The Rule of Love – 2017/08/06

Psalm 86:11-17
Exodus 12:1-13
Exodus 14:10-29


St. Augustine, who lived 1600 years ago and who yet may still be the greatest thinker our faith has ever had, said that the rule of understanding any passage of Scripture is love.  If a passage does not show love, you are not understanding it correctly.  You must change your understanding, because God is love, and therefore Scriptures that would cause a different understanding must be reinterpreted.

I begin that way today because this is the day we confront some of the most uncomfortable texts in the whole canon of Scripture.  As we’ve been reading through the Old Testament and have arrived at Moses, we now come to perhaps the central event of his time as one of God’s servants, but unfortunately that central event is not a pleasant one.

First, let’s reorient ourselves in the narrative of Scripture.  We’ve read from Creation to Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, and now Moses.  Last week, we heard about how Moses had a very special infancy and childhood, and then threw away the spoils of this world when he found out his people were being oppressed and he murdered a slave driver.  He ran away and became a humble farmer, and thought that was his reality until God called him out to go free his people from Pharaoh.

Now, as I’ve mentioned many times already during this series, I have to skip a lot of things in order to get a decent sense of the story of the Old Testament.  But some of the readings I’ve skipped have been important, so we need to talk about them, anyway.  Today is one of those times, because our Scripture readings for today only make sense in light of the things around them, so we’ll begin with some background.

First of all, Moses was not an easy customer to work with.  As we talked about last week, he fought this call from God.  He didn’t want to go, which might’ve had something to do with his being a wanted murderer.  Anyway, he uses the excuse that he’s not a very good public speaker, and God answers back, “Yeah, but your brother Aaron is, so let him do the talking.”

So, finally out of excuses, Moses and Aaron head to Pharaoh to ask for their people – God’s people – to be set free, with those immortal words, “Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, ‘Let my people go.’”  Pharaoh does not agree – after all, who gives up free labor willingly?  So, again (as we saw last week), Pharaoh doubles-down, and makes the Hebrews do even harder labor, to teach them about their insolence.  Unfortunately for Pharaoh, this is the start of a series of bad decisions he makes, each of which is more ruinous than the last.  And this one seems to work out for him, at least at first, because the Hebrew people turn, at least for a while, against Moses.

But God sends Moses back to Pharaoh, again and again.  And each time, Pharaoh refuses Moses’ request.  And this is where we get to something I didn’t want to read because it’s too long, but that we must talk about, and that’s the ten plagues.

After each time Pharaoh refuses Moses, something bad happens to the Egyptian people.  First, the Nile river was turned to blood for a week, killing plants, animals, crops, and harming people.  Second, frogs covered the land – the fields, the rivers, even the insides of houses.  Third, gnats came, covering and biting human and livestock alike.  Then came the flies.  Then the livestock of the Egyptians all grew ill.  Then boils – red, pus-filled sores – showed up on the skin of all the Egyptians.  Next, after Moses gave warning, thunder and hail rained down, killing human, animal, plant and tree of anyone who was unwilling to believe that it was coming.  The eighth plague was locusts, who swarmed the fields and ate what little food remained.  Ninth came the plague of darkness.  For three days, people couldn’t see their own hands, it was so dark.

After each of these, Pharaoh was given a chance to relent and let the Israelites go free, but each time, he hardened his heart and did not allow them to go worship God.  Sometimes, he would say he was going to let them go, but he would always change his mind.  So then came the tenth and final plague.  That is what we read part of from Exodus 12.  God asked all the Israelites to kill a lamb, roast and eat it, and mark their doors with its blood.  This would be a signal to the angel of the Lord to “pass over” these houses, and this is where the holiday that commemorates that event gets its name – Passover.

But why would the angel pass over those houses?  Because houses not marked with the blood of the lamb saw their firstborn killed.  The firstborn of every family, including livestock – who really didn’t do anything wrong, but bore just as much pain as the Egyptians themselves.  Exodus tells us, “there was not a house without someone dead.”  Finally, after this massacre, Pharaoh set the people free.

Only… he didn’t, not really.  Because yet again, he had second thoughts on letting go of free labor.  So our second passage, in Exodus 14, came to be.  Pharaoh comes for Moses, leading an army after the Israelites.  They complain to Moses, wishing even that he had never led them out of Egypt; after all, wouldn’t it have been better to live on their knees than die on their feet?  But that’s when God provides the miracle needed:  the sea is split in two, and the Israelites are able to walk through the middle, with water towering to either side of them.

Of course, the Egyptians follow them on the same dry ground.  But once there, God clogs their chariot wheels and they can’t follow.  As the Egyptians agree to flee from the Israelites, realizing that God is against them, Moses hears God’s message to stretch his hand out again and return the sea.  The Egyptians try to flee, but it’s too late; the sea closes around them, and the soldiers, their horses, chariots, and equipment are suddenly buried under water.

So, I have to say that these are such uncomfortable passages to read, for me, anyway.  Their about God’s special love of the Hebrew people, over and against the non-Jews around them… but of course, we’re not Jewish, so maybe it’s easier, in some way, to identify with the Egyptians.  And what’s happened to them in this passage?  Well, we’ve seen: their crops destroyed; their animals diseased and killed; they themselves sick, injured, or killed; and, of course, their army drowned.  And while Pharaoh was certainly guilty of being ungenerous to the Hebrews, most of the people affected by these people had nothing to do with those choices.

So we’re stuck in this passage, in a similar way that we were when we heard the story of Jacob.  In that story a couple of weeks ago, we heard about the sneak we were supposed to root for.  This time, Moses is a much more sympathetic protagonist.  Nonetheless, it really seems like, while the Egyptians were not great, they also weren’t outright evil.  Even if some of them were, some who weren’t were caught up in the pain, too.  And for me, that makes these stories uncomfortable texts to read; these stories become difficult to accept as God’s word.  Nonetheless, we have to find a way to deal with them.

And there are ways to talk about these passages.  In a draft of this sermon, I talked about a lot of them, but I really don’t know how useful that is.  Ultimately, we have a difficult story.  But if we’re going to take something from it, I think we take the same thing we so often take from stories like this.  We are loved by God, and that loves is fierce.  That means protecting us, even against impossible odds.  We will be defended, even when we don’t know how.  It shows us that we will be in bondage, and that we will yearn for freedom; when we receive that freedom, we may regret it.  But no matter which way we come at it, God is looking to break us out of the bondage we face, whether literal chains or simply the chains of sin that bind every one of us.  Our freedom is meant to be individual, as well as corporate.

I think, too, that this is just one of those stories we have to wrestle with a little.  To return to the Jacob story from a couple of weeks ago, there we saw a man who wrestled with God’s messenger all night.  When we read that story, I said that part of our lives on God’s journey was to continue to wrestle with God, and that means dealing with difficult things.  This is, for me, at least, one of those texts.  I don’t have an easy answer, but I do run back to St. Augustine’s “rule of love.”

That rule of love always causes me to ask where the love is here.  And what I see when I ask that question is an answer that, at least part way, gives me a way to deal with this story.  I see God as protector.  And I am also forced to think of Jesus Christ, as we do in church.

You probably know that Jews, even today, commemorate the Passover with a meal.  That is, in fact, the meal that Jesus was sharing with his disciples the night of the Last Supper, and that we continue to commemorate in Holy Communion, which we will receive later in this very service.  The Passover meal helps Jews to remember the blood of the lambs that helped save them from an awful fate.  Our meal of which we partake helps us to remember the blood of the Lamb, who gave his life for all.

Today, we remember a sacrifice that did not happen just to save the firstborn, not just for one night.  Yes, that was a miraculous moment of God’s that reminds us of how we are all saved, over and over again.  But for us as Christians, what’s more important is the knowledge that Jesus gave his life for all of us, not just the firstborn; and he did it not just for one night, but for eternity. Jesus covers our sins, just as the doors of the Israelites were covered.  So let us celebrate the Eucharistic meal today, remembering that, no matter how hard a text of Scripture is, we can have faith in the good work of Jesus Christ, in whose love we can be ever-sure.  Amen.

Supermoses – 2017/07/30

Psalm 65:9-13
Exodus 1:8-2:10
Exodus 3:1-15


Sorry, folks!  No video today.  Enjoy reading!

In a galaxy far away, a planet was dying.  There was no way to save them all and the ruler of the planet and his wife knew it.  There was no way to save their people – not all of them, anyway.  But more than being rulers, they were also parents.  And while they could not possibly save everyone, they could save the one they loved most.  So they sent their son across the stars.

His tiny ship flew through the dangers of space, but he just slumbered… until his ship crashed on a distant planet known as “earth” in a town called Smallville, Kansas.  Martha and Jonathan Kent discovered the boy, named him Clark and brought him up to be a great man, and great he was.  How many men do you know who are faster than a locomotive, who can leap tall buildings in a single bound?  As it turned out, he was more than just powerful, and he was more than just a leader – he was an inspiration.  And his inspiration was to more than just his fictions people; he became an inspiration to us in the real world, too.  And today, there’s hardly a person alive, even in the remotest parts of the world, who hasn’t heard of Superman.

So where did Superman come from, and why does it matter on a Sunday morning in church?  Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster were just two Jewish kids in 1938, a writer and an artist looking to capitalize on the popularity of comic strips, and perhaps even using the new medium of the comic book to achieve fame.  So, for $130, they sold their character and his story to a corporation who’s made billions out of perhaps the 20th centuries greatest icon in fiction or in reality.  And their idea for this character, the person possessed of special abilities, who would stand up for justice, who would defend the helpless, the orphan forced away from his home to protect a people he was somehow both part of and apart from – it is the story of Moses.

Siegel and Shuster took a character whose story resonated with them, and turned him into something modern.  That’s a stroke of genius.  But more importantly, they were able to use this story because it’s deeply ingrained in us, in a way that we don’t always know.  Even if you didn’t grow up watching The Ten Commandments, or perhaps The Prince of Egypt if you’re a little younger, this story is part of who we are as believers.

Moses is perhaps the most important single person in this entire Old Testament, and his story therefore the one we’ll be taking the most time to understand.  As we continue the journey through the Old Testament that I’ve been preaching for two months already (but with months still to go), we need to pick up the tale of God and God’s people, because this is how we understand who we are in relationship with God.

So, let’s pick up our story where we left it.  We’ve heard tell about creation, about Abraham, his son Isaac, and his son Jacob.  Jacob had 12 sons.  The eleventh of those twelve sons was named Joseph, and he had an Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat that Donny Osmond got to wear in the movie version.  But more importantly, Joseph was sold by his brothers into Egyptian slavery, but he rose through slavery and prison to become the right-hand man of the Pharaoh.  With Joseph elevated to such a position, Jews, who had been slaves, suddenly received much more favorable treatment in the Egyptian Kingdom.  But, of course, eventually Joseph died, and so did Pharaoh.  And after some time had passed, a new Pharaoh arose, who started to ask questions.

“Hey, uh, you notice there are a lot of Israelites around here?  Like, too many Israelites,” Pharaoh said.  So he tried to give them harder and harder tasks, but they just thrived more and more and more.  Eventually, Pharaoh tries to cut things off at the source.  He tells two midwives, who were responsible for delivering babies, that if the babies are male, they should be killed, but that the girls can live.  After all, the girls could serve as Egyptian wives.

So the midwives hatch a counterplan.  They still help in the deliveries of the males, and they let them live.  In this way, Shiphrah and Puah, two practically anonymous women, become true saviors of the Israelites, because they disobey Pharaoh.  When he asks why there are so many baby boys around, they throw some shade at the Egyptians – “Our women are so much heartier than your Egyptian women, that when our women give birth, they don’t even call us – they just do it themselves before we can even get there.”  Then, Pharaoh went a step further – he said that all males born now must be thrown in the Nile.

Moses’ mother gave birth to him.  And of course, she hid him for a time to get him to be big and strong.  But eventually, the time came when she could hide her son no longer, and she followed Pharaoh’s direction:  she put him in the Nile.  Only she didn’t put him in to die.  She put him in a basket and sent him off with a prayer, just desperately hoping that he would somehow survive the torrents of water and make it to safety.  And there he floated, like Superman through space, until he was found by an Egyptian girl.  And just like in the story of Superman, he was found by someone special.  You see, this wasn’t just any Egyptian girl – this was the daughter of Pharaoh.  She pulled him out of the river and insisted on raising him in her father’s home.  He would be her much younger brother, and he would have all the spoils of the wealthy, even though she assumed it was one of the Hebrew children.  Given that she knew the Hebrew children were being killed, she knew there would be a mother among them who would be ready to nurse him.  So she went to find a recent mother to help him eat and live for those first few months – and the recent mother she happened upon wound up being Moses’ own mother!  So Moses’ mother got to keep her son, for a time, anyway, and he was going to be safe.  Her bold action, crazy in a normal time, but her only hope in a period of desperation, had paid off better than she ever could’ve hoped – her son would be raised in the house of the Pharaoh!

At this point in the story, there are already so many sermons I want to preach.  I desperately want to tell you about the overlooked, and how God takes care of us, even when society doesn’t.  Women are considered nobodies, even property.  Yet, in this story, all our heroes so far have been women.  Pharaoh’s daughter who rescues baby Moses, Moses’ mother who tries whatever she can to save her son, the midwives Shiphrah and Puah who take their position and use it to save rather than to kill.  The women are truly the heroes of this story, and I think it bears mentioning.

But the women aren’t the only overlooked.  How often does our culture tell us that there are “too many” of “those people” in our midst?  We’re encourage all the time, through the media, through our upbringings, through our own experiences, to classify people.  And here in Egypt, unsurprisingly, we see this immigrant people, already low in status, being objects of fear and oppression; and when that doesn’t work to get rid of them, the Egyptian government chooses to oppress them more.  Yet, God stands by the side of those who are stepped upon.  God wants the success of the stranger in the strange land.  This is an invaluable lesson that we need to carry with us today, as well.  “Those people” are not bad; they are people, and God loves them.

But honestly, those are just some of the things we can pull out from just the first half of our Scripture reading.  Moses was taken care of his mother in his infancy, but really grew up at the palace.  He was, after all, now a part of the king’s family.  He grew up in the lap of luxury.  In Moses’ story, we see someone from the lower class brought up in the dominant class, and we actually see it turn south in a passage we didn’t read.  Eventually, Moses ends up seeing just how the people related to him are treated.  He sees some of his fellow Jews being beaten by a slave driver.  Incensed, Moses kills the man beating them.  Now a murderer, Moses is forced to flee the country, as well as to acknowledge that he’s grown up in a place of safety in spite of being no better than the people around him.

So Moses runs away.  That’s what he has to do.  Even though he has the protection of the Pharaoh, suddenly he’s drawing attention to his status as an outsider, and you can bet that didn’t sit well with people.  Moses runs away and gets married, and decides to live a quiet life.  But, honestly, what are the chances that a man who had this incredible story so far would get to fade into the background of history?  His whole life was set up for greatness, so we shouldn’t be surprised that he somehow finds himself back in an unusual position.

While keeping his father-in-law’s flocks, Moses sees a burning bush.  Kind of odd, right?  A bush, in the middle of nowhere, just burning.  So he goes to investigate, as the curious among us would.  As he examines further, he realizes that the bush isn’t even being burnt up – it’s still just sitting there, perpetually on fire, but never consumed.  And from the bush, God called him by name, “Moses, Moses!”  And Moses answered, “Here I am.”

“Here I am” is a loaded phrase in Hebrew.  It sometimes has a simple meaning, no more complicated than saying “hey” in response to someone calling your name.  But in a setting like this, the meaning is often closer to the phrase, “At your service.”  So God says to Moses, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,” and Moses realizes that this is no laughing matter.  Moses knows the stories of his ancestors, just as we must.  Heck, it’s the reason I’m preaching all these Old Testament texts – we need to know where we come from; we need to know the story we share with God.

And God says to Moses, “I’ve heard the cries of my people; you will go free them from Pharaoh.”  Imagine what this means for Moses.  He’s a wanted murderer, the boy who ran away from Pharaoh’s family, who abandoned his brother, who would (of course) become the next Pharaoh.  And God tells him, “You’re the man for the job.”  How do you respond to that?  How are you supposed to react if you’re just trying to keep your head down?

That’s not a hypothetical question by the way; by being here, in church; by being a Christian, you are tasked with sharing with others, both sharing what we know of Jesus and sharing the good things we have.  Generosity is meant to be a hallmark of what we do, both in the words we share and the actions we undertake.  And it’s really, really easy to say, “Who am I to tell anyone?”  “How can I be asked to share when I have so little?”  “Who am I to serve as a deacon or elder?”  Who am I to teach Sunday school?”  “Who am I to share what God has done in my life?”

And that’s when God gives the answer at the root of all answers; it’s not about you.  “I will be with you,” God says.  In other words, it is not that we are worthy, it’s that God is worthy, and God is asking us to do something about it.

But Moses is not going down without a fight, so pushes back again, “Who should I say sent me?  What is your name?”  And God gives the greatest response.

Unlike in the story of Jacob last week, when God’s mysterious wrestler wouldn’t give up his name, God is willing to tell Moses his name, usually pronounced as “Yahweh,” but translated “I AM WHO I AM.”  I’m going to be a nerd for a second, though, because the cool thing about Hebrew verb forms, though, is that they don’t have tense, particularly in the perfect form.  This means, “I am who I am,” or “I am who I was,” or “I am who I will be,” or “I was who I was,” or “I was who I am,” or “I was who I will be,” or “I will be who I was,” or “I will be who I am,” or “I will be who I will be.”  It means all of those things.  God is constant, faithful, and good, and those things do not change.  It’s in God’s very name.  In the story of Jacob, we heard of someone receiving a new name to reflect who he had become; in the story of Abraham, we heard of someone receiving a new name to reflect who he had become.  Ancient people believed strongly in the power of names, and here, God tells Moses his name.

The meaning of this name is important, because it tells us that God is trustworthy, even when we struggle, because God is constant.  It tells us that God is a riddle, and we will always struggle to understand.  But it also tells us that even Moses, the unworthy murderer who rejected luxury, who tried to hide from his life, who didn’t have any business being someone special, is God’s beloved child.  Over and over in these stories, we see people who are unlikely to be picked by God, because everyone is unlikely to be picked by God; yet at the same time, everyone is picked by God.  Not for the same tasks, no; but we are all God’s ambassadors.  Perhaps not to Pharaoh, perhaps not to set a nation free, but nonetheless to love with the same reckless abandon of God, to set free people caught in sin and oppression, to pray with ferocity and joy.

God has set a task before each and every one of us.  While the task may seem impossible some days, didn’t it to Moses?  While we may seem unworthy, wasn’t Moses?  Yet God wants you, loves you, and calls you to the burning bush to listen.  Now go, and heed God’s call.  Amen.

Wrestling – 2017/07/23

Psalm 145:8-13
Mark 14:32-36
Genesis 32:22-30

Sorry there was no sermon posted last week; the camera had no battery, and there was no manuscript to post.  But thanks for checking out this week’s sermon!


I’ve mentioned already this summer that, for the next few months, I’m mostly going to be preaching my way through the entire Old Testament.  This meant making some very specific choices.  In particular, it meant omitting certain things in order to make sure others were included.  The last two weeks I preached, I included texts from Genesis about Abraham, because he’s such a critical figure in the Old Testament.

As necessity requires to keep the story moving, though, I had a skip ahead a bit.  Today, we find ourselves in the story of Jacob.  Now, you may recall that, in Abraham’s story, we heard about Abraham’s son Isaac, whom he bound and considered sacrificing to God, only to be stopped by God.  Well, Isaac grew up and married Rebekah, whom he loved deeply.  And while the story of Isaac is interesting in its own right, it really hits its high-point with his father’s attempted sacrifice of him… at least until he himself becomes a father.

When Isaac finally does become a father, he has twin boys – Jacob and Esau.  Esau comes out first, and is big and strong.  Jacob comes second, smaller and skinnier, but cleverer, too.  In fact, he came out holding his brother’s heel, which is where he gets his name (which means, “he grabs the heel”) – almost an omen that he would aspire for more than being the second-best.  The brothers grow up together, and their upbringings were as different as could be, since each of their parents had a clear favorite.  Isaac, as most fathers in his time would’ve, preferred Esau.  Esau was strong and a gifted hunter, and was the one to inherit as the firstborn.  He grew up at his father’s side doing the “men’s work.”  Jacob spent more time with his mother, and while he spent less time on the hunt, he was the craftier son, which had its own advantages.

The two boys lived as brothers do, until it was near the time that Esau would receive his birthright as firstborn son from their father.  Jacob had lain around the house all day, probably talking to his mother and helping her prepare the meals.  Esau came back from his hunt, and he was famished.  He asked for the soup his brother had, but Jacob told him that he’d only give him the food in exchange for Esau’s birthright – his rights of inheritance as the firstborn son.  This was a horribly uneven trade; it was also a really mean thing to do to someone who’s hungry.  But Jacob did, and Esau, hungry as he was, agreed, and sold his birthright to his brother.

Having already lost his inheritance as the eldest, Esau had only one thing left to receive from his father:  a blessing before he died.  And when the time came, Isaac, his father, asked Esau to go out and get the game that he liked to eat.  In the meantime, Rebekah overheard her husband and plotted with her son Jacob to steal the blessing, and steal it he did.  He tricked his father and got himself everything his brother was supposed to receive.

As you might guess, now with no inheritance and no blessing and nothing to keep him at home, Esau left.  Jacob was able to get everything he had taken from Esau.  But of course, as time went on, Jacob eventually needed to travel.  Years later, once both men were married adults, Jacob was moving his family to the borders of his brother’s lands.  So he went to the border, but he sent his family across the river, where they would be safe, and he prepared to enter the land alone.  That’s where we meet our story today.

Now, I know, with my descriptions, it’s probably hard to tell, but Jacob is supposed to be the hero of our story.  It’s easier to read him as the villain, and sometimes that’s probably the right thing.  But we’re supposed to remember that this man, despicable as he might be, is also God’s servant; he’s also here to teach us something about ourselves.  So I ask you this morning to think of Jacob as generously as you possibly can, before we continue in our story.

And as it happens, Jacob is standing, getting ready for the big meeting with the brother whom he’d wronged.  As he waits, all alone, we meet a man.  We’re told nothing about this man (at this point in the story, at least), except that he wrestles with Jacob all night.  Now, I don’t know how many of you have ever wrestled, but wrestling for even, like, two minutes is exceptionally exhausting.  It’s like giving everything your body has.  Only, in this story, it’s not two minutes – it’s a whole night.

So after a long, exhausting night of wrestling, this anonymous challenger strikes Jacob on the hip, dislodging it and hoping to end the fight.  Only, funny enough, it doesn’t.  Jacob holds on, but senses his competitor, who’s resorted to trying a new strategy, is weakening.  So Jacob says, “I won’t let go until you bless me.”  The mysterious stranger asks his name, he answers, “Jacob,” and indeed, a blessing he receives.

“You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed,” says the wrestler.  And this is one of those verses that has mystified commentators for as long as this text has been read.  Sure, there is all that stuff about renaming.  But most of us know how important names were in the ancient world.  What’s truly intriguing about this text is what this wrestler has said to Jacob.  This competitor says that Jacob has striven – has battled – with humans and with God, and has prevailed.

Well, finding a human Jacob has battled is not hard.  Jacob and Esau struggled in the womb, so there’s your human combatant.  But when did Jacob struggle against God?  Well, the answer would seem to be, “in this passage.”  This has led many to hypothesize that this “man” who is never identified as anything other than being a “man,” was truly some sort of angel or divine being.  This “man” fought on behalf of God, and yet, somehow, Jacob didn’t lost.

So he blesses Jacob by renaming him “Israel.”  The meaning of the name is twofold.  “Wrestles with God” is the traditional interpretation.  “God protects” is another.  Jacob, renamed “Israel” is given this twofold name.  He will be protected by God, and yet he is called to wrestle with God.  That’s to be his life from now on.  He has struggled with God, and he will again, but through it all, he will receive God’s protection.

It’s no coincidence that Jacob becomes the person who’s name God’s people take.  The whole nation is named “Israel,” not just because they were related to him, but also because that is what they were meant to do.

More importantly for us, it’s what we are meant to do today, too.  Wrestling doesn’t mean we’re in a fight with God wherein we’re trying to beat or kill God.  Wrestling is not like boxing, where the goal is to injure your opponent.  Sure, all sports have injuries, but only a sport like boxing or mixed martial arts is hurting your opponent the entire point of the exercise.  Wrestling is about figuring things out.  When you wrestle with a person, you’re trying to find the right places to put pressure, you’re trying to find your balance, and you’re trying to figure out where you belong.  You’re trying to subdue the other person, specifically without hurting them.  It’s the perfect metaphor here, because of course we’re not out to hurt God, but we do need to figure God out.  We do strive to understand.  We try to subdue God, not by beating God, but by wrestling out understanding, trying to find God’s will in difficult places.

In our relationship with God, things are rarely easy or straightforward.  Rarely are we given absolute clarity.  But it’s not our job to just to remain silent and to ignore the problems we see.  We’re called to embrace the call of Jacob, the call of Israel, to wrestle.  That’s not an easy thing, but it’s necessary for further understanding.

As I said, wrestling is the perfect analogy, because it’s not about beating God.  Jacob’s wrestling match with God is successful, not because he wins, but because he grows by it.  The idea of wrestling with God, of being forced to see who we are, face-to-face, is important.  It’s how we grow.  I wonder how many things went through Jacob’s mind that night.  Remember, he was never the physical one; that was Esau.  Yet, on that night, Jacob stood his ground.  Jacob was never really the hard worker – most of his good fortune was stolen.  Yet, on the night of the hardest test of his life, he found a way to work and work and work the whole night long, when giving up would’ve been far easier.  When we wrestle with God, not only do we confront the ugly sides of ourselves, but we actually can learn and grow.

God doesn’t ever ask us merely to submit.  Surely, we’re supposed to do the right thing, and much of the time in life, the right thing is easy.  But when the hard things come, we’re not supposed to just fall back on simple answers; we’re supposed to be inspired to climb to a mountaintop (literal in Jacob’s case, though maybe metaphorical in ours) and wrestle with God.  We’re allowed to try to understand and to figure it out.  We’re not supposed to take God for granted.  We’re supposed to make God a part of our lives, our decisions, and our understanding.

That’s another thing about wrestling.  It’s not really something you can do halfway.  If you only halfway wrestle, it tends not to go very well.  God would rather have you as an engaged wrestler than a disengaged follower.  Better to try to figure things out, sometimes by questioning or pushing back, than it is to simply be like a robot following simple commands.

And remember, Jacob’s wrestling doesn’t get him all the answers.  In fact, what he asks for is his combatant’s name… but he never gets it.  God is allowed to sometimes withhold from us, even once we’ve engaged.  God is infinite, and complex, and will sometimes, even after our best efforts, ultimately impossible to understand fully.

But the fact of the matter is, the engagement teaches Jacob, and it makes him better.  We grow by being engaged with God, even when we’re wrestling.  Our struggles with God are not meant to be a rejection or God, or a way of getting rid of God.  Rather, the times we wrestle are the times we’re most engaged, because they’re the times when we care about the outcome.  They’re the times when we get stronger through it.  They’re the times when we’re tried, tested, and come out the other side better than we were before.

So on that note, I don’t want to leave you hanging with the story of Jacob and Esau.  I told you that Jacob was on the border of his brother’s lands that night when he wrestled.  The next day, when he crossed into his brother’s lands, he did so literally bowing down to his brother.  With that show of humility, he was picked up, and literally welcomed with open arms as his brother hugged and kissed him.

It’s actually a very sweet reunion; we see Esau meet his nieces and nephews for the first time.  We see Jacob and Esau trying to shower one another with gifts.  We see a lifetime of wrongs attempting to be righted in a short space of time, and we see brothers reconnecting – or perhaps even connecting for the first time, because it’s hard to know how much they ever had before.

Through the nighttime wrestling match Jacob faced, God taught him a lesson – that it’s about the striving, it’s about seeking something better.  Jacob learned in his struggle with God that it wasn’t about winning, it wasn’t about the victory; it was about the blessing that comes from being in relationship with someone else.  That’s why we wrestle with God, and that’s what Jacob learns.  It’s what we see played out when Jacob decides to stop fighting with Esau and start working with him. Instead of trying to take advantage of his twin, Jacob rejoins his brother, as they were always meant to be.  He earns the true victory, by finding love, rather than by finding the biggest advantage for himself.

At the heart of our lives as Christians is the story of Jesus.  Jesus doesn’t have this same story of physical wrestling, but we see throughout his story someone who tries to see what God is doing.  Jesus isn’t sure if the crucifixion is the right thing, so he prays about it.  We often take for granted that we should get to follow God without struggle – but the reality is, the stories of faith we’re given in Scripture, including the ultimate story we’re given in Jesus, are full of struggle.  In Jesus’ moment of wrestling with what God wants him to do, he receives his greatest clarity.  He finally sees that what he thought he didn’t want was going to be necessary, and that it was the only way for things to get better.  Like Jacob, he sees God’s future only when he engages the problem head-on.  Similarly, the only way for us to grow in love of God is by actually engaging with God, and that includes doing so both in the bright sunlight of day with our heads bowed and our humility embraced, as well as in the long, dark night on a lonely mountaintop.

May we all have the courage to embrace what we’re struggling with today.  May we all look for what God is doing.  And may we all wrestle without fear, finding God in unexpected places, asking, questioning, finding our balance, and, ultimately, deepening our relationship with God.  Amen.

Keeping Promises – 2017/07/02

Psalm 86:1-10
Genesis 12:1-9
Genesis 15:1-6


Keeping promises is never easy.  The best advice regarding promises, including the advice the Bible will give you, is this:  you probably shouldn’t make promises, because you really don’t know if you’re going to be able to keep them.  Our own health, our financial situations, a change in relationship status to someone – these are all things that can change our ability to keep promises.  And some promises just aren’t worth keeping.

When I was a senior in high school, I was comparing my track medals with my friend Josh’s dad, Gregg.  Gregg had been a track athlete in high school; he ran the 800 meters, which is the worst race.  Anyway, he had all of his medals and ribbons together in this way that made for a nice presentation, when I spied a ribbon cut in half.  It had clearly said “Third Place,” but only half of each letter was readable, because it had been cut right down the middle.  Being a naturally curious person, I asked, “What on earth is this ribbon for?”

“Promise not to laugh?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said.

“That’s from third grade,” he said.  “At my school, we had a field day.  I was in the beanbag toss, and I tied for third, and they didn’t have extra ribbons, so they cut one in half, and that’s what it’s from.”

Needless to say, I did not keep my promise.  Of course I laughed.  It helps that he’s a funny guy, so he delivered the story in a way that would make me laugh.  Even today, he likes to go around when I’m in town, introducing me to people, saying, “This is David.  He’s a minister, and he can’t even keep a promise.  You promised you wouldn’t laugh at me, and then you did!”

The fact of the matter is, though, most of the promises we hear from God are not quite as silly as stories about third grade.  In fact, they’re the most important stories we’ll ever hear.  They’re the stories that help tell us who we are and help us find our place in the world, so the promises we read about in them matter to us a great deal.

Last week, I let people know that I’m beginning a sermon series that will run us through the month of November.  On almost every Sunday I’m here for the next few months, we’re going to be hearing stories from the Old Testament.  For some of us, these will be familiar stories from Sunday school when we were kids.  For others of us, the Old Testament may be a difficult part of the Bible to understand that we associate with God’s anger.  The truth, though, is that, whether it’s familiar or not, the Old Testament is filled with stories of God’s love.  It’s probably weird to think about, but these are the stories that Jesus grew up hearing when he went to worship.  They are how he located himself in God’s story, and they are helpful for us in that same way.  To truly understand our Christian lives, it is important that we know the Christian story.

So today, we jump into the story of Abraham.  Abraham, in today’s culture, usually gets himself a few magazine covers a year.  This is because in Christianity, in Judaism, and in Islam, all three faiths trace their lineage back to Abraham.  All three faiths express their belief in one God, and all three trace themselves back to this one wandered in the ancient world, who was chosen by God to have descendants as numerous as the stars, as we read in our final reading this morning.  If we think of the more than 2 billion Christians, more than 1 billion Muslims, and about 15 million Jews alive today as Abraham’s descendants, it’s easy to see God living up to that very promise.

That promise surely would’ve seemed out of place at the beginning of Abraham’s story, though.  When the story began, Abraham was already an old man, and his name wasn’t even Abraham; it was Abram.

Abram and his wife Sarai were already old when our passage begins; the primes of their lives had passed them by, and they were childless.  They were nomads, meaning that they wandered from place to place.  They didn’t really have a “home” to speak of, other than wherever it was they happened to be together.  On the one hand that sounds like a cheesy line from a romantic film; in real life, in the desert, it’s a lot harsher.

But God called Abram out of his regular life and asked him to move again.  Abram and Sarai took everything they owned and moved into the promised land, because that’s what God said to do.  They were 75 years old.  And in the midst of their life as 75-year-olds, God was making promises about what was going to happen to their offspring, meaning their children and grandchildren.

Interestingly, at this point in the story, they don’t laugh at the idea outright.  (That part actually comes at a later date, so keep it in mind for my sermon in two weeks.)  They just pack up and get going.  There’s something really admirable in that, isn’t there?  To be so sure of what God is doing that you’re willing to just do it, no second thoughts, no regrets.  You know that God’s promises are kept, so you get moving.

And then we read, in chapter 15, that the story continued a couple of years later.  God speaks to Abram again.  Abram had grown very rich, but worked with his father-in-law.  They have a falling out, and they separate.  Abram’s father-in-law, Lot, took his herds to the east, and Abram took his to the west, and they didn’t speak.  Then there were wars, and nations battling.  And all the while, Abram did not see the offspring God had promised.  Promises, like I said, are hard.  But they’re not just hard as the one who makes the promise; they’re hard for the person who is supposed to receive the promise.  There’s doubt, there’s unsureness.  There’s that feeling that you’re counting on something to happen because of a promise, but it hasn’t come yet.

The thing is, brothers and sisters, I told you the end of the story before the beginning in this sermon this morning.  There are three faiths that trace their roots back to this man who wandered the desert with his wife.  In their 80s, in their late 90s, and they couldn’t see it.  But from where we sit today, it seems to have all worked out just the way it was promised.  Often, that tends to be the case for us – time and distance give us perspective.

We live in a culture that tells us that, once we have reached a certain age, we’re done contributing.  Yet, at an old age, Abram and Sarai were still to undergo parenthood, still to have their names changed, were still to utterly change the world.  We live in a culture that tells us that it’s foolish to trust in something we can’t see, yet today’s story tells us about how God’s faithfulness doesn’t always match up with our timing.  We live in a culture that tells us to put ourselves first, yet we read a story about people who are willing to uproot their lives in order to follow after what God wants, and they change the course of history.  They find their fulfillment, not through becoming rich, though Abram did; not through finding love, though they had each other; not through having children, though they managed that in miraculous fashion, too.  Their fulfillment, their joy, came from finding God in their lives and going where God was leading.

We are told each and every day, both openly and subtly, that each of us needs to look out for the person in the mirror first.  The problem is, the world is a lot bigger than just that person you see looking back at you from above the sink each day.  Our story this morning is about courage, it’s about self-sacrifice, and it’s about God’s gameplan being a lot bigger than ours.

Over and over again in Scripture, we see God pick the unlikeliest to do a task.  Sometimes it’s because they’re too old, as in today’s story, or sometimes it’s because they’re too young.  Sometimes, the rich are unlikely, and sometimes the poor.  Sometimes it’s the sick, or the children, or the women, or the carpenter’s son.

But what we come to realize when we’ve read the whole story of Scripture is this:  everyone who’s served God is unlikely, because there’s no such thing as the “likely” person.  No one is perfect in the eyes of the world; certainly not perfect enough to carry God’s message.  But God doesn’t allow that to stand in the way of getting things done on earth.  God loves us far too much to allow little things like our flaws to stand in the way of the things God wants to accomplish.

Each and every person here today is filled with flaws; yet each and every person here today is called by God to live for a purpose.  We are meant to be kind to one another.  We are meant to be forgiving, even when we don’t feel forgiven.  We are meant to help those who need it.  We are, in short, called to live as Jesus lived.  We are called to live the life that Abram and Sarai lived, wherein we put our desires in back of God’s desires for us.

In today’s reading, we’re asked to step inside Abram’s and Sarai’s story.  We’re not just asked to see what surface similarities we see.  In putting ourselves in the story, we can’t just ask if we’re the same age or marital status, or if we live in the desert, too.  Rather, ask yourself this:  what do I let stand in the way of being who God is calling me to be?  When do I listen to what the world says about me, instead of listening to what God says about me?  What would I do, who would I be, what would my life look like, if I had the courage that Abram and Sarai showed so long ago when they decided to put God first?  I don’t have answers for you today, beloved.  Those are between you and God.  But I know that, in asking the questions, we sometimes reveal what God is doing, without it even being something that we knew.  So may God answer your questions; may you have the courage to walk the desert ways God is leading you through; and may you find the fulfillment of those who seek after God.  Amen.

Creative Trinity – 2017/06/25

Psalm 46
Matthew 28:16-20
Genesis 1:1-2:4a


Let’s start with a confession:  today is not actually Trinity Sunday.  Trinity Sunday was two weeks ago, but I wanted to be sure to talk about the youth trip that day, and then last Sunday was the reunion service at the school, so I moved Trinity Sunday to today.

I really like Trinity Sunday.  It’s one of only three church holidays that recognizes something that isn’t an event in the New Testament.  Most of the special Sundays in the church year are events in Jesus’ life:  Christmas, Transfiguration, Palm Sunday, Good Friday, Easter, etc., etc.  And even Pentecost, which is after the life of Jesus, is recorded in the Book of Acts.

But only All Saints’ Day, Reformation Sunday, and Trinity Sunday recognize something that’s not a specific event in the Bible.  All Saints’ Day is about honoring those who have died, which is a very important function of the church.  Reformation Sunday, for Protestant churches, is a recognition of our particular heritage and when and where it came to be, so it’s still rooted in history.

Trinity Sunday, though, is completely different.  Trinity Sunday is a day that’s all about exploring the mystery of God.  It’s a day that’s about learning, rather than a day that’s about remembering.  So in honor of that fact, it makes sense to me that, even though we missed the date when most of the Christian world was celebrating this day, we would remember it anyway.

And by the same token, I’ve decided to do something else this summer.  Last year, in the summer, I got in a bit of a rut and wound up preaching the New Testament every week.  In fact, I went over a year with nothing but New Testament sermons.  This year, I decided that I would just bite the bullet and plan out half the year with Old Testament texts.

So for the next few months, with just a tiny number of exceptions (mostly for church holidays), I’m going to be preaching on texts from the Old Testament.  I’m doing them in order, so that we can really see the story of God’s relationship with humanity in the Old Testament unfold over the coming months.  And where do we start, other than at the beginning?

So this morning, we have opportunity of both educating ourselves about the Trinity, and being introduced to the Old Testament through the story of creation.  Let us begin with creation.

In English, we use the word “creative” to describe people who have artistic ability, or who are outside-the-box thinkers.  Creative people are people who seem to create something when there is nothing.  That is the definition of Creation, , from a Christian perspective – the making of something out of nothing.  Therefore, the story of Creation is the moment when God decided, “There will be something, rather than nothing.”  And then there was, and it was good.

In Christian theology, we often talk about the idea that human beings can never truly “create,” at least not as God did.  When we build a new invention, or paint a painting, solve a problem, or sing a song, we are merely taking the things in our environment around us and manipulating them to make something different.  We have never actually taken “nothing” and turned it into “something.”

True creation merits a kind of outside-the-box thinking that isn’t even possible for our limited human minds.  While we may think of certain people we meet as being creative, and while they may indeed be blessed with ways of thinking that are beyond most people, there is yet to be a person who could create rather than manipulate.

That’s the most important part of the Christian story of Creation.  God loved, and thus created something where nothing had stood.  God’s love was too great for mere solitude on God’s part.  God needed to share with others.

“Aha!” you may say, if you were paying close attention during our Scripture reading today, or just if you have a working knowledge of the Trinity.  “But God wasn’t alone!”  And yes, there would be some validity to that claim.  Because you see, the Creation story is really the very first time we encounter Trinitarian language in the Bible.  Now, whether this language was intended or not on the part of the author of Genesis is immaterial; the point is that the Trinity is first seen represented here.

The first three verses of Genesis read like this:  “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.  Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.”

I emphasized three words or phrases.  The first was, of course, “God.”  In Christian churches, we must admit the fact that the word “God” stands for two things.  “God” is what we often call “God the Father,” for short.  But we also use the word “God” to mean the entire Trinity.  In this case, let us entertain the idea that it means both of those things.  Bear with me.

The next idea is that of a “wind from God.”  You may or may not know this, but the word for “wind” in Hebrew can mean “breath,” as well as “spirit.”  Add in the fact that Hebrew pronouns and English ones do not have 100% agreement, and an equally likely translation of this phrase is “Spirit of God,” rather than “wind from God.”  Then finally, we hear God speak, and God says, “Let there be light.”

If we remember, the New Testament has its own version of the Creation in the Gospel of John.  “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”  Christ, in this passage, is also called “the Word.”  The fact that God creates through words has led people to the conclusion that Christ, the eternal Word, is also present in the Creation story.

So if we consider that the word “God” can refer to God the Father, that the “wind” or “Spirit” could be the Holy Spirit, and that God’s act of speaking through Word is Christ, we see all three members of the Trinity, present and active in the moment of Creation.

Let me take a step back, because I think it’s important again to name the part of the Trinity.  We believe in God the Father, Christ the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  This is something we confess every week when we share in the Apostles’ Creed.  It’s something we say in our Baptismal liturgy, as Jesus commanded us to in our passage from Matthew’s Gospel today.  We baptize babies in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  So it is something we feel comfortable believing; it’s not just something some bored monk thought up while he was transcribing things.  It’s from Jesus’ own lips to our ears.  The Trinity is important because Jesus, who is God, has told us that it’s important.

Yet, at the same time, we do not say there are three gods.  There is but one, united as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  So a lot of people wonder how it works.  How are there three, and yet only one?  If we have only one, how are there three?  The answer is quite simple:  no one really knows.

I mean, there are a million ideas out there.  St. Patrick – you know, the guy for whose birthday we all pretend to be Irish – used the image of a clover (just a regular, three-leaf one, not a four-leaf one).  He talked about its three leaves, and how it was yet only one clover.  Many pastors have used the analogy from third-grade science class of water, ice, and steam – they are all the same thing, yet they are three distinct forms.  Some pastors might be tempted to draw an analogy of their own lives:  I’m a son, I’m a father, I’m a husband; three distinct roles, yet I’m only one person.  Any or all of these three things might be useful, and every one of them has a load of problems as to why it isn’t the answer.

Remember how I said that, in Christian theology, we don’t really believe that people can “create” something?  Well, imagine the kind of creative mind we would need to have in order to understand the mysteries of God!  Perhaps one day, when we’ve returned to God, we will understand.  But for now, our uncreative minds are forced to wrestle with ideas that are often too complex for us, particularly when it comes to talking about God.

And yet, at the end of the day, we do know God is here, and we know that we experience God in really different ways.  Sometimes we are overwhelmed by the majesty of Creation.  We marvel at how big the universe is – how far away the stars, how beautiful the mountains.  Sometimes, we are taken aback by the closeness of God – how we truly feel our prayers answered, or at least when we know they’ve been heard; how we hear a voice that is somehow not our own compelling us to do something we wouldn’t normally do.  Furthermore, we also know that God lived and walked among us as Jesus Christ, fully human and yet fully God.

So we have a vision of God beyond us – God, who cannot be fathomed.  We know God who walked among us as Jesus Christ.  And we have God, who is nearer than our own skin – God who is inside us.  And to these three parts, we give the names Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  All real, all God.  Separate and distinct in our experience, but together in purpose.  Together, God is one divine mystery, one direction, one love, one hope.

So on this Trinity Sunday, go forth into the mysteries and wonders of God’s Creation.  Go, knowing that we may leave this building more confused than we entered it; yet go forth knowing that, though the mysteries of God are all-surpassing and impossible to grasp, the same God who is impossible to understand loves you deeply.  Even though it would be easy to think we would mean nothing to God, instead we mean everything.  So go forth as people renewed, perhaps not in understanding, but fed in love, joy, and worship of the Triune God.  Amen.

Homeless – 2017/06/11

Psalm 8
Matthew 25:31-46


In my preaching class in seminary, we learned a lot of different styles of preaching.  You probably don’t think too much about how someone preaches, or even how they speak in public, but there’s a subtle amount of art to it.  My favorite style of sermon is something called the “Puritan Plain Style.”  This style is named for the way the Puritans used to preach – they would look at the text, and more or less the text only.  Then expound on that.  Yes, they would talk about the other words surrounding the particular passage they read, maybe talk about the context in which it was written, maybe tie it in to modern events, if appropriate.  But first and foremost was talking about the thing in front of them on the page.

That tends to be how I preach each Sunday.  I think about the text for the given week, and I try to do my best to explain it and deliver a message that works for people now.  I doubt that I succeed as often as I should, but that’s the way I’m most comfortable preaching.  Honestly, I usually try to start with a funny story or with something from outside the text – like I’m doing right now – as a kind of warm-up.  It’s like stretching my preaching muscles so they’re ready for the big show, when I can talk about what we’ve read.

Well, I’m not really going to do that today.  In fact, I’m going to go the opposite route.  I’m not too worried about our text for today, because ultimately, it’s a text about how we serve Jesus.  And this week, I don’t want to talk about service to Jesus in a vague way, but I want to talk specifically about how proud I am of the youth of our church, and how glad I am to have spent some time serving Jesus in real, honest ways that can help show us how we’re supposed to be, not just on mission trips like the one we took, but literally every day.

As you saw in the slide show our kids made, we did a lot in really just two days of service in Denver.  Consider how we spent these six days we were gone.  Adding up the time, we spent nearly a day-and-a-half just in the van (including all the driving in Denver), spent another nearly two days sleeping.  The rest of the time was spent in sightseeing, in fellowship, and in mission.  And the missions were glorious.

We had a chance to play bingo at the senior center, and anyone who has been to our 3F nights knows what bingo pros the kids from our church are.  We spent time sorting clothes for a free store.  And not only did we sort them, we sorted nearly three times as much as we were expected to – that’s good South Dakota work ethic those Rocky Mountain folk weren’t prepared for!  We served meals, similar to The Banquet.  We did all sorts of things.  But perhaps most interesting was a little project called “Meet a Need.”

We have to first understand that the main theme of this week was homelessness.  We learned about homelessness in Denver.  We learned that the average age of a homeless person in the United States is nine years old.  So almost everyone here today is “old” by the standard of homelessness.  About 2/3 of homeless people are part of a family, over one-third work full-time.  The causes of homelessness in America are various – high medical bills, wages incompatible with costs of living, debt, disability, mental illness, poor reintegration from prison, and many other causes.  But, however people became homeless, we were asked to go out and meet them.

So, in this “Meet a Need” project, we split into two groups, and each group was given $8 by the organization to help a homeless person meet a need.  As it turned out, neither group was able to spend its $8, but that wasn’t the point.  The point was to go out and talk to the homeless on the streets of Denver – to hear their stories, to make eye contact with them, to laugh with them, to understand how they became who they are.  And we heard varieties of different stories.

One faction of our group got sworn at by one woman because she hates the church; other times, we were greeted enthusiastically because we were from the church.  We got to meet people up close and see and touch and smell them.  That’s important.

In fact, perhaps the most important part of this weekend was a reminder of something we learn at the very beginning of the Bible, something that perhaps we all need reminding of every once in a while.  We are all created in the image of God.  Everyone, period.  No exceptions.  That means that the person you hate most is created in that image, as are you.  Trust me, a bunch of teenagers and I just spent six days and five nights with one another in close, hot, bumpy quarters – there were things that every single person in our group did that drove the others absolutely batty, and you’d have to be a little bit unhinged not to be.  And yet, at the end of the day, we had to try to remember that we were gathered in Denver to serve Jesus and his purposes, not our own.

That meant going out and finding those the world had dispossessed, and making the simple claim that Jesus’ entire earthly ministry was based on – giving humanity to everyone.  When Jesus spoke with the Samaritan woman at the well in John’s Gospel, he was breaking two taboos – mixing with a woman as a man, and talking to a Samaritan, an ethnic group with which the Jews were in conflict.  Yet, he treated her as a person.  In the story of the Good Samaritan, Jesus gives us an imaginary story that doubles-down on that idea.  When Jesus called the little children to gather around his feet even though the adults wanted them shunned, he was reminding people that children are God’s, too, and that they also carry God’s image.  Every leper he touched, every blind person he healed, every dead body he rose, every Roman soldier he talked to – Jesus was reminding people that people are people, and people are God’s.

It’s probably good to remember here that Jesus himself didn’t have a home, that we know of.  He traveled from place to place, a vagabond, relying on others for housing, stopping wherever his feet took him.  He certainly wasn’t “respectable” as we would think of someone today, and probably had a lot more in common with the people on Colfax Ave., also known as the “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” where we met people forced into the streets.  Jesus’ job, as you can probably guess, didn’t pay particularly well.  Yet, to dismiss Jesus because of his housing status would be to make a tremendous mistake.  So when we dismiss another person for the same reason, we commit the same sin.

The Christian life is one of humility.  We recognize that we don’t get to choose who deserves mercy, because, as it turns out, we probably don’t – yet God offers it to us, anyway.  And every day, we should fall down on our knees and thank the Good Lord that we have something for which we’re so undeserving.  How can we, so unworthy, do any less for our brothers and sisters who have, perhaps, not been treated so well?  We all make mistakes.  For some of us, those mistakes wash away like rain down a windshield.  For others, the mistakes they’ve made are things that ruin their lives.

I’m not trying to make it sound as if every single person’s mistakes are all equal – they’re not.  Murder is not the same as forgetting to send a gift to your mom for Mother’s Day.  But more often than not, if we think hard enough about it, that pregnant teen we’ve seen could’ve been us or someone we love; that homeless person we look down on for not managing their money might’ve just been the unlucky “last hired, first fired,” when we were the second-to-last one and got to keep the job.  Life doesn’t treat us all the same, and that’s just how things are.  But Jesus taught us some really interesting things about how to treat people, and frankly, I think his teachings ought to mean a lot more to us than whatever we’ve been brought up with about dealing with “those people.”  And his teachings affirm the goodness and the image of God, even in those people society doesn’t love.

When Jesus tells us to feed the hungry, he doesn’t state, “But only the ones who tried their hardest;” when Jesus tells us to give drink to the thirsty, he doesn’t say, “But only the ones who never made a bad choice;” when Jesus tells us to welcome the stranger, he doesn’t add, “But only if their immigration status is what you think it should be;” when Jesus tells us to clothe the naked, he doesn’t opine, “But only if they don’t own a cell phone;” when Jesus tells us to care for the sick, he doesn’t point out, “But only if you’re not afraid of getting a little sick yourself; when Jesus tells us to visit the prisoners, he doesn’t counter with, “But only if they’re innocent.”  Feed the hungry, quench the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, heal the sick, visit the prisoner.  These are commands simple in their grammar, simple in their ideas, and deeply, terrifyingly difficult in their execution, but that doesn’t mean we get an out.  We are asked to do these things, because that’s how we serve, love, and honor Jesus.

Jesus says that how we treat the lowest rung of society is how we treat Jesus; so how we treat the people with the least is how we are treating God.  It’s our job as Christians to remember that, when we see someone, whether they’ve made the choices we would’ve made or not, whether they look or dress or even smell like we think they should or not, it’s not our job to judge.  It’s our job to look them in the eye, to remember that they’re human, and to celebrate our humanity together.  We worship God on Sunday mornings, yes; but we also worship when we serve others.  So let us continue to gather on Sunday mornings and sing songs and pray prayers.  But when we walk out the door, let’s let our words to others be our songs, and let our actions be our prayers.  When we meet those whom the world has denied, let us remember to see the face, not just of ourselves or our neighbors, but the very face of Jesus.  Amen.

Pentecost – 2017/06/04

Psalm 104:24-30
John 7:37-39
Acts 2:1-24


I know it’s a half-year away and that this is hardly the time to bring it up, and I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I want to take just a minute today to talk about that weird phenomenon that is “family Christmas.”

We all have an idea of what Christmas with our family is supposed to look like, right?  We have our traditions, whether it’s gathering at a specific person’s house, or what we eat, or what we do.  Every aspect of our celebrations is designed to be something warm and fuzzy and familiar.  So maybe you’ve not thought too much about this, but you know, those traditions change, and have to.

When I was young, I would gather with my parents and my cousins and their parents all at my dad’s parents’ house.  This was simply what happened.  There wasn’t planning, there wasn’t any question – that just how Christmas was done.  Of course, we don’t do that anymore.  My dad’s parents have died, and those who were the grandkids have become the parents, and those who were the parents have become the grandparents, and people have moved all over.  So a necessary shift happens, and we move away from seeing the same people all the time.

And of course, families grow and change as people get married and have kids.  And traditions change with those changing families.  It’s perfectly natural that those things happen, and it’s good that we respond to the circumstances with which we’re presented.  I know that my family traditions around Christmas are different now that I’m not the youngest generation; same with Carissa; and both of us have different traditions since we became a couple and began celebrating with one another’s families.

The day of Pentecost is such a day in the church – a day whose meaning and mode of celebration have changed over time.  In Judaism, Pentecost is a holiday that’s celebrated, though it’s known (most of the time) as Shavuot.  Shavuot is a celebration of the giving of the Ten Commandments.  It’s a big deal because, while God is present in the Old Testament before that moment, if you think about it, there was nothing permanent, nothing codified, nothing written down.  There was no one thing you could point to and say, “THIS is what God is saying to us.”  Instead, there were individual instances of what God was doing, but followers had to pray hard and hope they heard a clear answer.  They had to meet people with spiritual gifts who had a special relationship with God, and follow those individual people.  But the giving of the Ten Commandments made a fundamental change in how Judaism operated.

So it makes sense, then, given how important that moment is in the Jewish faith, that Jesus’ disciples were in Jerusalem for that holiday, and so were Jews from around the world – or at least the world as they knew it, which (since you probably didn’t recognize most of the place-names in our passage this morning) was mostly southern Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East.  Still, there were people in Jerusalem for this particular celebration of Pentecost from all those areas.

So, given the holiday crowd, the disciples decide that this is a great opportunity to reach people.  They have an audience of religious believers, so why not use it?  So they begin to speak. And as they speak, the Holy Spirit comes like a violent wind – something anyone from out here on the prairie can understand – and it looked or felt like tongues made of fire were resting on each of them.  God performed a miracle that day, not in this showiness, but in that, when they spoke, people understood, no matter where they came from.

Most people, in reminiscing about this passage, will think of it as the disciples spontaneously being given the ability to speak new languages.  But a close examination of the text reveals the hidden truth – “And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language?” they ask.  They were listening to the same speaker, yet understanding in different languages!  So God was somehow giving them the ability to speak in some sort of universal language, that anyone could understand.  The miracle was placed on the ears of the hearers, as much as the tongues of the speakers.

So we have a holiday that was celebrated because God chose to be revealed to followers through words; Pentecost shares proudly in that tradition.  Only this time, the words being shared are no words about how we are supposed to conduct ourselves; this time, they are words that bring a message of Good News.

Now, on some level, that’s an assumption, because we never see exactly what the disciples themselves were saying during this portion of the story.  It’s an interesting detail to be omitted, but it’s definitely not there.  Fortunately, we do have Peter’s summary of what they said from the end of our reading today:  “You that are Israelites, listen to what I have to say: Jesus of Nazareth, a man attested to you by God with deeds of power, wonders, and signs that God did through him among you, as you yourselves know— 23this man, handed over to you according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of those outside the law. 24But God raised him up, having freed him from death, because it was impossible for him to be held in its power.”  In other words, when Peter needs to summarize what the disciples were saying about Jesus to all these travelers from all over the world, his go-to message is this:  God is stronger than death.  Even the ending that ends all endings is not the end of God’s love and power in Jesus.

That’s the message of Pentecost.  It’s a special day in the church year for a lot of reasons.  It’s really the first action taken by the disciples after Jesus has gone up to heaven, so it sort of serves as the “birthday” for the whole church.  But more important than that, Pentecost is a day on which the Gospel message of Jesus who came, lived, died, and was raised for us and for our salvation was first preached without Jesus even being around.  It’s the message we’re all asked to live out and to share with others.

But one of the coolest consequences we see in this passage is not just the core of the Gospel.  But we see that God chooses this moment, the Pentecost moment, to teach us about things that divide as opposed to things that unite.  Peter’s message focuses on the death of Jesus not having the final say.  Death is the greatest separation of all, and yet it is nothing to God.  But on a more practical level, in our everyday lives, we don’t talk to the dead.  But on the other hand, we may talk to people who don’t speak the same language we do, sometimes in subtle ways and sometimes in more serious ones.  “Anymore,” “lunch,” and “dinner” are all words I had to re-learn coming to Marion, because I use every one of those words differently than most of the people around here do, and I’ve been speaking English my whole life!  But in this passage, God shows us that language, the fundamental way we communicate, is not a barrier to God’s acceptance of us or ability to desire to be with us.

The human divisions that separate us include many things, like race, country of origin, and language.  And in this one passage, God shows us that the Good News of Jesus Christ is for anyone and everyone.  It’s not limited to just a specific group of people who are given the truth while it’s hidden from everyone else.  Jesus is for everyone.  This message stretches out to be people who aren’t even from Jerusalem, but they get to hear the message anyway.

In just a couple of hours, some of our youth, along with a couple of us adults, are going to leave for Denver.  Our kids are going to have chances to meet people who have, on the surface, nothing in common with them, at least on the surface.  Sure, they will share a language, but maybe not all of them will.  They definitely won’t share economic situation, they won’t share the type of place they live.  They won’t share a background, or life experiences, or any number of other facets of human life.  In short, they’ll have come from vastly different circumstances.  But at the end of the day, there are people in Denver who need a hand of help to reach out and serve them, and our kids are going to get the chance to be that helping hand.  They have the chance to live the message of Jesus for a couple of days.  For this one week, they can be the church of Pentecost.

The truth is, we adults need to take just as much responsibility as the youth are taking this week in their trip, and we need to do it every day.  We need to be sure that the differences we put between ourselves are not things that divide, but things we’re willing to work through.  We have to let the love of God cross every boundary.  We have to let God’s faithfulness be the thing that reaches out to us, not rely on our fallen human condition to be what we’re supposed to be.  After all, we’re reminded in this passage that Jesus shows us that not even death itself is enough to keep God away from us.

We’re going to meet a lot of different people in our lives.  They’re going to be people with whom we agree and disagree, people with whom we share a lot or nothing at all, people with whom we’re able to speak and those we aren’t.  But when we meet those with whom we have these differences, our job as Christians is not to try to beat them into submission, or to shame them, or to try to make them just like us.  Our job as Christians is to live out the Gospel of Jesus Christ and tell the world of his love.

We do that when we take care of people who need help.  Jesus tells us that, whatever we do to the people at the bottom of the social ladder is what we do to him.  And at the same time, we’re asked that this not be a secret, but that we are out and open and proud of the fact that we worship Christ  It’s a worthwhile goal to shoot for.  We attempt to be disciples, not by being perfect, not by being the only ones with some special knowledge of Jesus, but by being people who strive to know him better, to hear and share his word, and to love our neighbors.

Sometimes, we may miss the mark.  But the lesson of Pentecost is this:  with God’s help, we can get past any boundary that we as humans create between ourselves and other children of God.  So let us remember that, and let us share in the love of God, in word and in deed, in Marion, in Denver, and all over the world.  Amen.

Understanding – 2017/05/28

Psalm 68:32-35
John 17:1-11
Acts 1:6-14


Truly understanding someone or something is probably the most difficult thing we can ever do.  To truly understand someone, we need to know not only what they’re saying or doing, but where they’re coming from.  We need to know basically all the background that led them to this moment, right now, in order to get what they mean.

I can’t tell you how many disagreements with my friends over the years stemmed from the fact that, at the end of the day, we just didn’t understand one another.  Either they were approaching an argument from a completely different perspective, or their life experience and mine were totally different, or we just focused on different things.

I remember one conversation when I was 14 or 15.  When I was in school, a lot of other kids came to me for advice, so I would give it to them, and because they were also teenagers, they’d never listen.  But that’s beside the point.  I remember one girl talking to me about how she and her parents absolutely did not get along, and how she didn’t know what they wanted from her, and how she didn’t trust them to even do what was best for her.

I sat there and argued up and down that, even though she and her parents didn’t see eye-to-eye, they loved her and would love her no matter what – I mean, they were her parents, after all.  To me, that settled the issue.  I would imagine myself as a parent, and knew that I would sometimes have to say and/or do things that my own child would disagree with, and I felt sympathy for this girl’s parents.  Now, being a parent, I know that I was right that we sometimes do things our kids can’t understand, just because they need it, whether they know that or not.  It’s part of the job of being a parent.

And I thought this was a pretty wise answer for a teenager.  And on some level, it was.  I had parents, I knew a lot of other kids’ parents.  I knew how parents acted.  But… did I really?  See, I’ve regretted that conversation for a long, long time, because what I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older is that I was speaking out of my experience.  I believed that parents were trustworthy because my parents were trustworthy.  I believed that parents were always going to try to do the right thing, because my parents always tried to do the right thing.  As I got a little more world-wise, it finally occurred to me that it was possible that this girl’s parents really weren’t looking out for her best interest; they might have been abusive, or negligent, or just bad parents.  But those things didn’t even cross my mind, because I had no life experience that would guide me to even think of that conclusion.  So I’ve always wondered if I let that little 14- or 15-year-old girl down, because I didn’t know where she was coming from.  Maybe I was right that it was just parents making a tough choice their teenage daughter couldn’t understand; but maybe I didn’t actually understand what she was saying; maybe she was trying to get a message to me that I just wasn’t getting.  (If you’re waiting for the resolution to this story, there isn’t one – I have no idea to this day what happened; I just know that it’s gnawed at the back of my mind for most of my life.)

Anyway, I’m talking about understanding because that’s something we see in the disciples today.  Today’s passage from Acts revolves around the Ascension.  “Ascension” is a word that means “going up.”  Interestingly, this is not a day that’s talked about all that much in the Christian calendar, and it’s maybe even something you’ve never really thought about.  We all know about the birth at Christmas.  We all know about how Jesus was crucified and died on Good Friday, and we all know how he came back to life on Easter Sunday.  But maybe you’ve never thought about what happened after that.

After resurrecting, Jesus continued in ministry with his disciples, until it was time for him to return to heaven with God.  At that point, Jesus had his “Ascension” which is what we remember today on the final Sunday of the Easter season in the church year.  But before we get to the flashy part about Jesus flying up into the clouds, we have a really interesting exchange between the disciples and Jesus.

They ask him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?”  Now, there’s a lot to unpack in this question, so I want to give it the time it deserves.  Maybe you didn’t think about that question when I started reading, but it’s really revealing.   Perhaps you’ve heard before about how there were expectations about the Messiah before Jesus was born.  People expected the Messiah to be a King; he would be someone to overthrow the other political powers of the day, and he would help restore Israel to be its own kingdom.

When Jesus showed up, though, things got very confusing.  For those who didn’t believe in Jesus, it was pretty easy not to – I mean, he was none of those things.  But for those who did believe, they believed him to be the Messiah, the Savior, even though he wasn’t any of the things they expected.  He was born in a barn to a poor family.  He was a great teacher and healer, not a military leader.  He preached Good News for all people, including Samaritans and Romans, not just to fellow Jews.  Jesus upended expectations all over the place.

And yet, when it came down to brass tax, there were obviously still some of his followers who never adjusted their expectations as to what the end-game of Jesus’ ministry was about.  They asked if he was finally going to restore the Kingdom of Israel.  Israel as a kingdom had been gone for literally hundreds of years.  The distance between Christopher Columbus and now is about how long it was between the end of the monarchy and when Jesus came along.  These guys weren’t hoping for a return of something they, or anyone they knew, remembered.

Instead, they couldn’t shake this idea that was hung up in their past.  They still believed that part of Jesus’ ministry was going to be restoring a kingdom they never knew.  And, of course, Jesus was all about a kingdom they had never known – but he wasn’t about an earthly kingdom – he was all about the Kingdom of God.  The problem was a lack of understanding.  And Jesus was the solution.

While the disciples hoped for a return to glory days they never knew, Jesus was showing them a brighter future.  Jesus was about revealing the Kingdom of God, because the disciples needed to see that there wasn’t some perfect time in the past that they could harken back to, but rather that the future needed to be written by God’s hand alone.

I’ve said this in a lot of sermons before, but I always have a lot of sympathy for the disciples.  They have a tough job – they’re trying to follow Jesus.  After all, that’s what we’re doing today.  And I think we too easily laugh at their misunderstandings, or we forget how clueless we sometimes are.  I really empathize with the disciples in this passage, though.

How many of us, if we were asked, “When was the best time in history to grow up?” would believe that when we were brought up was the best time?  I would bet it’s most of us.  The people before us had it too hard, the people after us had it too easy.  The generations before were too hardened and not realistic enough; the generations after us are spoiled and don’t understand the value of work like we do.  That’s how people are – we are limited in our viewpoints.

Similarly, the disciples are limited in their viewpoints.  Even though they’ve been exposed to all of the remarkable things Jesus has done, they cling to this particular vision of “the way things should be.”  They can’t help it, just as we can’t, because they’re just regular ol’ human beings, and all people are limited by their experience and by what they’ve seen in this world.

Undoubtedly, these disciples grew up with stories of King David defeating other kings around him and uniting the Jewish people.  They grew up hearing of Solomon’s great wisdom and riches.  So they thought, “Now those were the days.  If only things were like that, everything would be great.”  But that’s not what God saw – God saw a vision for a future disconnected from the past, but as something entirely new.  And Jesus had to explain that.

Just as those disciples 2000 years ago were confused and misguided, we get that way, too sometimes.  We believe that it’s only our vision of what’s right that could possibly be true.  So we fight for what we think is right.  Of course, though, we have to realize that many other people, including other Christians, fight for what they think is right.  Just as the disciples tried even though they didn’t “get it” all the way, that’s what we do, too.  It’s impossible to know exactly what Jesus would have us do in any given situation, but what we strive for as Christians is a closer relationship with him, so that we can better learn from him to do what’s right.

We are sometimes just as confused and misguided as the disciples.  We question Jesus’ wisdom, we question our own hearts, and we get mixed up.  But I think the most important thing to glean from this passage is Jesus’ response.

“It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority.  But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”  See, Jesus doesn’t expect us to have all the answers.  In fact, he specifically says that we won’t.  We aren’t going to know exactly what God’s coming kingdom will look like, or when it will come, or who belongs, or who’s been perfectly right.  But that’s because those things don’t matter.  It’s not about being perfect in belief or in practice; it’s about being perfect in love of Christ.  So we make it our goal to love the Lord with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength, because we can do that.

After saying this, Jesus goes up to heaven, and the disciples watch.  Suddenly and without warning, two angels appear next to them.  They say, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”  It’s a brilliant reminder – don’t just stand around waiting for Jesus to return.  Don’t just stare at the clouds hoping Christ is returning to bring the full glory of God’s Kingdom.  Jesus set a task to do in his final words.  We are to be witnesses to Christ.

We witness to Christ in how we treat those who need help, by loving our neighbors, and by loving God.  Jesus doesn’t set us arbitrary tasks, and he also doesn’t ask us to keep our heads in the clouds all the time.  We have work to do.  So whether we know just about everything or just about nothing, whether we’ve got it almost all right or almost all wrong, we have work to do.  Brothers and sisters, let’s love God and love our neighbors, and thereby do the work.  It’s what Jesus asks of us.  Amen.

Claiming Our Faith – 2017/05/21

Psalm 66:8-20
John 14:15-21
Acts 17:22-31


I remember visiting the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Washington.  It’s very neat.  There are guards, and they’re very fancily-dressed.  They march and march, and protect someone whom they don’t even know.  And it’s not like protecting other graves – this is a place where we don’t know if they have family.  It’s a World War I veteran, but we have no idea who he is, so in a way, he could be anyone.  He stands for everyone by being no one.

And today’s passage from the book of Acts introduces us to a very similar situation.  The book of Acts is the story of the very early church.  It’s about the time after Jesus was crucified, after he was resurrected, even after he returned to heaven.  It’s really about how the very first disciples go about creating the church.

Today’s passage covers a moment when Paul – whom we know from writing much of the New Testament – was in the city of Athens.  Athens had been the capital of the Greek Empire.  When Greece gave way to Rome, the capital moved, but Athens was still a large, powerful city.  And like all large and powerful cities in the ancient world, Athens was the home of many houses of worship.  People would make pilgrimages to Athens just for worship.

Paul was standing at such a place of worship, the Areopagus, also known as Mars Hill.  In Paul’s day, there was a worship site there, and it was dedicated “to an unknown god.”  Now, we have to remember that Roman religion was polytheistic – they believed in many gods.  Unlike our Christian faith which believes only in the one true God, revealed to us as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the Romans believed in many of those gods you’ve probably heard of, like Zeus (called Jupiter in Rome) and Hercules and stuff.

So Athens got to a point in their religious belief that they also thought they should have a way of honoring all the gods by honoring an unknown god, much as we do with the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery here in the United States.  Paul found himself there, and chose to deliver the sermon we heard today.

In it, he commends the Athenians for being so religious that they want to honor the divine, even if they’re not sure who exactly that is.  But Paul tells them that, “What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you: The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things.”

In other words, Paul tells them that there is no such thing as an unknown god, because now they can know the one, true God.  And that’s when Paul gives his testimony.  He explains that God created everything, and that human beings were made in God’s image and came to be.  But that we are made in God’s image, and that therefore we can’t make idols or images of God.  God made us, not the other way around.  And Paul finishes out his mini-sermon by saying that a time of judgment is coming, so it is the time to change our hearts and lives and follow after what God is doing.

This morning, brothers and sisters, we have the opportunity to welcome new members into this great faith tradition, summarized so succinctly by Paul 2000 years ago.  This morning, we remember that our God, whom we know, has not only created us, but also claims us and sets us forth for new things.  This morning, we confirm two new young men in the faith.  They become full members of this congregation, with the full rights and responsibilities thereof.  But more important than those rights and responsibilities is the faith itself.

Confirmation is about confirming a faith in our hearts.  It’s about saying “yes” to the promises made at our baptisms, if we were baptized before, as both our young men today were.  Or, it’s about finally saying “yes” to faith and being baptized.  But either way, it’s about making our life Christ’s even more.

There’s a sense in the church that, once someone is confirmed, they “graduate” from church.  There are a lot of parents who fall away from the church, only to come back when they have kids.  They take those kids to church faithfully for a long time, and then when the kids get confirmed, they (both the parents and the kids) fall away.  Because confirmation usually happens in the spring, and because there are cakes and parties, people think of it like graduation – and graduation is interesting to think of this morning, because it’s half right, but it’s half wrong.

I’ve often thought that the best thing we could do is go through confirmation a few times in our lives.  It would always be good to be reminded of our faith story, of our history together, and of the kind of life we promise to lead in Christ.  This morning, two brave young men are making that decision for themselves.  And while that’s a celebration, the similarity it has to graduation is that, when we graduate from school, it’s not like we go straight to retirement.  On the contrary, the work gets harder.  We have to go out into the world and make it.

Similarly, confirmation is a day when we are no longer considered to be “just” the youth who need to be taught.  We become full-blown members, with a faith story all our own and with just as many rights, responsibilities, and privileges as anyone else in the church.  But just like heading into the working world following graduation, the work is far from over.

And that’s where the similarities to graduation end.  Because while graduation means we’re done with school, confirmation doesn’t mean we’re done with church.  It means we’re now the adults here; we’re in charge, too.

But being in charge doesn’t mean that the responsibility of learning is done.  The very best workers, including the very best bosses, are always learning new things.  Likewise, the best Christians are always seeking new information.  We don’t get to confirmation and say, “Now I know everything, so I’m done with God.”  Instead, we seek to continue to deepen our relationship.

Just as a wedding is not the end of a relationship growing deeper, but rather the start, so too is confirmation just the beginning of our walk with Christ, when we now possess greater spiritual maturity and can approach as adults.

So we return to Paul.  He tells the Athenians that they should be worshiping the true God, and not just some made-up, unknown deity.  He gives them the shortest confirmation class I can possibly imagine.  Yet at the end, the people in his hearing are given new information to help their spiritual lives moving forward.

Brothers and sisters, while we see two young men confirmed today, let today be a chance for you yourself, no matter where you are in your walk with Christ, to confirm your faith again.  Today is an opportunity to again say “yes” to following Christ.  In fact, every day is a day of confirmation, because every day is another chance to grow in our relationship to God.  We are here today, not just to recognize these two young men, but also to remember to continue to grow in our own faith.

Each and every day is another chance to have the call of Christ confirmed in your lives.  Be sure to follow the examples of the young men you see here today, and say “yes.”  We have met the one true God in Christ Jesus.  It is our honor to serve Christ, to know him, and to grow in his love.  Amen.