Pastor Paul E. Hoffman

Midweek Lenten Eucharist, Lent 1

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

In the hallway by the main office, there is a piece of art, a gift from the estate of Paul and Ruth Manz. It is flanked by a simple placard that says, Mary and Elizabeth, artist unknown.

There they are, faithful women, in near-fetal positions, nestled like twins in a womb, held in a circle of God’s enveloping love. It turns out that this is a case of mistaken identity.

Today’s texts, as well as the first promise of the baptismal affirmation liturgy, call us into just such a circle of God’s enveloping love. It is a simple, though not easy, invitation: to live among God’s faithful people. It is an identity we are invited to embrace, and there is no mistaken identity about it.

Each text in its own way gives witness to both the joy and the task of living among God’s faithful people. Ruth is challenged by a trial too great for her sister-in-law, Orpah, to leave her own land and people and strike out in a way that she perceives is faithful – the way of care and compassion for an elder whose prospects are as good as dead.

The psalmist paints a cheerier picture of life among the faithful. It is almost a dance – a joyous and messy frolic – oil running down the beard and robes of Aaron.

Paul being Paul gets more cerebral, comparing our kinship with one another to a human body, driving home the point that we are not clones, but more like complimentary organs whose individual functions contribute to the health and well-being of all.  And then Paul, again being Paul, adds a coda to his body-symphony reminding us that whether we are a hand or a foot, a heart, a lung, or maybe even an armpit, it is always a gift to let love be genuine, hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good, love one another, and so on.

Finally, Jesus comes in like a closer. Love one another as I have loved you. That’s all. Actually, not quite. Bear fruit that will last. There you go. Love one another a Christ loves you. And bear fruit that will last.

Do you intend to continue in the covenant God made with you in holy baptism? To live among God’s faithful people? Think carefully. Because while one day it may be as joyful as a dance of oil running down the beard and onto the collar of one’s robe, the next it might be as complicated as being ripped from your home and people to follow a relative that you hardly know but who seems to have some sort of hold on you. Living among God’s faithful people can be as beautiful as a body working together in perfect harmony and as disastrous as fruit you thought would last that is rotting on the vine.

The Bible is a great book and all, but one of the things it continually lays before us is the bane and the blessing of life together in the body of Christ. It might be everlasting. But it’s not always beautiful. Or accurate. And rarely what we planned.

Just last week our administrative assistant, Cha, discovered – through some research on the Internet that that really isn’t Mary and Elizabeth in the artwork that hangs outside her office at all. On the artist’s website, it clearly identifies the women as Ruth and Naomi.

But here’s the thing. It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t matter if it’s Ruth and Naomi or if it’s Mary and Elizabeth. Because either way, they are part of a larger story. They are part of the story of living among God’s faithful people. And so are you. So are you.

That picture is the picture of all God’s faithful people. You’re in that loving womb-like bubble of God’s unending love. And I’m in there, too. And whether that is Mary and Elizabeth or Ruth and Naomi, the grace of God is surrounding them like the oil that runs down the beard of Aaron and onto the collar of his robe. In that amniotic grace of God, the waters of baptism pulsate with life that is as ancient as Eden and as recent as the morning news.

To promise to live among God’s faithful people, as Ruth and Naomi did…

To promise to live among God’s faithful people as Paul imagines us doing as a body working in perfect harmony with itself….

To live among God’s faithful people, as Jesus calls us to do in deep and abiding friendship with one another and with him…

To live among God’s faithful people is not so much a commitment that we are expected to try to live up to as it is a way of life into which our baptism invites us.  God desires so deeply that we come inside the picture where Ruth and Naomi are recalled, where Mary and Elizabeth are, where Esther and the woman at the well and Aaron, Moses and Miriam, Peter, Mary Magdalene, Augustine, Luther and Calvin, the hymn writers George Herbert and John and Charles Wesley, Martin Luther King, Jr., Rosa Parks, George Floyd, the faithful of this and every place whose songs still resonate deeply from these walls each time we lift our voices to join them…

That is the picture into which God invites us. And it is an amazing picture of an even more amazing grace, where charity and love prevail, if only we will let it.

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

We will not be perfect in the face of temptation and we will mess up–yet we will continue to be loved, and chosen by God.

Vicar Mollie Hamre
1st Sunday in Lent, Year A
Texts: Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7; Psalm 32; Romans 5:12-19; Matthew 4:1-11

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

Our readings from today are two different stories of temptation. 

One, coming from the first reading in Genesis. The other is from the Gospel according to Matthew. In Genesis, we hear the story about humanity in the garden. God asks humanity to not eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil and as we know, they do. Trust is broken, the pain of the world is exposed, and our tradition looks back on this story with a guilty conscience. The world that God hoped to shield humanity from comes into full view and it is full of struggle and suffering. Humanity becomes ashamed, full of remorse, and hides from God in the coming verses. 

The other passage, from the Gospel, takes place after Jesus is baptized. 

Jesus is sent into the wilderness and tempted three times. Each time Jesus denies the temptation and answers faithfully with scripture. This sometimes feels like a no-brainer. We know that Jesus will not give into temptation. Might I remind you that the man in question is Jesus, the son of God. So when we hear this Gospel, it feels like a clear ending: Jesus, God with us, will perfectly follow God when tempted. He will have the right answers. The wisdom to see through the tricks. The strength to stand up against corrupt forces. But us, on the other hand, as much as we try, some days we don’t have these same characteristics. 

It feels a little obvious that the response from humanity and the one that Jesus gives are drastically different. We hear the story about humanity messing up big time, while Jesus has the perfect answers. 

The comparison that is set before us is not great. 

We want to walk in the guided steps of God, but sometimes we fail, get confused along the way, and make choices that would have been better with hindsight. So when Jesus does all the right things, what does that tell us about when we do the wrong things? What else is there to this? 

To start with, the big difference between Genesis and the Gospel is not giving into temptation, but the part that involves our connection to God. See, when God creates humanity and begins a relationship with creation, God shows the truth about relationships: they are messy. And in that messiness, that human-ness, is where we connect with God. 

And in response to that messiness, our messiness, God does not abandon humanity, but instead Jesus comes to be human in our world. 

“For if the many died through the one man’s trespass, much more surely have the grace of God and the free gift in the grace of the one man, Jesus, who abounded for the many.” In the face of temptation, God chooses to be with us and leans in closer. Jesus, God with us, experiences what it means to be human.

So, when we see Jesus face temptation, his answers are in connection to God. 

Living on the bread that God gives. Trusting in God, not testing. Worshiping only God, not worshiping one’s self. The Gospel today does not tell us that we need to perfectly follow the path of not sinning, but to help us consider what forms of temptation are present today and that we are held amidst them.  

When we are convinced that our guilt and brokenness dominates ourselves more than for who we are: beloved, held, and in relationship with the Triune God. That is the relationship the Psalmist speaks about today when saying they “acknowledged their sin to God and did not conceal their guilt.” 

But it is hard to consider that we can be loved when we mess up. 

Especially when we identify with the ones in Genesis that mess up. The ones amidst the pain of the world. The ones that would rather separate ourselves from the shame of the story. The ones that can easily separate from the suffering in our world today. 

Questions and curiosity are wonderful aspects of our faith lives, but the difference is the way the situations go forward. In Genesis, humanity hides and decides that holding that guilt is more important than being open and vulnerable. This is not a story that we should look back on with disdain, but as a coming of age story. A coming of age story that we all experience in different ways. One that brings into view the first times we witness the pain in the world and have to be brave to see that God is loving us amidst it too. But this kind of life asks us to be honest. To reconnect with ourselves. To awareness to change. All scary aspects of life because it asks us to go outside of ourselves. To see our polluted earth. To see the shootings. To see our neighbors suffering injustice. It hurts. 

And yet, simultaneously believe that we know God is there too. 

That Jesus, God with us, experienced life’s temptations, sufferings, and struggles to understand us. As the Body of Christ, this is our coming of age story–one that can not be ignored, but opened up. Changed. And rising once again to new life.  

The coming of age story that tells us we will not be perfect and still continue to be loved by a God who knows this. We will not be perfect in the face of temptation. You will mess up. But you can not ignore the world that you are called to be open to either. You will be challenged through all of it. You will have a community through all of it. And you are loved, dearly loved, through all of it too.  

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

Pastor Paul E. Hoffman

The Transfiguration of Our Lord

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

In her novel, St. Maybe, Anne Tyler paints with words a tender scene between a brother and sister in which they long to hold, remember, hope.

The two are elementary school kids, being raised by their loving but unwilling grandparents after being orphaned by two separate tragedies that took first their father, and then their mother.  

Looking through their mother’s things, the sister finds a photograph.

Holding the picture by one corner, [she says]  “Don’t you dare get a speck of dirt on it,” she said. He took it very, very gently between the flat of his hands, the way you take an LP record. The crinkly edges felt like little teeth against his palms. 

It was a color photograph, with Jun 63 stamped on the border. A tin house trailer with cinder blocks for a doorstep, A pretty woman standing on the cinder blocks — black hair puffing to her shoulders, bright lipstick, ruffled pink dress —  holding a scowly baby (him!) in nothing but a diaper.

If only you could climb into photographs. [Little Thomas thought.] If only you could take a running jump and land there, deep inside.

If you could climb into a photograph and hold a moment, what moment would it be?

Seeing Moses and Elijah on either side of Jesus like two exclamation points framing him as they had never seen him before, Peter speaks for human longing to capture and save a moment. Climb into it, hold on to it forever. Lord, if you wish, I will make three dwellings here…

We, too, want to climb into the happy moments pictured in our heads and relive them, recall them, hold them. And why not?

In a world where the news is rarely good, can any of us be faulted for hoping to hold that which is lovely, if even for just a moment? We want to hold it by its crinkly edges, keep it from even a speck of dirt, and take a running jump and land there, deep inside.

As tempting as that sounds, it just isn’t the way life is though, is it? We don’t get to live only in the mountaintop moments. Like Jesus leading his threesome to the plain we are constantly reminded that life where we live it is life just one breath away from death. And if not the final death, then certainly all the little deaths that fill the moments, the hours, the months and years that cannot, will not be negated by in some random single triumphant moment. 

Do you remember the brilliant Steven Sondheim lyrics from A Little Night Music about all those little deaths?

         Every day a little death/in the parlor in the bed,

         In the curtains, in the silver/in the buttons, in the bread,

         In the murmurs in the pauses/in the gestures, in the sighs

         Every day a little sting/every day a little dies

         In the heart and in the head/in the looks and in the lies

That about covers it, doesn’t it? Try as we may to preserve those mountaintop moments, to take a running jump and land there, deep inside them, life happens. Death happens.

Far from the mountains’ bright resounding clouds where the voice of God seems so unmistakably near, most of our days are lived in the stifling valleys of dreaded diagnoses, unsettling scandals, endless, meaningless sound bites, threats of violence, unrelenting irrelevance, a planet we seem hell-bent to push to its peril. Is it any wonder we long to join Peter in enshrining the beautiful in a moment, a snapshot, a dwelling where we can hold it forever?

But Jesus is having none of it.  The transfigured one turns the tables and leaps instead into all the cherished and all the regrettable photos from the albums of our lives. There is no snapshot into which he will not go, even into the deepest darkest valley of the shadow of death. This story of the Transfiguration, is the mid-point mountain halfway between the celebrations of Jesus’ birth and Jesus’ death. Christ himself reminds the disciples that they are coming down the mountain to his death. This is no Kodak moment to which they descend with holding his dazzling presence in their minds’ eye. They are coming down the mountain where Jesus will leap into the deepest, most dreaded experience of human existence since Eden. They are descending to the grave. His grave. In Christ’s own death and resurrection we are pulled from the grave’s crinkly, jagged edges and into the transfiguring light of eternal hope. The wonder and resplendence of such hope no human eye has ever before seen or dared to imagine.

Christ promises the possibility of turning every day’s little deaths into brilliant, glowing life. Freed from any fear that might be holding us back, we are called to build booths of justice, mercy, and compassion for a world in need. We can only imagine taking care of ourselves. But Jesus brightens our imaginations to see the wonder of love extended to others, that the earth he loves might flourish as each and every life is filled with grace.

Picture this:  a world in which the murmurs and the sighs, the stings, the looks, the lies, are replaced forever with pure, bright, unmitigated compassion. That is the picture into which Christ leaps to join us with hope that will never die. That is the snapshot to sustain us as, in Jesus’ name, we work for a transfigured future of endless resurrection and life for all people everywhere.  Imagine it – as Jesus’ partners handing those in the  world a snapshot of justice where they’ve known none. Of mercy, where they’ve never been seen or heard. Of compassion where they’ve only ever been sidelined or disregarded. Imagine it, as Jesus’ partners. Then imagine watching those snapshots, by the power of the Risen Christ, being transfigured into scenes and movies, and eventually completely new and vibrant lives for all God’s people everywhere. To such sights as yet unseen in this self-absorbed and greedy world, Christ walks with us down the mountain. And in the valleys, Christ equip us to pour our lives into just such grateful service.

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

Pastor Paul E. Hoffman

The Sixth Sunday after Epiphany

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

If you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.

Can you imagine how long that might take? Jesus says: First, be reconciled to your brother or sister…. Rather than the few minutes we set aside in the Eucharistic liturgy to share the peace with one another before we bring our gifts to the altar, can you imagine how long it might take for us to first be reconciled with one another, and then move on to the offering and what follows?

It’s a beautiful if somewhat impractical thought, isn’t it? This business of reconciliation is a rich and messy endeavor. And, granted, some of those with whom we need to be reconciled are here with us in the assembly, but certainly not all. How long would it take? How long would it take, do you suppose, to do what it takes to find those who we believe might have something against us – note that Jesus says those who have something against us, not those we have something against…  How long would it take do you suppose for us to track those people down, lay ourselves humbly at their feet, seek their forgiveness, and then return to the assembly to continue with our worship? I think that it could take a really long time.

This idea of being at peace with one another – whoever, wherever those one anothers might be – stands at the centerpiece of this part of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. At the heart of his message, Jesus imagines, even if we cannot, a community of followers who live together in peace.

It would be easy to make this all very legalistic, to set up this varied and eclectic catalog of ethics from Jesus as a new form of righteous-ness, which, as you know, almost always turns south into self-righteousness. So far in the history of humanity, no one has been able to keep the Law. So it is a fool’s errand to believe that now Jesus is setting up a new even more rigorous system that will frustrate us with failure at best and shame at worst.  

No, Jesus sets this scene of reconciliation with one another as a prerequisite to bringing a sacrificial gift to the altar. He wants it to be clear: harmonious relationships are more important than ritual satisfaction. Holy living, à la Jesus, is more than checking a box.

First be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. First, be reconciled.

This new way of living together in justice and mercy is tucked into a list of ways that we manage to alienate and take advantage of one another. It was as true for the ancients as it is for us this very day.

Maybe we’ve never drawn a gun on anyone, but anger festers, insults, abound, the culture calls everyone with whom we disagree “a fool” in one way or another, but usually with much harsher words

Jesus paints a picture of a world in which women are not treated as property to be disposed of at the whim of a man’s desires.  He imagines a community where every person in valued, and believed worthy of reconciliation. He challenges us to imagine a world in which one’s word is honored and respected. A world where saying YES is the same as meaning YES. The same as DOING yes. No swearing necessary.

And if you think that these are standards of compassionate living that were only needed in his time, think again. We continue to live in a world where women and people of color are still forced to scratch and claw in a culture deaf to their quest for equality. Persons whose self-expression challenges the hetero-normative culture long to be seen, but too often are dismissed in ways that closely resemble handing them a certificate of dismissal, as men did with their wives in Jesus’ day, waving them off, putting them away. Out.

We dismiss people with modern day equivalents of ritual sacrifice by sending a dismissive email and washing our hands of them and their paltry opinions. We salve our souls with a perfunctory text but fail to get to the bottom of what others long for or need. We reconcile with non-apologies. You know the kind, “If something I did offended you, well, sorry.”

Jesus wants more for us. With eyes of love fashioned before the Creation was formed, he looks on us and longs for us to live a reconciled life with one another. A life where sin and guilt and injustice and dis-ease are crucified, dead and buried. And here in words meant to heal, not condemn, he raises up a new vision, the entrance ramp to his new creation. First, go and be reconciled… Christ wants us to be partners with him in that New Creation, living in the spirit of his love, his life, his endless possibilities for purpose and depth – in what we say and do in the community of Christ and in the world. Do you see that he wants that first? Jesus wants us to live together in harmony more than he wants an offering. Especially an offering that is less than genuine. Especially an offering that just checks off a box. Jesus wants us to share the peace. And yes, I think it could take a really long time if we do it with all our hearts. But then the table is waiting, spread with a taste of the New Creation. And whether we’ve succeeded or whether we’ve failed, we are still invited.

This new life to which Christ invites us begins with reconciling. It begins with sharing the peace. It begins with taking that peace beyond these doors and into a world that is longing for meaning and hope. It is our joyful task to seek that peace of Christ in every person, in every nation. It is our baptismal call to be partners with Christ in bringing the light of dignity to every living being.

It may take a very long time. But in his dying and in his rising, Christ promises a day when time will be no more and we will all live together in both his presence and his peace. But there is no need to wait. First be reconciled to your brother or your sister, right here, right now.  And Christ’s peace will come flooding back upon you.

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

Pastor Paul E. Hoffman

The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany

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

Claudio was an anxious Eucharistic minister. And he wore his anxiety on his sleeve, so much so that one day I finally asked him about it.

“Such holy things, pastor. Such holy things. When I carry the chalice I’m carrying such holy things. In my head there is always a voice that is repeating, ‘don’t drop it, don’t spill it, just do what you’re called to do; don’t drop it, don’t spill it, just do what you’re called to do…’”

As we catch up with Jesus this morning, the Sermon on the Mount continues. Preaching to his disciples and the crowds, Jesus echoes what Claudio was feeling, “just do what you’re called to do.” In the case of equipping first-century witnesses Jesus gives guidance that is very clear and positive. He speaks to his beloveds of such holy things:

You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.

Honestly, the power and the impact of Jesus declaration is lost on us. In our overstimulated culture, the metaphors of salt and light seem – well – a bit bland and dim. They are gifts we take for granted

But salt was essential to survival in Jesus’ day. It wasn’t just an optional ingredient that might be added to food to spice things up like cumin or cayenne. Salt was used to preserve food and blazed a trail for international trade. It functioned as an antiseptic, saving lives from infection and disease. As it became more and more valuable as a commodity, it stood at the center of economic and political power.

In a similar way, we who live in the bright glare of cities that never sleep have only the faintest idea of how light functioned before elec-tricity. News flash: the ancients didn’t have a beam of light from their smartphones to find whatever was lost under the car seat, or to blaze a pathway from the bed to the bathroom in the night.

Declaring his people to BE salt and light is a new wisdom that Christ preaches. It is not a wisdom of this age, or of the rulers of this age. It is a new wisdom that Matthew proclaims along with the apostle Paul, the wisdom of Christ and him crucified. Those who are salt and light in the world not only bring this new wisdom into the world, Jesus proclaims that they actually ARE that wisdom in the world. YOU are that wisdom in the world. You, people of God, are salt and light.

Jesus pushes the envelope.  As Jesus often does. Listen: I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Say it like this: there is a difference between knowing about salt and light and being salt and light. A difference between knowing about our Lord Jesus, crucified and risen from the dead and being our Lord Jesus, crucified and risen from the dead.

Jesus invites us to let our righteousness exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees, and to let our light shine. To be his love in the world. This is what Christ means when he says, I have not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it. I am not interested in followers who know about righteousness, or who know about salt, and light, and commandments and teachings. I am not interested in followers who are god-ish. I am interested in followers who are Godly.

Let’s be honest. For a guy like me, it is easy to be god-ish. A cradle Lutheran, I grew up in the 60’s in an area of the country that was deeply Christian. I thought everyone was. Honestly, it wasn’t until I moved to Seattle in 1996 that I met a bone fide pagan, someone who openly if not proudly chosen to practice no faith at all. For a guy like me, being god-ish was easy. Very little risk. I have spent my life being able to go along and get along, to be like salt and light in the world.

Jesus wants us to know a greater gift. Jesus wants more for us, because Jesus always longs for what is best for us. Jesus offers us a gift beyond measure.

On a particular Sunday, I noticed that Claudio was possessed of an uncharacteristic calm as an assisting minister. His hands did not shake. When he handed me the chalice and purificator after com-munion his palms were not sweaty. His face was relaxed and radiant, not furrowed and pinched. After worship, I asked him about it.

“Yep, pastor, there’s been a change. I’m no longer overcome with the mantra, “don’t drop it, don’t spill it, just do what you’re called to do.” God has given me a sense of peace. “What changed?” I asked him.

The last time I was Eucharistic minister, when I sat the chalice on the altar, I realized that Christ was not somehow magically in that chalice. I knew that if I spilled it or dropped it, God would understand. When I looked out across the congregation and saw all the people of God that I was privileged to serve, I realized that Christ was not in the chalice. At least not only in that chalice. Christ was now in all of them. In all of us.”

Claudio had come into a new righteousness that did not eliminate one letter, not one stroke of a letter of all that had gone before. He was able to see Christ fulfilling the Law in a way he’d never seen before. He saw God’s people as bearing the cross of Christ to the world. He saw them as salt and light. In short, he moved them in his mind from god-ish to Godly. He might spill some wine, but he also recognized in a truly sacramental way, that God’s love had spilled into the bodies, the hearts, the minds, of God’s people.

Beloved in Christ. You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. You are not like a bit of seasoning to make bad things a little better. You are not just a sprinkling of light to make someone’s random hard day a little bit brighter. God has been and will once again today be spilled into you.

On our body and in our heart, through our words and by our actions, we ARE salt and light. It’s very sacramental. What once was in the loaf and chalice is now in us. We are bread for the hungry, drink for all who thirst. We are no longer god-ish. Baptized into Christ we are Godly. It is both joy and privilege, gift and task, and Jesus walks with us every step of the way. Because he lives, we shall live also, to bring Christ to the world for others. Light for the world to see.

Salt and light. Christ in the world. This is who we are. Rise and shine, people of God. Godly people. Bringing peace to the troubled. Food to the hungry. Shelter to the homeless. Such Godly people we are called to be.  Such Godly people we get to be. Godly salt. Godly light.

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