Trips, Travels and Journeys (Pt. 2), Spirit of Joy (virtual), August 11, 2024

Grace and Peace to you from God, who accompanies us on our journeys, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus, who is our Christ. Amen.

Had anyone told me 10 years ago that today I would be living in an apartment 30 miles west of St. Louis, internship completed, approved to be ordained as a pastor in the ELCA, I wouldn’t have been shocked. I would have burst out laughing. No way that was happening.

In 2014, we were empty nesters. I was executive director of a poverty relief non-profit organization. Mike was working in sales. Our son Michael, then 24, lived a mile up the road. We were counting the days until our home was paid off and we could do some renovations and live out our retirement there. We had become members of an ELCA church in Prescott Valley and really felt connected there.

Not that becoming a pastor never crossed my mind. An intern pastor first talked to me about it 40 years ago, as a teenager. Nope – I was set on becoming a journalist. And for 15 years of my career, that happened, 10 of those at the Verde Independent. And then, God nudged again. But then I began working in social services and thought that was the place I would work until I could retire.

And then God nudged again in spring 2016.

Sometimes I read Psalm 139 and wonder if the author somehow knew what twists my life would take:

You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.

And then, a few verses later, Where can I go from your Spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?

Here’s the first of several questions I am asking you today: When did YOU first feel the Spirit working in your life? Because it happened to you, or you wouldn’t be here today.

By 2017, the Spirit’s pull on my heart and mind was too powerful to resist. In March, I submitted my candidacy paperwork to the Grand Canyon Synod office. Like Abraham and Sarah, God had called me to a journey. And like Abraham and Sarah, the journey was more about coming to trust God than relying on my own judgment. The obstacles were many. Over and over, I thought this, THIS is the obstacle that will derail everything. Multiple delays in my candidacy process. Then a change of where I thought I would go to seminary. And in March 2020, Covid-19 arrived. This is it.

You see, I had planned to work full-time while starting seminary online. But then in March 2020, the pandemic crashed the party. By then, Mike’s health issues had prevented him from working, and his cardiologist was blunt – “This is deadly for someone with his heart and respiratory issues. Don’t risk it.”

My workplace wasn’t giving anyone the option of working from home at that point. So, not knowing how we would do it, I became jobless and committed to isolating until the pandemic passed. Our savings dwindled. We took money from our retirement.

From Ephesians, we read, “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power; 11 put on the whole armor of God.” Who would have thought that in 2020 and early 2021, the armor of God was an N-95 mask, gloves, and shopping at 9 p.m.? Never had two people felt more relief at driving to Phoenix in March 2021, twice, to line up in the State Farm Stadium Parking Lot for the Pfizer vaccinations. We had “prevailed against everything,” as Paul wrote. But as I went into my second year, everything began opening up. And the synod was very clear that they wanted me to do at least a year in residence at seminary. We considered every option: living apart, shuttering our home in Prescott Valley, renting it out. Eventually, we accepted the inevitable. God was calling us to leave Arizona and trust. In June 2022, with gas nearing $6.00/gallon, I moved to Chicago to do Clinical Pastoral Education, a chaplaincy in a large hospital.

Here's Question #2 for you: When in your life did you feel God calling you forward into something new, something difficult, something unknown, and What was the armor of God for you?

I no more than arrived on campus, when on two consecutive days, my two favorite professors announced they were moving on. Alone, wondering whether I had made the right call in coming to Chicago, sitting on a hardwood floor in my nearly empty apartment, I cried out to God for help.

And the reading from First Kings says, “Suddenly an angel touched Ezekiel and said to him, 'Get up and eat.' 6 He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water. He ate and drank and lay down again. 7 The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, 'Get up and eat, or the journey will be too much for you.' 8 He got up and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God."

Sustenance in summer 2022 looked like texts from friends, calls from Mike, potlucks in the LSTC quad, a bag of cookies or some cinnamon rolls from a neighbor, a walk to Promontory Point on Lake Michigan for a picnic on the Fourth of July. The ten weeks of chaplaincy was challenging. Just as it was wrapping up, I contracted Covid. But I finished and flew back to Prescott Valley to pack most of the big furniture.

Two friends drove our U-Haul from Arizona to Chicago for us! These and other friends helped prepare the house to put it on the market. And just before Thanksgiving, the house closed, and Mike joined me at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago. Seven months later, we packed another U-Haul and drove to Missouri, for internship.

Question 3 is this: Who have been the angels in your life who stepped in with food, with a helping hand, or just the right words to get you through the most difficult times in your life?

By the time I’d reached internship, I thought it would be smooth sailing. Unfortunately, less than two months in, I injured my left leg. Two sets of X-rays were inconclusive, and several medications provided limited relief, but the random shooting pains were debilitating. I wasn’t sure I would be able to continue. Finally, weeks later, a third set of X-rays revealed the cause – I’d been walking on a stress fracture just above my ankle for more than a month. An orthopedic boot allowed my leg to heal and my internship to continue.

There were so many tears, and so much joy on July 28, as Trinity Lutheran celebrated the successful completion of my internship. Now I’m finishing up the last of my seminary coursework online, and awaiting assignment to a Synod. Chances are it won’t be in the Grand Canyon Synod, as there aren’t many calls available right now for First Call pastors. We’re looking at several Synods in the Upper Midwest, within a few hours of where my parents live, where there are nine or ten pastoral vacancies nearly all the time. That’s the reality of the shortage of pastors in 2024. There aren’t enough leaders.

From Philippians, chapter 3: “Brothers and sisters, I do not consider that I have laid hold of it, but one thing I have laid hold of: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead,  I press on toward the goal, toward the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.”

At this point, the finish line is in sight. I’m served my field work and internship and feel like I have a clear idea what becoming a pastor will be like. And the more I think about it, dear friends it’s not that much different from the life you’ve been called to live, except I will be doing it full time, equipping God’s people to serve, and pointing them to our Savior, Jesus. Like you, I will be building relationships and community. Like you, I will be visiting people in my congregation when they are ill or in the hospital. Like you, I will be praying and reading scripture and trying to understand how Christ wants me to live in a time such as this.

And so, Spirit of Joy, I have one more question for you:

Question #4: What is your call? What is it that God is asking you to do today that helps share the good news of Jesus Christ in your corner of the world?

I will keep you in my heart and in my prayers as we continue this journey. And blessings to you as you continue to think about your call and your mission going forward in Spirit of Joy’s 30th year. If it’s possible, we’ll be there to celebrate with you in April 2025.

Amen.

Promises Made, Promises Kept, Ex 12 NL YR3-4, October 4, 2020

 We’ve skipped over centuries of history from last Sunday to now, from Joseph bringing his family to Egypt because of the famine, to the enslavement of the Israelite people by the Egyptians. More than 400 years has passed as the Egyptians progressively made Israel’s sons and daughters lives more miserable with brickmaking and fieldwork. Egypt’s Pharoah has tried to weaken the Israelites, ordering midwives to kill the sons of Israel’s women. Instead, the enslaved people have multiplied, causing the Pharaoh to fear the Israelites will side with one of Egypt’s enemies. The stage is set for something inconceivable to happen, for God to use this occasion to keep a promise.

Promises. Do you remember a time growing up when someone important to you made a promise and kept it? Maybe it was that day, but maybe it was a promise that took months or even years to keep. Or maybe a time when someone broke their promise. You remember those moments. People expect people to keep their promises.

I remember when Mike and I first moved to Arizona. It was 34 years ago today – I remember, as it was my 23^rd birthday. We had driven straight through from Wisconsin, through Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, and finally, through New Mexico. Almost there. The sun was just coming up as we came over a rise on Interstate 40, and the horizon was FILLED with hot-air balloons. We turned on a local station to discover it was an annual event, the Albuquerque International Balloon Festival. Mike promised me that some year, we would come back and celebrate my birthday there, on the ground, surrounded with the colorful spectacle of thousands of balloons lifting off around us.

Working here in Cottonwood for the Verde Independent, my job was especially busy in the fall months, with schools and sports stories galore – we never could get away. It wasn’t until 2008 that we finally spent the weekend there, viewing the mass ascension, the balloon glows, and meeting up with a former co-worker who had moved there. Not only was it wonderful beyond our imagination, but because it didn’t happen immediately, our son was able to share it.

Promises kept are an important part of relationship building.

Imagine being an Israelite family in Egypt. As long as anyone could remember, they had been in bondage to Egypt. Despair had set in, and God’s promises to make Abraham’s children a great nation mocked them. How great was this? Their songs and stories in worship tasted bitter and empty.

But finally, God lifted up Moses to deliver them. Plague after plague, hope returned. Maybe this would be the one. Soon, Pharoah tired of the plagues. “Fine – you want to play games, I’ll keep you too busy to play games. Gather your own straw for the bricks. But keep producing the same amount.” Pharoah expected the Israelites would turn on Moses. But God was ready to keep God’s promise.

Moses gave the people God’s instructions: prepare your homes and families. Select an appropriate lamb to sacrifice, mark your doorposts, pack your things. Prepare your bread – but don’t expect to have time for yeast to rise. We need to be ready to move. It’s finally time for the Lord to deliver us.

And when the Egyptian first-borns died and the Israelite households were passed over, the Pharoah told them to go. Go! Now, before your God strikes more of us dead! Leave, now! And prepared by God’s instructions, they were ready. They were on the move before Pharoah changed his mind. Finally, God had kept God’s promise.

But were God’s people ready to live into that promise of being God’s freed people? The story of the next 40 years looked nothing like a grateful people who trusted in God’s promises to keep providing for them. Time and time again, God’s people turned away, ready to turn back to Egypt and worship idols rather than trust in God’s provision. Over and over, Moses reminded them of how God delivered them, how God provided manna and quail and water when they needed it. Every year, they took time to remember the Passover, when God passed over their homes, struck down the Egyptian’s will, and allowed them to escape bondage. When God kept a promise that they would be God’s own chosen people.

 It would be a few more generations before Joshua led them into the promised land, their own land where they could live, multiply and prosper. Even then, God’s people would fail to trust, over and over, and would fall back into bondage. It was centuries later, during a period of Roman occupation, that God again kept God’s promise … this time, the promise of a long-awaited Messiah.

On that night in the upper room, Jesus celebrated the Passover with his disciples. The Passover Seder is a time when Jewish families remember God’s great faithfulness. In the centuries old tradition, Jesus reminded them of God’s promises – promises kept, from the matzah bread, the bitter herbs, the lamb. And then after supper, Jesus changed the script. He gave his disciples his own promise. As he held up that third cup of wine, the cup of redemption, he told the disciples that  HE  was the fulfillment of that promise, the new covenant that through his life, death and resurrection, they would be God’s people forever. And again, that word. “Remember” – Do this to remember me.

Jesus already had made them promises. He told them that he was going to prepare a place. He shared that he was going to die, but on the third day, he would overcome death. And on this last night together, he made them another promise, that he was going to bridge the chasm between them and God for all time. God’s grace was enough, and God’s kingdom was theirs.

In these days of uncertainty, perhaps promises don’t ring true to you. Maybe you’ve been hurt too often by family, friends, employers, politicians -- the world in general. 2020 has been a difficult year. Our faith in promises is shaken. The pandemic numbers keep rising. Nothing we hear sounds trustworthy. Let me assure you: you’re not wrong. The world’s guarantees have never been anything but empty words, shifting sand under our feet. In this time of hopelessness, we need to grasp God’s promises tighter than ever.

On most Sundays, we would remember God’s new covenant again in our Lord’s Supper. Today, instead, I invite you to meditate on all of God’s promises, promises we make in the confession, the creed, in our prayers, in our hymns. And next week, when you join together with Pastor Sharon in the feast, listen to the words and REMEMBER how you fit into God’s story – promises of God’s faithfulness, from the beginning, to now, and to the end of time. In that you CAN trust.

Amen.

Justice, NL YR3-3, Sept. 27, 2020

Grace and peace to you from our Loving Creator, and from our Savior, Jesus, who is our Christ. Amen.

As many of the itinerant preachers of the early centuries did, I bring you greetings from the places where I’ve been, so greetings both from the family of Christ at Emmanuel Lutheran in Prescott Valley, which had its first in-person worship in six months last Sunday, and from the future leaders of the church gathered virtually through the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, where I am a first-year full-time seminarian, at long last!

Justice is heavy on my mind this week: Justice in the grand jury outcome in the Breonna Taylor case, justice for our planet and our children’s children who will live here, and then justice in our Biblical account today: for the family of Jacob, Joseph and his brothers, and their children.

Let’s begin with Joseph’s brothers. In the preceding chapters, Joseph’s brothers come to Egypt to buy food for their family, as they are deep into a famine. They reconnect with Joseph, who was enslaved because of their actions, imprisoned, then rose to greatness in service to the Pharoah. He insists the family move to Egypt, where he can provide for them in the coming years of the continuing famine.

A grateful Jacob reconnects with his favorite son, and all seems well, until Jacob dies. Then, his brothers realize, there is no reason for Joseph to continue to treat them well. This, they assume, is where Joseph will enact justice for what they did to him decades earlier. And they know they deserve whatever he does.

•     He has the power; he could have them killed.

• He can have them thrown into prison.

• He can refuse to give them more food, and they will starve.

• Or he can order them into slavery, as he was sold into slavery as a youth.

So, terrified, they concoct a story (How’s that for going right back to creating stories to cover for their misdeeds?) They told Joseph that Jacob, on his deathbed, asked that he forgive them. Then they offer themselves as slaves – not the best outcome, but better than imprisonment, starving or dying. And they wait for whatever justice Joseph gives.

Joseph didn’t command death, slavery, starvation or even imprisonment. Joseph forgave them and wiped away a lifetime of lingering pain. Joseph had the power to choose anything as justice, and Joseph chose … LOVE.

And the tears fell. And the hugging. And probably another banquet of food. Joseph was freed from the burden of hate – he had his family for life. The brothers were finally freed from the burden of fear, that Joseph would enact revenge. That’s what forgiveness does. It frees us.

Crowds of people gathered in Louisville, Kentucky, and many other places this week, as a grand jury was set to release its indictment in the case of Breonna Taylor, the young EMT who was killed in her home by a police officer, during a no-knock warrant served at the wrong address. JUSTICE FOR BREONNA, some of the signs read. Wednesday night, after no officer was charged in her murder, and one detective was charged for wanton endangerment for firing into the neighboring apartment, crowds in Louisville and elsewhere became violent. NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE, they chanted. Two Louisville officers were shot, but are expected to survive. The shooter was apprehended.

Where’s the justice for Breonna Taylor?

Thursday, I spent three hours on Zoom, meeting with 180 other national interfaith leaders and church members who are concerned about climate change. We have a decade, give or take, before there is no turning back from the damage excess carbon emissions are wreaking on this planet.

I think about my son, Michael, who was only 7 when we left Spirit of Joy – He just turned 30. I think about the sons he’s raising now: Logan is 9 and Nathan is 7. What kind of world will we give to them?

Where is the justice for Michael, for Logan and Nathan, the justice for all the children of the world?

I wish justice for Breonna and other black lives lost came as easily as forgiveness happened with Joseph and his brothers. I wish we could say we’re sorry for the harm we’ve caused this planet and make it all better. But justice isn’t nearly that easy. Our world is broken. Our relationships with each other and this planet are broken.

Here in God’s family, we have a name for that brokenness – Sin. In some cases, sin is easily wiped away by the vastness of God’s grace.

And sometimes sin can be wiped away but repairing the damage of that brokenness takes all of the energy we can muster. We need to repent – literally turn ourselves from the actions we’ve been taking, and go in the other direction.

This week has been a kick in my stomach as I realize that I can’t ignore this and think someone else will do the work of racial and climate justice.

I am terrified to look inside myself and decide how I need to change to do my part to rid the world of systemic racism. What is it that each of us needs to hear, to learn, to turn around in order to move forward toward justice for our black and brown neighbors?

It takes courage to admit we’ve taken and taken and taken without any obvious consequences, and we’ve abused this planet to the end of its ability to sustain life. We can’t wait. We’re out of time. We have to turn around.

I will say it again. Justice for God’s family, justice for God’s creation has NO easy answers. But every one of us has a part to play in creating a more just world, and we need to get started, now.

Amen.