August 14 sermon

Text: Matthew 15:21-28
Preached August 14 at Dale and Holden (my last internship sermon!)


Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

Jesus has really been busy these past few weeks. We recently saw him feeding a crowd of thousands with just five loaves of bread and two fish. Then he popped up walking across a lake in the middle of a storm. Next thing you know, he’s on the other side of the lake and he still can’t catch a break from his work!

Jesus has left the southern part of Galilee, where his hometown of Nazareth is, and he is now in northern Galilee, near the cities of Tyre and Sidon. There were Jews living there, but most of the people in the area were gentiles, or non-Jews.

It seems that no sooner has Jesus arrived in the area than he’s accosted by a Canaanite woman shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” And Jesus’ initial response may seem surprising to us. Matthew tells us that, at first, “he did not answer her at all.”

How painful do you think that was for this woman? How painful has it been to you when you felt like God seemed silent?

Perhaps you’ve watched news reports of tsunamis or earthquakes—hundreds of thousands of people dead in one fell swoop. Perhaps you’ve been troubled by the injustice that seems rampant all over the world—rich stepping on poor, dictators killing their own people, rebels who won’t give donated food to starving children. Perhaps you’ve sat in the depths of grief, facing the death of a loved one or a broken relationship.

And perhaps you’ve struggled to hear God’s voice in the midst of such suffering. What does it mean when God seems silent? Sometimes it means we’re looking for answers in the wrong places. Sometimes it means we’re only looking for the answers we expect to find, and we miss the response God actually offers. Sometimes it just means God’s ways are not our ways, as he so often reminds us.

The more important question is: what do we do when God seems silent? We do exactly what this woman does. We trust that God’s intention toward his people is gracious. We remember those to whom we are bound in love, and we persevere in faith.

This Canaanite woman is compelled by love for her daughter, who was “tormented by a demon.” She certainly couldn’t heal her daughter on her own, so she goes to Jesus, overcoming her own limited abilities by turning to the one whose power is unlimited. It could have been socially or politically risky to seek out Jesus, but love is consuming, and this woman wasn’t about to pass up a chance to help her dear daughter.

This woman is also bound by love for Jesus. She calls him “Lord,” and “Son of David,” titles used for Israel’s expected Messiah. She recognizes and respects Jesus for who he is, and she kneels before him. Her love compels her to worship.

Jesus had recently been rejected and driven out of his hometown of Nazareth. Just as so many Jews were refusing to hear Jesus’ message, this outsider falls at his feet in worship. Even Jesus’ most faithful followers can’t seem to match this woman’s devotion. Just last week we heard Jesus call Peter “you of little faith,” and now he commends this gentile woman for her “great faith.” It’s quite a sharp contrast.

This woman is compelled by love for Jesus to ask for help and beg for mercy. She demonstrates not only great faith, but also great humility and awareness of her own unworthiness. She doesn’t even argue when Jesus responds less-than-graciously: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” and, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

Instead, she says, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ tables.” In her love, she looks past Jesus’ apparent dismissal, trusting that he can and will respond to her need. And she knows that even the crumbs of what Jesus has to offer are of great worth.

The disciples had long since become annoyed with this woman, saying to Jesus, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” But she persists. She knows that Jesus can provide the healing her daughter needs. She knows that the only thing that breaks the silence of sickness and death is Jesus’ word of healing and life. She will not settle for the silence when the Word himself stands right in front of her.

And, of course, Jesus cannot stay silent forever, because he, too, is bound by love.

Jesus’ initial hesitation is similar to his prayer in the garden before his betrayal, isn’t it? In both cases, Jesus would prefer to avoid what lies ahead, because it involves great suffering. Jesus is about to cross dangerous social boundaries, which will help put him on the road to death. But he cannot hold back, because he is bound by love to this woman and to all of us.

So he dives in. He commends the Canaanite woman for her faith. He breaks the silence and the sting of rejection with a word of life: “Let it be done for you as you wish.” And the woman’s daughter was healed.

God’s disposition toward all of creation is one of love, and love is consuming and compelling.

In our first reading, God speaks through the prophet Isaiah a word of invitation: “And the foreigners who join themselves to the Lord, to minister to him, to love the name of the Lord, and to be his servants...these I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful….My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.”

God has always been open to receiving everyone who calls on him in faith, because God is bound to his creation in love.

Paul writes in our second reading about the Jews who had not come to faith in Jesus as Messiah: “I ask, then, has God rejected his people? By no means!...God has not rejected his people whom he foreknew…for the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable.” God has not abandoned his people, Paul says, because God is too consumed by love for them to turn his back.

In Jesus’ response to this Canaanite woman, he does not ignore who she is. The person confronting Jesus is both woman and gentile. And she’s not just any gentile but a Canaanite, historic enemies of the Jews. Jesus hesitates to respond, and when he does respond, he doesn’t try to convince her that everyone is the same and she’s not really an outsider.

How insulting that would have been! This woman certainly knew from her years of life that all people are not the same. She was a woman in a culture where she had few rights. She was a gentile professing faith in a Messiah who didn’t seem to see her as part of his flock. She was an outsider, and she knew it; she didn’t need Jesus to try to persuade her otherwise.

Jesus does not ignore the particularities of this woman’s identity. God himself became incarnate as Jesus of Nazareth—a particular person, at a particular time in history, in a particular place in the world. The Incarnation of Christ teaches us that particularity matters, because God uses the particular for broader purposes.

God made a covenant with Abraham—one man—in order to bless all the families of the earth. God chose the people of Israel—one nation—in order to draw to himself all nations. Rather than painting over our uniqueness, God loves us for it, and he bears it all on the cross.

Jesus overturns all the rules about insiders and outsiders, and doing that puts him on the road to his death. Jesus bears all the specifics of our sinfulness, putting himself on the line for each of us. Jesus makes room at the foot of the cross for all people in all their particularity.

Jesus does not ignore the particularities of this woman’s identity, nor does he ignore ours. Instead, he goes to the cross to give us all a new identity, born of the love that compels him to die for us. On the cross, Jesus makes us each a child of God and a new creation. On the cross, Jesus binds us each to himself in all of our uniqueness.

Now, Paul can say to the Galatians, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” And so we are—one in Christ, united in love, no longer defined by the categories that divide us, but still uniquely gifted and precious in our particularity.

So God invites us into his story with all of our uniqueness. God works through specific people with individual gifts and passions and quirks that make a difference. This Canaanite woman showed great faith in Jesus, even as an outsider, Her faith was a witness to all those around her, and it couldn’t have been provided by someone else.

So we too become witnesses to the love of God in Christ Jesus, which binds us to God and to one another. God speaks again through the prophet Isaiah in our first reading: “Thus says the Lord God, who gathers the outcasts of Israel, I will gather others to them besides those already gathered.”

How does God gather people? By the proclamation of his word of life. The same word that brought creation into being. The same word that healed the Canaanite woman’s daughter. The same word that makes us children of God at our baptism.

And guess whose job it is to proclaim this word of life as God gathers people to himself? It’s my job. It’s Pastor Heather’s job. It’s your job too. All of us who know the story of God’s consuming love for us are compelled to tell that story and share that love. No one can tell the story of God’s love in your life as well as you can.

God’s word of life breaks the silence of sickness and death. God’s saving power in Christ Jesus is for all people. And we, in all our particularity, are the witnesses who can make it known. Amen.

July 31 sermon

Text: Isaiah 55:1-5
Preached July 31 and August 3 at First


Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

Some of my family is here today. Every year at this time, my parents come up from Iowa to my grandmother’s in Spring Valley, and we go to the Olmsted County Fair in Rochester. This year was no exception, and that’s where we spent yesterday afternoon.

It brought back memories of a couple years ago, when things didn’t go quite as smoothly as they did yesterday. While I was in Spring Valley that year, my car broke down on me. I got to the edge of town, on my way to Rochester, and pulled off the road just in time for my car to quit completely. Apparently I needed a new fuel pump—so much for my “reliable” little car that never let me down.

I was doing my clinical pastoral education that summer, working as a hospital chaplain, with very little flexibility for time off. And now I was stuck in Spring Valley. My parents and my grandma bent over backwards to help to me deal with the unexpected repair.

My grandma voluntarily stranded herself at home for a couple days by loaning me her car. My dad made two trips between Spring Valley and St. Paul to get me to work and to get my car back to me. That’s eight hours of driving and a longer stay in Minnesota. My mom was at a conference elsewhere, but she offered moral support from afar.

And, even though I was a legitimate grown-up and financially independent, they paid for the repair for me. It was all very helpful and generous, and I felt really cared for and grateful.

But I was also a little conflicted, because I don’t like being dependent. I don’t like not being able to handle everything on my own. I don’t want to be vulnerable. I want to be in control of my own life. It was humbling to receive such kindness, even from my family.

I think most of us like to take care of ourselves, and I bet we sometimes manage to convince ourselves that we can do a pretty decent job of it. When things are going well, we might even start to think God must be impressed with us. Surely God favors those who have it all together, right? Doesn’t God help those who help themselves?

The ancient Israelites thought they had everything together. They thought they were in good with God and didn’t need to worry too much about him. God certainly noticed their wandering attention. He asks through the prophet Isaiah, “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?”

The people had turned their backs on God and put their trust in idols, which can never sustain or satisfy us. And, lest we think ourselves vastly superior to those idolatrous Israelites, we might ask ourselves how much trust we put in money or stability or reputation.

Even our sense of independence can get in the way of right relationship with God. It can curve us in upon ourselves, turning our self-sufficiency into to self-centeredness. It can make us competitive, so that we assume someone else must lose if we’re going to win. It can make us merciless, so that we look upon those who suffer with condemnation instead of compassion.

No matter how convinced we are that we have it all together, every now and then, something happens that reminds us just how vulnerable we are. It could be something like my car repair—relatively minor in the grand scheme of things.

It could be an illness that makes us dependent on others for help. When I got appendicitis, two of my friends drove me to the emergency room and sat with me for six hours until my surgery, while other friends and family took care of me in many other ways as I recovered. I know some of you have much more dramatic experiences of support and care during times of illness.

It could be financial. We all like to be self-sufficient, but just one medical problem or job loss can send even a stable, middle-class family into financial crisis.

Maybe it’s education. You decide you need to update your skills, so you enroll in some training only to discover you’re in way over your head and you’ll never catch up without some serious, personalized help.

If we’re honest, we realize that we aren’t as self-sufficient as we like to think. The people of Israel came to the same cold, hard realization when their promised land was conquered and they were dragged off to Babylon as captives. They found themselves with no land, no freedom, and no future.

What does God have to say to his people in circumstances like these? What does God say to us as we sit in exile, face-to-face with the reality of our own weakness? What does God say when we discover that we cannot keep it together enough to earn God’s favor?

God says this: “Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.”

God does not demand that we clean up our act. God does not tell us to go away, pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, and come back when we’re no longer helpless and hopeless. Instead, God issues an invitation.

No one can keep it together all the time. No one can pay for God’s grace. No one can earn God’s favor. Lucky for us, God gives it freely. This invitation is not just for people of good social standing, or people who can pay, or people who have no weaknesses.

The invitation to this banquet of God’s presence is for anyone and everyone who hungers and thirsts. We tend to put all sorts of conditions on God’s grace, but God offers this invitation on his own terms. And, like my dear family who helped me with my car, God’s terms are generous and easy. Don’t even think about trying to pay, God says, just come and eat freely.

This invitation God offers is to a life of abundance. “Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.” Wine is often understood in the scriptures as a sign of God’s blessing. And milk is closely associated with the promised holy land, the land “flowing with milk and honey.”

God says a little later, “Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; listen, so that you may live.” This banquet is not just about the bare necessities of existence. It is about the sheer delight of life in God. We listen carefully so that we may live in the joy of God’s presence.

So, if abundant life is associated with inclining our ear and listening to God, there must be a word spoken to nourish us. You are what you eat, as they say, and God feeds us with the finest of foods. By God’s word we are transformed into his people.

We heard already the word of God’s forgiveness, restoring us to right relationship with him. We will soon hold that forgiveness in our hands—the bodily presence of our Savior in the bread and wine. In scripture, in proclamation, and in the holy meal, we receive over and over again the great promise that, in Jesus Christ, we are made new, and nothing in all creation can separate us from God’s love.

When we are reminded in the most painful ways that we cannot manage everything on our own, God’s love and forgiveness and compassion are for us. When our lives are out of control and crumbling around us, our Christ is present with us in the midst of the pain. When we are faced with the harsh reality of our own vulnerability, God invites us once again to the banquet of his grace.

This abundant life is possible because of God’s faithfulness: “I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David.” Through Isaiah, God reminds the people of his faithfulness, which they may have been questioning. God had promised to establish David’s family as rulers of God’s people forever, and now the people have been conquered. What, then, had become of God’s promise?

God tells them what had become of it—it is being expanded to include all of God’s people. “I will make with you an everlasting covenant.” Suddenly, the people are reminded that this steadfast, sure love of God is not just for David, but is for all of Israel.

And the God who made this covenant is the same God who later fed a multitude with only two fish and five loaves of bread, because he had compassion on them. This God is the same God who continues to provide for us even now, inviting us to his table where he gives us nothing less than himself! This is the God who offers us a life of abundance and delight in his presence.

Along with this invitation comes a call to witness. The abundant life God offers is not just for our sake, but for the sake of everyone around us. God says, “See, you shall call nations that you do not know, and nations that do not know you shall run to you, because of the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, for he has glorified you.”

When God called Abraham and promised to “make of [him] a great nation,” it was so that in Abraham “all the families of the earth” would be blessed. When God called David to rule God’s people, God made him “a witness to the peoples, a leader and commander for the peoples.” The peoples here extend far beyond Israel.

And now, as God invites us to the banquet of his grace, he calls us to show forth the delight of his abundant life so that all people may be drawn to his love and may partake of the banquet, freely given.

I can’t repay my family for helping me with my car. I can’t repay my friends for supporting me through appendicitis. You probably can’t repay the folks who have supported and upheld you through the trials of your life. But we can all pass along that kindness by extending the same care to others.

Just so, we cannot pay for God’s grace, nor can we earn his favor. But we can show compassion for those who are all too aware of their weakness. We can remind them that we are all vulnerable and dependent, and God loves us anyway. And we can invite them to the banquet of abundant grace that God sets forth for us, so that all may share in the delight of life in God. Amen.

July 17 sermon

Text: Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
Preached July 17 at Grace


Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

We’re talking a lot about seeds and planting lately, it seems. I have no doubt you all know a thing or two about such matters, with all the farmers and gardeners in our midst. But somehow I think even your collective agricultural knowledge might not be enough to fully crack the mysteries Jesus addresses for us today. Wheat and weeds are tricky enough, but the problem of good and evil is most certainly beyond our grasp.

“The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field,” Jesus says, and he continues later, “The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom.” God, through Christ, the Son of Man, made all of creation, and he made it good. But things went awry.

“[W]hile everybody was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well….the weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sowed them is the devil….”

Martin Luther understood evil as including the devil, the world, and our sinful selves. These things combined to tarnish the initial goodness of God’s creation, and they continue their attempts to thwart God’s purposes.

Where do you see weeds, after all? Throughout the world, to be sure. Watching or reading the news will turn up plenty of examples. But we all have plenty of weeds growing in our own yards as well. There are some sins that keep cropping up no matter how many times we think we’ve uprooted them, and there are always new sins appearing in the mix as well.

With all its causes and in all its various forms, the fact is that evil is a reality in our world, and Jesus isn’t afraid to acknowledge it. Our world is fallen and broken, no longer in full relationship with God.

And, according to Jesus’ parable, the good and evil in the world are now so intertwined that they cannot be separated. The owner of this field tells his workers not to pull the weeds sown by an enemy among the good seed, “for in gathering the weeds,” he says, “you would uproot the wheat along with them.” Good and evil must grow together until the end of the age, Jesus tells us.

It’s uncomfortable to live with this reality, isn’t it? Nevertheless, that seems to be exactly what Jesus expects. I think Isaiah has something to say about it in our first reading as well.

“Thus says the Lord, the King of Israel, and his Redeemer, the Lord of hosts: I am the first and I am the last; besides me there is no god.” So God is God and we are not. If we believe this, and if we intend to let God be God, then the question of whether or not to uproot the weeds among the wheat remains squarely in God’s hands.

How tempting it is for us take matters into our own hands and try to root out the weeds we see. Some weeds are quite obvious and quite damaging and perhaps we could pull those successfully. But other weeds are much more subtle, and it isn’t always easy for us to tell the difference between these kinds of weeds and the good plants around them.

Lucky for us, God has sharper vision than we do, as well as a much better view of the entire field. He knows, as Jesus tells us, that sometimes digging up the weeds would be more disruptive and harmful to the crop than just letting them grow until they can be separated at harvest time.

God speaks further through Isaiah: “who has announced from of old the things to come?...have I not told you from of old and declared it?” God alone is in control of history, and he is constantly revealing and declaring himself. First he does it through the covenant, then through the prophets, and finally through his Son.

And, God says, “you are my witnesses!” God has been and still is and always will be at work in and around us. Jesus tells us that the field is not given over entirely to weeds—there is still good wheat bearing fruit even among the weeds.

There is still good happening in the world—there is still love and forgiveness and compassion. There is still mercy and kindness and courage. There is still patience and generosity and gentleness. We have only to notice it, to revel in it and participate in it, to proclaim it as God’s work.

And so, God says, “Do not fear, or be afraid.” It is not for us to worry about identifying and rooting out all the weeds in the world—everything that seems to be evil. Our part is to trust in God’s sovereignty, realizing that God’s ways are not our ways, as he told us through Isaiah just a couple weeks ago.

Our part is to remember that God has proven his goodness and love in sending his Son to die for us. “There is no other rock,” God says, “I know not one.” God is God and we are not. And this God is a refuge of stability and security and safety, even amidst the storms and sorrow and suffering of life in a world plagued by evil.

And so, trusting in this loving God, we wait with patience and hope, even as we long for God’s promised future. Paul says in our second reading that “the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God.” He describes this waiting as “groaning in labor pains” in “bondage to decay.”

All of creation experiences the suffering of sin and brokenness, and we yearn to separate the wheat and the weeds, to rest securely in the kingdom of Christ where no evil can touch us and no harm come to us.

One scholar points out that part of what causes our suffering is that “the Spirit has given us reason to hope for more than we can see….For now, the suffering Paul speaks of…comes from knowing what the world could be, even as we live in the world as it is” (Mary Hinkle Shore on WorkingPreacher).

So the very cause of our hope is also a cause of our suffering! We can see beyond the world into God’s promised future, and so we wait eagerly for its arrival. The eager longing Paul describes is the anticipation of someone straining to see the dawn breaking after a long, restless night. It is the yearning of someone scanning the horizon for the arrival of an expected loved one. It is active longing, always on the lookout.

And the reality of the future God has promised us is precisely why Paul can say, “the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.” Suffering is real, and we should never ignore or dismiss anyone’s experience of it. But, even as we suffer, we do not lose hope.

Instead, we endure in the certain hope “that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.” Or, as Matthew says, “the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father.” In hope we were saved, Paul says, and we wait with eager anticipation for that which we do not see but which has been made sure and certain for us by God’s promise.

The suffering of this life does not have the final word. The evil one who sows weeds among the wheat does not have the final word. Even death itself does not have the final word. God is God, and we are not, nor is anything else in creation. And God will have the final word.

Matthew tells us that God will root out all evil and sin and brokenness at the end of the age. Both the evil around us and the evil within us will be burned away to leave only good grain. Paul tells us we can expect the redemption of our bodies along with the restoration of all creation—a new life fully reflecting the glory of God. John tells us in Revelation that God will wipe every tear from our eyes and death will be no more.

So we trust in this promise, knowing we have “the first fruits of the Spirit.” The first fruits are representative of the full harvest, a pledge of what is to come. We know that God has great things in store for us, because the pledge he has given us is his very Son!

And the Spirit bears witness that we, too, are children of God, and “if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ.” We are heirs with Christ in both suffering and glory, death and resurrection, decay and brand-new life. So we wait with patience, trusting God’s promise that he is present in suffering, tending to both weeds and wheat. And we live in the sure and certain hope that, in Christ, God is making all things new. Amen.

July 10 sermon

Text: Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
Preached July 10 at Trinity


Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

So what do plants need to flourish? Those of us who gathered on Wednesday evening considered this question, and our young people just helped us think through it again. The first thing they need, of course, is someone to plant them. “A sower went out to sow,” Jesus tells us. If God’s people are to grow and bear fruit, God’s word must be planted in the first place. We need a preacher!

Now, by “preacher,” I don’t just mean those of us who get to study and proclaim God’s word during the designated “sermon” time on Sunday morning. That is important, of course (at least, I think it is!). And so are all the other ways in which we share the good news. Jesus wasn’t talking only to pastors when he said at the end of Matthew’s gospel, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations…teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you.”

All of us—all of you—who know the story of God’s love made known in Christ are preachers. God has given you his promises—a promise that he has named and claimed you as his own, a promise that nothing in all creation can separate you from his love in Christ Jesus, a promise that he will one day raise his people to eternal life and make all things new. These promises are for you, and they are for everyone around you. That means it’s your job to get the word out there—to be a preacher of the good news!

As we talked about with the kids, this sower doesn’t exactly seem shrewd and skillful about his farming practices, does he? I know those of you who cultivate crops probably have GPS-guided equipment that tells you exactly where the seeds go, and a whole arsenal of other scientific and mechanical tricks to make your efforts as productive as possible.

But this sower doesn’t seem to care where his seeds end up. Thankfully, some of the seed does fall on good soil, where it can grow and produce grain. But some lands on the path, which would have been worn down by foot traffic so that plant roots couldn’t penetrate the crusty surface before it was snatched by birds. Some lands on the rocks, which prevent the roots from getting down into the soil. Some lands among thorns, which steal all the sun and water and nutrients and starve the good plants.

The sower doesn’t seem to have much concern for maximizing his yield through careful planting. Instead, there seems to be an abundance of seed and little worry for precision. This is how God works with his word—he scatters it all over the place, through all these preachers he’s commissioned. And so we go—you go—and spread that word far and wide, regardless of where it might end up.

It is true, of course, that conditions must be right for the plants to grow. The seed must get its roots into the soil. Jesus says, “When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path.”

There are plenty of folks in Matthew’s gospel who hear but do not understand. How about the religious leaders who hear Jesus’ message but oppose him every step of the way? How about the crowds who seem to love the healings and miracles but eventually turn on Jesus and put him to death?

How about our own pride and prejudices? How often do we think we can do better on our own than with God’s guidance? How much does our culture emphasize individuality and following our own desires, not letting anyone tell us what to believe? The word cannot sink in when hearts and minds are not open to receive it.

Once it does penetrate that top layer of soil, the seed must be rooted deeply. Jesus continues: “As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away.”

If you’re anything like me, you can easily get excited about a new undertaking, but the enthusiasm isn’t always sustainable. It could be college majors, careers, or hobbies. You get fired up about something so you spend money on photography equipment or musical instruments or sewing supplies or sports gear. But, as soon as you realize you’re going to have to work hard to be any good at this new endeavor, your enthusiasm vanishes and your shiny new things sit unused.

This is not the nature of discipleship, is it? Discipleship is long-term. It has to weather all the good, bad, and unremarkable times. Christians do not live on enthusiasm alone, but discipleship happens amidst the mundane routines of daily life.

The occasional mountaintop experience of closeness with God can be rejuvenating, and it is a blessing when it happens, but it cannot be the central substance of our faith lives. Faith is nourished in the community of Christ’s body, the church, and sustained by God’s word, and the sacraments, and spiritual disciplines like prayer.

Persecution and suffering is a reality. The disciples and the early church faced plenty of reasons for despair—both physical harm and rejection of the message in which they believed. We too are vulnerable to the suffering of life and the rejection of our efforts to reach out with the good news of God’s love. We must have roots deep enough to handle these challenges if we are to continue to grow in Christ.

When the seeds are planted and they’ve managed to establish healthy roots, they aren’t home free yet. What if their territory gets crowded? “As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing.”

Even a novice gardener knows that it’s important to keep weeds out of the garden, so they don’t steal all the nutrients from the plants you want to grow. The word must have adequate space and nourishment.

Matthew tells us of a rich young man who asked Jesus what he must do to have eternal life. Jesus told him he should keep the commandments, and he also said, “sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and…follow me.” And the man went away grieving. It seems he just couldn’t give up his possessions.

Many of us live fast-paced lives, juggling competing demands and priorities. And many of these demands—like family, work, and service—are not at all bad or frivolous. But they can still be distracting. Sometimes when I’m taking classes in seminary, I get so caught up in what’s due next that I forget why I’m doing it in the first place.

Obvious distractions like greed are dangerous, but these other, very important, very good things can also cause problems for our discipleship. As Jesus told Martha, only one thing is needed.

Taking time for prayer, praise, study, and fellowship sets up a different paradigm for our time, reminding us that we are not the savior of the world and that all does not depend on us. Discipleship means being set apart from the world and its concerns, so that they do not choke us, even as we are planted firmly in the midst of them.

It’s clear, then, that plants have to have the right conditions in order to grow. And it’s clear that God’s word must be received under the right conditions in order to thrive. But there’s an important thing to note about bad soil—it cannot change itself. A crusty pathway can’t soften itself. A rocky patch can’t throw out the rocks. A plot full of weeds can’t remove them.

Just so, we cannot transform ourselves into good soil for God’s word. The sower sows the seed, but God works the soil. The disciples are a good example. They often don’t seem to understand what Jesus is up to, and eventually they betray and deny him as he dies. But Jesus doesn’t give up on them. He continues to teach, encourage, and love them, and he entrusts his mission to them as he ascends into heaven.

God does not give up on us either. He continually transforms us into receptive soil that bears good fruit. Through Christ, God makes us good soil, and God’s Spirit continually works on the spots in our lives that are still hardened, rocky, or thorny.

It’s also important to remember that we can’t change anyone else’s soil type any more than we can change our own. As we sow the seed of God’s promises, we may not always find a warm reception. But even in the face of indifference or hostility, we can’t tell when or where God is at work, transforming the hardened, rocky, or thorny parts of other people’s lives just as he does ours, making them into receptive soil that can hear and understand God’s message of love and grace.

So we sow God’s word extravagantly, no matter what condition the soil seems to be in, and we trust that God will give the growth. You farmers and gardeners surely don’t expect every single seed you plant to germinate. Some of them might wash away or get pounded by hail or wither up mysteriously. But you plant them anyway, trusting that there will be a harvest.

Isaiah’s metaphor of snow and rain in our first reading points to the transformational effect of God’s word in the lives of its hearers:

“For as the rain and snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.”

The moisture of snow and rain, in combination with good soil and sunshine, ensure food for the season. God’s word does what its hearers need it to do, bringing God’s promises even into treacherous territory.

This assurance gives us freedom to take risks for the gospel, recklessly scattering that good news all over the place with no requirements about the worthiness of the recipient. That’s how God works, after all—we are all unworthy recipients of grace, mercy, and forgiveness, but God gives it freely.

Faithful sowing means giving freely that which we have been freely given—trusting that God will give the growth so that the word “bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundred-fold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.” Because, whether or not we can see it, God has promised that his word will not return empty, and the harvest is assured. And God keeps his promises. Amen.

June 26 sermon

Text: Romans 6:12-23
Preached June 26 at Gol


Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

“In Holy Baptism our gracious heavenly Father liberates us from sin and death by joining us to the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. We are born children of a fallen humanity; in the waters of Baptism we are reborn children of God and inheritors of eternal life. By water and the Holy Spirit we are made members of the Church which is the body of Christ. As we live with him and with his people, we grow in faith, love, and obedience to the will of God.”

Perhaps you recognize these words from the church’s liturgy for Holy Baptism. I do realize we are not baptizing anyone today, but Martin Luther was keenly aware that baptism must continue throughout our lives, and these words point to that truth: “As we live with him and with his people, we grow in faith, love, and obedience to the will of God.”

The apostle Paul has a lot to say about obedience in our second reading as well, doesn’t he? And it relates back to the reality of our baptism. In the verses just before our reading, Paul reminds us that, as children of God, we have been “brought from death to life”: “Therefore we have been buried with [Christ] by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.”

We are set free by our baptism into Christ. We are set free from the burden of fulfilling the law, which we can never do. We are set free from the responsibility of making ourselves acceptable to God, which we can never do. We are set free from the task of earning God’s favor, which we can never do.

This freedom we have as God’s people in Christ is a different type of freedom from what we might have in mind. Sometimes we understand freedom as the ability to do whatever we want, to follow our own desires, to live with no rules and no consequences. We can point to any number of politicians, actors, athletes, and others who seem to think they should be able to indulge their every whim regardless of the effect on their families, colleagues, and reputations.

But that is not how real freedom works, is it? We wouldn’t be free to live in safety if there were no laws to keep others from assaulting us whenever we irritate them. We wouldn’t be free to drive in safety if there were no laws keeping order on the roads. We wouldn’t be free to speak our minds or elect our leaders or enjoy our many other rights if it weren’t for the devoted people who have risked—and even sacrificed—their lives to protect those rights.

Freedom is not the same as self-indulgence. Freedom in Christ, in particular, is never self-centered. Instead, it is about the submission of our own will to God’s will. Jesus prayed in the garden as he faced his death: “not my will, but yours be done.” And he taught us to pray likewise: “thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

Paul reminds us that we are free from sin, free from the law, freed by grace: “For sin will have no dominion over you,” he says, “since you are not under law but under grace.” Grace frees us from the grip of sin, but grace does not pave the way for a future of comfortable, self-absorbed lounging. We are freed from slavery to sin, and we are freed for obedience to God. Grace is God’s gift to us, the gift of forgiveness and eternal life. Grace is also a gift to our neighbor, as we are freed to serve others in obedience to God’s will.

Paul understands that we are always slaves. The question is not whether we will be enslaved, but to what or to whom we will be enslaved. Will we be slaves of sin or will we be slaves of God? Will we be “instruments of wickedness” or will we be “instruments of righteousness”?

We know all too well, of course, that, even as God’s beloved children, we continue to sin. We confessed just a few minutes ago that we are “captive to sin and cannot free ourselves.” We know the reality Paul describes later in Romans when he says, “I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” We do not stop sinning even after God claims us as his people through Christ.

But, even though we remain sinful, we are no longer defined solely by that sin. We are, at the same time, fully righteous in God’s eyes, and that is what ultimately defines us. I have heard this explained by comparison to recovery from an addiction. A recovering addict will be the first to tell you they were enslaved by their addiction, and that reality can never be forgotten. But, once they are in recovery, the addiction no longer rules their lives in the same way. So you might say they are both addicted and recovering.

Just so, though we remain entirely sinful, we are also entirely righteous, and this righteousness comes not from us or our work, but from Christ. It is conferred on us in our baptism, when we are clothed with Christ, so that, when God looks at us, he no longer sees our sin. Instead, he sees only Christ and his righteousness, given to each of us.

So how can we continue to live in sin when our sinful selves have been crucified with Christ, drowned in the waters of baptism? Sin may be ever-present, but it no longer rules over us, and it does not have the final word. We were baptized into Christ’s death in order to share in his resurrected life.

And what does resurrected life look like? It looks like the Spirit working in and through us, drowning our sinful desires each day and creating us anew. It looks like the Spirit setting us free to follow God’s will obediently. It looks like abiding in Christ, being rooted in God’s word and fed at his table, so that the Spirit can shape our lives in conformity to Christ.

So, as God’s people, we are no longer “instruments of wickedness,” enslaved to sin. Instead, we become “instruments of righteousness,” enslaved to God. The righteousness of Christ, God’s free gift to us, bears fruit in our lives in the form of love for our neighbor.

Even the most basic of care is a visible fruit of righteousness. Consider our gospel reading, in which Jesus talks about giving a cup of cold water to one who thirsts. Such simple acts of love and charity are signs of the Spirit working in and through us.

I once gave a glass of water to a maintenance worker who was fixing the door of my seminary apartment on a hot day. He was so grateful that you’d have thought I’d given him a pile of money. It must have just been exactly what he needed at the moment.

Last week, I was on a mission trip with several young people. My work group spent most of the week weeding and painting and moving heavy furniture. The work wasn’t glamorous, but it was what needed to be done, and it was appreciated.

God’s grace through Christ makes us righteous, and righteousness bears fruit in acts of love and service like these. Christ intruded into our human lives to confront us with the ultimate picture of love and obedience. And Christ continues to intrude into each of our lives to confront us in the form of neighbors who need our care.

As God’s children, set free in Christ from our bondage to sin, we “become obedient from the heart” as “instruments of righteousness,” allowing God to work through us for the sake of a world in need.

And the end result of this righteousness is eternal life, instead of the death that comes from sin. If we will be enslaved to something—and we will—shouldn’t we be slaves to the master who gives us life? Lucky for us, God has set us free from slavery to sin and its wages of death. Through Christ, he has claimed us instead as slaves of righteousness and inheritors of eternal life.

So we live confident in the promise that nothing—not sin or law, not life or death, not anything else in all creation—can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus, through whose power we serve, and in whose risen life we share eternally.

Thanks be to God! Amen.

June 5 sermon

Text: Acts 1:6-14
Preached June 5 at Dennison Lutheran Church (combined parish with Vang Lutheran Church)


Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

Transitions aren’t always easy, are they? And this time of year is full of them—just look at the bulletin. Five of our young people are graduating from high school. One couple among us just welcomed a baby boy. Wedding season is in full swing and there are always retirements or job changes, recoveries from illness or surgery, and any number of other transitions happening at any given moment.

The disciples of Jesus experienced a major transition as well, as Jesus’ physical presence on earth came to an end. Our first reading comes from the book of Acts, written by Luke, the gospel writer. He tells us Jesus appeared to his disciples one last time after his resurrection, and then “as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight.”

Jesus’ followers had already had to make a transition from the original, physical presence of Jesus the teacher, to the transformed (but still physical) presence of Jesus the resurrected Christ. And now they have to make yet another transition, relying on the Holy Spirit they will soon receive, in place of the physical presence of Jesus among them.

What a shock this must have been! They had such high expectations of Jesus at this point in his ministry. Just weeks earlier, he had defeated death itself, rising gloriously from the dead in order to bring life to all God’s people!

The disciples saw the upward trajectory of Jesus’ ministry, and they naturally assumed Jesus was nothing if not a rising star. They asked their teacher, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?”

Jesus had changed everything with his glorious resurrection on Easter morning. What else could be left but for the Messiah to restore the kingdom and bring all of history to its expected culmination? It was time for Jesus to reveal himself to the world as Messiah, wasn’t it? Time to validate the disciples’ faith and vindicate their experiences of ridicule and persecution.

But this is not what happens, as we know. Jesus did not march triumphantly through Jerusalem after his resurrection, issuing “I told you so”s to the religious and political leaders who had condemned him. Instead, he appeared only to his disciples and, after just a few short weeks, he vanished for good, as “a cloud took him out of their sight.”

This transition was not as unexpected for Jesus as it may have been for the disciples. He had been preparing them for this throughout their three years together. After all, any significant transition requires long-term preparation, doesn’t it? Graduates do not receive diplomas or degrees without a lot of studying and hard work. Couples do not get married without thinking carefully about what it means to share their lives and how that might work for them.

So Jesus had been preparing his disciples, and now he reveals just what it is he’s had in mind for them: “you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” Jesus commissions his disciples as witnesses. He makes it clear that his work must continue even after he has ascended into heaven. Can you imagine the disciples’ astonishment? What a scandal to be called upon to continue the work of the Messiah himself!

Jesus’ vision of the future was not at all like the vision the disciples had, of the immanent coming of the kingdom of God in all its fullness. Instead, God delays this coming of the kingdom so that these believers in Jesus can tell the story. God’s work in the world is to continue, and God needs people who will proclaim the word—who will tell the saving story of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection for our sake.

Jesus’ followers—then and now—are called to proclaim the kingdom, even though it is not yet fully revealed. For, as Jesus tells us in our gospel reading, eternal life is knowing the one true God and Jesus Christ whom God has sent. Jesus’ followers are invited into the eternal life that comes from knowing God in Christ. And Jesus’ followers are called to proclaim that same invitation to others as witnesses to God’s work in Christ.

And what does it mean to be witnesses? The angels at Jesus’ ascension give us a clue. “Men of Galilee,” they say to the disciples, “why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” Well, probably because Jesus had just been lifted up on a cloud out of their sight! It’s not something you see every day! But the angels let us know that witnessing does not mean removing ourselves from the world in order to gaze up at heaven instead. Witnessing means immersing ourselves fully into the world for the sake of our neighbors.

Witnessing happens amidst our day-to-day rounds of work and play. We witness to the living God made known in Christ when we explicitly tell the story of his saving work. We also witness when we simply do our jobs, pursue our hobbies, and perform our volunteer work to the best of our ability and to the glory of God. When our work benefits others, it is God’s work, and it witnesses to God’s love and mercy.

Luke tells us the disciples turned their gaze away from heaven in order to return to their lives in Jerusalem, and he says they were “constantly devoting themselves to prayer.” Prayer happens amidst our everyday routines as well, both in times set apart and in the middle of daily life. Sometimes we engage in what I call “drive-by prayer.” It can be thought of as an ongoing conversation with God—praying without ceasing.

Prayer is also mission—through our prayers, we support others in their work of witnessing to God. And how do we pray? “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” We pray that we might help make known the signs of God’s kingdom and God’s will here and now.

Notice that Jesus never promises his disciples that their work of witnessing will be easy. Quite the opposite is true, of course. Peter spells it out in our second reading: “Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour.”

The early Christians faced intense persecution, and each of the apostles became martyrs, giving up their lives as witnesses to their faith in the one true God and in Jesus Christ whom God sent. We may not face such threats to our very lives, but we do sometimes encounter opposition, ridicule, or exclusion on account of our faith.

But we are not left to do our work as witnesses alone. We have the power and authority to do this work, granted by the very one to whom we witness. In our gospel reading, Jesus says to the Father, “the words that you gave to me I have given to them.” Jesus prepared his followers—then and now—for the work of witnessing.

And in our first reading, Jesus promises the disciples, “you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you….” That same Spirit is poured out upon each of us in the water and the word of baptism—the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the Spirit of counsel and might, the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord, the Spirit of joy in God’s presence. What Jesus calls us to do is achievable, not through our own talents and abilities, but through the power of the Spirit.

Witnessing is about God working through us, so part of witnessing is waiting for God’s direction. The disciples returned to Jerusalem but they didn’t set to work right away. Instead, they waited, as Jesus had commanded them. They waited for God to pour out the promised Holy Spirit, empowering them to fulfill their call.

This chapter of God’s story—the one in which we live—is still focused on God’s work in the world. It’s still about the expectation that God is on the move and up to something, just as it was for the first disciples. We may play a bigger role than those disciples originally expected, but it’s still God who is at work through us.

And so we wait for God to work, and we participate in that work as we are called. But this waiting is far from passive. The disciples were not just staring at one another and twiddling their thumbs. Instead, they were “constantly devoting themselves to prayer.”

Intentional stillness in the presence of God strengthens us for our calling and trains us to be attentive to God’s activity. It helps us to look for God’s work in and through and among us, and it helps us to discern how we fit into that work.

And, indeed, we have a lot of work ahead of us. Jesus calls us to be witnesses “to the ends of the earth,” so until everyone has heard the story, we’d better keep telling it. We’d better keep proclaiming Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection for us. We’d better keep announcing the hope of this story’s ending, which we know through God’s promise.

The angels tell us at Jesus’ ascension, “This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.” God has promised that Jesus will return, restore the kingdom, and make all things new.

And so we wait, even in the midst of suffering, trusting that Jesus is not really “absent” but simply “ahead” of us. Jesus has not left us orphaned but has gone to prepare a place for us, as we have heard in our gospel readings in recent weeks. Jesus has commissioned us to be his witnesses—to share the good news of God’s love and mercy. And he has equipped us with the power of the Holy Spirit to fulfill this calling.

We trust in the words of Peter in our second reading, that we can “cast all our anxiety on [Christ], because he cares for us” and we trust that “the God of all grace, who has called [us] to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, support, strengthen, and establish [us]” in our work as witnesses.

Thanks be to God! Amen.

May 22 sermon

Text: John 14:1-14
Preached May 22 at Dale and Holden


Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

Well, we’re all still here. You may have heard the buzz about the world ending yesterday, as predicted by a certain misguided individual and his followers. As far as I can tell, it didn’t happen, but it’s a perfect opportunity for us to speak of endings, isn’t it? Our gospel writer, John, wants to remind us that the end has already come and gone. Jesus Christ is the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end.

This ending came in the incarnation of Jesus, fully human and fully divine. It came in the cross and the empty tomb, ushering in the kingdom of God. According to John’s understanding, eternal life has already begun, and it is ours for the living, even here and now.

For John, we enter eternal life by trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ. He lays it out in the very first chapter of his gospel: Jesus Christ “came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God…” (1:11-12).

Children of God. That’s the key. Children have a place in the family forever, which is precisely the status we enjoy in the family of God. Jesus, the Son of God, has made sure of that. “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places,” he says in our gospel reading. “If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?”

What is this place that Jesus has gone to prepare for us? What do we mean by preparation? Are we to imagine Jesus as an innkeeper, changing bedding and fluffing pillows, making sure we have fresh towels and a place to hang the clothes we bring? Are we to imagine Jesus whipping up a tasty meal for us, awaiting our arrival at Hotel Heaven?

No. Jesus is not just talking here about some physical place in which we’ll spend eternity. We often hear this passage in the context of funerals, and that is indeed appropriate. Jesus is speaking of earthly death and resurrected life. But he is also speaking of life in the here and now.

Jesus speaks of himself, his very human, fleshy body, as the way to life in God. We know God because we know Jesus, who is God. “I am the way, and the truth, and the life….If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.” Who is the God we see in Jesus? Where does Jesus go to prepare a place for us?

He goes to the cross. He goes to the grave. He goes to hell and back. And then he ascends into heaven. These are the extreme lengths to which our Savior went to prepare a place for us as children in God’s family.

The meaning of the Greek word John uses for “house” can also be translated “household.” Jesus is talking about preparing a place for us in God’s household. Jesus, as the Son, has the right to invite us into the household, to make room for us, to create a place for us to abide with him. Jesus Christ has prepared a place for you in God’s kingdom. It’s a place that begins now and lasts into eternity.

The household of God, Jesus says, has “many dwelling places.” And the word for “dwelling places” comes from the same root as one of John’s favorite words: “abide.” In the very next chapter of John’s gospel story, Jesus says, “Abide in me as I abide in you….I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit.”

This place Jesus goes to prepare for us is not some specific geographical location. It’s a place in God where we can abide. And it’s a place in us where God can abide. It’s the intimate relationship that comes from living together in a household—in God’s household.

Jesus further points to this reality when he says that he prepares this place and takes us to it, so that where he is, there we may be also. The place Jesus Christ prepares for us is the place where he himself is found.

And where is Christ found? He is not in some distant, cosmic lounge, playing video games while he waits for all of us to show up at the end of the age. Christ is present here, now, among and within us.

Christ is present in the waters of baptism, through which we were made members of his body. Christ is present as the water and word come together to free us from the power of sin and raise us up to new life. Christ is present as the Holy Spirit is poured out on the newly baptized—the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord, the spirit of joy in his presence. He prepares a place for us at the font.

And Christ is present in his body, the community of believers. He is present as we support and uphold one another, as we rejoice together in joy, as we console each other in sorrow. Christ is present as we work together to build up our faith, to share the good news, and to serve those around us in love.

In the rite of confirmation [at Holden] today, four young people will affirm the fact that, at their baptism, Christ created a place for them in the family of God and in this community of faith. They will affirm their intention to continue living as part of the body of Christ, and Christ is found in this affirmation. Christ prepares a place for us in fellowship with one another.

Christ is present in the bread and wine of his holy meal. As we gather at this table, Christ comes to us in a tangible form—in a form we can see, smell, touch, and taste. He invites us to gather in unity with all God’s people, to see him in the forgiveness of our sin and in the faces of our neighbors sharing this meal. Christ prepares a place for us at his table.

Christ is present in our work in the world. He tells us that if we trust (or abide) in him, we will continue his work: “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these….”

This is a relationship of mutual trust and intimacy. We are empowered both by our trust in Christ, and by his trust in us, to continue his work of love and mercy, to proclaim and embody the kingdom of God as Christ has revealed it.

One scholar says the work we do is the work of Christ, the “I Am,” when he is no longer with us (Karoline Lewis on Sermon Brainwave). So we point to Christ, the light of the world, by letting his light shine through us. We point to Christ, the good shepherd, by feeding his sheep as he commanded Peter to do. We point to Christ, the resurrection and the life, by expecting, embracing, and proclaiming resurrection in our lives, both now and in the future. Christ prepares a place for us in his work of loving and serving the world.

And Christ is present in the resurrection to eternal life on the last day. This last day did not come yesterday, as some predicted, but one day Christ will, indeed, return in glory, calling his beloved to himself. Someday he will gather us together as one flock, to enjoy his presence forever. Christ has prepared a place for us in God’s kingdom, in all its fullness and eternity.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled,” Jesus says, for he is the way, the truth, and the life. He is life forever in the future, and he is life in the here and now. He is the way we see God. He is the way we walk through our daily lives.

And he has gone to such great lengths to prepare a place for us, that we can rest in peace and security, knowing that there is nowhere we can go where Christ has not gone before us, even into death. We who know Christ know the Father; of that we may completely confident, for Christ has prepared a place for us in the Father’s household.

Scholar Barbara Rossing recounts a story from poet-theologian Gerhard Frost:

“One day as I walked down the airport ramp to board a plane, a family of four was in front of me. The older child appeared to be about four and her every step was a bounce. She radiated expectancy and joy. Her father looked down at her and asked, ‘Where are we going?’
‘To Grandma's!’ she shouted, punctuating her words with a higher bounce. She didn't say ‘to Bismarck’ or ‘Billings,’ but ‘to Grandma’s.’ As far as she was concerned, she was going to a person—the place didn’t matter. She was an eloquent witness to the fact that we home in those who love us, in people more than places.”

And so we find our home in God, where Christ, in great love, has gone before to show us the way, to prepare a place for us, and to abide with us, both now and forever. Amen.

May 8 sermon

Text: Luke 24:13-35
Preached May 8 at Gol and Hegre


Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

The political and religious authorities of Jesus’ day thought they had taken care of him on that Friday we called Good. They knew he was dead, and that should have been the end of the Jesus story, shouldn’t it? But, as we know, it wasn’t the end of the story, and that’s precisely what we celebrate during this Easter season.

Somehow, in spite of their best attempts, Jesus’ enemies couldn’t silence him. The large stone and the Roman guard couldn’t keep him in the tomb. The locked doors of the disciples’ gathering room couldn’t keep him out. Jesus just keeps showing up! God’s activity doesn’t end with Jesus’ death. God’s activity doesn’t even end with Jesus’ resurrection.

God’s activity continued on the road to Emmaus on the evening of Jesus’ resurrection, when two disciples encountered the risen Christ. They gathered together, they heard God’s word, they shared a meal, and they set out to proclaim their transformative news.

God’s activity continues today as well. Here in this place, we gather together, we hear God’s word, we share a meal, and we are sent out to proclaim the good news. Here in worship, we encounter the risen Christ.

As we gather together, we leave behind the outside world to step into a space designated for the sacred. We step into this space to listen for what God might say to us. But we are not fully separated from the rest of the world, are we?

The disciples were walking to Emmaus on the very day that the empty tomb was discovered. Naturally, they were “talking with each other about all these things that had happened.” They were immersed in the situation around them. They were astonished and bewildered at this mysterious turn of events, and they didn’t know what to make of it all, so they were thinking through it together.

In the same way, we don’t shut out the news of what’s happening in the world when we enter this place. We know that today is a day to celebrate mothers, and that’s a big deal. We know that Osama bin Laden was killed this week by U.S. forces, and that’s a big deal too. In the midst of such news, we come together with our brothers and sisters, who can help us think and question and pray and try to make sense of it all.

We do not shed the joys or burdens or fears we carry with us. We come to lay them at the foot of the cross, to hear how God will address them, to see how God is present in the midst of them, and to learn how God might work through us for the good of others who have joys and cares and burdens of their own.

As the disciples on their way to Emmaus “were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them.” So Jesus comes near to us as we come together. As we gather for worship, we encounter the risen Christ.

What does Jesus do when he joins the disciples on the road? He speaks to them. “Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.” Jesus preaches God’s promises, fulfilled and yet to be fulfilled, assuring the disciples of God’s love and faithfulness until their hearts burn within them.

In his holy word, God speaks to us most directly. We can see God at work throughout our lives—in the beauty of nature, in the wonder of a newborn baby, in our relationships with others (maybe in our relationships with our mothers)—and God is most certainly at work in these places.

But in these places, God does not address us personally. God doesn’t speak directly to us and God isn’t explicitly for us in these places—just ask those who have experienced the wrath of nature along with its beauty. Hearing God address us directly through his word, and hearing that God is truly on our side, allows us to better recognize God at work elsewhere in the world.

And so, just as Jesus opens God’s word to these disciples, he opens God’s word to us. Jesus is God’s incarnate Word—the Word made flesh who dwelled among us—and it is only through Jesus the Christ that we can rightly understand what God would say to us in his word as it is written or proclaimed.

Jesus’ presence in God’s word is so compelling that, even without realizing yet that this stranger is Jesus, the disciples on the road ask him to stay with them. “As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, ‘Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.’”

As we hear God’s word read from scripture and proclaimed in preaching, it makes Christ present for us and creates our faith anew. In hearing God’s word, we encounter the risen Christ.

After the disciples got to the village, they came together to share a meal with Jesus, still a stranger to them. “When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him….” Finally, the disciples recognize Jesus in the breaking of the bread. The action of the meal is what opens their eyes.

It’s quite a simple, everyday activity in which Jesus makes himself known, isn’t it? After he emerges from the tomb, raised victoriously from the dead, he doesn’t go around Jerusalem triumphantly showing himself to the religious and political leaders who sought to silence him.

In fact, the disciples feared that perhaps Jesus wasn’t the Messiah after all: “But we had hoped he was the one to redeem Israel,” they say, no longer sure that their hope was well-founded, because Jesus appears defeated. But, the disciples learned, Jesus is found in the ordinary, among those who have eyes to see him.

We, too, gather to share a meal. And in this meal, Christ comes to us in a form we can recognize. Christ confronts us in the physical form of the bread and wine—a form we can see, smell, touch, and taste. Christ gives us his very body and blood, strengthening us for whatever lies ahead and uniting us with all God’s people, including these two disciples who first recognized Jesus in the breaking of the bread.

Like these disciples, we remember by doing. We become part of Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection by enacting it in this meal of which he commanded us to partake. The apostle Paul tells us, “as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” [1 Corinthians 11] and we respond: “Christ is died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.” This is God’s great promise, and by celebrating this meal, we are enacting this promise and all the others God has given us.

As we share in the meal, we encounter the risen Christ.

Finally, after they had gathered together, heard God’s word, and shared a meal, the disciples changed course: “That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together.…Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.” These two set out transformed. They headed back to Jerusalem to share the good news of their encounter with Jesus.

Now you have encountered Jesus. You have been called by the Holy Spirit to gather in this place. You have heard Christ speak to you in God’s word. You have received him—time and again, if not today—in the bread and wine. You have clearly experienced his promises for you.

You are part of a community of saints here who can help you discuss “all these things that have taken place.” They can help you think and pray about what it means to encounter Christ. They can help you discern where God is at work in and through you. So now you go forth to look for Christ wherever else he might be.

And now you know that Christ is not found where we expect to find him. He is not found in triumph and glory, in the showmanship of this world’s boasting. No, this Christ, who has won the ultimate victory over sin, death, and the devil, chooses humility over showmanship.

This Christ is found in the ordinary—as in the breaking of bread. He is found in the painful—in sorrow like that of the disciples who thought their Messiah was dead. In the darkest valleys you will travel, there Christ is found, walking alongside you and suffering with you.

Christ is found in the person of your suffering neighbor—the loved one who needs your care and support more than ever, or the unknown person who crosses your path unexpectedly and inconveniently, but who, nevertheless, needs your care.

So you go forth to look for Christ in these places, now that you’ve been reminded how to recognize him. And not only do you go to look for Christ, but you also go to show forth Christ for others who need to encounter him.

You go and proclaim the good news that Christ has a word for all such people—a word of forgiveness and new life. You go to your suffering neighbors and share the good news that Christ is found in their pain too, suffering with them and upholding them in the darkness.

As we are sent out to share our transformative news, we encounter the risen Christ.

One of my favorite Easter hymns says, “Lo, Jesus meets us, risen from the tomb; lovingly he greets us, scatters fear and gloom.” And that is exactly what Jesus does as we gather together with our cares and burdens. That is exactly what Jesus does as we experience the word and the meal. And that is exactly what Jesus does as we return to the everyday travels of our lives.

Even after Jesus’ death, he is not silenced. No, Jesus keeps showing up, transforming us, igniting new faith in us, empowering us to love and serve God and neighbor. This is what worship is about. It is our encounter with the risen Christ, who has won the final victory, who reminds us that God is for us, and who shows us that nothing in all creation can separate us from his love. Thanks be to God! Amen.

April 10 sermon

Text: John 11:1-45
Preached April 10 at First Lutheran


Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

Lazarus of Bethany was ill. I bet you know what it’s like to be ill.
Lazarus’s sisters, Mary and Martha, were distraught and grieving. I bet you know what it’s like to be distraught and to grieve.
Lazarus died. He was bound in cloths and laid in his grave. Perhaps you don’t know what it’s like to die and to lay in your grave.

But I bet you can imagine it. I think there are plenty of graves to be found in our lives.

When you feel the weight of your many sins and your inability to correct them, doesn’t it feel like you’re bound in your own weakness and lying in your grave?

When you’re very sick, or intensely lonely, doesn’t it feel like you’re bound in sorrow and lying in your grave?

When your family is collapsing or you’re watching helplessly as someone you love suffers, doesn’t it feel like you’re bound in despair and lying in your grave?

I think we do know what it’s like to lie in our graves, just like Lazarus.

It’s a good thing, then, that God is not afraid of graveyards. “Come and see,” say the mourners when Jesus asks where Lazarus is laid. So Jesus goes. Jesus is not one to deny the reality of death and grief. He doesn’t hesitate to face even the stench of death, which lingers in the grave with Lazarus.

Of course, death is not what Jesus is really about, is it? Jesus is about resurrection and life—Jesus is the resurrection and the life. Jesus tells Martha exactly this, but neither she nor her sister knew what this meant for Lazarus yet, did they?

At this point, Jesus doesn’t seem much like resurrection or life. After all, they sent word to him when Lazarus was ill, but he waited two days before going to Bethany! By the time he got there, Lazarus had been dead four days. Mary and Martha certainly wouldn’t have expected that from this Jesus who loved them and their brother.

When have you felt like God was tarrying? Like God was absent? Like, just when you needed him most, God was refusing to show up and do something? I know I’ve had this experience, and perhaps you have too. Turns out resurrection and life doesn’t always come on our schedule, nor does it always look like what we expect.

But we are not alone in our grief. God is present, whether it feels that way or not. Jesus is Emmanuel—God with us—and he suffers with us in our sorrow.

As Jesus approaches Lazarus’s grave, three times we hear that he is greatly disturbed and even moved to tears at the sorrow that surrounds him. Jesus knows exactly what he’s about to do. Jesus knows he will call Lazarus forth from death and back into life. And still he weeps. God suffers when his people suffer.

And God does something about that suffering, although it isn’t always what we expect. In fact, sometimes it looks more like death than like resurrection and life. But even when God’s action looks a lot like death, we know that death does not have the last word.

As the mourners gathered around Lazarus’s tomb, they heard Jesus’ command: “Lazarus, come out.” And they saw Lazarus emerge from his grave, bound in the linen cloths in which they had wrapped him!

Jesus said Lazarus’s illness did not lead to death, even though Lazarus died. Jesus knows the difference between illness or pain or grief that leads to death and illness or pain or grief that leads through death. After all, there can be no resurrection unless there is death.

And, in Christ, there is resurrection. There is new life. In our baptism, God called us out of our graves, raising us from sin and death to new life in Christ. And someday all who have died in Christ will hear his call to come out of their graves to enjoy the final resurrection and eternal life with God, the perfection of God’s good creation where there will be no more sin, no more death, no more sorrow.

So how do we respond to this Jesus, who is the resurrection and the life? How do we faithfully await the fulfillment of this great promise?

We take a cue from the psalmist, who pours out both sorrow and hope. “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. O Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my pleas for mercy!” This psalmist knows the despair of death that precedes resurrection.

“I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.” This psalmist also knows the hope that comes from trusting in God, trusting that God is both willing and able to act, knowing that God can and does bring life from death.

Mary and Martha echo the psalmist as they approach Jesus in their grief. Each sister says the same thing to Jesus: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Is there anger in their voices? Is there accusation of Jesus’ absence and doubt about his love? Are they crying out to Jesus in their pain as the psalmist does? Perhaps they are.

They are also expressing deep faith in Jesus even in the midst of despair. Martha says, “But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.” Jesus didn’t show up when Martha needed him, and her brother died. Now there seems to be no reason for hope, but still Martha hopes. Even when the miracle hadn’t yet happened, and Martha didn’t know that it would happen, she confesses faith in Jesus, the resurrection and the life.

How else do we await God’s promise of resurrection and life? We hear that promise over and over, lest we forget it. And we embrace the resurrection and life that God brings us here and now.

For, even as we await the future fullness of God’s kingdom, God is calling us out of our graves. Sometimes God brings healing when all hope seemed lost. Sometimes God sends just the person we needed to support us in our suffering. Sometimes God renews struggling families and it is nothing short of miraculous. The new life that God brings through Jesus Christ can and does break into our lives even now.

God forgives the sin that binds us in our grave. God soothes the sorrow that covers our tomb like a stone. God wipes away the tears of despair that blind us. God is a God of resurrection and life, revealed and given to us in the person of Jesus Christ.

Soon after he returns to life, Lazarus finds himself at the table sharing a meal with Jesus and other loved ones. Each week when we gather, we find ourselves at the table, sharing a meal with Jesus and other loved ones. We are the beloved of God in this place, and the beloved of God of all times and all places, united at one table. At this meal our faith is reborn as we receive Christ himself with the bread and wine and the words, “given and shed for you.” This is resurrection and life here and now.

So we embrace it and, at God’s invitation, we share it. At the grave of Lazarus, Jesus commanded the mourners to take away the stone. When Lazarus emerged, raised to new life, Jesus commanded them to unbind him and let him go. God raised Lazarus, but Lazarus certainly couldn’t unbind himself. Jesus invited the community into the miraculous work of God.

How do we participate in this work of God as the body of Christ? How do we affirm life in the face of death? How do we share the hope we have in Christ, who is the resurrection and the life? How do we help unbind those whom God has called from their graves so that they may enjoy the abundance of their new life?

We can start by forgiving others as we have been forgiven. We can say “thank you” and “I’m sorry” and “how can I help?” We can give of our time and money to support the work of God’s kingdom. We can work for justice for all of God’s people. And we can proclaim to those around us the love and mercy of the living God made known in Christ, who calls us from our graves and into new life.

Our God is not afraid of graveyards, and he meets us there again and again. Through our baptism, through the word, through the meal, God calls us to rise up, come out of our graves, and live anew in Christ. God calls us not merely to survival but to joyful and abundant life, full of hope in God’s presence, because where God is present, death does not have the final word. In Christ, we have life, to the glory of God. Amen.