God with Us -- Fourth Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 7:10-16

December 22, 2019

            My Grampa Busse was a tent revivalist, hell, fire, brimstone sort of preacher. He had piercing blue eyes, and he believed that his calling in life was to save souls. To say that he was intent on saving souls by scaring the “heck” out of people is an understatement. My Uncle Dudley, my mom’s older brother, told me once that whenever he would happen to meet my grandfather at extended family functions, Grampa would take Dudley’s hand to shake it. But he wouldn’t stop with a simple handshake. He would hold his hand, focus his blue eyes on Dudley’s face, and say,

            “How are you with the Lord?”

            Dudley told me that he would stammer and respond,

            “We’re good. We’re good. We’re really good. We’re just like this.” Hold up two fingers.

            I suspect that whether Dudley was “good with the Lord,” or not didn’t really matter. He didn’t want to give my grandfather any opening to make a sermon illustration out of him. And I am assuming that he didn’t want to hear what my grandfather might say if Dudley admitted that the wasn’t good with the Lord.

            It wasn’t comfortable for my uncle to be put on the spot like that, even if it was my grandfather who was doing the spot-putting. So, he answered his question in the best possible way. I’m good. We’re good. Everything is good. Let’s move on shall we.

            This is the situation Isaiah is describing in the passage before us today. Although King Ahaz is not asked a question by the prophet, he is put into the uncomfortable position of being offered a sign by the Lord.

            “Ask a sign of the Lord your God; let it be deep as Sheol or high as heaven. But Azah said, I will not ask, and I will not put God to the test.”

            At first glance, it doesn’t seem to make sense why this isn’t the right answer for Ahaz to give. He is quoting the scripture. Doesn’t Jesus say basically the same thing when he was being tested by Satan in the wilderness? Why isn’t the response to Ahaz’ words,

            “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have answered correctly.”

            But that’s not what Isaiah on behalf of the Lord said, is it? No, it’s not.

            “Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary my God also?”

            Wait. What? How is Ahaz quoting scripture about not putting God to the test wearing? If we want to understand this, we must understand the larger context of the passage. This is an awkward and even misleading place to begin our part of the story, because it does make it sound as though Ahaz is being pious and righteous. But in truth, Ahaz does not want a sign. Ahaz does not want a sign from God at all.

            Ahaz is the king of Judah, which is the southern kingdom. Israel was split into two kingdoms after the death of Solomon: the northern kingdom, which was Israel, and the southern kingdom, which was Judah and Jerusalem. Ahaz finds himself in a tough situation. The king of Israel and the king of Aram, our present-day Syria, are united. They want to pull Ahaz into their circle, not as an equal, but so they can split Judah between the two of them. If that means taking Judah by force, so be it. So, Judah and Jerusalem are figuratively and literally shaking and quaking with terror at the threat that is bearing down on them.

            Ahaz is so afraid of what might happen that he has already begged for help not from God, but from the Assyrian empire. But this is not a solution, because Assyria won’t let Judah remain an independent kingdom. Under Assyria, Judah will become a vassal state.

            The story that we walk into is one where Isaiah is assuring Ahaz that the two kings united against him are nothing more than smoking stumps. They may look dangerous and sound dangerous, but they will soon burn out.

            Ask me for a sign, the Lord tells Ahaz through Isaiah. Ask for me a sign, any sign that you want. It can be as high as heaven or as deep as Sheol. Ask me.

            This doesn’t sound like a circumstance where Ahaz is testing God. This is a moment when God is offering to show Ahaz, to prove to Ahaz, that all shall be well. But Ahaz does not want a sign. He has already sold out to the Assyrians. He does not want a sign from the Lord, because that sign would reveal just how little faith he has in God’s power to work good for him and for his kingdom.

            Let me give you a sign.

No, that’s okay. I don’t want to put God to the test.

            But the Lord refuses to be put off. You won’t ask me for a sign, but you’re going to get one anyway.

            “Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel. He shall eat curds and honey by the time he knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good. For before the child knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good, the land before whose two kinds you are in dread will be deserted.”

            “Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.”

            What does Immanuel mean? God with us.

            God with us. The young woman will bear a child; and that child’s name states the great truth: God is with us.

            But Ahaz didn’t believe that God was with him. If he did say those words, clearly it was lip service only. He was faced with destruction from two united enemies. If God was with him, then it looked like God was on a lunch break. He had to do something, so he sold out to another enemy; an enemy that would be even more devastating in the long run than the enemies he currently faced.

            Ahaz doesn’t want a sign from God. I suspect that in his mind it was too late for signs. But maybe if he gives the right sounding answer, God will be satisfied and go away. Then he can get back to handling things the way he thinks they should be handled. But God was not satisfied. God offered a sign, and whether he liked it or not, God was going to give him one.  

            You want to know where your hope is, Ahaz? Your hope is in the child who is about to be born. You want to know if God is truly with you, then look to the child. You think that God being with you is about winning battles and defeating enemies, but God is with you in the child. This isn’t about victory in war, my enemies must surely be God’s enemies, this is about God being found in the most vulnerable among us: a child.

            This is where Advent leads us. This is what we are preparing for. It is about the birth of a baby. God became one of us. God was born like us. The Word became flesh and lived in our midst. It is about a baby. It is about a child. Immanuel – God with us.

            But aren’t we a little more like Ahaz than we care to admit? Don’t we also long for the coming of a warrior, a mighty leader who will defeat our enemies and crush every threat of violence breathed in our direction?

            We want a sign, but we want the sign we want. We want God to be with us, but only in the way that we think works best. We want God’s help, but we want to control how that help proceeds. We want to do things our way, and we invite God to join us for the journey.

            Ahaz did not want a sign that would prove his actions wrong. He may have been pious, but he was not righteous. He did not trust God. He did not put his faith in God. So God gave him a sign. Look to that young woman. See the child that she will bear. His name will be Immanuel, God with us.

            Look to the young woman and the child she will bear. He is God with us. God did not come as a warrior. God came as a child. God did not come in strength. God came in profound weakness. God did not come in battle. God came in birth. God came as a vulnerable, weak, helpless infant to teach us that salvation comes not through might or strength but through love.

            That’s really the point, isn’t it?  Love. That’s what Advent is leading us to. It is about Love. If it isn’t about Love, then we have missed it completely. It is about Love. God with us is about Love. God loves us. God doesn’t just love us, God created us, each and every one of us, because of Love and for Love and through Love. God loves us, and that is why God is with us. Look to the young woman. Look to the child she will bear. His name will be Immanuel. God with us. God with us. God with us.

            Amen.

Everlasting Joy -- Third Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 35:1-10

December 15, 2019

            In the house where I grew up, we didn’t have what you might call an “open floor plan,” but the kitchen, the dining room, the front entry, the living room and the den ran in a straight line through a series of wide, open doorways. The only room that had a door that closed from the rest of the house was the kitchen, and that was a swinging door. The year that I was nine, I had just grown tall enough that I could jump up and smack the top of the door frame in this row of doorways.

            When I was growing up, our main family celebration of Christmas was on Christmas Eve. My parents were devout church goers, but our church didn’t do Christmas Eve services. My dad was German, but he fully embraced my mother’s Swedish heritage, so on Christmas Eve we had a very Swedish Christmas with a big meal and the exchange of presents from one another. Christmas morning Santa Claus came, and we opened our stockings and had a special breakfast, then ate a lot of delicious leftovers the rest of the day.

            Back to this Christmas when I was nine. It was Christmas Eve day, and I was nine, which meant I was excited. It was Christmas Eve! My parents were in the kitchen cooking wonderful food. There were presents under the tree. Our stockings were hung by the chimney with care. I was just so excited. And if you’ve ever known an excited nine-year-old, or if you’ve ever been an excited nine-year-old, you know that energy just courses through that little body.

            That’s what was happening to me. I was so excited for Christmas and I had all this restless energy just busting a move inside me, I had to do something. So, I ran that long line of doorways from the kitchen to the den, jumping up and touching the doorframe as I went. Then I ran back the other way, from the den to the kitchen, doing the same thing. It was run, jump, SMACK! Run, jump, SMACK! Run, jump, SMACK! Run, jump, SMACK!

            For. An. Hour.

            My parents were not drinkers. They weren’t teetotalers, but they weren’t drinkers. But upon reflecting on this memory, I can’t help but wonder if a little cooking sherry wasn’t being passed around the kitchen that day. I mean, come on. My parents loved me and they could be pretty patient, but I had to have been driving everybody a little nuts with my leaping for joy.

            That is what I was doing; I was leaping for joy. I was so filled with excitement and Christmas and joy, that I could not help but leap … and leap … and leap.

            The joy got me later that evening though, because when we finally sat down at the table to enjoy this wonderful meal my parents made, and my dad bowed to pray, I cried out, “Hold it!” and ran to the bathroom with a nosebleed. Sometimes leaping for joy does that to a person.

            Joy is apparent in these words from Isaiah. Joy is evident and visceral and bubbling up and over.

            “The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing.”

            “Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirst ground springs of water;”

            The joy is not for humans alone. The vision first begins with words of creation’s joyful response. The desert, which most often can be dry, brown and seemingly lifeless, will burst forth with gladness. Even the land will rejoice and blossom. Even the desert will rejoice with joy and singing.

            I read this week about the super bloom in the California desert. The super bloom is a bursting forth of brightly colored poppies and wildflowers in the desert which is normally brown and seemingly lifeless. A super bloom happens when seeds that lay dormant for a long time, receive enough rain to germinate and bloom. And when they do bloom, the colors can be seen from space. Google “super bloom” after the service, and you will be astonished at this incredible abundance of color in the California desert. I suspect that pictures do not do the colors justice.

            These words of Isaiah seem to describe a super bloom, don’t they? The desert and the wilderness and the dry land which had no color, no flowers, nothing, suddenly burst forth with blossoms and color. The land itself rejoices. Where there were no flowers, there suddenly are flowers. Where there was no water, suddenly there are streams and pools and springs of water in a normally thirsty land.

            And let’s not forget the human response of joy. Just as creation experiences a reversal from lifeless to life, from dry to gloriously wet, from colorless to super bloom, humans and our expectations are turned upside down as well.

            Those with weak hands will be strengthened. The remnant stiffness from my broken wrist many years ago will no longer bother me or be an issue.

            Feeble knees will be made firm. No more cracking and creaking when you try to stand up. No more problems with worn out knees and joints that refuse to cooperate.

            And those of us with fearful hearts – maybe this is more of us than we care to admit – Isaiah tells us to “be strong and do not fear!” Here is our God.

            Then there are these words to people we might think of as physically challenged, maybe they can be taken literally as words of hope and reversal. If you have hearing problems they will be no more, or if you have seeing issues, they will also be no more. Yet, perhaps we can also take them another way. For those of us who do see and hear and walk in what we think of as “normal,” perhaps we need to hear these words as a reminder that what we think of as a problem, might actually be an advantage, a blessing, a unique and powerful way of being in the world. This week I also read a story about a church who was holding a worship service for a homeless population in their city.

            They took church to the homeless and held a worship service in the midst of a noisy street in Atlanta. While the worship leader was trying to be heard above the din of the traffic, one homeless man who could neither hear nor speak wanted to be acknowledged. He kept waving and pointing to himself, so they beckoned to him to come forward. He stood in their circle and began to sign a hymn. The writer described it as like watching a beautiful dance. The noise that frustrated everyone else was no problem to this man. He heard beautiful music they could not hear. His literal deafness did not impede his joy.

            What is really powerful about this joyful vision of Isaiah is that it follows verses about destruction. While the earth may rejoice in these verses before us, the verses that come before them speak of creation that is not rejoicing, not even close. Scholars believe that these words were placed here out of order. They should come later, after chapter 40, which is believed to be Second or Deutero Isaiah. But for some reason, they are here; a few chapters too early.

            Perhaps it was an error of some scribe. Or perhaps this is exactly where these verses are supposed to be: an interruption, a disruption of joy. They are found here, not by mistake, but because joy, God’s joy, God’s everlasting joy, breaks into our world where we least expect it.

            It is so easy to forget that. Take a quick look at the world around us, and joy seems to be in short supply. I follow a lot of clergy and church pages on Facebook, and so many of my colleagues are asking for prayers because of sad events in their churches or their communities. But even without a traumatic event, this time of year can just be hard for folks. Advertising tells us this is a time when everyone is merry. Families gather and children sing and everybody is fa, la, la, la, la-ing it all over the place. But the truth is that many of us, including myself, are grieving. Or we’re just sad, or worried or stressed and scared. Let’s face it, depression and anxiety don’t take a vacation just because it is Advent and Christmas. In our passage from Matthew’s gospel, John is in prison. He won’t survive it. Where is the joy in that?

            But that is the thing about joy. It isn’t the same thing as happiness. Happiness is fleeting. We were never guaranteed happiness. But joy, that’s something different. We are called to rejoice. We are called to an everlasting joy. Not because the world is perfect or without sadness or pain or sorrow or grief, but because God breaks into our world, into our pain, into our sadness and brokenness. God disrupts our daily lives. God becomes like us. God becomes like us. That’s what we’re waiting for. That’s what we’re preparing for. Joy will not be delayed. Joy will not wait for the “right” moment or time. Joy bursts in when and where we least it.

Even the desert and the wilderness and the lifeless places will bloom and blossom with riotous color. Springs and pools of water will flow where there was no water. And through it all, God will make a way, a holy way, a highway of safety, where all can travel in hope and peace and where everlasting joy is as abundant as the flowers in the desert.

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

Amen.

Peace Be With You -- Second Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 11:1-9

December 8, 2019

            The peace of Christ be with you. And also with you.

            I’m sure there are worse things for an introvert to endure than the passing of the peace, but when you are confronted with it, it’s hard to imagine what that worse thing could be. Believe it or not, I am an introvert by nature, so when I am passing the peace in the pew it is a little challenging for me. I don’t mind doing it, but I always seem to be that person who gets stuck with no one to pass the peace to while everyone around me is passing the peace to someone else. I’m this person stand with my hand out and turn around looking for another hand.

            Another problem with passing the peace in church is that some people seem to think that it is just one more opportunity to catch up with folks they haven’t talked to in a while. They rush through the words,

            “The peace of Christ be with you. And also with you,”

            Then move right into whatever it is they want to say to the person they are “passing the peace to”

            “You will never guess who I saw at the grocery store this week…”

            Because of these two reasons, I understand why a lot of churches opt not to have the passing of the peace in worship. It makes people uncomfortable. People get to talking, and it takes too long. It just adds time into the service when other things could be happening. Besides, if we take too long in worship, all the other churches will get to the good lunch spots before we do. Gotta get to the restaurant before the Methodists do! I’m kidding, but you know there’s a little bit of truth to that.

            But here is what the Book of Order says about passing the peace.

“In sharing the peace of Christ, we express the reconciliation, unity, and love that come only from God, and we open ourselves to the power of God’s love to heal our brokenness and make us agents of that love in the world.”

Repeat

I suspect that another reason why churches hesitate to include the passing of the peace in worship is because it makes us uncomfortable in more ways than one. When we pass the peace we might have to pass the peace to a person we’re angry with, or with someone we don’t like. We might have to offer God’s peace to someone we don’t approve of, and worse, we might have to receive that peace back. I think that is at the heart of our discomfort. Passing the peace, if we take it seriously, if we heed what the Book of Order is saying, means that we might be changed in the process. And change is scary. Change is a struggle. Change is uncomfortable.

Yet the passing of the peace is not about keeping us comfortable. We pass the peace of Christ not because we love everybody around us, or because we are perfect people who feel perfectly peaceful all the time. We pass the peace of Christ because when we do, we acknowledge that we are all sinners who have been forgiven, and we declare that God loves us. And because we are forgiven and because we are loved, and because we cannot do any of that without God, we pass the peace to others as our response to God. Since God has forgiven us, we now choose to forgive others. We now choose to be agents of God’s love in the world; even though it’s hard and challenging and might mean that we must pass the peace to someone we would rather not. When we pass the peace, we declare that the world as it is, is not the world it will be when God’s kingdom is complete in our midst.

When we pass the peace, when we are sincere about it and earnest about it, we contribute to the peaceable kingdom.

Really and truly I am not telling you all of this to advocate that we begin to include the passing of the peace in worship every Sunday. Maybe I am, but we’ll see. However, it is Isaiah’s vision of the peaceable kingdom that is before us today. And I see that as a call to take peace, to take the passing of the peace, seriously.

In Isaiah’s peaceable kingdom, what we think of as the natural order is overturned and upside-downed. What should be dead has life. Those who should be enemies are friends. A green shoot of life grows from a lifeless dead stump. Predator and prey are no longer caught in the unceasing dynamic of hunter and hunted. And in the midst of all this, a child puts its hand on the adder’s den. A little child leads predator and prey together.

The shoot that springs forth from the dead stump is a new king, a new ruler. Scholars assert that the stump of Jesse is the Davidic line. David, after all, is a part of Jesse’s family tree. But is this stump of Jesse a stump because Israel and Judah fell and the people were exiled? Is it a stump because David failed? Both statements are probably true; it is both and. The former monarchy of Israel ended and it ended badly. It was like a tall tree that was cut down, with only a sad, lifeless stump left in its place.

But look, do you see it? Do you see the shoot, the green shoot growing from that stump? There is still life there! And it is new life. It is a new king. The Spirit of the Lord will rest on this new king. The Spirit of the Lord will give him wisdom and counsel. The Spirit of the Lord will give him knowledge, and his fear will be the fear of the Lord. This new king will judge with equity and righteousness for the poor and the meek of the world. Yes, there will be judgment. The wicked shall be struck down with just a breath from this new king. Maybe this is a literal striking down, or maybe it is like the judgment that Matthew’s gospel speaks of – a judgment that roots out the wicked in each of us for new life to take root and grow. That judgment makes way for new life, for true peace.

With this new king will come a new kingdom. What we think of as natural order will be no more. What we think of as natural enemies will be unnatural. Predators will no longer seek prey as a nutritious meal but instead will lie down with them as companions. What was dangerous and deadly will be tamed and friendly. And the one that is most vulnerable, most in need of protection – a child – will not only live safely in their midst but will lead them.

This is the peaceable kingdom that Isaiah’s vision portrays. This is the image of God’s world as it should be. As it should be. But we all know that it is not that way yet.

I read in a commentary about Edward Hicks. He was a nineteenth century Quaker artist and minister. He painted this picture of the peaceable kingdom at least 62 times. If you google the words “peaceable kingdom” and hit images, his paintings will appear. In his renderings, he drew all of the animals and the child from Isaiah’s vision. And in the background, he also included Quakers and Native Americans conversing peacefully together. But as this commentary pointed out, and as his paintings show, he became more and more frustrated and discouraged by the conflicts of his time, especially the conflicts that occurred in his own community.

His frustration was apparent in the predators he painted. They became more deadly, more fearsome, more long of tooth and sharp of claw. Isaiah’s vision shows us God’s world as it should be, as we hope it will be, but it is not that way yet. There are still plenty of predators out there, and they are not just the animals who hunt. There are predators who exploit and harm and kill the least of these. There are predators who show no signs of transformation or even just retracting their claws. It seems to me that even though in this vision the natural order of the world is turned on its head, it is still alive and well in the world around us. And as for the little child leading; we live in a world where there is no guarantee that our children are safe … from anything. Where is this peaceable kingdom we ask? When will it become our reality? Will it become our reality?

Maybe that’s why we need the passing of the peace. Maybe we need not only its ritual, but its reminder. What might the world look like if we took the passing of the peace out beyond these doors? What would the world be like if we passed the peace of Christ to every person that we meet? What would we be like if we remembered that the passing of the peace is not just a formal way to say hello to our neighbors, but is a vivid and real symbol that we know we are sinners who have been forgiven. We know that we are forgiven sinners who are forgiven because God loves us. We know that our response to God’s love, God’s mercy, God’s grace is to share that love, that mercy, that grace with others.

What would the world look like if we really passed the peace of Christ to all of God’s children? Maybe when we do, the peaceable kingdom ; will come a little closer, and the order of the world we think of as natural will be unnatural. Maybe when we pass the peace of Christ to all of God’s children, wolf and lamb will really live with one another; leopard will lie down with the kid; the calf and the lion and the fatling will be together, and a little child, a small and vulnerable child, will lead them.

The peace of Christ be with you. And also with you.

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

Let Us Go Up -- First Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 2:1-5

December 1, 2019

            May 1977. I was 11 years old. I was outside playing and talking with my friends, and Leslie, one of my friends in our neighborhood, was telling us about this movie she had just seen called Star Wars. She kept imitating this character named Darth something who dressed all in black, wore this weird total head covering helmet and talked like this … (imitate Vader’s breathing).

            Leslie’s excitement about the movie was contagious, so we ran back to our houses and asked our parents if we could go see this movie, please, please, please, please, please!

They all said, “Yes!”

 One parent agreed to drive us to the theater and another agreed to pick us up. Yes! We got ready, we got our money, we got our ride and away we went to see Star Wars, Episode IV, A New Hope.

There are some moments in your life that are unforgettable. They are seminal and formative. I have been blessed to have many: marrying Brent, holding my babies for the first time, discerning a call to ministry and seeing that first Star Wars movie in the theater on that big, big screen.

Maybe I exaggerate a little by calling it a seminal moment, but I will never forget the thrill of seeing something that was so beyond the realm of my experience to that point. When the opening words flashed in blue on the screen, “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away,” I was hooked. Then STAR WARS seemed to blaze before us, and then these words began to scroll up the screen.

“It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Galactic Empire.”

That was it. We had never seen anything like it before, not in storytelling, not in movie making. Today, that scroll looks dated because technology and computer graphics have advanced so much. But in the theater that day, I saw words in a way I had never imagined, and I was awestruck.

If those words on that screen could fill me with awe, imagine what Isaiah must have felt when he saw the word of the Lord concerning Judah and Jerusalem.

When we read this passage, it is easy to overlook that opening sentence and move right into the images of the days to come. But let’s linger on them for a moment.

“The word that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem.”

What does it mean that Isaiah saw the word? Did a big screen appear in front of him and the words of the vision scrolled past as if they were disappearing into space as they did in Star Wars? Probably not. Did the Lord just speak words into his head, and Isaiah wrote them down like he was taking dictation? I’m not sure. I’m not sure what it meant for Isaiah to see the word of the Lord. But I do think that he saw images and understood clearly that those images were the word of God.

Isaiah was a prophet called by God who saw God’s word. Maybe we think we know that means, maybe we don’t. But I think it helps to clarify what a prophet did and who a prophet was. I think sometimes we confuse prophets with fortune tellers. We think of them as looking into a crystal ball and seeing images of a future that may only look like clouds and mist to a non-prophet’s eye. But that’s not what a prophet did. A prophet was able to read the current situations and predict the consequences of those situations. I am not saying that they did not hear the voice of the Lord; clearly, they did. Clearly, they were given unique insight into what God was doing, both in the present and in the future. And they were not just called to see, but also to proclaim what they saw. Yet perhaps what really made a prophet a prophet is that they had what is known as the prophetic imagination.

They could imagine the future consequences of actions taken now. They could imagine a different reality, a different present and a different future. A prophet was gifted with the imagination to see the world as God sees it. So perhaps when Isaiah saw the word of God concerning Judah and Jerusalem, that’s what was happening. He was not just seeing words scroll across a screen in his mind. He was seeing the different reality that God had in mind.

What did he see?

“In days to come the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it.”

What did he see?

He saw God as arbitrator, God as teacher.

“He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.”

What did Isaiah see? What word of God did he envision, what word did he imagine? He saw a world where people from every nation, which implies that they were people of all genders, races, ethnicities, backgrounds, streaming, streaming like a constantly flowing river, to the mountain of God. Isaiah saw God as judge and arbitrator between every nation. And in response to that judgment, people were not only putting down their implements of war, they were remaking those implements into tools for growth, for harvest, for food, for nurture and nourishment.

Think not only about what Isaiah saw, imagine what he heard. The sound of metal against metal, beating swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks.

Swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks.

Isaiah saw a world where every nation not only stopped their warring, they stopped learning that war to begin with.

These are powerful words to see indeed.

What do we see? You see the thing about the prophetic imagination is that it is not given to only a few; we all have the capacity and the ability to see, to imagine as well. As elders, whether teaching or ruling, we promise in our ordination vows to “serve the people with energy, intelligence, imagination and love.”

That use of the word imagination is not necessarily about being artistic; it is about seeing in a new way, seeing – if only a little – through the eyes of God.

What do we see? Right now, we see a world of violence. In the last 48 hours there have been two stabbing attacks. Our world is experiencing a grave refugee crisis – refugees, people fleeing their homes because of war and violence. There are more refugees, displaced people, in the world today than at any time since World War II. Think about that.

What do we see? We see people right here who are affected by violence and abuse. We see children who are hungry. We see neighbors hating neighbors. We see pain and sadness and brokenness and violence. We see a lot that cannot be possibly be a reflection of God’s word.

But this is the first Sunday of Advent, and the word of the day is hope. The world that we see may seem hopeless, and it is easy to be infected by that hopelessness. I struggle against it every day. But we are not without hope. We have been given the wonderful, wondrous, awesome ability to imagine something different. We have been given the wonderful, wondrous, awesome ability to see the world as God sees it. That’s what this passage from Isaiah is trying to get us to do – see the world as God sees it. It’s pushing us to see the future that is God’s. But we can’t just announce that God’s got it and walk away. Because the picture of the future that Isaiah gives us must stand in stark relief to the present we live in now. We have to hold up Isaiah’s vision like a mirror. What is the difference there between God’s future and our present? What do we see?

What do we see? And even more importantly, what can we see? Our hope lies in what we can see, and we are not a people without hope. The future is indeed in God’s hands, and God calls us everyday to work toward that future, to come to his holy mountain, to stream to God and God’s word. Let us go up. Let us imagine a different world, a better world, God’s world. Let us do our part in working toward that future, that vision, that world. Let us go up.

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

For My Dad

William Frederick Busse

August 26, 1930 – November 16, 2019

            Dad once told me that he hated going to funerals where the person who had died was lauded and praised as being this perfect and saintly being – especially when everyone sitting in the pews knew full well that the deceased was definitely not perfect or saintly.

            So to honor my sweet dad, I thought I would tell you a few of the ways that he was not perfect.

            Dad was a terrible speller. I suspect that many of us here already know the story about when he worked for Pillsbury and had to turn in a report. Thankfully, my mom, who is a good speller, proofread it for him or else he would have turned in an entire report about angle food cake.

            The last time he let me read their Christmas letter was many years ago, and the reason that was the last time was because I teased him about spelling the word grateful as greatful. He swore up and down that he had spellchecked the letter, and it hadn’t caught greatful. But I assured him that it was not spelled that way. I don’t think he appreciated my teasing, because he never let me look at the Christmas letter before it was sent out again.

            My sister called my dad, “One Trip Busse.” Our mom said he would carry Jill, Brad and two bags of groceries into the house rather than make two trips.

            My dad was obsessively early – to everything. I too would rather be early than late, but Dad took this to an extreme. We learned to stall when we were getting ready to go some place so we wouldn’t arrive at whatever our destination was quite so painfully early. That would make him impatient – another one of his less than perfect character traits – and he would do his dramatic Bill Busse sigh. It was a sigh that I have inherited. Or he would do his signature puffing out of his cheeks and blow the air out slowly. But even though it bugged him, we would stall anyway.

            I don’t know if this particular story is based on fact or if it is family legend, or maybe I just dreamed it, but one time my parents were so early to a party the hostess was still in the bathtub. Dad wanted to be early.

            But for all of the things that made him less than perfect, he was also so many things that made him, if not perfect, than pretty darn close.

            He was kind. Dad was shy and reserved, so to people who did not know him very well, he could come across as stern, even imposing. But that stern exterior was misleading. Dad was kind. Since he died, I have had several friends reach out to me to tell me that Dad was always so kind to them.

            For any impatience he showed when we weren’t moving out of the door fast enough, he could also be incredibly patient. When I was a very little girl, I used to wear my baby locket to church on Sundays. It was a small necklace with a fine gold chain that would get tangled up in knots if you looked at it wrong. But Dad would sit on Sunday mornings and untangle it, one knot at a time. Maybe he muttered impatiently or sighed while he did it, I don’t remember, but he got it done.

            Dad wanted to get things done. One of the things that made our dad who he was, was that he took responsibility seriously. It might be because he was the oldest child and the oldest son. It might be just how he was made. But he never, not to my knowledge, failed in his responsibilities to his family, to his work and so on. He took care of things. He took care of us. That’s what made these last years so hard and so challenging for him. He was used to taking care of things. If Bill Busse saw something that needed to be done, he did it. He didn’t wait for others to step up. He just did it.

            But as his health failed and his body slowed down, he couldn’t do that anymore. He couldn’t take care of things like he wanted to, and I know that frustrated him. It frustrated him because one of his best character traits was that he showed his love for us by taking care of us. And he loved us all so much. He loved his immediate family. He loved his extended family. He loved his grandkids. He loved his great grandkids. And he and my mom loved our friends. Our friends, whether they were Jill’s, Brad’s or mine, always felt like they were at home in our home. My friend, Ellen, said she felt like his third daughter.

            He loved us and he was so proud of us. Every accomplishment, no matter how small or seemingly infinitesimal, made him so proud. When I was serving the church in Minnesota, Dad was the treasurer, and I would invite him to attend my elder training sessions. He would always provoke me with some argumentative question. I realized that it wasn’t because he wanted to argue with me; he wanted me to push back and teach. He was proud of my teaching. He was so proud of all of us.

            When I posted on social media that Dad died, Shannon, another dear friend from seminary days and who met Dad several times, wrote to me that he delighted in all of us. Jill’s friend, Karen, said the same thing. He delighted in us. It was obvious. He delighted in his family, his wife and children and grandchildren and great grandchildren and his extended family. He delighted in all of us.

            Our dad wasn’t perfect, none of us are, but he loved us more than he could show or even express. He was proud of us. He delighted in us. He loved us. He was a good man and he loved us. At 89 he lived a good, long, full life. And I know that where he is now, it doesn’t matter if you can spell or if you are a One Trip Busse or a Fussy Busse, because now his strength is restored, and he is mounted up with wings like eagles. He can once more run and not be weary, he can walk and not faint.

            But Dad you did it again. We stalled and stalled and stalled, but you went earlier than any of us were ready for; no matter how we tried to slow you down, you still went too early. But I know you’ll be waiting for us to hurry up and arrive. You’ll be waiting for us. Thanks be to God.

God of the Living

Luke 20: 27-38

November 10, 2019

            “I’ll be waiting on the far side banks of Jordan. I’ll be waiting drawing pictures in the sand. And when I see you coming, I will rise up with a shout, and come running through the shallow waters, reaching for your hand.”

            This is a favorite gospel song of mine. I first heard it – well I’ve only heard it – on Alison Krauss’s and The Cox Family record, I Know Who Holds Tomorrow. But they do a magnificent job of it, so if you’re interested I highly recommend you checking them out.

            This is a song of reassurance from an aging husband to his also aging wife as they prepare for the journey from this world to the next. He tells her that the lures of this world no longer make him want to stay, but his one regret will be leaving her behind. So if he goes first, he will be waiting for her on the far side banks of Jordan. He will wait there until she makes the journey as well.

            The sentiments of this song are more than just comforting and reassuring. They reflect what so many of us believe about dying. When we die, we believe we will be met by the people we love who have gone before. We will be met by the saints we lifted up last Sunday in our worship service. They will be waiting for us on the far side banks of the river Jordan.

            I’ll be honest, this passage and this belief about the next life hits me on a deeply personal level right now. Tomorrow is the 71^st anniversary of my parents’ first date. 71 years as sweethearts and almost 69 years of marriage. As my family tries to emotionally and intellectually prepare for my dad’s transition from this life to the next one, I take great comfort and find even greater hope in the thought that he and my mom will be reunited in heaven; 71 years here, an eternity there.

            It is because of this hope that I find Jesus’ response to the Sadducees in today’s passage from Luke’s gospel unsettling. It is a disconcerting story to say the least, and we need to try and understand what is happening in it. It begins with a confrontation, but for once it is the Sadducees who are questioning Jesus, not the Pharisees. The Sadducees, according to the text, come to Jesus with the firm belief that there is no resurrection. Yet with this belief in mind, they questioned Jesus about that very topic – that same concept they firmly did not believe in. Their motives were to put Jesus on the spot, to find another reason for discounting him and his claims about God and the kingdom. As was so often the case, they hoped to make Jesus look foolish.

            The Sadducees were of one faction in Jewish society. They heralded from the priestly class and believed solely in the Pentateuch – the first five books of the Bible: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. If resurrection did not appear in those five books, then it wasn’t going to be found anywhere.

            Unlike the Sadducees, the Pharisees did believe in the resurrection after death. They had been debating and arguing about the resurrection or the lack thereof with the Sadducees for a long, long time. I suspect that the Sadducees point in bringing Jesus into that discourse seemed to be a perfect way to stir things up – again.

            They question they ask was based on a law found in Deuteronomy about the perpetuation of family line. It is known as the levirate law – if a man dies and leaves his wife childless, then it is the husband’s brother’s responsibility and duty to marry the wife. That way they can have children and the family name, which always came through the man, would continue. The first husband will not be forgotten in Israel, because through his brother, he had children. This is not a law that I would agree to, but that perpetuation of the line, of the name, was an essential part of that culture.

            So the Sadducees’ question to Jesus was based on that law. But the Sadducees use an example that pushes the law to the level of ridiculousness. Seven brothers marry the same woman. The brothers are fulfilling their duty to the law and to the first brother. But all of them die without a child. Then the woman also dies. Here is the  sticking point; in this so-called resurrection of which you speak, Jesus, who will the woman be married to?

            This is not the first time that Jesus has been baited. In Luke’s gospel, this is the third and final question asked of Jesus that ultimately sets the powers that be against him. But with each one, Jesus modeled how to answer the true intent of the question without giving way to frustration and even anger over the questioner’s methods or reason for asking.

            Jesus knows they are trying to set him up, but he does not evade the question or dismiss it as ridiculous. He says,

            “Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage, but those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage.”

            It’s apples to oranges, Jesus tells them. In this age, in this life, on this earth, marriage is a part of life. At that time, marriage was an absolute necessity, not only for continuing the family name and for remembrance of that name in Israel, but also for the protection of the woman. But in the age to come, marriage will not be a part of that life. So their question about which brother is the true husband to the woman will not be an issue. It will not matter in the age to come.

            With their question, the Sadducees imply that if resurrection is real than it is merely a continuation of life as usual. One commentator said that their question really means that they saw resurrection as “an eternity of more of the same.” But Jesus discounts that understanding. This age, this reality that we live in now, is nothing like the age to come. There won’t be marriage. More importantly, there won’t be death. The people of that age will be like the angels. They will be children of God. Death will no longer be a consequence of living.

            Death will no longer be a consequence of living.

            But Jesus doesn’t stop there. He turns the law of Moses back on them. You can look to Moses for proof of the resurrection. You can look to the very Pentateuch that you hold onto so tightly. Moses himself said that God was the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob. We know that these three patriarchs died long ago, but God is the God of the living. These patriarchs live on through God, the God of the living.

            Jesus answered their question by pointing out their error in thinking about the resurrection. And he answered it by appealing to the very scripture they thought proved resurrection false. But where does that leave us?

            Where does it leave us when we wonder about who will be waiting for us in heaven? Will husbands be waiting for their wives, and wives for their husbands? Will I be reunited with the people I have loved and lost, my saints? Will my friends and family hear the voices of their loved ones calling to them? Will someone be waiting for us on the far side banks of the Jordan?

            It seems to me that Jesus does not deny this about the resurrection, but he will not make resurrection sound like an eternity of more of the same either. What I do think Jesus makes pointedly clear is that resurrected life will not just be a continuation of what we have now. It will be fundamentally different. It will be fundamentally better.

            But does better mean no relationship? It is hard from this passage alone to know how to answer that. But here’s the thing, what do we know about Jesus? What do we know about God the Father through the Son?

            We know that God cared and cares about relationship. God has been trying to get us back into right relationship with God since Adam and Eve said,

“Did that snake just talk to us?”

Jesus came to restore right relationship with God and with one another. No, none of our earthly relationships are perfect. They are all flawed because we are all flawed. But we believe that our God is a God of love and justice and mercy. God cares about souls, but Jesus came because God also cares about our bodies, our lives here and now. Jesus said that the kingdom of God was not some far off place, but right here in our midst. So I think, no I believe, that the love we have here, the relationships we have here, will be with us in the kingdom. They will be perfected and better and changed, but that love won’t be gone. It will just be complete. God is the God of the living. In that we place our hope, our trust, our relationship, our future, our past, our present. God is the God of the living.

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

Salvation Has Come -- All Saints' Day

Luke 19:1-10

November 3, 2019

            “Short people got no reason. Short people got no reason. Short people got no reason to live.     They got little hands. And little eyes. And they walk around. Tellin' great big lies. They got little noses. And tiny little teeth. They wear platform shoes. On their nasty little feet. I don’t want no short people. Don’t want no short people. Don’t want no short people round here.”

            If you can remember pop music from the late 70’s and early 80’s you probably remember that song. Randy Newman wrote it, performed it, and sent it to the top of the music charts as a novelty song. The funny thing is that his goal was not to write a novelty song; he was actually writing a song about the ridiculousness of prejudice. How ridiculous it is to be biased against someone because of their height or any reason for that matter. But the song was misinterpreted over and over again, so we remember it as a weird and funny little ditty about short people.

            For those of you who may be vertically challenged, please do not take offense that I used this song. I too am vertically challenged, and so are my darling husband and my best friend, Ellen, who is here with us today. We are some of those short people, and so is one of the main characters in this story from Luke’s gospel.

            Whenever I read the story of Zacchaeus, I can’t help but think of Randy Newman’s song. Zacchaeus was described quite clearly as being “short of stature.” This is not typical in any of the gospels. Usually when we read a description of someone, they are described by their position in life or their status. Their physical characteristics are not depicted. A widow is described as a widow, which tells us her married status and her social status. A leper is a leper, so we know that means this person has a skin disease and is marginalized because of it. Lazarus the beggar was covered in sores, but we are not privy to the color of his eyes. The prodigal son was reckless and foolhardy while his older brother was hyper responsible, but not once do we hear anything about what they looked like. We have limited information about Zacchaeus as well, but we know one thing: he was short.

            He was so short that when he wanted to see Jesus, when he wanted to see what all the fuss was about this man passing through Jericho, he couldn’t get a good view of him because he was short and the crowd apparently was not. So he climbed a sycamore tree to see Jesus. He was up in that tree, looking down, when Jesus walked underneath the tree and noticed him.

            Think about the power of that: Jesus noticed him. I suspect that very few people in that crowd would have noticed Zacchaeus, even though he was watching all of the activity from up in a tree. But Jesus noticed him. Jesus noticed the people who were on the margins. Jesus noticed the people who both stood outside the boundaries of the crowd and those who were lost in it. Jesus noticed Zacchaeus. And when he did notice him, he didn’t just glance at him and continue on his way. He called up to him.

            "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today."

            Jesus noticed Zacchaeus. He noticed him and he called him out for special attention. Jesus did not only call up to Zacchaeus, acknowledging his presence in the tree, he told him he would be staying at his house that very day. Zacchaeus responded by doing just what Jesus told him to do. He hurried down out that tree, thrilled that he would have the honor of hosting Jesus that day.

            As so often was the case, Jesus’ choice of dinner companions made other people grumble. The Pharisees and scribes grumbled that Jesus ate with sinners, people who lived on the edges of what was right and wrong. Zacchaeus was a tax collector, so he had his own special category of sin. Tax collectors were Jews who worked with Rome in their financial oppression of the people. Sometimes people categorized as sinners were there because they had no options. But tax collectors did. So while we like to sing Vacation Bible school songs about wee little Zacchaeus, he was a sinner with a choice. And that choice had made him wealthy.

When the people in this crowd around Jesus saw and heard Jesus tell Zacchaeus to come down from the tree and make ready his house for Jesus to stay there, they had the same reaction as the Pharisees and scribes. They grumbled and murmured that this man, this Zacchaeus was a sinner. He was a tax collector, but Jesus was going to eat in his house?! Didn’t Jesus realize who this guy was? Didn’t Jesus understand what this guy did?

            Maybe it was the fact that Jesus noticed him, even though he was sitting above them in a tree. Maybe it was the fact that Jesus called up to him and announced for all to hear that he would be staying in Zacchaeus’ house. Maybe it was because Zacchaeus was short but not deaf and he heard the grumbling about him, but something triggered Zacchaeus to declare that he would give back and he would pay back.

“Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.’”

Jesus responded, "Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost." 

Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham.

Zacchaeus was a sinner, but he was also a son of Abraham. He was a child of God’s covenant with Abraham. He was a child of the promise. And he was lost. Jesus came not just for the sinners that the people could feel sorry for; those people who sinned because they were out of options. Jesus also came for the sinners who chose freely and openly to sin, and commenced to sin with boldness.

That was Zacchaeus wasn’t it? His sin had made him a wealthy man, and that wealth came on the backs of his own people. But Jesus noticed him. Jesus called to him. Jesus was willing to come to his house and eat at his table and share in his hospitality. Salvation came to Zacchaeus that day because he was also lost and he was also a son of Abraham.

What might Jesus have meant when he said that Zacchaeus was a son of Abraham? As I said already that meant that Zacchaeus was a descendent of the covenant that God made with Abraham; what was that covenant? God promised Abraham that he would be a blessing, that his descendents would number as many as the sand under his feet and the stars in the sky above his head. And not only would Abraham’s descendents be blessed because of Abraham, every family in every nation on earth would be blessed through him. Zacchaeus would have been more directly and genealogically a child of Abraham than you or I, but if God’s covenant means what I think it means, we too are children of Abraham. That means that people in every nation around the world are children of Abraham. I wonder how many sinners there are in those numbers. I wonder how many lost folks there are in those nations. I wonder how many of them have sinned because they had no choice and sinned because they did.

Jesus came for all of them. Jesus came for us. Jesus came for me. But while I rejoice and give thanks that Jesus came for me, and that Jesus came for those sinners who were pushed into transgressions corner, I have a much harder time rejoicing that Jesus came for the people like Zacchaeus. I have difficulty being happy for their salvation when they have sinned like Zacchaeus sinned. But he too was a son of Abraham. He too was lost and Jesus found him. Jesus noticed him, when no one else did. Jesus noticed and welcomed him and broke bread with him. Even Zacchaeus could be a saint.

Today we celebrate All Saints Day, the day when we lift up that great cloud of witnesses. We remember the “big” saints of the church: Mother Teresa and Dr. King and Bishop Oscar Romero and all of those people who have been martyred and persecuted for their faith. But we also remember the other saints. We remember the people in our own lives who loved us and taught us and grew our faith in ways we may not have realized. I remember my grandfather who challenged me in faith and I remember my grandmother who shared her faith with me in song and prayers. We all have those people, those saints, on whose shoulders we stand.

If the story of Zacchaeus teaches us anything, it teaches us that to be a saint does not mean to be perfect. While holiness or virtuousness may be attached to the word by definition, I think a saint is someone who understood that God was present in their life, worked in their life and they tried to respond. My gramma was not perfect, but according to my definition, she was a saint. And she helped me in my faith. Zacchaeus was a sinner. He was not perfect. He harmed people by choice. But maybe just maybe he is also a saint. Certainly his story teaches us about faith. It challenges our own. And Jesus declared that salvation came to him too: Zacchaeus, a tax collector, a sinner, a wealthy short man so eager to see Jesus that he climbed a tree. Zacchaeus, far from perfect, but maybe just maybe a saint. Thanks be to God for the saints all around us, for those imperfect people who sin and repent and seek God. Thanks be to God for the saints all around us, those sinners who receive salvation, those lost who are found. Thanks be to God for the saints all around us. Thanks be to God.

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