All Things Are Possible

Mark 10:17-31

October 13, 2024

 

            Our family loves Disney Pixar movies, and Brent and I especially love the Inside Out movies. When Inside Out 2 premiered in theatres a few months ago, we made sure to go see it on the big screen. And in preparation for that event, we rewatched the first Inside Out to refamiliarize ourselves with the important details of the first movie and be eager and ready to enjoy the sequel.  

            If you are not familiar with these movies, I’ll give you a brief overview. They both center around a young girl named Riley. In the first movie, Riley is 11 and she and her parents leave their longtime home in Minnesota to move to San Francisco. Riley suddenly must cope with homesickness and the sadness and longing for what is left behind that comes with it. In the first movie we meet Riley’s core emotions which live in Riley’s headquarters – or better known as her brain. The core emotions are Joy, Sadness, Anger, Fear, and Disgust. Joy is the leader of the emotions, and much of the movie is spent in Joy learning the lesson that Riley needs to be able to feel all her emotions to deal with the changes that life brings. Joy believed that if Sadness was present, then she had failed Riley. But Sadness needed to be there too..

            In the second movie, Riley is now 13. She has adjusted to life in San Francisco. She has friends. She is once again playing on an ice hockey team, which she loves more than ever. Things seem to be going great until one night puberty arrives. And if you remember when puberty arrived in your own life, you can imagine the shock that came with it. The headquarters are suddenly updated for the new emotions that puberty brings, but the original core emotions don’t understand what is happening. The new emotions are Envy, Ennui, Embarrassment, and most importantly, Anxiety.

            Anxiety shows up, literally carrying her emotional baggage, and asks where she can put her stuff. She introduces herself to Joy in this way, and this is my paraphrase.

            Look, Joy, you help Riley feel happy. Fear protects her from the scary stuff she can see. But I protect her from the scary stuff she can’t see. I plan for the future.

            As the movie progresses, Anxiety takes control of headquarters, leading Riley to make some bad decisions and ultimately experience a full-blown panic attack. Anxiety planned for the future so completely that she messed up the present.

            I plan for the future. If there was ever a simple way to describe anxiety, that’s it. We all have some anxiety to some degree. You can’t live and not experience it. But severe anxiety can become debilitating. Not only are you worrying about things that may be happening in your life right now, but you also spend a lot of time worrying about the future, worrying about the things you can’t see but can imagine that might be there.

            I know that this passage from scripture and a Pixar movie aren’t necessarily relevant to one another, but when it comes to anxiety I see it full-blown in this passage. It’s hard not to imagine that the man who kneels before Jesus is experiencing anxiety. I’ve always wondered about that. Clearly, he is anxious about something. Clearly, he is searching for something or someone. He must be worrying about what will happen when he dies, which is why he asks this question of Jesus. He wants eternal life, but he isn’t sure that will happen. So, when he sees Jesus he runs up to him, kneels before him, and asks,

            “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

            Jesus responds with some questions of his own.

            “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone.”

            Then Jesus goes on to ask him about the commandments. You know them, right. You know what they are. And the man responds that yes, he does know them. And he has been following them faithfully since he was a boy. At this point, you would expect Jesus to respond with words of comfort. As in, well, if you’ve been following them your whole life, then you’re fine. You’ve got this. Stop worrying. Stop feeling so anxious. It’s all good.

            But that’s not Jesus’ answer. Instead Jesus says,

            “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”

            It’s obvious that this is NOT what the man wanted to hear. Sell everything I own? Give the money to the poor? Follow you? No, sorry Jesus. I can’t do that. And he walks away from Jesus, grieving. The reason that we often refer to this man as the rich young man or the rich young ruler is because Mark describes him as someone who has many possessions. He must be very rich. And his response to Jesus shows that he is not ready to part with his possessions or his wealth.

            Commentators have pointed out that this was probably not the best way for Jesus to recruit a new follower. It would have made more sense – at least to those gathered around Jesus and to us – if Jesus had just encouraged the man to give a hefty donation to a charity, put his possessions in the safekeeping of a trusted friend, and then follow him. Ease him into it. You don’t have to give up everything right away. Just a little at a time. But that wouldn’t have been Jesus, and that is not what happened.

            But there is a detail in Mark’s gospel to which we need to pay attention. Mark is usually sparse on details, so when he has one that the other gospels leave out, it’s especially important to note it.

            When Jesus speaks this shocking and upsetting response to the man, he speaks it with love. Verse 21, “Jesus, looking at him, loved him …”

            Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and then he said, you lack one thing. With all that the man owned, he was still lacking, and Jesus could see it, even if the young man could not. Jesus loved him, and because he loved him, he didn’t sugarcoat that truth that the man needed to hear. In that context, and in ours, wealth was seen as a blessing from God. Surely this man was blessed because he was wealthy. He must have lacked for nothing. But Jesus saw something that others could not. Instead of being a blessing, the man’s wealth may have been the one thing that got in his way when it came to God. Yes, the man had followed the commandments to the letter since he was a boy. Yes, the man lived the life he was expected to live. But this man was still anxious. This man was still lying awake at night worried about the future. This man was still missing something, and when he saw Jesus, his intuition must have told him that this wandering Rabbi would have the answers he sought so earnestly, so desperately.

            And Jesus loved him. And his love for him meant telling him the truth. Jesus’ love for this man was a love that was, as one commentator wrote, incisive. It cut out what harmed so that the healing could begin. But this man could not hear this – at least not in this moment. And my question is, could we? Could we bear to hear Jesus tell us to give up the one thing that means the most to us? Could we bear to hear Jesus proclaim to us that the one thing we consider to be a blessing to us is really what gets in our way in following him, in being in relationship with him, in being in a deep and abiding relationship with God? I don’t think I could. Maybe you couldn’t either.

            In past sermons on this passage, I’ve tried to manage these words of Jesus. Look, Jesus meant what he said about selling everything, giving the money to the poor, and following him, but we do the best that we can. It’s not possible for us to live up to this standard, but we should always try. And while I meant that and I mean it still, it seems to me that there may be no good way to manage these words of Jesus.

            I find it interesting that people who take the bible literally when it comes to other passages seem to stop it taking it so literally when Jesus says something like this. Well, that’s probably not what he really meant. I’m sure this is another example of Jesus speaking in hyperbole. He’s exaggerating to make a point. He’s exaggerating to get through to this guy.

But what if Jesus meant exactly what he said? What if Jesus understood that this man’s real anxiety came down to what he owned rather than what awaited him in the life after life? What if Jesus wanted him and us to understand that letting our anxiety plan for the future is the antithesis of trusting God?

            Look, here’s the thing, I’m not going to leave here today and sell all that I own and give the money to the poor. I’m not. And I suspect that y’all won’t either. But I am going to leave here thinking about this passage and with these words of Jesus resounding in my heart, my muscles, my bones. And I’m going to have to live into the tension and the dissonance between what Jesus calls us to do and who Jesus calls us to be and my actual response.

            But I’m also going to leave here with hope, in spite of myself, because we don’t know the end of the story. We don’t know the end of this man’s story, do we? Maybe he couldn’t do what Jesus asked him to do that day, but maybe on another day he did. Maybe he joined that band of disciples. Maybe he stood at the foot of the cross. Maybe he waited in an upper room. Maybe I will too. We know that what we cannot do, God can. We cannot be good enough, right enough, faithful enough to earn .. anything. It is impossible for us. But for God, all things are possible, and that is the good news. That is our hope. That is our grace. That is our salvation.

Thanks. Be. To. God.

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

            Amen.

           

           

           

Hardness of Heart -- World Communion Sunday

Mark 10:2-16

October 6, 2024

 

            I sat there feeling terrible and hopeless. Shame and guilt washed over me in relentless waves. The topic of our conversation at this meeting had shifted, and one person dominated the discussion. What is wrong in our society, he declared, is that our kids are coming out of broken homes. Homes with single moms, he said, and no fathers in sight. It is these broken homes, these homes led only by mothers, these broken families that are at the root of our crumbling culture.

            This was about 12 years ago in a ministerial association meeting that I was hosting in the church I served. The person who was talking was another minister in the community, and although I didn’t know it at the time, he was divorced and remarried at least twice. What I did know was that I was newly separated. I had become that single mother and apparently my kids were doomed because of their broken home.

            As this minister continued to talk and talk and talk, I just got quieter and quieter. I didn’t know where to look. Catching the eye of another colleague was out of the question. I didn’t want to look at them. I was too ashamed. I just bowed my head toward my hands, closed my eyes, and prayed that this rant would soon be over. I prayed that he would either run out of steam or that another minister would interrupt him. I don’t remember now how it all ended; I just know that it finally did. I held it together until everyone left, then I sat and cried.

            I suspect that this other minister was not intentionally trying to shame me. I would like to believe that had he known my situation, he would have shown some sensitivity, perhaps a modicum of compassion. But even if he had done that, I doubt that my shame and guilt would have been abated. Even if he would have said nothing at all, my interior monologue was on a roll. I didn’t need to hear a sermon about the evils of divorce. I was preaching that sermon to myself on a regular basis.

            Hearing this passage from Mark’s gospel, at least the beginning verses of our passage, may bring out those kinds of sermons in our heads; sermons that condemn and judge and denounce. How often have I heard from people going through a divorce that they stop coming to church because they feel as though they aren’t good enough to be there. They feel the shame and the sting of these words from Mark’s gospel. And at first glance, it seems that this passage is designed for just that purpose, to make sure that people who are divorced understand what terrible people they truly are. But there is more going on in this passage than I think we can understand at first glance.

Jesus was on the move once more. He has traveled into the region of Judea and beyond the Jordan. As always, crowds were flocking to him, and he continued to teach and preach them. Into this crowd, some Pharisees came to test Jesus. This might be a clue to us that this passage is not just another way to condemn those who have failed in their marriages. The Pharisees wanted to test Jesus, and we know that whenever Pharisees wanted to test Jesus, there was more at stake than at what first meets the eye. Testing was another way to trap Jesus, and the Pharisees hoped to catch Jesus in a trap of the legal kind.

            But Jesus refused to be trapped or tricked. The Pharisees asked Jesus a question about divorce, which was a legal issue, and Jesus turned the law back on them. They asked him,

            “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”

            Jesus responded, “What did Moses command you?”

            “They said, ‘Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal to divorce her.’ But Jesus said to them, ‘Because of your hardness of heart, he wrote this commandment for you.’”

            Because of your hardness of heart. It wasn’t that Jesus didn’t take divorce seriously, or marriage seriously for that matter. Jesus quoted from Genesis to show the divine intent behind marriage. But he was pushing them, challenging them to see something bigger.

            Although the Pharisees asked about the lawfulness of divorce, the legality of it was not really in question. True, divorce was not to be sought out, but it was assumed that it would sometimes happen. It was perfectly legal for a husband to divorce his wife. All that was required was that he write a certificate of divorce. As I understand it, that was basically the husband writing down, “I divorce you.” And what we know as prenuptial agreements weren’t unheard of then either. Marriage didn’t have to be about love. It was essentially a contract between two families. There were clauses provided for separation of property, etc., in the original contract.

            But Jesus wasn’t interested in countering the Pharisees with more legalism. Jesus wanted them to see that in this and in so many other ways, the Pharisees and many others suffered from hardness of heart. People were stubborn and persisted in knowing the ways that a relationship could be broken. But that wasn’t what God intended. What God intended was for people to be in relationship, to support one another in relationship. That divorce was allowed was Moses’ way of acknowledging that we are mulish, hardheaded and hard hearted human beings who struggle with being in relationship, and too often we are about broken relationships. I think that Jesus understood that marriage was more than just contractual. It was a promise. In this encounter with some Pharisees, he challenged them to think beyond Moses to Genesis, and the intention for marriage stated there. God intended for us to be in relationship.

A divorce was and is a breaking of relationship, and that breaking of relationship left the most vulnerable in that society even more vulnerable. Women had no status or power outside of their husbands. To be divorced or to be widowed was to lose the protection of a man. To be divorced increased women and children’s vulnerability exponentially.

            Divorce was a breaking of relationship that caused harm, real physical harm to those who were left in its wake. That is still true of divorce today. Maybe this seems like a verification of what that minister said so many years ago; that all of society’s troubles stem from broken families with only the mother at the head. But here’s the thing: divorce happens. And it hurts. And it can cause harm. But brokenness and broken relationships are not limited to divorce and divorce alone. We are all damaged by the struggles of life. To live is to eventually be broken. To live is to eventually experience broken relationship and broken hearts. You do not have to be divorced to understand or know that.

            But Jesus wanted the Pharisees and those who would hear to understand that it is our hardness of hearts that gets us in trouble every time. And just after this encounter with the Pharisees, we see the disciples showing their lack of understanding and their hardness of hearts as well. People were bringing their little children to Jesus to touch them and to bless them. But the disciples were trying to prevent them. They were scolding the parents for bothering the Rabbi with requests for him to bless children. But when Jesus saw this, he became indignant! He was indignant with the disciples for stopping them and made sure they heard – again – that the kingdom of God belonged to little ones, and that we all better be more like these little ones if we want to be welcomed into said kingdom.

            But I also wonder if Jesus wasn’t indignant with the disciples because they still didn’t get it. This isn’t the first time Jesus has welcomed a child and told the disciples that children matter. This isn’t the first time that Jesus tried to impart to the disciples that the vulnerable matter to God. But still the disciples tried to keep the parents and the children away from Jesus. They still thought their job was to be gatekeepers, deciders of who was in and who was out. But Jesus wasn’t having it. He wasn’t having any of it.

            The Pharisees wanted to trick and test him with a question about the legal ways relationships can be broken, and the disciples wanted to make sure they controlled the guest list, the who’s who of the in crowd. And it seems to me that it all comes back to the hardness of their hearts. Jesus wasn’t having any of it.

            We all are guilty, in one way or another, of this same kind of hardness of heart. Our relationships break. We think we know who should be in and who should be out. We approach life as though there are always going to be winners and losers, but I think that Jesus wanted us to understand that when it comes to God and when it comes to the realm of God, none of those dynamics work. We need to consider the ways our hearts are hardened. We need to remember that the vulnerable and the least and the last will be the first to be welcomed.

            Look, I can’t stand up here today and condemn or shame anyone for being divorced. I know the sadness of divorce personally. The particular kind of broken relationship that is divorce is hard and painful and comes at a terrible cost. Jesus didn’t pull any punches when it came to talking about it. His words are hard, and we must wrestle with them. But I also fiercely believe that God’s love is bigger and wider and deeper and higher than our brokenness. No matter how broken we are, no matter how hard our hearts become, God loves us and wants to be in relationship with us. Love and relationship are the foundation and heart of creation.

            It is interesting that this passage comes up in the lectionary on this specific Sunday,  World Communion Sunday. When we approach this table, we are welcomed with love and called to love one another. We are called to come to this table forgiving those who have harmed us and asking for forgiveness for those we have harmed. We are called to and welcomed at this table, not because we are perfect but because we are broken. And how powerful and wonderful it is to know that all around the world God’s children, broken as we are, are gathering at tables like ours. If we could just see each other through the welcome and the forgiveness that this table embodies, if we could see one another with the love that we remember and celebrate at this table, I think our broken relationships might be mended, and there would be no such thing as insiders and outsiders, and our hearts, our hard and struggling hearts might be softened if only just a little bit. But that little bit might make all the difference. Thanks be to God.

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

            Amen.

           

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.