Sermon - 13th Sunday after Pentecost - Year A

Matthew 16:21-28

                                                         Set Your Mind  

From the perspective of the appointed lessons, last week would have been a better week for a baptism.  But I am going to hope and trust that Jim and Rebecca will place this Gospel reading in the context of lots of others.  I already know they will.  It isn’t Rebecca and Jim who concern me.  Honestly, its that person joining us remotely who may only hear one sermon rather than a string of sermons. 

The Gospel lesson for today begins:  From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering …. and be killed. 

The “time” referred to in these verses are the events of last week’s Gospel lesson.  Last week we read of the encounter in which Simon Peter – yes, the very same Simon Peter who figures heavily into today’s encounter – in that previous encounter Simon is able to string together the confession of Jesus as “the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”  Simon Peter is the one who puts into words who it is that Jesus has become in his life and in the lives of so many others.  But then in just a few short verses, by the time we get to this morning’s appointed text, Peter exposes that saying the words does not automatically translate into living out what those words mean. 

From that time on, Jesus begins to show his disciples….  He shows them that a “living God” lives in the world which which God has made.  And living in the world means being that sharp contrast between what is said with our lips and what those words mean for our lives. 

Oh, how I wish that we could baptize little John Isaac and leave out the imagery of baptism as a journey into death – but we cannot.  The baptismal waters which flow freely over us are the opportunity to see the hallow nature of every other claim - and to live with the confidence that losing our individual lives in the large frame of Jesus’ life is precisely what it means to have an eternal life. 

This has been often misunderstood.  There was a time when it was mistaken for martyrdom.  Jesus’ words do not mean looking for opportunities or ways to be murdered as a result of the words which pass our lips.  It is a misunderstanding that to “lose” our life is to die at the hands of one intent on destroying the Christian faith and family.  No, when Jesus speaks of losing our lives, he is speaking of something many times more significant that our death. 

I am appreciative of the translator’s efforts in verse 23.  As previously acknowledged, my ability to read the original language of the New Testament is limited.  But this English translation does a good job.  Look at verse 23.  When Jesus rebukes Peter he speaks of “setting your mind” on divine things rather than human things.  To have our mind “set on Jesus” impacts every moment of every day of every life.  It is honestly and openly and continually asking “What Would Jesus Do?” 

How we die is a matter of concern and interest.  What concerns God is whether we live our lives in such a way as to answer the question of whether we have our minds set on Jesus.   And let me say as clearly as I possibly can that to have one’s mind set on Jesus is not a demand or a bother or even a sacrifice.  It is an opportunity, it is a gift, it is that peace which passes all understanding. 

Surely you have heard the verse of scripture which instructs us to “believe in our hearts and confess with our lips.”  Today’s appointed Gospel text reminds us that it is not the formula of that confession which needs scrutiny.  What needs examining is the thing we believe in our hearts. 

Do we believe that Jesus has blessed one people over all others?  Can a heart set on Jesus fail to hear the cries of those who feel ignored and abandoned?  Who could read the Jesus story and continue to believe that human life could in any way be placed on some scale where the other bowl holds something as insignificant as someone’s personal property or that individual’s way of life?  When does Jesus tell us to believe in our hearts that possessions and wealth are ours and that we have earned it and have every right to keep it?  How can anyone possibly know Jesus in their hearts and fail to see the poor and homeless and addicted as anything other than the same individuals for whom Jesus feels the compassion one would have for sheep in need of a shepherd?  

I am sorry, John Isaac – and all of the Phillips family – but while we will ask you to say certain words with your lips this morning we do not intend to let you say those words with your lips and then walk out the door as if you are finished.  As evidenced by these words of Holy Scripture, many MANY MANNY will speak such words without the correlating conviction.  We ought to make such public proclamations – what we say with our lips is important.  But rarely do words speak as loudly as how we live our lives. 

In closing, I want to double back to what I said earlier.  To have one’s mind set on Jesus is not a demand or a bother or even a sacrifice.  It is an opportunity, it is a gift, it is that peace which passes all understanding.  The Church (and this particular expression of the Church) will never condemn you or belittle you or deny you the Means of Grace – even if your mind remains set on human things.  The Church knows you are human, and it is no simple thing to make this shift in our lives.  You are welcome here, and you will be loved here, and you are as much a part of this family as anyone.  And know – without any doubt – that Jesus loves you, too. 

What the Gospel sets before us is the opportunity to have one’s mind set on Jesus.  This is not a demand or a bother or even a sacrifice.  It is an opportunity, it is a gift, it is that peace which passes all understanding.  It is yours.  

Receive it - and live it. 

Amen

Funeral Sermon - Carol Kelsey

Matthew 11:28-30

                                                              Come to Me 

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”    Mt 11:28-30 

I am never quite sure when the transition happens, but rarely have I walked alongside someone nearing death and failed to realize that they were the one bringing comfort into my life.  Maybe it happens when we realize how desperately we avoid death, the lengths we go in order to pretend it won’t reach us.  Walking along side someone facing death so often becomes a gift, a chance to overcome a fear which eats away at too many of life’s wonderful experiences. 

As has happened so many times in the past, Carol gave that gift.  She was grateful for the treatments initiated out of the hope it might provide a little more time, and she hoped and prayed for more time.  But, as is so often the case, she is the one who spoke the words which brought comfort and peace into discussions about life and death. 

Carol left us a list of scripture readings and an even longer list of songs.  Unwilling to choose, we are trying to read all of the lessons and have Charlie play the hymns we won’t be able to sing.  The Gospel lesson she requested are those brief words from Matthew, Chapter 11. 

“Come to me, all you that are weary…… Take my yoke… and learn from me; you will find rest for your souls.  

Life does tend to make us weary.  Some of that is the simple necessity of staying alive – work, house-hold maintenance.  Another part of it is navigating our way among others – relationships with neighbors, friends, companions.  There is also the wearisome work associated with our devotion to spouse and family.  We do take this on willingly, but it does wear on us.  Surely more so when the one we love develops a crippling disease.  

Walking alongside someone who is losing their ability to pretend death is a stranger, there are moments when death is seen in the ways so often repeated at funerals.  A “blessed rest,” an “eternal rest.”  A “well deserved rest” is surely true for one who has cared so deeply for one whom they loved so fully. 

I think this is what we learn, when we take on that yoke.  I have come to realize that this is the vision which takes hold in the heart and mind and eventually works its way into the words spoken by one who knows what is it like to have their strength renewed. 

Carol knew she was dying.  Surely this is why she wrote on her list of scripture that passage from 2 Timothy:  “As for me, I am already being poured out….  I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith…  “The time for my departure has come.” 

I will not assume that everyone of Carol’s travel companions experienced a calming as the end drew near.  What I will do is encourage you to hear Carol’s words to you in the lessons she asked us to read this afternoon.  

And not only in the lessons.  But also, in the hymns.  Among her stack of things to give the pastor was the hymn, “Peace Be to this Congregation.”  Carol wanted it sung – as a gift to all of us.  We thought we knew the tune but didn’t.  We are grateful to Julie Gibson who will sing it for us. 

I will not assert that everyone of Carol’s travel companions experienced a calming as the end drew near, but I will assert that peace of heart is what she wanted most to leave behind; that this is what she wanted us to experience as we gathered to celebrate her life and thank her God for welcoming her into her eternal home. 

Amen.

Sermon - 11th Sunday After Pentecost - Year A

 

Matthew 15:21-28 

                                                                         Faith 

The Lutheran theological movement is greater than the life experiences of Martin Luther, but his life experience gave rise to the Reformation initiated by his writings.  We are not devotees of Martin Luther and we would never, ever want to mistake him for anything other than what he was.  To paraphrase his own words, Luther understood himself to be just another son-of-a-gun trying to help another son-of-a-gun out of the ditch.  (Luther did tend to use more colorful language, but this is a family-oriented congregation.) 

Luther’s struggle is brought alongside our struggle; and it is hoped that Luther’s resolution might become our own. 

For most of Luther’s youth, he thought of himself as the “dog” under the children’s table.  He would have accepted Jesus’ condemnation – continuing to think of himself as being unworthy of the food which was freely given to those who did deserved it.  Luther was obsessed and destroyed by the question of whether God would ever speak the words to him which Jesus speaks to this Canaanite woman: “Great is your faith!  Let it be done for you as you wish.”

 I prefer not to say of folks “You are Lutheran.”  But it is true that you are participating in a Lutheran worship service.  Some of you – eight of you – will affirm your baptismal covenant in the context of this Lutheran worship service.  By asking “How Lutheran are you?” I am really asking how dogged you have been with questions of faith and enough faith or sufficient faith or faith capable of moving mountains.  How many years of your youth have you given over to asking such needless questions?

 Hopefully, you will never ask yourself this again.

 The gift of the Lutheran theological movement is to never again allow ourselves to perceive God as anything other than a loving parent, perpetually prepared to share whatever has been offered to his children.  We are often accused of “cheap grace,” but as Luther said there is nothing cheap about it.  This gracious attitude of our God toward us came at the price of our Lord’s own precious blood.

 “Great faith,” “enough faith,” “faith so as to move mountains;” these are the questions which distract us from the mission we embrace and the opportunity we have been given.  You are a person of faith – why else would you be here?

 Before you start to look around, and wonder if I am talking to everyone else but not you, take a quick look back at this reading from Matthew’s gospel.  We know two things about this woman whom Jesus commends.  We know she is a mother – she comes asking for her daughter to be made well.  What else do we know?  She is a Canaanite.  Do a search on Canaanites – but allow me to summarize by saying she wasn’t from a Jewish family, she was one of “them,” historically her people had participated in the destruction of all that was sacred to the followers of Moses.

 So before you look around and wonder if you belong among the others being told your faith is just fine, remember all of this started with a Canaanite woman.  If she belongs, so do you.  Jesus says it!  We believe it!

 I didn’t do well in my Greek classes.  So, I have learned not to try pronounce those words or pretend I understand the various nuances of words written in the original language of the New Testament.  But I am going to encourage you to consider what Jesus meant when he says, “Great is your faith!”

 Does he mean “great” as in a bunch?  Or strong?  Or effective?  Or might he be speaking of the greatness of faith when it is revealed and acknowledged?  Jesus never speaks well of those who horde or accumulate or look only at themselves.  Why would he do that here?  Might he be celebrating the “greatness” of a faith which persists even in the face of adversity, or hardship, or insult and injury?

 “Great” is the faith which brings us back time after time after time to be assured.  “Great” is the faith which prevents us from being self-aggrandizing, from ever thinking we deserve something more.  “Great” is the faith which sees our humility as a badge of purity.  “Great” is the capacity to know that it is another who is capable of doing what we are unable to do for ourselves.

 Luther wasted too many years of his life wondering if his faith was sufficient.  We are likely to ask such questions in our journey as well.  But the Gospel puts an end to such struggles. 

 “Great” is your faith!  It shall be done for you as you wish.

 Amen.

Sermon - 10th Sunday of Pentecost - Year A

 

I Kings 19:9-18  & Matthew 14:22-33

      Showy God – God of the Still, Small Voice 

    Some sermons are solid declarations of God’s Word.  Some sermons are delivered with the confidence that every thought that lies behind the words of the preacher are to be considered words spoken by God.  Some sermons have a neat little ending with a carefully crafted summation which tells you exactly what you are to do.  This isn’t going to be one of those sermons.  This one is more of a thought in process; an idea too important to leave unsaid but of necessity spoken with a high degree of humility.  I don’t want to upset anyone’s faith.  I do not want to tear down anyone’s convictions.  But I feel compelled acknowledge the diversity of experience, among those who gather on Sunday morning and identify themselves as Christian.   I guess I should just go ahead and admit that the real reason I want to say what I am about to say is because of my own attempts to follow Christ and believe in him as Messiah.

    You see, I am convinced that Jesus is Messiah because of all the wonderful things told about him in the Gospels.  His walking on water is a powerful story which allows me to realize that he is who he says he is.  My faith is strengthened by such stories.  But the God of I Kings 19, the one who comes to Elijah in the still, small voice – that God is the God who walks with me and talks with me and tells me I am His own.  The showy God, the God who walks on water, is essential to my belief system.  But the God who quietly remains by my side as I am being tested is the God who receives my prayers.

    Let’s do a little searching through the Bible.  The passage I read this morning is from the 14^th Chapter of Matthew.  The 13^th Chapter of Matthew is the one which contained all those parables about the unsurprising worth of the Kingdom.  The Gospel instructs regarding the one pearl to be valued above all others.  Jesus tells stories of seeds sown and taking root as a way of illustrating that not all will hear and gladly receive this message of invitation.  From there we moved to the beheading of St. John (our appointed lessons skipped over this part.)  Then, we get the story of the feeding of the 5,000.  Next comes today’s recounting of Jesus walking on water.  I don’t want to get too far ahead, into what comes next, but let me tell you that there are going to be two encounters dealing with faith.  You get a hint of that in the exchange between Jesus and Peter, when he tries to walk out on the water.  In the exchanges to come, Jesus will compliment the faith of one and condemn the disbelief of the another.  From there Matthew throws in a few more miracles and then comes the confession of Peter – you know, the one where he finally blurts out, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

    This being where we are in the story, we begin to see that the passage read today figures heavily into the whole process of coming to faith.  That what Matthew is doing is telling his story, using an order which leads us through demonstrations of the power of Jesus and finally encouraging us to find it possible to have confidence in him as our Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

    It is no small thing – to come to such a confession.   And Matthew realizes that it would take a lot to convince his readers of the power and presence of Jesus – power and presence worthy of their devotion and belief.  So, he gives them what it takes.  He speaks of Jesus’ superiority to the elements of the earth.  Remember Matthew’s story of the calming of the storm (Chapter 8.)  Chapter 9 has the story of the little girl who had died, Jesus insists she is only sleeping.  They laugh at him, but he wakes her from her “sleep.”  These stories help Matthew lead his readers from a state of unbelief to a place where they can at least contemplate joining Peter’s confession, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

    As I said before, these stories and images are very important to me and my faithful response to God’s call.  I would not find it possible to believe in Jesus were it not for the stories Matthew tells.

    But I would be lying to you if I insisted that this is the way God comes to me in my day-to-day encounters.  My personal relationship with Christ aligns more closely with the experiences of Elijah.

    Elijah has been about as faithful as one can be.  He has followed God’s directives; he has done God’s bidding.  He has spoken a word which God has given him.  (Now, it is always tricky for a prophet to claim to speak a word which God has given, because God does not send those words in written format.  They come in a dream or a vision and we all know how chancy it is to begin sharing with someone else some “feeling” we have had upon waking or coming down from some experience of euphoria.)  Chancy, yet Elijah has tried to do his best.

    He goes to King Ahab.  Ahab tries his best to make Elijah go away.  Finally, there is that big competition on Mt Carmel in which Elijah defeats then destroys the prophets of Baal.  It is after this humiliation that Ahab goes home crying to Jezebel and Jezebel swears that she will kill Elijah.

    Elijah is about as faithful as one can be.  But good things don’t follow him all the days of his life.  It is in following God that he has gotten himself in a whole lot of trouble.  Part of that following has included some showy actions on the part of God.  But now Elijah is alone and frighten and hiding out on Mount Horeb.

    The word of the Lord comes to Elijah and it tells him, “Go out and stand on the mountain … for the Lord is about to pass by.” 

    The story has us all set up.  We are expecting something big and powerful; something at least as moving as the tongues of fire which destroyed the altar on Mt. Carmel.  God owes Elijah that much, doesn’t he?  Sure enough, a great wind comes.  A wind so strong it splits the mountains and breaks the rocks.  “Ah, surely here is God passing by?”  But no.

    Next there is an earthquake.  And after the earthquake a fire.  Yet in these horrible and terrible and wonderful and powerful things God is no where to be found.  God was not there, in these showy things.  God comes as a voice in the midst of a sheer silence.  Earlier translations of the passage referred to it as a still, small voice.

    This quite voice.  This barely perceivable word.  This is the way God comes to Elijah and assures him.  Elijah wraps his face in his mantle.  He strains to hear what God will tell him.  There is no show; nor is there any manipulating of his surroundings.  God speaks to him and tells him that what he is doing is the right thing to do.  God whispers in his ear and encourages him to continue on the path he has taken.

    The wonderful stories Matthew tells, about Jesus feeding the 5,000 and walking on the water figure heavily into my ability to have faith in Christ.  But in my day-to-day journey of faith, it is the whispers, the still, small voice which assures me God is with me.  It is the word I strain to hear which convinces me I am on the right pathway.

    I feel woefully unprepared every time I am summoned to a hospital room or called upon in a crisis situation.  In such situations I strain and struggle as I try to wrest from God a miracle.  I want so desperately to be able to repeat stories in which a similar situation has had a wonderful and triumphant ending.  I so desperately want God to provide a show equal to the task. 

    I wish I were one of those pastors who found it easy to say that every thing has a meaning and purpose and that God is working through what might seem to us to be a tragic set of circumstances in order to accomplish some greater good.  I wish that I were able to provide such assurances.

    But God has not come to me that way.  God has most often left me and those with whom I pray right smack dab in the middle of whatever mess it is that we were in in the first place.  The student sexually assaulted by his supervisor did not receive an apology – rather a perpetrator who wondered out loud if God might be using this molestation as a way to get the young man back in church.  No amount of prayer has kept the alcoholic son from returning to the bottle. The man who raped Jodi also stabbed her and she bled to death.  No one, in such circumstances, ought to be forced to believe that this present darkness is God’s way of leading them to some later, bright shining glory.

    There is a God whose presence is made know in great and showy acts.  But the God who most often comes into my life is a God who whispers, a God who encourages, a God who does not change the outcome but remains faithfully by my side and shares tears with me.

    I said earlier that I do not want to disrupt anyone’s confidence in God.  I do not want to challenge or insist on change in the faith experience of someone who sees God’s hand continually manipulating events and outcomes.  What really needs to be said is a word of affirmation for all those whose lives don’t fall into place in neat and perfect boxes.  What needs to be heard are the stories in the Bible in which God doesn’t do the showy thing, but comes in a still, small voice.  Those of us who do not receive the great miracle are not left out.  We may not be invited to walk on the water.  We are more like Elijah – given a word through a vision or a dream.  A word which instills in us the confidence come down from the mountain and do what it is that has to be done. 

Amen.

Sermon - 9th Sunday after Pentecost - Year A

Matthew 14:13-21            

God's Satisfying Bread 

            Now when Jesus heard (about the beheading of John the Baptist,) he withdrew from there ... to a deserted place. 

            The disciples came to (Jesus) and said, "This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves." 

            This is a deserted place.  Matthew repeats his description twice, once in acknowledging where Jesus has gone and then again in the concern lifted by the disciples.  What do they mean, "a deserted place"?  And if it is so deserted why is it that everyone ends up there?  Jesus, the disciples, and this crowd of over 5,000; they are all there, in this deserted place. 

            I can't help but think about my drive this morning to Greenville.  There were a lot of "deserted" highways between here and Clemson.  Even as I pass through Easley, there were very few folks moving around.  It was a deserted drive; almost eerie in its stillness. 

            Friends from the congregation in Michigan decided to come see us.  Thinking they would enjoy the scenery, we directed them to follow highway 25 out of Asheville, then turn along highway 11 and again down 133.  Leaving Asheville, coming through Six Mile and Pumpkintown - they arrived in Clemson, commenting on what a deserted place they perceived the Upstate to be. 

            This is a deserted place.  

            In using this description, perhaps the disciples meant it was a wilderness; a place in which food and shelter were difficult to come by.  Perhaps the countryside was rugged and traveling in the dark was dangerous.  Perhaps the disciples realized how far everyone had traveled and how long it would take them to return to their own homes.  "This is a deserted place", they tell Jesus, "Send the crowds away." 

            But places can be deserted for reasons other than isolation or bar­renness.  In fact, the worst of the deserted places are those which we encounter amid activity and bounty.  The most frightful of deserted places are those which expose our vulnerability and weak­ness.  Maybe the place at which our gospel lesson occurred was isolat­ed and barren.  But it occurs to me that its true desertedness may be a result of the reason why everyone found themselves there, in that place, together. 

            The opening verse of our reading tells us that Jesus with­drew to this deserted place when he heard that John the Baptist had been behead­ed.  Our reading began with the 13th verse.  Verses 1 through 12 of chapter 14 retell the story of Herodias' daughter dancing in celebra­tion of Herod's birthday.  Herod is so pleased he offers her whatever she may ask.  At her mother's prompting, the girl asks for the head of John, presented to her on a platter. 

            Jesus hears what had happened and he feels the need to with­draw, to a deserted place, to a place where he can reflect on the life of his teacher and consider what this means for all those who seek to serve God.  The place is deserted because Jesus has come here to acknowledge that being a messenger of God doesn't mean that one is protect­ed from all harm.  Evil prowls like a lion, look­ing for those whom it would devour.  It has claimed the life of John; perhaps Jesus is beginning to realize the tenuous nature of his own life.  The place to which Jesus goes is a deserted place precisely because it is the place where he goes to be alone in his hurts and in his fears. 

            But when the crowd heard where Jesus was going, they followed him, on foot, from the towns.  And when he came ashore, they were there waiting for him.  The text tells us that he looked out and saw them, that he had compassion for them, and cured their sick.  And we realize that the crowd didn't come to this place because it was a great tourist spot.  They had come because of their need.  No words need to be spoken.  Jesus simply has to look at them and something about them tells him that this is a crowd in need of compassion.  Their need was written all over their lives. 

            The place where they encountered Jesus was a deserted place:  deserted because there, in his presence, they could not conceal the desperate nature of their existence. 

            This is a deserted place, not merely because of its barrenness but because of those who have come. 

            I have wondered if it was this neediness which made the disciples so eager to be done with the crowd.  Nothing gives you the jitters any worse than being bombarded on all sides by those whose very existence is a cry for help.  The disciples plead with Jesus, "Send them away, please send them away.  This, this is a deserted place." 

            Places can be deserted for reasons other than isolation ­or bar­renness.  The loneliness of this place seems to have re­sulted from the reasons why everyone found them­selves there, together. 

            Which brings us back to this place.  It was deserted driving out here this morning.  Not because of the fog, or the clouds, or the barrenness of highway 123 at 8:00 am.  The desertedness comes from some other source.  I always find it deserted to approach the place and time at which others will join me in intentionally setting our­selves up to encounter God.  It is a deserted place because we come here out of our need - our desperate need to be fed.  

            It is a deserted place, wherever the people of God gather.  Because anytime we intentionally set ourselves up to encounter God our need is plainly written upon our lives.  This is a deserted place.  We didn't come here out of strength, out of confidence, or out of whole­ness.  We came here because our lives are lacking these things and we come hoping - hoping that we can call an end to our search and leave this place satisfied. 

            This is a deserted place.  Not because of its isolation or barrenness but because of the reason why we are all here, together. 

            The disciples came to him and said, "This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late;  send the crowds away."    The loneli­ness is too much to bear.  There is no cure for all their illnes­ses.  No one can expect such a large crowd to be cared for by just one man.  Just send them away and have it over with. 

            But Jesus said, "They need not go away;  you give them something to eat."  Jesus is talking about food here, but not really taking about food.  They have come, to this deserted place, and the hour is late, but Jesus will not send them away.  "They need not go...you give them something."   And the text tells us that they all ate and were satisfied.  There was so much left over that twelve baskets full were collected. 

            It is deserted for us to come to this place and to acknowledge our need.  What if we acknowledge it only to find ourselves being sent away?  This is a deserted place, and no one likes deserted places.  No one that is, except Jesus, who sought a deserted place.  Maybe Jesus knew that the deserted places are the best places to go if one is trying to find God. 

            Here, in this deserted place, God does God's greatest work.  All who come to this place are satisfied.

 

AMEN.