death – Salvaged Faith

Sing! Play! Summer! – Hymn of Promise / In the Garden

Posted on August 11, 2019Leave a comment

Text: Isaiah 46:8-13

I’m just going to say it out loud…
these have been some difficult weeks we have shared together:
The loss and grief we have experienced…
The pain in the world in the wake of mass shootings and the crisis of migration and climate…
The sense of helplessness about being able to do anything to make it better…

When I find myself feeling discouraged, vulnerable, and down about the world, it is usually the church that helps me to feel better.
The people… the songs… the prayer… the time spent in the presence of God.
But as United Methodists these days, there is also a sense that the church itself is stuck. Broken. Falling apart. We are so busy arguing about who is right and what should be done that we are completely out of tune with the real, deep needs of the world.

But then I sat down and began to study a number of chapters from our lesson for this morning.
God called this prophet to speak a word of comfort and release to a community in exile:
“Speak compassionately to Jerusalem and proclaim that her compulsory service has ended.” (40:2)
“I am the Lord your God, who grasps your strong hand, who says to you, Don’t fear; I will help you.” (41:13)
“I, the Lord, will respond to them; I, the God of Israel, won’t abandon them.” (41:17)
“I announced, I saved, I proclaimed, not some stranger among you. You are my witnesses, says the Lord, and I am God.” (43:12)
“Look! I’m doing a new thing; now it springs up; don’t you recognize it? I’m making a way in the desert, paths in the wilderness.” (43:19)
“Listen to me, house of Jacob… who have been borne by me since pregnancy, whom I carried from the womb until you grow old. I am the one, and until you turn gray I will support you.” (46:3-4)

“Remember this and take courage; take it to heart, you rebels… I am God! There’s none like me who tells the end at the beginning… saying ‘My plan will stand; all that I decide I will do.’” (46:8-10)

God, through Isaiah, is not speaking to a bunch of people who have it all together.
This is not a message for the perfect or the righteous.
This good news isn’t offered to people who have never known pain or hardship or frustration or grief.
No… they are wallowing in it.
Their country has been destroyed. Their loved ones killed. Their very way of life has crumbled.
They are struggling to make sense of what it means to go on, to take the next step, to move forward when everything familiar has been taken away.

And the words they hear from their God… The words WE need to hear from God…
“this, too, shall pass.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
“Remember.”
“Look around for the gifts in the grief.”
“I’ve got you.”
“In the beginning is the end, in the end is the beginning.”

Do any of those words offer answers? No.
Do they make it better right now? No.
But they do remind us that we are not alone.
They remind us that human life and institutions are fragile… just like the grass that dries up and the flower that withers (Isaiah 40:8)… but that we have been and are and will be held by and sustained by a word and a promise and a plan and a power that has always been and always will be.
These words of comfort offer strength when we might collapse in despair.
They invite us to be present. To pay attention. To embrace the unknown.
To trust that this moment is not all of the story or the end of the story.

This summer, we have been exploring the favorite songs of Immanuel and today we have grouped together two hymns that sing aloud those truths: “Hymn of Promise” and “In the Garden.”

When Natalie Sleeth wrote, “Hymn of Promise,” she was inspired by a line from T.S. Eliot that “in our end is our beginning” and the way the world itself reawakens with every spring. What is the nature of life and death when we hold in our hearts the promise of resurrection?
This hymn is yet another of these great songs we have been sharing that was written by a United Methodist. Her husband was a UM pastor and taught homiletics at Perkins while she shared her love of music in a local church and began writing anthems and hymns. She is the composer who brings us “Joy in the Morning” and reminds us that songs rise from silence, darkness becomes light, and death gives way to the victory of life.
But what I appreciate the most about Sleeth’s work is that it doesn’t paper over our grief or our discomfort or pain with flowery words.
It dives right into them.
She acknowledges them.
And she creates room for us to embrace that even in that brokenness and apparent death the mystery of wholeness and life and peace that is on the horizon.

We need to hang on to that mystery of the unknown.
I’m reminded of the words of Matt Rawle, whose book, “What Makes a Hero?” we studied over Lent a couple of years back.
He talked about the reason why it was so difficult for people to embrace Jesus as their Savior because we want a magic wand. We want a superhero savior who “will just swoop in and fix [ our problems].” (p. 125)
But if that savior is headed towards the reality of death – there is no saving there for us.
The crowds of people drastically misunderstood how Jesus saves us.
The kingdom Jesus ushers in doesn’t start in some heaven far away, but right here and right now.
Like a mustard seed planted in a garden or yeast hidden in flour, the kingdom breaks forth out of what we thought was dead, buried, hidden away.
The kingdom is the power of new life rising out of death.
The kingdom says that in every end there is a new beginning.
Our God can take any and every broken and painful moment we experience and redeem them.
They don’t go away.
But they are transformed.

Even the death of Jesus unexpectedly brings something new out of what we thought was over and done with.
Not immediately… but with time and work and patience and not a little bit of grace and power and glory.
The mustard seed becomes a great tree.
The yeast causes the bread to rise.
In the bulb there is a flower.
The stone that sealed the tomb is rolled away.

Which takes us to that other beloved hymn of Immanuel – “In the Garden.”
I say it is beloved, but the truth is, there are probably just as many people who despise “In the Garden” as cherish it.
I remember working to plan Dorie Campbell’s funeral and as we were deciding on what songs to sing, we picked “In the Garden,” fully knowing that she would have been upset with us for doing so because she thought it was grammatically inaccurate. Others find it to be too overly personal and ever erotic.
C. Austin Miles wrote this hymn after a mediation upon the resurrection story in the gospel of John. The language he uses is personal and intimate and it draws upon a tradition of devotional poetry where one imagines themselves in the story itself, part of the scene, walking and talking with Jesus.
We are invited to step into the shoes of Mary… to enter that garden filled with grief and love… and to encounter the resurrected Christ and the joy of new life.
But we also can’t stay there.
You see, in the third verse of that hymn, we find ourselves with a dilemma.
Sometimes we want to stay at the tomb with the stone rolled away.
That one perfect moment of hope when everything had fallen apart.
It’s better. We tell ourselves.
I’m going to stay right here forever.

But we can’t stay at the empty tomb.
We need to listen to the voice of Christ calling us to go.
Go out into the world.
Go and tell others what we have experienced.
Go and share the good news.
Go and offer signs of life and hope.

Like the prophet Isaiah, in the midst of the grief and pain of the world, we can’t keep the hope and promise to ourselves. It is our duty to head back out there and offer it to everyone we meet.
“this, too, shall pass.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
“Remember.”
“Look around for the gifts in the grief.”
“I’ve got you.”
“In the beginning is the end, in the end is the beginning.”

This is Love: Love that Conquers Death

Posted on April 21, 2019Leave a comment

Text: Song of Songs: 8:6-7, Luke 24:1-10

In the sensual poetry of the Song of Songs, we hear the tale of a young couple madly in love with one another. Their love is made every more delicious by its scandalous nature, and explodes with emotion and passion. Every time I read through its passages, my mind wanders to the forbidden love of couples like Romeo and Juliet. So taken are they with one another, death itself could not drown out their love.
“Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm,” the young woman speaks, “for love is as strong as death, passionate love unrelenting as the grave.”

In some ways, we find the overwhelming love and passion of these verses a little silly and sentimental.
But the truth is, we have known that love.
When we hold the hand of a dying parent or grandparent, we know the strength of the love that cannot be defeated by death.
When we say goodbye to a loved one, to a spouse or child taken too soon, we know the unrelenting passion for that beloved and precious life that will never leave our hearts.
Every birthday. Every anniversary. Every time we come across their favorite flower or song or team, that love pours back into our soul.
For me, it is the smell of lemon verbena. I am instantly transported back to my grandmother’s side and the smell of the lotion that was on the side table. Memories flood my heart with all of those moments of laughter and lessons… baking casseroles in the kitchen… hearing her encouragement for my endeavors.
And then I open my eyes and remember it has been nearly eighteen years since she passed.
We live with the reality of our loss. The love we have for another cannot snatch them from the arms of death. It cannot keep someone breathing or their heart pumping. It cannot bring them back to life.
Our love endures death.
The silence of the grave cannot take away the love we have for another person…
But neither can our love cannot defeat it.

On Good Friday, we carried Christ to the tomb. The stone at the entrance was secured and then we began to sit in lament.
Death is the final wilderness.
It is imagined as a place of suffering, darkness, silence, and nothing.
Our love endures, but the reality of death continues.

That enduring love brought three women to the tomb on Easter morning.
Their beloved teacher and friend… the one who had showed them what it truly means to live… had been taken by the powers of the world and had been executed.
They came to the tomb early that morning with love in their hearts.
Love that caused them to set aside any fears they might have about being arrested.
Love that was stronger than the desire to remain safe.
Love that couldn’t be extinguished by a criminal’s death on a cross.
Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James went to the tomb with love in their hearts expecting to encounter death.
They were going to look death square in the face and anoint the body of their Master.
They were going to tell death that it might have taken away their hope, but it could not destroy their love.

They discovered something they could not understand.
The tomb was empty.
His body was gone.
Angels suddenly appeared among them…
“why do you look for the living among the dead?”

On that Easter morning, so long ago, we discovered a love that was stronger than death.
God’s love for the world.
And that love poured out through the cross.
That love entered the reality of death.
It was a love so strong that the forces of death could not contain it.

Our journey through Holy Week rarely spends much time with the reality of Holy Saturday, but I want to take you back there this morning.
You see, the power of death is all around us.
And it can only truly and finally be defeated if it is confronted head on.
God’s love for this world is so great and so deep and so wide that nothing and nobody can escape it.
Not even the depths of hell.

In the Apostles’ Creed, we recite words handed down for centuries that convey the most important realities of our faith.
I actually want to invite you to pull out your hymnals and turn to page 881… or peek into the back corners of your memories… page 881… and recite with me once again those ancient words.

I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth;
And in Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord:
Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,
Born of the Virgin Mary,
Suffered under Pontius Pilate,
Was crucified, dead, and buried;*
The third day he rose from the dead;
He ascended into heaven,
And sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty;
From thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit,
The holy catholic church,
The communion of saints,
The forgiveness of sins,
The resurrection of the body,
And the life everlasting. Amen.

How many of you noticed that little asterisks in the printed version in the hymnal.
Look down at the bottom of the page at what words we so often leave out.
After Jesus suffering and death… after he was buried in the tomb… the traditional way we remember this story is that Jesus descended to hell.

In the First Epistle of Peter, we are told that the God who made everything, came to us in the life of Jesus Christ… and that in order for all of us to be brought back into the life and presence of God, God’s love descended even to the depths of hell… even to the spirits who were in prison… and shared with them the good news of life and love and light.

My friend and colleague, Mary Bellon, wrote these words for her Holy Saturday devotion for the Annual Conference

“I think it must have been so quiet
In heaven, when God came home
Dragging with him the souls
Who had been lost, carrying them
On his shoulder and over his back
One by one, up from all pure lost-ness
Into heaven and such still silence,
Nobody wailing or weeping but held now
In the abiding, in the coming home.
For three days, he carried the lost
And shut the door on hell… ”

You see, in the holy moments between the cross and the tomb this morning, Christ was busy.
Christ was busy breaking this world free from its chains.
Christ was busy opening up all of creation to the power of God’s restoring, redeeming, recreating love.
Jesus entered the wilderness of hell itself and rescued the disobedient, broken, lifeless, defeated people from the prison of death.
And when he got up on Easter morning…
When he rose up from the depths of hell…
When he stood in body and spirit, in all of his resurrected glory before the disciples…
Christ ushered in a new kingdom where every power that would destroy life, every force that would bind us up, every authority… was now put on notice.

As the Apostle Paul writes to the people of Corinth,

“Christ has been raised from the dead. He’s the first crop of the harvest of those who have died. Since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead came through one too… Each event will happen in the right order: Christ, the first crop of the harvest, then those who belong to Christ at his coming, and then the end, when Christ hands over the kingdom to God the Father, when he brings every form of rule, every authority and power to an end. It is necessary for him to rule until he puts all enemies under his feet. Death is the last enemy to be brought to an end.” (1 Cor 15: 20-26, CEB)

Whenever a new kingdom comes to rule, the old powers don’t just give in.
They go kicking and screaming to their end.
All around us, death is trying to claw its way back into power.
The forces of evil are fighting back.
We still experience loss, and pain, and grief.
But the Kingdom of Christ is already reigning among us.
And we have been given the promise, the assurance…
The resurrecting love of God will conquer all… even, finally, death itself.

What is the power of resurrection?
It isn’t merely rescue from the brink of death, like we saw with the cathedral of Notre Dame… as brave souls worked through the night to prevent utter destruction.
It isn’t simply reanimation, as we saw this past week when scientists brought a spark of life back to pig’s brains.
It isn’t only resuscitation, where those we thought were dead were pulled back from the brink through extraordinary measures.
Resurrection is not rebuilding…
It is not renovation.
It is not restoration.
It might be a little bit of all of those things, but it is also so much more.

Resurrection is what happens when those who were dead and hopeless and defeated and gone stand up in the love and grace of Jesus Christ.
When we thought the story was over.
When we thought victory was firmly in the hands of death.
Love burst forth from the grave and said, not today Satan.
And resurrection happens all around us when we take up the life and the mission and the ministry of Jesus Christ.
It happens when we die to our self and rise with Christ in baptism.
It happens when we commit to resist the forces of evil, injustice, and oppression in the world.
Resurrection is the addict who hit rock bottom who is now a minister of the gospel.
Resurrection is the church showing up to sing praises in the ashes of a burned building.
Resurrection is a challenging the powers that be who seek to stifle life.
Resurrection is entering the prison.
Resurrection is mucking out a flooded home.
Resurrection is sitting with the dying.
We practice resurrection, we participate in resurrection, we are agent’s of God’s amazing resurrecting love every time we go to those people and places that the world has declared dead, hopeless, defeated and gone and we proclaim with our hands and feet and lips and hearts… not today, Satan. Not today.
Love is not just as strong as death.
Today and tomorrow and at the end of days, the love of God in Jesus Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit has conquered death once and for all. Amen.

The Wilderness: Can These Bones Live?

Posted on March 11, 2019Leave a comment

Yesterday was my Sabbath day.
I wore pajamas all day long.
I curled up in a chair and played video games.
I watched five episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on the DVR.
I was a sloth.
I was exhausted.
I needed to stop moving,
stop thinking,
to simply be.

But there is a fear
that when we stop moving and thinking and doing
maybe we will never want to start again.
Maybe once we stop
we cannot start again.

I got up from my chair late in the day
And my bones ached.
My muscles hurt.
Every joint felt like it was crying out.

Don’t get old, Katie,
my dad always tells me.
Don’t get old, because your body stops working.
It starts talking back.
It cries out and lets you know what aches.
It tells you that you are fragile.
You are merely bones and flesh.
You are human.
You are not invincible.
You are not wonder woman.
You cannot do it all.

Actually, maybe I need that reminder.

Maybe we need that reminder.

Maybe we need this season called Lent.
Maybe we need to call a time out.
Maybe we need to remember that life is fragile.
Life is precious.
Life is fleeting.

We come from nothing but dust and ashes.
We will return to dust and ashes.

I say those words a few dozen times a year
As I stand with families over an open grave.
As we gently return the bodies of their loved ones to the earth.

Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.

And I find myself telling them…
Telling myself…
That in between those two bookends
We have an opportunity.
A beautiful opportunity.
To clothe ourselves with new life as well.
A life that extends beyond the valley of the shadow of death.
A life that will overcome even the grave.

Can these bones live?
That is the question on the tip of our tongue
As we watch our loved ones lowered into the earth.
Can these bones live?

The prophet Ezekiel was familiar with that question.
Can these bones live?
Can life return?
Is this really the end of it all?

He witnessed his city under siege.
He saw its walls crumble.
He saw the temple destroyed.
And then, he had to leave everything behind.
Forced against his will
To journey through the wilderness
To a strange land
A foreign land
A hostile land.

From the dust of the earth that city and temple was built.
And to dust it returned.

Ezekiel also knew…
Quite keenly he was aware
That death and dust and destruction
Were the tools of God.

He was called to name the sins of Judah
The transgressions of Jerusalem
With his very body
His bones and his flesh
He bore witness to the impending destruction.

He starved himself long before the siege.
He shaves his head long before he was taken prisoner.
He begins to experience in his very bones
The fear and trembling
That would soon be upon the people.

And part of him has to wonder…
Can these bones live?

Can this dead and lifeless people repent?
Will they see the light?
Are they able to change their ways?
Will it be too late?

Babylon arrives.
The city is destroyed.
The people are sent away.

Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.

When I find myself on my knees
Laid low in humility
Brought to nothing
I remember I am dust and ashes
I am the stuff of the earth

And in that moment
Sometimes there is a quiet acceptance.
I am dust and ashes.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
I have reaped what I have sown.

But somewhere in me there something else…
a spark.
something that dares
that yearns
Can these bones live?
Can we begin again?

Even if it way too late…
Is it ever too late?

After all,
We began as dust.

And as dust,
You, God,
You breathed life into us.

That spark I feel.
That yearning.
That calling.
That desire to live
To truly live and love and move and serve.
To do it right.
To do it well.
That is Your presence in me.

Your breath in us.
Stirring… calling… pushing.

The city was in shambles.
The people were scattered.
And there was this divine spark
Speaking in Ezekiel’s soul.
Stirring… calling… pushing…

And that spirit led him out of himself
Out of captivity
Out of complacency

Can these bones live?

It was a question Ezekiel wasn’t sure if he dared to utter.
It was a question that he longed to speak aloud but couldn’t.
It was a question of hope.
And hope was now a stranger to him.

So God asked the question instead.

Can these bones live?

Can your bones live?
Do you believe that I can breathe life into you again?
Are you willing to risk that it is not too late?

Ezekiel isn’t sure.
Lord God, only you know…
Only God can do it…
If it could be done.

And God calls him to stand.
God calls him to speak.
God calls him.
And he answers.

Out of dust and ashes.
Out of hopelessness.
Out of grief.
Out.

Ezekiel speaks.
And the bones start to shake.
The earth starts to quake.
Everything is at once falling apart and coming together.
A great transformation.
Everything changing.
Everything becoming.
Bones.
Flesh.
Sinew.
Skin.

And then there was breath.
God’s breath.
The Holy Spirit rushing like the wind.
Filling those bodies.
Standing them up.
Calling them back to life.

We are ashes.
We are dust.
We are bones.
We are sinful people, brought low by our deeds.

And yet…
There is that spark…
that breath…
that glimmer of God…

Telling us it is not too late.
It is not too late to stand.
It is not too late to live.
It is not too late to love.
It is not too late to repent.
It is not to late to act.

On my own, I can’t do it.
I will burn out.
I will falter and make mistakes.
On my own I’m not strong enough.
I am dust and ashes.

But… and… I am more than dust and ashes.
Because I am also the Lord’s.
And this body.
This flesh.
These bones.
Are filled with the Spirit.
And this body.
This flesh.
These bones.
Are part of the body of Christ.

When I stop, for just a moment.
When I let my bones and flesh rest.
It is then that I remember
God is with me.
God is in me.
God is in us.

Can these bones live? God asks.
Can this scattered and broken people live?
Can this church live?

Only you know, Lord.

So, come, Holy Spirit.
Come, Breath of God.
Come and knit us back together.
Come and fill us with your life.
Help us to stand.
Raise us up.
Send us out.

Go Back Home

Posted on April 1, 20181 Comment

Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed!
Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed!

When those women showed up at the tomb on Easter morning, they didn’t know they were supposed to shout for joy.
They were confused and disoriented and more than a little startled by the angel appearing before them.
Christ has been raised?
He isn’t here?
What on earth is going on?

The only miracle they had thought to pray for was that somehow they would be able to roll away the stone.
They had come to this place expecting that the stench of death would fill the tomb.
In their arms, they carried only spices and oils for anointing the body of their friend, their teacher. Patiently they had waited until the sabbath was over and the sun had peeked over the horizon.

Many of us have been in that place.
We have trudged through the valley of the shadow of death, overwhelmed by our grief, going through the motions of ritual and closure because it is the only thing we know how to do in that moment.
Except unlike us, these three women: Mary Magdalene, Mary, and Salome, had no hope left in their heart.
There was no light at the end of this tunnel.
They were witnesses to a world-transforming, miracle-working revolution of thought and mind and now that it was snuffed out before them… now that Jesus was dead, three days in the tomb… now that the disciples had scattered… it was all over.
They were alone.
The empire had won.
Or so they thought…

Until they arrived at the tomb just after sunrise, carrying objects of mourning, and discovered the stone had been rolled away.
They slowly stepped inside the cavern, unsure, unsteady, unknowing… and were startled by a man in white standing in the room.
I can imagine one of them hoisted up the jar of spices, prepared to use it as a weapon to throw so they could make a quick escape.
But the man quickly spoke: I know you are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, the One they nailed on the cross. He’s been raised up; he’s here no longer. See for yourselves – this place is empty.
The Message translation of this passage notes that they got out of there as fast as they could, their heads swimming, completely beside themselves with this good news of great joy… but before they stumbled out the door, the messenger in white had some very clear instructions for these ladies, these first messengers of the gospel, the first preachers of the resurrection.
“On your way, ladies! You have work to do! Go and tell the disciples that Jesus is going back to where this whole thing started… back to where your ministry began… Go back home… and you will find Jesus there.”

Go back home.

Sometimes, we need to go back to the beginning of our story.
We need to remember where we have come from to understand where we are supposed to go next.

This Friday, we laid to rest our friend and church member, Donna Bales. In the midst of their grief, I listened as Donna’s children and grandchildren shared stories of their loved one. They talked about going back through Donna’s things and they even went back to the stories that Donna herself had told about her life growing up… about her parents and grandparents. In the process, they tapped into the core of who she was – an incredibly strong, yet humble woman, who taught them each how to embrace their own strength in life.

Perhaps you have had a similar experience when you have lost a loved one. When you go back home and start sifting through those memories and artifacts, revisiting things you thought were behind you, you start to discover a rich heritage in your past that has shaped who you have become.

The disciples of Jesus had made a lot of mistakes along their journey. They were human, just like you and me, and they fumbled and failed like we all do. Every step of the way, Jesus was there to guide them, set them back on the path, and to help them understand God in a new way.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, the disciples either betrayed him, denied him, or ran away in fear of their own lives. Their grief and shame hung heavily upon them.
How do you even begin to hear the good news of the resurrection in that moment?
How can you begin to start anew?
You go back home.
You go back to the place where Jesus first spoke your name, first called you into ministry, first showed you that God is present in our lives.
You go back to where it all began.

The messenger in the tomb that morning tells the women, and through them the disciples, that Jesus has already made a plan to meet them back home in Galilee.

It was there that Jesus began to announce the good news of God – “Change your hearts and your lives – Here comes God’s Kingdom!”
It was there by the Sea that he discovered Simon and Andrew, James and John, casting their nets into the sea.
It was there that Jesus cast out demons, healed the sick, turned water into wine, and multiplied the loaves and the fishes.

Jesus calls them back home to the place where their story began together.
Because it is about to begin all over again.
And they are going to need to tap into those rich memories and stories of forgiveness and the memories of miracles to help guide them as they take their next steps along the journey of God.

This past week, a good friend and mentor of mine, Rev. Michael Williams, died in Nashville. That city was home for me during my seminary years and while I couldn’t go back for the funeral, I found myself reconnecting with friends via facebook as we shared memories and I was able to livestream the funeral – a powerful service of death and resurrection – from here.

I sat in my office, watching the choir process into the sanctuary at West End United Methodist Church and as friends and colleagues stood in that pulpit to speak a word of God’s love. That church was my home for four years. It was where I worshipped. It was where I began my ministry. It was the place I first stood behind a communion table to break bread and share it with my congregation. That church home and those people formed and shaped my ministry and I would not be the pastor I am today without those experiences.
It was powerful to go back home, even if only through the wonders of technology, and to be reminded of where I have come from and where I am called to go next.
Where did you first encounter Jesus in your life?
Who were the people who surrounded you at that time in your life?
Was it at summer camp? At your grandparent’s church? Was it right here in this building?
Did that place come to feel like home for you?

My friend, Michael, wrote: “the people who have formed and shaped our lives while they were among us can still live inside us and influence the way we live even after their death. In some sense, as long as we continue to tell the stories of loved ones, they remain a presence within us and among us.”

When it feels like defeat and death have won the day, we are invited to go back home.
We are invited to go back to the place where this journey started for us and start retelling the stories of our faith.
And we discover there the presence of God all over again. We encounter the risen Savior. We are filled with the power of the Holy Spirit. We are met by the Holy and Triune God who has promised to always be home for us.

In this season of Easter at Immanuel, we are going to be exploring what it means to have a place to call home in our faith lives. Our scriptures and messages will remind us that God wants to make a home among us, God-with-us, Immanuel… and that we are invited to make our home in God – to abide, to dwell in the presence of the Risen One.
Maybe today you have come home to this place, this family, this Body of Christ, and this is an opportunity to reconnect and get reenergized.
Maybe you haven’t yet found a place to call your spiritual home. If that’s the case, we invite you to join us over these next weeks and to go on this journey with us. And I pray that the welcome so many of us have discovered here might be shared with you.
But above all, wherever you call home, know that you are not alone. “In life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us.” We are never alone. Thanks be to God. Amen.

The Beginning in the End

Posted on March 25, 2018Leave a comment

We spend so much of our lives looking for a savior.
In the book of Judges, chapter 3 – the Israelites cry out for a savior when the going gets tough… and God responds by lifting up individuals who would save the people… Othniel and Ehud and Deborah.
Over and over, the Psalmists cry out for a savior: “Save us!” Oh God… “Hosanna!”
“Save us by your power and answer us so that the people you love might be rescued.” (Psalm 60:5)
A savior will resolve our problems.
A savior will end our struggles and oppression.
A savior will rescue us from despair.
As the Remy Zero song, the theme for the television show, Smallville, goes, “somebody save me… I don’t care how you do it.”

But when the hero shows up… how quickly we discover that we only want a savior on our terms.
How soon do we start to question the motives, the control, the power of the one who is acting on our behalf…

We do care how our savior shows up.
We have ideas and expectations and want that saving to be on our terms.
And so you find pundits and politicians questioning the presence of Superman in the world in much the same way as the Pharisees question the actions of Jesus.

But it is not just the leaders who turn their backs on this savior in Jesus day…
The crowds who lined the streets to welcome Jesus to Jerusalem, riding on a donkey, cried out “Save us!” “Hosanna!” But in reality, they did care how he saved them.
They wanted a king.
They wanted an earthly victory where Rome got kicked out of their country.
They wanted a personal savior on their own terms.
And as soon as Jesus was arrested and their path to freedom started to dim, their shouts turned to “Crucify Him!”
When death looms on the horizon…
When hope starts to fade…
When our savior becomes powerless… or even dies…
Then where do we turn for help?

It is fascinating that one of the most powerful superheroes in the entire comic book world, Superman, is also one that has faced death. In the 1993 comic book series, he dies in the arms of Lois Lane after fighting a villain to death. This storyline was revisited again in the 2016 film, Batman v Superman. The entire world goes into mourning over the savior who they thought would always be there to rescue them from disaster.
Jesus, too, not only faces death, but embraces it.
Death is a part of his calling.
“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains a single grain,” he tells the crowds (John 12).
But our limited imaginations see death as the end of our stories.
Life is where we are rescued.
Death is defeat.
And if the cross is where Jesus is headed, we want no part of it.
I think this is because we want a savior who acts more like Superman than like Jesus… even if we have doubts about the extent of his power.
Matt Rawle reminds us that Superman saves us over and over again, but “I don’t really have to love my neighbor with Superman flying around. If things get bad, Superman will just swoop in and fix them. There’s not much reason to build up neighborhoods, improve education, feed the hungry, and clothe the naked. If it gets bad, Superman will know what to do.” (p. 125)
Isn’t that how some of us as Christians in this world act?
Jesus is my Savior, so I just need to believe, and I will be rescued from this world of sin and carried away to heaven where everything is perfect.
We want a savior who will save the day without us lifting a finger.
And if that savior is headed towards the defeat of death… there is no saving there for us.

This is because the crowds drastically misunderstood how Jesus saves us.
The kingdom Jesus ushers in doesn’t start in some heaven far away, but right here and right now.
The kingdom is like a mustard seed that someone took and planted in a garden.
The kingdom is like yeast, hidden in flour.
The kingdom is like a grain of sand in an oyster.
The kingdom is like a treasure that is buried.

The kingdom breaks forth out of what we thought was dead, buried, hidden away.
The kingdom is the power of new life rising out of death.
The kingdom says that in every end there is a new beginning.

Just like those crosses that we gave our children this morning in the children’s message will sprout and give birth to new life if we care and tend them, so too, does the life of Jesus unexpectedly bring forth something new out of what we thought was over and done with.
The mustard seed becomes a great tree.
The yeast causes the bread to rise.
The sand becomes a pearl.
The treasure is uncovered.
In the bulb there is a flower.
The stone that sealed the tomb has been rolled away.

Our journey over this next week takes us from the last meal Jesus shares with his disciples, through the cross, and takes us all the way to Sunday morning.
We discover that the cry of “It is finished” on the cross is not the end, but the beginning of what is starting in your life and in mine.
A spark is lit in the world and in our hearts so that we might go out and be the hands and feet of God in this world.
At the end of “Batman vs. Superman,” the world is in mourning because they believe that one of their heroes is dead. People of all stripes are gathered holding candles around his tomb.
And there is an amazing inscription written in chalk below his symbol:
“if you seek his monument – look around you.”

That is the message of the gospel.
We don’t have to wait for heaven.
We don’t have to wait for rescue.
We are invited, encouraged, called… God is BEGGING us to get busy being a part of the work of the kingdom right here and right now.
What the world thought was an ending was only the beginning.
Now the story is YOURS to live.
You are the hero that someone is waiting for.
So go out there, in the name of Jesus, and do it.

God Prepares a Feast

Posted on January 1, 2017Leave a comment

How many of you ate too much this holiday season?

How many of you ate just enough?

You know, the thing about family gatherings, celebrations, and joyous events is that they are feast times in our lives.

We gather around tables.

We break bread.

We share stories.

And we experience life to its fullest.

As the prophet, Isaiah, envisions the day of salvation, he writes about “a feast of rich food, a feast of well-matured wines, of rich food with marrow, of well-matured wines strained clear.” (Isaiah 25:6)

There will be joy on that morning.

There will be celebration on that day.

And the table will be full.

Now, this would have been a powerful image of hope in the midst of Isaiah’s day. Israel had been torn apart and God’s people had suffered violence and oppression. There is nothing left.

Heidi Haverkamp invites us to imagine refugees from a modern war finding a heavy banquet table in the middle of nowhere… an oasis in the midst of the desert of struggle and pain and fear.

The people and creatures of Narnia have known such struggle. They are survivors of a time of oppression and violence and loss.

But in the midst of their fear and anxiety, they also hung on to hope.

The Pevensie children, Edmund, Susan, Peter, and Lucy, are welcomed into the home of the Beavers who set out a feast of fish and potatoes, sticky marmalade rolls, bread and butter. They filled their bellies with food and their hearts with hope.

And then, Father Christmas arrived.

If you were with us last week, we talked about how the cold winter of the White Witch’s power was so strong that it was always winter and never Christmas.

But the world began to thaw.

The seasons began to turn with the promise that Aslan was near.

And Father Christmas came as a symbol of hope, that the winter would soon end, that a new day was coming.

And when he came across a group of Narnians in the woods, Father Christmas set out a feast of plum pudding and wine, delicious food, and decorations.

It was a scene right out of Isaiah.

The day of salvation was near.

And yet.

And yet, that day of salvation is still oh, so, far away.

As those grateful people of Narnia sat to enjoy their meal with laughter and merriment, the White Witch comes along and turns their joy into silence. She turns them into stone.

The promise has not yet been fulfilled.

As Haverkamp writes in her reflections for this season, “A special family meal isn’t a promise that nothing will every go wrong again. The people of Isaiah’s time would be torn apart by war and sent away into exile. In Narnia, the Christmas supper party would be turned to stone. But the people of Israel knew that God was with them, no matter what, and that God’s promises to them were eternal.”

Every time we gather around this table, we feast, too.

We feast on bread and wine.

We remember stories and laugh and cry.

We are re-connected by these offerings of live giving sustenance.

And we know that this meal is only a foretaste of the heavenly banquet.

One of most holy moments for me every Christmas Eve is to gather around this table and around the manger and break bread together.

In this one moment, the whole story of our faith is present.

Christ was born. Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.

While it might seem morbid to remember on that night that the child born in the manger was born to die, for me it is a reminder of just how fully God entered our human existence.

God took on our flesh and came into our lives in one of the most vulnerable ways one could imagine.

This child cried and was utterly dependent upon the milk from his mother and the care and protection from his earthly father. He learned to walk and scraped his knees. And every step of the way, as he grew into a man, he reached out and connected with the least, the last, and the lost…. And the rich and powerful.

Our God fully took on our flesh and reached out to welcome children and talked with women and taught men what it meant to truly be the people of God.

He was praised and he was ridiculed. He wept. He was angry. God became one of us.

And then our God died for us.

In the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, there is a moment when all hope appears lost. In order to save the life of one of the Pevensie children, Edmund, the one who betrayed the rest of his siblings, Aslan gives up his own life to the White Witch.

He willing hands himself over to her in a scene that brings to my mind memories of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.

And he is killed.

The two girls, Lucy and Susan, weep over his body… like the women who went to the tomb early on Easter morning.

And as they walk to catch a glimpse of sunrise, they hear a loud crack. The stone on which Aslan had been killed cracked in two. He rose and stood behind them triumphant.

And then, Aslan shared that resurrected life with the creatures of Narnia. He flew to all those who had been turned to stone and breathed upon them, setting them free from the curse of the White Witch.

Today, we remember that in the very beginning our God breathed into us the breath of life.

We remember that our God took on human flesh and lived among us.

We remember that our God in Christ freely gave up his life so that we might have life and life abundant.

And today, we remember … every time we eat this bread and drink this cup, the promise of salvation.

Rev. Mindi Welton-Mitchell wrote in her reflection upon the Isaiah passage that the “prophet’s message of hope [is]for the day when God invites everyone to the banquet table, and death’s power is destroyed forever. The veil will be torn away and God will end our mourning by wiping away our tears. This is the God we have waited for. This is the moment we have waited for. This is the invitation we have waited for.”

This is the invitation we have waited for.

Come.

God has prepared a feast.

Practicing Our Religion in Public

Posted on February 11, 2016Leave a comment

By some accounts, yesterday morning I did exactly the opposite of what Jesus tells us in Matthew.

Some of us gathered at a local coffee shop, a public place, to pray and impose ashes and remember we are merely human.

We were out there, practicing our religion in public.

I always find this passage from the gospel of Matthew such a very strange text to be assigned for Ash Wednesday, but there it is. Every year, on this day, these are the words that are proclaimed.

When you pray, shut the door and pray in secret.

When you give, don’t look for praise.

When you fast, don’t let it show.

All of these seem to speak against exactly the kind of public activity of gathering in a coffee shop to impose ashes.

Or the rather public display of walking outside of the church after worship with a big black cross on your forehead.

We are starting a series in worship here at church called, Renegade Gospel, and are reminded that Jesus didn’t come to start a religion. Jesus didn’t come to hand out new rituals for us to follow.

But you know what, Jesus did come to start a revolution.

Jesus did come to re-instigate a relationship.

Jesus came because of the simple fact we remember today. We are nothing but dust and to dust we shall return.

When we look deeper and contextually at our gospel reading in Matthew today, we come to understand that Jesus isn’t warning against being religious people in public.

No, he is asking us to stop pretending to be religious just because we are in public.

Jesus is calling us back into relationship… with God, with ourselves, with one another.

He is calling us back to the reality of our sin, our failures, our outward trappings of religion that demonstrate little or no faith on the inside.

As the Message translation sums up this passage: When you come before God, don’t turn that into a theatrical production… Do you think God sits in a box seat? Here’s what I want you to do: Find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace. (Matthew 6:5-6)

That sentiment is echoed in the words of Paul in 2 Corinthians 5:20-6:13. He is reaching out to them and asking that they listen, that they heed his words, because of what they have seen and heard about his faith.

He hasn’t hidden it. He has lived it. Fully. And living his faith has gotten him into lots of trouble.

The kindness and holiness of spirit, the genuine love and truthful speech… all of it has brought dishonor, ill repute, punishment… and yet he and the other disciples persist. They are not afraid to live out their faith publically for all to see and directly in the face of the religion of the day.

We might think of religion as the rituals and rules, the culture and conditions of faith. It is the box we put our faith in.

But Jesus comes to break the box apart and pull us out into the world.

Jesus comes to help us understand that our relationship with him is about far more than prayerful words and pious actions.

The gospel is yearning for us to be so caught up in its mercy, love and goodness that we can’t help but live into its revolutionary reality.

We are called to stop pretending to be religious and start living faithfully.

Whether this morning, gathered in a public space, or right here, tonight, in this community of worship, we are proclaiming the revolutionary message of the gospel.

We are dust.

We are nothing.

We are sinful.

We need help.

And those words are anathema to our culture. In a world where we try to show how strong and powerful and successful they are – they are tantamount to treason.

But we stand on the street corner and say them anyways… because they are true.

And because Jesus has come.

The one who created us out of dust will re-create us from the dust of death.

There is mercy and forgiveness in this place.

There is life, even in the midst of death.

And that, we should proclaim from every place we find ourselves.

We should invite every friend and stranger alike into that revolutionary truth.

Awaiting the Already: The Promise of a New Dawn

Posted on November 1, 2015Leave a comment

Have you ever sat and watched the sunrise?

The hints of purple… turning pink… and then neon orange as the sun peeks over the horizon.

What a profound thing to realize that each morning, as we wait for the sun to rise in our sky, it has already risen for our neighbors to the east… and set for our neighbors to the west.

We are waiting for something that has already happened.

Throughout this month and the season of Advent, we will be exploring these sorts of paradoxes and promises…

The already and the not yet…

The things that have happened that are about to happen again.

Of course the most obvious of these is the coming of Christ.

We remember that he came as a child to Mary and Joseph to save us from our sins.

But we also are waiting for him to come again and take us home.

Already…

And not yet…

Today, we will explore words of great comfort, as we are reminded that the promises of the resurrection are real and present for those we have lost… even as we await for the glorious day of resurrection with our Lord.

Already…

And Not yet…

A sunset, seen from the other side is a sunrise (Bishop Rueben Job)

Today is a special day in the life of the church when we take time to remember those who have experienced the final sunset of their lives.

But we do so, holding firmly to the promise that what we see as a sunset, is merely the beginning of a new dawn, a new life.

And we acknowledge that those who have died… these flames that flicker before us… they are still with us… still waiting like we are to experience the glory of God.

I have very little knowledge about the mysteries of death. No amount of book learning can prepare us for whatever might await us. But I can speak with certainty about the promises of scripture.

One of those promises comes to us from the Wisdom of Solomon – the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God and no torment will every touch them… they seem to have died, but they are at peace… their hope is full of immortality.

One of those promises comes to the thief crucified beside our Lord – he is promised that today he will be with Jesus in paradise.

In the book of Revelation we have the promise of the day of resurrection – when we will all be raised and clothed in our recreated bodies and there will be weeping and crying and pain no more.

In the gospel of John, after their brother has died, the sisters Mary and Martha are besides themselves with grief… each one pleads with Jesus – “if you had been here, my brother would not have died!”

Martha knows in her heart – she trusts in the promise that on the last day her brother will be raised again. She knows that he and she and all of us are pressing on and that Christ is the Messiah – the Son of God who will bring us to the other side; to the dawn of resurrection.

And surely Mary understands this also. But that doesn’t take away their pain and grief at the loss of their brother in this life. No longer can they reach out and touch him or hear his laughter or look into his eyes. While they trust in the promises, it doesn’t take away their sorrow.

It doesn’t take away the grief Jesus himself feels as he weeps before the tomb of his friend Lazarus.

What Jesus then does, is to give us a glimpse of the resurrection.

Lazarus – who had been dead for four days – is called out of the tomb.

We are reminded of what awaits us all.

We are reminded that the Lord God will swallow up death forever.

We are reminded that God will wipe away every tear from our faces.

This year, we have said goodbye to many people who were a part of this church family. We have lit a candle for each of them, in honor of their lives among us, the ways they helped to shape our faith, and we wait with them for the day of resurrection.

They have joined the countless other faithful who surround us with love and encouragement.

They join the company of saints with whom we sing praises to God every time we gather around the communion table.

In Isaiah, we are reminded that God will prepare for all peoples a rich feast…

Bread and wine, joy and celebration…

As we gather today around this table, it is a reminder that the feast we are waiting for is already present among us.

It is present here today in the bread and the cup.

But it is also present here today in the company of those we love and lift before God.

As you came in this morning, I hope you received one of these paper angel cutouts.

If you haven’t… will you lift up a hand so we can bring one to you… ?

These slips of paper represent those saints in our lives who have and continue to encourage us in the faith.

We shared meals with them while they lived among us, and we continue to feast with them around the table of the Lord.

They are the names of people who took risks and showed us what trust looked like.

They lived through tough times and survived.

They refused to give in.

They were kind to us when no one else was.

They believed in the promise of resurrections.

This table this morning is set with bread and the cup, but what we bring to this meal, every Sunday we gather, but especially on this All Saints Sunday is the fellowship of each of these saints.

I want to encourage you to take a minute and think about who has been a saint in your life and if you feel led to write their name on your paper.

“Behold, God has made a dwelling among the people. God will live with them and they shall be God’s people. God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying…”

I really wanted to take a moment to tell you a story about one of the saints written on my slip of paper… my Grandma Doni.

But the truth is, I couldn’t do it without crying.

I had the honor of sharing a few words at her funeral in 2002 and I bawled through half of it. I’d be a blubbering mess if I even tried to start.

The day Isaiah lifts up, and John lifts up in Revelation… of no more tears?

That day is not here… yet.

But we hold fast to the promises.

We hold fast to the glimpses of resurrection we have seen throughout history.

We hang on to the amazing, powerful, awesome love of Jesus Christ that went before us through the valley of the shadow of death, who walked through the sunset so that one day, we all might rise again to a new dawn.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

**Photographer Don Poggensee