The Good Friday sermon I didn't preach in 2024 that I wished I had preached.
The passion reading today from Mark: This isn’t the crucifixion account people remember. Mark’s gospel portrays the starkest version of this day’s events in the Bible. There are no descriptions of anyone who cared for Jesus lingering at the foot of the cross, as in John, or watching from a distance, as in Matthew and Luke.
The emphasis is on his crucifixion as public humiliation. He is beaten. He is stripped and a hundred or so Romans mock and spit on this “King of the Jews” in a purple cape and crown made out of thorns. A stranger carries his cross. They gamble for his clothes. They pound nails into his hands and feet and hang him naked between two bandits, and taunt him as they wait for him to die.
Jesus is mostly silent in Mark’s gospel as he takes in humanity’s ugliest behavior. The four-word question he does ask, “Eloi, Eloi lama sabachthani?” is misheard by those around him. People think he is calling for Elijah.
“My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” I’ve always thought it a heartbreaking final utterance from Jesus. When his friends have deserted him, when the community has turned its back on him. When not even one person attempts to stop the insanity of an innocent human dying the most inhumane death, Jesus cries out “My God, my God, why have YOU abandoned me?”
Jesus’ words are Aramaic, and not his own. Jesus is quoting the opening words of Psalm 22. Perhaps it was on his lips as he prayed the previous evening in the garden. Perhaps it was the mantra that he spoke in his heart to carry him through the longest night.
These are the words of Psalm 22 that follow his pained cry:
1 My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?
2 O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer;
and by night but find no rest.
3 Yet you are holy,
enthroned on the praises of Israel.
4 In you our ancestors trusted;
they trusted, and you delivered them.
5 To you they cried and were saved;
in you they trusted and were not put to shame.
6 But I am a worm and not human,
scorned by others and despised by the people.
7 All who see me mock me;
they sneer at me; they shake their heads;
8 “Commit your cause to the Lord; let him deliver—
let him rescue the one in whom he delights!”
Out of context, it would be easy to imagine Jesus thought God, too, had left him in his final hour. But the rest of the Psalm is a reassurance that no matter what, God is faithful. God will deliver. God is Good, no matter what.
It had only been a few weeks earlier that Jesus was transfigured, when God proclaimed Jesus as the Beloved, the one in whom God delighted. Nothing had changed. The soldiers’ mocking him as King of the Jews (oh, the irony) their humiliation did not change that. Crucifixion did not change that. Death did not change that.
But when the world is tumbling down, it can be hard to remember our belovedness. When the boss wants to see you in the office at the end of the day. When the doctor calls and wants you to come into the office right away to talk about some tests. When your child texts and says I need to talk with you and Dad – can I come over tonight? We know immediately: “This can’t be good. Nothing good can come of this.”
But this is the day we call Good Friday. Out of this pain, this passion, this crucifixion, the worst moment ever, we know that God did not abandon Jesus and will never leave us, no matter what we face. Jesus, crucified, loving us beyond what we can imagine, turning the tables on death itself.
When our lives are shaken up and we are shattered, we have that assurance. No matter what life throws at us, God is with us, whispering “beloved” to us. God walks with us through the deepest valleys and is with us in death. And because of the Cross, death doesn’t have the final word.
That is Good News on this Good Friday.
Amen.
Saturday, September 20, 2025
Turning It to Love, Good Friday, NL, TLC, Mark 15 16-39, March 29, 2024
Grace and peace to you on this Good Friday.
He was in his early 30s. Itinerant, you might call him politely. Hadn’t settled into a solid career, didn’t have a wife or family.
People would say he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That he shouldn’t have asked questions. He was locked up overnight. Never afforded a trial by his peers. He was seized by the local posse, beaten, and raised up on a tree to die. His death a public spectacle. They even made souvenirs out of his clothing.
While this story sounds like what we know of Good Friday, it was an account of the final days of Rubin Stacy, a 32-year-old black man who was lynched in Florida after the Great Depression -- one of at least 4,400 black individuals, and perhaps more than 6,000 who have been lynched since the Civil War in the United States.
Lynchings are not our distant past. The most recent ones are in our lifetimes. Two years ago this very day, the Emmett Till Anti-Lynching Act of 2022 was signed into law, making lynching a hate crime: nearly 160 years after the Civil War and nearly 60 years after the Civil Rights Act.
There are so many parallels between Good Friday and lynchings in this country. The common denominator is hate. “The Cross and the Lynching Tree” by Theologian James Cone is a challenging read, because this is our faith and our history, overlapping and intersecting. In many cases, the people responsible were known as faithful people. Take a life on a Friday, and show up for worship two days later.
Of course, all people of faith didn’t participate in the lynchings. And all people of faith didn’t beat Jesus or drive nails into his hands and feet. But they watched the spectacle, brought their children, observed from a distance. Not this gospel, not any gospel tells of people who counter-protested, or blocked the route, or tried to stop the crucifixion.
English economist and philosopher John Stuart Mill said the following in 1867: “Let not any one pacify his conscience by the delusion that he can do no harm if he takes no part, and forms no opinion. Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing.”
Mark’s gospel isn’t the crucifixion account people usually remember. It portrays the starkest version of events in the Bible. There are no descriptions of anyone who cared for Jesus lingering at the foot of the cross, as in John, or watching from a distance, as in Matthew and Luke.
The emphasis is on his crucifixion as public humiliation. He is beaten. He is stripped and a hundred or so Romans mock and spit on this “King of the Jews” in a purple cape and crown made out of thorns. A stranger carries his cross. They gamble for his clothes. They pound nails into his hands and feet and hang him naked between two bandits, waiting for him to die.
Jesus is mostly silent in Mark’s gospel as he takes in humanity’s ugliest behavior. He utters but four words: “Eloi, Eloi lama sabachthani?”
“My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” I’ve always thought it a heartbreaking utterance from Jesus. When his friends have deserted him, when the community has turned its back on him. When no one attempts to stop the insanity of an innocent human dying the most inhumane death, Jesus cries out “My God, my God, why have YOU abandoned me?”
Jesus’ words are Aramaic, and not his own. Jesus is quoting the opening words of Psalm 22. Perhaps it was on his lips as he prayed the previous evening in the garden. Perhaps it was the mantra that he kept in his heart throughout the night.
These are the words of Psalm 22 that follow his pained cry:
1 My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?
2 O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer;
and by night but find no rest.
3 Yet you are holy,
enthroned on the praises of Israel.
4 In you our ancestors trusted;
they trusted, and you delivered them.
5 To you they cried and were saved;
in you they trusted and were not put to shame.
6 But I am a worm and not human,
scorned by others and despised by the people.
7 All who see me mock me;
they sneer at me; they shake their heads;
8 “Commit your cause to the Lord; let him deliver—
let him rescue the one in whom he delights!”
Out of context, one could imagine Jesus thought God, too, had left him in his distress. But the rest of the Psalm is a reassurance that no matter what, God is faithful. God will deliver. In our deepest pain, on our worst day, when we walk through the valley, our God walks with us. God will never abandon us. That is Good News. That is Good in this Good Friday.
And as we gather to remember nearly 2,000 years later, we are surrounded by abandoned people: certainly in the world and our communities. But here in our midst, too. The news is filled with people dealing with wars, famine, violence, neglect. But on this and every day, there are hurting people among us, too.
Jesus laid down his life on Good Friday in love. Jesus took the worst the world could give him and met it with love. I pray that as we continue to ponder Jesus’ life and death, we consider how we meet the world’s worst in love: in our own actions, in our ministry activities, and in our communal advocacy for all of God’s people and creation.
He was in his early 30s. Itinerant, you might call him politely. Hadn’t settled into a solid career, didn’t have a wife or family.
People would say he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That he shouldn’t have asked questions. He was locked up overnight. Never afforded a trial by his peers. He was seized by the local posse, beaten, and raised up on a tree to die. His death a public spectacle. They even made souvenirs out of his clothing.
While this story sounds like what we know of Good Friday, it was an account of the final days of Rubin Stacy, a 32-year-old black man who was lynched in Florida after the Great Depression -- one of at least 4,400 black individuals, and perhaps more than 6,000 who have been lynched since the Civil War in the United States.
Lynchings are not our distant past. The most recent ones are in our lifetimes. Two years ago this very day, the Emmett Till Anti-Lynching Act of 2022 was signed into law, making lynching a hate crime: nearly 160 years after the Civil War and nearly 60 years after the Civil Rights Act.
There are so many parallels between Good Friday and lynchings in this country. The common denominator is hate. “The Cross and the Lynching Tree” by Theologian James Cone is a challenging read, because this is our faith and our history, overlapping and intersecting. In many cases, the people responsible were known as faithful people. Take a life on a Friday, and show up for worship two days later.
Of course, all people of faith didn’t participate in the lynchings. And all people of faith didn’t beat Jesus or drive nails into his hands and feet. But they watched the spectacle, brought their children, observed from a distance. Not this gospel, not any gospel tells of people who counter-protested, or blocked the route, or tried to stop the crucifixion.
English economist and philosopher John Stuart Mill said the following in 1867: “Let not any one pacify his conscience by the delusion that he can do no harm if he takes no part, and forms no opinion. Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing.”
Mark’s gospel isn’t the crucifixion account people usually remember. It portrays the starkest version of events in the Bible. There are no descriptions of anyone who cared for Jesus lingering at the foot of the cross, as in John, or watching from a distance, as in Matthew and Luke.
The emphasis is on his crucifixion as public humiliation. He is beaten. He is stripped and a hundred or so Romans mock and spit on this “King of the Jews” in a purple cape and crown made out of thorns. A stranger carries his cross. They gamble for his clothes. They pound nails into his hands and feet and hang him naked between two bandits, waiting for him to die.
Jesus is mostly silent in Mark’s gospel as he takes in humanity’s ugliest behavior. He utters but four words: “Eloi, Eloi lama sabachthani?”
“My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” I’ve always thought it a heartbreaking utterance from Jesus. When his friends have deserted him, when the community has turned its back on him. When no one attempts to stop the insanity of an innocent human dying the most inhumane death, Jesus cries out “My God, my God, why have YOU abandoned me?”
Jesus’ words are Aramaic, and not his own. Jesus is quoting the opening words of Psalm 22. Perhaps it was on his lips as he prayed the previous evening in the garden. Perhaps it was the mantra that he kept in his heart throughout the night.
These are the words of Psalm 22 that follow his pained cry:
1 My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?
2 O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer;
and by night but find no rest.
3 Yet you are holy,
enthroned on the praises of Israel.
4 In you our ancestors trusted;
they trusted, and you delivered them.
5 To you they cried and were saved;
in you they trusted and were not put to shame.
6 But I am a worm and not human,
scorned by others and despised by the people.
7 All who see me mock me;
they sneer at me; they shake their heads;
8 “Commit your cause to the Lord; let him deliver—
let him rescue the one in whom he delights!”
Out of context, one could imagine Jesus thought God, too, had left him in his distress. But the rest of the Psalm is a reassurance that no matter what, God is faithful. God will deliver. In our deepest pain, on our worst day, when we walk through the valley, our God walks with us. God will never abandon us. That is Good News. That is Good in this Good Friday.
And as we gather to remember nearly 2,000 years later, we are surrounded by abandoned people: certainly in the world and our communities. But here in our midst, too. The news is filled with people dealing with wars, famine, violence, neglect. But on this and every day, there are hurting people among us, too.
Jesus laid down his life on Good Friday in love. Jesus took the worst the world could give him and met it with love. I pray that as we continue to ponder Jesus’ life and death, we consider how we meet the world’s worst in love: in our own actions, in our ministry activities, and in our communal advocacy for all of God’s people and creation.
A Little Hope Is a Dangerous Thing, TLC, NL, Mark 11 1-11, Palm Sunday, March 24, 2024
Grace to you and peace from our gracious God, and from Jesus, who risked everything for love.
“A little hope is a dangerous thing.”
It’s one of my favorite movie lines ever. Morgan Freeman, playing “Red” says it to “Andy” in The Shawshank Redemption, a movie that takes place inside a maximum-security prison. A little hope is a dangerous thing. A little hope, he explains, can drive a man insane.
Palm Sunday, at its core, is all about hope. Somewhere that day, the Roman governor Pilate made an entrance into Jerusalem for the Passover celebration. In a show of military might, Pilate likely rode a warhorse, maybe flanked by subordinates or centurions. The people shouted, but it was all about the pomp and pageantry of Roman occupation. Here’s your leader, Israel. Cheer!
Coming from Bethany, Jesus also makes an entrance into Jerusalem at the beginning of that Passover week. Many people had heard about those whom Jesus had healed. Others learned that he has stood up to the Pharisees and Scribes on several occasions. Some have even dared to think he could be the long-waited Messiah. An impromptu parade ensues, as Jesus rides a young donkey, and people wave branches they cut from trees. “Hosannah,” they cry. Save us now! Save us from the lives we have! Do something!
The hopeful adorers cheer along the way and begin to follow Jesus. “Hosanna to the coming king! Hosanna to Jesus, of the line of King David. Hosanna!!” All the way to the temple.
And Jesus quietly enters the temple. Doesn’t make a speech or tell them what he will do next. There’s no rally. He looks around, does nothing, and returns to Bethany with his disciples.
A little hope is a dangerous thing.
“A little hope is a dangerous thing.”
It’s one of my favorite movie lines ever. Morgan Freeman, playing “Red” says it to “Andy” in The Shawshank Redemption, a movie that takes place inside a maximum-security prison. A little hope is a dangerous thing. A little hope, he explains, can drive a man insane.
Palm Sunday, at its core, is all about hope. Somewhere that day, the Roman governor Pilate made an entrance into Jerusalem for the Passover celebration. In a show of military might, Pilate likely rode a warhorse, maybe flanked by subordinates or centurions. The people shouted, but it was all about the pomp and pageantry of Roman occupation. Here’s your leader, Israel. Cheer!
Coming from Bethany, Jesus also makes an entrance into Jerusalem at the beginning of that Passover week. Many people had heard about those whom Jesus had healed. Others learned that he has stood up to the Pharisees and Scribes on several occasions. Some have even dared to think he could be the long-waited Messiah. An impromptu parade ensues, as Jesus rides a young donkey, and people wave branches they cut from trees. “Hosannah,” they cry. Save us now! Save us from the lives we have! Do something!
The hopeful adorers cheer along the way and begin to follow Jesus. “Hosanna to the coming king! Hosanna to Jesus, of the line of King David. Hosanna!!” All the way to the temple.
And Jesus quietly enters the temple. Doesn’t make a speech or tell them what he will do next. There’s no rally. He looks around, does nothing, and returns to Bethany with his disciples.
A little hope is a dangerous thing.
*****
Have you ever had one of those backstage passes to a speaker or concert? You are herded into a side room and you wait. Perhaps the celebrities are gracious, but they have one after every event. They’re tired. They shake a few hands, pose for a picture and leave. Perhaps your experiences are different than mine and people I’ve talked to, but all in all, they’re kinda disappointing. That was a bummer.
I imagine the crowd in Jerusalem having the same let-down. We expected Jesus to DO something. More miracles. A speech. A plan of action. But after we followed him into Jerusalem, he went into the temple, looked around and left. That’s the One that everyone is talking about? What a poser.
You see, the crowd had a different vision of Jesus as Messiah. Someone who would come in, like King David, rally 30,000 men to take on the Romans. Deal with these Roman oppressors in the only language they knew. Power. Oppress THEM for a change. Re-unite God’s people. Take what was taken from us.
But that was never Jesus’ vision. He said it early on – “Blessed are the peacemakers.” He kept saying it: “Those who want to save their life will lose it, but those who give up their life for my sake will find it.” “If they don’t welcome you and refuse to hear you, shake off the dust from that place.” “Turn the other cheek.”
So, if people thought the Way of Jesus was to start an uprising, they had totally missed the point. But lots of people did – they wanted what they wanted from this Jesus.
A little hope is a dangerous thing. You know what else is a dangerous thing? Love. Love is a dangerous thing. Love makes you vulnerable. Loving others, actually putting yourself out there and loving people, loving people who may not know you, may not understand you, loving people who cannot or will not love you back, loving people who have no power – that love makes you vulnerable. Because people don’t get it. Because people don’t expect it.
And that’s what Jesus was all about. Love.
And someone like this who loved everyone, even those who were cast aside by the religious and political leaders. Someone like this who provided hope when the government existed to keep people down – that person was a danger to the Roman Empire and the Temple authorities. This Jesus who refused to join with the existing powers, who refused to stir up hate and fear, that person was a threat. Because hate is easier to manipulate, and fear is easier to control. Love and hope are unpredictable.
*****
Honestly, the world hasn’t changed much in 2,000 years.
Most of what passes for news in 2024 plays on our fears. Violence. Injustice. Wars. Illness. Partisan politics.
When the powers that be can get us to stop loving, hate wins. When some pundit can get you to create “us” and “them,” fear wins. When we stop seeing every person God created as beloved, we’ve been played. When we stop seeing our faith as something to share, and instead see it as personal and private, we’ve lost our superpower – LOVE.
Jesus never stopped loving.
When his hometown turned on him, Jesus didn’t hate them.
When his disciples didn’t get it, Jesus didn’t reject them.
When the Jewish leaders tried to trap him, Jesus told them what was most important.
Love. Love God and love your neighbors.
So when those gathered for the Passover in Jerusalem didn’t see a powerful leader who could change everything that week, their adoring shouts of Hosannah faded. Like some flash-in-the-pan celebrity, they turned on Jesus. When the leaders stirred up the mob mentality that began crying “Crucify him,” they didn’t remember him healing their neighbors or calling out the temple leaders who preyed on the less fortunate. He brought them hope for a moment, and, well,
A little hope is a dangerous thing.
Loving everyone and being vulnerable is a dangerous thing.
Going to Jerusalem to be in the presence of those who want you dead is a dangerous thing.
Yet, here is Jesus, not taking the safe route, walking straight into Jerusalem at the time of Passover. Loving God’s people beyond what was safe. Beyond what was wise. Beyond anything we can imagine. Then and now. That’s how much you are loved. Beyond measure.
I sometimes wonder if I’m following the Way of Jesus with enough passion. Sometimes leading worship, preaching, attending meetings, going to visit people, serving a meal – none of it feels very dangerous. It’s a pretty low-risk endeavor. Even following this call – to seminary, to Chicago, to Trinity – it’s been an adventure, certainly, but risky? Not really.
I haven’t done mission work overseas. Friends of mine did for years, and then had their lives turned upside down. A gut punch. Talk about risk.
Friends of mine were in the Middle East when Covid arrived. Getting out and getting home before everything was shut down – that was risky.
Seminary colleagues live in places where practicing their Christian faith is unsafe. And they plan to return there. Embracing the risk.
As I think this week about the love of Jesus, the way of the Cross, and the hope he brought, I wonder where the Spirit is calling me, and calling you, to embrace some risk for the sake of the gospel. We have been so loved by Jesus that we have been freed to bring love to people who feel alone, to bring hope to those who have lost their hope. We know the cross is ahead, but so is the empty tomb. So we are a people of hope, freed to give hope.
And that reminds me of the other line from the movie, the Shawshank Redemption. When Andy is writing Red from the outside:
“Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”
Amen
The End of the Age: Those Big Stones, TLC, NL, Mark 13 1-8, March 17, 2024
Grace and Peace to you from our God, the beginning and the end, and our Savior Jesus, who is our Christ. Amen.
In the Narrative Lectionary that we use, any particular lesson comes up every four years. So it occurred to me while I was preparing for today, that four years ago, Pastor Chris must have realized the irony of preaching about the End of the Age, when so much was in turmoil over Covid-19.
For me, Sunday, March 15, 2020 was the first Sunday that no one attended worship, no one preached a sermon, no one played the organ or piano inside the building since Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Prescott Valley first opened its doors.
Our Bishop contacted pastors two days earlier, explaining that in an abundance of caution over the unbelievably fast spread of this new Coronavirus, it might be best if congregations did not have in-person worship through the rest of March.
And of course, you know the rest of the story. In-person worship did not come back in April, for Easter, or for many months to come. Schools went online. People worked from home. Millions of people around the world died. I suspect many of you, like me, lost people you loved.
I imagine for many, 2020 felt like the End of the Age.
In the Narrative Lectionary that we use, any particular lesson comes up every four years. So it occurred to me while I was preparing for today, that four years ago, Pastor Chris must have realized the irony of preaching about the End of the Age, when so much was in turmoil over Covid-19.
For me, Sunday, March 15, 2020 was the first Sunday that no one attended worship, no one preached a sermon, no one played the organ or piano inside the building since Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Prescott Valley first opened its doors.
Our Bishop contacted pastors two days earlier, explaining that in an abundance of caution over the unbelievably fast spread of this new Coronavirus, it might be best if congregations did not have in-person worship through the rest of March.
And of course, you know the rest of the story. In-person worship did not come back in April, for Easter, or for many months to come. Schools went online. People worked from home. Millions of people around the world died. I suspect many of you, like me, lost people you loved.
I imagine for many, 2020 felt like the End of the Age.
*****
But 2020 wasn’t the only time people thought about the End Times. Perhaps you remember predictions about the end of the Mayan Calendar in December 2012. Or how everything connected to a computer would shut down because of Y2K. Truthfully, Mike and I and our son were at a rock concert in downtown Phoenix on the final night of 1999. We weren’t too worried about all the predictions.
There was a run on End Times predictions in 1995 when Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins published the first in their Left Behind fictional series that was loosely based on the Book of Revelation.
People have been awaiting answers about the End of the Age, well, since the Age started.
*****
This week’s lessons follow directly after last week’s readings. Jesus taught that the most important commandments are to love the Lord with all that is in you, and love your neighbor as yourself. And then he spotted a widow dropping in two copper coins, likely everything she had. To Jesus, a system that combined the Romans and the Jewish temple leaders to oppress the people – THAT was an age that needed to be ended.
And yet, where we pick up today, the disciples then walked outside the temple and promptly forgot those teachings. They sound like tourists as they point to the magnificent Temple, a structure Herod had constructed to rival the temples in Rome. What big stones!
Don’t be so impressed, Jesus told them. Even this massive structure will be leveled.
*****
Aren’t we a little bit like the disciples? A little bit awed by the bigger, better, newer, faster? I know I can be. Weren’t those projections on the MSG Sphere in Las Vegas pretty cool during the Super Bowl? What would it be like to sail on the Icon of the Seas, the huge new cruise ship? Have you seen the latest images from the James Webb Space Telescope?
I could see Jesus standing here with us, shaking his head. Distractions. Everything that impresses us will pass away. As we speak, the water powering massive dams in the West is so low that unless something changes, the dams will shut down. The water will no longer spin the turbines.
Roads, bridges, skyscrapers—everything that once WOW’d us—temporary. The place I went to Middle School – closed and converted into apartments. My childhood home—bulldozed and redeveloped into retail. Everything is temporary. The media is so filled with bad news that a new word was coined – “Doomscrolling” – to describe people who read bad news story after bad news story. It gets into their heads and they can’t shut it off.
*****
Just like the disturbed disciples can’t get their minds off Jesus’ prediction of the temple destroyed. They ask him when it will happen, and what will be the sign that it’s about to happen. Much like the tornado sirens that blared on Thursday, what will be the signal to run for cover and hide?
Jesus stops them in their tracks. Beware!! he says. You won’t be able to escape it. You’ll be surrounded by it. People who think they have the answers. Wars that some will say are the beginning of the end. Natural disasters. It’s not going to be pretty. Do you remember: all the prophets have already predicted all of this! Heaven and earth will pass away. Everything is temporary.
*****
Everything, that is, except our God.
God, the same yesterday, today and tomorrow.
The Word moving over the chaos of the water in the beginning, alive in Jesus, and will come again one day.
No one knows what the future holds except for God alone. Not pastors (certainly not vicars!). Not politicians. Not books. Not AI. And whatever happens will happen not on human schedules, but in God’s time. Kairos time. God breaking into our lives, and changing everything time. So don’t look to the sky, to the false prophets. Stay focused on what really matters. Stay alert.
Check in with someone here at Trinity who just lost a parent. Take a meal to the neighbor who just started chemo. Look after the work colleague whose child is struggling. Read to a Trinity Preschool class. Keep your eyes and ears open.
Go to Turkey and Greece, or Lantern Hill, or down the street to Circle of Concern or Gateway 180. Read about the work of Lutheran Disaster Response. Pray for those whose lives have been upended by wars and violence. Respond however you are called, but respond.
As my professor, Dr. Barbara Rossing said a couple of weeks ago, “Denial and despair both lead to in-action.”
I heard a parable this week that fit right in with her words:
A great warhorse comes upon a tiny sparrow lying on its back with its feet in the air, eyes squinched tightly shut with effort.
“What are you doing?” asks the horse.
“I’m trying to help hold back the darkness,” replied the sparrow.
The horse roars with laughter. “That is so pathetic. What do you weigh, about an ounce?”
And the sparrow answers, “One does what one can.”
Stay alert.
We don’t know the hour. The End of the Age could come tomorrow or ten thousand years from now. What a reassuring thought that we are God’s beloved, held in God’s heart, and Jesus tells us not to worry. Not to worry about looking for signs, and not to pay attention to those who tell us the End of the Age is right around the corner. Everything is temporary, except for the One who is not. Instead of worrying about the End of the Age, we can rest secure that God is in control of our lives … and our future. In the meantime, we’ve got stuff to do: We are sent to love God with all that we are, and share Christ’s love and justice everywhere we can.
Amen.
Wednesday, September 3, 2025
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.
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?
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.
Funeral Homily (Kathryn) Ann Scheller, TLC, John 14:1-6, January 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
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)