sermon notesA collection of resources, background information, and periodic reflections on the scripture readings in worship from Pr Josh Ehrler. Archives
July 2018
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Our reflection is on Mark 7.18,14-15,21-23.
Many years ago I led a youth group on a summer work trip. We used an organization that I wasn’t familiar with but others I knew had tried and trusted. Our small band of Lutherans joined up with nearly 300 other adults and high schoolers from across the theological spectrum in a smallish, impoverished town to do good. Once at the assembly site, all of the groups were blasted apart and reassigned, meaning, my work team included only one of “my” youth. The organizers made it clear early on that the purpose of the work was to build connections with the recipients and once trust was built, to lead them to Christ. The service, my Lutherans quickly discovered, was not the objective. The goal was to win souls for Christ. That may have even been on a poster somewhere. We were led to assume that the clients needed our mediocre painting and handy skills and more importantly (and demonstrated by their dire straits), they needed to know the love of Jesus. Through this training, we were led to presume that we had the answers and it was our privilege to share them. In this gospel reading appointed for the first weekend of September (Labor Day weekend 2018 not so ironically), Jesus is confronted by a group of Pharisees and scribes demonstrably frustrated that Jesus’ disciples are not demonstrating their faith. It should be noted from the outset that Mark’s primary audience was probably not Jewish in ethnic or religious background and there are pieces, like this reading, when Mark reveals his own bias (note the snark about the cups, pots, and kettles in 7.4). Naturally being Jesus groupies already, by the seventh chapter we’re going to respond with our own dismay at these silly grumps and their fruitless argument about respecting the elders. We sit back and let Jesus take the mic. The Pharisees (and scribes), who hold a great deal of power and influence, presume to know what the disciples need to reveal their faith. These civic and religious leaders are living through Levitical codes that prescribe specific acts to remove defilement, an unseen mark meant to separate individuals from the community. The codes have a dual intent of maintaining hygiene in a tightly knit tribe and illustrate a moral center for the tribe and the people counted as part of it. It a double wall of protection that probably served a positive, even necessary purpose for the survival of the group. Centuries later, layers of God language has been piled upon these codes and the Pharisees seem to be using them less to hold fast to God and their community and more to dictate how everyone else will live with them. Stepping away from the narrow focus of theological doctrine, this mentality of privilege-assuming safety and the freedom to influence others-connects many of us to the fallacy of Pharisees. It is a privilege to presume that at a distinct method of prayer or worship is the right path to addressing God. The privilege comes from a lack of need to evaluate any other patterns or to wonder if the style, wording or origin language should be changed. Privilege creates an expectation that a new worshipper will soon assimilate and become “like us” instead of the body changing, even in small ways, to reflect the new ones. Privilege does not compel us to imagine who has not yet gathered with us and often focuses on an assumption that neighbors are waiting to be invited, or that they have some specific angst toward our faith community. We, more than we’d care to admit, are the Pharisees gazing over our neighbors who look, speak, dress or live differently from us and unconsciously asking why they can’t seem to straighten themselves out. Some have even argued, rightly, that a sign of privilege is simply having the privilege of time, resources and influences to sit back and think these big thinks while others are grinding out each day to make it to the next one. This reading would be an easy read and easy sermon for any one of us to give as we stand behind Christ and call out the arrogance of the Pharisees (and scribes-we so often forget them). However, and this is the trouble with being a follower of Christ: Jesus did not come into this world for the obvious Pharisees and the evil rich and powerful, he broke into this world for us. You and me sitting with this text and wanting so badly for Jesus to spit out some devastating lines at others. Jesus walks with us, it is true. Yet, his proclamation of Grace that liberates us from sin comes for the heart of our existence in every story and in every moment. If Jesus is calling out the Pharisees, then he will turn and call us out, too. His use of the Law in this reading is meant to reveal our desperate need for his forgiveness. We have forced our need for justification upon our neighbors who are sick, poor, struggling and reaching for mercy. We have drawn lines around our forms and styles of worship and set up high walls to prevent the influence of other cultures or styles. We have obsessed about the cleanliness of our cups and kettles and noted the dirt on the shelves of others, showing little care for why it is that not every pot and pan is equally polished. Christ finds us after feeding us amidst thousands and a quick detour to heal sick people in Gennesaret (6.53-56) and confronts our privilege with the Law that breaks us. He speaks God’s Word that shatters our walls and proclaims a kingdom that denies our presumption of authority. Christ is the only authority, only Christ can heal and nourish and declare us clean. With his cross, Jesus knocks us from our soapbox and places us in the dirt at his feet to witness his loss of every privilege for our salvation. We need this saving Grace to set us free. And once we are broken of our dependence on what we know, we are brought to life to see Christ abundant in the faces, languages and cultures of God’s making. Jesus shines his mercy upon our sin, much of which we hide inside, and breathes into our collapsed lungs. He turns over the tables and flings wide the doors of God’s kingdom and compels us through love to see our shared, equality humanity. Our wealth does not set us free. Our health, our jobs, our methods of worship do not set us free. Our skin color, our nation of origin, our family lines will not set us free. Only Christ can cleave us from what defines us and the definitions we prescribe. Only Christ can speak a Word that obliterates every hope we have in our unspoken privileges. Only Christ can lead us to our death and draw us through the grave into God’s mercy and love for Creation. Only Christ has this power, and thanks be to God when he turns this unstoppable power upon us.
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Strong Women of Scripture: Eve7/11/2018 During the summer of 2018, Trinity Lutheran will be meeting and interacting with a variety of strong women found in scripture. Some will be familiar, other will be new acquaintances. This reflection is meant to introduce a new woman each week and provide thoughts on how we might be inspired by her strength and faith in God.
This open letter is based on Genesis 2.18-3.20 Dear Eve, I feel the only place to start is with a long overdue apology. I am sorry for all of it and my part in it. You, dear sister, have been the recipient of derision, anger, and patriarchal judgment for centuries. Though we humans are supposed to be better at learning from our mistakes, you know our tendency to fall back on what we think we know. For so long, nearly as long as you have been known, you have been held at the heart of our broken vision of ourselves. We have used you as an excuse for our failures, our divisions, and very nature as sinful creatures. For my own complicity and acceptance of these false assumptions, as well as my continued refusal to correct these thoughts in myself and others, I ask for your forgiveness. I am not much of a scholar and I do not know exactly how we got here. I know, as you full well know, some of it is our Western Christian bias toward St Augustine, an otherwise wise bishop who had issues with his own mother and, I fear, took his angst out on you, the mother of us all. That seems to be the way with us humans. We deflect our anxiety about those whom are closest to us by attacking others who exhibit the traits of our beloveds. Whoever put your story to parchment first was much kinder than we have been since the start. Or maybe I should say, he (or she) was at least more even-handed than we have bothered to notice. In the English translations on my desk, God calls you a partner to Adam. That immediately implies equality and shared roles. It speaks of communication, devotion and mutual respect. It reminds us that you did not arrive simply to pull Adam out of his loneliness, you were sent to build a community with him. You were in this together from the beginning. One of our scholars, Susan Niditch, a contributor to Women’s Bible Commentary, points out that you and Adam are the core model of social and cultural relationships throughout Genesis, let alone much of the Bible. From you generations came, tribes were formed, nation-states rose from the dirt, entire civilians came into being (pg. 30). You deserve far more credit than you receive for birthing, raising, and crafting how we humans continue to function. And I know, those accolades would be nice and obviously well-deserved but, we really need to acknowledge the elephant, or snake, in the room. That whole fruit of the tree thing has really been your social downfall. There again, the author of Genesis never describes it as sin. Nor does he (or she) imply that you and your partner fell from grace. Life got significantly harder, or at least it’s implied by God’s proclamation in Genesis 3.14-19, yet God never abandons either of you. Certainly not you, dear sister. You carry far too much of humanity’s scorn for being yourself. Of course, I’m bound to my own viewpoints and we Lutherans argue incessantly that all humans are bound to sin because we are bound to our own will. God gave us freedom to follow God and we refuse to do it because always we serve ourselves. Your story is an illustration of this though, I have to remind myself and others, it’s not just your story. Adam was there and was an equal participate. Genesis says in 3.6 that “she took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate.” How in the world does this imply that you “seduced” Adam? As if he’s some sort of sucker or fool just standing around waiting to be told what to do. Though, of course, I wasn’t there, only you know. Maybe, since he was formed first, he was a little…slower on the uptake. Whatever, you didn’t con him, you didn’t cajole him or have to convince him to do something he otherwise didn’t want to do. Genesis gives no word implying that he was devout to God or resisted this particular fruit because he was better than you. What we do learn from the close read is that you, unlike your beau, realized the fruit was healthy, safe, and “a delight to the eyes.” It’s true that the conversation started with some commentary from a snake, or THE snake, and as weird as that seems to us 21st C, Disneyfied Westerners, I can imagine such conversations were common place in the garden. The snake never lied to you and you never absentmindedly followed along. You were your own person, you had your own motivations (the fruit delighted your eyes and you desired to become wise like God), you took the fruit on your own. Susan Niditch, that scholar I mentioned earlier, gives you lots of deserved love for your role in the story. Niditch notes that you are the one, not Adam, who reflects God’s curiosity and the human tendency to test limits. You use all of your senses, Adam merely tastes and discovers what you have figured out. You are described as a “conscious actor choosing knowledge.” (Women’s Bible Commentary, pg. 30) Every human chooses knowledge, at least as we define it for ourselves. I do wish we had a more shared understanding of wisdom and sought to care for each other in love more than we serve ourselves, but that is the nature of sin. This is not your fault even though so many for so long has worked so hard to attach this aspect of humanity on you. You may literally have been the first; this does not mean you are the blame. I can only imagine the proclivities of sin in my life that are probably marks of my genealogy, yet I do not curse my ancestors for them. I do, on the other hand, tend to thank my long gone relatives for some of my natural abilities or interests (woodworking as a hobby or career spans several generations in my father’s line, as well as gardening does in my mother’s). Which reminds me that, as much I must return to the original apology that started this letter, I need to equally thank you for the gifts of life you gave humanity. You taught your children, who have taught us, to keep asking questions and to seek wisdom. You created in us a need to explore and wonder what else there might be. Have we thanked you for astronomy, mathematics, and international travel? We should show our appreciation for innovation, tinkering, and countless medical advancements. We can stand give you some credit for love and devotion existing within families, traits often attributed to God, who made you. As much as I know some families are broken and badly damaged by sin (which you know firsthand), you and Adam are our first model of persevering in parentage and surrendering your own wants for the care of each other. Maybe you two weren’t as self-centered as some boisterous fools have made you out to be in their books. Eve, I can’t speak for everyone, so for my own paralysis in patriarchy, I offer my meager apology. I am sorry for contributing to the demise of your good name when I should be lifting you as a model of what is wonderful about humanity. I will strive to do better. You deserve better. You are, after all, our shared mother and we humans do like to at least say out loud that we love our mothers. Our actions and writings, unfortunately, do not follow this well and reveal how sin embodies every creature. As much as God did not stop loving and caring for you, may we remember this Grace in our lives and be turned back to our LORD to see you in your fullness as a fellow human. May we learn from you and give thanks that you came first to lead us in our toils and our love of God. Trust in God’s Grace, Your Wayward Son
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Strong Women of Scripture: Ruth6/20/2018 During the summer of 2018, Trinity Lutheran will be meeting and interacting with a variety of strong women found in scripture. Some will be familiar, other will be new acquaintances. This reflection is meant to introduce a new woman each week and provide thoughts on how we might be inspired by her strength and faith in God.
Our reflection is for Ruth 1.1-18 (though you might as well read the entire book). Attempting to summarize Ruth is a false hope. She is beloved and consistently read by so many women and men that adding more words is relatively futile. With that, we don't need to take much time doing all that. If you want to know more about Ruth, read her book. It falls between Judges and 1 Samuel, when King Saul is anointed. As you enter her story again, note that she is not an Israelite. She is a Moabite, an ethnic and religious outsider who faithfully attaches herself to Naomi, her mother-in-law. Various scholars like to point this out because it implies the risk Ruth was taking following Naomi into "foreign" land, even though it was her husband's homeland and she would have been able to make the trip safely if he were still alive. There may be some implied risk with border crossing, but as Phyllis Trible observes in Women in Scripture, what sets Ruth apart are the facts that she married outside of her tribe in the first place, disavows her family by claiming Naomi's, "abandons her national identity and renounces her religious affiliation" in one sentence (pg. 146). The only other character in the Bible who comes close to this form of reidentification is Abraham in all his travels, though he still marries Sarah of his own tribe (Women in Scripture, pg.146). Ruth is more than simply a risk taker, she surrenders everything she knows to stay with Naomi. Naomi has nothing. She is not a man and in this culture, that is significant. A man provides shelter, support and protection. Right or wrong for us of the 21st C, it was the overwhelming reality of women in the Ancient Near East. For Ruth to not turn back, like Orpah, she is giving up a good chance at survival in order to trudge through the wilderness with Naomi. No one faults Orpah for turning back, and as so many of us know from this book, Naomi desperately wants both of her beloved daughters-in-law to leave her to her journey. The odds are steep against survival for all three of them if they stay together. Ruth, of course, doesn't seem to care much for the odds. She only knows love. Consistently Ruth shows her concern for Naomi. For all of her conspiring to know Boaz and her powerful independence, Ruth spends most of her time caring for her mother-in-law. Ruth plucks the grains in the field for them to mill simple meals. This is the work of the poorest of the poor of that culture. Israelite farmers showed their compassion and their faithfulness to God by observing the Levitical law of leaving the edges of the field behind. The poor (and the foreigner!) were to be allowed to reap this meager harvest for themselves (Leviticus 23.22). That Boaz makes this a regular practice of his vast farming business is a not-so-subtle hint that he's a good chap. Ruth collects cheap grain for Naomi. Ruth takes all of her advice from Naomi. When her son is born at the end of her story, she gives the son to Naomi, creating a sense that this child longed for since the opening verses is not for Ruth but for her embittered mother-in-law to renew her hope. Ruth is hope at the end of the book of Judges when the nation is tearing itself apart. Ruth is a vision of life coming from a "foreigner" crossing borders into new lands because she will not leave her family behind. Ruth is a dynamic woman who simultaneously knows herself and surrenders everything about herself for the sake of Naomi. Ruth is worth your time to read, then read again.
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Strong Women of Scripture: Deborah6/13/2018 During the summer of 2018, Trinity Lutheran will be meeting and interacting with a variety of strong women found in scripture. Some will be familiar, other will be new acquaintances. This reflection is meant to introduce a new woman each week and provide thoughts on how we might be inspired by her strength and faith in God.
Our reflection is for Judges 4.4-9; 5.1-13 This week we move from matriarchs of the church to a divinely inspired leader. Technically, a judge, a person raised up by God “who delivered [the people] out of the power of those who plundered them” (Judges 2.16). And further explaining, “Whenever the LORD raised up judges for them, the LORD was with the judge, and he [sic] delivered them” (5.18). “Whenever the judge died, they would relapse and behave worse than their ancestors” (5.19). Sister Deborah was one of these judges, one who held her seat for 40 years. This implies the Israelites were good to go for those 40 years and when she passed on from this mortal coil, they fell back into disarray. That is, in fact, how she was raised up by God. We learn in the first few verses of chapter 4 that the Israelites followed their post-judge (Shamgar was his name) pattern of falling from God and were taken captive by an army to the north that floats in and out of Israel’s early history. Deborah, the only female judge and the only judge to be a prophet (Women in Scripture, pg 66), arrives on scene and immediately recruits a second in command, Barak. Through her, God lays out the battle plan to reclaim God’s people. Though Deborah is the one speaking, as she is prophetess, her words are God’s Word. God is addressing Barak, which makes his response curious. Barak goes along with the outline yet will not go out without Deborah. For his hesitance and doubt, Deborah gives him the bad news that he will lead the army to victory but it won’t be for his glory. He isn’t going to receive much credit beyond a name drop in a song, the glory will go to a woman. For a little perspective on the impending battle, Dennis Olson, commentator in New Interpreter’s Bible: Vol. 2, reminds us that the Canaanites have the state of the art weapons. Their war tech is far superior to anything the Israelites can muster (NIB, pg 779). In chapter 5, verse 8, the author sings, “Was shield and spear to be seen among forty thousand in Israel?” This is a lopsided fight that is going to require a whole lot more than heart and can-do spirit. Deborah’s soldiers don’t even have shields the Canannites have iron, the latest development that hints at the coming new age of development (NIB, pg 787). Hence her song is centered on God’s might. We nod and agree and in good form, readily acknowledge that it’s always because of God. Every Christian child knows the answer to the kids’ message question is Jesus. Plus, with Deborah being a prophetess, for her to credit anyone other than God would go against her role and calling in her nation. We 21st century readers get that and yet, to stay with that thought allows us to assume that anyone could have done the same thing. We might try to convince ourselves, or others will try for us, to believe that the judge is irrelevant. Except, we know from this story that Deborah is far from a mere jar of clay filling space. She is a powerful woman at the height of power for the burgeoning nation-state of Israel. It is no accident she wound up in charge and it is worth remembering that she is the only prophetess to sit in the chair under her own tree named after her. Oh, and by the way, she’s not brought in by God to fix the mess and quickly be sent away. She is the judge of Israel for 40 years, a long run to sit in the seat of power. One significant way Deborah stands out is that she is willing to stand up when called, as opposed to her general, Barak, who melts in his boots. He’s responsible for the army and organizing the troops, poorly armed as they are, and he buckles. Victor H. Matthews, commentator on Judges in Fortress Commentary on the Bible: The Old Testament and Apocrypha, writes, “Barak’s reluctance becomes a narrative catalyst for gender reversal” (pg. 337). Deborah does not slow her speak or her step, she sees the suffering of her people in Canaan and, with God’s Word, offers a solution. Her first spoken words are not an idea but a command. Barak will do rally the troops and if he can’t or won’t, Deborah will no doubt find someone who will. God’s plan can only come through her own decisive style for reaching her people. She knows the terrain, the capabilities of her soldiers and the allies available to be drawn into the battle. Surrounded by the chaos of loss, sadness and the wafting smoke of charred communities within her borders, Deborah brings stability and the assurance that God remains with the Israelites (Women in Scripture, pg.67). God knows their suffering, Deborah knows their cries to the LORD, and together they declare a resolution. This is how it will be. Assurance may be the underlying theme sister Deborah offers we readers. She reflects a sense of confidence of God’s presence and guidance that many of us may struggle to believe. Deborah does not doubt and does not betray her trust that God what God says is what God will do. The prior two weeks in our series, we have hung out with women who have wondered about God’s nearness to their lives. Hagar runs for her life in the wilderness to escape abuse, only to find God with her in the wilderness. Sarah hears God’s promise so many times that it becomes hollow and she can’t do anything more than laugh in God’s face. Deborah is a bold contrast to many characters in the Bible who ask more questions, need more proof or simply are not absolutely sure. Deborah is sure, she has all she needs and she will not wait around for anyone else to figure it out. If Barak needs her near to get his work done, then she’s going to the battle ground with him. Whatever it takes, Deborah is in this until the enemy is destroyed and her people are home. She knows that, since this is God’s doing, it will unfold as she envisions it. By the time we’re in chapter 5, the song of victory is being sung, God is credited with knocking back the Canaanites and sister Deborah is declared “a mother in Israel” (5.7b). A fitting descriptor for a woman who takes in the pain of the suffering ones and fearlessly offers protection through God’s hand.
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Strong Women of Scripture: Sarah6/6/2018 During the summer of 2018, Trinity Lutheran will be meeting and interacting with a variety of strong women found in scripture. Some will be familiar, other will be new acquaintances. This reflection is meant to introduce a new woman each week and provide thoughts on how we might be inspired by her strength and faith in God.
Our reflection is for Genesis 18.1-15 We launched our summer series on strong women with Hagar, a dynamic women trapped in an abusive relationship with a couple. If you’d like to read more about Hagar, click here. The challenge we face this week is that we need to spend time with one of those troubling people, Sarah. She owned Hagar, an Egyptian (African) slave-girl and saw fit to use her as she wished. After the promise given to Sarah and Abe from God wasn’t falling together as they wanted it to, Sarah sought outside means to fulfill the promise. Though some scholars have tried to argue that her tactics loosely parallel surrogacy, those parallels are a thin veil meant to excuse Sarah’s behavior. Surrogate mothers offer themselves to a couple, often with a clearly and justly constructed legal document. The surrogate mother is compensated and the awaiting parent(s) follows the process to the end to ensure the mother’s well-being along with the child’s. There is no evidence of this relationship being just, equitable or in any way beneficial for Hagar. After conception, Hagar is berated and flees the tent of Sarah for her safety and liberation. In chapter 21, Hagar is kicked out for good by Sarah in a jealous rage. Not a strong introduction for sister Sarah, though, without making excuses for her acts, if we’re able to go back and read Genesis from chapter 12, that Sarah is not seen or treated well by her husband, father Abraham. Hitting remind for a moment, in chapter 12 we learn that Abe and Sarah have been sent on a quest by God because they have been chosen. As was discussed in our study here at Trinity Lutheran this past week, it is easy for us to exalt Abe and Sarah because of their status in hindsight. In the moment, at the time, they were simply a troubled couple headed out and based on Genesis, one of their first stops is Egypt (sidebar: remember that Hagar is Egyptian; also, remember the Israelites are enslaved by the Egyptians by the end of the book of Genesis). Before encountering border patrol, Abe tells Sarah to lie and say they aren’t married, their sister and brother. That’s not weird. Actually, Tikva Frymer-Kensky, contributor to Women in Scripture, writes that “Abraham is fearful that the Egyptians will kill him…a brother was somewhat of a protector.” (150) Fair point, and yet, as Frymer-Kensky notes, “Sarah [becoming] a slave in Pharaoh’s house serves to foreshadow Israel’s later bondage in Eqypt.” (151) This experience, no matter how positively we look at it 2000 years later, must have marked Sarah, if not her marriage. Fast forward no to the reading at hand in chapter 18 and we find sister Sarah where she often is near Abe, in the shadow, behind the scene. This moment of the three visitors of Abraham is significant to Christian tradition. It is believed to be a revelation of the Trinity (Father, Son, Holy Spirit), at least by Christo-centric believers. Pointing this out provides further proof that Sarah has significant obstacles to get any sort of notice in the Bible on her own. Wherever she shows up, her husband is near or she’s interacting (poorly) with Hagar. Which gets us to the heart of the problem with Sarah. Can we pull her free of the overwhelming odds and see her as her own woman? Returning to Frymer-Kensky for a concise description of this, “The miracles that God performed for Sarah in Egypt have not taught [Abraham] her importance.” (150) We could apply that same argument to ourselves in the 21st C. It is difficult for us to see Sarah as Sarah without her presence being crowded out by the circumstances and people around her. One piece of Sarah’s character that is very much her own is her sense of humor. Even in our Bible study at Trinity we struggled with her laughter, assuming it was an offense to God. Who would dare laugh at God’s plans for us? It is a fair question. The Harper Collins Study Bible offers an interesting twist on this event and the exchange between God and Abraham (note: God doesn’t talk to Sarah directly; again, overwhelming odds against being seen) by offering the notion it was all humorous. God notes the laughter. Sarah denies the laughter. God denies the denial (HCSB, 2017 Digital Ed., pg 127) See, that’s comedy gold. In a sense, the HCSB is good to take this down a different path from the typical, Western, guilt-laden and God-dreading path of uprightness. God is obviously serious and yet, God can handle a good joke. The HCSB defends this thought that God and Sarah (through Abraham) share a moment of silliness by reminding its readers that their heralded son to come, Isaac, is named for laughter. His name means “to laugh” because this entire episode, the covenant, the couple, their brokenness, God’s regular reminders, and the eventual birth, is cosmically ridiculous. It simply should not happen. And it does. And it happens through our sister Sarah. We still have to set her free, though. Returning to the free form, undocumented women’s Bible study of this local congregation, we kept on that challenge and came to a simple conclusion: God chose Sarah. God spoke to Sarah. If it had not been for Sarah, there would be no lineage, no nations, no silly camp song about Father Abraham and his many sons (never mind the daughters). Sarah deserves some credit for putting up with her less than optimal husband and his sleeping around the entire tribe of his making. She deserves some morsel of Grace for living in a promise from God that was physically and emotionally impossible by any human measurement. She deserves some words of praise for persevering, even if with bad behavior, along a quest that had no clear end and ends with her silence. She deserves a nod of gratitude for being human and laughing out loud in the presence of God when many of us today would stifle our character and assume a false pose. Sarah is Sarah, in all her glory and ghastly mistakes. She is a broken, fallen human who casts her sin upon her nearest slave and shows no remorse for her abusive words and deeds. She is also, dare we confess, forgiven by God and allowed to continue in God’s Grace. Sarah is transformed by her encounters with God, Isaac being the most obvious manifestation of God’s compassion in the midst of sorrow and woeful behavior. Sarah can be our light when our hope is dim and our shadows, some of our own making, crowd out our hope. God does not give up on sister Sarah. God, despite all Sarah says and does in her life, even goes so far as shares a smile, maybe a not-so-secret inside joke, lest she think that her life has gone unnoticed.
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Strong Women of Scripture: Hagar5/30/2018 During the summer of 2018, Trinity Lutheran will be meeting and interacting with a variety of strong women found in scripture. Some will be familiar, other will be new acquaintances. This reflection is meant to introduce a new woman each week and provide thoughts on how we might be inspired by her strength and faith in God.
Our reflection is for Genesis 16.6-14 Hagar’s presence is borne out of impatience with the circumstances of life and she continues bearing disappointment throughout her life with her fortitude. We’re introduced to Hagar because Abram and Sarai have not been able to conceive a child. Since God’s promise to Abram in chapter 15 is dependent on childbirth, the couple reaches beyond their tent and Sarai brings forth Hagar, whom the narrator identifies by name, ethnicity and job title. She is an “Egyptian slave-girl” given over to Abram to alleviate his anxiety and, her very existence is fraught with pain and lack of power. We can’t go far into her story without spending time with her identity. As with many women characters of the Bible, her very being is not hers to claim. Hagar is owned by Sarai; she has no say over how she will be used and in what ways she must serve her master. Naturally our gut reaction to start making arguments of history and culture and different times and people and yet, it is unavoidable for us, especially us American Christians of the 21st C, to make direct parallels between Hagar and the countless unnamed African women who were enslaved across the US and forced to surrender their bodies to their owners. Hagar’s lot was wrapped in shame and utter disregard for her humanness bearing the image of God. Sarai shows no care for her life, only that she is of an age to produce children and is readily available. This abuse has played out across time and space and must be noted somehow as part of our not-so-distant American history, as well as the not-so-secret realm of human trafficking that continues along our interstate system today. Hagar is no simple prop to help Abram and Sarai get what they want, though that is clearly their expectation. She is a powerful Egyptian woman who makes her own mind up, after the deed is done, that she’s done with these two characters. It doesn’t matter to her what God told Abram. In verse 6, after one last tirade from Sarai, Hagar takes her life in her hands and runs for the wilderness. As Terrence Fretheim points out in his commentary in New Interpreter’s Bible Volume 1, Hagar would prefer freedom in a violent, unsafe landscape over a life of oppression in the tribe (pg 452). Finally on her own and able to speak for herself, Hagar finds herself in the presence of an angel of the LORD. Some commentators prefer to downplay this interaction, noting that it’s a messenger of God and not God’s true form being revealed to Hagar. That’s a fine attempt at diminishing Hagar and it doesn’t fit the text, or the experiences of others in scripture who are encountered by God in various forms. Moses sees clouds (and a mysterious backside of God), Job is met by a tornado, Ezekiel witnesses all sorts of whacky visions, and Jacob wrestles a human form. All of these people are changed forever by their experiences. Being in the presence of God is transformative, an act of re-Creation on God’s part for the sake of the individual. Also, all of these examples are men, because it is incredibly rare in all of scripture for a woman to be met by, to interact with, and to name God. Hagar, who is never named by Sarai or Abram by the way (Women in Scripture, pg 86), uses her voice and her words to give God a name. And once again we are tempted to downplay this act in verse 13, since we know that God’s name is YHWH. No one can name God who’s name is already known. That’s true and Hagar knows this. In the Hebrew, where our English is translated “the LORD,” we find God’s true name, YHWH. She names YHWH ‘El-roi,’ a reference to how she came to know that God was with her. She has been seen by God. She has spent her adult life as a check box on a supply ledger in Sarai’s books. She has been carted around from place to place by a couple who cannot even bother to speak her name, let alone treat her with human dignity. She has been hauled into Abram’s bed and when she did everything she was told, she was verbally berated by her owner. Hagar has gone unnoticed, disregarded and tossed aside without anyone caring for her. No wonder our God of mercy and steadfast love shows up and makes her presence known in the wilderness. God sees Hagar. God loves Hagar. God provides Hagar with nearly the same promise God gave Abram in chapter 15. Tikva Frymer-Kensky, contributor to Women in Scripture, says, “Hagar is Abram’s counterpart.” (pg 87) Hagar receives a promise of life beyond her own, she is warned of suffering to come, she is assured of God’s care, and later in Genesis both her son and Abram’s will be rescued from death. Wilda Gafney, contributor to The People’s Bible gives God’s promise of life to Hagar a powerful name, “dynasty.” (pg 146) God will not allow Hagar to continue feeling unrecognized by the LORD. God has heard her cries, not unlike God hearing the cries of the people enslaved by the Egyptians in Exodus. Fretheim helps us firm up this parallel by drawing us to verse 11, noting that God’s word use is nearly identical to God’s description of the suffering Israelites (NIB, pg 452). God is establishing a pattern of liberation and compassion in the earliest chapters of the Bible, and God does it here for a woman easily ignored by everyone but God. Her name is Hagar. She is an Egyptian. She will bear a son, one who will not be hindered by the constraints that bind her. Ishmael will be bold, powerful and unkempt. He will push back against those who try to oppress him and he will be an instigator of change. It is tragic that Hagar must return to live with Sarai and endure her abuse and in Genesis chapter 21, Hagar will be free of them again. Her hope, then, is grounded in God’s Word spoken directly to her by our LORD who sees the suffering ones of this world and acts on their behalf.
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Speaking of Faith in Ezekiel 375/16/2018 Our reflection is for Ezekiel 37.1-14
In our text for today, all of life might be captured in one line. “O LORD God, you know.” This is Ezekiel’s response to God’s nearly absurd question about the vitality of a valley full of dry bones. The bones have been sitting in repose in the desert for years, many a generation or two, and they are desiccated. Harsh winds, no moisture, no shelter, plenty of heat and light, as well as scavengers, have transformed fallen bodies to sacred relics long ago abandoned. Katheryn Pristerer Darr, contributor to The New Interpreter’s Bible, hints at some of the archaeological scholarship that implies this was likely a battle scene. Though, as Darr quickly notes, “This is…a visionary experience, not actual contact with human remains.” (NIB, pg 1499) It doesn’t matter how we got here, the point is we’re here, wherever that is for each of us. And as we look over the valley of our lives, confronted by the signs and evidence of death and devastation, all we can say to God’s question of life is, “O LORD God, you know.” Darr gets to the heart of this scene when she points out that Zeke’s “response is vague.” We can’t hear it, we weren’t there the first time, we can’t know exactly what he was thinking, feeling or wondering (Darr, pg 1499). However, we know ourselves. We’ve said this to God before in countless shades of light and shadows. We have screamed it, cried it, prayed it and sang it. This one phrase is our life with God. Zeke has been lifted by the hand of God in a mystical vision quest from wherever he was to this scene of destruction. We don’t talk much about mystical experiences, at least not my Lutheran tradition, which allows us to discount them and feel ill at ease when one is shared with us. Ezekiel, in his intimate relationship with God, is transported out of his known reality and surroundings and is carried by God to a space that represents all he knows and yet, is not exactly his reality. Because, as we can see and read, Zeke isn’t dead. This isn’t a Dickensian moment for Zeke to look over a series of what-ifs meant to fix his state or get him back with God. Fundamentally, God is reminding Ezekiel, and we the current readers, that God is with us. God sees the signs of death and disappointment scattered about our lives. God names them in the question, “Can these bones live” because God knows already what our response will be. Some days there is nothing else we can see but our failures and our fear of abandonment. At some point along our path we trip over the relics of our sinful behavior or simply our inability to overcome the forces that drag us down. We can’t outrun our diagnoses, we aren’t strong enough to stop military might, we don’t have the voices to silence calls for violence and hate. Wherever our valley may lie and our hope is desiccated, there we will find God. Which is why this one statement, “O LORD God, you know,” is all we can speak. It is flooded with tears of our frustration and lack of hope. It is carried by our honesty that we really have no idea where to go or what can even be done. It is lifted in faith back to God because we know that, even though we are out of options, God also knows. And God, our God, will respond. Because God knows what to do. Not that there is some sort of master plan and God will get us back on track. There is no underlying purpose, path or reason for our suffering because God does not intend for our suffering. These lifeless bones strewn around us are not placed here by God as a test or proof of our resolve. They simply are because death moves through life. And God moves, too. It is by faith that we can know that God is still our source of life. So we say it with hope. “O LORD God, you know (because I ain’t got a clue).” We say it with resolve. “O LORD God, you know (because you’ve got me).” We say it with confidence even when as we can see is our demise. “O LORD God, you know (because you are God).” We say it and give it back to God, our source, our life and our compassion. God holds us in God’s hand in the midst of our sorrow and reminds us that this valley of dry bones was never God’s intent, either. Corrine Carvalho, contributor to Fortress Press Commentary on the Bible: The Old Testament and Apocrypha, names a powerful sign of God’s love through suffering by linking Ezekiel’s statement to the cries of refugees forced to abandon their loved ones for their own safety. This scene “validates the community’s sense that their own visions of a better world are not silly, insignificant pipe dreams. They are what God wanted all along.” (pg 799) One Million Bones was a 2012 art installation in Washington, DC, intent to be stark reminder of the cost and effects of genocide. The installation also pointed its audience to the survivors of these heinous acts, the refugees who are compelled to flee their known reality as they run with little of their own selves toward an unknown future. Carvalho deftly weaves this art and the daily suffering of unnamed refugees back to Ezekiel’s statement, reminding us that his one sentence is a despondent sigh and a new breath. Carvalho is also drawing us out of our own valleys to remember the countless barren, lifeless landscapes God’s people navigate across Creation. And that none of is part of a plan or purpose from God. God strives toward new life and needs to get Zeke out of his head and his fears by revealing God’s power and wind. God draws us up from what we expect and even makes us part of the restoring work by giving us the words to speak on God’s behalf. God fills our lungs with fresh, invigorating air, to declare that God knows and God responds. Where we can only see death and crackling bones, God can still see movement and abundance. Ezekiel needs this hope. We daily need this hope. That our response to God, when our LORD asks what more can be done, will ever be “O LORD God, you know.”
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Breaking all the Demons in Mark 1.21-281/23/2018 Our reflection is for the gospel of Mark 1.21-28.
We know nothing of the man with the unclean spirit. Mark reports that he appears “immediately” in the synagogue where Jesus was teaching. He arrives unannounced and fades to memory as soon as the demon is cast from him. Let’s assume he was part of the community. He got word that Jesus had brought his newly launched preaching tour to town and off he runs to encounter the Son of God. We don’t know much about him but we know that he was likely an outcast. He probably spent most of his days away from the common folk, the good and decent people of his community just trying to make a living and feed their families. They didn’t need his trouble. They refused to do much with his foolish ways. He had a demon, he was spiritually contagious. The local rabbi or scribe or whomever was in charge of healing had clearly either given up on him or never bothered to try. The nameless man was on his own, cut off and sent away. His life was an unclean spirit within him telling him to do hateful, harmful acts that defied God (as God was defined by the rabbis or scribes or healers anyway). His existence was defined by the community that would not love him or let him exist as he was, nor offer him any meaningful relief. It was hateful, callous treatment. They passed him along the way and pretended not to see him reaching for aid. The good people crossed the street to avoid getting to close, they passed countless invalid rumors between themselves about him. No doubt some charitable philanthropist set up a 503(c) with the expressed mission of making sure he had a meal or two and a decent set of clothes. But did they know his name? We’ll never know. We can’t really know any of this. Even if we know, in our guts, that he was not seen as human. He was less than everyone else in the synagogue. Emerson B Powery observes through James Cone in True to Our Native Land that, when Jesus pulls the demon from the man, he fulfills the man’s humanity (pg 123). The man’s identity was tied to an unclean spirit that encouraged the community to be complicit in his suffering. Because he was marked with a demon, he was nothing else. Jesus rewrites his narrative and restores him to life. And by doing this one act, Jesus also denies the powers of the culture that blatantly ignored the man (pg 123). And it is no small thing that this first public act for Jesus happens in a synagogue. Lamar Williamson, Jr in Interpretation: Mark reminds us that the power of evil moves through every space of humanity and can easily be found in a house of God (pg 50). Thus, the Son of God pops in for an adult forum session and is immediately confronted by everything destructive that defies God. That demon has got to go. Not only the demon of the poor unnamed man, every demon that has paralyzed, silenced, propped up and bound the community to sin. No one is innocent in this scene of good vs evil, everyone’s hands are dirty. Whether they pushed him down or pretended he didn’t exist, whether they assumed he did it to himself or acknowledged him with eyes of shame, the neighbors are in on the conspiracy of the devil. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, contributor to the Women’s Bible Commentary, notes that Jesus’ authority is reinforced by his teaching and his actions as much as it reveals that God is not far off (pg 481). Malbon takes us back to the first line of Mark’s gospel, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, Son of God,” written to encapsulate the entire message of Christ from Mark. That statement of faith, coupled with Jesus’ first sermon declaring that the kingdom of heaven has come near (chapter 1, verse 15), is revealed in this fast paced interaction between Jesus and the unclean spirit. He’s already defeated the Tempter out in the wilderness, he’s started his movement along the seashore, and he’s started preaching in local synagogues. God’s kingdom is on the move and its coming to every town, every house, every person bound up in our demons, divisions and discrimination. God is here, at hand, so close that only the devil can see him straight. The rest of us are either bound up in our unclean spirits or blinded by the way things already are and when we are encountered by Christ through his living word and power, we are amazed and astounded. We are broken and set free, that we can see the suffering ones among us as us, equal to each other, loved fully by our Lord. Only Christ can bring this good news to bear, defining our humanity through God's unwavering love, so that we can respond with joy and his courage to defy the powers of this world as we stand with, reach for, advocate on behalf of and name our sisters and brothers waiting to be noticed in plain sight.
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Finally Some Good News in Mark 1.1-812/6/2017 Our reflection is for the second Sunday in Advent Year B on Mark 1.1-8.
Mark begins where faith begins, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus the Christ, Son of God” (v.1) Immediately he stretches this out by explaining this as good news because the prophet Isaiah proclaimed awhile back, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight” (v.3). It is fair to argue that in these brief opening lines Mark reveals his entire vision for who Christ is and who we are called to be as his followers. Bonnie Bowman Thurston, Preaching Mark, notes that Mark uses the phrase “good news” (sometimes translated “gospel”) more than the other gospel authors (pg.14). For Mark this is not book of lovely accolades and incredible bits of history to warm our thoughts, this is our hope and salvation. Not the words on the page, the Son of God revealed through them. Jesus the Christ is our life yesterday, today and forever. Mark writes his gospel with a sense of wonder at what Jesus can do among us bumbling mortals and these opening passages are designed to leave nothing to doubt and everything to the imagination. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon in Women’s Bible Commentary draws Mark’s language of good news further out by reconnecting us to its political roots. Good news was a specific event in Mark's time, a public proclamation heralded in the town square in advance of an arriving king or noble person. Good news was the triumphant entry of a military unit into a region (whether or not the soldiers were wanted by the locals). Good news was declared when victory was won over the hordes and legions of inferior tribes interfering with Rome’s expansion plans. Good news imply conquest, obliteration of opposing forces, unrequited power in the human realm (pg. 480). For Mark, Jesus the Christ represents none of what God’s people understand or expect. Our Messiah dwells among us a servant. He feeds the hungry, heals the sick and defends the oppressed from the powerful. Jesus in Mark is almost constantly moving from place to place but not for conquest and only for the fiery spread of his good news that the ways of this world are not God’s. The kingdom has already begun, Creation is being renewed, Jesus is here to bring forth this promise, even through the cross we build to defy him. This is happening, people, even when we don’t like it. Even when we, like the mountains and the rocks, try to stop Christ’s progress. Even when we, like the bumbling disciples we meet later, stay silent and ignore Christ and abandon him on the cross. Jesus is coming because Jesus is here. He is the good news we the economically impoverished have been longing to experience in our pantries and closets. He is the good news we the abandoned have been hoping to know through dignity and respect. He is the good news we the oppressed have been crying out for as our lives are denied, our rights are revoked, our visas are cancelled and our identities are profiled by hate. Jesus the Christ is beginning the good news because the promise of God has already started. All we can do is get up and fall on our knees in repentance. Mark is reminding us that the kingdom of our Lord is here to reign over all the powers that shadow over God’s people. We have the privilege, the call, the good news to join this revolution and straighten out the path and follow our Lord to the cross. And when we fall short, because every disciple in Mark falls apart, our risen Messiah will take us back to the beginning again. Christ will start over with us again and rewrite our script through our repentance again and take us through the wilderness for our preparation again and he will tell us, again and again, that we are loved, that God is here and that Jesus is our Christ, our hope and salvation. Our good news is that the renewal of God’s world is happening through Jesus the Messiah. It’s out of hands and out of our control. It is ours to proclaim and live out.
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For All the Saints in Matthew 5.1-1211/1/2017 Our reflection is on Matthew 5.1-12, the “Beatitudes.”
For those of us who follow a liturgical calendar, this reading falls on All Saints Sunday. Since All Saints is often a day during which congregations take time to honor our blessed dead, there are some natural connections that worshippers make that have to be named. Specifically, that somehow our beloved saints emulated this list of blessings. The worship day is fraught with opportunities for a preacher to misstep and create offense where she was hoping to merely reflect the words of the gospel writer. Matthew probably wasn’t thinking about a way to celebrate our saints when he wrote down these words of Jesus and he puts them, structurally, immediately after Jesus’ call to his first disciples (4.18-22) and a quick sermon from the Son of Humanity on the darkness of the world which requires repentance (4.12-17). What then, is a preacher to do? Lean toward the saints or lean into the text and all its context? Obviously one can hope to have both and we Lutherans love our already/not yet lingo to accomplish this. God has already engaged the world and brought forth salvation through Christ on the cross, and that good news of new life (or light as Matthew would say in this part of his book) has not yet been fully realized by Creation. For those not of the Lutheran background scratching their heads, yes, we’re saying that we want it both ways. Though, like the challenge of our sermon for this weekend, we can easily lean toward what God has done (yea God!) while ignoring our responsibilities as disciples Or we are prone to leaning toward what we are called to do (yea us!) while assuming that we have the power to fix our broken world. Really, what’s a preacher to do? Nothing, by the way, is the wrong answer. Matthew steps into Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount with a simple, obvious statement that brings the entire force of the gospel to bear on the world (and us disciples). “When Jesus saw the crowds...” (5.1a). Jesus has already been baptized in the midst of a great crowd. Jesus tried to avoid the crowds because his mentor/cousin/free agent prophet John has been arrested, and yet he winds up hanging out with fishermen by the Sea of Galilee. It also implies that he’d been bumping around humans at least up until the moment word of John’s arrest reached him. Jesus is of the people, he is of this world, he is a living, breathing example of God’s love among us. He knows these crowds. And it’s for these crowds that he preaches his first sermon. As Amy-Jill Levine notes in Women’s Bible Commentary, his first words are meant to offer comfort to those who seek it and to encourage a response from the disciples to the suffering of this world (p.469). In a sense, Jesus preaches an already/not yet sermon in which the first four Beatitudes are centered on God’s favor poured upon the crowds and the second five are actions directed toward his followers (Warren Carter, Fortress Commentary on the Bible: The New Testament, p. 138). The “poor in spirit” are God’s people who have been manipulated by the powerful and have nothing (Michael Joseph Brown, True to Our Native Land, p.91). “Those who mourn” have lost love ones and have lost their land, their food, and their identities. The “meek” are not lacking in physical strength, they lack power, authority and respect, making them easy victims for anyone who possesses such worldly resources (Carter, p.138). “Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness” are, well, we can figure out what they are longing for from God and for their daily lives. The crowds are desperate for liberation and a sense that their lives matter. We can almost sense Jesus shifting his gaze mid-proclamation from the mass of humanity clamoring to be near him to the disciples who are already by his side. The merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, the ones “who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake” are not mythical saviors that we get to wait for, they’re in our pews, at our Bible studies, in our mirrors every morning. These disciples, or more accurately, we disciples are the living response to our people standing right next to us or living down our blocks who are despondent, hurt, depressed and hopeless. Our hope is in Christ, who brings forth the blessings of God. We who gather in worship each week can readily recite the myriad ways God has borne those blessings upon our lives. It takes some of us literally no effort to remember the Grace and mercy of our Lord who loves us without end. For those of us who can do this, we give thanks to God for being so near to your hearts and minds. This is where we can point to our beloved saints, because they are the cloud of witnesses who pointed us to our living Christ through their own flesh and blood. They who have gained their blessed rest and know the surpassing joy are our ongoing models of speaking God’s name, granting mercy and peace, being centered on the cross and reminding us regularly that we, too, dwell in God’s presence. With that reassurance secured, Jesus’ words resound with greater force as he convicts us to notice our neighbors, our friends, our coworkers, God’s people all around us who do not know this joy and probably don’t believe the lofty words we carry around. In this small town where Trinity Lutheran resides, we have neighbors who live in cars that barely run because it is all they can afford. Jobs are scarce and most that exist are kept to part time status so that the corporate owners don’t have to bother with benefits. We have friends who are home health workers, a necessary role for our most ailing and disabled population, who themselves are unprotected from employment laws due to curious loopholes. We have people who gather in our house who struggle to read, struggle to find food struggle to get even a finger hold up on their finances because of the expense of basics like health care and rent. Amy-Jill Levine brings a word of clarity to Jesus’ sermon in chapter 5 as she writes, “These actions rather than Christological confessions are paramount” (p.469) We Lutheran Christians can give thanks for all that God has done while simultaneously being moved by the pure truth that our gratitude only holds when our neighbors can also give thanks. Another way to think of the Beatitudes to is the conviction through Christ that we cannot be okay with the status quo. Until what we hold dear can be held by others, our call to serve is not complete. For our blessed ancestors who have been embraced by our loving God, we can celebrate that their call has been fulfilled. Christ destroyed death so that no one can be separated from the love of God. We can celebrate this truth with songs, candles, memorials and high praise. It is the foundation of our faith. We can also, in the same service and with the same candles, pray for the endless crowds pressing in to hear assurance that God is near and ask for God’s guidance to respond with our hands, feet and voices. Because the kingdom of heaven has already come near, but it is not yet fully realized in every home. |