Sermon - First Sunday in Lent - Year B

Mark 1:9-15      

                                                     Real Temptations 

         I never asked my parents, but if I had, I think they would have been partial to Mark's version of the story of Jesus' temptation.  There is a rendition of this story in each of the synoptic gospels but only in Mark do we learn that during Jesus' forty days in the wilderness was he in the company of wild beasts.  I believe this is the version my parents would have preferred, because they were forever warning me about hanging out with wild beasts.  I don’t mean critters in the woods.  I am talking about the boys and the fast cars which seemed to be forever parked behind the Cat Square dance hall.  They warned me about those wild beasts and what could happen to me if I spent time around them.

             I guess it was/I guess it still is appropriate for the parents of a teenage son to think such thoughts.  Certainly, there is a lot of temptation which comes into the life of a young man through those with whom he associates.  But the temptations which ultimately threaten to undo us are not those which come to us by way of some wild beast - rather it is the temptations which arise from within.  Our greatest struggle isn't the avoidance of inappro­priate actions - rather it is the temptation to ignore God - whose very presence brings to us life and hope.

             Matthew and Luke are more helpful in drawing this distinc­tion.  In those two Gospel accounts we have further information as to the precise temptations that Jesus experiences during these 40 days.  The tempta­tions, as specified in those versions of the story, allow us to see that Jesus' temptation involves more than breaking some cardi­nal rules or putting God to a silly test.  Jesus is tempted to turn this whole thing in its head, moving in a direction that would have nothing to do with the hopes and expectations of God.

             It is an oversimplification of the concept of sin and transgression when we limit our understanding of these to some sort of a divinely estab­lished no-no list.  We lose a grasp of what matters when we begin to think that the task of a faithful person is merely the avoidance of certain thoughts and behaviors. 

             I understand where this kind of thinking starts.  I have passed through these very phases of understanding as I have tried to raise my children in the way of the Lord.  As young adults, they are now capable of what they couldn’t understand earlier in life.  They may now be able to understand that when you multiply the number of teenagers in a car, the opportunity for an accident goes up.  When they had first started driving, they didn’t understand this.  At that point, all they knew (all that we drilled into their heads) was that they were not to have anyone in the car with them unless we had given approval.  As young adults, they might be able to understand the reasoning.  As children, we only concerned them with the rule.

             Simplifying the notion of sin and transgression is necessary when we are dealing with the immature.  Identifying sin and transgression with the avoidance of particular behaviors makes it easier for the newer members of God’s family.  Not breaking the rules is where we begin.  But such a simplistic view never allows us to fully grasp the whole of God's hope and expectation for us.

            Let's work our way through a few examples:  Take the Old Testa­ment prohibition of eating pork.  Any student of microbiology can tell you that this isn't such a bad rule for those who were living without the convenience of a convec­tion oven.  I do not want to say that the only reason for God telling the Hebrews not to eat pork was the treat of trichinosis, but avoiding it make a lot of sense for this primitive culture.  How are you going to explain micro­organ­isms to a culture that has never even thought of a microscope?  If you can't explain the reason - setting up a law and expecting folks to abide by it is the next best thing.  God's prohibition against eating pork allows God's chosen people to grow stronger and live longer in the land that God was giving them.

             Similar good reasons can be found for the sixth the commandment:  Thy shall not commit adultery.  A better translation of the original Hebrew words would read:  Thy shall not mess up thy brother's seed.  In a culture in which incest was not forbidden, the people of Israel were at a great advantage because of rules which would reduce the illnesses associated with such prac­tices.  Human genetics were a mystery to the tribes of Jacob - a simple rule regarding parenting made them a stronger nation.

             Rules or laws almost always have some good reasoning behind them.  Living by the rules is generally good for us.  During those phases of our lives when we are incapable of understanding the purpose for the laws, merely obeying often results in a better and fuller life.  The fullness of God's hope and expectation for us begins to be realized as we accept from God the gift of God's care.  Not breaking some rule is where we begin.  The place we hope to get to is an awareness that avoiding temptation is primarily concerned with aligning ourselves with God’s hope for our lives.

             When Jesus had completed his forty days in the wilderness, he returns to Galilee and begins to proclaim the good news of God ... saying, "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near."  He had come to understand that avoidance of temptation means allowing oneself to be aligned with the hopes and expectations God has for us.

             The forty days of Lent are set aside as a parallel to Jesus' forty days.  We spend this season of the church year reflecting upon our sinfulness.  This is a good place to start, but I fear that far too many of us are spending these days trying to remember every time that we took the Lord's name in vain or coveted our neigh­bor's flat screen TV.  I would hate to think that during our weekly brief order for confession and forgiveness the only sins which come to mind involve a lustful look at the person who jogs along the streets of our neighborhood. 

             These forty days of Lent can be said to parallel Jesus' forty days in the desert only if through them we come to a deeper under­standing of what it means to transgress against our God. 

            Temptation and sin have very little to do with a divine no-no list and a whole lot more to do with understanding God's love for us. 

             The Lenten journey is not a process for removing from our lives any and all transgressions.  Rather it is a time for us to re-direct our lives and live in accordance with God's hopes and expectations for us. 

             Ask God to help you identify the transgressions for which you need to confess.  But also ask God to guide you as you envision the future which God has for you. 

Amen.

Sermon - Ash Wednesday 1021

 What became of sin?

On Sunday, I told one story about a former parishioner.  I thought today I would share another.  Dorothea Pletta was a member of University Lutheran, in Clemson.  She died in December of 2002.  There are many occasions and reasons to remember her.  For me, Lent is chief among them.  I won’t say that Dorothea loved Lent – how could anyone “love Lent?”  But she understood Lent, and she appreciated Lent, and she wanted Lent to do for her and for others what she knew Lent could do.

 I remember the January when she came to the office, bearing a gift for me.  It was a book about sin.  She wanted to give it me, and to suggest that the Lenten season provided the perfect opportunity to talk about sin.  The phrase she loved to repeat to me - the phrase with which she would challenge me - was “What ever happened to sin?”

 “What ever happened to sin?”  It is a good question.  We live in a world in which there is very little encouragement to take responsibility for our transgressions.  It is popular (and somewhat expected) that if an error is detected we will find some way to blame another or excuse the offender because of an earlier offense they had suffered.  We are a society which is rapidly loosing the ability to acknowledge our transgressions.  We are a society loosing the ability to confess.  And as a result, we are a community in danger of loosing the opportunity to hear a word of forgiveness.

 Another saintly member of University Lutheran would often remind me that there are enough things beating us down without the Church constantly reminding us that we are sinners.  I hear that critique as well -  and I embrace it.  There is nothing more important than for all of us to be spared those humiliating, degrading situations in which we are chided, ridiculed, and condemned.  We need a release from those voices which would attempt to reinforce in us a mistaken notion that we are without value.  We need to be lifted up and aided in our attempts to stand on our own feet.  We need to be surrounded by a community and supported by a God who understands how important it is for us to know our worth.  We need to be forgiven, not constantly reminded of our transgressions.  I could not agree more.

 The learning to be gleaned form both these voices is to understand that there are many things which do beat us down and seek to destroy us.  The gift offered in the response is to realize that there is a way out of this conundrum and that way is the way of Christ.   It is a way which calls upon to take seriously the sin which separates us from God.  It is a way which reminds us that unless we acknowledge the sin it will elude our attempts to deal with it.

 Far from holding us down and making us captive to our transgressions, Lent is an opportunity to acknowledge.   Acknowledging is the first step in overcoming.  And overcoming is the gift God gives us in Christ.

 Somewhere along the way - probably in our childhood - we got stuck on our understanding of sin.  We identify it with the little, mischievous things a child is prone to do.  As we became adults, we continued to think of sin in the same way.  The only difference is that we begin to associate it with the big, mean things adults sometimes do to one another.  Stuck in this notion of sin, we think of Lent as a time to identify and confess all the ugly jokes, all the stolen candy bars, and all the little white lies we have told.  We think of the sin(s) we commit.   We fail to address the Sin which separates us from God.

 Between trying to lead the confirmation ministry students and offering an adult course on Luther’s Small Catechism, I have been reading a lot of Luther’s writings.    In preparing for one or the other, I came across a statement which might be helpful to us tonight: 

 Luther said that sin is unfaith.  It is lack of trust in God and therefore a lack of willingness to embrace God’s will for our lives.  One expression of unfaith, or sin, is trusting in one’s own virtue and moral character rather than God’s grace and power.  Another is self-centeredness, which alienates us from God and each other.

 Sin is not merely the breaking of some arbitrary rule set by some reigning tyrant.  God’s complaint against us has nothing to do with power or control – it has everything to do with receiving and celebrating the fullness of life which God extends to us.  The transgressions which we are invited to lay at the altar are those actions, inactions, words and thoughts which reduce life.  To confess our sins is not an exercise in identifying those miniscule half-verses which say to us “thou shalt not….”  It is a chance to admit we do not live the life God wants for us.  It is an opportunity to examine how we might more fully receive the grace of God.

 The disciplines of Lent are not designed to bring us down or make us cower.  They are intended to help us identify that which separates us from God, from one another, and from ourselves.  The invitation of Lent is to acknowledge and then to lay these things at the foot of the cross.  It is there that we receive grace and healing.

 Amen.

 

Sermon - Transfiguration Sunday - Year B

 Mark 9:2-9                                                

Transfigured Lives 

One of the reasons pastors change churches is so they will have stories to tell.  You can’t use someone as an example in your sermon if everyone else already knows them.  So it is safe to tell stories about folks in previous parishes.  Today I want to tell you a story about a particular family in the congregation I served in Upper Michigan. 

When the oldest child, Hannah, was about nine she announced to the rest of the family that she would like to start going to church.  The parents, Steve and Ellen said, "Okay, what kind of church would you like to attend?"  Hannah said she wanted to go to a church like the one her grand­mother attended.  As they questioned her more closely they learned that “a church like the one grandmother attended” meant a church constructed of " red brick".  Realizing that other similarities might be important, the decision was made to bring the family to the local ELCA parish, Good Shepherd. 

Sometime after the family attended, I paid them a visit.  It was a visit like none other.  After I arrived and we exchanged pleasantries, then they sent the children away - I mean out of the house and down the street.  Steve and Ellen were prepared with a whole host of questions about the church's theological stance.  They wanted to know how seriously we took the doctrines they had read about.  Don't get me wrong, I loved every minute of the conversation, but it was quite different from the exchange of smiles and stories that usually occupies an initial visit.  

What I remember most was their honesty as to why they had started coming to church.  It was because Hannah wanted to come.  They told me it was their intention to bring her and her younger brother (Karl) in order that they might learn the basic teachings, and thus be more at home in American Christian Culture.  But that was about as far as they saw their involvement extending. 

The Siedel family was at Good Shepherd five years before we moved to Clemson.  Before we left, Steve had been elected to serve as Vice President of the Council; he chaired the Mutual Minis­tries Committee, and had consented to be nominated to the Synod Council.  Ellen was the chair of the Christian Educa­tion Committee and co-superintendent of the Sunday Church School program. 

I openly teased them about their earlier comments and then subsequent involvement.  Their respons­es revealed the reason for heightened interest.  It wasn't so much the doctrine of the church that pulled them inside, it was the experience of community.  They did not learn something that caused them to want to be at Good Shepherd every time the doors opened.  They came because they discovered an opportunity too good to pass up.  Within the church they found themselves in the company of those who lived transfigured lives. 

Say what you want, teach what you may, a faith journey does­n't begin until one experiences.  Something has to happen, some­thing must be observed, before faith begins and misgivings subside. 

Today is the Sunday of the Transfiguration.  This feast is one of my fav­orite because it plays such an important role in the unfolding of the Church year.  There is much to be learned and appreciated about this day and the events we recall through our readings.  I looked back through my old sermons and realized that this is exactly the approach I have taken for most of the years I have preached on Transfiguration.  On this day, I tend to preached heady stuff.  On Transfigura­tion Sunday, I speak as much wisdom as possible.  Countless hours have been devoted to analyzing and retelling the mysteries of the Transfiguration. 

But the Transfiguration is about something different.  It is primarily an experi­ence.  It may not be as impor­tant to consider what Jesus and the disciples learned through all of this.  Rather the significance of this story may lie in what they experi­enced.  And how that experience changed their lives. 

The gospel writers try to tell us that this is the approach to be taken.  The story of Jesus' transfiguration is in the 9th chapter, verses 2-9.  Just before this story, we have two paragraphs in which Jesus tells the disciples that he will be traveling to Jerusalem.  Once there, he is to experience the rejec­tion of the priests and scribes, and be condemned to death.  Those two paragraphs are introduced with these words: Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering and be rejected ... and be killed, and after three days rise again.  He began to tell them what was going to happen.  For the first time in the gospel narrative, Jesus re­vealed these things to them.  The story of the Transfiguration comes immediately ­upon the heels of Jesus beginning to try and teach the disciples who he really was and what he had to do. 

What happens as a result of his efforts?  They don't under­stand.  Those two earlier paragraphs also contain the exchange between Jesus and Peter in which Peter's refusal to accept what Jesus is saying ends with Jesus telling him,   "Get behind me, Satan!"  Jesus tries to tell them, but no­body understands.  It just doesn't make any sense to them. 

So what does the gospel writer do?  He follows this worth­less attempt at sharing information with an experience.  They don't understand when Jesus tells them, but when they see his appear­ance transfigured they know that something about him is worthy of their devotion.  The experience accomplished what no amount of teaching ever could - it started them on their journey of faith. 

Interesting to note that as the four of them are making their way down the mountain, Jesus tells the three disciples to tell no one about what they had seen, until after ....(he)... had been risen from the dead.  Mark continues to drive home the point - until others have also shared in the experience they will not be able to understand the words.  "Wait", Jesus tells them, "until a time when the words will serve to elucidate the experience."  Then, and only then, will the words make sense. 

Every now and then we need to drop all our doctrinal state­ments about Jesus and admit that we believe because some­thing has con­vinced us that this stuff makes a difference in our lives.  We must acknowledge that while we have many good reasons for believ­ing, we believe because we have experienced something too pro­found to ignore. 

This Wednesday we begin our Lenten pilgrimage.  During those 40 days, we follow the path of Jesus' route to the cross.  It is a time to set aside insight and knowledge and form­ulas.  It is a time to experience.  To encounter the love of a God who cares enough to take on our suffering. 

Others may try to tell you what that means - but it won't do any good.  You must experience it for yourself.  Until you do, nothing about your life will change.  But when that experience does come, nothing is ever the same again. 

AMEN.