The grind and anxiety of modern life can make us as “What was it all for?” But our risen life in Christ leads us to contentment that leads to true joy.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 18 C
Text: Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14, 2:18-23; Psalm 49:1-12; Colossians 3:1-11; Luke 12:13-21

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 was it all for?

Our readings today beg us to ask this question–a teacher at the end of their life, tired and regretting all their time working, spending time doing things they thought would make them safe and happy, calling it vexation and vanity, meaningless and painfully temporary.

And a rich man, so focused on himself that when he has an abundant harvest, he stores up for himself and plans on a life of luxury with no mention of anyone else to share it with. But his life ends that night and his plans go to waste.

And Jesus tells this parable in response to a man that wants Jesus to settle inheritance arguments with his brother, instead of restoring his relationship with his brother and loving him…

Where is the joy in that? Where is the hope?

What was it all for?

These are not the Scriptures we want to hear on a Sunday morning, they don’t immediately proclaim the good news that uplifts us and heals us. Instead, they confront us with our own anxieties in the grind of modern life, the endless pursuit of more, and the lie that if we work harder or have more, we’ll finally be safe and happy. 

But what was it all for?

Ecclesiastes calls it chasing the wind, Jesus calls it foolishness. And we know it all too well. We see how this endless pursuit of stuff, of success, of money digs its way into hearts and minds, and goes far beyond responsible planning for the future and turns into greed and self-centeredness. We’re horrified when we see our leaders make decisions out of greed that ends up hurting millions of people. Or when we realize just how much of our society rewards and perpetuates greed and grind culture.

But what hurts the most is when we, as children of God, fall into the same traps, when we catch ourselves believing the lie that more stuff, more money, or more influence will make us happy, or will provide us the safety and security that we crave. When we try to live a life of generosity, but we still stumble into greed. When we let fear and self preservation guide our decisions and priorities. This way of life is exhausting, and makes us feel empty and anxious, like we’re walking around with the cares of the world like a suit of armor, weighing us down.

And this way of life is so deeply woven into our world, it can feel impossible to break free.

But hear this.

We’ve already been freed. “You have been raised with Christ.” That’s past tense. As in already done, decided, finished. Christ has already freed you from that way of life and already took off the armor and clothed you in love. A different kind of life is accessible for you. Christ sealed this promise in your baptism and took away the things that lead you to sin, death, and greed, and gave you a new self, a new heart, and a new mind, one that helps you live into this simple truth: Life is a gift and love is the point.

Life is a gift, and love is the point. 

And when we live knowing this truth, everything changes. We realize that we were brought into existence by the love that created the universe. And we’ve been given this one life to live abundantly. And that abundance has nothing to do with anything that this world could give us. And now our life’s purpose is to live in God’s love that already abides within us, to be God’s reconciling and healing love embodied, to serve and to share with others, and to become fully aware of how interconnected we truly are.

Our hearts, our priorities, and our actions begin to change. And when we truly grasp that life is a gift and love is the point, the things that we once chased lose their grips on us. Success no longer looks like personal gain, it looks like lifting someone up. Security no longer comes from our things or our bank account, it comes from God’s ever-lasting presence in our lives. We start to make decisions not out of scarcity and fear, but out of compassion and trust in the Holy Spirit. 

We no longer see other people as obstacles or competitors, but as fellow image-bearers sharing in God’s reign with us. And the posture of our lives shifts from self-preserving to self-giving, from grasping to generosity. And God transforms our toil and work into opportunities for service and our possessions into gifts we use to bless others. Beloved, God’s spirit is always making you new and leading you into deeper trust and a renewed sense of purpose for this one life.

There will be days when this transformed life feels hard. Somedays you’ll stumble and fall back into old patterns. The love and the service you do, feels like too big a sacrifice. But Christ is with you and helps you set your mind on things above and reorients your thoughts, desires, and energy to God’s vision for your life. 

This transformation is not an overnight thing–it’s a daily process of renewal and growth. Ask anyone who’s picked up a new sport and they’ll tell you it’s hard at first. You make mistakes. You feel weak. But God is with you, molding you into the person you’ve been called to be, helping you wake up everyday and choose love, reminding you that you have everything you would ever need for this life in Christ, because you’re drawing from the overflowing well of God’s goodness. And over time, the things you thought were impossible for you become possible, and then they become instinct, because love becomes who you are.

And our love isn’t just dust in the wind and it doesn’t fade after we die. We pass our love along, from person to person, it’s nurtured by generations of spirit-led people and, like a mustard seed, blooms into an abundant garden that changes cultures and minds, and leads us into a more loving future.

And that, friends, is a good way to live a life.

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

Trust in the goodness and mercy of God that you know, and live heart-to-heart with God, speaking your mind, listening, and expecting God to answer and change you and your life.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 17 C
Texts: Genesis 18:20-32; Luke 11:1-13

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

Abraham trusted God. That’s the heart of this story.

There’s no question Sodom was a city of great sin and evil. Abraham likely agrees with God’s assessment of the city. And yet he stands face-to-face with God and begs for their lives, for mercy.

Abraham only knows goodness and mercy and justice because he knows God, because he learned them from God. And now, amazingly, he’s the one to remind God of God’s own values and goodness. Because he trusts in the very nature and truth about God.

The people of Israel’s understanding of God needed to catch up to Abraham.

When they looked back at their entry into the promised land, something archaeologists are pretty sure was a gradual event, they described it as a great conquest, whole cities burned to the ground in God’s name, every living thing killed. The Hebrews were like everyone else. If your god was worth anything, it would destroy your enemies.

But as they considered Abraham’s talk with God here, a crack appears in that understanding. In the end, they interpret the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah as usual, that God destroyed the cities and their wickedness. Except they remember that their ancestor argued that God’s true nature, God’s true justice, was different. They start to think maybe it isn’t God’s justice to destroy, but to offer mercy.

By Jonah’s story, that crack is wide open. There’s another an evil city, but now God demands the right to mercy. Jonah wants God to be a proper god and wipe them out. But now Israel knows what Abraham did, God’s true nature is mercy and love, not vengeance.

And the God revealed in the face of Jesus embodies that love.

Everything Abraham knew, now Jesus reveals in his life, teaching, mercy, death, and resurrection.

A few chapters earlier in Luke’s Gospel, as Jesus and the disciples traveled, they weren’t welcomed in a Samaritan village because Jesus was a Jew. James and John wanted to call fire down from heaven on that poor little town. Jesus rebuked them. Abraham’s vision is reality: this isn’t God’s way.

At Gethsemane what Abraham understood becomes truly clear. God’s response to wickedness and evil is to take it on and bear it. God’s final answer to Abraham’s plea is revealed: I will not destroy, I will forgive by taking on death myself. In this, I will bring life. At the cross we see God is a just and loving God who shows mercy, not vengeance. A God you can trust.

And now you’re ready to hear Jesus teach you to pray. There are three things.

Ask, Jesus says, and you will receive. “Ask” can trap you, if you have a limited view of prayer, God as divine vending machine. It’s what most people think prayer is. Jesus says asking is good, he encourages it. But Jesus instantly refocuses by saying God’s answer to every ask is the Holy Spirit. Whether you pray for the health of others, the pain of the world, your own struggles, God’s answer is “I am with you.” And since God’s answer to your asking is giving you the Spirit, your answer will also likely include “go, with my strength, to be my grace in that situation you are praying for.”

“Search and you will find” is maybe the most important of the three. When was the last time you thought of prayer as “searching”? But Jesus is clear: search for God and you will find God. If your search is for meaning, purpose, guidance, hope, direction, you’ll find that. God’s Spirit is yours. If you’re searching for where God is in this broken, frightening world, you’ll find God, and hope. You’ll find God is never on the side of hate, or exclusion, or oppression, or violence. God is always on the side of love, and restoration, and mercy. And when you search, you’re on a journey, with the loving Spirit of God at your side, encouraging, strengthening, giving wisdom, comforting, laughing, crying.

And please “knock” on God’s door, Jesus says. It will always be opened to you, and you’ll rediscover that God is living inside you in love and grace. God’s door is the door into your own heart, where you join to the life of the Triune God through the grace of the Spirit.

It’s all about trust, Abraham shows.

Abraham models a beautiful way of living with God, trusting God to speak your mind, even to challenge or criticize, but also receiving God’s strength and grace and promise. Just remember to leave space in your prayer for your listening, too. God will have things to say!

Because God’s way is goodness and mercy and love. And when you trust that core nature of God, when you search for God constantly, the Spirit will change your heart fully, transform your understanding of God’s nature even more, and the world, and help you hear how you will bear God and God’s love in the world. And even be God’s answer to the prayer of someone else.

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

Jesus helps us slow down and take a pause even when the world feels chaotic around us.

Vicar Natalie Summerville
The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 16 C
Text: Genesis 18:1-10a; Psalm 15; Colossians 1:15-28; Luke 10:38-42

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

All Martha is trying to do is be a good host.

She’s taking care of the people dear to her who showed up at her door. Traveling groups like Jesus and his disciples depended on people like Martha opening their homes and providing food and shelter along their journey. Martha’s hospitality is a lifeline; it’s vital; it’s a good and beautiful act of service; and in this moment, it’s her ministry.

And then Jesus says “Martha, martha, you are worried and distracted by many things.”

After hearing the Good Samaritan last week and Abraham’s story in the first lesson today both featuring men being uplifted for their service, Jesus’ words for Martha are confusing and potentially hurtful. Throughout the Gospels, Jesus makes it abundantly clear–service is a primary way to love God and our neighbors. And especially if we hear Jesus scolding Martha in this text–as we’ve been taught to do over the years by preachers and theologians, majority of them men–then we might feel shame.

Because we can all be like Martha: doing many things–many good things–and becoming overwhelmed by them. Our service to God and to our neighbors alone can make us worry or become distracted–now more than ever. Everyday we read countless headlines about the evil and tragedy in our world, the ways our neighbors are being hurt. And everyday, there’s more and more work to do. We want to work for justice. We want to serve our neighbors, as many as possible. 

The need feels greater than ever before, and that makes us want to serve more people in better ways, to pour out more of ourselves than we ever have–to call our legislators more often, to give more hours to organizations working for justice, to go to more protests. We don’t have time to sit at Jesus’ feet when people are hungry and scared, when we’re worried our neighbors’ human rights are being violated all over the world. We don’t have time to sit at Jesus’ feet when our own day-to-day lives take up so much time and energy or when we’re in the midst of the pain and suffering we all experience in our lives.

Doesn’t Jesus get that?

Today, it’s important for us to know that Jesus recognizes Martha’s service as a beautiful thing, vital to the people on the receiving end of her hospitality. She’s tending to her flock. Jesus is not scolding her.
But Jesus can see the many tasks piling up on Martha, weighing on her heart and mind. Jesus sees his friend distracted, pulled in many directions, as the Greek word suggests, and worried about many things. 

She’s spiraling, her head is far away from her home, and it’s causing her to be stressed out and frustrated, and suddenly she’s upset with her sister. Jesus is trying to bring her back down to earth and give her some peace.

So with a tender voice, Jesus lovingly redirects Martha to pause, as a dear friend would. 
“Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things.”

Pause. 
Slow down.
Breathe.
Come back down to earth. 
Come be here with me.

And we should hear Jesus’ words for ourselves. Because it’s not our ministry or our desire to do good that’s our problem. It’s when those many good things make us worried and distracted and lead to burnout, anxiety, weariness, when we’re pulled in too many directions and stretched too thin.

And we forget why we do what we do, and who we do it for.
We forget our belovedness.
We don’t see Christ, within us and all around us, and in each neighbor we meet.
We forget that we’re in this life in Christ together, and that we support each other.
And we feel alone, isolated from each other, and we think we have to do the work all by ourselves, in this moment.

That’s where Jesus steps in. Whether through a friend gently reminding you to breathe or take a break, or your body telling you it’s time to slow down, or in the words we hear in this place as we gather together, Jesus interrupts our anxiety, our worry, and our distractions to help us focus on the one thing–dwelling Christ’s presence and seeing Christ all around us, even as we’re living our lives and serving those around us. And as we pause, we let go.

Of the need to do it all.
Of running ourselves ragged.
When we pause, we acknowledge our need for God.

And we make room to take quiet moments listening for God’s voice within us and around us, to pray or read scripture, to be with our community of faith, to get outside and experience God’s love for us in nature, or to do whatever it is that connects us with God and refreshes our spirits. Even if it’s just one short moment dwelling in God’s love in the midst of our busy lives and ministries, God meets us and fills us. 

Our pause makes room for the source of love to remind us that we are beloved beyond anything that we do or any checklist we complete, and God transforms our hearts and our minds–our worry becomes trust. Our distraction becomes focus and listening to the Holy Spirit’s guidance. And our overwhelm becomes a peace that passes all understanding.

And we serve God and our neighbors differently–we realize that it’s God, and not us, who sustains all things–and it’s God that fills our cups so we can pour out into this weary and broken world. So we come to our own ministry and our own lives with our purpose reframed, with fresh eyes and our spirits restored. Because we know our task is to listen and be guided by the holy spirit everyday. 

And the Holy Spirit helps us discern what is today’s ministry, tomorrow’s ministry, and what ministry doesn’t belong to us.

She speaks to us through each other, through our bodies, through our worship. She’s always guiding us. Beloved, listen to the spirit’s nudges to go and serve. And then to pause, rest, listen, and recharge. 

And as we go in peace to love and serve as Christ, like we say every week here at Mount Olive, remember to actually go in peace; and let the God of the universe who holds everything together hold you. Take moments away from all the tasks and the worries, to practice peace, breathe, and let love herself fill you, so you can pour out. Because it is not only okay, but vital and beautiful to pause.

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

The saints remind you that your path is your path, that Christ’s call to you is yours and no one else’s, and that you are called to follow Christ and care for God’s sheep in your way.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
St. Peter and St. Paul, Apostles
Text: John 21:15-19 (adding in 20-22)

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

It’s hard to know what to do with the saints.

The Church – with some differences between East and West – has a long list of faithful followers of Christ who are called saints. We remember those who have gone before us who modeled the Christian walk, witnessed to God by their lives, acted as Christ’s love. Today we celebrate St. Paul and St. Peter on the day tradition says they both were martyred for their faith.

It’s hard to know what to do with saints, though. Their stories are often moving and inspiring. Most did amazing things. Of today’s two, Peter was the passionate leader of Jesus’ disciples. Paul was the greatest preacher of Christ the Church ever knew.

But it’s hard to know what to do with saints because it’s hard to know what they can tell us about our life, our journey, our walk in Christ’s Way. Sure, Peter and Paul both had flaws, like us. All saints do. But we’re not going to be celebrated for our discipleship 2,000 years from now. Do we celebrate saints as examples of a faithfulness and Christly walk that we can never aspire to?

The answer lies in Jesus’ last words with Peter here.

After Jesus and Peter have a powerful and poignant triple exchange of questions, answers, and commissions, Jesus gives Peter a vision of his future.

Jesus says that while Peter makes his own decisions now, a time is coming when he’ll have his hands and body tied, and be led where he doesn’t wish to go. Peter’s Christly path will end in his death. Then Jesus repeats what he said when he first met Peter: “Follow me.” Regardless of his future, this is his call, to follow.

But Peter looks at the beloved disciple, at John, and asks, “What about him?” Peter wants to know how John’s path will look. Will John suffer and die? What will be his story?

And Jesus says “What difference is that to you? Follow me.”

Jesus will only tell you your story, only give you your call.

What others are called to be and do isn’t your business. And this isn’t just the official saints. It’s also those we call saints who were gifts of God to us in our lives. Their stories are their stories. Their path was their path. We remember them, celebrate them, honor them. But we do not compare ourselves to them.

You might know others that don’t seem to struggle as you do. You might see others do things you wish you had the ability to do. You might be awed by the faith that someone else seems to have so easily.

But Jesus says, “what difference is that to you? Follow me.”

This is what we truly celebrate about Peter and Paul: they followed Jesus.

That’s all. They both struggled sometimes, and while they’re remembered 2,000 years later as saints, note that their failures are also remembered 2,000 years later and written in Scripture. Being an anonymous saint in Christ’s Way is not necessarily a bad thing.

But these two loved Christ and tried their best to tend and feed Christ’s sheep. Both proclaimed that the flock included all people, not just the Jewish people, and Paul gave clear directions to us about God’s inclusive love embracing all cultures, genders, races, and nations.

But both ultimately trusted it was God’s love in Christ that mattered, not their successes or failures. They kept at it, knowing they were held in God’s love. Even if they were killed.

When Jesus asks Peter, “do you love me?” he asks you, too.

And if you say you do love Jesus, then he will say, “feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Follow me.”

It’s as simple as that. If the love of God in Christ that you know has reached your heart, please inform your face, your hands, your feet, your voice. Your choices. Your path. It doesn’t matter if you’re 13 years old, or 43, or 83, if you love the God who loves you, love the ones God loves. Take care of the ones Jesus cares about.

Follow Christ.

What will that look like for you? That’s the fun part. Start by committing to this way of Christ every day and asking the Spirit to guide you, give you strength and courage, and change your heart. Maybe you have a strong desire to stand with others at protests and make your voice heard. You might feel more gifted to help people one at a time. Or get involved in a local food shelf as a volunteer or regular donor. You might listen to how here at Mount Olive we’re engaged with our neighbors and decide you’ll try one of those ways. Maybe you’ve got time for phone calls or e-mails and you can constantly urge our leaders to take care of all God’s sheep. Or use your phone or email to organize others.

There are so many ways to tend Christ’s sheep, even if others seem to be better at it. That doesn’t matter to Jesus, and he doesn’t think it should matter to you, either. Your call to follow is your call, and no one else’s. Your journey is your journey, and no one else’s.

The saints aren’t ideals to put on pedestals. They’re companions on your path.

They walk alongside you, a great cloud of witnesses encouraging you to find your own journey, your own call. And they remind you the most important thing of all: if you follow Christ, you’re following Christ.

That is, Jesus is with you on your journey, holding your hand, guiding your choices at crossroads, filling you with the Spirit to be able to do this. Your biggest cheerleader and your constant companion in your following.

Peter and Paul understood that. So have so many saints before us. Now it’s up to you, because all Jesus has to say to you is, “if you love me, feed my lambs. Follow me.” What you do with that, well, that’s when it gets interesting.

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

Love doesn’t care about the ways we feel divided from our neighbors. Love goes to the hardest places and holds out a hand, and gets involved.

Vicar Natalie Summerville
The Second Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 12 C
Text: Isaiah 65:1-9; Psalm 22:19-28; Galatians 3:23-29; Luke 8:26-39

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

Don’t let the pigs and the demons distract you. Yes the pigs and the demons are important parts of the story, but when we hyper-fixate on the spectacle of this story, we miss the very human parts. And we forget to ask:

Who is this man?
Where were the people that loved him?
How long had he been suffering? How long had he been alone?
Who put him in the tombs?

Because 
Someone chained him, someone saw him as more of a problem than a person. Someone washed their hands of him. And the whole community looked away from him.

If this was a story about Jesus and demons and pigs, then we’re off the hook. We can bask in the miracle and the awe-inspiring power of Jesus and sit back to consider who this Jesus guy actually is, like the disciples did when Jesus calmed the storm a few verses prior. And if it’s just a story of divine intervention, what does that require of us?

But if this story is about a man who has been abandoned by his community, if this story is about someone that’s been so forgotten that he, too, forgets himself, whose suffering was seen as “too much”, who’s been considered as good as dead, then we’re involved. If this is a story about a broken community, then we’re on the hook.

Because this world looks a lot like that Gerasene community, and the powers that be thrive on us not getting involved and looking away from each others’ suffering. Our world is built on systems and structures designed to oppress and punish and push away what we don’t want to see. It’s a world that leaves people on the margins and blames people for their wounds And the world is really good at keeping us separate–drawing lines between “us” and “them”, that hands us categories like “normal” and “abnormal”, “worthy” and “unworthy,” and it tells us to stay on our side in our silos and our echo chambers. It’s a world that wants us to forget our neighbor’s belovedness, that meets conflict with violence, and difference with fear.

But then Jesus shows up, in a foreign land and in a Gentile community–
He doesn’t add to this man’s oppression, he restores in
He doesn’t avoid, he meets him with love and curiosity

He asks the man his name, and he finds out that this man identifies as “Legion.” He’s had no one to remind him who he is. His identity is completely wrapped up in his pain

But Jesus sees him. Jesus reaches deep into this man’s soul, reminds him he still has one. When no one else would come close, Jesus, an outsider in this community, does. And when no one else would come close and he’s saying to this man, “I see you, your problems and your pain matter to me.” He gets involved. And he sees someone worth loving and worth saving, worth welcoming home. and the man experiences true healing and he’s freed from pain and fear—his chains are finally broken because love got involved. 

And in our own ways, we’ve all been this man–overwhelmed, believing the labels this world puts on us, feeling unworthy and broken, too hard to love. We’ve lived seasons in tombs, and forgotten who we are, but Jesus comes for us too.

Jesus sees through every label, every fear, and every lie we’ve believed about ourselves, calls us beloved, child, worthy, capable. And the send us out to be the same love that changes our lives everyday.

And this love doesn’t fit into the categories and silos, it doesn’t pay attention to labels. Love goes out of its way to go to the margins and to go into the places it’s told not to go into–just like what Paul is saying to us today: there is no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female–for all are one in Christ Jesus. 

We don’t erase differences, In Christ, the old divisions and hierarchies don’t separate us anymore. In Christ, all are valuable, all are beloved. 

 In Christ, we belong to each other and we show up for each other. In Christ, if someone is hurting, we’re already involved, no matter who is suffering. In Christ, we have a love for each other that says, “No matter where you are, if you’re hurting, I’m here for you.” Because in Christ, we can’t decide whose pain and suffering matters. And when we act in this love, healing happens.

But this kind of love is costly. It asks us to show up and cross boundaries. To go to the margins and risk being rejected, like Jesus was. And everyday, we see more and more that the world resists this kind of love, because it threatens the way things are. This kind of love exposes the town’s apathy toward this man, and maybe that’s why they ask Jesus to leave. The world thrives on fear, on separation, on silence, but the Gospel calls us to something different. It asks us to get our hands dirty in the work of healing. 

Because the story doesn’t end with this man’s healing. Even after the man begs to stay with Jesus, Jesus sends him back into his town. Why? Because the real work is just beginning.

Because the community needs to face what it’s done.
Accountability needs to happen.
Reconciliation needs to happen. 

And this now-healed man is sent to tell his story, to speak truth and to witness to the power of the love that got involved. No matter how long it takes.

And we, too, are sent out.

We’re called into the same day-in, day-out work of healing and witness. The kind of love that gets involved that changes both people and communities.
The love that breaks cycles of violence and apathy.
The love that rebuilds what fear tore down.
The love that whispers to us and people throughout the world and throughout time: You are not alone.
The love that brings abundant life for all people
The love that gets involved, and now, more than ever, requires us to get involved too.

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