthew 6:25-33

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

Maybe Jesus didn’t have a dog.

When he wanted to encourage the crowds not to worry and to trust God for all things, he spoke of birds. They don’t plant seeds or harvest them or store them. But look, Jesus said, God feeds them. He spoke of flowers who don’t need to make clothing to look beautiful. God clothes them.

And of course he was saying that if God takes care of them, God will take care of you. But he also seems to suggest that they’re not worried about that.

Now, we don’t know about the inner life of birds. Do they worry where the next seeds will come from? And do flowers have feelings? Some studies suggest plants respond to music, to tone of voice. Do they have anxiety about whether they’ll burst forth in beautiful flower?

But if Jesus had a dog, this Gospel would make perfect sense to me.

So, I give you our little friend, Maggie.

Consider the Maggie of the house, Jesus could have said. She doesn’t make her meals (though if she ran freely, she’d try for a squirrel). But she looks to the food-giver, Mary, with hope and expectation each time 6 comes around on the clock. She trusts food will be given, and she joyfully eats it.

And look at Maggie, Jesus could have said. She doesn’t make blankets to keep herself warm at night. But when the couch-reader, Joseph, heads up to the loft to read, she joyfully runs ahead and leaps onto the blanket, ready to warmly lean into legs that are obviously there just for her.

And consider this, Jesus could say: for Maggie, every suggested activity is instantly her favorite thing of all time. Is she fully asleep, enjoying a nap? No matter, if the humans are preparing for a walk. Immediately that’s the longed-for activity, the long-anticipated joy.

Consider her, Jesus could have said. What if you didn’t fret about food or clothes, but simply and joyfully took life as it came?

This isn’t a silly exercise. Jesus seriously wants you to think about flowers and birds and your life with God, and find a way to let your worrying go.

I definitely want to listen to Jesus here. I want to look at the world, at our country, at the lives of neighbors and loved ones, even at my own life, and say, “It will all be well.” But it’s hard.

But Maggie daily shows what I think Jesus invites you to see: she lives her life in the moment, glad of company, glad of food, glad of warmth, glad of walks. If she worries about tomorrow, I don’t see it. If we come home after 10 minutes away we are greeted with the fullest joy she can muster, exactly as when we come home after hours away.

Of course birds and flowers and Maggie – feel free to insert the name of your favorite dog here – birds and flowers and Maggie have it easy, we say. Someone always provides. They may not worry about their food or clothing or shelter, but in the real world, someone has to worry about that.

But clearly Jesus knows that, that we have responsibilities and concerns beyond that of our fellow creatures on this planet. So if Jesus knows that, and still says, “have a look at them and consider what they’re up to,” maybe it’s worth considering.

Jesus invites you to seek to live as God’s non-human creatures do, and trust God’s goodness.

Maybe that’s the blessing of a Day of Thanksgiving. To remember to say, “thank you God, that this morning I breathed and saw the sun.” “Thank you, God, that today someone smiled at me.” “Thank you, God, that there are people who are working hard to bring mercy and justice to our world.” “Thank you, God, that I’m sometimes blessed to work with that, too.” To look at this life and say, “Thank you, God, for this food, for this rain, for this bed, for this home, for this neighbor, for that song, for this worship, for that joy, for this moment of happiness.”

Jesus invites you to lean into God’s love and look at all God is doing for the life of the world, and for your life. Even if it’s as simple as a warm fire on a cold night. Or the cashier being kind to you at checkout.

When Jesus says that worrying won’t help you add even a single hour to your lifespan, obviously that’s true.

But what if he means this: appreciate every hour you have. Singer-songwriter Warren Zevon, as he neared an untimely death from cancer, was asked what he now knew, facing death, that he’d tell others. He said, “Enjoy every sandwich.”

All of the problems Jesus says not to worry about won’t go away. You and all people need to eat. You and all people need clothes. You and all people need shelter. You and all people need love. You and all people need safety and peace with justice. Jesus just suggests that if you keep your eyes open to what is good right now, your hope fixed on the love of God in Christ that cannot be taken from you or your neighbor or the creation, all those problems won’t overwhelm your heart and mind.

That’s the true lesson of the birds and flowers and Maggie.

They all live, and even the animals do work for that living. Whether bird or fish or dog or elephant, all go about their day do what they need to do. But perhaps not overwhelmed by worry and anxiety.

That’s what Jesus offers you. The work still remains for you, for me, for the world, to make this a place where food and clothing and shelter and love and safety are shared by all.

But while you do that, try and live like Maggie, Jesus might say. Do your thing faithfully. But receive each moment with joy. Live in trust that you are loved, and all are loved. Be grateful for each moment that is yours to live, to love. Enjoy every sandwich.

And for all this, today, and all days, give thanks.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Christ Jesus is God’s Truth, and when you abide in him, continue in his Word, listen to his voice, God’s Truth will be known in your lives, for the freeing of the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Reign of Christ, Last Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 34 B
Texts: John 8:33-37 (adding 38a)

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 is truth?” Pilate asks.

He wonders if this bedraggled rabbi in front of him has claimed to be the King of the Jewish people Pilate governs. If he has, he’s a revolutionary, and his sentence must be crucifixion.

Pilate might just want an expedient way out of this trial. But John suggests Pilate really wants to know the truth: who is this Jesus? What’s his game? Give me a clear answer.

For Pilate, truth is an abstract, objective thing, a fact. Yes or no. Simple.

Christians often have agreed with him.

When Christians speak of God’s truth in Christ, it’s often meant objectively.

Truth is facts, statements we can agree or disagree on. In the fourth century, serious arguments about the “truth” of Jesus dominated the thought of Church leaders. Was he really God? Was he truly human? Eventually, what we now call the Nicene Creed emerged as “the truth” about the Triune God, and most extensively, about the Son of God.

The problem is that tricky “agreed upon” part. Those who disagreed with the final version of that Creed ended up on the heretical outside, even though they were faithful Christians. That’s how we do it.

Our group writes down five truths we affirm about God in Christ. Then we see some who only believe four of our five. Worse, their fifth is different, and unacceptable. So we mock them or hate them, and break fellowship with them. In the past, when the Church controlled most of European politics, we just destroyed those who disagreed, killing the children of Christians who had a different set of truths, massacring Muslims and Jews.

Objective truth written on the page that can be argued, agreed upon, fought over, is seductive. You can close your book, certain you are right, and that others are wrong, and sleep easily.

You won’t be following Christ, though.

See, what Pilate doesn’t understand is that Truth is standing right in front of him.

This beaten, abandoned man, is God’s Truth, in the flesh. He says, “everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” You can’t belong to a doctrine, a teaching, a creed. You can only belong to a someone.

Jesus also called himself the Truth in John 8. He tells those who trusted in him that if they continue in his word, they will know the truth, and the truth will make them free. Minutes later he adds, “If the Son makes you free, you are free indeed.” The Son is the Truth.

On the night of his arrest, when his followers fretted over his news that he was leaving, and wondered where he was going, he said, “I am the Way to where I’m going. I am the Truth. I am the Life.” Jesus didn’t come to teach a truth about God. Jesus is God’s truth for the universe now and always. In person.

Now, this actually sounds just as abstract as saying God’s truth is a thing to write out and and argue about. How is it different that Jesus himself is God’s Truth? What difference does that make to me? you ask? Thankfully, Jesus anticipated your question.

The only way you can know God’s Truth in Christ is to live in it yourself, Jesus says.

In John 8, Jesus said: “If you continue in my word you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” Living what Jesus taught and lived, makes you a follower, a disciple. You know the Truth in Christ by living in it, not by writing it down and fighting over it.

In John 15, the same horrible night of his arrest, Jesus also told his followers to abide in him. He said, “the commandment I just gave you, to love one another, to wash each other’s feet, to be servants, will be fulfilled when you live in me. Apart from me you can do nothing. Connected to me, like a vine, you will pour God’s love into the world.

And Jesus said to Pilate, “those who belong to the truth listen to my voice.” We know God’s truth when we live it.

And your life, Jesus says, becomes your witness.

The English have a saying, “The proof of the pudding is in the eating.” Christmas pudding is hard to make, and you can’t tell if you did it right until you taste it.

Jesus says to Pilate, if you want proof that I am a King, just look at my followers. They’re my proof. But know that I rule in a very different way than you or other kings in this world do. If I were like you, they’d be fighting to defend me, to keep me from this trial and crucifixion. Those who belong to me, God’s Truth, listen to my voice. And follow. And they’re not fighting.

The only way Christ’s reign is revealed to the world, God’s Truth confirmed, is by the actions, behavior, and love of Christ’s followers.

The proof of the pudding is in the eating.

Do you trust God’s Truth that you are beloved, always, that nothing can separate you from God’s love in Christ? That’s terrific, Jesus says. Now, I’ll know you trust that when you live that. When you, filled with my Spirit, see all of my children as beloved, precious to the Triune God. The proof of your discipleship, your belonging, is in your living.

Do you trust God’s Truth that you are utterly and freely forgiven by God of all that you do, that there is no sin that is not forgiven and forgotten by God in Christ? That’s fantastic, Jesus says. Now, I’ll know you trust that when you live that. When you, abiding in me, forgive all whom you meet, not holding grudges, forgiving even when you’re abandoned or betrayed or hurt or slandered. The proof of your discipleship, your belonging, is in your living.

Do you trust God’s Truth that you are not God’s enemy, that in Christ God has reconciled anything between you and God? That’s wonderful, Jesus says. Now, I will know you trust that when you live that. When you, alive in my Word, love your enemies and seek to be reconciled, pray honestly and deeply for those who hurt you. The proof of your discipleship, your belonging, is in your living.

That’s how the world will know God’s Truth and be free.

Not by us claiming we’ve got all the answers. And certainly not by us fighting with others. The one critical sign Jesus claims today for his followers is that if they follow him, they don’t fight. They don’t hurt. They don’t defend God. Blessed are the peacemakers, Jesus said and meant.

As we continue in God’s Word, listen to Christ’s voice, we live lives of sacrificial love, not power and domination. The proof of our discipleship is in our living that path of Christ we trust for our own lives, that sacrificial love, that vulnerable giving for the sake of the world.

Pilate should have asked, “Who is Truth?”

And for Jesus, the answer goes far beyond himself.

When he rose from the dead he sent the Holy Spirit into the hearts and lives of those who follow, and now Christ does the same and sends you and me into the world saying, “They are now God’s Truth.”

For the world, the proof of the pudding is still in the eating. Who you are, who I am, will either reveal God’s Truth or not.

But thanks be to God for this: when you and I continue in God’s Word, abide in the life of Christ we know and trust for our lives, listen to the voice of Truth, God’s Truth will flow from us. And make us and the whole creation free.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Four things give us hope in a world of fear: Christ opens our access to God; we can hold tightly to the abiding love God has for us; we can provoke each other to good; and our community, together, is where God does all this.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twenty-fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 33 B
Texts: Hebrews 10:11-25; Mark 13:1-8

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 do you expect these days when you check the news?

Do you open your paper, log into your news site, turn on your radio, and expect you’ll hear something hopeful? Or that you’ll be dismayed or frustrated?

As each new day begins, do you expect signs that all we face is improving, whether it’s the pandemic, or critical changes to our society, or even possibly a strengthening of our democracy? Or do you simply expect it’s bad, and it’s going to get worse, because when you’ve allowed yourself to hope you were badly disappointed?

The disciples, at this point in Holy Week, are hopeful.

They’re small town folks in the big city as Passover approaches, and they’re a little overwhelmed: big buildings, big city, big crowds. They sigh appreciatively at the impressiveness. But Jesus throws cold water on their awe. He tells them it’s all going to be torn town, destroyed. And it will, only 40 years later. He says things are going to get bad before they get better. And they do, starting with Jesus’ death.

Today’s Gospel begins a long section of apocalyptic warnings that though God is working in the world, lots of things will not go well – wars, violence, threats to mothers with children, and so on – and they shouldn’t be surprised by that. I’ll bet they were. But we’re not.

We seem less surprised by these apocalyptic readings the more we hear them.

Each November the lectionary nears the end of the Church Year with readings from Scripture’s apocalyptic texts. Warnings of the end time, encouragement to believers, challenges to be awake and alert.

These don’t shock us anymore. It’s been a long time since any of us looked at our world and said, “Look how great it all is, how our civilization is prospering, the big buildings, the big cities, the big crowds!” Jesus’ warnings that the world will oppose God’s grace and love, and that things are falling apart, are pretty much what we expect, not something startling.

Maybe that’s a blessing of this end-of-year focus. As we check the news each day, to know Jesus said it might get this bad somehow helps.

But we still need to know how to cope, don’t we?

How not to be “alarmed,” as Jesus urges. Can we live in these end times – even if they last beyond us – faithfully and with courage? Face each day’s news saying, “God is with us and we have a job to do and we will be alright?”

“Glad you asked,” says the writer of Hebrews. In fact, this preacher – it’s more a sermon than a letter – blesses you today with the direction you need to not only endure these times but thrive and be God’s blessing. “Let us do these four things,” the preacher says. There we will find God. And hope.

Let us approach God with confidence.

You have full and open access to God, Hebrews promises, because God in Christ has opened the way into God’s house for you and all people. All we’ve heard about Jesus from Hebrews these past weeks in worship leads to this joy: Christ Jesus has done the priestly work once and for all of connecting humanity to God. God’s door is open. You can approach God with a true heart and full trust.

So how will you cope with these apocalyptic times? Bring all your concerns, your confession, your anxiety, your complaint, your fear, your grief, your frustration, to the God whose door is always open to you. Who in Christ has made a way for you to approach God with confidence and trust.

Let us also hold fast to our hope without wavering, because God is faithful.

You belong to a God, Hebrews reminds you, who has made a new covenant with you and all people. Written on your heart. A covenant of abiding and eternal love and grace where God promises even to forget your sins forever.

In Christ’s resurrection, God has proven to be faithful, Hebrews says. If God says you’re forgiven, loved, blessed, and promises never to remember your sins, you can hold that hope forever.

So how will you cope with these apocalyptic times and your concerns about your part in them, good or evil, known or unknown?

Cling to the hope that you are eternally and constantly loved by the Triune God who, in Christ, has entered death and brought life through it, a life that now is yours to fill you always. Cling to the hope that nothing, nothing can separate you from God’s love in Christ – not these times, not what you do or don’t do. Hold tight to that as if your life depends on it. Because it does.

And let us also consider how to provoke each other to love and good deeds.

You know what Hebrews means, don’t you? That loved one who irritates you by reminding you of things you do or don’t do that contribute to the problems of our world? Who reminds you of our interconnectedness and calls you – by their modeling and their words – to be better in this world, to pay attention to your words and actions? We all know people like that.

Good, says Hebrews. Let’s all be that way. Clinging fast to the truth that you are loved and forgiven by God, and in that hope, help each other find the way you are called to live.

Let’s consider how we can provoke, irritate, bug each other to love and good deeds. That’s how God will heal this world from these apocalyptic times. That’s the birth pangs Jesus talks about: your love and mine, and the love of all God’s children are bearing life, gradually vaccinating the world with God’s love until healing and life happens for all.

And let us not neglect to meet together as the times get harder.

You are not alone in these times. That’s God’s gift, the community of those who trust the birthing of God’s life and love is happening. Together we’re able to stand and move and live and love.

From the community of believers you learn to trust in God’s open door, and find help in clinging to the hope that you are loved. And this community of Christs will provoke you, as you, Christ yourself, provoke them, to love and good deeds.

So let’s not neglect meeting together. A great hardship of our time apart was that we were apart. We found ways to connect with some over the Internet. But being together in God’s presence in worship, sharing song and silence; encouraging each other in person, loving each other, challenging each other in person, we lost for a time. Now we know more than ever that we need to be together as God’s people in these times.

All this we experience – this is the birth pangs of God’s new creation, Jesus says.

So don’t be alarmed: God’s love is working in your heart and in mine and in the hearts of God’s children everywhere, and God’s life will break forth. Is breaking forth even now.

Let us hold on to that hope together, as God walks beside and in us, leading the world toward the birth of God’s new creation.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

God shares our suffering, brings life in the midst of death, even if we think we’re abandoned by God: is that enough for you?

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
All Saints Sunday, year B
Texts: John 11:32-44 (adding vv. 17, 20-31 as well); Isaiah 25:6-9; Revelation 21:1-6

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

You know what our real problem with this Gospel story is, right?

The problem we have with this Gospel, the one we don’t talk about, the neighbors in Bethany name openly. They see Jesus weeping and say, “look how much he loved him! But how come if he healed that blind person we heard about, he didn’t keep this person he loved from dying?”

The problem we have with this Gospel, the one we don’t talk about, Martha and Mary both name openly. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.”

The problem we have with this Gospel, the one we don’t talk about, is that secretly in our hearts, we agree with them all.

But somewhere along the line someone taught Christians never to criticize God.

I’ve worked as a pastor for over 30 years, and it is deep-rooted in us. Our first instinct might be to agree with Martha and Mary and their neighbors. But we can’t say that the Son of God blew it.

So we make theological excuses for Jesus’ behavior here. We try to explain away why he delayed coming.

And we keep quiet about what’s really on our heart when we see the suffering of our neighbors, or the death and dying of loved ones, or our own suffering and pain. We’re afraid to say out loud that if God really cared, God would do something, afraid to suggest God dropped the ball, or worse, doesn’t care.

But the folks in this story have a legitimate complaint. And you know it.

Three times in chapter 11, Jesus’ love for this family is named. The sisters sent Jesus a note that said “Lord, the one whom you love is sick.” Then John says, “Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, he stayed two days longer.” Last, the neighbors see Jesus weep and say, “He really loved him.”

But Jesus delayed coming for two days. This family he loved asked for help – a healing he’d done dozens of times to people he barely knew – and he declined. Whatever his reasons, none absolve him from this charge: if he loved Lazarus so much, why didn’t he prevent this death?

And we have the same, legitimate question when we see a suffering world, with persistent evil, or pray for healing that doesn’t seem to come, or long for God to intervene in whatever way. If “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so” is true, and if God loves you, or our neighbors, or those who are poor, or those who are oppressed, or whomever, so much, why doesn’t God do something to prevent this pain and suffering?

But you’ve been sold a lie if you think you can’t criticize God. Just read your Bible.

God’s people regularly complain about God’s apparent indifference to their pain or suffering, especially in the Hebrew Scriptures. Even heroes of the faith do.

But look no further than today’s Gospel for permission. Martha hears Jesus is near and runs out to meet him in all her frustration and anger and fully lets him have it. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died,” she rails at this one who supposedly loves her.

Mary isn’t Martha. Martha’s grief is seen in anger, Mary’s in overwhelming sadness. When Jesus finally gets to her, Mary chokes through her tears her feeling of being abandoned by this one who supposedly loves her: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

Look at these sisters whom Jesus loved. They say to you, “Bring it to God if you have to. Your disappointment. Your sadness. Your anger. Your criticism.” Neither of them worried Jesus might be upset. They spoke truth to God-with-us, their Lord, the One who loved them and whom they trusted for life.

If you still doubt them, look how Jesus responds.

Jesus lets Martha rant, and responds the only way she wants: he engages her arguments. She wants nothing to do with his first try – don’t talk to me about my brother living again at the end, she says. What about right now? What about getting here on time to stop this?

Then Jesus – still not offended – offers himself to Martha. He says, “You know, I am resurrection and life for you right now. No matter what happens. I am your life and hope, and in that life you never have to feel death’s grip on your heart like you do right now.”

Then Jesus apparently asks, “how’s Mary?” He knows he owes both sisters. Martha gets Mary, and because Mary is not Martha, he’s different with her. He sees them all weeping and is deeply moved himself. Begins to weep himself. He shares her tears, feels her pain. Because he loves her. He loves Martha. He loves Lazarus. Why wouldn’t he weep with them?

So, is what Jesus does enough for you?

Take away the miracle at the end. It’s beautiful and all, but you and I and this whole world live on this side of the closed tomb, the side of death and suffering, where it stinks. Where people die and stay dead. Where people are oppressed, the powers that oppress seem unlimited, and suffering continues unabated.

If we live our lives on this side with Mary and Martha, before the miracle, is Jesus’ response enough?

It seems to be for Martha. She proclaims a beautiful statement of her trust in Jesus for life right now (because she’s clearly not expecting Jesus to do what he does at the tomb.) Mary’s the quiet one, it’s hard to tell if Jesus sharing her tears is enough.

But is it enough for you? To know that God weeps with you? That the Triune God’s face we see in Jesus shows a God whose love for you is real, and who shares your pain, the world’s pain? That even in the worst of circumstances God somehow offers you Jesus’ promise to Martha of being life in you?

And maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to stop before the end of this story.

True, none of us have ever been at a graveside where this happened. None of us expects that all of the systemic things that ail our world are suddenly going to go away and all God’s children are going to be singing Kumbaya together in the center of Minneapolis. But there are things you can rely on as certain:

First, God loves you enough to be with you wherever you need God to be. Not always acting as you necessarily want or hope, but with you. Listening to your anger with love and answering with a promise of life in the Spirit that can sustain you in a world of death. Embracing your tears and weeping alongside you.

And second, God does do miracles even now. The Triune God brings life in the midst of death in this world. Watch for it – in our world, in your life. God works through and in you and me, and God’s resurrection life in Christ will not be denied. Even if it takes years to raise our world to life out of the death it’s in. Or years for God to heal your heart and show you how loved you are.

And lastly there’s this hope, too, that we remember deeply today: there is life to come after we die. A life where, as Isaiah and John say today, God wipes away all tears and ends all dying and weeping forever. That is real and true and it is promised you and all creation by God-with-us, Jesus the Christ.

See how much God loves you? Loves the world? Can you trust it can be enough?

In the name of Jesus.  Amen