Will You Dare? NL, TLC, Mark 5 1-20, January 28, 2024

Grace and peace to you from our God who restores, and our Savior Jesus, who is our Christ.

Fear. Everyone among us has experienced it. It is the most basic of emotions, planted in our brains to protect us from danger, from separation, from embarrassment.

Fear has made people make good decisions and bad, has made people change and dig in their heels and refuse to change. And fear may be the one barrier that prevents Christians from wholeheartedly, freely bringing the wild, boundless grace of God to every person.

What struck me about today’s reading was how much FEAR is embedded in the text. First, let’s back up to the prologue of this story in Mark Ch. 4, which isn’t included in this reading. Jesus has been teaching and healing all around Galilee, and crowds of people have surrounded him. There were enough people that Jesus could have stayed busy without going anywhere for a long time. But one evening, Jesus gets a wild hair, tells his disciples to get in the boats, and instead of staying close to the shore of the Sea of Galillee, actually a lake smaller than the Lake of the Ozarks, Jesus directs them to “The Other Side.” Out of their comfort zone, into the chaos, and where everyone is not Jewish and thrilled to see this itinerant rabbi. Eight miles across.

Jesus lies down in the back of one of the boats and falls asleep. But FEAR grips the disciples. And when a squall comes up, the disciples wake up Jesus, crying “SAVE US!” Remember, some of these are experienced fishermen who make their living here and have certainly seen wind and rough seas. Fear of the unknown had paralyzed them.

But I digress. A story for another day.

So before they make landfall, the disciples are already gripped by their fears. And right away, Jesus is approached by this wild, screaming, naked man who lives in the tombs, basically the cemetery. He is filled with thousands of demons, tormenters that make his life unbearable.

So, let’s be clear: 

• Jesus has gone to an unclean region,
• To heal a man filled with unclean spirits,
• Who is living in an unclean place.

About the worst place a Jewish rabbi should be.

And when Jesus asks him his name, the man doesn’t respond. No, it’s the demons who are doing the talking here. “LEGION,” they said, “for there are many of us.”

Legion – a Roman Army unit of up to 6,000 soldiers. Even an understaffed legion would have 3,000 to 4,000 men. So Jesus and his disciples would know what they were facing. A man filled with thousands of unclean spirits. The sound of the demons’ answer must have been, well,…

Frightening.

But again, Jesus doesn’t hesitate. He orders the spirits to come out of the man. And negotiates with them to go into a herd of pigs, rather than into the water, the abyss. But Jesus knew what he was doing. Suddenly filled with demons, the pigs bolted from their swineherds, down the bank and into the water.

Now it’s the swineherds’ turn to be frightened, as they just saw their bacon, or more likely, the bacon to which an owner had entrusted to them, drowned in the lake. In seconds, their jobs, their livelihood, and even the food source of the entire region just disappeared. And they headed for town to try to explain. Soon enough, they came back with a mob – so fearful they were enraged, and saw Jesus, a small group of disciples, and the man formerly known as Legion, sitting quietly – with clothes on.

I would suggest that the worst fear humans have is the fear of shaking up the status quo. I’ve had my own status quo shaken up substantially over the past six years. All of you know how it is to have the status quo disrupted. Remember when our world changed on 9-11, in the Great Recession of 2007, 8 and 9, and during the Pandemic? The emotion that gripped the world in each case was FEAR.

And the world preys on those fears. Advertisers. Insurance companies. The pharmaceutical industry. Politicians. “We’ve got you covered. Our person is the one who can deal with this.”

The Gerasene townspeople were afraid and out of that fear – anger erupted. Instead of joy that this man was whole again, the townspeople demanded Jesus leave. “Get away, and don’t come back.”

Now … the man who was healed was filled with fear. These people are ANGRY. When Jesus leaves, who will be left with the blame? Who’s going to suffer for these people’s missing pork chops, ham hocks, and BBQ? So he begged Jesus to allow him to go, too. And, of course, Jesus is overjoyed that the man wants to follow him…

Except that’s not what happens here. Jesus refuses, telling him, “Go home to your own people, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you and what mercy he has shown you.” Jesus sends this man, only recently wearing clothing and talking in human tones, out to be an EVANGELIST!

Jesus isn’t afraid to let this man speak the good news. Jesus isn’t afraid that he will become possessed again, or won’t be able to survive in society, or isn’t completely well. Jesus doesn’t demand a trial period of proving he is worthy of the healing and wholeness, the grace Jesus extended. 

Which makes me think about us: 

• What happens when someone who was falling apart gets their life together?
• What happens when someone goes from homeless to housed?
• What happens when someone breaks an addiction?
• What happens when someone serves their time?
• What happens when someone changes?

Do people celebrate? Do we welcome them into our homes and our tight circles of friends? Do we hire them? Do we restore them?***If not, why not?

Like the Gerasene townspeople, I think the answer is fear. And fear is the barrier that prevents us from wholeheartedly, freely bringing the wild, abundant grace of God to every place in our world.

Fear is the “what if” that has stopped every great, “kin-dom expanding” idea in every church I’ve ever seen. 

• What if it costs too much?
• What if the new people we welcome in want to change things?
• What if the kids damage something?
• What if the neighbors complain?
• What if it ruffles someone’s feathers?

I think the reason “Do not be afraid” comes up so often in the Bible is that Fear is the barrier that stops us from doing the work God wants us to do.

And fear is contagious:

Some years ago, a church was in the midst of a capital campaign. The money was pledged, plans were being drawn. Excitement at finally expanding the campus with needed classrooms and a larger fellowship space was palpable. It was the day of the congregational meeting, where a vote would be taken to move ahead. Discussion was robust, with plenty of people raising important questions about the project.

And then, one of the church’s elders, you know the ones, long-time members that hold a lot of sway in the congregation, walked to the mic.

“Our pastor is on the verge of retiring, and the synod told us we could expect to lose up to 25% of the congregation in the transition. I don’t think it’s the right time to do this.”

I think you know what happened. The vote failed. The pastor retired. The congregation lost members and families who had put their heart and soul into the expansion. Then the pandemic set in. Instead of a thriving church on the move, it is fighting for survival.

I’m not saying that we as a church shouldn’t do due diligence before starting anything.

I’m not saying that there aren’t real reasons to be cautious, to pull back at times.

But when fear replaces faith in how we live our lives, how we live together as a congregation, how we love one another in our communities, where we go to be the hands and feet of God, we are no longer following Christ. We are no longer about the mission God gave us. We, ourselves, are shackled and tied instead of set free.

Pastor Steven Garnaas-Holmes put it this way:

We face legions and their weapons; 
the enemy is never one man and his demons. 
But when Christ heals even one person 
the world tips and plunges evil into the sea. 
Love destroys what the Empire of Fear feeds on.

Jesus came, and his love set people free. We are growing into people who know how much God loves us, and that love sets us free. We know people inside and outside these walls who still are not free, seeking restoration in so many ways. God’s love is, and always will be, stronger than our fears.

Amen.

(Kathryn) Ann Scheller Funeral Homily, TLC, John 14:1-6, Jan 18 2024

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.”

This is a lot to take in.

Certainly in this reading, but also for Gregg, Ken, Mark and all those of you in Ann’s family. Since the end of last year, your lives have been turned upside down, not just once, but twice, as both Don and Ann completed their baptismal journeys, just over two months apart.

As I spoke to you this past week, I thought about your idyllic childhoods and adult family lives. Now, I know families aren’t perfect. But the joy on your faces when you recounted how your family’s life centered on sports, and the outdoors, and family trips and even family chores – I can see how that bonded you, and gave you shared pastimes and values. Your relationships sustained you through good times and bad.

And your parents were the heart of that. Your mom surrounded you with love and faith. You learned to be part of something bigger than yourselves when you set up the altar and communion with your mother on Trinity’s altar guild, and helped in worship. You learned to be kind and generous to your neighbors through your mom’s many examples. And some of the pranks – well, those are also a part of being family, and church family.

And when, one by one, you connected with your future spouses, Gregg, Ken, and Mark, Donna, Chris and Sandy became not just in-laws, but daughters. Ann wouldn’t have it any other way. And the family grew in love and grace.

So, perhaps the way this reading begins is challenging. “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” Your hearts are aching, have been aching, and are longing for some peace. I’m certain Jesus’ disciples must have felt this ache. Their teacher was telling them that this would be their last meal together, that he would die. Their hearts were breaking. And their minds weren’t functioning. And they spoke like people who had never heard Jesus talk about giving up his life and rising again, or what God was like. All they felt and knew at that moment was grief.

So Jesus gently reminded them: I’m going ahead. You know the way. You know my father, the Creator of the Universe, because you know me. You know what I’ve done, and what we’ve done together. And you’re going to stay here and do even more than I could.

More than Jesus. It probably didn’t sink in at the time, but they remembered those words. And eventually shared them. How was it that Jesus’ disciples, and generations upon generations would do even more than Jesus himself?

It is in these places, when you sit over the dinner table, and you read bedtime stories. You make an extra meal for a neighbor who just had surgery. You gather in the guests and make room at the table. You give grace when someone steps over a line or messes up. You show that relationships are everything. Ann understood what it meant to give her heart to God, to follow in Jesus’ ways, and she passed that down to her children. And you gave that gift to your children.

I know that, because I saw it in your faces when you talked to me and wanted everything to go just right today, the way Ann had envisioned it. I know, because I saw a smile light up the face of one of Trinity’s members when I mentioned Ann’s name this week. Ann understood that she was showing the way to God the Father when she organized Trinity’s Vacation Bible School, or when she showed you the wonders of God’s creation in your family trips. She knew that as you absorbed the way she lived her faith, that you would learn to live what was important, too.

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me,” Jesus said, and Ann understood that living out the way, the truth and the life wasn’t JUST in her commitment to the Church, although that was considerable, but in her 91 years of living out her faith with her family and in the community, in the legacy that will continue.

Amen

Changed from Within, Mark 2:1-22, NL, TLC, January 14, 2024

A full house, and a wrecked roof!

A lunch and a lecture!

Words about fasting and words about feasting!

One thing you’ve gotta say about Mark – He doesn’t waste any words, and he doesn’t pull any punches.

Three stories, a healing story, a call story, and a parable. It’s a little strange trying to interpret Mark sometimes, because he writes so concisely. As a writer, I’m a little jealous of Mark. Three things he does over and over in his gospel, which is only 16 chapters long.

First, everything is IMMEDIATE. They followed immediately. Immediately, it was done. And in today’s text, immediately, he took the mat and left.

Second, Jesus keeps telling everyone not to tell anyone what he’s doing. And as you can tell from the full house in the introduction to today’s Gospel, it’s not working very well. I think Mark understood human nature pretty well – the more you tell people NOT to share information, the faster it spreads!

And third, Mark keeps creating these three-story groupings – my LSTC professors actually called them Markan sandwiches. That’s because if you really want to know what’s happening, pay close attention to the meat, the middle of the sandwich.

And here in the middle of this sandwich, Jesus is eating with Levi, a tax collector, and other “sinners.” Now, as followers of Jesus, we know that we’re all sinners – not one of us is sin-free without God’s forgiveness. But during the time of Jesus, the religious leaders and Jewish people who followed all the laws would be in the “righteous” group. They would consider themselves righteous and everyone else who saw them would, too. And everyone else would be “sinners,” the people who didn’t have their lives together.

So imagine the scene. Over here,--->> at the market food court, the Pharisees and their scribes, ritually washing themselves.

<<--- And next door, in Levi’s front yard, the outcasts. The riff-raff. Not the kind of people you want to invite to your Christmas party or chamber mixer, and not the people that an up-and-coming Jewish teacher would want to be seen eating lunch with.

But here was Jesus, sitting and laughing with this tax collector – better yet, tax enforcer – and his friends. Who knows? Maybe a petty thief, a beggar, and a couple of livestock handlers. And the Pharisees and their scribes started poking each other.

“Find a better table, Jesus.”

“Who are you going to invite to eat with you next – a sex worker?”

“Hope you can clean yourself up before sabbath.”

And pretty soon, his tablemates are uncomfortable. Levi says “Maybe you better go.” And Jesus decides he better set the record straight.

“You don’t go to the doctor when you’re well, do you? Then why would you need a rabbi if you’re righteous? I’m here for the people who know their lives are out of whack.”

Burn! Jesus just lobbed a missile at the Pharisees. And they were none too happy with Jesus implying that he could help people – all kinds of people – get right with God. That was their job – so they thought.

And once you see this story – then the other two stories come into focus. In all these stories – the healing, the calling of Levi, and the discussion of fasting -- Jesus was talking about change. Not just external changes – a new job or different religious practices, New Year’s resolutions or a new Stanley mug – but wholesale changes in how people live their lives. Not just putting some new wine in the old wineskins, but starting with fresh wineskins entirely. Being changed from the inside out.

In the Tuesday Bible study, I said Jesus packed it all into Chapter 2. That we could skip some chapters and go right to Jerusalem and Holy Week now. Because Jesus condensed his message to his disciples, about how we need changed lives, and he provoked the religious leaders in one reading, three short stories.

But, the truth is, we need to hear Jesus’ words every week. We need the reminder daily that we are loved and forgiven, and because of that, we can risk living differently, counter-culturally, bringing the grace that Jesus lived out – into our everyday lives. We need to be reminded when we get it right, and especially when we get it wrong, as we all will, that we are works in progress. We are walking this walk together because only in community do we find others who are just like us – getting it wrong sometimes, getting it right sometimes – and continually living more and more into the image of Jesus the Christ.

Pastor Johannah Myers put it this way: “In any ministry, at any time, we are all apprentices of Jesus – lifelong learners who are developing the skills and practices necessary to live Jesus’ life.”

Jesus said, “Your sins are forgiven,” and the people said, “We’ve never seen anything like this.”

Jesus said, “Healthy people don’t need a doctor—sick people do. I have come to call not those who think they are righteous, but those who know they are sinners.”

Time and time again through Jesus’ ministry, people would show up and want to jump on the bandwagon. Follow this popular rabbi, join with the crowd. But then Jesus would start teaching about what it’s like to change from the inside out. Don’t take the best seats – become the lowly one, a servant. It’s hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom – a camel through the eye of a needle hard! The meek, the poor, the peacemakers – they will inherit the earth, not the powerful ones.

Ouch, that smarts.

Maybe it hurts because, so often, I’d kind of like to have it both ways. I’d like to live comfortably AND give away everything. I’d like to be recognized AND be the least of these. I’d like to have some control AND heal the world of its power-hunger.

Perhaps I hear a sigh of recognition there. Maybe I’m not the only one who struggles with this.

Take heart, then. C’mon along, if you dare. I’m pretty sure it was Mark who inserted all the “immediately’s” into this story. I think Jesus understood it was a challenging road to take, to be changed from within. I have to remind myself daily that the Creative Artist who made the universe is sculpting this hunk of rock, with amazing patience, into the masterpiece only the Creator could envision. And sculpting you too.

So, those words of today’s gospel were meant for us, too. Not just the words about being a sin-sick person who needs a healer. Not just the words about needing to put the new wine of Jesus’ teachings into new wineskins. But these words – far more difficult in practice, but easier to remember and live, day by day. The words Jesus spoke to Levi, as he joined him at his table and talked to him, face-to-face.

“Follow me.”

Amen.

Comfort, O Comfort My People, TLC, NL, Isaiah 40, Advent 2, December 10, 2023

Grace and Peace from God, our comfort in distress, and from our Savior Jesus, who is our Christ. Amen.

“Comfort, O Comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid…”

How’re you doing as we come to mid-December? In a season that is anything but comforting to many people, we hear these words from Isaiah. “Comfort, O Comfort my people.” Do these words hit ya where you live?

* * *

Are they BALM for your overstressed heart in a time when practices, programs, parties and preparations are non-stop, and will continue into the New Year? Do you have an endless list of work to pile into the next three weeks so you can take a week or even a few days off, which you’ve then stuffed with visits and activities? That sure describes my calendar!! Does “Comfort, O Comfort My People” prompt you to take a breather and care for yourself? Right now, that is a legitimate reading of these words.

Or,

Are those words SALT in your wounded heart today? Perhaps you are dealing with your own or a family member’s illness or situation. Your head is reeling from unexpected news that you cannot fix or change, but it is wearying and wearing, and those Christmas themes of hope, peace, joy, and love are nowhere in sight. “Comfort, O Comfort My People” may burn right now. And I empathize with you if that’s where you are.

Or,

Perhaps those words add to the STRUGGLE in your conflicted heart in this season. All of us wrestle with our beliefs, at times, but perhaps something has made you lose faith in a loving God that made you exactly as you are and nothing can come between you and that Love. Perhaps you have experienced the truth that as much as we try, sometimes we who call ourselves Christians don’t act like Jesus. If so, I am sorry for the hurt we have caused, and I realize it will be hard to trust again. ***

The world has enough bad news right now to make one want to crawl inside a blanket fort and wake up in January, or maybe even better -- a year or two from now. 

• Is the economy going to hold?
• Can we end the wars between Ukraine and Russia, Israel and Hamas, not to mention the less reported civil wars and violence in dozens of places around the globe.
• Can we dial back our impact on climate change?
• Can our elected officials work together to resolve long-term issues like the federal debt, dwindling Medicare and Social Security funds, racial divides, and healthcare challenges?

All of this seems like unceasing static. It’s like a constant background of conflict and uncertainty that never, never goes away. And I’m not alone. According to the CDC, nearly a third of Americans experienced symptoms of anxiety and depression this year. And don’t for a minute think our young people are immune. Among young adults ages 18 to 24, nearly one of every two people report significant anxiety and/or depression. For them, add on academic and job stresses, uncertainty about affording housing and starting families, and what their world will be like as they approach middle age.

So, “Comfort, O Comfort My People, says your God.”

I can’t see into each of your hearts right now to know for sure how those words resonate. But I think they sound hollow to many of us. As they must have to the Israelites, six centuries before the birth of the Christ.

Because Isaiah 40 and the following chapters were almost certainly written to the exiles of Judah, living in captivity in Babylon. It had been decades since the remaining Jewish people were overrun by the Babylonians, and taken from their land. And now a new power was rising, Persia. As they reminisced over two times of exile, first in Egypt, then in Babylonia, they must have wondered if they would ever be safe and secure in the Promised Land that God had given them. What next? Would the Persians be even worse?

“Comfort, O Comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.”

The prophet seemed to be telling the people, “Hang in there. We’re going back. But not 40 years of wandering through the wilderness this time. We’re taking the express route!” The prophet describes a direct path for God, God who will lead them through the desert and back to Jerusalem. Prepare the way of the Lord. Make the journey easy and smooth, not dry, demanding, and dangerous.

But wait, it wasn’t that easy. It would take some time before Persian King Cyrus let the people return to Israel. The temple would be rebuilt, but the Jewish people weren’t free. They still were under Persian rule, and that would give way to Greek rule, and then Roman rule, leading up to the Birth of Jesus.

And just like before, the people would stray from God. Like grass, the prophet described. Like flowers that wither in the desert heat or the winter frost. They bloom for a season, and then they blow away.

The words of Isaiah 40 weren’t a celebration that the Jewish people’s troubles were over. Instead, they were the hopeful words of a prophet, that no matter what situation the people endured, God would never leave them. Go up, Jerusalem. Zion, climb that mountain and proclaim to the people, “Here is your God.”

* * *

And where does that leave us?

I always find Advent a strange, slightly disorienting time of living in the Now, but Not Yet. It’s two millennia after the birth of Christ. It’s like we willingly submit ourselves to re-living this story, year after year, even as we know how it starts, in the darkness and poverty of a manger in Bethlehem, and how it ends, in the darkness and desolation of Good Friday, only to have God flip the story Easter morning. We, on this side of the resurrection, waiting for the return of Christ, go back to the predictions of a Messiah, and Jesus’ birth in a manger, as if? As if… 

• As if the world today is too techy and not personal enough.
• As if the world today is too consumerish and not rooted in goodwill and joy
• As if the world today is too fraught with worries and burdens, with no room for hope.
• As if the world today is too filled with wars and conflict, with no peace on earth.

* * *

Take comfort, people of Trinity. Be comforted by this story, this season,

• Take comfort in a people under the rule of Caesar Augustus, a people living in the implausible hope, the promise of God that a shoot will spring up from the stump of the line of Jesse, a Savior from the House of David.
• Go back to a young, betrothed woman who turns up unexpectedly, embarrassingly with child, but instead of hiding, proclaims “My soul magnifies the Lord.”
• Go back to the magi, unbelievably drawn westward by a star, and their faith that something wonderful waits for them there.

We know this story. We take comfort in retelling it, year after year, hearing it told by our children, knowing that it leads to Emmanuel, meaning “God-With-Us,” fragile and helpless. Not rich. Not mighty, not even born in a home or with a midwife, but swaddled in whatever cloth two young parents could find.

We live in this story, somewhere in the midst of God-With-Us coming to live with us, God-With-Us this week and every week in the meal, God-With-Us in the mission we carry out from this place, and God-With-Us promising that Christ will return. All of these timelines strangely weaving and overlapping as we count down to Christmas Eve. God who was, who is, and who will be, God ever present with us.

Comfort. O Comfort. 

 

Amen.

Josiah: Good King, but Not a Savior, TLC, NL, 2 Kings 22-23, November 26, 2023

Grace and Peace to you from our Good and Gracious God, and our Savior Jesus, who is our Christ. Amen.

"Josiah was eight years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem thirty-one years. His mother’s name was Jedidah, daughter of Adaiah; she was from Bozkath. He did what was right in the eyes of the LORD and followed completely the ways of his father David, not turning aside to the right or to the left."

There is something about a child in power, in the spotlight, with a message, that makes us want to love them, root for them, see their gentleness and innocence triumph where adult authority has faltered. When the artifacts from King Tut’s tomb toured this country, millions flocked to be part of the event, to see these treasures and imagine the life of this young Egyptian pharaoh. Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper is a much-loved children’s story about two boys with vastly different stations in life, trading places in 16th century England. Eight-year-old Mari Kopenny, better known as Little Miss Flint, became the face of a public health crisis in the water system in her hometown. At age 8!

So, today’s lesson about 8-year-old King Josiah in seventh century Judah invokes IN us the competing emotions of wonder, and realism. We know what some 8-year-olds have accomplished. But we know what MOST 8-year-olds are like. Perhaps we can recall a few memories of ourselves or our kids or grandkids around age 8.

On the long trip back from southern Wisconsin Friday, I had the chance to reflect on some family stories: the stray football that landed in the middle of a pumpkin pie came to mind. Delivered by a pre-teen who should have known better. I also recalled two girls, ages 8 and 9, who managed to uncover the stash of presents weeks before Christmas. As my sister’s accomplice, I broke my own doll before it was even placed under the tree. (Sorry, Mom…) So, I know a little bit about 8-year-olds. And, I know my first question when reading about an 8-year-old king was, “Who was REALLY running the show?”

Some have speculated that the same group of men who assassinated Josiah’s father, after only two years on the throne, held the real power. Others believe the reason Josiah’s mother Jedidiah is even mentioned in this passage is her faithfulness to the Israelite God. One way or another, King Josiah invokes the memory of his wise and steadfast great-grandfather, King Hezekiah, and his ancestor King David.

Through the 14 generations of kings from David through the fall of Judah to the Babylonians, the refrain about this king or that one often reads the same. “And he did what was evil in the sight of the Lord.” Eleven times the Book of Kings tells the stories of rulers who were cruel, worshipped any god if it would help them politically, and who failed to listen to the words of prophets sent to right their ways. 

Just three times, Judah had kings with 5-star reviews: David, who God called a man after God’s own heart, Hezekiah, who “did what was good and right and faithful before the Lord his God,” and now Josiah, who “did what was right in the eyes of the LORD … not turning aside to the right or to the left.”

* * *

However…

There’s something that rings untrue about these labels. Not that Josiah wasn’t a good king – our lesson today shows Josiah as a person with a servant heart, a person who longed to lead Israel back to worship God alone. It is clear that Josiah was a young man who loved the Lord and wanted to follow God’s commandments, from his childhood to the discovery of the Book of the Law, and until he was killed in battle.

It's the extremes with which the stories paint these people that stop me short.

Evil. Wicked. Sinful. Good. Righteous. Faithful.

Is anyone REALLY like that? Always??

Is anyone you know perfect, making incredibly good choices every moment?

Is anyone you know vile, without one shred of decency or kindness?

We mature when we realize the people closest to us, and by extension, every person, is some mixture of gifts and deficits. The people that I idolized came off their pedestals and became real colleagues, mentors and friends when I found that they made poor choices and had moments when their words and actions were ill-advised and unjust.

In short, they were a lot more like me than I wanted to admit.

And I had to figure out what to do with that, both in them, and in myself. I know that there were so many people I left in the dust because I didn’t have the maturity to see outside the binary of “either you are consistently good, or I don’t want anything to do with you.” It is the work of a lifetime – to grow into a person who can love people as they are, Both beautiful AND flawed.

* * *

I think this story, particularly on this Sunday, the final Sunday of the church year, called Christ the King Sunday, or Reign of Christ Sunday, is this pivot in the lectionary. We move from hearing about the history of God’s people, and begin the lessons that point us to the promise of a Messiah. We hear about a good king, a faithful king who grieves his people’s sins, who wants to do everything to heal their wayward ways – Josiah actually means “God has healed” – and finds that he cannot halt the tragedy that has already been put in motion. Judah will fall to the Babylonians less than 25 years after Josiah’s death. 

Does that make Josiah a failure? Josiah’s choice to cling to the discovered Book of the Law provided a model for Israel’s leaders, as they taught Jewish history, faith and Law to the generations that were born in exile in Babylonia. Six centuries before the birth of Jesus, King Josiah was the hope his people needed to cling to their faith and each other as the world began tumbling down around them. Not a perfect, faithful, always “just” king – that King, that Messiah, Jesus – was coming soon. But King Josiah was a good king. Josiah was the king Judah needed, creating the reforms Israel could re-iterate when they needed to restore their people’s faith in God.

The world is filled with leaders. History will rank them, label them good and bad, humane and cruel, wise and foolish. King Josiah was a good king, as good as they come, and a standout king for his youthful reign. But even he couldn’t offset the unfaithfulness and sin that had taken hold of the hearts of the people.

The remedy for that was still to come, and required a different kind of king. Not a royal – a radically different kind of king that taught the meek would inherit the earth and that love – not might – was the answer. Not a king who died in battle, but a king whose life, death on a cross, and victory over death set our wandering hearts free.

God Chooses Love, TLC, NL, Hosea, November 12, 2023

Grace and peace to you from our loving and compassionate God, and from our Savior Jesus, who is our Christ. Amen.

So, it’s been a few hundred years after last week’s reading with Elijah. After Elijah ran for his life from Mount Carmel, where the True God of Israel had proven to be the only God that Israel could trust. Now, just a few hundred years later, the people already had returned to worshipping the gods of Ba’al. Their memories are short. Hosea’s words are impassioned metaphors of God as parent, as husband, and even as lion, and describing Israel as child, wayward spouse, and dove. Through these, we hear Hosea pleading for Israel – who Hosea also calls Ephraim, the largest of the northern tribes – to return to the Lord, to be faithful only to God before it’s too late. 

* * * 

One part of Hosea that opens my heart is that Hosea describes God as a PARENT. Compared with so many times the Bible calls God “Father,” Hosea describes God teaching the child Israel to walk, feeding Israel, and lifting the child up to God’s cheek. Tender. Relatable. Of course, that kind of care can be given by either parent, but, to me, it leans feminine. When the Bible says each of you bears the image of God, it’s helpful when our readings show images of God that relate to all people.

* * * 

But I digress.

I don’t know about you, but when I picture God, I generally don’t picture God at the breaking point. But in our verses today, that’s exactly what I see. A parent grieving over the wrongs a child has done: broken-hearted, disappointed, despairing, betrayed. God sent judges, kings and prophets to Israel. God dwelled with them in the desert, walked them through the sea, provided food for them every day in the wilderness. Still, they turned away. 

Perhaps you know a wayward child. A friend’s child. Your child. Your sibling. Perhaps you were that child. There were a few in my family: Even I was not immune from my time of headstrong anger. I’ve sat with friends whose child had become someone they didn’t recognize. Turning their back on every show of love and compassion by their parents. Spitting mercy back into their faces. Kicked out of school, fired from jobs, in trouble with the law. Until that moment when the parent is faced with a choice. Keep taking it on the chin, accused of enabling their bad behavior by half of the family, or keep responding with unconditional love, which the other half of the family believes will eventually change them. It’s a tough place to be – to have to make that choice.

* * *

God knows where Israel’s rebelliousness is leading: if Israel continues to worship the gods of Ba’al and rely on its own might, directly defying the prophet’s pleading to turn back to the God who loves them, the Assyrians are going to overpower them. For a moment, God considers letting go:

“How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, O Israel?” Can you see God visualizing every person, every city that ever turned away? We hear the names Admah and Zeboiim, two cities destroyed at the same time as Sodom and Gomorrah.

I picture God pained at the idea of even one lost child, much less whole villages. And now before God – the entire wayward people of Israel. It’s just too hard for God to consider not loving them. The one thing God CANNOT do is stop loving them.

Hosea continues:

“My heart recoils within me; 
my compassion grows warm and tender. 
I will not execute my fierce anger; 
I will not again destroy Ephraim, 
for I am God and no mortal, 
the Holy One in your midst, 
and I will not come in wrath.” 

God chooses compassion. 
God chooses mercy. 
God chooses love.

Even when it makes no sense. Even when the people have betrayed God, again and again. Even when God knows the Assyrians will eventually overrun Israel. God chooses love. 

* * *

When I was a chaplain in Chicago, the toughest question families would throw at me is “Where is God in this?” Where is God when their 30-year-old son will never walk again after a shooting? Where is God when an infant is born too early and despite technology cannot survive? Where is God when Covid takes both of one’s parents?

And my answer: Right here.

Right here in this trauma bay. Right here in the NIC-U. Right here among you as you gather to pray before ending life-support. God is right here wherever there is suffering.

So, as we watch the headlines: 

• God is with Ukrainians, and God is with Russians.
• God is with Israelis, and God is with Palestinians.
• God is in the corporate boardroom, and God is everywhere Creation suffers.

God chooses compassion. 
God chooses mercy. 
God chooses love.

It is uncanny how much this story reminds me of the Prodigal Son parable. Perhaps I never realized it before, because, honestly, Hosea usually is not on the top of my Bible reading list. But I could not miss the connection this time. Hosea’s God cannot give up on Israel, and the Prodigal Son’s father runs to meet this child who has disappointed him so deeply. This God who cannot give up Israel cannot give up on us. God, in Jesus Christ, chose love, again and again, all the way to the cross and to Resurrection Sunday. 

* * *

What about us? How many here struggle with choosing compassion, choosing mercy, choosing love? Every time, or even most of the time? Even in the ordinary? 

• Driver cuts you off on Clayton Road? Mercy?
• Customer is holding up the line at Schnucks because the total is more than he has. Compassion?
• Someone challenges you with a political view that differs from yours. Love?

I know it’s hard. Sometimes it’s easier to help people in Tibet, or Tan-zan-E’-a or at Lantern Hill than to practice being disciples in our daily lives. Easier to do the big stuff at times than the day-to-day demands of life together. And you’re doing fine. God explained it well: “I am God and no mortal.” We’re not God. Mercy, compassion and love require us to WORK at being followers of Jesus every day. 

* * * 

I finish with a story from the NY Times this week. It’s halfway around the world from the Middle East but hate showed up in San Francisco.

“When she woke up on the morning of Oct. 25 and read her text messages, Robyn Sue Fisher couldn’t stop crying and shaking.

She learned from an employee that overnight someone had smashed the front windows of her shop, Smitten Ice Cream, in the Mission District of San Francisco and spray painted the store with graffiti. One message read “FREE PALESTIEN” — apparently spelling Palestine wrong — and another read “OUT THE MISSION.”

Fisher, 44, is Jewish. The vandalism is being investigated as a hate crime.”

Robyn boarded up the shop. Wasn’t even sure she would reopen it. Then she decided what she wanted to do.

She told the reporter: “At first I felt fear and then I felt anger and then I felt a deep sorrow.”

“And then I felt empathy, and that’s how I got to love.”

Robyn hopes to have her shop open by Thanksgiving. And along with the scoops, she’s adding shirts. The slogan: “In the spirit of ice cream, I CHOOSE LOVE.”

Proceeds will benefit the Courage Museum, set to open in 2025. Its focus: “to encourage visitors to imagine a world without violence, hate and discrimination.”

It would have been easy for Robyn to close her business and tuck the vengeance in her heart. It would have made sense to reopen her business with bars on the windows and upgraded security cameras, answering the fear with fear.

It would have been easy for God to give Israel up, to respond to the people’s betrayal with indifference.

It is easy to act in haste and judgment when I feel disappointed or wronged. God’s call for mercy, compassion and love are harder for me.

And then an ice-cream shop owner preaches the gospel to me.

“At first I felt fear and then I felt anger and then I felt a deep sorrow. And then I felt empathy, and that’s how I got to love.”

Amen

Uniting the Kingdom in Joy, TLC, NL, 2 Sam 5-6, Psalm 150, October 22, 2023

Grace and Peace to you from God, who is worthy of our highest praises, and our Savior Jesus, who is our Christ. Amen.

Today’s scripture reading covers the high points of David’s rise to power. Just the high points. But sometimes, I think we need to stop and recognize those moments when everything comes together.

It had been decades since David was the ruddy-faced shepherd boy, the youngest of Jesse’s sons, great-grandson of last week’s heroine, Ruth. David was worlds away from that day in Bethlehem, called in from the pasture, to be anointed by the prophet Samuel as the future king. So many years battling Philistines and other surrounding nations. So many moments of fearing for his life from his former mentor, King Saul, who was jealous of the handsome, successful young man who God had picked to succeed him. One author said David had the longest, roughest internship ever!

But now King Saul was dead, killed in a battle. And certainly wounding David’s heart, Saul’s son Jonathan had died with him. Jonathan, who had loved David fiercely. David may have grieved with the nation the loss of King Saul, who had lost God’s favor, but his personal pain was the loss of Jonathan, who had more than once saved David from his father’s wrath. It was Jonathan who had given up any sights on reigning so that David could assume the throne. Scholars have argued the nuances of the relationship between these men. Suffice it to say, David was broken over Jonathan’s death.

As David grieved, the people of Judah, the southern kingdom, anointed him king. The people of the northern kingdom of Israel, however, had chosen Saul’s son, Ish-Bosheth, as their leader.

Saul’s death set off a bloody civil war between the houses of Saul and David that lasted years. Before it was over, Saul’s son Ish-Bosheth and his general, Abner, were dead, along with so many troops on each side.

* * *

It is against this text that I read the horrifying news this week from the Middle East. This ground – sacred ground for Jewish, Christian and Islamic people – has been the site of tribal and national wars for centuries, from the wars fought by the people of Israel to claim the promised land, 1400 years before the birth of Christ, to the attacks and responses by Hamas and Israel today. This “HOLY LAND,” with its economic, historic, and religious significance, has been the place of nearly constant bloodshed throughout much of history. I can’t help but think and pray for peace and unity as I read the lesson today.

* * *

And so, with that reality check, this is where our lesson begins. Seven years after Judah had anointed David as their king, the people of the northern kingdom of Israel now wanted David as their king too. “It was you who led out Israel and brought it in. The Lord said to you: It is you who shall be shepherd of my people Israel, you who shall be ruler over Israel.” David’s forces cleared out the opposing Jebusites who still held Jerusalem. Then he moved the capital of the now unified Israel and Judah north from Hebron to Jerusalem, a better stronghold, but just as importantly, a city in the northernmost part of Judah. Central to the unified kingdom. The message was clear – “I am shepherd over the entire land of Israel. I am your king.”

And, that work complete, David had one more task in mind to unify Israel. He gathered legions to move the Ark of the Covenant – the physical sign of the presence of God restored to the center of Jerusalem. As the Ark was pro-cessed, it was accompanied by jubilant people. There was music: songs, lyres, harps, tambourines, castanets and cymbals. And dancing! Even King David danced before the Lord. Holy dancing – I think about our little ones, un-self-consciously dancing before the Lord and am overjoyed that they are worshiping that way, the way David must have worshiped God, without restraint.

Psalm 150 captures that moment in time, when Israel was unified, when God’s presence was returned to its central place. Help me recite Psalm 150. You don’t need the words – your part is to say Praise God! with lots of gusto each time I point to you! You can even raise your hands if you feel moved! Stand up, in body or spirit, and try it a couple of times:

Praise God! 
Praise God!

Psalm 150 
Hallelujah! 
Praise God in the holy temple; 
Praise God in the mighty firmament;

Praise God for mighty acts; 
Praise God for exceeding greatness;

Praise God with trumpet sound; 
Praise God with lyre and harp;

Praise God with tambourine and dance; 
Praise God with strings and pipe; 

Praise God with resounding cymbals; Yes, 
Praise God with loud-clanging cymbals. 

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. 
Hallelujah!

Later in his reign, things went downhill for King David. The story of David’s sin with Bathsheba is a tragic abuse of power, and David was called out for it. David lost sight of the most important thing –that God was in control. David, like every person God chose to lead the people, was flawed. His reign was marred by the times that he put his desires over what God needed him to do.

I think one can look to King David as someone who attempted to be a man after God’s heart, and sometimes succeeded greatly, but sometimes missed the mark. I think we can look at ourselves and realize that we, too, have moments when we shine, and moments when we fail, both as individuals, and as a faith community.

But I think what today’s lessons so clearly show is that David celebrated those moments when things came together. He looked to God for his next steps when Israel asked him to be their king, and he brought the people’s focus on God when he brought the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. They celebrated that moment with song and dance. Can you picture David, the king over all of Israel, a nearly 40-year-old David, leaping and dancing before the Lord? He didn’t hold back, thinking about what might go wrong in the future. He danced! He praised the Lord with all his might!

There are moments in our life together that we need to be joyous, our delight and praises unrestrained. Those moments when we begin something new, when something for which we’ve pulled together to create finally happens, when our worship and music overwhelm even the most stoic among us. Those moments when our life together must delight our Creator God, and when that happens, we can’t hold back. We can’t suppress our delight, looking ahead at what might be our next pitfall or disappointment. Like David – and whatever that looks like for Trinity – when that happens, we dance, people of God, we dance with all that is within us! We praise the Lord with all our might!

Amen.