You can only know what God is doing in Christ when God gives you new birth to see, hear, breathe, and walk in God’s love.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday in Lent, year A
Texts: John 3:1-17; Psalm 121; Genesis 12:1-4a

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

I don’t remember, but I wonder if the light shocked me.

Embraced inside my mother’s warm darkness for nine months, her heartbeat flowing through me, the light I saw as I was born probably surprised me most. I imagine this because even today I don’t like to wake up to bright lights. I much prefer a gradual increase of light as I awaken.

But really, coming from sound muffled through my mother’s body to hearing with my new ears directly in the air, or breathing air into new lungs that had never been asked to stretch until now, both could have also shocked my relatively new existence.

That’s what Jesus invites you to consider when you think of where God is in your life and what God is doing. Jesus says to Nicodemus, it’s like being born. Birth is an enormous threshold from one existence to another. But it’s the only way Jesus can answer what Nicodemus is really searching for.

There’s a reason Jesus is hard for Nicodemus to understand.

Nicodemus is an important man in his society, privileged, respected. He’s an authority, serving on the governing council of the Sanhedrin. He’s come to Jesus by night, maybe because many of his colleagues, other men in authority, dislike Jesus, are offended by or even fear him. He’s intrigued, though, wants to know more.

But Nicodemus comes with his teacher’s perspective, his authority, his credentials, to find out if Jesus really comes from God. Surely only God could give Jesus the teaching authority he has or the power to do the things he does.

But Jesus says something utterly confusing to Nicodemus. He tells him, “you really can’t understand anything about me if you don’t start seeing God as your mother.”

Jesus says, “Your question isn’t whether God is with me or has authorized me. Your question is whether God is with you. And to answer that, you need to be born, Nicodemus. From above, from God. God will have to mother you into this truth, give birth to a new you.”

Jesus isn’t insulting Nicodemus when he asks how he, a teacher of Israel, doesn’t understand these things.

He’s saying, “your frame of reference doesn’t work with what God is doing here. Your privilege, your authority, your questions, won’t get you anywhere. God is doing something simpler yet more profound than you think. You need to drop your credentials and let God give you new birth.

“You will need newborn eyes to see what God is doing in different ways, Nicodemus. As radically different as what your eyes saw in the dark of your mother’s womb compared to the light of day they saw at your birth. You will need newborn ears to hear what God is doing in different ways, Nicodemus. As radically different as the sound you heard through your mother’s body compared to the brightness of sound as you began life in the air. And you will need newborn lungs to breathe the Spirit’s life and be filled with what God is doing, Nicodemus. You’ve lived and breathed God before now as if in the womb, but the unused lungs inside you need to stretch and open to the breath of the Spirit, and take that breath into your very life for good.”

Can you see why this was hard for Nicodemus to understand?

Knowing God as mother isn’t an alternate image. It’s absolutely central to how Jesus understands what God is doing in the Spirit.

You can’t understand the third chapter of John without this. God births children into new life in the Spirit. New eyes, new ears, new lungs. To know and live in God’s expansive, astonishing motherly love.

A love for the cosmos that is so wide and deep that no one, no creature, no piece of creation, is outside of it. A love that, as Jesus says today, moved the Trinity to send the Son from the inner dance of God’s life to rescue the creatures of this planet, so none will be lost. A love that comes to heal and save, not to judge. A motherly love that cannot imagine life without all her children in her embrace.

A motherly love as in Psalm 121 today, that, like so many of our mothers, never sleeps deeply after her child is in the world, but is always awake to their movement, their life. Their going out and their coming in. Who fiercely protects them in the sun of day and in the moon of night.

Nicodemus’ image of God makes him wonder if Jesus is authorized to do and say what he does. If Jesus can be approved as officially God’s servant. Only by letting go of all of his preconceived notions can Nicodemus grasp the Mother’s heart within the Trinity Jesus deeply wants him to know.

Only by letting his eternal Mother give him new birth can Nicodemus see and hear and breathe in the heart of God’s astonishing and expansive love for him. And for all.

This is your promise, too, you know.

Birth is an enormous step from one existence into another. A step into the unknown. A step like Abraham and Sarah were asked to take today. A step like Nicodemus took. The only way Jesus can describe God’s abundant life for you is by calling you to a birth from one existence into a completely new one.

Luther often spoke of baptism as a daily death and resurrection. That’s a wonderful image. But today Jesus invites you to think of your baptism as a daily birth in water and the Spirit. A daily moving from one reality into a new life God births in you. And even though the new birth, the new reality is into the unknown, mysterious, unexperienced-yet, your heavenly Mother will always be with you in it, leading, guiding, loving. Not falling asleep.

This is the joy Jesus longs for you to know, to seek: letting the Spirit give you new birth every day.

New eyes to see God, so you can see where God is and where God is leading you. New ears to hear God, so you can hear God’s voice of love calling you, guiding you. New lungs to breathe God anew and let the oxygen of God’s transforming grace enter every cell of your body, every corner of your reality until you are a new creation. And new feet and hands, to learn to walk and touch – baby steps at first, small gestures at first – in ways that transform your world with God’s love.

And at first it’s going to be a bit of a shock, the light, the sound, the breath, the steps. It might be painful, too, this move from one identity to a new one. These things are always part of the birth process. Just let go, let your heavenly Mother’s embrace, your Mother’s breath of the Spirit, surround and fill you.

You won’t be led astray. You are safe in God’s arms. Because remember, in God’s maternal love no one gets lost or left behind. Not you. And not those you meet who might need you to draw them toward the birth God longs to give them.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Note: in this week’s video we’ve included the singing of the Hymn of the Day to connect with this sermon. (The silence after the sermon and the chorale prelude before the singing are not included.) The hymn is in Evangelical Lutheran Worship, no. 735. Text by Jean Janzen, based on Julian of Norwich.

Whatever lies the Great Liar whispers in your ear and plants in your heart, hear this truth: you are God’s child, you are beloved, and you are well-pleasing to God. (With thanks for the insight of Christopher L. Heuertz who made the connection between Nouwen’s famous “three lies” and the temptation of Jesus. The Sacred Enneagram, Zondervan, 2017, pp. 186-189)

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The First Sunday in Lent, year A
Text: Matthew 4:1-11

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

Liar. Slanderer.

That’s what the Greeks meant by their word diabolos, a word translated “devil” in our Gospel today, a word that is diabolical in English.

So Jesus, soaking wet from his baptism, heads into the desert, where the Slanderer whispers lies into his ear, lies intended to destroy Jesus’ sense of his identity, his truth, his purpose in life.

But Jesus is dripping with baptismal water, and the Liar doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe doesn’t understand that’s a problem. But those baptismal waters are the end of the slander and lies.

Dutch priest and theologian Henri Nouwen famously spoke of three lies we believe about ourselves, lies that kill us.

There is the lie, “I am what I do.” The lie that my value and identity come from what I accomplish, what my job is, from my success.

There is also the lie, “I am what other people say or think about me.” The lie that my value and identity come from others, from what they say I’m worth, what they think about me.

And there is this lie: “I am what I have.” The lie that my value and identity come from what I possess, what I’ve accumulated, what I own and control.

These three lies destroy our sense of our identity, our truth, our purpose in life. And strangely, these are the three lies the Slanderer whispers to Jesus in the desert.

Are you really God’s Son? the Liar said. Can you do anything?

Could you turn these stones into bread? If not, what are you worth?

But Jesus still has water dripping off him from the Jordan and he knows what he heard from his Father’s voice: “You are my Son.” He doesn’t need to prove that. He is a child of God.

You remember that, too, when the Liar whispers in your ear that you arent’ successful enough or don’t have abilities, or can’t prove you belong to God in any way worth noticing. The Liar has forgotten that you’re dripping wet, too, and you’ve heard the same voice of the Triune God saying to you: “You are my child.”

That is your truth, child of God.

So the Slanderer whispered another lie. How sure are you that you matter to God?

Do you really think you’re protected, safe, secure? This mission you’re going to do, Jesus, isn’t going to end well. Do you think God cares for you? the Liar asks Jesus.

But Jesus is soaking wet, and knows what he heard from his Father’s voice: “You are my beloved.” Even within the life of the Trinity, these words were precious and life-giving: I love you. Jesus doesn’t need to test that, either, jump off a high building to see if he’ll be safe. He is God’s beloved.

You remember that, too, child of God, when the Liar whispers in your heart that you really aren’t important enough to matter to God. That if God really loved you you wouldn’t get sick, or you wouldn’t have setbacks or suffering. Because the Liar has again forgotten that you’re soaking wet, too, and you’ve heard the same voice of the Triune God saying to you: “You are my beloved.”

That is your truth, beloved child of God.

There’s one more lie to attempt.

Surely, Jesus, you can’t believe you’re important if you control nothing? You’re poor, insignificant, with no political or religious authority. If only you had control of this world, you’d know you were the Messiah. I could do that for you, the Liar said.

But Jesus shakes the water from his head and remembers what he heard from his Father’s voice: “I am well pleased with you.” Jesus doesn’t need wealth or possessions or control or power to prove he is doing what God wants, or to heal the world with God’s sacrificial love.

You remember that, too, beloved child of God, when the Slanderer whispers to you that you really can’t know God is pleased with you if you don’t have possessions and wealth, visible signs of blessing. That you need power and control to heal your world with God’s love. Because the Liar has forgotten, again, that you have water to shake from your head, too, and you’ve heard the same voice of the Triune God saying to you: “I am well pleased with you.”

That is your truth, beloved and well-pleasing child of God.

The Slanderer really ought to remember that these lies all have a warning attached: do not fully immerse in water.

Because your baptismal waters, still clinging to you, still quenching your thirst, still cooling your brow, still cleaning your heart, dissolve any lies about who you are, what God thinks of you, and whether you are following God faithfully.

You are God’s child. You are God’s beloved. You are well-pleasing to God. There is no other truth that matters for you, ever.

And Jesus says if you know the truth, you are free. Free of fear. Free of lies. Free to follow Jesus’ cross-shaped path and be who God says you are.

And the Liar has nothing to say to you ever again.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

 

This is a day of joy and celebration: you are alive, you are found, and you are home.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Ash Wednesday
Texts: Joel 2:1-2, 12-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20b – 6:10; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21 (shaped by Jesus’ story in Luke 15:11-32)

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 is not a day for your shame to overwhelm you. This is not a day for your guilt to crush you.

This is not a day for your imminent death to terrify you or lead you into despair.

That is not what we do today.

This is a day of homecoming. A day of rejoicing. A day of celebration.

Jesus told a parable about a father and two sons that ended in a great party, noisy, joyful, full of food. A party of resurrection celebrating that the one who was dead is now alive again. That party is today.

Because today this is the voice of the prophet for you: “Return to the Lord your God, who is gracious and merciful. Return to the Lord your God, who is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” Today this is the voice of God’s servant for you: “We entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.” And today this is the voice of God for you: “At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you.”

“Now is [that] acceptable time, now is [that] day of salvation.” That day is today.

But, you say, I get ashes on my forehead today to remind me that I will die.

How is that not something to frighten and dismay me?

Yes, you will hear today that you are dust, and that you will return to dust. Just as the younger child had to face the truth that sitting in a pigsty eating pig’s food was death before he knew he needed life, so you and I need to face our truth. Just as the elder child needed to hear that his bitterness and resentment toward his brother and his own father was death before he could come into the party, so you and I need to hear that reality.

But the One who calls you to return home, the One who longs for you to be reconciled, has faced death itself to love you home. Has defeated the power of death forever. If you are dust, and you know that you will return to dust, then today is a day of joy and hope. Because the holy and Triune God not only has a love that cannot be stopped by mere death, this God is your God and loves you with that love. A love that even raises you from the daily deaths and sufferings you know here and fills you with life now.

And when the dead realize they are alive, it’s time for a party, a celebration, Jesus says.

But, you say, I confess my sins today, I sing with David my grief over my failures, my broken heart and life.

How is that not something to be ashamed of, to feel crippling guilt over?

Yes, you confess your sins today, and the sin that binds you. You look at your life, your actions, your inaction, and you say, “I know I have failed to love my God and love my neighbor in so many ways.” Just as the younger child needed to face his mistakes, his sinful disregard for his father, his wastefulness, and admit it before he knew he longed for his father’s embrace and kiss, so you and I need to face what we have broken in our lives and in the world. Just as the elder sibling needed to realize that his own self-centered actions and self-righteous behavior led to his pain and suffering, and equally disregarded his father’s love, before he could hear that his father loved him deeply and forever, so you and I need to admit the hidden things we do, the habits, the ways of thinking and being that destroy others and destroy our own peace of mind.

But today you see your God going out on the road looking for you, longing to bring you home. You hear God’s voice calling through the prophet, “return to my love,” and through the apostle, “be reconciled in my love.” Your welcome is assured before you ever face your sin and wrongdoing.

And when the lost are found, when the homeless are brought home, it’s time for a party, a celebration, Jesus says.

That’s why the Table of Christ is spread for you today.

You wake up in your pigsty or in your bubble of self-righteousness and find a great feast spread for you in the love of the God of all creation. A meal of love and forgiveness and healing for you, joining you to the reconciling death and resurrection of the very Son of God.

You will eat and drink and taste the goodness of God for you. You will remember, even as you wash off your ashes tonight, the healing waters of baptism that have poured over you and called you beloved.

You will hear, “this is for you. For you.”

This party, this celebration, is for you. Because when the dead live and the lost are found, all God wants to do is throw a party.

So rejoice, beloved of God. This is your day. This is your homecoming.

This is the acceptable time, the day of healing for you. This day begins and ends in the unconditional love of the Triune God that kills death with life, and runs out on the road looking for all who are lost.

You are loved by a God who will not be satisfied until all the lost sheep, all the lost children, are home safe and sound.

That’s the treasure in your heart that surpasses all other treasures, the treasure that can’t be rusted or stolen. And when such treasure fills your heart, where else can your heart be but fixed solidly within that treasure, that joy?

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Audio file of Gospel and sermon:

In the Transfiguration encounter, the disciples see Jesus in a new light. They already know Jesus is the Son of God, but on the mountaintop they experience that reality in a way that leaves them spiritually transformed and strengthened for the darkness that lies ahead.

Vicar Bristol Reading
Transfiguration of Our Lord, year A
Texts: 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9

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

For the Apollo astronauts on missions to the moon, one of the most transformative experiences was actually looking back at the earth. Seeing their own planet from tens of thousands of miles away was so moving that many of them spoke about it for years after. Eugene Cernan, one of the Apollo 17 crew members, put it this way: “What I was seeing, and even more important what I was feeling at that moment in time, science and technology had no answers for.” He used the words spiritual, dynamic, beautiful, and overwhelming. He wasn’t the only one to describe the experience of seeing earth from space as a mystical one. Apollo 14’s Edgar Mitchell said he had felt an ecstatic sense of oneness and connectedness. He called it an epiphany.[1]

Of course, the astronauts knew, before they ever went to space, what the planet was like. They knew that earth was round, that it was mostly water, that it was covered in a swirling atmosphere. Still, the experience of actually witnessing it was nothing short of a revelation. A radical change in perspective allowed them to see something they already knew in a way that left them transformed. It wasn’t about facts; they already knew the facts. It was about feeling. And they carried that feeling with them, even after they returned to earth’s surface, searching for words to convey what they’d witnessed.

Do you think that’s how Peter, James, and John felt after experiencing the transfiguration of Jesus? They’d seen a sight that was certainly spiritual, dynamic, beautiful, and overwhelming, a sight that was hard to put into words. They’d had an epiphany – literally –the light of divine power shining into the physical world. Matthew tells us that Jesus face and clothes blazed like the sun, the whole mountain was shrouded in a bright cloud, and the voice of God proclaimed: “Jesus is my beloved son. Listen to him.”

Now, the disciples already knew this. They have already seen and heard that Jesus is the Son of God. These are his closest followers, after all. They’ve seen him heal the sick, and still storms, and multiply fish, and walk on water! John the Baptist had certainly mentioned that Jesus was the Son of God.[2] Even exorcised demons admitted that Jesus was the son of God.[3] And Jesus himself had said as much to these same disciples, telling them, “All things have been handed over to be my by father, and no one knows the father except the Son.”[4] In fact, only days before the transfiguration, Jesus had asked Peter directly, “Who do you say that I am?” and Peter had said, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”[5] The disciples already understood that Jesus was the Son of God.

But it is one thing to know a theological truth; it is another thing entirely to have God Almighty declare it to you directly while blinding you with light on the top of a mountain. Jesus is shining like a beacon, and the ghosts of prophets past have shown up to chat with him. The disciples seem relatively okay with all of that; Peter is ready with a religiously appropriate response. But then the voice of God thunders “Listen!” and they are simply overcome. They find that they can’t even stand in the face of this epiphany.

They’re seeing the teacher and friend they know so well in a whole new light. Here, right in front of them, is the incarnate Word, Emmanuel, Son of God, love’s pure light, touching them, lifting them up, and comforting them. “Do not be afraid,” Jesus says. That is the word of God that needs to be listened to: “Do not be afraid.”

The disciples have been brought to their knees by this moment, but they need to get up, get going, get down the mountain, and get back to the work of proclaiming and living the Gospel. And they will need courage and strength to do so. This moment has changed them. We say that it is Jesus who was transfigured, but the disciples also have been transformed. And undoubtedly they will carry this experience with them into everything that is to come.

Jesus tells them not to talk about it for now, but perhaps they would have struggled to find adequate words anyway. How do you describe an epiphany? How do you express something that is beyond language? These disciples have been “eyewitnesses to Christ’s majesty,” as 2 Peter says, and they will hold onto that memory like a lamp shining in the dark.[6]

And it will get dark. They will need this reminder of the light, this reminder to not be afraid.

The transfiguration reaches back to the incarnation, to the light of Christ coming into the world as a tiny baby: Jesus, a human being, fully radiating God’s glory, the finite somehow containing the infinite. But the transfiguration also reaches toward the Passion, toward the cross, when darkness presses in on the light of Christ from all sides, threatening to swallow the light whole.

Jesus has told the disciples that he will face suffering and death, but they have been adamantly resistant. Peter actually confronts Jesus at one point when Jesus says he must be killed.  Peter pulls him aside and says: “God forbid it! This must never happen to you!”[7] But it will happen to him. And, even then, even on the cross, the light of Christ will still be fully radiating God’s glory. The light will not ever be overpowered, even by death.

But that will be hard to see and understand for those living through it, like Peter. The disciples will need the memory of this mountaintop encounter to reorient them in the confusing and grief-filled times to come.

You are about to take that journey to the cross with them. This is the end of the season of Epiphany, and we move now into the season of Lent. And perhaps you, too, will need this light to carry into the dark. The light is a gift that is meant to sustain you when the path is filled with sorrow and pain; to bring you courage when your fear has brought you to your knees; to give you strength when you need get back up and get back to the work of living the Gospel.

Even if you know, theologically, that Jesus is the Son of God, you may still need to come back to this mountaintop so you can feel it. In your heart, in your spirit, in your bones.

You do not have to make sense of every spiritual encounter with the living God. You do not have to come up with a religiously appropriate response. You do not have to find the right words to explain what it means to you. Sometimes it is enough simply to be present to it, to be awed by it, and to treasure God’s word of loving comfort: Don’t be afraid. The light is there even when it’s hard to see, and the darkness will never, ever overcome it.

Amen.

[1] To read more about these astronaut quotes, see Hendrik Hertzberg, “Moon Shots (3 of 3): Lunar Epiphanies,” The New Yorker, August 12, 2008, https://www.newyorker.com/news/hendrik-hertzberg/moon-shots-3-of-3-lunar-epiphanies.
[2] John 1:34
[3] Matthew 8:29
[4] Matthew 11:27
[5] Matthew 16:16
[6] 2 Peter 1:19
[7] Matthew 16:22