The first reading is Isaiah 58:1-12.
The
holy gospel according to Matthew (5:13-20)
Jesus
said:
13“You
are the salt of the earth;
but
if salt has lost its taste,
how
can its saltiness be restored?
It
is no longer good for anything,
but
is thrown out and trampled under foot.
14“You
are the light of the world.
A
city built on a hill cannot be hid.
15No
one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket,
but
on the lampstand,
and
it gives light to all in the house.
16In
the same way, let your light shine before others,
so
that they may see your good works
and
give glory to your Father in heaven.
17“Do
not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets;
I
have come not to abolish but to fulfill.
18For
truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away,
not
one letter,
not
one stroke of a letter,
will
pass from the law until all is accomplished.
19Therefore,
whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments,
and
teaches others to do the same,
will
be called least in the dominion of heaven;
but
whoever does them
and
teaches them
will
be called great in the dominion of heaven.
20For
I tell you,
unless
your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees,
you
will never enter the dominion of heaven.
The
gospel of the Lord.
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In
today’s readings, we catch a glimpse of Lent on the horizon. While Lent is still several weeks away,
we hear in Isaiah a call to reflect on our own piety. When we fast, why are we fasting? Today we might ask, when
we pray, why are we praying? What do we hope for? When we tithe or give
offerings, why do we do it? Do we
hope that God will cure us? Provide for us? Save us? Protect us? Be at our every beck and call?
Or,
following Jesus’ exhortation in the gospel, are we living into Isaiah’s and the
gospel of Matthew’s conviction that faith comes with action? Are we salt for the whole earth? Are we a city on a hill? Are with the light of the world? Are we loosing the bonds of
injustice? Are we praying for the
refugees who, like Jesus and the holy family shortly after his birth, are
fleeing violence in their own countries?
For the refugees who have been waiting through screening after
screening, years of waiting and being vetted, to get into this country.
Is
our prayer, our fast, our offering, our piety “to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let
the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? 7…to share your
bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you
see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?”
I
don’t have to tell you that a lot has been going on in this country
lately. It’s easy to feel
overwhelmed by all that is happening so quickly and so confusingly. And it can be easy to think of the
executive orders and nominations coming out of Washington DC as far away and
disconnected to what is going on here in Rushford and Peterson, Minnesota.
But
Minnesota is known for and takes pride in its welcome of refugees and
immigrants, which means that travel bans harm Minnesotans.
Even
if this weren’t the case, in this second part of Jesus’ sermon on the mount,
Jesus tells us, “You are the salt of the earth; … 14You are the
light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid.” As followers of Christ, our concerns
are not just for ourselves or our businesses or our immediate circles.
Salt
actually doesn’t taste that good when you eat it by the spoonful—it’s
disgusting, really. Salt is best
when it’s sprinkled throughout a dish, bringing out the natural flavor of the
other foods in the dish, or spread evenly over ice, to melt it into
walkability. And light shines best
when it isn’t hidden or blocked, so that it can reach to the farthest corners.
Perhaps
the most poignant of the three, is you are a city on a hill. Salt and light tend to have inherently
positive connotations (as long as we’re not talking about blood pressure), but
being a city on a hill is not inherently good. It comes with its own vulnerabilities. It is easy to see people approaching,
yes, but it also means people can see what’s going on from many different
angles—the good examples and the bad
ones.
We
as Trinity and First and we as individual followers of Christ, are a city on a
hill. This is especially true
since we are the only Reconciling in Christ congregation in the area—the only
one to explicitly welcome people of diverse sexual orientations and gender
identities. And we are the ones in
relationship with our neighbors who work locally on the farms.
People
notice what we do and say and what we don’t do and don’t say. When someone makes a disparaging
comment about Muslims or immigrants or loving the sinner and hating the sin, do
we speak up? Do we tell them about
the immigrants we know? Sharing our
stories of friendship? Will we
invite them to come learn about Islam with us in our My Neighbor Is a Muslim
study? Do we admit when we mess
up, apologize, and try to do better?
How
do we live into our identity as a city on a hill? How do we give in to our saltiness and our light? How does God work through us to bring
out the flavors—the uniqueness of those around us? How does God shine through us so that we can see the ones who
are different from us more clearly?
To see them as beloved children of God? How do we let people see who we are and whose we are in our
daily actions and conversations?
Today
is a communion Sunday. In a little
bit, we will each receive bread and wine or juice, the body and blood of
Christ. We will receive The Light
of the World who makes us lights of the world when he shines through us.
We
will receive the Lord’s Supper, God’s enactment of community that does, as
Isaiah says, “loose the bonds of injustice,
undo the thongs of the yoke, let the oppressed go free, and break every yoke …
share bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into a house; cover [the
naked], and not hide from kin” or stranger.
Communion
does this because each person is fed. Every person has a place at God’s Table. Every person deserves a place at God’s
Table. Every person deserves a
place safe from violence. Every
person deserves justice, freedom from oppression, bread, clothes, shelter,
recognition. Because Jesus comes to every person out of immense love.
It
is in God’s gathering of our broken bodies—bodies broken by life, by the pain
of the world, by sins—our own or others’. All
the bodies. God gathers us
together and nourishes us and this
Table becomes every table. This Table becomes the tables
downstairs where we will share soup, feeding each other and supporting the food
shelf, which ensures that everyone has enough to eat.
And this Table becomes every table we gather
around—at home and in the community, whether we’re sharing a meal, holding a
business meeting, or gathering to support each other in sobriety. This Table
becomes every table, where we ask,
“Does everyone have a place? Can everyone make it? How do we break down the walls that keep some people away? Can we bring the table to them?”
God
makes this Table every table. And God
makes this city on a hill into a Table in the bluffs where each person shines.
Thanks
be to God.
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