augustana-lutheran.org Blog

For anyone who still reads this blog, I apologize for my (can it really be?) 2 month absence.  I can’t imagine how two months have gone by…although the last month has been spent recovering from some minor surgeries and getting back to work.

I was blessed to spend 4 days at the Lutheran Outdoor Ministries Center (LOMC) near Oregon, IL back in June with our confirmation students, and pastors and students from other area churches. It’s a beautiful site, and staffed by enthusiastic and faithful young people.   I learned so much–about other people, about God, about my own faith journey–and especially about the created world.

You may all know this already, but the aspen tree is one of creation’s most amazing things.  Aspen trees live in colonies–starting from single seedlings and spreading through their root systems.  What affects one, affects all in the colony. You can’t see that from standing in the forest (where I was, with a group of twenty teens, counselors and pastors), but it’s true.

And, you know, our world, the people, we’re like the aspen, too. Oh, we might try to say there are differences–but we all have started from the same place, and we spread through our roots.  Especially the church on earth–the body of Christ in the world. The church spreads through its roots–the Holy Spirit who is active in the world,  our faith–given to us in our baptisms–scripture read, proclaimed and studied—and the love of God shown to us in Christ Jesus.

I’m always thinking about great church names. Aspen  would be a deep and thoughtful name, wouldn’t it?

Blessings,

Pastor Jan

“Live Generously”

Well.  There you have it.  The most impossible command that Jesus has given in this Sermon on the Mount.

Love your enemies.

And our first response might be  to say things like this:

We are human beings, Jesus. We get hurt, we’re misunderstood, and

we sometimes respond by getting angry–

and sometimes we hold grudges. And, we have enemies—people who have done things to betray us, hurt us, or criticize us unfairly–

We are human beings, Jesus.

and we hate our enemies.

we may want to get even. We want justice.

Sometimes we even want revenge.

This is who we are. Humans. Broken. Flawed. Prone to holding on to anger in harmful ways—people who have enemies.

And, here’s what I hear Jesus saying in response:

Yeah, he says in the sermon on the mount—Yeah, I know.

I know that’s how humans are.

That’s why I’m saying this to you.  Because I know all the arguments that you have; I know the ways that you respond to pain, humiliation, betrayal, lying, personal attacks, unfairness, criticism, being shut out and ignored, being neglected and rejected and left out

I know, Jesus says, I know.

And I love you all nonetheless. I love you

and even though you probably don’t want to hear this right now,

I love the ones that hurt you, too. I love you all and I love you deeply enough that I want to talk about that elephant in the room—

the problem that all humans —you  who follow me and those who don’t—have

responded to the hurts from their neighbors, their families, their relatives, their coworkers, strangers, and even members of their faith communities.

The hurts build up. The scars don’t heal. Walls are erected. Enemies are named and kept.

‘And so I have words for all of you’, I think Jesus might be saying.

I’m challenging this: this idea that you would make, and keep  enemies.

How about this idea instead?

Let your enemies bring out the best in you, not the worst.

When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer—

because in this way, you are working out of your true, God-created selves.

That’s how God does it—gives the best of the created world to everyone regardless of whether they’re good or bad….

I’m saying, live life generously and graciously toward others just like God lives toward you. Love your neighbor-everyone who is not you –as yourself. Have no enemies.

(Long pause).

Yes, it’s a struggle.  This is one of the greatest struggles that we have as people of faith—to forgive without being asked and to let go of destructive anger,  hurt feelings and our grudges….

To live generously just as God lives generously towards us.

I want to hold up to you  a story from 2006.  Perhaps you all know it well, but it bears repeating, I think.

In October of  2006, a man came to the West Nickel Mines Amish School in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. It’s a one room school house.  He was a husband and father who had lost an infant daughter some years before.  He ordered the adults and boys to leave the schoolhouse, and then he tied up and shot ten young girls before killing himself.  Five of the children died.

The response of the families of the girls and the entire Amish community was, to put it mildly, astounding.

This is how one reporter put it:
In the midst of their grief over this shocking loss, the Amish community didn’t cast blame, they didn’t point fingers, they didn’t hold a press conference with attorneys at their sides. Instead, they reached out with grace and compassion toward the killer’s family.

The afternoon of the shooting an Amish grandfather of one of the girls who was killed expressed forgiveness toward the killer, Charles Roberts.

That same day Amish neighbors visited the Roberts family to comfort them in their sorrow and pain.

Later that week the Roberts family was invited to the funeral of one of the Amish girls who had been killed. And Amish mourners outnumbered the non-Amish at Charles Roberts’ funeral.

It’s ironic that the killer was tormented for nine years by the premature death of his young daughter. He never forgave God for her death. Yet, after he cold-bloodedly shot 10 innocent Amish school girls, the Amish almost immediately forgave him and showed compassion toward his family.

In a world at war and in a society that often points fingers and blames others, this reaction was unheard of. Many reporters and interested followers of the story asked, “How could they forgive such a terrible, unprovoked act of violence against innocent lives?”

The Amish culture closely follows the teachings of Jesus, who taught his followers to forgive one another, to place the needs of others before themselves, and to rest in the knowledge that God is still in control and can bring good out of any situation. Love and compassion toward others is to be life’s theme. Vengeance and revenge is to be left to God.

______________________

The story brings tears to our eyes every time we hear it.  This community of faith was able, with God’s help, to live out their calls as kingdom subjects despite the greatest loss that they may ever have known.

In one sense, they forgave the man because they refused to allow themselves to consider him their enemy.  As our text today said, “Let them—your enemies– bring out the best in you, not the worst.

This is a hard teaching—a difficult discipline—

it goes against our inclinations, our impulses, and our human natures.

We cannot do it by ourselves.

We don’t have to.

God, who is good and gracious, God who loves perfectly

will give us the strength to try each day of our lives.

God gives us the path of responding  with the ‘energies of prayer’ as our translation today puts it….

Striving to  be generous and forgiving the  injustices and indignities of our daily lives

by approaching and accepting the idea that those who hurt us are not our enemies—by praying for them, which brings out the best in us, and changes our lives

and theirs as well.

I know it doesn’t  happen instantly, or even overnight—

this is more of a  daily discipline,

to commit to the practices of forgiveness and graciousness

that let us grow into  being  people of the kingdom of heaven—Jesus people—

responding and  living  in the same way that God lives towards us—

showing a generosity of spirit and reflecting the graciousness of God shown to us in our Lord, Jesus Christ.     Amen.

This is the view out my office window in the church–facing north.  You can see the snow covered field (last summer, soybeans; next will be corn), the white wooden nativity silhouette that has lit up each night of the season for me, and the lovely stained glass angel made for me by one of my parishioners.  Every time I glance up to see it, I think:  “Behold! I bring you great news…..Jesus Christ has come into the world.”  That’s a paraphrase of course–but it encapsulates the message of the now past Christmas season for me–and inspires me to look for the places where I might experience other little epiphanies—where God is revealed to us in the good news of Jesus.

Today, we celebrated the baptism of Jesus; here is my sermon

I don’t remember my own baptism, actually. Probably because I was about 3 ½ months old.

There aren’t any pictures of it, either, even though I was the first child in my family.  The date, December 28, 1958 is written in my baby book; and I know it was in Grand Rapids Michigan at Trinity Lutheran Church.

I know the name of the pastor, but I don’t know  what he looked like.

And I do know a story about it, because my mom has told it to me many times over the years. This story hasn’t been written down;  I don’t know the details of what I wore, or if I cried, but I know who was there. My mom says that when she and my dad and the sponsors stood at the font, the pastor looked at all of them. My godparents were Catholic, and they evidently didn’t attend church.  My mom had been raised as a Unitarian.  My dad, Ole, was Lutheran; right out of the Norwegian Lutheran synod in Montana.  The pastor looked at them

and said,

Dad, you’d better hold the baby.

I imagine that if my parents hadn’t lost contact with their friends who were my godparents over the years, I might be able to ask them to tell me their memories of that event.  When I asked my dad a long time ago, he talked about my sparkly eyes and my smile. But the story that remains, for me, is my mom’s. She has a particular memory of this part of the event, and it’s important to her.

My mom is quite a theologian in her own right, although she’d not claim that. She tells me this story to illustrate something of my faith heritage, but the message that I hear, especially now, behind her story, is that none of the details of who was Lutheran, or Catholic, or Unitarian mattered.

Because God did the baptizing–

and in that event,

my faith was created, and the gift of the Holy Spirit was given

I’ve thought about my baptismal story quite a bit this year, and especially in this past week.  Because John the Baptist was struggling a bit with his idea of the ‘right’ way for baptism to be done—

‘No, Jesus, I shouldn’t be baptizing you– I need to be baptized by you!’

And Jesus, who had come out to the Jordan River expressly to be baptized by John, gently redirects him—

‘ Let it be so now because it is proper for us in this way to fulfill God’s right way of doing things.’

In other words, God desires it, and I—and you—will be obedient to God’s desire.

Because, John, it’s not you that does the baptizing—but God.

We need to remember that. God baptized Jesus—

It was God who baptized Jesus

what matters in baptism is the Word of God spoken

and the water, the element, which the Word clings to

and no matter who is there,

no matter where it was done; in the river, the lake, which church—Lutheran, Methodist, Catholic, Baptist, nondenominational,

no matter which font,

whether  immersed or splashed or moistened….

What matters is that

God is present in and amongst them all….

the Holy Spirit is present,

and faith is created.

Like us, Jesus was baptized.

And it’s precisely because so many of us don’t actually remember our baptisms—just the stories and the pictures— and even for those of us who do remember them need reminding–

that we work to remember what God has done in our baptisms.

The font—smack in the middle here—serves as a regular visual reminder—

If you take a look at the newest confirmation picture in the back (gesture), you’ll see that the five young people who affirmed their baptismal promises last October had their photo taken while clustered around the font—

the very real and tangible reminder of the fact that they are baptized children of God.

We need not be by a font to remember—

Martin Luther was said to splash water on his face and say to himself, Remember, you are baptized

whenever he found himself plagued by sin, doubt or discouragement….

my first seminary professor suggested that as we shower each day, or wash our faces, or shave in the mirror, that we do the same—

there is something very powerful about the way the water feels on our foreheads when we feel  the sign of the cross traced  there—

I think because we also hear for ourselves the words that God spoke to Jesus in his baptism:

You are my beloved child.

We are God’s beloved children.

Those words, in some form, are used in the service of baptism. After the water is poured, or dipped, three times on the head—with the words, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,

The sign of the cross is traced on the forehead with the finger, perhaps in oil,

And these words are said,

Newly baptized, child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.

And as Dave told you this morning ,

we are children of God forever.

We can’t undo our baptisms–

because we do not come to this on our own, by our own will, strength or understanding. God, not us, frees us from sin, anoints us with the Holy Spirit and creates faith through the water and God’s word.

We are made children of God in our baptisms. This is a gift—this is grace.

It is in our baptisms that we become members of the church that is  the body of Christ.

Not the Lutheran church, or the Catholic church, or whatever faith tradition the church where you were baptized happened to be—

In our baptisms, we become children of God and members in the church on earth—the body of Christ.

And then, as Daniel Erlander, the Lutheran pastor who writes the baptismal book that I give to parents puts it,

we spend our lives living wet­­— as baptized children of God.

Our whole lives.

Sealed with the cross of Christ, wet from our baptisms forever.

Amen.

The title, and inspiration for this sermon, came from a prayer in Sundays and Seasons.

Into the manger of God’s love

In children’s Christmas programs, the role of the innkeeper who turns Mary and Joseph away from his inn isn’t a very popular one. I mean, really

who wants to play the guy who couldn’t make room for the mother of Jesus?

To be fair to him, the census was probably a big time for his business—

a chance to make money while offering  a necessary service—

lodging for those who had come from far away in order to register for the census.

And if you’d allow me some poetic license,

I’ll suggest that he was a kindly person

because his business was hospitality.

He genuinely wanted to provide folks with a place to stay.

When I think of this innkeeper, who isn’t mentioned in the story at all,

I think about an illustration in a children’s book that I have called The Nativity.

In the scene where Mary and Joseph come to the inn,

it shows a building with people swarming all over—

hanging out the windows; on the roof, milling about in the yard….

in the drawing, there is literally no room in that inn.

To bring in 2 more people would mean throwing someone else out.

And the innkeeper’s innate sense of hospitality wouldn’t allow it—

and fairness would dictate that that just wasn’t right

And while the innkeeper and his family may have prepared for the census

by bringing in extra beds, more food, more linens, more housekeepers

they hadn’t planned on the mother of the messiah…..

In all the children’s pageants and stories that we see and read,

the innkeeper does allow that he has a stable in the back

and that the couple are welcome to stay there with the animals….

Luke doesn’t tell us whether they were invited to use the stable,

or if they simply found their way there out of desperation—

seeking a more quiet place for Mary to give birth…

and there was likely no time to go on to the next village looking for room,

nor even time  to beg admittance to a private home….

the idea of preparing for childbirth in the way that we do now

would have been foreign to them

Mary’s preparation seemed to have consisted of

refusing to be separated from her betrothed husband, Joseph

so close to the time the baby would come,

and evidently in bringing some sort of cloth which they used to swaddle the baby—

whether the bands of cloth were  ready, or whether the couple had to tear apart a garment.

At any rate, a place was found, and Mary gives birth to the savior of the world. They clean things up after the birth; they clean the infant and wrap him in bands of cloth—

and, no doubt fatigued from all this, they wish to lay him down

so that he, and they, can rest.

and what is there for this purpose

but the feeding trough for the animals—the manger?

As we know from many Nativity scenes ,

this trough might have been filled with scratchy hay

and there they laid the Messiah— the son of God—

in the  trough where cows and sheep and goats fed

in a stable which may or may not have even had its manure shoveled out recently

the one who is Immanuel: God.is.with.us  came to dwell on earth,

arriving  in the full messiness of life,

into the unplanned and unprepared labor and delivery suite of a stable—

the place where earthly creatures lived—

close your eyes for a moment—

visualize it; smell it, hear it

and then look into the manger filled with God’s love….

Because Jesus came into the world the way that God chose—

Unexpectedly showing up and bringing light into the world in a humble place

A place that was unprepared for the birth of the Messiah—

yet welcomed him nonetheless

he came to a people who had not yet made room for him–

God comes even when there is no room

even, or perhaps, especially when we are unprepared for God

to break into our world

and into our very lives

God comes, and if you’ll notice—

the first humans to know that the savior  had come

were not presidents, emperors, kings, politicians or even priests—

the first humans to hear this good news from the angels

were poor, smelly, dirty and powerless  working class shepherds

who had stayed up all night to protect their sheep from predators and thieves—

just people going about their ordinary lives of work-

not particularly pious or free of sin—

because God appears for us all—no matter who we are—

God comes to our imperfect, inconsistent, unprepared selves.

And, since the innkeeper is a character that we imagine into this story,

I’d like to imagine his response when he realizes

that he turned away Mary, the mother of Jesus–

“God?  You sent your son into the world to save us, and I turned him away.

I am so sorry—I have sinned  against you by my thoughts and words

And by  this terrible deed—“

And, God, tenderly replies,

“Oh, no, child of mine. You did no terrible deed.

In fact, your stable provided the shelter and the manger—

the place where my love came down to earth right among all people

and all created life—

a place where the shepherds might come and see him—

and then go out and tell the world what they had seen.

Innkeeper, you provided the manger so that I could fill it with my love—

my Word made flesh—Jesus, the messiah who will save his people—

including you—from their sins.

If you did not recognize him at first, you know him now.

As do we.

Whether we are prepared and waiting,

or preoccupied and not paying attention—God comes to us—

no matter who or what or where we are.

God comes and interrupts our ordinary lives, bringing love into the manger,

and the gift of Jesus who gave his life for us all—to the world.

Amen.