Sermon: Luke 22

August 25, 2013 

Preaching text: Luke 22:7-23     

We celebrate Holy Communion every week.

Lots of ways to think about it:

Eucharist—thanksgiving

Lord’s Supper (Last supper)—ritual meal; Passover

Holy Communion—community, coming together

Different than other things we do—only a bite of bread and sip of wine; not a real “meal” for physical sustenance. We have an odd language around this meal: bread & wine, body & blood; covenant, promise, betrayal; confession (both of sin that needs forgiving in this meal and of faith in the One who forgives); what happens here is often misunderstood. Though all are welcome at the table, Communion is an “insider” thing, in terms of some understanding of what this is about.

One of my favorite parts of communion is the liturgy that leads up to it, especially the Great Thanksgiving and Eucharistic Prayer. When I was a kid, I remember following along in the old red hymnal, (then the green), hoping the pastor would choose the shortest options along the way; and in my Midwestern, low-church, LCA congregation, he usually did. But now I’m a church nerd.  I don’t necessarily choose the longest option, but I choose a prayer that makes sense for the time of year or the Bible theme for the week. Let’s look at some of those prayers.  (page 108 in ELW)

Even though communion is a specifically Christian practice, all these prayers start with something about the Israelites or Abraham and Sarah or the beginning of creation.  They all start in the Hebrew Scriptures, the Old Testament. And that is what I love about these prayers. These prayers remind us that Jesus did not just parachute-drop into history at a random moment to create a new religion. These prayers remind us that God—the God of our ancestors, the God of Abraham & Sarah, Isaac & Rebekah, Jacob & Leah/Rachel, the God who created the heavens and the earth—this God is doing a new thing, and the new thing looks like Jesus. These prayers remind us that there is a context for Jesus, for what God is doing; the same context in which our faith in Jesus belongs. These prayers prompt us to remember the stories that are attached to them, the stories of God’s saving work in the world ever since “in the beginning”.  [That would be why it’s important to know the stories!]

Martin Luther, in his catechism, has taught us about communion. It is not the actual body and blood of Jesus; we are not consuming human flesh.  It is also not simply bread and wine, a symbol of Jesus. It is a sacrament, an ordinary thing used for holy purpose. It is the presence of Christ “in, under, and through” the bread and wine, carried on the elements into this world, into our time and place, into our bodies and our lives, even. It is, as we end up saying, “a mystery of the faith”. We can’t really understand how it “works”, but we trust that God is working through it. 

What we can understand, I think, is the importance of remembering. Jesus himself tells us, “Do this in remembrance of me”. When we gather for communion, when we present ourselves at the altar to receive the elements, when we take and eat, take and drink, we remember what God has done in Christ Jesus. That’s why we say almost the same words every week—so we’ll remember. That’s why the prayer prompts us to the “rest of the story”—so we’ll remember. That’s why we do it every week—so we’ll remember. Re-membering is putting back together something that has been dis-membered, like God calling Ezekiel’s dry bones to come back together and be whole. And when we are caught in the hustle and bustle of life, it is easy for these sacred memories to come apart at the seams.  Communion calls us to re-member. 

So, what do you want to remember? When you come to this table, what is on your mind and heart? What do YOU think you are doing at communion? What do YOU think God is doing in or to you in communion?  Think of one thing you want to re-member by receiving this sacrament, and tell it to your neighbor. (pause)

I bet there were 40 different things re-membered here. That is why the gathering is important: all of us members of the body of Christ come together to re-member the story of God’s saving love in Jesus.

We gather, and remember.

We sing, and remember.

We pray and remember.

We eat and drink and remember.

The memories of God’s holy work in this world flow through all that we do. It’s a lot of memory, a lot of God, a lot of love, all mixed together and distilled into a sip of wine and a bite of bread. We don’t know which or whose memories will be in the mix each week.We don’t know if Peter or Thomas or Judas are at the table; but to all who are here, Jesus says Take and eat, take and drink, this is for YOU (better translated “all y’all”)—do this in remembrance of me. We commune to remember Jesus, to remember the limitless love of God for us, to remember who we are as the people of God. 

Take. Eat & drink. Remember. Amen.

Sermon: Luke 17

August 4, 2013
Preaching Text: Luke 17:11-19

 This story has, for years, been the assigned story for Thanksgiving worship. We know it’s about thanksgiving—one of the healed lepers comes back to say THANKS to Jesus for healing him.  Only one of them, which Jesus points out, sure he had healed ten.  One out of ten, a tithing of lepers, remembers to say THANKS. 

Sometimes what we notice about the story is that the one who comes back is a Samaritan.  We don’t know who else was in the group, but since Luke—and Jesus—make such a big deal of the grateful one being a Samaritan, we can guess that most, if not all, of the others are Jewish. The Jewish Jesus has, from a great distance and with only a word, not even a specific word, instantaneously cleansed ten adults from a horrible disease that has changed their lives for who knows how long. The Jews know the significance of this infection—no temple worship, no family dinners, no business with others in the community.  They also know when they are healed, “clean”, they must show the priest who will validate their re-entry into the community. What they don’t know, apparently, is to be grateful. Is it just a matter of good manners?  What would we do—we’re at least as “good” and “right” as the despised Samaritan, right? 

But what I’m really noticing in this reading, this time, of this story, is a different detail.  All ten were made clean.  All ten were instructed to show themselves to the priest to be able to re-enter life as they knew it. One turns to say thank you—and that is what sets him apart from the others. He is a Samaritan, which is remarkable insomuch as we don’t expect him to be paying much attention to or caring about what Jesus is doing. But he doesn’t turn around because he’s a Samaritan, I don’t think. I don’t know why he turns around, why he praises God, why he remembers to say “thank you”, but he does, and that is what sets him apart. All ten know about Jesus—they call him “Jesus, Master”.  They have great expectations for what he can do for them—maybe heal them, maybe just a word of peace, a blessing, acknowledgement that they are still human underneath their disease.  It’s likely that the request “Have mercy on us” is a plea for alms—they are begging for some cash or food. Jesus gives them much more than anticipated—their lives are completely changed. And one turns around. One seems to “get” the significance of this changed life. One recognizes the work of God and reorients himself accordingly. And Jesus declares, “Your faith has made you well.”  Jesus made all ten well, healing them; but the connection this one makes, face to face with Jesus, this faith in a rather unexpected place, has changed everything. 

Here the story ends, rather abruptly, and we do not hear about this Samaritan ex-leper ever again. So we don’t know how his life is changed; we don’t know what he does or who he becomes or if he remains with Jesus. Those details would be nice, but their absence leaves a space—a space for us to fit into this story. I’m not aware that any of us has leprosy, but we do have “things” in life that keep us from being fully the people God has made us to be; we do have “things” that keep us separate from full participation in our relationships and our communities. Do we cry out, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us?” What do we think will happen when we do? If we are instructed to “go do something” or “go be something”, how do we respond?

I really think most people want miracles, in their own lives and in the world. We don’t always know what we’re looking for so we miss them sometimes. We want them to be big and grand and fix problems like war and climate change and pollution. God does intervene in our lives; God is present, working in this world—that’s a very basic definition of a miracle, I’d say. So when we are going along in life and have an encounter with the Divine; when we see Jesus across the way and shout out; when a miracle does happen, what then? Are we “so faithful” that we take for granted that we deserve it, and just keep on going, like 90% of people in this story do? Or do we recognize the miracle as the presence of God in our midst, the mystery that God enters in to our time and place, that God knows about our little lives here in south central Texas? Do we turn to look at God, to say THANKS, and let God turn us on this way to new life? 

Ten were healed; ten had their lives completely changed. But one turned around. And in turning, that one saw Jesus, knew the source of the healing. In a turn of gratitude, he met God. As we are running through this life, with all its ups and downs, joys and heartaches, let’s remember to turn around once in awhile, to turn our lives toward God. Amen. 

Sermon: Luke 13

Sermon 7-21-13

Bible Text: Luke 13:10-17 

You know, we expect religious leaders to follow the rules. As public figures, people who are under the watchful eye of both their critics and their admirers, religious leaders have to watch their P’s & Q’s and make good decisions.  They have to practice what they preach, or they’ll be headline news. 

So why is it that Jesus so often breaks the rules?  Here he is, teaching in the synagogue on a Sabbath. Jesus is regarded as a rabbi, a spiritual teacher, but it isn’t like he’s the associate pastor or something. He doesn’t “have a church”, a group for which he’s responsible or even to whom he’s accountable. He’s more like a pulpit supply pastor, an itinerant rabbi; he shows up in various towns and starts teaching.  That’s one of the benefits, I guess, of not being the “regular” rabbi for a community—he can say whatever he wants and doesn’t have to care if they like it or not; he might not ever see them again.  But why?  Why does he always stir up trouble?  

Here he is, teaching on the Sabbath, we don’t even know where, whose synagogue he’s about to disrupt.  And here comes a woman, stooped over, unable to stand up straight. We don’t know why she’s there—she may have been coming to that synagogue every Sabbath of her life; she may have heard about Jesus and has come to check him out. But here she is, bent over, shuffling along, unable even to look him in the eye—but she catches his eye, and he calls her over.

Now here we are, halfway through Luke’s gospel, and you can just imagine the response of the crowd. The disciples are there, surely, and others who have been tracking with Jesus; some first-timers who don’t know him, probably, too. Some are curious, standing up on their tip-toes, scooting closer to see why he has called this woman forward.  Some remember what happened last time he interacted with a stranger on the Sabbath, and put their heads in their hands, hoping he learned his lesson.  But no. He tells her, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment,” lays his hands on her, and she stands up straight and praises God. And everyone rejoices?

Well, not yet. The synagogue leader has been trumped by his guest preacher, and starts to get territorial. He can’t really be angry with the woman—she didn’t even ask to be healed, she just walked in. He can’t really ask Jesus do undo the healing and wait until sundown, when the Sabbath is over—that wouldn’t gain him any popularity points. So he gets legalistic.  “Six days!  Sunday through Friday you could do your work!  But no! You have to come and profane the Sabbath!” The synagogue leader is not wrong.  He’s a leader.  He knows the rules, and this is one of the Top Ten, after all: “Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, But the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God; you shall not do any work—you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave your livestock, or the alien resident in your towns. For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and consecrated it.” Not only that, but later in Exodus the Torah tells us that anyone who works on the Sabbath shall be put to death. If you’re going to mess with a commandment, pick a different one—God is serious about this one. 

So, again, why?  Why does Jesus heal on the Sabbath, instead of waiting a few hours until the next day?  Why does Luke have this story that is not found anywhere else?  Well, remember, in Luke everything Jesus does is salvation, and salvation means “being set free from whatever binds you right here, right now”. Jesus is also right.  He knows about Sabbath—Sabbath is a promise from God who knows we probably work too hard most of the time because work is hard. Sabbath is a promise that for one day we don’t have to work, one day we are set free from the daily grind. Jesus knows that Sabbath is important—it’s vital to life. Indeed, Sabbath is a different day—while we work ourselves to death the other six days, Sabbath is for life. “Sabbath is a day that lifts people’s eyes to God’s promise in the midst of the most unpromising circumstances.”[1] So Jesus does what gives life on the Sabbath, as he believes is holy work on a holy day: he saves this woman, frees her from what had bound her, so that she can lift her eyes to God for the first time in 18 years. Jesus brings life, even on the Sabbath—that is why he does what he does.

As a religious leader, or a person in general, I am not much of a rule breaker.  But I am learning as I continue on this journey of faith that sometimes “the right thing to do”, the holy thing, is not within the rules.  We are not called to break rules blatantly just to get attention; that is never why Jesus breaks rules. But we are called to bring life in world that insists on death—our news stories again and again remind us what a dangerous world this can be for bodies, minds, and souls. We are called to proclaim God’s promise in the midst of unpromising circumstances. We are called to see what those who are bent over with shame and fear and oppression and disease cannot see, and to help lift them up even when it’s inconvenient or disrupts our sacred order of perpetual busy-ness. We may not get the importance of Sabbath in this story because we just don’t get Sabbath—we don’t observe it, we don’t practice it. Jesus shows us that Sabbath is not about keeping rules—it’s about giving life, it’s about making the world a better place, it’s about living in the kingdom of God here and now. May God help us to stand up and see the kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven!  Amen. 

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[1] Swanson, Richard W. Provoking the Gospel of Luke: A Storyteller’s Commentary, Year C. Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press, 2006.

Sermon: Luke 11

Sermon 7-14-13  

Bible Text: Luke11:1-13

Prayer is a tricky thing. God promises to hear our prayers, and in this story from Luke, God even promises to answer them—“ask, and it shall be given to you”. But how does God answer prayers? And when? And how will we know? And what will the answer be?  And my favorite excuse: if God knows everything already, why do we have to pray? Wow.  Thinking about praying is more exhausting than praying! 

In these chapters 10 & 11 of Luke, there are several different and seemingly unrelated things going on: seventy Jesus followers are sent out to do the work of the kingdom, as Jesus does: healing, preaching, teaching; Jesus has a conversation with a lawyer in which Jesus makes the bad-guy Samaritan the good guy; they visit Martha and Mary at home and “the rules” are once again re-defined; demons are cast out in God’s name; followers are challenged to be light, not darkness; and Pharisees and lawyers challenge Jesus about “the rules”.  Many short episodes, but through it all Jesus is teaching about what it means to belong to the kingdom of God. Sometimes “the rules” in God’s kingdom are a lot different than “the rules” in this world of Samaritans and Pharisees and Torah—Jesus is teaching them how to live in the new life God gives them. 

In this part of the story, Jesus is praying—have you noticed, he does that fairly often, especially before something challenging comes his way. First point about prayer: it seems to be a regular thing, putting rhythm and pace to the day and the days.  His disciples now ask him to teach them how to pray, and he sketches out a frame for prayer, which we now know as the Lord’s Prayer—almost.  It isn’t exactly the same version we use in worship (what we know is closer to Matthew’s version), but the elements are there.  We know this prayer—it’s the basics of life: food, good relationships, freedom from oppression.  And for those who follow Jesus in the kingdom of God, it’s a commitment to reflect that kingdom that we so desire here on earth, in our actions, our choices, our values.

Then Jesus goes on to tell some stories—about a person who has a need late at night, and a friend who may not respond out of friendship, but will respond to get rid of the neighbor; about parents who give children things that are good for them, not things that are dangerous.  And the promise that God hears when we ask and wants to give us good things. 

So this is where all those questions come in—how, when, where, what, why? Does God answer prayers, but we miss it?  Does God give us a different answer than we expect? Does God answer some but not others, and does that have to do with who God is or who the pray-er is? 

This image has come to mind about how we approach God in prayer:

Sometimes God is the person on the phone taking catalog orders—waiting for us to call to tell God what we want; if it’s in stock, we get it, shipped out in 3 business days.  I know that sounds ridiculous, but you have to admit sometimes that’s how we approach God in prayer: we know what we want and we expect God to give it to us, as advertised. 

But that is not what Jesus is talking about here. All the stories around this Lord’s Prayer are Jesus teaching the people what it means to live in the kingdom of God. In the presence of God, demons flee, illness is healed, enemies become neighbors, and the extraneous rules are suspended so we can sit down with the Divine and focus on what matters. This is a way of life, a relationship—not a shopping list. In this image,  God is the beloved—the one you call even when you don’t really have anything to say; the one you want to check in with throughout the day just to hear her voice; together you make plans, coordinate life, build relationship. So we don’t have to worry about “the right words” in our praying or even what the answer will be. We pray because we are in love with God who is in love with us and we want to know each other better. We pray because that’s what living in the kingdom is about. Jesus’ stories show us that God is paying attention in this prayer relationship.  God is the actor in our prayers—we pray, but God is the one who answers the prayers—we ask God to give us bread, to forgive us, to bring in the kingdom, to save us from the time of trial.  We can’t do those things without God—so we pray.

And the answer to the prayer is not yes or no—the answer is God! Jesus tells us that the Father—this loving and good parent who is in relationship with us no matter what—wants to give us the Holy Spirit, the very essence of God blowing through our world, part of every breath we take. God does not wrap the answer to our prayer in a package for FedEx, detaching God from the prayer. God sends the Spirit into this world, this life, this kingdom—God joins Godself to us, giving us new life in which we are fed, forgiven, and free—the answer to the kingdom prayer, the Lord’s prayer, is God.

So let’s don’t worry about how to pray, when to pray, what to pray.  This is not a speech contest—it’s a love affair.  Sometimes we have a lot to say and we need God’s undivided attention for hours; sometimes we only have time for a quick 140-characters-or-less Tweet. Sometimes we can’t wait to be done with the meeting so we can talk to God; sometimes we take God for granted and forget to call for days.  It’s OK. I think God always wants more of our attention, but I also think God is more patient than we are about being neglected.

You’ll be surprised to know that I have not written any prayers for worship today. These are called the “prayers of the people” or the “prayers of the church”.  So, church, it’s your turn to pray. We’re going to practice together today, so we know what to do alone, tomorrow. Pray about what’s on your heart—and remember, the answer is GOD. 

Jensen, Richard A. Preaching Luke’s Gospel: A Narrative Approach.  Lima, OH: CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 1997

Tiede, David L.  Luke.  Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1988.

Sermon: Luke 5

Sermon 6-16-13                                 

Bible text: Luke 5:17-28

In chapters 4 & 5 we begin to see Jesus in action—his ministry is taking off. He is tempted in the wilderness by the devil, and we learn about Jesus’ commitment to God’s plan of salvation, which does not include breaking God’s commandments but keeping God’s word. Once that ordeal is over, Jesus begins traveling through many towns in  the region, teaching and healing. He calls some disciples to journey with him in this ministry, and off they go.

There are several healing stories in these chapters. Jesus seems able to heal anything that’s bothering a person—demons and unclean spirits, diseases, fever, leprosy, and paralysis, so far. All kinds of people with all kinds of affliction come to Jesus for healing, and he is able to heal them. The story we heard today tells us why: the power of the Lord was with him to heal. Jesus does God’s work of healing.  But it isn’t always as simple as declaring someone well—even Jesus has to deal with politics and antagonists.

There are 2 things going on in this story: someone comes to Jesus for healing; and Jesus’ authority is challenged; these two are tangled up together in this tense story. We can anticipate the conflict in the opening sentence, when we see that Jesus is teaching and scribes and Pharisees are nearby. The next characters on the scene are some people carrying a paralyzed man on a bed, coming to Jesus for healing. Now, these are the kinds of friends you want to have—they are so sure that Jesus can heal this guy that they go to extremes to make sure it happens. When they can’t nudge their way through the crowd to the front of the room, they go at it from another angle, literally.  They climb the roof, with the man on the bed (are you imagining the difficulty of this task?), peel away some of the tiles, and lower him into the room, right in the middle of the crowd, who now apparently parts to make room for the bed, and he ends up right where they wanted him—in front of Jesus. 

Jesus sees—what? Their desperation, their foolhardiness, their bad manners, their vandalism?  No, Jesus sees their faith, and responds. But he doesn’t give them what they came for, not yet—he doesn’t heal the man’s paralysis. He forgives his sin. Now, we know, theologically speaking, that everyone needs some sin forgiven, even if we can’t think of what it might be at any given moment. So, good--Jesus forgives his sin. But remember in ancient cultures God or the gods were in charge of absolutely everything that happened, good and bad.  Illness or affliction of any kind were attributed to God, as punishment for some sin. So it isn’t entirely unreasonable that the first step to healing this guy is to forgive his sin.

But that’s where the conflict comes in. The scribes and Pharisees, who are nearby to listen, hear a shocking revelation about this Jesus. Only God can forgive sins, so when Jesus forgives the sin, he is claiming to be God, which is of course exactly what Jesus intended to do, since he IS God. The scribes and Pharisees aren’t awful yet—they merely mumble among themselves about this blasphemy, not even confronting Jesus about it directly. But he picks up on it, and, leaving the man laying there at his feet, sins forgiven but physically not yet healed, engages the scribes and Pharisees in a typical rabbinic theological discussion.
“Which is easier,” he asks, “to say ‘Your sins are forgiven’ or to say ‘Stand up and walk’?” Forgiveness of sins is a faith thing, after all; we have no way to prove that it has happened, so if Jesus is a phony he could easily state that and be done. If he says, “Stand up and walk”, the guy better be able to stand up and walk, or Jesus will be run out of town as a fraud. But, if those sins ARE forgiven, then this Jesus is someone entirely unexpected, for only God can forgive sins. So the “proof” that Jesus can and does forgive sins is the healing, which Jesus first announces and then does. The man stands up, picks up his bed, and goes home—glorifying God who has forgiven his sins. Jesus’ authority and identity as the Son of Man is established; the man is healed, thanks to his faith and the faith of his friends; and the entire room is filled with awe and everyone glorifies God, presumably including the skeptical scribes and Pharisees.

This is one of those stories that makes us glad for the paralyzed man, and perhaps reminds us that, when we live together in community, sometimes we are faithful for others who cannot be. But I don’t know that we expect this story to come true in our lives. It’s tricky in a couple ways, I think. “Which is easier?” Jesus asks. On the one hand, “Stand up and walk” is easier, because if that happened to me, I’d know what to do next—I’d stand up and walk. Hopefully I’d remember to thank God, too, but I’d surely stand up and walk. “Your sins are forgiven” is more complicated; it involves transformation, being a different person than I was before. I want my sins forgiven, but I’m not sure I always know what to do when they are. On the other hand, we do believe that our sins are forgiven—we confess at the beginning of the service and go on, confident that God has kept this promise, reminded in the sacraments of God’s forgiveness. But “stand up and walk” is harder to believe. We don’t expect it. We pray for it, but do we believe it can happen, here and now, even for us? Do we believe that God is as interested in saving USas God was in the Bible stories?

As we read through Luke, our picture of who God is gets bigger, bit by bit. Remember that in Luke we see how salvation happens through the life of Jesus, and that everything Jesus does is salvation—liberation from anything that is binding you today, anything that is keeping you from being the real youGod created you to be, here and now. In this story we see how Jesus not only heals the paralyzed man; he also forgives his sin, and in both of these the man is freed from obstacles that kept him from this full relationship with God. His sin is removed, and whatever he did to “make God mad so God paralyzed him” (although we wouldn’t think of it that way) is also removed. He is free to be fully connected with God again.

But Bible stories are not bound in time—God’s saving love in Jesus did not happen only these few times in ancient Palestine, but it happens again and again, all around us, for us, through us, and in us. Sins are forgiven—your sins are forgiven. Bodies are healed; relationships reconciled; we stand up to be the people God has made us to be, to be Christ to one another, God’s saving love in the world. Luke shows us how important it is to God that we are connected with God—so much that God will heal illness, forgive sins, and even get in the faces of the establishment to make sure it happens. Look for it—in bread and wine, water and word, in big miracles you can’t miss and in little details you might not notice. Be those friends, carrying the hurts of others to God. Let us trust the healing power of Jesus, and live into the wholeness he gives.  Amen.