Jesus heals: 5th after pentecost

The holy gospel according to Mark (5:21-43)

²¹When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side,

       a great crowd gathered around him;

              and he was by the sea.

       ²²Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came

              and, when he saw Jesus, fell at his feet

              ²³and begged him repeatedly,

                     “My little daughter is at the point of death.

                            Come and lay your hands on her,

                                   so that she may be made well,

                                          and live.”

²⁴So Jesus went with him.

And a large crowd followed him

        and pressed in on him.

       ²⁵Now there was a woman

              who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years.

              ²⁶She had endured much under many physicians,

                     and had spent all that she had;

                            and she was no better,

                                   but rather grew worse.

              ²⁷She had heard about Jesus,

                     and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak,

                            ²⁸for she said,

                                   “If I but touch his clothes,

                                          I will be made well.”

                            ²⁹Immediately her hemorrhage stopped;

                                   and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease.

                            ³⁰Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him,

                                   Jesus turned about in the crowd and said,

                                          “Who touched my clothes?”

                                   ³¹And his disciples said to him,

                                          “You see the crowd pressing in on you;

                                                 how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’”

                                   ³²Jesus looked all around to see who had done it.

                                          ³³But the woman,

                                                 knowing what had happened to her,

                                                        came in fear and trembling,

                                                        fell down before him,

                                                        and told him the whole truth.

                                   ³⁴He said to her,

                                          “Daughter, your faith has made you well;

                                                 go in peace,

                                                 and be healed of your disease.”

³⁵While he was still speaking,

       some people came from the leader’s house to say,

              “Your daughter is dead.

                     Why trouble the teacher any further?”

       ³⁶But overhearing what they said,

              Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue,

                     “Do not fear,

                            only believe.”

              ³⁷Jesus allowed no one to follow him

                     except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James.

              ³⁸When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue,

                     Jesus saw a commotion,

                            people weeping and wailing loudly.

                     ³⁹When he had entered, he said to them,

                            “Why do you make a commotion and weep?

                                   The child is not dead but sleeping.”

                     ⁴⁰And they laughed at him.

              Then he put them all outside,

                     and took the child’s father and mother

                     and those who were with him,

                            and went in where the child was.

                     ⁴¹Jesus took her by the hand and said to her,

                            “Talitha cum,”

                                   which means, “Little girl, get up!”

                            ⁴²And immediately the girl got up

                                   and began to walk about

                                          (she was twelve years of age).

                                                 At this they were overcome with amazement.

                     ⁴³Jesus strictly ordered them that no one should know this,

                            and told them to give her something to eat.

The gospel of the Lord.

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When I was living and going to school in Buenos Aires, Argentina during college, one of my favorite times of the week was when I would ride on the packed buses during rush hour on my way to my internship.  I loved being crowded in with so many others for those rides.

I loved it because one of the most comforting things in life for me is touch.  Physical contact with others—physical affirmation of life and reality.  In a country where I often felt alone and out of place, physical contact put me squarely in place—I was physically present with others.  It wasn’t just that squeezing in with others on a crowded rush hour bus was a delight—it was pretty smelly in the heat and as a young woman I also ran the risk of being the recipient of bad touch.

The gift of being squeezed in was precisely when I was feeling cast out—like I didn’t belong.  Not because I was trying not to belong, but simply because of who I was as a young, estadounidensa (United Statesian), whose first language was not Spanish.  I didn’t fit in and yet in our humanness—our physicality—I fit.

Today’s gospel reminds me a lot of my time in Argentina—of the crowded bus rides, of feeling out of place, and of a certain desperation for Jesus’ healing touch.

Today Jairus, a leader in the synagogue, comes to Jesus and even he is moved to touch as he falls at Jesus’ feet, begging for Jesus’ healing touch for his daughter.  He comes to Jesus and Jesus, who is for the healing and wholeness of all people and all of creation, joins Jairus and they head off.

But as they set out, this out of place, lowly woman—one who has no man to make a request for her and who literally touches his cloak and then when coming clean falls down before Jesus.  This lowly woman interrupts the trip to Jairus’ house.  Jesus stops.  He creates space for this woman who has no place.

In their shared contact, Jesus restores this woman to wholeness and to community that she has not had for 12 years.

This week many of us have rejoiced with the Supreme Court’s decision to strike down marriage bans in the remaining states, a decision in favor of marriage equality.  We have also rejoiced with the decision to uphold protections against racial discrimination with respect to housing, protection of our health care system, and a step against mandatory minimums and toward reform for the criminal justice system.  It is as if we are with the woman as the touch of Jesus’ cloak heals not us, necessarily, but some of the discrimination faced in this country.  For so many long years we have been bleeding and now we are beginning to heal.

There is certainly more work to be done: homelessness, bullying, and death among lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer people, especially people of color, mass incarceration, more affordability in health care, and other subtle forms of racism still need to be addressed, but we are one step closer.  Jesus assures us that our faith has made us well.

And then comes heartbreak.  On top of the stress and immediacy of heading off to Jairus’ house and the interruption by this woman, news comes of the fate of Jairus’ daughter. 

At our healing, Jairus’ daughter is declared dead.  Friday morning ELCA Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton, Bishop Herman Yoos of the South Carolina Synod, Judith Roberts the director for ELCA Racial Justice Ministries, and Rev. Albert Starr the director for ELCA Ethnic Specific and Multicultural Ministries, President Obama, and countless others gathered to pay their respects, say their goodbyes, and celebrate a well-lived life cut short.  The Honorable Reverend Clementa Pinckney was laid to rest in Marion County, South Carolina.

In addition to that, on Tuesday, June 23^rd, God’s Power Church of Christ, a predominately black church, in Macon, Georgia was deliberately set on fire.  Wednesday, June 24^th Briar Creek Baptist Church, a predominately black church, in Charlotte, North Carolina was deliberately set on fire.  Friday, June 26^th Glover Grove Missionary Baptist Church, a predominately black church, in Warrenville, South Carolina was engulfed in flames—the cause is still being investigated.   

These predominately Black churches are burning and though no one died in any of these fires, we, with society say, “Your daughter is dead.”  Our daughter is dead.  Our siblings, the body of Christ in these places is dead.  There is only enough healing, only enough justice, for some of us, not for all of us and we’ve used it on this woman, we’ve used it on marriage equality.

But that is not how Jesus works!  This is not a zero-sum game with only so much justice, only so much healing, to go around.  So Jesus’ response is not “too late” but instead, “Do not fear, only believe.”

As we gather here, we crowd around and press in on each other, pressing in on Jesus.  We gather and can feel Jesus’ spirit—his presence with us.  Maybe we sense the healing we need and we are the ones who touch his cloak.  We are all in need of healing and our society is in need of deep healing.  If only we could separate it all out and make an orderly line.  Then we’d all have a chance and get the healing we needed one at a time.  But we are convinced that there is only so much Jesus, only so much healing to go around.  It must be now!  So we gather and we crowd in, brushing against each other, pushing up against Jesus, against others, and even against this woman who is receiving healing.

And that’s the key.  Jesus comes for our physicality.  God becomes incarnate, takes on our humanness, our fleshy nature, because God so desperately wants to be with us.  That is the God who comes to us in Jesus.  Not a God interested in orderly lines, but a God who draws crowds, whose touch brings healing, who assures us that death is not the final word and that we are not alone.

Jesus doesn’t ask us to keep the events going on in the world separate—to process only one at a time.  To deal with Mother Emanuel AME Church last week, the Supreme Court marriage decision this week, and then maybe next week get to the burning churches, the housing discrimination, and when will we even get to what is going on in our own faith community in our own lives??

But as with today’s Gospel, Jesus creates space for the many emotions and events that occur each day, overlapping and mixing in with each other.  So Jesus frees us to rejoice with Supreme Court decisions even as we mourn with Mother Emanuel AME Church and the congregations whose church buildings are covered in smoke and ash.  Jesus frees us to feel the heaviness of the approaching end of our time together as Christ the King and to commit ourselves to work for racial justice so that all of our siblings in Christ will be treated with the human dignity they deserve. 

Like the rush hour buses in Argentina, we are packed full with so many different emotions as we ride through life, and what a gift to be able to feel so much and so deeply.  What a gift for these emotions to squeeze in with each other, to bump against each other rather than trying to overtake each other.

Last week we wrestled together with the racism that has rocked our country and our consciences.  This last week three predominantly black churches were attacked—burned down in North Carolina, Georgia, and South Carolina.  Our work as the body of Christ is not done, even as we end our ministry as Christ the King.  Our work may not be done within our lifetimes, but it also is not dependent on us.  If it were, we’d be in big trouble. 

Our relationships, our reality in life together, our physicality come from God’s presence with us.  Jesus’ incarnation, physically coming to us lays the foundation and the steps on our path toward God’s ultimate reign here on earth.  Our presence with each other, making space even when we don’t fit anywhere else—being able to have honest conversations about things as difficult as racism, privilege, and oppression matters.

These relationships matter.  These conversations matter.  The joy of God’s love matters.  The gift of sharing it with others matters.  Jesus’ presence with and for us matters.  Touch and physicality matter.  Yes, all lives matter, and now especially, #BlackLivesMatter.  And Jesus’ healing touch matters most of all.  That is what gathers us together, what creates a space for us when we have no other place. 

Jesus comes to us and Jesus leads us on.  In the face of news that our daughter is dead, that churches are burning and people are dying and our congregation is closing, Jesus says “Do not fear, only believe.”  Jesus leads us on to healing, to wholeness, to justice.  Jesus takes us into Jairus’ house.  Jesus gathers us around this little girl’s bed and brings new life from her!  Jesus stops the bleeding for the woman on the road and brings life to this little girl. 

If we had given up after the woman was healed, or not even begun the journey, we would not know Jesus’ healing power.  But we did and Jesus keeps leading us down the road.  Jesus keeps showing us his way of love and justice.  Jesus heals us and the world, feeding us with himself—the Bread of Life, new chances and new life every week.

Thanks be to God.

Jesus calls us through the storm to the other side: 4th after pentecost

The first reading, which I also relied on, is Job 38:1-11.

The holy gospel according to Mark (4:35-41).

³⁵On that day,

       when evening had come,

              Jesus said to the disciples,

                     “Let us go across to the other side.”

              ³⁶And leaving the crowd behind,

                     they took him with them in the boat,

                            just as he was.

                                   Other boats were with him.

³⁷A great windstorm arose,

       and the waves beat into the boat,

              so that the boat was already being swamped.

                     ³⁸But Jesus was in the stern,

                            asleep on the cushion;

                     and they woke him up and said to him,

                            “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”

                     ³⁹Jesus woke up and rebuked the wind,

                            and said to the sea,

                                   “Peace! Be still!”

                            Then the wind ceased,

                                   and there was a dead calm.

                     ⁴⁰He said to them,

                            “Why are you afraid?

                                   Have you still no faith?”

⁴¹And they were filled with great awe

       and said to one another,

              “Who then is this,

                     that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

The gospel of the lord.

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On Monday and Tuesday, and even Wednesday as I worked on and planned for my sermon, I wanted to talk about the storm we are in as a community of faith.  The storm of emotions inside us, the storm of uncertainty about what is on the other side of August 31^st, of closure.  I could still do this, and we could have a sermon on that, and it would be important and meaningful, and it would be easier than tackling what has been going on this week.

Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, 45 years old, was a beloved track coach and a minister at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church. Clementa Pinckney, 41 years old, was the lead pastor at the AME church, a state senator, and a graduate of one of our ELCA seminaries. Cynthia Hurd, 54 years old, was a librarian, whose birthday would have been today (Sunday). Tywanza Sanders, 26 years old, was a recent graduate of Allen University’s Division of Business Administration, and he died trying to shield his 87-year-old aunt from the shooter.

Myra Thompson, 59 years old, was reverend Anthony Thompson’s wife, Ethel Lee Lance, 70 years old, was the church sexton, Daniel L. Simmons, 74 years old, was a ministerial staff member, a father and a grandfather and a veteran of war. Depaynoe Middleton-Doctor, 49 years old, sang in the choir and preached at her church. Susie Jackon, 87 years old, sheltered young people who needed a place to live after her son moved away from home. 

The wind and storm that rages around us here in this community as we struggle with the reality of Christ the King’s closure can block from view all that is happening in the world.  In light of our anxiety and sorrow at leaving this faith community, the struggle we have with the God who is in the whirlwind, what does anything else matter?

And yet this week I spent time with church leaders from around the country—siblings in the ELCA and siblings in Christ.  While we were together, talking about the church, our struggles, what it’s like to be women and men, racially diverse in the church and the country, a white ELCA Lutheran man went into a historically black church, engaged with the people gathered in Bible study, and then opened fire, as he murdered 9 beloved children of God.

Welcomed into the body of Christ at Mother Emmanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church, he created a storm around his fellow followers of Christ.  I could not help but remember the four girls killed in Birmingham, Alabama during the Civil Rights movement when a bomb went off in their church.  This is not the first time that African Americans have asked Jesus, “Do you not care that we are perishing?”  And this is not the first time even in the last year, that they have asked us as well.  What we must ask ourselves, then, is: in the midst of our storms and worries, do we not care that they are perishing?

Jesus calms the storm that threatens the disciples’ lives and yet the storm of racism, as evidenced by the hate crime of this week, continues to rage on.

As I think about that white man who entered and was welcomed into community by those he would later murder, I can’t help remember the privilege I have had in my life to be welcomed into Black congregations, Latin@ congregations, as well as white ones.  Communities that constantly battle against racism have often been the most warmly welcoming to me. 

This week I could lift Emanuel AME up in our prayers and continue with the sermon I wanted to preach, but that betrays the trust and hospitality I have received in my life from people of color.  It is also a mark of privilege that African American pastors and preachers who are also facing the kinds of storms we are do not have.  They cannot lift Emanuel AME up in their prayers and keep on the way they were, because their congregations are receiving bomb threats, their sanctuary has been violated, their people are being killed by the sin of racism.

And it’s not just their people.  It’s our people.  A member of our church body committed that terrorist attack and graduates of one of our ELCA seminaries were killed.  Siblings in Christ were on both sides.  Fellow humans are dead today.  Grief and sorrow, suffering and anger.  Our people are hurting.  Our siblings in Christ.  Our fellow humans.

Charleston, South Carolina may feel far away, but it is only the most recent, most evident example of the devastation that racism causes in our country.  It happens here in Utah as well.  We know what it is like here to not be part of the dominant culture.  We know the exclusion, especially that of our children, who are left out at school because of who they are—or rather, who they aren’t. 

Even so, we have the benefit of visibly fitting in—of looking like the dominant culture, of being judged positively by the color of our skin. 

And yet even here, children of God like Darien Hunt are killed and children of God are told they are not worth as much because of who they are, the color of their skin.  All the while, many of us are not willing to cross to the other side for fear of the storm.   Many of us are scared of the water that will crash over the side of the boat, the whirlwind that swirls around, the lack of control that comes with boats and storms, and comes with deep caring and pain. 

It can be scary and it is hard to know what to do in the storm, what we will encounter on the other side, but that is where Jesus goes.  Jesus is in the storm, Jesus is in the storm of racism that rages around us, Jesus is with those who ask “Do you not care that we are perishing?”  Jesus leads us to the other side—through the storm, Jesus calls us into engagement on the other side.  Jesus is unperturbed by the storm we think will do us in.

Jesus knows the way.  He knows that there are demons waiting.  He also knows that those demons will remain if we don’t cross to the other side.  What does that look like?  How do we as individuals tackle the monsters of terror?  How do we tackle racism?  What can we possibly do? 

We are not alone.  We are not in this fight alone.  People of color have been fighting this fight their whole lives.  As we engage in the struggle against racism, we journey with each other.  We journey with congregations across Utah and across the country. 

There are steps we can take. 

This week, try to listen and read only news and information about the domestic terrorism attack on Emanuel AME from Black people.  Listen to them.  Read their words.  And believe them.  Too often we encounter white people talking about people of color.  Or when people of color do speak, we dismiss them and their very real emotions.  Resist this.  Listen to people of color.  Read their words.  Believe them.

Focus not on the terrorist who attacked, but on those who were killed, the community of Emanuel AME Church—Mother Emanuel as it is called.  Honor them by learning about their lives and their faith community.  Support their congregation financially as well as in prayer. 

Learn about privilege and racism.  There are articles and books that open space for understanding, like Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack by Peggy McIntosh.  I know some more and am happy to recommend them. 

Jesus calls us to follow him.  We don’t have to know the whole way.  We don’t have to know what awaits us on the other side.  We don’t even have to be excited or calm or confident.  We just follow.  Get in the boat, and see where Jesus leads.  It won’t be easy.  He ended up on the cross, after all. 

But our God is a God who brings life out of death.  If the life that he brings out of this week’s deaths is awareness of the pain of racism, the impact of the color of our skin on us, a commitment to learn more, to care more, to avoid the pain a little less.  If God brings this life out of these deaths, then God is good.  All the time. 

God makes seeds grow: 3rd after pentecost

Notes for understanding: this past week Rocky Mountain Synod's Council voted to close the minsitry of Christ the King, where I serve as Pastor and Mission Developer, effective August 31st.  The congregation found out on Thursday, so this was our first time together since finding out the news.  Here is my sermon manuscript, which I mostly followed.

The other reading I refer to is 2 Corinthians 5:6-17.

The holy gospel according to Mark (4:26-34)

²⁶Jesus said,

       “The dominion of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground,

              ²⁷and would sleep and rise night and day,

                     and the seed would sprout and grow,

                            the sower does not know how.

              ²⁸The earth produces of itself,

                     first the stalk,

                            then the head,

                                   then the full grain in the head.

                                          ²⁹But when the grain is ripe,

                                                 at once the sower goes in with a sickle,

                                                        because the harvest has come.”

³⁰Jesus also said,

       “With what can we compare the dominion of God,

              or what parable will we use for it?

                     ³¹It is like a mustard seed,

                            which, when sown upon the ground,

                                   is the smallest of all the seeds on earth;

                            ³²yet when it is sown

                                   it grows up

                                   and becomes the greatest of all shrubs,

                                   and puts forth large branches,

                                          so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.”

³³With many such parables Jesus spoke the word to them,

       as they were able to hear it;

              ³⁴he did not speak to them except in parables,

                     but he explained everything in private to his disciples.

The gospel of the Lord.

-----

Today of all days and this week of all weeks, it would be easy for us to hear Jesus’ words about the dominion of God and scoff.  Everything does not seem new.  Seeds have been planted here in this community for more than 8 years.

We had hoped those seeds would sprout and grow into an organized congregation of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, and yet we come to hear the news and discern what it will look like to close this expression of the ELCA here in South Jordan.

It would, perhaps, also be easy to say that our planting failed—that we have failed.  But that would be, as Paul says in his letter to the Corinthians, regarding things “from a human point of view.”  This community of faith has failed if our only metrics are how many butts we got in chairs in worship and our inability to financially sustain the whole ministry.

Those are not God’s metrics.  God’s measurements deal with more important things: how many people’s lives are different because we have existed in this place?  We’re not just talking about how many people have worshiped here over the years, but how many children in crisis were comforted by our Project Linus blankets?  How many faith lives were challenged and strengthened by receiving God’s grace through baptism and Holy Communion? 

How many people had a little more to eat because of our food bank donations and ELCA World Hunger collections?  How many Native American Elders have toothbrushes and toothpastes, children have books, and kids dealing with grief have snacks because of our Lenten efforts?

How many people are still on the path to recovery because we have made space for Alcoholics Anonymous and Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous?  How many more children of God know that God loves them and that there are communities of faith that care about them, because of our presence with other communities of faith in the Pride Parade last weekend?

While Christ the King will come to an end, many of the seeds that have been planted are still in the ground.  “The earth produces of itself” and you continue to be a follower of Christ in the world.   

Your engagement with the Bible, the prayers you lift up each week, your faith expressed in the ways you care for neighbors; these ways God continues to work to make God’s love and grace known through you are not only fruits of the seeds planted already, but they also plant more seeds.   

And so even while the body of Christ gathered here may change and go our different ways, the dominion of God continues to spread like the mustard seed—greatest of all shrubs, and a weed that takes over wherever it is planted.

What is our task in the coming weeks and months?  How will we as a community of faith bear witness to the God of death and resurrection?  How do we continue to sow the seeds of faith in and with each other?  To nourish them in the time we have together?

What if we really take the time and spend our energy in the next couple of months watering the seeds that have been planted, making sure they are in good soil, not rocky?  What if we focus on nurturing this community?   

What if we focus on even something as simple as prayer?  What if we took this time to really pray for the church, the whole cosmos, and all those in need?  If we took our prayer list with us throughout the week and prayed at stoplights, in grocery store lines, or even doodling our prayers at home before bed or before breakfast?

In our Sunday evening worship we’ve been praying through origami by writing prayers on pieces of origami paper and then I usually fold them into cranes, praying with the one who wrote the prayer.  In Japan, there is a legend that if anyone folds 1000 paper cranes they can be healed, or have luck forever, or their wish will be granted.

What if we made 1000 paper cranes of prayers for the healing and wholeness of all of God’s creation?  It would be a mustard seed of the dominion of God.  Each paper crane prayer might not seem like much, but like a mustard seed, our prayers—the time we spend intentionally with God is not time wasted.  It grows in us and it grows in the world like a weed.  Spreading to take over more than we can even know or imagine.

How will God continue to nourish the seeds we’ve planted over the years?  How will God nourish the ones we plant this summer?  “The sower does not know how.”  It is not for us to know or say, but to trust God on this journey of faith, as we have so many times before.  Because God does nourish and grow the seeds of faith in us and in others, always.

Thanks be to God.