Fed and Ready to Go

August 17, 2014 1 comment

Sermon Series on the Sacraments #5
Texts: 2 Cor 5.16-6:1; Mt 9.35-10:16

Around here, we know the importance of a good meal. For a farmer, it’s important to eat well. How else can somebody get up before dawn to milk cows and then spend the whole day in the field before going to bed well after sundown? In order to have energy for that kind of work, you need a full breakfast and a big dinner. Without the food to fuel them through the day, a farmer simply won’t last. Since everybody depends on the work being done in the fields or in the barns, providing that food for the workers in the field is as critical as the field work itself.

It makes sense, then, that food is also key to hospitality. It’s a tradition left over from the days when everybody had to work to survive. When we have guests, we want to send them on their way, strengthened to do whatever work lies ahead of them. It’s how we show that we care.

Hardly anybody would invite someone over and then send them on their way at dinner time without trying to feed them. And if they stay for a meal, what kind of host would skimp on the food and let them go away hungry? It’s in our bones to want to feed people, to offer our best and make sure they eat their fill. Across the globe, in every culture, hospitality always, always comes with food included. Feeding people is our way of preparing them for their work, of being out there with them as they put those calories to use. I think that is why one of the ways that God has chosen to be present with us is in a meal.

Holy Communion is as important to our work as the Church as breakfast or dinner is to work on a farm. In the Lord’s Supper, God not only shows us how much we are loved by feeding us, but reminds us always of the ultimate act of love shown to us in Christ. This is no simple meal; at the table, we eat and drink the body and blood that Christ gave up for us on the cross. And, just like a hearty breakfast of eggs, hash browns and sausage before going out to work, the meal that God offers us is for a purpose.

That purpose is the one we are given at baptism. In baptism, we are assured of God’s salvation, but more than that, we are commissioned with a task. That task which we’ve been given is what Paul calls the “ministry of reconciliation.” In Jesus—his birth, life, death and resurrection—God was reconciling the world to Godself.

God sent the Son to teach us about the kingdom of Heaven and to set an example of love and service to follow. St. John writes in the gospel, “No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.” Jesus came to make God known to us. One of the clearest ways that Jesus did this was on the cross, by giving his life for the very people who cried out for his death. His resurrection opened the way for all to new life, free from the fear of death or hell, punishment or failure. One had died for all, therefore all have died. Because he lives, and because we share in his life through our baptism, we know that there is nothing that can stand between us and God.

Through Jesus, we have been reconciled to God, and we have come to see and to know firsthand the love that God has for us. We have been charged at out baptism with sharing that love with the world, both by loving one another as God has loved us, and by teaching others of God’s love for them. This is the ministry of reconciliation: to cease seeing one another as competitors or judges, outsiders or locals, as foreigners or enemies, as idols to emulate or consumers to persuade, but to start recognizing one another as God’s children and as sisters and brothers in Christ.

The work of reconciliation that we have been given, like the work Jesus gave his disciples to go out curing the sick and raising the dead, is not just hard work; it is impossible work. Paul urges the Corinthians and us to “no longer regard one another from a human point of view,” but as humans: that is the only point of view we have! What Paul actually says is that we should no longer regard one another “according to the flesh.” The alternative to this would be to regard people “according to the spirit,” in the same way that we now regard Jesus.

I can’t say I know exactly what it means to regard someone “according to the spirit,” but I can guess. Think about the relationships you have with your closest family or friends as compared to strangers or rivals. There is a different quality to that intimate relationship, because it is built on trust, honesty, and love. We can be more open, even more vulnerable with the people to whom we are closest. This sort of familiarity and trust is what we as the Church are called to nurture. That is what it means to reconcile: to heal broken relationships and foster love and trust.

This sort of work completely against our nature. We naturally judge one another, compete with each other, mistrust and suspect one another, because that is how we protect ourselves from being hurt or cheated. In order to be able to accomplish any sort of reconciliation in this world, we need something beyond us that will work through us to do what we cannot. That something is the Holy Spirit, which fills us at baptism; it is Jesus himself, who feeds us with his own flesh and blood in the Eucharist.

Just like a farmer putting in long hours in the field, with such a monumental task before us, we require nourishment to get the job done. That is why we come together around the meal of Holy Communion to worship. We gather here to hear from scripture what God is doing in the world, and then to receive the strength through Christ’s supper to participate in it. We share the Eucharist together not because it’s something we have been commanded to do or because it’s a longstanding tradition; we take Holy Communion together for the same reason we fill ourselves with carbohydrates and protein at breakfast: so that we will have the ability to do the work set before us. Jesus’ Body becomes our body, and his work becomes our work.

Without breakfast, how can the farmer hope to accomplish his work? Without the nourishment of Holy Communion, how can we hope to accomplish God’s work? It is my opinion that worship without Holy Communion is like breakfast without food. We come to the table and go away hungry. I know that some of you will disagree with me, and I think that’s good. I think that we should all think about why we celebrate the Eucharist the way we do, and question whether our current practice best suits the needs of this congregation and this community.

Should we refrain from taking communion every week because of the time it takes to distribute or the work it takes to prepare? We may as well ask if we only feed our children when it is convenient for us. Do we refrain because having it less often makes it more special? Do we only express our love for friends and family occasionally so it will be more “special,” or frequently so that they will be assured of our love?  Do we refuse to feed small children because they “aren’t ready?” Or do we feed them because they need God’s nourishment and grace as badly as any of us? Without food, our bodies wither and fade. The same is true of our faith; except that our faith is not fed with meat and potatoes, but with the body and blood of the one who died for all.

Before Jesus sent his disciples out to do ministry, he prepared them by giving them instruction and advice. He continues to do this today. We gather as Jesus’ disciples to be sent out to do his work, and before we go, he feeds us, and the food he gives us is himself. In this meal, we carry Jesus with us to the world, just as a farmer carries the love of his family with him in his belly as he goes out to work the field. How can we have the strength to work if we have not been fed?

Who is Worthy to Receive the Sacraments?

August 10, 2014 1 comment

Sermon Series on the Sacraments #4
Texts: 1 Cor 11.17-34; Rom 5.7-11; Mk 9.33-37

 

Bill Schuettler was a member of my internship congregation. He was in his 80s when I knew him, a short, stocky man with two hearing aids, he wore thick glasses and could fill just about any room with his voice and his presence. Bill and his wife Grace were two of the people I knew the best in Pottsville, often taking me out to lunch or inviting me to play parcheesi at their house. Bill also like to tell stories. Being in his 80s, he occasionally told the same story more than once. One story in particular that he told me often was about the time he was denied communion.

Bill and Grace had gone to visit their son in New Jersey. He had married a Catholic woman, and they and their children attended a Catholic congregation. Bill and Grace were in town for the grandchildren’s Christmas pageant at church. When it came time for communion, Bill and Grace, who rarely if ever missed church, went up to receive the sacrament, even though they knew that, as visiting Protestants, they weren’t supposed to. When they got to the priest, he refused to give them the body and blood of Christ.

Now, Bill was not an emotional man. He had the demeanor almost of a car salesman—very outgoing, very affable, and always energetic. But would tell this story, you could hear the anger and humiliation in his voice. “That priest wouldn’t give us communion, can you believe that? I was so mad, I almost had to leave the building. I will never go back to that church again!”

I know that some of you have had similar experiences. I don’t tell this story to criticize our Catholic brothers and sisters, but to help you imagine or remember that feeling of anger, of unfairness, of rejection that comes from being denied one of the sacraments that binds us together as God’s church. I want you to think about that feeling as we talk about the sacraments today, and about who is and is not worthy to receive those signs of God’s grace.

Paul wrote in his letter to the church at Corinth about how the Lord’s Supper should be eaten. In the early Church, Holy Communion was not just a bite of bread and a sip of wine; often it was an entire meal, shared by the community, with the bread and wine at the center of the meal, commemorating Jesus’ last supper with his disciples. Corinth was a metropolitan town, a busy port city and center of trade. Members of the church ran the gamut from wealthy merchants and landowners to poor day laborers and tradespeople and even slaves.

The congregation would gather in the evening to share the Lord’s supper and worship. However, the rich people who had more flexibility in their schedules would often show up first and begin eating before the working class members got off of their shifts, and the slaves would come even later when they had been excused by their masters for the evening. By the time the last showed up, sometimes there was no food left.

When Paul heard of this, he was livid, and scolded the congregation in the section of his letter we just read. He warned them that eating the meal ‘unworthily’ brought God’s judgment, rather than God’s grace. So he counseled those who partook of the meal to examine themselves and make sure they had the right motives at heart before they shared the meal.

I think that this passage may be part of what prevents our Catholic sisters and brothers from sharing the Eucharist with us. I think they see themselves as protecting us from eating and drinking judgment against ourselves. It is the same reason we set an age for first communion. We are worried that if people take communion wrongly God will judge them, so we have elected to set up limits to prevent that from happening by keeping the people who are too young or simple to understand, or who are too different from us, or who are not baptized from sharing the meal with us.

God, on the other hand, refuses to set limits on grace. In his letter to the Romans, Paul describes how Jesus shows God’s love for us in that while we were  still sinners—enemies of God—Jesus gave his life in exchange for ours. Although turning away from sin is an important part of our relationship with God, repentance is not a precondition for God’s love; Jesus made this ultimate act of love for us while we still hated God.

When the disciples argued among one another about who was greatest, Jesus set before them the example of a little child. A child is completely dependent on her parents for everything—food, shelter, clothing, affection. We love our children not because of what they do or don’t do; we do not feed or clothe them because of how deserving they are to receive such things, but because they are ours, and we care for them because if we don’t, nobody else will. Jesus is making the point that greatness or piety or any other measure of worth that we might use is meaningless in God’s eyes: we are given love and grace because we belong to God; and God’s love and grace is shown to us in the sacraments.

Although the Corinthians didn’t take the meal seriously, this was not their mistake; their mistake was that, by their actions, they excluded people. That is why Paul chastised them: not for being too careless with the meal, but for being too careless with their fellow Christians. God would rather waste the grace of baptism or communion on hardened sinners who don’t understand the significance of the gift they are receiving than ever turn anyone away and make them feel like Bill Schuettler did at that church in New Jersey.

Personally, I am convinced that the worst sin we can commit in our stewardship of God’s sacraments is to be too patronizing and inflexible to offer them to those who need them most. Whether it is a couple coming bringing their child for a baptism when you know they have no intention of keeping the promises they make, or the confirmand who has never attended a day of confirmation class, or the atheist son or daughter of the congregation coming forward to receive communion at Easter because everybody else is doing it, God’s love and God’s grace are for them. God’s love is not based on our greatness or our worthiness; it is given to us freely as a gift which we cannot earn.

It’s hard for us to see people approach these sacraments of baptism and communion without the repentance, without the solemnity with which we have been taught to approach them. It can feel like we are belittling God’s gifts. Indeed, if we didn’t take these sacraments seriously, if we did not respect and appreciate them as the holy gifts of God, then the sacraments would lose their meaning and become empty. But in the end, we are reminded that these sacraments do not belong to us; they belong to God, and to God’s Church.

As important as Holy Communion and Holy Baptism are to us, they are even more important to God, because these are the ways through which God as chosen to give us the gift of grace. If we are ever to impress upon others (and ourselves) the true meaning and importance of these sacraments, it can only be done in community—that is, in communion—with one another through these sacraments. In other words, the only way we can teach one another who to respect and appreciate these gifts by practicing them together, rather than by cutting one another out.

One of those lessons it is good for us to remember again and again is that we are all children before God. None of us fully understands God’s grace; like little children, we are all and utterly dependent on God for everything we have. In the end, there is no “us” and “them”—we are all beggars in God’s house, all washed in the same font and fed at the same table.

As we examine ourselves as Paul instructed, one question we should ask ourselves is, “how does God want us to use these gifts?” Are we really being good stewards of God’s sacraments in the way we administer them? In scripture, God’s love is abundant; even when it is wasted on people who are broken and unfaithful, God continues to give it as freely as Jesus gave his life. If this is our model for offering the sacraments, then we should know that the font and the table are open to all who seek them, regardless of their age, their motives, or their affiliations; because the true miracle is that whether we deserve them or not, whether we appreciate them or not, the sacraments, always accomplish what God designed them to do.

We know this because God’s love is present to us in these sacraments, and where God’s love is, God’s will is done, regardless of our motives. God’s love was present on Calvary, where an innocent man was hanged on a cross; and through the power of God’s love, Jesus’ death became the source of our forgiveness rather than our condemnation. Like Jesus himself, the sacraments of baptism and communion deserve our utmost respect and appreciation; but like Jesus himself, they are given freely for all, whether or not we understand or appreciate the gift that has been set before us.

You Are What You Eat

August 3, 2014 1 comment

Sermon Series on the Sacraments #3
Text: Eph 4.1-16; Jn 6.51-58

You’ve heard the saying, “you are what you eat.” It’s true on many levels. As I have grown older, I have found that, much to my dismay, my body can no longer feel completely nourished on just ice cream and potato chips. If I eat too much sugar, I feel sick. If I eat too much food that has been overly processed and comes from cans or bags, my stomach lets me hear about it and my body feels worn out and used up, just like the empty bags and cans from which the meal came. In order to keep my body feeling fresh and whole, I need foods that are fresh and whole, full of protein and fiber, vitamins and minerals. What I eat has to do more than just fill me up, it has to nourish me.

On a deeper level, we really are what we eat. Our bodies need those proteins and carbohydrates and vitamins because those molecules that come from our food are what our bodies use to power our organs and to build our cells. The food we eat actually becomes the stuff that makes up our bones, our muscles, our skin, and our brains. That’s why in addition to carbs for energy, we need meat and fruit and vegetables, so our bodies can continue to grow and regenerate themselves.

The food we eat is both literally and symbolically what makes up our bodies. If we eat junk, we feel like junk, because our bodies aren’t getting the things they need to replenish themselves. By now you may have guessed where I’m going with this. This is true not just of the food we eat to nourish our bodies, but the food we eat to nourish our souls, and the food we have been given for our souls is the body and blood of Jesus given to us in Holy Communion.

We encounter this body and blood in simple elements of bread and wine, but in the sacrament, there is more than just the bread and wine present. What makes the sacraments is the elements plus the word of God: the word “This is my body, given for you; this is my blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.” Our Roman Catholic sisters and brothers believe that the bread and wine actually change into flesh and blood in Holy Communion. While we Lutherans do not share this belief, neither do we believe that the bread and wine are merely symbols of Christ’s presence.

Luther believed and taught that Jesus Christ is just as fully present in the meal as he was on the cross. We believe that the bread and wine do not cease to be bread and wine, but we also believe that Jesus is there with them—“in, with and under” the elements. To deny that Jesus’ actual body and blood are not present in the elements is like denying that it was his actual body that hung and died upon the cross. If Christ is not in the meal, then there is no forgiveness of sins, just as if it were not actually Jesus hanging from the tree. To believe Jesus’ promise that his body and blood are given and shed “for us” requires us to trust that somehow he is actually in, with and under the bread and wine in Holy Communion.

Because this is meal is not just bread and wine, but Jesus’ actual body and blood, this sacrament gives us an amazing gift: we become what we eat. In this meal, Jesus transforms us into the Body of Christ, what we also call the Church. How Jesus’ body and blood are present with the bread and wine and how we are changed from a group of individuals into the Church are mysteries—we do not and cannot know how they occur. We simply trust Jesus’ promise that this meal is his body and blood given for us, and that because it is given for us, the meal forgives us from sin and prepares us for the work of God’s kingdom.

In baptism, God claims us and makes us holy, and prepares us for a task. In Holy Communion, Jesus gives us the means to do that task, just like the proteins and carbs and vitamins and minerals that come from our food strengthen and form us for life. The miracle that occurs in Holy Communion is that in addition to being purified and made holy so we can do God’s work, we are actually being transformed.

Each of us individually has a little bit of Jesus in us, which makes us able to be “little Christs” to those around us. All of us collectively become the Body of Christ. This is what sets the Church apart from the Kiwanis or the city council or a board of directors—we are more than just a collection of people; we are a collection of people in whom God is truly present.

This is what Jesus does. He is God-made-flesh, God-with-us in human form. Through Holy Communion, he transforms us. Through us, the meal makes God incarnate in the world again with the body and blood of Jesus and the hands and feet of the Church.

Along with these gifts of Jesus’ body and blood, we are given many other gifts from God through the Holy Spirit. Paul and others write about these gifts throughout the bible. In Galatians, Paul calls them the “fruits of the Spirit.” In Romans and 1 Corinthians, he describes them as many members of one body.

The author of Ephesians describes the gifts given by the Spirit to all who share in the one baptism into Christ. These gifts are given, he says, to equip the saints (that’s us) for ministry—for the work of God’s kingdom on earth—and to build up the body of Christ. Just as we are built up and transformed in the meal, we then go out to build up and transform the Church and the world around us. In a very real way, after we eat the bread and wine in which Christ is found at communion, we become the bread and wine in which Christ is found that is given for the whole world.

Not only are we the Body of Christ in the sense that we are the embodiment of Jesus for the world, we are also the Body of Christ given for the world for the forgiveness of sins. When our own bodies are working properly, each part works together to promotes the body’s growth. In the same way, when each part of Christ’s body is working properly, we each and all promote the body’s growth in building itself up in love. That is the purpose of these gifts of the sacraments: to equip the saints for ministry, so that together, we might build up the entire community in love.

As the Church, we are called to be stewards of these gifts, God’s servants working to build up the Body of Christ and the world. The way we care for and administer these gifts is what we call “stewardship,” and it is the guiding principle for how we treat the environment, the land we farm, the blessings we’ve been given, the money we have, and even the sacraments of God’s Church. All these things belong to God, and God has chosen and trusted us to use them wisely—so what will we do with them? If we hoard these gifts for ourselves, then they become useless and meaningless, like food rotting in a pantry. Instead, we are always asking ourselves how God wants us to use and share the gifts God has given us.

As we have already said, this is not a task we are able to accomplish on our own. Left to our own devices and our own desires, we will misuse and abuse God’s gifts. This is why God has claimed us through baptism and feeds us through communion: to make us holy for God’s work and strengthen us to do it—to equip the saints for the work of ministry.

We are what we eat. In this meal, we eat Jesus, and he becomes a part of us. Because he lives in us now, we are called and equipped to do that which only Jesus can do: to bring about God’s kingdom on earth. No mere bread and wine could do this, just as no mere human could hope to bring about God’s reign on earth. It is Jesus’ true presence—on the cross, in the meal, and in the Church—that makes all the difference. This is why we call this meal the Eucharist, a word meaning “thanksgiving.” In this meal, we give thanks to God for the gift of Jesus, who rose from death for us, and we give thanks that through us, he is still here, working for God’s will in the world.

Salvation – How Are We Saved?

July 27, 2014 1 comment

Sermon Series on the Sacraments #2
Text: Rom 5.12-6.11; 1 Pet 3.18-22; Lk 9.23-27

A few weeks ago when I was visiting family with my dad, I met one of his second cousins. When I told her I was a pastor, she responded, “Oh, that’s wonderful! You must have been saved at a pretty early age, then!” I don’t know about you, but I cringe internally when I hear people talk about ‘being saved.’ It doesn’t fit with what I believe about God. But, to be polite and to honor her point of view, I simply answered, “You could say that, yes.” “That’s so great,” she replied, “I wasn’t saved until I was 19!”

At least for me, I get really uncomfortable when people talk about ‘being saved’ like it is a landmark moment in their life that occurs when they decide to accept Jesus into their heart. To me, it doesn’t seem to appreciate the fact that Jesus died and rose again to save us all, but instead makes it about a personal realization. I’m sure I’m not alone here in that feeling. Talk of “salvation” as such tends to make us Lutherans uneasy. That’s because it is a part of a larger question within the Church: how are we saved? Are we saved by Jesus’ action on the cross, or by our acceptance of that action as being for us personally?

I think that the answer is both. Actually, to be more clear, I think that there are two distinct ways in which God saves us. The first is eternal salvation, where God saves us from eternal death or punishment in hell to rise from death with Christ. The second is earthly, or temporal, salvation. This is the kind of salvation that we experience now, in our lives today, the kind of salvation that changes how we experience the world.

That first kind of salvation, eternal salvation, is a once-and-forever event that happened at the cross. Paul uses the example of Adam: Adam’s life of disobedience condemned us all to death, and Christ’s life of obedience frees us from that death. If Adam’s sin brings death for all, then certainly Christ’s sinlessness brings life for all, since Adam was only a man, but Christ is the Son of God. This is why when somebody asks a Lutheran, “when were you saved?” we sometimes reply with a little bit of snark, “2000 years ago.”

But none of us has yet experienced this kind of salvation—it only happens to us after we die; and yet, for all of us, our lives are somehow different because we know that this salvation is assured. The experience of salvation in the midst of our lives is the earthly kind of salvation, the temporal salvation. It is the experience of being saved from despair, from anger, from holding grudges, from whatever else our faith saves us from experiencing.

Martin Luther was plagued by guilt all his life. He felt the presence of Satan in a very real way. He wrote that when he felt beset by evil and darkness, he turned to his baptism to remind him that he was claimed by God and that Satan had no hold over him. This is the kind of salvation that our baptism offers: it is a tangible sign for us that God’s eternal salvation is ours, and so it saves us from the doubt that we might not be good enough for God’s love.

About 10 years ago, I worked at Lutheran bible camp. We had two counselors on staff for the summer who had never been baptized. They had strong faith and had strong connections with congregations; they believed wholeheartedly that God’s promise was for them. So, they wondered, why should they need to be baptized? The deeper question here is this: is baptism necessary for salvation?

The answer, according to the bible, seems to be both yes and no. No because, as Paul says, if Adam’s sin can affect all of us, then Christ’s obedience, which is so much stronger than Adam’s sin, must be able to do the same. However, elsewhere in the bible—in the book of Acts, the letter to the Ephesians, and other places—we are told that baptism is how God reaches out to us to give us that forgiveness of sin.

It would appear that God’s eternal salvation—the promise of eternal life—is a free gift for all, regardless of anything we might do or not do, or believe or not believe. It is how God has promised to complete creation. However, it is only through baptism that we are able to experience God’s temporal salvation—the salvation we feel in our daily lives. Since my fellow counselors already had a sense of having been saved like this, so why should they need to be baptized?

Peter describes baptism as an “appeal to God for a good conscience.” We know that we are flawed, broken people, and that in order to follow Christ, we need to be better than we are able to be on our own. Through baptism, we receive the Holy Spirit, which helps conform our wills to God’s and helps us figure out how to live as God commands us; the Holy Spirit becomes our “good conscience.”

One of the ways that the Holy Spirit becomes our “good conscience” is by making us the Church. In the Church, we are connected with all God’s people across time and space so that together we can figure out where God is calling us. Baptism is what unites us. It is through baptism that we receive the Holy Spirit and are united into the Body of Christ. In a very real way, baptism saves us from our isolation and our sin by giving us a loving, forgiving, caring community of faith to support us and grow with us as we ‘work out our own salvation with fear and trembling.’ (Philippians 2:12)

Is it the act of getting wet that saves us? Luther asks the question this way in the Small Catechism: “How can water do such great things?”  His response is that “It is not the water but God’s word with the water and our trust in God’s word.” Think of baptism like a wedding ring. The ring is meaningless without the marriage, and people can be married without having rings, but the rings are a tangible sign of that promise that they carry with them their whole lives. In some ways, baptism is like a wedding ring, a sign that we carry with us of God’s love, though unlike a ring, it cannot be taken off or lost.

Those camp counselors eventually came to see that baptism was something God wanted for them, and they were baptized in the lake. When they emerged, all of us were there to receive them into the Church. Though they had already been saved through Christ’s death and resurrection, on that day they were saved by their baptism and united with all of us in the one baptism into Christ Jesus.

That baptism we share, Paul reminds us, is baptism into Christ’s death. Baptism is able to assure us of our eternal salvation because in baptism, we die to sin. The punishment for sin is death, and because we are sinners, death is the price we must pay. In our baptism, we die with Christ, and so that price is paid. Then, because Christ has risen to new life, we are also raised to new life with him by our baptism. That new life is just another name for the salvation we have received: God has saved us from the consequences of our sin and from our isolation from one another by bringing us into the Church. That existence is different from what we knew before—it is new. Our lives are literally renewed in baptism, and we share in Christ’s resurrection, even before we taste death.

This kind of salvation that occurs through baptism is not a one-time event, but an continual, ongoing action. We believe in one baptism for the forgiveness of sins, just like it says in the creed, but our struggle against sin is daily. Through our baptism, we daily drown the sinner that lives within us and daily rise to new life with Christ. God’s saving act in baptism is experienced anew every day.

We might not use the same language to talk about salvation as my dad’s cousin, but we as Lutherans have a lot to learn from them about appreciating our baptism as a defining moment, a turning point in our lives. Though we were assured of God’s salvation long before we were ever born, at the moment of our baptism, something happens to us, something that frees us from the old system of sin accounting that the world likes to live by, and turns us loose knowing that God is always with us.

God saves us like this through baptism not just because God loves us, but because God loves the world and everyone in it. Freed from the fear of punishment and failure by God’s grace in baptism, we are free to love and serve our neighbors without worrying about doing it wrong, or believing in the wrong thing. We are free to be Church without worrying about the mistakes we will make. We are free to share the good news that God’s eternal salvation for all without feeling like our own salvation depends on how well we share that news.

In order to be his disciple, Jesus said, we must take up our cross and follow him. As Christians, washed at the font, we receive the Holy Spirit that allows us to take up that cross—the cross inscribed on our brow at baptism—and carry it out into the world to be living signs of God’s salvation. In the immortal words of St. John, “God so loved the world that God sent the Son so that all who trust him might not perish, but have eternal life.” Likewise, the Son sends us, through baptism, so that all might come to trust in that promise of salvation.

Holiness

July 20, 2014 1 comment

Sermon Series on the Sacraments #1
Text: 2 Sam 6.1-15; Isa 6.1-8; Matt 5.27-48

I carry a pocketknife with me wherever I go. It’s a practice I picked up from my dad. I find it is very helpful for cutting strings, opening cans and bottles,  digging rocks out of my shoes, opening letters and occasionally cutting food. This is completely gross to my stepmom. She will not eat anything that I have cut with my pocketknife. For her, even if I wipe it clean, it’s still dirty. I probably do get a little bit of germs or dirt with my slice of cheese, though not enough to hurt me, but that’s not the point. It’s dirty.

Ancient Israelites viewed cleanliness in the same way. You’ve heard bible stories talk about people being made unclean by leprosy or blood or by something they have done, and about being made clean by performing some ritual like washing or by going to see a priest. That’s the same thing: a person somehow becomes dirty, and must be cleansed before they can rejoin society, or before they can have any contact with God. It has nothing to do with germs or actual dirt, but that sense of generally being icky. This is a core concern of the old Jewish religious system, because God is holy, and what is holy must never get dirty.

Holy is a word we use a lot, but don’t ever really talk about what it means. Simply put, to be holy means to be set apart, to be designated for something special. For example, my wife sometimes uses our kitchen knives for to pot plants or cut cardboard, and though I cannot explain way, this really, really bothers me. The kitchen knives are for food and food alone—they shouldn’t get dirty. In some sense, to me those knives are sacred, or holy.

More than that, though, holiness also means that something belongs to God. Something that is holy, then, is specifically set apart for God, something that God has designated for a special task. These things are holy because God is holy.

To understand what holy means, we look at two stories. The first is about the Ark of the Covenant, the chest in which the 10 commandments were placed. The Ark was holy—it belonged to God and was set aside for God’s special purpose of bearing these important artifacts. Because it was holy, it absolutely could not get dirty.

King David was bringing the Ark to Jerusalem on an oxcart. Along the way, the cart shook, and it looked as though the Ark might fall in the mud. Uzzah, one of the men driving the cart, reached out to steady it. The problem was that Uzzah was was dirty. All people are dirty. We are nowhere near God’s standards of holiness, of acceptable behavior or character. We call this dirtiness “sin.” Sin is contrary to God, and so once a year, the priests would go before God to make an offering for sin. This was done at the Ark of the Covenant. And even the priests—God’s holy servants, specially appointed for the task—had to ritually cleanse themselves and undergo all kinds of purification before they could come into the Lord’s presence at the temple, because they, too, were dirty.

So, when Uzzah reached out to protect the Ark, there was nothing to protect him from God’s holiness, and he was killed. King David became afraid: how could he ever manage to keep something so incredibly holy and special in Jerusalem, a place filled with dirty people like himself and Uzzah? So he sent the Ark away.

This explains why, hundreds of years later, Isaiah quakes and quails when he sees God with his own eyes in the temple in Jerusalem. If Uzzah could die simply from touching the Ark, what would happen to him when his eyes beheld God in person? “Woe is me!” he cried, “I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and yet my eyes have beheld the Lord, the God of Hosts!” As a sinful human being, he was unworthy to be anywhere near God, and yet here was God before his very face.

God is perfect—perfect in power, perfect in goodness, perfect in love. We represent God to people with holy things, things like the Ark. To represent God with anything less than perfection sullies God’s holy name. If I were to offer my stepmom a slice of apple that I cut with my pocketknife—the same knife I just used to clean gum off my shoe—she would’t eat it, because my knife has made it dirty. Likewise, if we use sinful, imperfect, dirty things and people to present God to the world, we make God out to be as dirty. That is why Uzzah died, and that is why David and Isaiah were so afraid: as sinful, dirty human beings, they were unworthy to come into contact with God’s perfection.

But Isaiah didn’t die. Instead, one of the angels with God took a coal from the brazier in the temple and touched it to Isaiah’s lips. Fire has long been used for purification because it burns away what is weak and contaminated and leaves only what is pure. When smelting iron or gold, fire burns off the dross, leaving only the metal. So, with the coal, Isaiah and his unclean lips are purified and made holy—set apart for God’s task of speaking God’s word to the people.

One of God’s great mysteries is that God, who is perfect and holy, chooses to work through imperfect, sinful, dirty human beings—people like Isaiah. Yet, God’s tools and messengers must be holy. So, like Isaiah, God chooses to make these people holy, to sanctify them. The people that God chooses to sanctify are called the Church.

That’s us! Our job as the Church is to represent God to the world. Yet, we know that, like Isaiah, we are just as broken and dirty as the rest of the world. How can we ever hope to love or forgive or act like God? Jesus tells us that we must be perfect just as our Father in heaven is perfect. This goes beyond simply avoiding adultery or swearing oaths, it means loving our enemies, turning the other cheek, welcoming people we hate… How can we ever live up to that?

Like Isaiah in the temple, God offers us a solution, burning coals to purify us. The coals that God extends to us is the sacraments. In baptism, we are claimed by God, adopted forever as God’s child in a bond that can never be broken. We are filled with God’s own Holy Spirit and enlisted into God’s service forever. In order to do God’s work in spite of our own unworthiness, God continues to sanctify us with Holy Communion, filling us with the very body and blood of Jesus Christ, God-made-flesh who alone was perfectly obedient to God’s will. With the strength of Jesus’ body and blood, we are able to go out and be Jesus for the world, our own dirtiness notwithstanding.

The work of sanctifying us is done by God through these sacraments; our work is to then use what God has given us to share God’s message of love and forgiveness—of God’s holiness—with the world. That is the job for which God has set us apart and claimed us.

We absolutely cannot match God’s holiness. It is beyond us. That is precisely why God comes to us in word and water, bread and wine—so that what we share with the world comes not from us, but from God. Because God chooses to come to the world through Christ—and through us—we know that in spite of all the ways we fall short, in spite of our dirtiness, God loves us and cares for us. Instead of spreading our own dirtiness like a well-used pocketknife, thanks to God, we are able to spread God’s holiness because God has claimed us in baptism and fed us with Jesus’ very self.

God’s goal with all of this is not to make more Christians, or to fill pews, or to ensure the survival of congregations like ours, but to make the world holy, to establish the kingdom of heaven on earth, so that there will be no more mourning or crying or pain. God has chosen us to do this. That’s the job we’ve been given, and with God’s help, someday we just might do it.

Summer Sermon Series: The Sacraments

July 19, 2014 Leave a comment

Greetings! Below you will find links to the sermons in my six-week summer series on the sacraments. Some of these have been delivered at Our Redeemer already, but I am posting them after preaching them the second time at Shepherd of the Hills because I am always revising them and trying to communicate in the best way possible. Below are the most polished versions of these sermons. I will continue posting these through the end of August, when we’ll return to our regularly scheduled Narrative Lectionary.

#1 – Holiness

#2 – Salvation – How Are We Saved?

#3 – You Are What You Eat

#4 – Who Is Worthy to Receive the Sacraments?

#5 – Fed and Ready to Go

#6 – Opening the Circle Wider

Categories: serial sermon

A Short Break

June 29, 2014 Leave a comment

Greetings readers,

Although I’ve not been posting sermons lately, there is a good reason. At our congregations, we have been using the Narrative Lectionary, a cycle of readings which follows the arc of the biblical narrative beginning with creation and going through Exodus, the fulfillment of God’s covenant, exile, the prophets and then follows one gospel through the spring. The NL only runs September through Pentecost, so these weeks during the summer, preachers are able to focus on topical series or other themes.

In addition to this, my colleague and I rotate our time between our two congregations. During the summer, we spend 6 weeks at one congregation and then 6 weeks at the other. As such, we have elected to each prepare one six-week series and preach it at both congregations. Based on conversations which have been happening at both congregations about who is welcome to communion and how we treat confirmation, I’ve decided to focus my topic on the sacraments.

I never feel that my sermons are ever ‘complete.’ Even after I give a sermon, I always find better (I hope!) ways to communicate my point. That is one way that this blog is especially helpful: it gives me the chance to iron out the manuscript after having given it. So, I have elected to wait until the second time around to post these sermons so that I can feel they best represent what I feel called to proclaim. You will see them beginning the week of July 20th. Until then, I want to thank you for your readership and assure you that, though we’re on a short break here, there is more to come. I hope everyone is enjoying their summer!

Categories: nota bene
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