Whoever Is for Us

Mark 9:38-50

September 29, 2024

 

            A dear friend of mine, and a retired kindergarten teacher, told me about a lesson she used to teach to her students at the beginning of each school year. Most of the students came to kindergarten with an intuitive understanding of a tattletale. They knew, maybe without ever being told, that they didn’t want to be a tattletale. Tattletales were not cool, and tattletales were not tolerated by the greater student population. But there may be times when someone needs to tell a teacher something about another a student, so when is that acceptable and when isn’t it?

            To answer this question, my friend taught her students the difference between a tattletale and a reporter. If little Fern sees little Wilbur (I’m using character names from Charlotte’s Web in case you’re wondering) climb to the top of the swings in order to jump off, Fern should definitely report this to a teacher or another adult. What Wilbur is doing is dangerous. He could really hurt himself and he should be stopped. But if Fern sees Wilbur and Charlotte playing together and she doesn’t like that because she wants to play with Charlotte, and she goes to a teacher to complain that’s tattling. Wilbur and Charlotte aren’t doing anything wrong, so Fern has no good reason to tell. It’s just that Fern feels left out and bad, so she tries to get the others in trouble. That’s tattling. My teacher friend wanted her kindergartners to know that it was okay to be a reporter, but not a tattletale.

            When it comes to our passage from Mark’s gospel, do you think John and the other disciples are being reporters or are they being tattletales? Do you think they are afraid of the harm that this unknown unnamed disciple might cause, or do you wonder if John and the disciples are perhaps a little threatened by this unknown dude doing what they are supposed to be doing? I suspect it’s the latter.

            Instead of rejoicing when they see this unknown person casting out demons in the name of Jesus, in other words helping and healing people, they try to stop him. He wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t with them. He wasn’t following them. He was just some upstart who thought he could do what only they were called to do, but he wasn’t exorcising a demon like they would exorcise a demon, and he wasn’t saying the words that they would say. He wasn’t one of them, but he was doing this work in Jesus’ name anyway. How dare he?!

            A commentator I read wrote that when he was in early elementary school, the little boy who sat behind him would watch over his shoulder when they were coloring. The minute the commentator drew outside the lines, crossed that boundary, the other little boy would raise his hand and tell the teacher. That’s what this story feels like. This unknown follower of Jesus was coloring outside of a boundary that only the disciples thought they could see, and they made sure to tell Jesus about it.

            But to the disciples’ dismay, Jesus isn’t bothered by what this other guy is doing. Jesus doesn’t even call the disciples on their use of the word “us.” Did you notice that? They didn’t tell Jesus that this guy wasn’t following him, they said,

            “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.”

            He was not following us. Us. That’s a Freudian slip if ever I’ve seen one. But again, Jesus does not call them on this. Instead he turns the tables on them and their expectations once again by saying,

            “Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. Whoever is not against us is for us.”

            Whoever is not against us is for us. I think Jesus wanted them to understand that when it came to proclaiming the good news of God’s kingdom, following the worldly standards of us versus them wasn’t going to cut it. This was not about insiders and outsiders. This was about proclaiming God’s good news to a world that was starving.

            This could be just one more instance in which the disciples didn’t get it. They didn’t understand what Jesus was telling them. They didn’t want to understand or know or believe the words he spoke about suffering and death. But Jesus knew that he was running out of time. At this point in Mark’s gospel, Jesus is heading toward Jerusalem. His face is set south toward that great city. Jesus knows that there is precious little time left, and he has to make the disciples and any who would hear him understand, if only a little, what it means for him to be the Messiah. And as this passage progresses, he also wants to make it clear what it means for them to follow.

            Following him not only means that they will be called to pick up their own cross and carry it, but that there are consequences for being stumbling blocks for others. There are consequences for being an obstacle to someone else’s faith.

            Jesus tells them that if any of them put a stumbling block in front of one of these little ones who believe in him, it would be better for them to have a great millstone put around their neck and thrown into the sea. In fact, if your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off. It is better to enter life maimed than to go two-handed into hell. If your foot causes you to stumble, do the same to it. It is better to go into life lame than to skip along on two feet straight into hell. And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out. Better to meet your maker with one good eye, then to see clearly as you walk straight to hell.

            Now, interpreters and commentators have made the point again and again that Jesus is using hyperbolic language here. He is speaking in hyperbole to get his point across in no uncertain terms. Remember, he knows that his days are numbered. The disciples have to understand, they must understand, that it is no longer about us versus them. When it comes to the kingdom of God, they need to see that God is turning everything upside down. If this other unknown person has found the power in Jesus’ name to cast out demons, let him! That’s one more for the kingdom. That’s one more person who is beginning to see the world through God’s eyes. Alleluia! Amen!

            In the past I have preached on this passage as a stand-alone from the passages before and after it. But I think it is important to consider what happened immediately before the passage we read today. John tells Jesus about this other guy, this Johnny come lately, after they had been arguing about who was the greatest. He tells Jesus this news after Jesus commits the radical move of taking a little child into his arms and telling them that welcoming a powerless, vulnerable child is welcoming Jesus. A colleague in our lectionary group this week pointed out that Jesus was most likely still holding that child when he spoke these harsh words. Jesus was not just speaking of putting stumbling blocks in front of other guys who were doing his work, Jesus was talking about the child in his arms.

If you put an obstacle or a stumbling block in front of one of these little ones, you are putting an obstacle in front of me. This isn’t just about keeping the other guy out and you in. This is about opposing me in this world. It’s about hindering the progress of my good news in this world. Whenever you make it about us versus them, you’re really making it about us versus me.

This should give us pause. (long pause) Debie Thomas wrote that while Jesus’ words sound harsh and unforgiving, he wasn’t saying them to condemn the disciples. He was saying them because that is reality. This is what we do. Isn’t it? We draw lines. We create boundaries. We think that, in Thomas’s words, we should be God’s bouncers, keeping the riff raff out and the right ones in.

But Jesus wasn’t having it. Again and again, Jesus tried to make the disciples and anyone with ears to hear understand that God’s kingdom is wider and broader and bigger and more expansive than our minds, which lean toward the narrow, can imagine. Again, to borrow from Thomas, Jesus wants the disciples to stop trying to be his bouncers, and instead be his hosts. Make room and make welcome because whoever is not against us is for us. And whoever is for us is for me, for God, for the kingdom.

Trust me, I know how easy this is to say and how incredibly hard it is to do. I want boundaries. I want borders. But each time I think I know who should be in and who should be out, God says no and then God says yes. God says yes to people whose theology I think is suspect at best. God says yes to people who don’t look like me or think like me or worship like me. God says yes to them. And the good news is that God says to me too. God says yes to all of us when we stop being bouncers and start being hosts. God says yes when we recognize that we’re all trying to make our way to God, one way or another. Thanks be to God.

Let all God’s children say, “Alleluia!”

Amen.

The Greatest?

Mark 9:30-37

September 22, 2024

 

            The following are a toddler’s property rights.

1.  If I like it, it’s mine.

            2.  If it’s in my hand, it’s mine.

            3.  If I can take it from you, it’s mine.

            4.  If I had it a little while ago, it’s mine.

            5.  If it’s mine, it must never appear to be yours in any way.

            6.  If I’m building something, all the pieces are mine.

            7.  If it looks like mine, it’s mine.

            8.  If I saw it first, it’s mine.

9.  If you are playing with something and put it down, it automatically becomes mine.

10.  If it’s broken, it’s yours. (Unless you find a good way to play with it, then, once again, it’s mine.)

My mother passed these onto me when my own children were toddlers, and I’ve never forgotten them – mainly because they’re true. I love children. I enjoy listening to them and learning from them and playing with them. This is not meant to disparage our children. However, if you have ever raised your own toddlers, taught toddlers, hung around toddlers, or even watched toddlers from a distance then you know the truth of these property rights too.

I share these property rights with you, because I want us going into this sermon and indeed into our passage from Mark’s gospel, with a realistic view of children in our minds. As theologian and essayist, Debie Thomas, wrote, it is easy to over-sentimentalize Jesus’ actions in this passage. So, if you are tempted to do that, remember these toddler property rights.

Jesus and his disciples are traveling alone through Galilee. Jesus did not want others with them, because he was once again teaching the disciples what it meant for him to be the Messiah. He will be betrayed into human hands. He will be killed and three days after he is killed, he will rise again. In the time elapsed since last week’s reading, three of the disciples have followed Jesus up a mountain and seen him transfigured. They entered that liminal space between this world and the next and got a glimpse of their rabbi in his full glory talking with Moses and Elijah. After they came back down the mountain, Jesus healed a boy with an unclean spirit, to the awe of the crowd gathered around them.

Now Jesus and the disciples are alone again. They are traveling, and as I said, Jesus is once again telling them plainly what will happen to him. The disciples don’t understand what he is telling them, but they are too afraid to admit it to him. I would guess that they were embarrassed because they know that Jesus has told them all this already, but they still don’t get it. They don’t or won’t understand what Jesus is talking about. I get their embarrassment. How many classes have I sat in, hoping and praying the teacher would not call on me, because I was too embarrassed and ashamed to admit that I didn’t understand the subject.

Maybe it was the disciples lack of understanding that precipitated the argument along the way. Perhaps they were trying to distract themselves, but as they are walking, they begin to argue about who among them was the greatest. Who among them would be the right hand man to their Teacher? Clearly, there has got to be a pecking order, that’s just how it works, so who would be on top of the heap and who would not?

When they arrived in Capernaum, and reached the house where they would be staying, Jesus asked them what they were discussing on the way. Before, they were too afraid and embarrassed to ask Jesus for help in understanding. Now, they are too afraid and embarrassed to be truthful about their argument. But Jesus already knew the content of their argument. He tells them,

“Whoever wants to be the first must be the last of all and servant of all.”

And this is when Jesus commits an unexpected and radical move. He picks up a little child who is there in the house with them. He pulls the child into his arms, and the verb in the Greek could imply that he hugs this little one, which would have been unexpected for a rabbi of his stature. Then he goes even further and says something completely unexpected. Jesus says something that I imagine the disciples nor anyone else anticipated hearing.  

“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

Now this is where I urge us not to sentimentalize Jesus’ actions. Again, I adore children. I adore toddlers, but remember those property rights? Jesus did not do this because the little one was sweet and cuddly, and he wanted the disciples to feel warm and fuzzy inside. Jesus did this because children were powerless. Children had no rights and no real status in that society. They were considered property of their fathers. It isn’t that children were not loved or cared for by their parents or their families. They were. But if you think that being the Messiah is about power, then your world is about to be turned upside down. Jesus said, if you welcome this little one, this one without power, this one without status, this one who is at the mercy of others, then you are welcoming me. And if you welcome me as this child, then you welcome the one who sent me.

To be the greatest in the kingdom of God, you must be last, you must be a servant, you must be like this child, powerless. And remember, this kingdom of God is not someplace up in the sky, and it is not waiting in another time, far into the future. The kingdom of God is here now, in your midst, in our midst. And in the kingdom of God, the world’s understanding of power and the greatest doesn’t work. It does not compute. The power of God is found in the powerless, in the least, in the last, in the lowly.

In the first seminar I took for my doctorate, my professor, Dr. Cowser, said that power is not a good or bad thing. Power itself is neutral. It’s how we use it or abuse it. We can use power to do good and amazing things. We can use our power to make life better and richer and sweeter for many people. Or we can fall into the trap of absolute power. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. That’s not just an aphorism. It proves itself true in every generation. What is Jesus saying about his power in these verses from Mark? What is Jesus telling the disciples and any of us who want to be followers in our actions, as well as in our words, about what it means to be the greatest?

The power of God does not conform to the hierarchy of humans. The power of God is not found among those who are on top, but among those who are at the bottom. The power of God is in those the rest of us view as powerless. Jesus pulled a little child into his arms and said if you want to welcome me, then you must welcome this child, this lowly, this least, this powerless child.

            The disciples exposed their ambitions in this argument about who was the greatest. Jesus did not rebuke them for it, but with his words and his actions, he revealed their ambitions for what they were: selfish.

Selfish ambition. Aren’t those the same words James uses in his epistle? In fact he uses this particular phrase twice. In verse 14,

“But if you have bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not be boastful and false to the truth.”

And again in verse 16,

“For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind.”

Is it wrong to have some ambition? I mean it is our ambition that drives us. Our ambitions push us to work harder, to strive for goals. We all have some degree of ambition, whether it is for our careers, our family, our children, or even our church. But it seems to me that the disciples embodied these words of James. They exhibited selfish ambition. They wanted to be the greatest, but they didn’t understand what that meant. They wanted to have power, but Jesus showed them what true power was.

The power of God does not conform to the hierarchy of humans. The power of God is not about selfish ambition. It is not about ambition to reach the top of the heap or the social structure or anything else. The power of God is about turning the world upside down. The power of God is found in serving others, not being served. Jesus lived out the power of God by letting go of life itself. He was and is truly the greatest, not because of the power he wielded but because of the power that came from his letting go.

Are we, his followers, willing to do the same?

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

 

The Crosses We Carry

Mark 8:27-38

September 15, 2024

 

"I find God in the suffering eyes reflected in mine. Some people find God in church. Some people find God in nature. Some people find God in love; I find God in suffering. I've known for some time what my life's work is, using my hands as tools to relieve suffering."

Those words were written by Kayla Mueller. She was the young American woman killed several years ago while being held hostage by ISIS. This excerpt was from a letter she wrote to her family in 2011 while she was serving with an aid organization in India. The Huffington Post quoted this in an article after it was confirmed that she had been killed by airstrikes on the compound where she was being held.

“I find God in the suffering eyes reflected in mine.”

Those are profound words, and they reflect the deep faith of a young woman who I believe, and to quote her parents, lived more purposefully in her 26 years than most of us do in a much longer lifetime. As I read Kayla’s words again, I wonder if they might be linked to the question Jesus asked of his disciples on the road to Caesarea Philippi.

“Who do people say I am?”

Jesus asked while they were on the way to the villages of that region. The disciples immediately offered answers.

“Some folks are claiming you are John the Baptist.” “Other people are saying you’re Elijah or one of the prophets.”

I can imagine the disciples talking over each other, getting more and more excited as they share the different theories on Jesus’ identity that they were hearing in the neighborhoods and on the streets. As one commentator pointed out, Jesus didn’t try to stop them as they offer these opinions. He just listened. And when they were finally finished, Jesus didn’t correct them either. Instead, he asked them another, more pointed question.

“Who do you say that I am?”

Where are the disciples enthusiastic responses now? Before they were just sharing what others were saying. Now, they must answer the question for themselves. Who do they believe him to be?

If there was an awkward silence after Jesus asked this second question, Peter didn’t let it last long. He rushed in with his declaration,

“You are the Messiah.”

We don’t know if Jesus cried, “You got it, Peter!” But we do know that as soon as Peter said this, Jesus ordered the disciples not to tell anyone what Peter had just revealed. He ordered them sternly. He was unflinchingly serious. I am the Messiah, but don’t tell anyone. This is the Messianic secret that many generations of scholars have theorized and written about.

While there were probably many reasons why Jesus didn’t want the larger population to know his identity as the One sent from God, perhaps one of those reasons was that he knew full well how the title Messiah would be misinterpreted and misunderstood. Jesus understood that if people recognized him as the Messiah, they would expect a certain kind of action from him that was not going to happen. They would expect him to be someone that he was not. And when the people’s expectations met his reality, there would be confusion and anger. We know that this is exactly what does happen, but it was too soon for that truth to be revealed to the whole population. Jesus knew that. Jesus knew the time was not yet right, so he made them keep his truth a secret.

Yet, while the larger population could not yet be told about Jesus’ identity as the Messiah, these were his disciples. These were his closest followers. These twelve were the ones he called to follow him, and they had responded without hesitation. Now that Peter had declared his identity, the disciples must know the truth about what it really meant to be God’s Messiah.

So Jesus began to tell them, to teach them, that as the Messiah he would suffer.

“He would undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.”

However much Jesus wanted the disciples to keep his Messiah identity under wraps, he spoke to his disciples “quite openly” about his suffering and death. But this was all too much for Peter. Peter pulled Jesus aside and rebuked him.

I know that I have stated this when I’ve preached on this passage in the past, but rebuke is not a word to be taken lightly. Peter rebuked Jesus in the same way Jesus rebuked demons. Whatever Peter said to Jesus, and we can imagine several possibilities, his words must have been harsh and angry. I can almost hear Peter telling Jesus to knock this talk about suffering and dying off, stop saying these crazy things. Not only was Jesus scaring and confusing the disciples, but they were also in the heart of Roman territory. The villages of Caesarea Philippi were towns bearing the name of Caesar. What Jesus told them was scandalous, treasonous, terrifying, and dangerous; not only for him, but for his followers as well.

But even if what Jesus said wasn’t a potential threat to their well-being, it still made no sense. Jesus was teaching the disciples, proclaiming to them that as the Messiah he would suffer. God’s messenger would suffer. God’s Son would suffer. God would suffer! How could there be a suffering God? Wasn’t God supposed to end suffering? Wasn’t God supposed to be the balm, the antidote to suffering? Wasn’t God supposed to be above suffering, the torment and bane of human existence? But Jesus said that he would suffer, and that he would suffer greatly. This couldn’t be right. This could not be the way God planned to save them, through a suffering Son.

But that was what Jesus told them. The crux of being the Messiah was suffering. The cross was at the heart of the matter.

Jesus did not let it end there. He then told them that if they want to be his followers, they must deny themselves, pick up their own crosses and follow him. He would suffer for their sake and for the sake of the world; in turn they must be ready to suffer for him.

To deny themselves was not about giving up a beloved treat or pastime. I don’t believe it was about self-mortification or beating the flesh into submission either. Denying themselves was more about serving and following and following and serving even if it meant the sacrifice of their own lives. Perhaps they would lose out on some of the things of this world, but in following him they would gain so much more.

This sounds powerful in theory, but I suspect that picking up a cross and suffering as Jesus did was not a big selling point for discipleship. It wasn’t for the first disciples, and if we’re honest, the idea of suffering probably isn’t for us either. At the end of Mark – the actual end, not the shorter or longer versions that were added on later – Jesus suffered and died without followers. Jesus died without followers. They ran away afraid. God suffering and dying on a cross was a cross they were too afraid to bear.

Yet Jesus made it clear to the disciples and all those who would listen that following him meant not only in his footsteps but in his suffering. Perhaps the next question he should have asked them was the question Kayla Mueller answered. “Where do you see God?”

I’ve always understood Jesus’ words about picking up our crosses as representing the individual burdens that each of us must bear. As the hymn says, what trials and tribulations do we carry? Well, those are our crosses. But more and more I wonder if Jesus wasn’t speaking so much about personalized burdens but about the cross that leads to death so that others might live, the cross that we carry into the suffering of the world and not away from it.

Maybe that is what is at the heart of the matter. Maybe following Jesus requires us to look into the eyes of those who suffer in this world and see God. Maybe following Jesus requires that we look into the eyes of those suffering, see God in those people, and then respond; respond to them as Jesus responded to the suffering people he encountered every day. Maybe following Jesus calls us to see that what we say and do, and even more what we don’t, matters because we are all connected to one another, tied to one another. We are all in this together. The way I live, my actions, my choices,  affect other people, people that I know and people that I don’t. Maybe carrying our crosses means choosing to live differently, intentionally and mindfully – mindful of the ways we treat others, mindful of how our living impacts other people and creation. Maybe carrying our crosses means asking ourselves these questions, again and again and again.

Who do I, Amy, Brent, Charlotte, Kim, Beth, Bill, Brianna, Andrew, Barbara, Charlie, Cheryl, Pam, Jerry, Mellisa, Rick, etc. say that Jesus is? And where and in who do we see God? When we ask those questions and seek the answers, then we will know the crosses we are called to carry. Then we will pick up our crosses and follow Jesus, follow him to death and follow him to life. Thanks be to God.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!”

Amen.

Be Opened -- Season of Peace

Mark 7:24-37

September 8, 2024

 

            I have been blessed and lucky to love more than a few dogs in my life. Brandy was my dog growing up. He used to sleep at the end of my bed and growl at my dad when he came down the hall to check on me at night. Brandy was a small dog, but he was spunky and protective. Meg was the family dog of the people I lived with for a while in Richmond. She was a sweet girl. When Gonzo, the dog from next door, would come over to play, Meg would get a treat for her buddy and herself. She’d give the treat to the other dog, then off they’d go. When my kids were little, we had Boris and Belinda. I loved them both, but Boris was my first baby before I actually had my first baby. Let me put it this way, I skipped a meeting at church so I could finish up a birthday cake I was making for the party being thrown for Boris’ first birthday. Yes, Boris – the dog – had a first birthday party.

            Boris was a good dog. He was gentle. He was patient, even when two little kids fell all over him. Once when Phoebe had friends sleeping over, he let them paint his toenails. I checked on the kids at night and so did he. I loved Boris with all my heart and my heart was broken when we finally had to make the painful decision to put him down. I hope he’ll be waiting for me at the Rainbow Bridge.

            But as much as I love dogs, I don’t want to be called a dog. Loving dogs and being compared to dogs are two very different things. Being called a dog has harsh connotations. These connotations are part of what we wrestle with in this first story from our passage in Mark’s gospel.

            Jesus has been on the move. He has fed five thousand people. He has walked on water. He has been rushed by countless people begging for healing – for themselves or someone else. He has been confronted by the Pharisees and scribes. He has upended their objections, taught more crowds, and given deeper instructions to his disciples. And now he has come to the region of Tyre. There he went into a house not wanting anyone to know his whereabouts, hoping, as the text says, to escape notice.

            But escaping notice was not to be. A Syrophoenician woman heard that Jesus was in town, and she immediately went to find him. Her little daughter was sick with an unclean spirit, and she was desperate for help.

            She went into the house where Jesus was and bowed down at his feet. This woman, this mother, begged Jesus to cast the demon out of her daughter, to make her well. But Jesus gave her an answer that she probably hadn’t expected. It’s certainly an answer that we don’t expect.

            “He said to her, ‘Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.’”

            Throw it to the dogs?! Jesus, what are you saying?! It’s bad enough that anyone would say this to a woman seeking help for her daughter, but the fact that Jesus said it is so much worse. So. Much. Worse.

            There have been many attempts at explaining Jesus’ words over the centuries, or should I say attempts to explain them away. Some interpreters have reasoned that Jesus didn’t mean this, but that he was trying to teach the others around him an important lesson. Others have said that he wasn’t really insulting the woman, that the word for dog here could also be translated as puppy. Because when your child is suffering terribly, it is infinitely better to be called a puppy than it is to be called a dog.

            But the more I’ve read and preached on this passage, the more I’ve learned from others about this passage, these verses, the more I think that Jesus said these words exactly as we hear them. His words to this woman were insulting and unkind and harsh. I imagine that the woman heard them this way as well, but she refused to let Jesus’ harsh words stop her. She counters his words with this.

            “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”

            Essayist and theologian, Debie Thomas writes that as a child she was taught to believe in Perfect Jesus. And Perfect Jesus could do no wrong. Perfect Jesus was shiny and bright and … perfect. But in this story we must wrestle with Real Jesus. Human Jesus. And that’s what we believe, or at least that is what we say believe. That Jesus was both fully human and fully divine. He wasn’t just divinity wrapped in human clothing. He was human. And as a human he got tired. As a human, he needed downtime. He needed time alone to be quiet, to be untouched. When my kids were tiny, there were times when I just didn’t want to be touched by anyone. I had hands and feet all over me all the time. That was from being with two little kids. Think about how many people gathered around Jesus. Think about how many folks clamored for his attention, for his help. Just think about how many hands were constantly touching him, pulling at him. Real Jesus, human Jesus is the Jesus we meet in this story. And this Real, Human Jesus clearly needed a break.

            And this Real, Human Jesus was also a man of his time and his context. This woman was a Gentile woman. Real Jesus, Human Jesus might have had unconscious biases, learned prejudices the same as the rest of us. I know people don’t like to hear that, but if we acknowledge his fully human nature, than we must also acknowledge that as a human being Jesus had to learn as well as teach. Jesus had to grow, not only physically, but into his calling, into the fullness of his nature.

            Maybe Real Jesus did believe at first that his call was only to Israel. But this woman came, this desperate, frightened, angry mother came to him and demanded that the good news he brought be her good news too.

            And how did Jesus respond? He listened. He heard her. He changed his mind. He didn’t double down into his original statement and refuse to help this woman. He realized that he was wrong. He was not too proud to change his mind. Can we stop for a moment and think about how incredible that is. Jesus changed his mind. His heart was changed. His mind and his heart were opened that day. Maybe in that moment Jesus understood that the table he spoke of was big enough for everyone. It was big enough and wide enough for that woman and her daughter and other Gentiles and the children of Israel and for friends and enemies, for rich and poor, for weak and strong, for powerful and powerless. The table of God’s kingdom was big enough and wide enough and open enough for all to sit.

            Jesus’ heart and mind was opened and in the last part of the story those are the words he uses to heal the deaf man. “Ephphatha!” Be opened. Jesus opened this man’s physical ears to hear and his mouth to speak clearly, but Jesus also had his ears and mind and heart opened in a new way as well.

            What would it mean if we could be as open as Jesus? We’ve had another school shooting after years and years of school shootings and shootings in grocery stores and malls and churches and on the interstate. Maybe it’s too simplistic of me to say that we have an epidemic of hearts that remain stubbornly unopened, but I think that’s part of it, part of the problem. On Wednesday we will remember the 23^rd anniversary of September 11^th. Wasn’t that terrible day an extreme and horrible outcome of hearts that refuse to be opened to people and ideas and beliefs that are different?

            With every act of violence that I hear about or read about, I feel my heart trying to close, trying to shrink down, because I’m scared and angry and frustrated and tired. I don’t want to hear other sides. I don’t want to be opened to the humanity of people, especially those with whom I disagree with so completely. But when I do that, I am part of the problem. Because the good news that Jesus brought was not just good news for some, but for all. It was the good news that the table is big enough and wide enough and long enough and open enough that all of us, every one of us, all of God’s children and that means all of us, are invited to take our place. Are we willing to do the hard work, and it is hard work, of opening our hearts and our minds to make room?

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

           

             

From Within -- Season of Peace

Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

September 1, 2024

 

            A television show that Brent and I love to watch is Young Sheldon. This is the prequel to the show The Big Bang Theory. Sheldon Cooper is a young boy of enormous intelligence. He is nine when he starts high school. He graduates from high school in record time, goes to college, also checking with his mother if his bedtime can be changed to 8:30 – since he’ll be in college, and starts graduate school at Cal-Tech at 14. There is no doubt that Sheldon is a certified genius.

            But with his intelligence comes many, many, many quirks, idiosyncrasies, and hyper sensitivities. One of those sensitivities is random human touch. His family, his mother, father, older brother, Georgie, and his twin sister, Missy, eat dinner together every night. And the one thing they do before they eat is pray while holding hands. Sheldon is a germaphobe and will only hold his brother and father’s hands if he’s wearing his mittens. This is not necessarily a bad idea when it comes to his brother, Georgie. For the first couple of seasons, Georgie’s personal hygiene is often called into question. But the point is that Sheldon obsesses about germs he might pick up from other people. But he has a much harder time reflecting on what he might share with other people – whether its germs or insensitivity to someone else’s feelings something else. Most of the time Sheldon only thinks about what the germs that contaminate his hands or make him sick or defile him and not the other way around.

            With this illustration in mind, I chose to look most carefully at Jesus’ words to his disciples at the end of our reading from Mark’s gospel.

            “For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”

            This passage begins with some Pharisees challenging Jesus about his disciples’ flaunting of tradition. The disciples didn’t participate in the ritual cleansing of their hands or their cookware before they ate. At first reading, this sounds horrifying to our 21^st century ears. We know that good hygiene makes a difference. We understand the importance of cleaning our hands and our cookware to avoid spreading germs and disease. You would never use the knife you just cut raw chicken with to then immediately cut up vegetables for the salad. I mean, yuck! Cross-contamination is real people!

But the cleansing the Pharisees were referring to was not so much about hygiene or sanitary practices as it was tradition. It was a ritual of spiritual cleanliness that was a tradition of the elders. To eat something with unclean hands or that wasn’t prepared in properly cleaned pots was to be physically and spiritually defiled. My understanding is that it made a person impure and unclean before God. But Jesus and his disciples turn this tradition on its head, so the Pharisees and scribes question Jesus. 

            Whenever Jesus is challenged, he challenges back. In our passage he quotes scripture, specifically the prophet Isaiah. 

            “This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me; in vain do they worship me, teaching human precepts as doctrines.”

            In other words, Jesus tells the Pharisees and scribes that not only are many of their traditions created by humans and not God, but these same traditions have also become little more than empty ritual. If the tradition of ritual cleansing is supposed to honor God, then it is done in name only. Their hearts are not in it.

And in the part of the story that we are focusing on today, Jesus debunks their understanding of the tradition in the first place. People can ritually purify themselves till the cows come home, but that won’t change this one truth. It is not what goes into us that defiles us.  No food that we eat, no washing ritual that we undergo will make us clean or unclean before God. The source of defilement is not outside of ourselves.  It is within us. It is within our hearts. 

            Matt Skinner, Associate Professor of New Testament at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota, says that this exchange is the most straightforward part of this passage. Jesus tells us in succinct and plain language where evil comes from. That’s the good news. The bad news is that it comes from us. Yes, evil intentions, the whole list that Jesus recites, can come from the people I don’t like, which I have no problem whatsoever believing. Yet they also come from the people I love, which is a little harder to bear. Hardest to accept of all, evil intentions come from me. They come from the heart. They come from your heart, a stranger’s heart, a politician’s heart, a neighbor’s heart, from my heart. They come from within.

            Whether we choose to believe that our heart breeds avarice and murder and hatred, etc., or not, one point is dramatically driven home. Jesus tells the Pharisees and scribes, the crowd around them, and the disciples that evil and evil intentions are not an us versus them proposition. And no amount of hand washing, not amount of tradition, will change that. Jesus calls all who will listen to examine themselves, to examine their heart. We must look inside ourselves for the bad which contaminates us and our world. It’s not just all out there. 

            Yet even though it may sound as if Jesus is condemning the human heart to total depravity, I don’t think he was trying to imply that nothing good comes from the heart. But he was making it clear to the Pharisees and scribes and the disciples and the others around him that they had invested more in tradition than in the actual word of God. They used tradition as a shield against what they believed were outside evil forces. And they used the traditions as a weapon against others. Tradition, which at one time may have brought their hearts closer to God, were now most likely responsible for closing their hearts to God and to God’s people. 

            I also don’t want to imply that Jesus believed all tradition is bad. We have no indication from the text that Jesus himself didn’t adhere to Jewish dietary laws. But following the Law never stood in his way when it came to love – loving God and loving neighbor. 

            Bad things are bred in the human heart – anger, avarice, lust, murder and murderous thoughts, envy, pride, etc. But good comes from the heart too. Hope comes from the heart. Compassion comes from the heart. Forgiveness and joy come from the heart. Love comes from the heart. Tradition and the intentions that began the tradition can and do bring us closer to one another and to God. Think about traditions in your families. Think about traditions around meals or holidays or other celebrations. Those traditions may warm your hearts and fill you with even more love for the people you share with them. But what about traditions that may have outlived themselves? Are there traditions that need to be let go of for new traditions, new ways of being and doing and living, to begin? Maybe some traditions have become exclusive, drawing lines between who is on the inside and who is on the outside? Maybe some traditions create stress and tension that block joy?

            If tradition has this power for good and for bad in our families, think about the power tradition holds in our churches. What are our traditions that open our hearts more to God and to other people? And what traditions do the opposite? Are there traditions or rules that define us and help us to grow in faith? Are there traditions or rules that stunt us spiritually?

            As I was preparing for this sermon, I read a story from a fellow pastor. One Sunday when she finished preaching the sermon, she left the pulpit to stand with the congregation and sing a hymn. During the hymn a man walked down to her. This man was married to a woman who had grown up in that church. He was well-known to the preacher and to the congregation. He had struggled and wrestled for many years with addiction and business setbacks. He could be gruff and difficult. But the preacher also knew that this man had been longing for God for just as long as he had been struggling, but he had been unable to accept God’s grace and love.

            This man came to the preacher during the hymn and said, “I want to be baptized.” He repeated his urgent request. Something within him had changed, and he knew it and he needed to be baptized. The preacher knew it too. The hymn was still being sung. There was no water in the baptismal font. She had not gotten session approval, which is what good, rule-following Presbyterians do. But she saw that the glass of water she kept under the pulpit was still there. Before the hymn was finished, she took the water and poured it into the font. When the singing ended, she called this man over to her and she asked him the questions about his faith, “Do you renounce evil? Do you trust Jesus?” And then she spoke the words of baptism, “In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

            At its next meeting, the session approved his baptism. The rule was followed, and the tradition continued, but the rule didn’t stand in the way of grace, the tradition didn’t close the door of the heart to love.

            Would I have been willing to do the same? I don’t know. I don’t know. My uncertainty means I need to do some more looking within. Maybe we all do. But I do know that even when what comes from within is less than, even when we let tradition get in our own way, there is always another chance to try again, there is always another opportunity to let love guide us. There is always grace, God’s grace and the grace we are called to show ourselves and one another, and for that we say, “Thanks be to God.”

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

Be Strong in the Lord

Ephesians 6:10-20

August 25, 2024

 

            When I was a kid, my neighborhood friends and I played all sorts of games. We played the games you expect like Hide and Seek, Mother May I, Red Rover, Red Rover, Kick the Can, Tag, and others. But there were times when if the regular games didn’t appeal to us, we would make up our own. I was the oldest of the girls on my street, so sometimes I could convince the others to play a game that had a storyline to it, probably based on a book that I was reading at the time. I don’t remember most of these made-up games, but I do distinctly remember a time when I convinced all of us to play a game where we pretended we were a family of orphans in a terrible war – probably World War II – but we had information that was important to the allies, and we decided we must get our knowledge to the right people. So, our game followed this storyline which also included elements of Tag and Hide and Seek and just running as fast as we can, and it ranged all over our street. We ran and crawled and raced, creating different aspects of the story as we went along. But in the end we were caught. Yes, even in a game that we created with a storyline that I devised, we were caught. And just before we were called in for dinner and homework and bedtime, we bravely marched with our hands behind our heads toward our fates, heroes even unto death. (looooooooong pause) And then we had to go home.

            I’m sure I got this idea from a book I was reading, and I know that we all believed that the whole idea, especially our decision to end it the way we did, was romantic and dramatic and sadly wonderful. It would be many years before I understood that real war is not romantic. It’s not sadly wonderful. A real war does make orphans and widows and widowers. It destroys lives and demolishes creation. There is nothing romantic about a real war, even wars that are fought for all the right reasons. It is still deadly and destructive and terrible.

            Dwight D. Eisenhower, the 34^th President of the United States, and a military man of honor, once said, “Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children. This is not a way of life at all in any true sense. Under the clouds of war, it is humanity hanging on a cross of iron.”

            War, even when it may be necessary, exacts a high price on the people who fight it and the people who do their best just to survive it. I tell you all this because it means that I enter these verses from the letter to the Ephesians carefully and cautiously. It is too easy to read these words with the idea of conquering. My parents were raised in that mindset. They must be soldiers for Christ and conquer all peoples in his name. To my understanding this militant, warlike language has been used as a justification for a mindset that has done incredible harm in our missions, in our relations to other faith groups, and with other Christians. 

But I realize that to see these verses from Ephesians only through my cultural and contextual bias does not do justice to or give the full picture of what Paul wanted them to convey.

Most likely the letter that we read as being addressed to the church in Ephesus was an encyclical. This meant that Paul wrote it to be read at a variety of churches in different places. I assume from this that each church hearing these words was facing the similar struggle of being believers in a world that was hostile to them. 

            I can imagine that being a follower of Jesus in that time and context must have felt like living in a war zone. Your beliefs would be considered anti-government, anti-empire, anti-social norms, anti-everything. Just professing your faith would have set you up for persecution, real persecution as in you will be put to death for your profession. I suspect that being a follower was to both be and feel embattled. So Paul uses this. He uses imagery and ideas that would have meant something to a people being constantly battered for their faith. 

And as Paul often does in his rhetoric, he uses an idea, and then redefines it. He turns it on its head. This is evident in this passage. He redefines the uniform of a Roman soldier which would have been a familiar sight to the common folk at that time. I learned from a history professor friend once that the Roman soldier was as much a police officer, as he was a member of the armed forces. So as we see police officers and police cars on a regular basis, doing their job at keeping order, the people of Ephesus and in other places would have seen Roman soldiers.  The uniform of a Roman soldier was well known.

But instead of a belt that would be used to secure a uniform of war, this belt that believers are encouraged to put on is the belt of truth. The breastplate, that metal piece which would have covered a soldier’s toga protecting the chest, is the breastplate of righteousness. Shoes would have been worn for protection as the soldiers marched, but the shoes Paul encourages should be worn not for marching but to make the followers of Jesus “ready to proclaim the gospel of peace.”  The shield a soldier carried, as I understand it, would have covered not only the soldier carrying it, but about 2/3’s of the soldier next to him. The follower of Jesus must also carry a shield, but this shield will be the shield of faith. The helmet, the head covering, will be the helmet of salvation. All of this describes battle armor not meant for attack but for defense. Paul does describe one item which could be a weapon, the sword. But the sword the disciples and the church should carry is “the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”

And all this armor is used, not to defeat people, “enemies of blood and flesh,” but to stand firm “against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” The Greek for “stand firm” could also be translated as “stand steadfast.”

If the kingdom is in our midst, right now, right here, then there are also forces of evil working against it. Those of us who believe, who have felt the power of Christ, must fight against those forces that threaten the kingdom. Paul puts it on a cosmic scale. This isn’t about neighbors who don’t like us or governments who want to shut us down. This is about the evil which seeks to infiltrate and destroy God’s goodness. The evil one may be working through the neighbors and the governments, the hate groups, the factions and radical splinter groups, but it is a cosmic battle just the same. 

It is easy to find evidence that this is true. You can’t watch the news or surf the net and not see the prevalence of evil and its desperate consequences. Yet I wonder sometimes if the real battle that is being fought is within. Within me. 

I deplore the violence in the world around me. I am angered by it, outraged by it. I despise the casual cruelty that some people feel is acceptable, whether that cruelty is revealed through actions or through words. And yet, as much as I despise all the above, I also find myself growing numb to it. Or if not numb, hopeless. I turn off the news because I can’t bear to listen. I turn away from headlines, because it is just too much. I feel hopeless, helpless, and tired. I despair and ask, well what can I do? What can any of us do?

It seems to me that’s the real battle that needs to be fought. That attitude of feeling powerless, of feeling useless. What can I do? Nothing? Oh well. That’s the evil one infiltrating my mind and my heart and my soul. Yet that goes against what Paul is encouraging the church in Ephesus and so many other churches to think and believe. In all the pieces of armor that Paul describes there’s no wristlet of apathy, no amulet of indifference. They have no place in the whole armor of God.

If we’re really going to take this passage from Ephesians seriously and put on the whole armor of God, if we’re going to see ourselves as fighting a spiritual battle and being the warriors for the peace of God, then we can’t just throw up our hands at one more shooting, at one more terrible act of violence and say, “This is terrible but what can anyone do? The world is going to hell in a handbasket. But I don’t see how it’s going to change anytime soon.” I’ve heard these words from others. I’ve said them. I’ve claimed defeat before I’ve even gone to battle.

It’s easy, too easy, to stop caring, to become numb to the evil in the world, to believe ourselves immune to the powers and principalities that work to destroy God’s kingdom in our presence. And when I take that easy way, I think that evil wins just a little more ground. The real battle is not letting that happen. Standing strong in the Lord invokes the power of resistance. I think of civil rights activists who faced guns and high powered water hoses and dogs but stood their ground, not fighting back but not giving in. Standing strong in the Lord is not about demonizing those who disagree with us. It’s not about sticking it to others before they can stick it to us. Standing strong in the Lord is not about violence, in our actions or our words. Standing strong in the Lord is about standing up to the forces of evil, about using the power of love – which really is a superpower – to defeat that which seeks to harm and destroy.

And finally it is about doing what Paul describes in these last verses, verses that can get lost amid the imagery of battle. Paul encourages the Ephesians and all who hear and read this letter to pray in the Spirit at all times in every prayer and supplication. Pray in the Spirit. Pray at all times. What does praying in the Spirit mean, what might it look like? It seems to me that praying in the Spirit is not just about listing our hopes and desires, our wants, our needs. Praying in the Spirit means being willing to have our minds and hearts changed. Praying in the Spirit helps us to stand strong in the Lord, to resist the forces of evil, but it also helps us see when we fall away, when we are wrong, when we begin to proclaim not the gospel of peace, but division.

Paul reminds us that praying in the Spirit lies at the heart of our standing strong, our steadfast resistance to evil and its wily ways. Pray and pray and pray some more. Prayer reminds us that the power of love is always stronger than the power of hate. Prayer gives us courage to proclaim the gospel of peace. Prayer opens our minds and hearts to the power of the Holy Spirit. Prayer keeps our hope burning brightly. Pray, pray, pray, because as Paul states, he must speak and so must we.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

 

 

 

 

           

Beloved Children

Ephesians 4:25-5:2

August 11, 2024

 

            I am a sucker for a home improvement show. I mean it. Property Brothers, Fixer Upper, Curb Appeal, if it is on, I will probably watch it. I’ve discovered a designer named Sarah Richardson who is based in Toronto, and I will watch her shows for hours. Last summer, I discovered that the only two seasons of the show, Curb Appeal: The Block, were streaming, and ... well you know what’s coming. I got into the show, and I got Brent into it too. We watched every episode. A few of the episodes I’ve watched more than once. The show isn’t even airing anymore, but we still watched it and, I will say, got some really good ideas from it. Like I said, I am a sucker for these shows.

            I think what I love the most about these home improvement shows is the transformation, the before and after, the big reveal. On all these shows, you see the original room or the original home, and then you hear and see the ideas that the designers have for renovation, updating, and improvement. As the designer is talking about what they envision for a room or a house, you’ll see the computer sketches that they would show a client as animation on a screen. For example, if Joanna Gaines is describing a change she wants to make in a room, she’ll narrate that while the sketch of the new room takes shape. So, we’re going to rip out the wall between the old kitchen and dining room, and add an island, new cabinets, reorient the appliances, etc. etc. And you see the drawing on the screen. Then in 30 minutes to an hour, you see the transformation from demolition day to reveal.

            Most of the time, the transformation is stunning, even when the design taste doesn’t match our own. Just to see the difference that can be made is amazing. Sometimes you can’t believe you’re looking at the same house or the same room or the same front yard. It’s incredible and so satisfying. But if you have ever lived through a renovation, you know that it’s not so easy. And it certainly doesn’t happen without a lot of mess in the middle.

            Last winter, we had two small, dated, yucky, slowly deteriorating bathrooms renovated into one large bathroom. If you’re ever interested I can show you before and after pictures. The transformation from what was to now is amazing. But it was the mess in the middle that wore me down. On these home improvement shows that I love to watch, you don’t see the extent of the gigantic amount of dust that happens in a renovation. I would come home every day and just start wiping down furniture and counters so we could survive. And the next day, I would have to do it all over again. On a show you don’t fully appreciate the mess, or the noise of the equipment being used, especially at the beginning. It was overwhelming. Forget those days when we might work from home. I was trying to finish my dissertation through all of this, so I spent quite a few hours in Starbucks with my laptop and a pile of books in front of me, just hoping the employees wouldn’t get tired of seeing me there. And as materials for the project came in, they either took over our front porch or were stacked in the house. We shared living room space with the new vanity for about a month.

            Of course, this is just from my perspective as the homeowner. The work itself is incredibly hard! It must be exhausting, and certainly it takes a physical toll on the people doing it. Our contractors worked hours and hours five days a week to make the project happen. I can’t even imagine trying to do that much work on our own. We know that at some point we’re going to have to do some necessary reno on our kitchen, but right now I just can’t even go there in my imagination, much less in reality.

            What does all this renovation and transformation talk have to do with the point that Paul is trying to make in this part of the letter to the Ephesians? Even though Paul does not use the word transformation in our verses today, throughout the whole letter he is speaking to the change that comes when we live into Christ. In the verses immediately preceding ours, he writes,

            “You were taught to put away your former way of life, your old self, corrupt and deluded by its lusts, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to clothe yourselves with the new self, created according to the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.” That speaks to transformation.

            Then we move into the verses before us today. In my study Bible, this part of the chapter has the heading, “Rules for the New Life.” And then we read what those rules are. Putting away falsehood. Speak the truth to our neighbors, for we are members of one another. Be angry, but don’t sin. Don’t let the sun go down on our anger. If members of the community steal, then they need to stop stealing and work honestly. What we make should be shared with the needy because that helps the whole community. We can’t let evil, slanderous, gossiping talk leave our mouths, because that tears down the community rather than builds it up. We need to put away bitterness and slander and wrangling and malice. We must be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving of one another as we have been forgiven. We must be imitators of God, because we are all God’s beloved children.

            At first glance, Paul makes it seem that if you just follow these simple rules, you will be transformed, You will be imitators of God, Paul makes it sound easy, just as those home renovation shows make the transformation from the old to the new look easy and quick. But just as a home renovation is hard and long and messy, living into this new life to which are called is much harder and more difficult than it looks. There is a whole lot of mess in the middle.

            Much of that mess comes from doing what Paul instructs us not to do. One commentator I read pointed out that we are never told to “Be happy but do not sin.” Or “be joyful but do not sin.” No, we are charged with be angry but do not sin. There is something about anger that tempts us into sin, isn’t there? Anger has its place. There is such a thing as righteous anger. Anger can motivate us to work harder, do better. As protestants we descend from a long line of people who used their anger for the good of all. We descend from people who protested, hence the name protestant, against sacred and secular abuses that harmed and exploited people in the name of God. Protest, righteous anger, is in our DNA.

            But anger can also cause great damage. How many times have I let my anger get the best of me? How many times have I said or thought things in anger that I don’t mean, that I regret with all my heart? Too many times. Way too many times. And even when I’ve tried to sweep my anger under the proverbial rug and forget about it, it has come back to haunt me. Anger can lead to bitterness and wrangling and slander. Anger that stays with us past the sun setting makes it very difficult to be tenderhearted, kind, and forgiving.

            But it’s not just anger. Do we speak the truth in love to one another? Let’s face it, y’all, we are in a contentious election season. And it is only going to get harder. Truth is not something we can count on right now. However, misinformation and disinformation from all sides is.

            And then there are these words about stealing. We may think that since we don’t actively steal to make a living that these words do not apply to us. But where was the blouse I’m wearing this morning made? What country? Who made it? How old or how young were the hands that sewed it? How much were they paid in comparison to how much I spent. That’s not theft per se, but it does remind me that the way I spend my money here affects people in other parts of the world in ways that I cannot fathom.

            So, trying to put on this new self and take off the old is much harder than it looks. This transformation that Paul calls us to engage in is not easily done. There’s a whole lot of mess in the middle. There’s a lot of dust and noise. It’s not easy and it takes more time than we imagine. It really takes a lifetime. It seems to me that what Paul is trying to help the Ephesians and us understand is that to be imitators of God as God’s beloved children, to be transformed, to live into Christ is to live into our baptisms. We are baptized into Christ’s death and resurrection. We are baptized into the grace of God that works in our lives whether we know it or not. We are baptized into the larger story of God and God’s people. We are baptized into the Holy Spirit, that blows where it will and that sends us in directions we would not choose and empowers us to do that which we think we cannot.

            In just a few minutes we will baptize Anna Margaret. We are not baptizing her because we are afraid of God or God’s wrath. We aren’t baptizing her because she is a sinner with no redeeming qualities outside of baptism. We baptize Anna Margaret to bring her into this larger story of God’s love and grace and joy and redemption. We baptize her and make promises to her and to her family to help them in this lifelong work of transformation, of imitating God. We make promises to her and help her just as others have made promises to us, just as others help us. We baptize Anna Margaret because she is a beloved child of God, just as we all are. We baptize her into God’s grace and love and joy and hope and redemption and resurrection.

            But in saying “we” I don’t want to mislead you. Ultimately our transformation is not a DIY project. Our transformation from the old to the new is not something we do ourselves only. We do make these changes in community, leaning on one another for help. But our community is surrounded and embraced and upheld and empowered by God, by the Holy Spirit, by the life and death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. It is ultimately God who transforms us, God who helps us in our anger and in our joy. It is the power of the Holy Spirit who moves and challenges us. It is Jesus calling us to live as he lived, and to be willing to die as he died that is our call as well.

            We are all beloved children of God. We are all part of this larger story of God and creation and life and love. And God is transforming us. And God never leaves us even when we forget these new rules, when we sin, when we fall short and fall away, even when we are covered in the dust and mess of transformation. We are God’s beloved children. We are all God’s beloved children. Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s beloved children say, “Alleluia!”

Amen.