The Beloved People of God

Lent 1, Year A – 5 March 2017

Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Grand Prairie, Texas

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And thus begins the season of Lent!

Every year, we begin Lent with the story of Jesus being tempted by the devil in the wilderness. It is, therefore, tempting for us to distill this story down to a very simple meaning: that Jesus is tempted in the wilderness as we are during the season of Lent, and he resisted his temptations, and so we should, too.

But this story is about much more than Jesus being tempted in the wilderness by the devil. At its heart, this story is about Jesus and his identity as the Son of God. Making this story only about the temptations that Jesus faces is an over-simplification of what is really happening in this story.

In the chapter before this one – so, in Matthew 3 – Jesus is baptized in the Jordan by John.  He comes up out of his baptismal waters, and the heavens open, and God’s voice from heaven proclaims, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

Cut to the next scene, and Jesus is led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. So these heavenly words are still ringing in his ears as he goes out to the wilderness to be tempted. In the Bible, the wilderness is often a place of struggle, so notice how the devil begins his temptations, by going to the very core of Jesus’ identity: “If you are the Son of God…” the devil begins.

Now, I don’t know about you, but in my mind’s eye, whenever I’ve pictured this story, I’ve always pictured Jesus, in his weakened state – weakened by his fasting – softly pushing back the devil with his answers.

But this year, reading this story again, I realize that Jesus actually speaks from a place of tremendous strength and surety. He is certain of his identity as the Son of God, and so he leaves no room for the devil to work. He is certain of his identity as the Son of God, and so he – from a place of strength – is able, finally, to tell the devil to get lost. As commentator and seminary president David Lose says, Jesus is fully aware of who he is, and whose he is.

One of the more popular stories about the reformer Martin Luther is about his time at Wartburg Castle. Luther had just stood up to the church authorities in protest, refusing to recant his writings (which had been declared heresy by those authorities). He became a fugitive, kept safe by Prince Frederick III, who had him whisked away to Wartburg Castle.

During this time of isolation, Luther got to work. He translated the New Testament from Greek into German at a time when finding the Bible in the vernacular language was impossible. He cranked out more and more writing about Scripture and reforms needed in the Church. As the story goes, one night, the devil woke him up, and Luther took an inkwell and hurtled it square at the devil’s head.

Even this old tombstone reminds us whose we are.

Martin Luther also knew with certainty who he was and whose he was.

Every Sunday and every Wednesday, I lift up the bread and wine during the invitation to Communion and I look at you and I say, “These are the gifts of God for you, who are the beloved people of God.” I don’t say these words merely as a point of transition during the liturgy. I say these words each week to you – and to myself –as a constant reminder of who we are and whose we are.

For we live in a wilderness – a place of struggle. We are tempted every day – maybe not to turn stones into bread – but we are tempted to believe lies about ourselves. For instance, think about advertising and how it is, by its very nature, designed to make us feel inadequate if we don’t have the latest phone or the fanciest car. Or think about society’s lies that we are inferior to someone else – or less loved by God - because of our skin color, or gender, or sexual orientation, or (most recently) our political beliefs.

Pretty soon, we find ourselves tempted to believe lies not only about ourselves, but about others, too. And if we are willing to believe lies about others, it becomes more difficult to love them as we love ourselves. Then, we can ignore their human need – and ignore their humanity, even.

These lies about ourselves and about others – they are a slippery slope.

Remembering who we are and whose we are helps us escape that slippery slope. My favorite New Testament book, Romans, reminds us in chapter 5 that while we were sinners, Christ died for us. And then in chapter 6, Paul goes on to say that in our baptisms, we are buried with Christ in his death and we are raised with Christ in his resurrection. We have Christ – we have the life of Christ – and that is more than enough. If we are certain of this – if we are certain that we are the beloved people of God – then we, too, can tell the devil - and all those lies - to get lost.

Consider these words, written by Pope Francis in his message for Lent this year:

“Dear friends, Lent is the favorable season for renewing our encounter with Christ, living in his word, in the sacraments and in our neighbor. The Lord, who overcame the deceptions of the Tempter during the forty days in the desert, shows us the path we must take. May the Holy Spirit lead us on a true journey of conversion, so that we can rediscover the gift of God’s word, be purified of the sin that blinds us, and serve Christ present in our brothers and sisters in need…Let us pray for one another so that, by sharing in the victory of Christ, we may open our doors to the weak and poor. Then we will be able to experience and share to the full the joy of Easter.”

In remembering who we are and whose we are, let us all renew our encounters with Christ this Lent, so that we can better follow Christ as his disciples.

Amen.

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Rejoicing to Forgive

The road of forgiveness runs long.

The Rev. Kathi Johnson
Lent 4, Year C – March 6, 2016
Text: Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32, 2 Corinthians 5:16-21
Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Grand Prairie, Texas
 

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Today’s Gospel lesson contains one of the most well-known and well-loved stories in the Bible: the parable told by Jesus that we often call the Parable of the Prodigal Son. However, the assigned section of Luke’s Gospel for today leaves out some of the context of this parable. If we read from the beginning of chapter fifteen, all the way through, we see that this parable is actually the third of three parables in that chapter.
 The other two parables are also fairly well-known: the first is the Parable of the Lost Sheep, wherein Jesus asks the crowd who among them wouldn’t leave their flock of ninety-nine sheep to find the one that has wandered away? The second is the Parable of the Lost Coin, with the woman lighting a lamp to find a coin that is worth a day’s wages.
 Both of these parables give us the same story and the same ending: someone is searching, and then they find, that which has been lost. And then at the end of both of these stories, Jesus tells us that there is joy in heaven when even one sinner repents and turns back to God. In both cases, the one doing the searching represents God, who searches us out to bring us back.
 Then we reach the third parable, which gives us the story of the father and his two sons. The placement of this story after the other two parables is important, for there is movement from finding something less valuable (a sheep or a coin) to something much more valuable (one’s own child). Together, these three parables give us a picture of a loving and patient God who longs for reconciliation. It is the parable of the sons and their father, however, that beautifully tells of one son’s repentance and his return to his father, and the father’s rejoicing to welcome him home.
 One son leaves home with his inheritance, living a wasteful life and turning his back on the faith of his family. Once he’s hit rock bottom, he comes to himself, and in humility, he returns to his father to be a slave, only to be welcomed home with a lavish feast. Since the fatted calf was killed for this feast, we know that the whole village would’ve been invited to share in the celebration.
 The father gives his younger son the inheritance, with his older son staying behind to care for the family business. When the younger son returns home, his father and brother know what he’s been up to. His father responds immediately with love, forgiveness, and celebration – his brother responds with deep resentment and anger. The story ends with the father begging his older son to set aside the resentment and anger to join in surrounding the lost-and-found son with love, forgiveness, and joy.
 One common way to read this parable is to see ourselves in the characters of the story. In this way of reading, the lost-and-found younger son represents that part of each of us which is at times wandering, or at times wasteful, but then is humble, returning to God for God’s undeserved forgiveness and love.
 Likewise, the angry older son represents that part of each of us that believes that forgiveness and love are given only to those who work for them – those that deserve forgiveness and love from God. There are two extremes here represented by the two sons, and in reality, our own lives of faith and sin may fall somewhere in the middle.
 How about the father in the story? If we are trying to see ourselves in the characters in this story, can we see ourselves in the actions of the father? Do we reach out with forgiveness and love? Do we rejoice to forgive?
 With the parable ending as it does, we don’t know how things play out. We don’t get to see if the older son forgives his brother, nor do we get to see if the younger son maintains his humility, nor do we get to see if the father is able to re-establish peace within his family. If we are seeing ourselves in the characters of this story, then it is up to each of us in our own lives to decide to be humble, or decide to forgive.
 Looking at this parable another way, we see that it is also about God, and it shows us God’s nature. Unlike our sometimes-shaky relationships with other people, we know the end of the story in our relationship with God. If Lent is a time for us to focus more on repentance and turning back to God, then it is also a time to focus more on the welcoming love of God. Through Jesus’ death and resurrection, we are given new life, and in our baptisms, we are given faith. This is the love of God that we are given as a gift – love that is undeserved – love that sometimes doesn’t make any sense.
 Martin Luther wanted baptized people to remember their baptisms daily, and we should remember our baptisms often. It is in baptism that we are made children of God, and empowered by the Holy Spirit to serve God in the world. At our baptisms, we are made “new creations” in Christ, and we are called to take God’s reconciling love to others.
 Through faith, we know and trust that God welcomes us home with extravagant, rejoicing love whenever we turn from our sin back to God. And as faith gives us the ability to see God’s great love for us, faith also gives us the ability to see God’s love for others in our lives, and to offer his love and forgiveness to them.
 We gain strength for this work again and again, when we hear and read God’s word, when we worship God, and when we join others at the holy meal that God prepares for us at Holy Communion.
 As we are continually renewed by God’s love, may we find the humility of the lost-and-found son within ourselves. May we find the forgiveness and joy of his father within ourselves. Let us be the ones who bring humility, forgiveness, and joy to our families, to our workplaces and schools, and to our communities. The world needs all the humility, forgiveness, and joy that we can muster. Let’s bring it!
 Amen.

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Hooey Happens

Smells like hooey to me!

The Rev. Kathi Johnson

Lent 3, Year C – 28 February 2016

Text: Luke 13:1-9

Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Grand Prairie, Texas

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The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – final stanza

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary.

“Into each life some rain must fall…” writes Longfellow, realizing that everyone faces difficult times, sad times, slow times, times when the light is barely making it through the clouds.

Today’s gospel lesson starts off with some people asking Jesus why bad things have happened to good people. We don’t know the details, and the actual history of these events has been lost to us. But what we can gather from what Luke tells us is that first, some Galileans have been killed brutally by Pilate, and second, some other people have died after a tower fell on them. These incidents apparently are the current events of the day, and the people talking to Jesus want to know from him if these horrible things have happened because of the sins of those who died.

These are ancient questions: Who can we blame for these horrible events? Whose sin is to blame? And yet, Jesus seems offended at the very idea of casting blame, and he reminds his listeners that they are all sinners, and they are all in need of repentance.

And then he tells a story with some hooey in it:

There’s a fig tree in a vineyard that’s been there for three years, but for three straight years, it’s borne no fruit. Not one blessed fig has grown on this thing. The landowner tells the gardener to cut it down so that something fruitful can be put in its place. 

And right when you think the fig tree is about to meet its end, the gardener speaks up, asking for one more year. The gardener knows that he can take even better care of the fig tree, adding some hooey to the soil around its base, so that the tree will grow better and become fruitful.

This parable is, on one hand, a basic gardening lesson: make the soil as good as possible, and the plant will grow the best it possibly can.

On the other hand, this parable also reminds us of a universal life truth: that sometimes, hooey happens. Or, to go back to Longfellow, “into each life some rain must fall.” Now, sometimes, things do happen as a result of someone else’s sinfulness, or someone’s intention to cause harm. That’s not what I’m talking about here. What I’m talking about here are difficult situations that arise as a part of a course of events.

I’m reminded of a question my Mom used to ask herself whenever she was facing a difficult situation: “What might God be trying to teach me in this?” The beauty of this question is that it helps us see that even when we are in the thick of things, we can still be open to God and what God is teaching us. This question also takes the focus off of blaming others for the challenges we face, and it helps us rightfully focus upon the greater lessons to be learned.

When I was on internship, a retired pastor and his wife in the congregation invited Steve and me over for lunch after church one Sunday. He had goats, and the goats had baby goats, and he wanted to take a picture of me holding a baby goat in my clerics, just for fun. So, over we went to their home – and we went outside to meet the goats and get our picture taken. And then the retired pastor asked me to walk over to another part of the yard, so I followed him over to the feed trough for the goats.

“Walk around it,” the pastor said, “In a circle.” So, I walked in a circle around the trough.

When I finished, I looked expectantly at the pastor, as if to ask him what had been the purpose of that little exercise.

“Sometimes, in ministry, you’re gonna have to walk through hooey,” he said, “And I wanted you to have some experience literally walking through hooey. Now, whenever you face a time when you have to walk through some hooey, you can do it, knowing you’ve done it before.”

Of course he was right – there is hooey to walk through in ministry, just as there is hooey to walk through in every line of work or every grade of school. In our everyday lives, in our relationships, and even in our walks with God, we face challenges that sometimes seem beyond us. In every difficulty, in every situation, that question lies before us: “What might God be trying to teach me in this?”

Sometimes, God might be trying to teach us humility. St. Augustine believed that the manure in the parable is a symbol of humility. In this view, it’s the manure that keeps us humble and the manure that keeps us from thinking too highly of ourselves, so that we can see our own need for repentance.

It is through repentance that – instead of casting blame on others - we see the sin in our own hearts and in our own lives. It is through repentance that we then find grace and strength from God to turn away from sin and receive forgiveness.

As I’ve thought about this parable more and more this week, I’ve decided that the manure around the base of the fig tree can certainly represent the challenges that arise in our lives, or it can represent humility, as Augustine said. But more than that, I think the manure can represent anything in our lives that causes our faith to grow, whether those are difficulties, or changes, or risks we take, or even positive outcomes. What might God be trying to teach me in this difficulty, or this risk, or in this great new thing that is opening up in my life?

Once we start to ask this question of ourselves, again and again we see the hand of God at work in our lives. Again and again, we see that even though hooey happens, Jesus is the patient gardener, working the soil around our roots with great care and in great love. Thanks be to God for that – and for the manure, for the strength to repent and the grace to be forgiven.

Amen.

Jerusalem, Jerusalem...

Jerusalem, Jerusalem

The Rev. Kathi Johnson

C Lent 2 – 21 February 2016

Text: Luke 13:31-35

Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Grand Prairie, Texas

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It was just over two years ago that Steve and I were in the Holy Land, beginning our trip by staying in the city of Jesus’ birth – Bethlehem – then moving to Nazareth, where Jesus grew up. We ended our trip by staying in a Lutheran guest house located in the labyrinth of streets of the Old City of Jerusalem.

Unlike the other two places we’d stayed, our bus couldn’t drive us anywhere even close to that guest house. The streets of the Old City are much too small and narrow for the big tour busses, so we were dropped off alongside one of the busy city streets just outside the huge walls around the Old City. And then, we walked.

It felt like a holy walk, and as we approached the Jaffa Gate, I was filled with emotion and curiosity, but I must admit to some trepidation, too. I wasn’t exactly fearful for my safety, yet my trepidation was based on Jerusalem’s violent past. For much of its history, and into its present, this beautiful city has been a place of bloodshed – bloodshed that has come as a result of the hatred and division that are so evident there.

Of course, the hatred and division found in Jerusalem are indicative of the hatred and division throughout the world, including the United States. But in Jerusalem, the hatred and division are palpable – and we were there in a time of relative peace. When in Jerusalem, one walks the streets feeling as though a lid is just barely being kept on a pot that’s about to boil over.

The divisions were different during Jesus’ day, of course, but it is humanity’s hatred, division, and general closemindedness that Jesus is lamenting in today’s gospel lesson: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” Jesus says.

The gospel writer Luke places this lament right after a series of teachings all about repentance. So Jesus’ lament over Jerusalem becomes another in this series of calls to repentance. Jesus is filled with emotion as he approaches the Holy City, and so he laments humanity’s unwillingness to let God’s work be done through him. Throughout his life, and here again in today’s story, people are determined to keep Jesus from his work of offering hope and healing to those who are most in need.

Jesus, of course, is filled with emotion as he approaches Jerusalem because he knows he’s not just visiting there on a vacation. He knows that the fate which awaits him is similar to some of the prophets – he knows he is going there to die.

But he also knows that his death is not the end of the story. To the Pharisees who approach him at the first, Jesus says: “…on the third day, I finish my work.” This is not Jesus telling them to mark that third day on their calendars. This is Jesus saying that on the third day after his death, when he is raised to life again, that is when his life’s work will be complete. He knows that many will think that when he’s hanging on that cross, he’s done for, but Jesus knows that his resurrection will defeat the power of death.

It is through Jesus’ death and resurrection that he gathers us, like “a hen gathers her brood under her wings.” That gathering is God’s will – not the scattering that comes when hatred and division are allowed to reign in our lives. Whenever we allow hatred and division to enter in, we’re just like those little chicks that run away from their mama’s wings.

During our Lenten Wednesday services this year, we’re going through the different parts of the baptismal covenant. These are the promises made on our behalf if we are baptized as infants or children. We looked together at the first part last week: “…to live among God’s faithful people.” I asked the congregation to write down several words or phrases about what that means to them. What does it mean to “live among God’s faithful people”?

When I asked them to share some of their responses, the words emerged around three main ideas: love, support, and protection. In other words, for the people gathered on Wednesday, they felt that living among God’s faithful people offers them love, support, and protection. I then asked them who this is a reflection of…?

It’s a reflection of our lives with Jesus Christ. Jesus offers us his love, his support, and his protection – like a hen that gathers her brood under her wings. We, as the Body of Christ, embody that to others – offering love, support, and safety to others, in the name of Jesus. That is a large part of our witness to Jesus, and believe me when I say to you that how we embody those things to others makes a huge difference in how people view us, but also how they view Jesus.

So many people have not experienced the Body of Christ as a place of love, support, or protection – quite the opposite – and so they have written off not just church or its members, but Jesus, too. (And who can blame them?) Imagine, then, the opportunity we all have to embody the love of Jesus Christ to them – in our humility, our acts of service, our love for one another, our healing of divisions, and our letting go of old hatred.

Let us pray:

Thy holy wings, O Savior, spread gently over me,

and let me rest securely through good and ill in thee.

Oh, be my strength and portion, my rock and hiding place,

and let my ev'ry moment be lived within thy grace.

Amen.

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