Jesus walks toward us in the storm: 10th after pentecost a

The first reading is 1 Kings 19:9-18.

The holy gospel according to Matthew (14:22-33)

²²Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat

       and go on ahead to the other side of the Sea of Galilee,

              while he dismissed the crowds.

              ²³And after he had dismissed the crowds,

                     Jesus went up the mountain by himself to pray.

       When evening came, he was there alone,

              ²⁴but by this time the boat,

                     battered by the waves,

                            was far from the land,

                                   for the wind was against them.

²⁵And early in the morning Jesus came walking toward them on the sea.

       ²⁶But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea,

              they were terrified, saying,

                     “It is a ghost!”

              And they cried out in fear.

                     ²⁷But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said,

                            “Take heart, it is I;

                                   do not be afraid.”

       ²⁸Peter answered him,

              “Lord, if it is you,

                     command me to come to you on the water.”

       ²⁹He said, “Come.”

              So Peter got out of the boat,

                     started walking on the water,

                            and came toward Jesus.

                     ³⁰But when Peter noticed the strong wind,

                            he became frightened,

                            and beginning to sink, he cried out,

                                   “Lord, save me!”

              ³¹Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him,

                     “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

³²When they got into the boat,

       the wind ceased.

       ³³And those in the boat worshiped Jesus, saying,

              “Truly you are the Son of God.”

The gospel of the Lord.

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Storms are not new to us. 

10 years ago next week, a storm crashed waves of water through this town, destroying homes, a sense of safety, and this church building’s basement. 

8 years ago the ELCA decided to follow Jesus more closely during the Churchwide Assembly by beginning a campaign to raise millions of dollars to fight malaria and by recognizing and affirming the calls to ordained and consecrated ministryof people of a variety of sexual orientations and gender identities.  The response of some to the latter commitment was a storm that tore through communities of faith, including here in Rushford, tearing friends and colleagues apart.

Storms are not new to us, nor are they new to Peter, a fisher by trade.  Peter knows the danger of the sea—the water that can be so calm one day and life-threatening another.  So when he’s in the boat, “battered by the waves,” he knows how to handle the boat.  That’s not the terrifying part of it all.

The terrifying part is Jesus.

Jesus shows up in the midst of the storm, heading for the boat, walking on water, and this terrifies the disciples in the boat.  The storm isn’t terrifying, Jesus is.

How often are we scared of Jesus coming to us?

Are we scared of what it means to follow Jesus?  If we’re not yet, we probably should be.  We know where Jesus ended up.

We are currently in the midst of many storms.  A storm is raging as our president threatens and escalates this country towards a nuclear war with North Korea, which would likely destroy this whole planet.  Even as we’ve been praying for peace and de-escalation each week, the president has been intentionally escalating the threat.

Another storm, this one of white supremacy, has been raging, last week in the bombing of a mosque in Bloomington, and most especially this weekend in Charlottesville, Virginia.  Uninvited and unwanted white supremacists, engaging in acts of domestic terrorism, gathered without the KKK’s usual white robes of anonymity, carrying torches, and violently protested the planned removal of Confederate General Robert E. Lee’s statue.  These neo-Nazis chanted many horrible things, including “Blood and Soil,” a philosophy of the Third Reich, used as a Nazi chant in Germany.  The storm of racism and evil is real and alive in this country.

And Jesus is walking towards us in the midst of this storm.  It is easy for us to gather here in Rushford and dismiss what is happening in Charlottesville or with the president and North Korea as far away and not connected to us.  In college we called it “living in the Luther bubble” as we were fairly ignorant to much of what happened outside of our sphere of study, college, and community.

But Jesus comes to us, walking on the water through the storm with a different way of being.  The ministry we do here in this place as Trinity and First is important.  It matters.  It matters that we make this place more welcoming of Spanish-speaking folks, especially immigrants working on the farms, and of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, and questioning folks.  These are important ways of following Jesus by resisting racism and forces of oppression. 

And yet we are also part of a larger body of Christ.  We are part of a whole country and world in which storms are raging and Jesus calls us into this world and that can be terrifying.

We call this place where we gather a sanctuary.  A place of safety amidst the storm.  Many church buildings have historically been constructed like ships and have areas called “naves” to reinforce this.  And, the implication is that life is not always safe.  That’s true.  Jesus doesn’t call us to safety, he calls us to discipleship.

In our first reading for today, Elijah has just stood up to the priests of Baal, as God bests them in a challenge of sacrifice and power, which then ends the drought.  This provokes the ire of the powerful followers of Baal and so Elijah responds by hiding in a cave in the desert far away, feeling alone and afraid for his life.  And God comes to him as “a sound of sheer silence,” or in other translations: “a gentle and quiet whisper,” “a sound of gentle blowing,” or “a sound. Thin. Quiet.”  God’s gentle presence contradicts the storm of anxiety, fear, and loneliness raging in Elijah.

Yet even God’s presence cannot shake Elijah’s terrified and lonely lament, which he repeats word for word when God asks again what Elijah is doing.  And God persists, calling and equipping Elijah and those who would come after him to continue the work.  And Jesus keeps calling to us in the boat in the midst of the storm, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Jesus calls us to deep commitments locally—in welcome and hospitality and boldness as we proclaim the gospel here.  And we are faithful in this call as a community of faith.

Jesus also calls us to deep commitments to justice throughout the world.  And what a witness that could be—

--to gather in our own town, or travel to the state or national capitols, advocating in solidarity with people of color being menaced by proud white supremacists, or to travel together as a community of faith to show up with people of color to resist racism.

--to challenge the narratives that separate our country into rural republicans or urban democrats, showing that more than any political party, we are children of God, caring for our kindred, our friends, and our neighbors around the country and the world. 

--to challenge the narratives that claim at best that we don’t care about and at worst that we support the president’s threats of nuclear war with North Korea, the bombing of the mosque in Bloomington, or the white supremacists’ presence in Charlottesville. 

But more importantly than any of those, what if we took this action to follow Jesus even in the storm that rages, because that is what faith means to us.

This weekend the ELCA issued a statement from Bp. Bill Gafkjen, the chair of the Conference of Bishops, with this prayer:

“Just and merciful God, we give you thanks for … bishops, pastors, deacons, people of God – who this Saturday walk the way of the cross in Charlottesville, Va. On this day and in that place, they join other courageous and faithful people across time and space to stand against bigotry, hatred and violence; to stand with those who are intended victims; and to stand for justice and mercy, peace and equality for all people.

“We stand with them in prayer, asking you to empower them, protect them, and use their witness as [a] hopeful sign of your resurrection reign afoot in your beloved and troubled world. By your might, break the bondage that bigotry, hatred and violence impose on their victims and their perpetrators. May your kingdom come on earth as in heaven. And, we pray, empower us in our own communities to follow their lead as fellow servants to your dream of a community in which all people and their gifts are welcomed and honored, cherished and celebrated as beloved children of a just, merciful and loving God; through Jesus Christ crucified and risen for the life of the world. Amen”

The PCUSA stated: "Because of our biblical understanding of who God is and what God intends for humanity, the PC(USA) must stand against, speak against, and work against racism. Antiracist effort is not optional for Christians. It is an essential aspect of Christian discipleship, without which we fail to proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ."
- Facing Racism: A Vision of the Intercultural Community, 222nd General Assembly (2016), Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)

These are prayers and commitments of words and they are important, but so are the prayers we pray with our feet and with our resources.  Where we show up matters and resisting this mob of white supremacist terrorists, resisting nuclear war, is praying with our whole bodies.  How will we show up?  What are we willing to risk in the storm, to follow the Jesus who is walking to us now?  Jesus is calling to us, how will we respond?  How will we connect to those who suffer injustice not only in our community, but around the country and the world?

Our Church in the World moments have been a great way to keep us aware of what is going on in the world and we include places and people all over the world who are facing injustice and hardship in our prayers each week.  Awareness and spoken prayers are an important step, and they are good beginning steps. 

I think we are ready for our next step. 

What if we commit to showing up or hosting even just one thing a year that addresses injustice in the country or the world?  What if we show up at the state capitol, the nation’s capitol, or the site of resistance in the face of white supremacy?  One embodied prayer, one form of resistance to the storms of injustice that rage around us.  We stay in the boat to fight the storm, rather than escaping.  Jesus is walking toward us and calling us to follow.  So, we pray with our bodies because we trust that the storm can never stop Jesus.  

Thanks be to God.

Infinite Worth: Holy Innocents

The holy gospel according to Matthew (2:13-23).

¹³Now after the magi had left,

       an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said,

              “Get up, take the child and his mother,

              and flee to Egypt,

                     and remain there until I tell you;

                            for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” 

¹⁴Then Joseph got up,

       took the child and his mother by night,

              and went to Egypt, 

              ¹⁵and remained there until the death of Herod.

                     This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord 

                            through the prophet,

                                  “Out of Egypt I have called my son.”

¹⁶When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the magi,

       he was infuriated,

              and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem

                     who were two years old or under,

                            according to the time that he had learned from the magi. 

              ¹⁷Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:

                     ¹⁸“A voice was heard in Ramah,

                            wailing and loud lamentation,

                                  Rachel weeping for her children;

                                          she refused to be consoled,

                                                 because they are no more.”

¹⁹When Herod died,

       an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream

              to Joseph in Egypt and said, 

                     ²⁰“Get up,

                            take the child and his mother,

                            and go to the land of Israel,

                                  for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” 

       ²¹Then Joseph got up,

              took the child and his mother,

              and went to the land of Israel. 

                     ²²But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea

                            in place of his father Herod,

                                  he was afraid to go there.

                     And after being warned in a dream,

                            he went away to the district of Galilee. 

       ²³There he made his home in a town called Nazareth,

              so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled,

                     “He will be called a Nazorean.”

The gospel of the Lord.

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Today’s gospel is not the gospel I want for Christmas—really, I don’t ever want it.

Growing up, when I thought about Christmas, I rarely thought about today’s gospel.  The shepherds and angels from Luke’s gospel would quickly come to mind, the poetic Word made flesh of the incarnation in John and even the magi with the star to follow in Matthew’s gospel would all dance about in my imagination, with Santa and elves and stockings and sleigh rides, but not the flight to Egypt, not King Herod killing all the children.

It wasn’t until I started seminary and consistent worship planning that I realized this story and the commemoration of the Slaughter of the Holy Innocents is in our lectionary each year, sometimes as a feast day, the third day of Christmas, and sometimes as a Sunday of Christmas, like this year.  It doesn’t always make its way into a Sunday morning because we celebrate Epiphany on Sundays a lot of the time, like we did last week, but it is part of the Christmas story—the part we don’t want.

We don’t want a ruler so insecure that he is threatened by a baby.  We don’t want a ruler who has no qualms about slaughtering the children in an entire town.  We don’t want a ruler with power he so easily abuses.

We don’t want parents to have to struggle with pain because they do not have the power to save their children.  We don’t want children’s futures to be beyond our control.  We don’t want to be unable to protect these most vulnerable—to be unable to keep them alive and whole and safe.

We don’t want difficult conversations with children about death and evil.  We don’t want to think about the conversation these parents will have with their child when they return from Egypt and the child looks around and asks why there aren’t any kids his age to play with.  We don’t want to break the child’s heart.

We don’t want this Christmas story.  But this is the Christmas story, because just as God is coming to be with us—just as God is deciding to show God’s immense love for the whole world, humans included, by becoming human, humanity—or one human in particular with several lackeys—is deciding that these smallest and youngest humans are disposable.  They are not only a threat to the one in power, but they are also disposable—worth little enough that getting rid of them is an easy spur of the moment decision.

I was talking to a friend this week and she mentioned theology professor Jeremy Posadas’[1] insight that so many people in this country feel, and are treated as if, they are disposable.  The culture we live in puts our value in what we can contribute to the economy, and even then someone could easily replace us—jobs could be shipped overseas, big farms could replace our family farms, downsizing and machines could take over. 

And if we’re not working, we’re disposable, too. Never mind that we might be caring for children or parents or grandchildren, we might have just retired after decades of work, we might have disabilities that keep us from some jobs, or we might do work on the farm and the garden, but those don’t provide pay checks, or maybe we just can’t find work.  The violence we have seen this last year—against people of color, against lgbtq+ people, against police—and the violent and demeaning rhetoric we have heard just feed into this feeling of disposability.

The message is clear: we are disposable, just like the things in our life are disposable.  There’s always something new or better for sale on TV and in stores and it’s easier to replace a broken toy or appliance than try to fix it. 

So much in life declares everything to be disposable, but whenever I think of things being disposable, an image pops into my head of women spread out at separate tables downstairs, each with her own sewing machine.

These women, as you know, have collected t-shirts—from Grace Place, from people, from the whole community—and these t-shirts that people do not want to wear and that could easily be disposable become diapers for families in crisis.  And then what’s left of the scraps from the diapers becomes quilt squares.  And what’s left from the scraps from the quilt squares become rags to clean with. And what’s left from the rags to clean with goes back to Grace Place to be sent in to be repurposed and the money they receive then helps support the ministries of Grace Place.   

Nothing about that t-shirt is disposable.

And that is where God is.  In the basement of this church building, yes, but more than that—in the families and children that will have diapers and quilts, in the ministry of Grace Place, in the rags and people who clean up and care for shared spaces, and in a landfill that is just a bit emptier because of the hundreds, or perhaps thousands of t-shirts that are not in it.

You all know the worth of things—t-shirts, jars that can be reused for canning and freezing food, plants and animals.  And you know the worth of humans of all ages—from the youngest to the oldest.

We read of King Herod’s heinous acts and we wonder where God is. 

How could God let those children suffer? 

And there are no easy answers to these questions that we ask from 2000 years ago and the questions that we still ask today—from our lives and our place in history. 

Two of the most striking images from this place in history

last year are of a young boy washed up on shore because the boat carrying him and many other refugees didn’t make it safely to the shore, and the image of a three-year-old boy covered in dust and blood, sitting in an ambulance in Aleppo.  And we ask how God could let these children suffer? 

And it’s not just the children halfway across the world.  We know the children suffering in our own community of faith and connected to our own community of faith, and we ask again and again how could God let the children we love who are sick suffer?

Where is God when human lives feel disposable?

As we hear from Jeremiah, echoed in our gospel today, God is “A voice …heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”   

God is weeping over a humanity that is of infinite worth.  

God is weeping over the violence that tears again and again through this world that God came here to love.   

God is Rachel weeping, the mother who has lost her children.   

God is naming your value and mine because even in the weeping and lament, even in our grief and our pain, God is with us.   

Our questions remain, and yet Jesus is Emmanuel. 

Jesus comes as God-with-us, not to give easy answers to our questions, not to solve all the problems in one foul swoop.  God comes to us because you are of infinite worth.  Because you are God’s beloved.

Thanks be to God.

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[1] Dr. Jeremy Posadas is a professor of theology at Austin College and co-led the fight for LGBTQ equality in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America for several years.

God holds us in thin places: All Saints Sunday

The first reading was Job 19:23-27a.

 

The holy gospel according to Luke

²⁷Some Sadducees,

       those who say there is no resurrection,

              came to Jesus ²⁸and asked him a question,

                     “Teacher, Moses wrote for us that if a man’s brother dies,

                            leaving a wife but no children,

                                   the man shall marry the widow

                                          and raise up children for his brother.

                     ²⁹Now there were seven brothers;

                            the first married, and died childless;

                            ³⁰then the second

                            ³¹and the third married her,

                            and so in the same way all seven died childless.

                            ³²Finally the woman also died.

                                   ³³In the resurrection, therefore,

                                          whose wife will the woman be?

                                                 For the seven had married her.”

³⁴Jesus said to them,

       “Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage;

              ³⁵but those who are considered worthy

                     of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead

                     neither marry nor are given in marriage.

                            ³⁶Indeed they cannot die anymore,

                                   because they are like angels and are children of God,

                                          being children of the resurrection.

                     ³⁷And the fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed,

                            in the story about the bush,

                                   where he speaks of the Sovereign

                                          as the God of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar,

                                          the God of Rebecca and Isaac,

                                          and the God of Jacob, Leah, and Rachel.

                            ³⁸Now God is God not of the dead,

                                   but of the living;

                                          for to God all of them are alive.”

The gospel of the Lord.

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It is profoundly ironic that in our readings for today it is precisely those who do not believe in the resurrection who prompt our deeper thinking and experience of the resurrection. Job, as was typical of his time, doesn’t actually believe in the resurrection or everlasting life the way we might today. 

For Job, when you died, you died and the way you lived on was through your descendants and the name, or reputation, you made for yourself.  And yet, today we find new meaning in Job’s words, “I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last will stand upon the earth; ²⁶and after my skin has been thus destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God, ^27awhom I shall see on my side, and my eyes shall behold, and not another.”

Much of our understandings and lives are built on others’—on the lives and understandings of those who’ve come before us.  In this way, we hear Job’s words and we are able to find new and different meaning, even as the old understandings may remain, fade, or change.  We hear in Job’s word a promise of everlasting life—a promise of new life in the resurrection.

Jesus’ encounter with the Sadducees also turns things around. You see, the Sadducees try to trap Jesus with complicated questions about the Resurrection—which they don’t even believe in!

So it comes as no surprise that Jesus uses their question as more of a jumping off point than as a question in need of a clear answer. With their resurrection question in his metaphorical pocket, Jesus dives into the nature of God. 

After all, the resurrection only matters insofar as our God is beyond death.

Jesus alludes to Moses’ encounter with God at the burning bush, where the name Godgives Moses is “I AM or I will be.”  God is an active God.  God is a present God.  God is God even into the future.  Jesus says, “God is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to God all of them are alive.”

God’s presence with us is a forever thing and there is nothing we can do to screw it up so badly that that will not be true—for us or for anyone else.  God is God of the living and yet even when we die, God is still with us.

Too often in our culture, we avoid death like the plague and then when people die we give a set amount of time for grief and then expect people to be back to their old selves again.  But that is not how grief works and that is not how love works.  When people we love die, the work of grief is figuring out our new relationship with them—one built less from physical presence and more from heart, feelings, and memories.  Loved ones who have died still remain a part of our lives, just in a different way.

In fact, there are times throughout the year and places where peoples across cultures recognize the delicate difference between the living and the dead. In Celtic tradition, they referred to it as “thin places,”—in thin places and thin times, the boundary between those of us who are alive and those who are dead is thinner and we are more able to sense their presence.

In Mexico, the Day of the Dead—el Día de muertos—is a time spent with those who have died—making altars at home or decorating graves.  Last night we celebrated together—remembering friends, family, and community members who have died, and we built the altar that is in the back, decorating it and adding our own pictures, mementos, food and drink from loved ones.

This time of year, when the earth grows cold, when the harvest finishes, is the time when we are all closer to death.  It used to be that some wouldn’t make it through the winter and so these celebrations of life were what carried people through to the next one.

It is also fitting that today is a communion Sunday because communion is one of those places where “we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses.”  Communion is many things—it is a communal meal in which we participate in God’s alternative economy where all are fed—all receive our daily needs.  Communion is a renewing of God’s covenant of love with us. 

And Communion is also our participation in and our glimpse of the feast to come.  In this, we don’t just practice, but we taste the feast, we participate with the great cloud of witnesses.  When we receive the bread and wine that is Jesus, we are in line with our parents, spouses, friends, and even children who have completed their baptismal journey. We join with our ancestors in the faith throughout the ages to celebrate the power of life that comes from God.

Today especially as a community of faith, we gather to celebrate and remember those we love who have died.  As we do, we also feel their presence and the ways they continue to impact our lives.

For some of us their presence will always be tangible and for others it will fade and morph with time.  For some of us, our grief at the death of a loved one or even a stranger will overwhelm us, for others it will settle in as numbness or come back at unexpected times.

Each of us grieve and process death differently and on All Saints’ Day and special anniversaries, we experience again the presence of those who have died.  Those thin places invite them into our lives again in a different way. We eat their favorite foods, reminisce about memories and over pictures.  We go to bed, wrapped in their arms, only to find that it is our God who is holding us close, remembering with us, and bringing us again to each new day, each new feast, each new life.

Thanks be to God.