February 2019
February 3, 2019
"Mirrors," based on Luke 4:21-30
(reading follows the sermon)
When I was a college student, I minored in art. In one of my painting classes, I learned a trick that I’ve used over and over again. The challenge for any artist is getting too close to what you are creating. You work on a drawing or painting for so long, that you stop seeing how it looks to others. It’s easy to miss bodies that are out of proportion, or distorted faces, or leaning landscapes.
One of my college professors, Dr. Bruce McClain—who still teaches art at Gustavus Adolphus College—taught me a technique that makes you see your work of art from a totally different viewpoint.It’s actually very simple. All you do is take your painting, and hold it in front of a mirror. Looking at it in a mirror flips the image. You should try it. Maybe you’re not an artist, but just take a picture you like and test it out. I guarantee you will see things you never saw before. On the wall of my art studio at home, there’s a large mirror Charlie and I bought years ago at an antique store. Whether I’m designing a mosaic or doing a watercolor, I stop from time to time and look at it in the mirror. Almost always, something jumps out at me. I see it with a new perspective.
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus himself becomes that kind of mirror. Not literally, of course. Though I suppose, if Jesus could turn water into wine like he did in the reading we had a couple weeks ago, he could also do some magic with mirrors. In fact, in today’s lesson, it sounds like people were expecting that. For someone asked Jesus, “Are you going to do something like we heard you did at Capernaum?” But what Jesus does in this lesson is not magical. It’s prophetic. He makes people look at something they don’t want to see.
This story is a continuation of last week’s lesson. Jesus has returned his hometown faith community. At first, we get the feeling that all the people love Jesus. They hang on his every word. But then the mood changes. Jesus says something that offends everyone in the room. It’s like he holds a mirror up to their community, and shows an ugly reflection, previously invisible to them. Based on the stories Jesus tells, I can guess what that issue is. Can you?
To illustrate, Jesus tells a couple stories well-known in Jewish folklore about the two most famous Hebrew prophets. The story of Elijah and the widow of Zarephath. And the story of Elisha and the leper Naaman. Nearly three millennia ago, the prophet Elijah was threatened by Israel’s King Ahab, who was a tyrant. So, Elijah flees his home country, as a refugee. He crosses the border and travels to Zarephath, a Phoenician city to the north. Along the road, Elijah meets a nameless widow in a field. Elijah asks her to prepare a meal for him, from the last bit of flour in a jar and oil in a jug left in her pantry. Which she does, but the food never runs out. God saves this Phoenician woman and her son from starvation.
The second story is about Elisha, Elijah’s successor. About how Elisha helps Naaman, a commander of the Syrian army, who has leprosy. During much of their history, Israel and Syria were enemies—as they are today. Normally, an Israelite would help a Syrian. Naaman’s wife has an Israelite servant girl, who tells her that the prophet could heal her husband. So, they send for Elisha, who instructs Naaman to go bathe in the Jordan River seven times. It sounds like magic. But Naaman thinks it’s a stupid idea and refuses to do it. Eventually, his servant convinces him to just give it a try. And God heals Naaman, the Syrian leper.
These are the two stories that Jesus uses in his sermon. Stories that make the people in his synagogue angry. Stories that have one thing in common. The person assisted by each prophet is a foreigner, a person of a different race and country. Using these stories, Jesus holds a mirror to the faces of his faith community in Nazareth. A mirror that reveals deep-seated racism. And long-established hatred of immigrants. An unspoken belief that God would never help people like that.
Sound familiar? If Jesus were here today, and held up a mirror to the face of our community, I wonder—would we see a similar image? When Jesus says this to the people in the synagogue, they are so infuriated, they want to kill him. They actually try to throw him off a cliff. But there’s a missing detail in this story. For modern archaeologists tell us there was no cliff outside of Nazareth. The angry crowd would have to drag Jesus about two miles to get to a place like that. But maybe the group is so filled with hate—like a lynch mob—that’s exactly what they do.
It reminds me of this week’s news story about Jussie Smollett, the “Empire” show star who suffered a violent attack in Chicago. One of his friends reported what happened. The actor arrived from New York late Monday night. Early Tuesday morning he was hungry, so he decided to get something to eat at Subway. On the way, Jussie is attacked by two white men, who call him a “faggot”—an ugly, ugly word—and then pounce on him.
Jussie fights back, but they beat him badly. Then they actually put a rope around his neck and pour bleach on him. As they leave, they yell, “This is MAGA country!” What’s even more shocking is that this wasn’t the first time Jussie was targeted. A few days before, a letter addressed to him was sent to Fox Studios in Chicago, with cut-out letters that read, “You will die, black fag.” More ugly words. Despite all that, police and others have expressed doubt that it was a hate crime.
Ugly, homophobic words and brutal, racist actions. Not unlike what Jesus faced. Though Jesus was targeted not for who he was, but whom he stood for. The foreigner. The outcast. The stranger. The leper. Jesus, the Light of the world, shines a mirror that reflects those marginalized faces back to his and our community. And reveals the compassionate face of God. Our second lesson talks about that kind of mirror. A mirror that reflects not hatred, but love. In the 13th chapter of First Corinthians, which is really a love song, St. Paul writes, “For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know in part, but then I will know fully, just as I have been fully known.”
Those words remind me of the day, 30 years ago, when I attended my first service at a new gay church in Minneapolis. It was a small, start-up church for our LGBTQ community—with no building, no denomination, no support from other congregations. It was called “Spirit of the Lakes.” Because it had no building, the first services were held at The Aliveness Project, a community center for HIV+ individuals.
Eventually both the congregation and Aliveness would have a big impact on my life. I met my husband Charlie at the church that fall. And a little over a decade later, I was hired as executive director of Aliveness, and worked there for 14 years. The church services were held in a large meeting room at Aliveness. Previously, the room had been used for yoga classes, so one wall was covered with mirrors, floor to ceiling. During the service, all of us worshipers faced the wall of mirrors, looking at our reflections. The mirror images were very distracting and disorientating. Since then, I’ve wondered if there was a purpose in that. Maybe the pastor thought it was a powerful symbol for us LGBTQ individuals to stare at ourselves and one another as we worshiped.
For many, this was their first experience at a queer church. During the early years of the AIDS epidemic, when many of us were losing friends and loved ones. During a period when there was little acceptance, and no legal protections for people like us. During a time when many of us hid our faces in dark closets. Looking back, it was liberating to see the smiles of people like me singing hymns and praising God together. The mirrors revealed our reflections as God’s creatures, fearfully and wonderfully made in God’s image. Those mirrors reflected a lot of love. And to see clearly the face of Jesus among us. To view our world and ourselves with new eyes.
The playwright George Bernard Shaw once wrote, “Some [people] see things as they are, and ask why. Others dream things that never were, and ask why not.” My prayer today, is that Jesus will help us see things that no one else can see. To see people not through the lens of racism or homophobia or hatred. But through a mirror of love—that transforms the world from the nightmare vision it sometimes is, into the dream that God intends it to be. May God in Christ make that unknown dream and that unseen vision a reality among us, here at St. Mark’s today. Amen.
+ + +
Luke 4:21-30
Then Jesus began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, "Is not this Joseph's son?" He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’”
And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet's hometown. But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land. Yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.” When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way.
One of my college professors, Dr. Bruce McClain—who still teaches art at Gustavus Adolphus College—taught me a technique that makes you see your work of art from a totally different viewpoint.It’s actually very simple. All you do is take your painting, and hold it in front of a mirror. Looking at it in a mirror flips the image. You should try it. Maybe you’re not an artist, but just take a picture you like and test it out. I guarantee you will see things you never saw before. On the wall of my art studio at home, there’s a large mirror Charlie and I bought years ago at an antique store. Whether I’m designing a mosaic or doing a watercolor, I stop from time to time and look at it in the mirror. Almost always, something jumps out at me. I see it with a new perspective.
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus himself becomes that kind of mirror. Not literally, of course. Though I suppose, if Jesus could turn water into wine like he did in the reading we had a couple weeks ago, he could also do some magic with mirrors. In fact, in today’s lesson, it sounds like people were expecting that. For someone asked Jesus, “Are you going to do something like we heard you did at Capernaum?” But what Jesus does in this lesson is not magical. It’s prophetic. He makes people look at something they don’t want to see.
This story is a continuation of last week’s lesson. Jesus has returned his hometown faith community. At first, we get the feeling that all the people love Jesus. They hang on his every word. But then the mood changes. Jesus says something that offends everyone in the room. It’s like he holds a mirror up to their community, and shows an ugly reflection, previously invisible to them. Based on the stories Jesus tells, I can guess what that issue is. Can you?
To illustrate, Jesus tells a couple stories well-known in Jewish folklore about the two most famous Hebrew prophets. The story of Elijah and the widow of Zarephath. And the story of Elisha and the leper Naaman. Nearly three millennia ago, the prophet Elijah was threatened by Israel’s King Ahab, who was a tyrant. So, Elijah flees his home country, as a refugee. He crosses the border and travels to Zarephath, a Phoenician city to the north. Along the road, Elijah meets a nameless widow in a field. Elijah asks her to prepare a meal for him, from the last bit of flour in a jar and oil in a jug left in her pantry. Which she does, but the food never runs out. God saves this Phoenician woman and her son from starvation.
The second story is about Elisha, Elijah’s successor. About how Elisha helps Naaman, a commander of the Syrian army, who has leprosy. During much of their history, Israel and Syria were enemies—as they are today. Normally, an Israelite would help a Syrian. Naaman’s wife has an Israelite servant girl, who tells her that the prophet could heal her husband. So, they send for Elisha, who instructs Naaman to go bathe in the Jordan River seven times. It sounds like magic. But Naaman thinks it’s a stupid idea and refuses to do it. Eventually, his servant convinces him to just give it a try. And God heals Naaman, the Syrian leper.
These are the two stories that Jesus uses in his sermon. Stories that make the people in his synagogue angry. Stories that have one thing in common. The person assisted by each prophet is a foreigner, a person of a different race and country. Using these stories, Jesus holds a mirror to the faces of his faith community in Nazareth. A mirror that reveals deep-seated racism. And long-established hatred of immigrants. An unspoken belief that God would never help people like that.
Sound familiar? If Jesus were here today, and held up a mirror to the face of our community, I wonder—would we see a similar image? When Jesus says this to the people in the synagogue, they are so infuriated, they want to kill him. They actually try to throw him off a cliff. But there’s a missing detail in this story. For modern archaeologists tell us there was no cliff outside of Nazareth. The angry crowd would have to drag Jesus about two miles to get to a place like that. But maybe the group is so filled with hate—like a lynch mob—that’s exactly what they do.
It reminds me of this week’s news story about Jussie Smollett, the “Empire” show star who suffered a violent attack in Chicago. One of his friends reported what happened. The actor arrived from New York late Monday night. Early Tuesday morning he was hungry, so he decided to get something to eat at Subway. On the way, Jussie is attacked by two white men, who call him a “faggot”—an ugly, ugly word—and then pounce on him.
Jussie fights back, but they beat him badly. Then they actually put a rope around his neck and pour bleach on him. As they leave, they yell, “This is MAGA country!” What’s even more shocking is that this wasn’t the first time Jussie was targeted. A few days before, a letter addressed to him was sent to Fox Studios in Chicago, with cut-out letters that read, “You will die, black fag.” More ugly words. Despite all that, police and others have expressed doubt that it was a hate crime.
Ugly, homophobic words and brutal, racist actions. Not unlike what Jesus faced. Though Jesus was targeted not for who he was, but whom he stood for. The foreigner. The outcast. The stranger. The leper. Jesus, the Light of the world, shines a mirror that reflects those marginalized faces back to his and our community. And reveals the compassionate face of God. Our second lesson talks about that kind of mirror. A mirror that reflects not hatred, but love. In the 13th chapter of First Corinthians, which is really a love song, St. Paul writes, “For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know in part, but then I will know fully, just as I have been fully known.”
Those words remind me of the day, 30 years ago, when I attended my first service at a new gay church in Minneapolis. It was a small, start-up church for our LGBTQ community—with no building, no denomination, no support from other congregations. It was called “Spirit of the Lakes.” Because it had no building, the first services were held at The Aliveness Project, a community center for HIV+ individuals.
Eventually both the congregation and Aliveness would have a big impact on my life. I met my husband Charlie at the church that fall. And a little over a decade later, I was hired as executive director of Aliveness, and worked there for 14 years. The church services were held in a large meeting room at Aliveness. Previously, the room had been used for yoga classes, so one wall was covered with mirrors, floor to ceiling. During the service, all of us worshipers faced the wall of mirrors, looking at our reflections. The mirror images were very distracting and disorientating. Since then, I’ve wondered if there was a purpose in that. Maybe the pastor thought it was a powerful symbol for us LGBTQ individuals to stare at ourselves and one another as we worshiped.
For many, this was their first experience at a queer church. During the early years of the AIDS epidemic, when many of us were losing friends and loved ones. During a period when there was little acceptance, and no legal protections for people like us. During a time when many of us hid our faces in dark closets. Looking back, it was liberating to see the smiles of people like me singing hymns and praising God together. The mirrors revealed our reflections as God’s creatures, fearfully and wonderfully made in God’s image. Those mirrors reflected a lot of love. And to see clearly the face of Jesus among us. To view our world and ourselves with new eyes.
The playwright George Bernard Shaw once wrote, “Some [people] see things as they are, and ask why. Others dream things that never were, and ask why not.” My prayer today, is that Jesus will help us see things that no one else can see. To see people not through the lens of racism or homophobia or hatred. But through a mirror of love—that transforms the world from the nightmare vision it sometimes is, into the dream that God intends it to be. May God in Christ make that unknown dream and that unseen vision a reality among us, here at St. Mark’s today. Amen.
+ + +
Luke 4:21-30
Then Jesus began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, "Is not this Joseph's son?" He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’”
And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet's hometown. But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land. Yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.” When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way.
February 10, 2019
"A Big Fish," based on Luke 5:1-11
(reading follows the sermon)
When I was young, I loved to go fishing. I grew up in Dassel, Minnesota a small town about 40 miles south of St. Cloud.On Sunday afternoons, my family would often visit my Uncle Walter and Aunt Lydia, my mother’s oldest sister. They lived on farm northeast of Dassel. What I loved about the farm was the river. The north branch of the Crow River meandered through the property. During summer visits, my family spent hours fishing for northerns, sunfish and crappies.
One Labor Day weekend, when I was about 6 years old, we were fishing on a warm afternoon. Suddenly, my mother got excited because she saw an enormous fish. It looked like a log floating by in the stream. In retrospect, maybe it was a sign. Not long after this, my Aunt Lydia came out of the house sobbing. She told us, as we stood there holding our fishing poles, that my grandfather—the father of my mother and Lydia—had just died of a heart attack. When we got to my grandfather’s house, my grandma Ida told us a strange story. Just before he died, grandpa called her into the bedroom. “They’re coming to take me,” Grampa Bill told her, pointing at someone she could not see. With those words, he passed away.
Back then, I wondered—and to be honest, I still wonder today—who came to take my grandfather? Was it God? Was it Jesus? Was it angels? People who have had near-death experiences tell of meeting spouses and parents and friends. Loved ones who passed before. And a bright light that welcomes them to their eternal home. I like to think that’s what happened to my grandpa. A holy encounter with love. An epiphany. As a child, I remember my mother repeating that story about the big fish and my grandpa. In my six-year-old mind, the death of my grandfather was forever connected to that afternoon of fishing on my uncle’s farm.
In a similar way, today’s Gospel story links fishing with a major event in the life of Jesus and Peter. Like my hometown, first-century Capernaum was small—only about 1,000 people. A fishing village on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, called Lake Gennesaret in this lesson. Of course, the way people fished at the time was very different than when I was a kid. Instead of the long cane pole I used as a boy, they used fishing nets, dragged behind their boats.
In 1986, archaeologists discovered the remains of a first-century fishing boat, buried in the mud of the Sea of Galilee just south of Capernaum. In fact, it’s called the “Jesus boat,” and today it’s displayed in a small museum next to a kibbutz near there. I saw that boat when Charlie and I visited Israel seven years ago. The boat is much larger than today’s fishing boats—eight feet wide and 26 feet long. A huge boat that needed a crew to row and steer. The kind of boat used by the fisherman in this story. But for them, fishing was not something you did to relax on a Sunday afternoon.
Fishing was manual work. It was also a team effort—Peter, James and John were partners in their business. They worked side by side from early morning into the hot afternoon. These fishers had little—if any—formal education. Some were illiterate, and many were poor. It’s ironic when you consider that these first disciples would not meet the minimal qualifications for ordination in our Lutheran Church today.
Yet, Peter later became the leader of the early Church. In this ordinary guy, Jesus saw something special. But Peter doesn’t see that in himself. He says, “Get away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” A curious reaction for someone who has just hauled a record-breaking catch of fish. You’d think it would be more like the end of a Super Bowl game—where the winners high-five one another and celebrate their good luck. Well, except for last week’s game, which was not that exciting. Even the half-time show—normally my favorite part—was not very good. Nevertheless, Peter has something to celebrate. But he doesn’t feel that good about it. He sees himself as undeserving, as a sinner.
The prophet Isaiah has a similar reaction, in our first lesson, when he sees God. He cries, “I am a person of unclean lips.” I remember feeling that way when I was in seminary. As a closeted gay man, I was terrified that others would discover my secret, and expose me as a sinner. Now, I know that God did not see me that way back then. Just like Peter, who was afraid Jesus would see only his sinfulness, his brokenness, his self-doubts. But I don’t think Jesus came to make people feel guilty. Jesus came to bring holy love to people like Peter. An epiphany on a smelly fishing boat. Revealing what others cannot see. The presence of God shining into hearts and homes. Amazing grace revealed to shame-filled humans.
The same is true today. For Jesus comes not to reveal sin. Jesus comes to bring the holy presence of God to ordinary places. Jesus comes to instill holiness in people like us. Holiness that touches our broken hearts. Holiness that heals our troubled minds. Holiness that comforts those hovering on the border of life and death. Today, a lot of people in our culture feel like they have no value. That they have nothing to offer.
I once read about a survey that asked a large group of Christians what they believed God thought about them. It asked them to name the one emotion God feels for each of us humans. Can you guess what the survey revealed? It’s actually kind of shocking. For the majority said, “When God thinks about me, I believe that God’s overwhelming feeling is disappointment.” Disappointment. Isn’t that incredible? With all the songs and Bible verses and sermons about grace, we still think God is disappointed with us.
How awful, really. Because the truth of the matter is the exact opposite. What I’ve learned in living this life, is there’s nothing holy or spiritual about beating yourself up. There’s no redemption in wallowing in shame. Talking bad to yourself does not please God. St. Paul knew that grace is given to free us from all that. In our second lesson from Corinthians, Paul calls himself “the least of the apostles” and says he’s “unfit to be called an apostle,” because he persecuted the early church of Jesus. “But by the grace of God,” Paul says, “I am what I am, and [God’s] grace toward me has not been in vain.” Paul was convinced of God’s love when Jesus appeared as a bright light on the road to Damascus. Paul was the last of all the apostles to see the risen Christ.
In Jesus, Paul saw something he had never seen before. In Christ, Paul felt a love he had never experienced. A holy encounter with grace. A meeting that instilled in him a confidence no one could take away. That’s the kind of faith we share here at St. Mark’s. For this congregation is based on the theological concept that we are all saved by grace. That God in Christ loves us as we are. Despite what others may think. Despite what other Christians or politicians may say. Despite what our own self-doubts may whisper in our ears.
That’s the message we have to proclaim to our world and our community here in Fargo, North Dakota. For Jesus says the same thing to us that Jesus said to Simon Peter in the fishing boat so long ago, “Don’t be afraid. I am calling you by name. And will lead you, wherever you go.” Like Peter, the voice of Jesus is calling us today. Calling us by name, as beloved children of God. Calling us to catch not fish, but people. Like Peter, in Jesus we see the holy love of God our Creator, revealed in ordinary people like me and you. And all we can say in response is, “Here I am. Send me.” Amen.
+ + +
Luke 5:1-11
Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, "Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch." Simon answered, "Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets." When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, "Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people." When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.
One Labor Day weekend, when I was about 6 years old, we were fishing on a warm afternoon. Suddenly, my mother got excited because she saw an enormous fish. It looked like a log floating by in the stream. In retrospect, maybe it was a sign. Not long after this, my Aunt Lydia came out of the house sobbing. She told us, as we stood there holding our fishing poles, that my grandfather—the father of my mother and Lydia—had just died of a heart attack. When we got to my grandfather’s house, my grandma Ida told us a strange story. Just before he died, grandpa called her into the bedroom. “They’re coming to take me,” Grampa Bill told her, pointing at someone she could not see. With those words, he passed away.
Back then, I wondered—and to be honest, I still wonder today—who came to take my grandfather? Was it God? Was it Jesus? Was it angels? People who have had near-death experiences tell of meeting spouses and parents and friends. Loved ones who passed before. And a bright light that welcomes them to their eternal home. I like to think that’s what happened to my grandpa. A holy encounter with love. An epiphany. As a child, I remember my mother repeating that story about the big fish and my grandpa. In my six-year-old mind, the death of my grandfather was forever connected to that afternoon of fishing on my uncle’s farm.
In a similar way, today’s Gospel story links fishing with a major event in the life of Jesus and Peter. Like my hometown, first-century Capernaum was small—only about 1,000 people. A fishing village on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, called Lake Gennesaret in this lesson. Of course, the way people fished at the time was very different than when I was a kid. Instead of the long cane pole I used as a boy, they used fishing nets, dragged behind their boats.
In 1986, archaeologists discovered the remains of a first-century fishing boat, buried in the mud of the Sea of Galilee just south of Capernaum. In fact, it’s called the “Jesus boat,” and today it’s displayed in a small museum next to a kibbutz near there. I saw that boat when Charlie and I visited Israel seven years ago. The boat is much larger than today’s fishing boats—eight feet wide and 26 feet long. A huge boat that needed a crew to row and steer. The kind of boat used by the fisherman in this story. But for them, fishing was not something you did to relax on a Sunday afternoon.
Fishing was manual work. It was also a team effort—Peter, James and John were partners in their business. They worked side by side from early morning into the hot afternoon. These fishers had little—if any—formal education. Some were illiterate, and many were poor. It’s ironic when you consider that these first disciples would not meet the minimal qualifications for ordination in our Lutheran Church today.
Yet, Peter later became the leader of the early Church. In this ordinary guy, Jesus saw something special. But Peter doesn’t see that in himself. He says, “Get away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” A curious reaction for someone who has just hauled a record-breaking catch of fish. You’d think it would be more like the end of a Super Bowl game—where the winners high-five one another and celebrate their good luck. Well, except for last week’s game, which was not that exciting. Even the half-time show—normally my favorite part—was not very good. Nevertheless, Peter has something to celebrate. But he doesn’t feel that good about it. He sees himself as undeserving, as a sinner.
The prophet Isaiah has a similar reaction, in our first lesson, when he sees God. He cries, “I am a person of unclean lips.” I remember feeling that way when I was in seminary. As a closeted gay man, I was terrified that others would discover my secret, and expose me as a sinner. Now, I know that God did not see me that way back then. Just like Peter, who was afraid Jesus would see only his sinfulness, his brokenness, his self-doubts. But I don’t think Jesus came to make people feel guilty. Jesus came to bring holy love to people like Peter. An epiphany on a smelly fishing boat. Revealing what others cannot see. The presence of God shining into hearts and homes. Amazing grace revealed to shame-filled humans.
The same is true today. For Jesus comes not to reveal sin. Jesus comes to bring the holy presence of God to ordinary places. Jesus comes to instill holiness in people like us. Holiness that touches our broken hearts. Holiness that heals our troubled minds. Holiness that comforts those hovering on the border of life and death. Today, a lot of people in our culture feel like they have no value. That they have nothing to offer.
I once read about a survey that asked a large group of Christians what they believed God thought about them. It asked them to name the one emotion God feels for each of us humans. Can you guess what the survey revealed? It’s actually kind of shocking. For the majority said, “When God thinks about me, I believe that God’s overwhelming feeling is disappointment.” Disappointment. Isn’t that incredible? With all the songs and Bible verses and sermons about grace, we still think God is disappointed with us.
How awful, really. Because the truth of the matter is the exact opposite. What I’ve learned in living this life, is there’s nothing holy or spiritual about beating yourself up. There’s no redemption in wallowing in shame. Talking bad to yourself does not please God. St. Paul knew that grace is given to free us from all that. In our second lesson from Corinthians, Paul calls himself “the least of the apostles” and says he’s “unfit to be called an apostle,” because he persecuted the early church of Jesus. “But by the grace of God,” Paul says, “I am what I am, and [God’s] grace toward me has not been in vain.” Paul was convinced of God’s love when Jesus appeared as a bright light on the road to Damascus. Paul was the last of all the apostles to see the risen Christ.
In Jesus, Paul saw something he had never seen before. In Christ, Paul felt a love he had never experienced. A holy encounter with grace. A meeting that instilled in him a confidence no one could take away. That’s the kind of faith we share here at St. Mark’s. For this congregation is based on the theological concept that we are all saved by grace. That God in Christ loves us as we are. Despite what others may think. Despite what other Christians or politicians may say. Despite what our own self-doubts may whisper in our ears.
That’s the message we have to proclaim to our world and our community here in Fargo, North Dakota. For Jesus says the same thing to us that Jesus said to Simon Peter in the fishing boat so long ago, “Don’t be afraid. I am calling you by name. And will lead you, wherever you go.” Like Peter, the voice of Jesus is calling us today. Calling us by name, as beloved children of God. Calling us to catch not fish, but people. Like Peter, in Jesus we see the holy love of God our Creator, revealed in ordinary people like me and you. And all we can say in response is, “Here I am. Send me.” Amen.
+ + +
Luke 5:1-11
Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, "Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch." Simon answered, "Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets." When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, "Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people." When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.
February 17, 2019
"Blessed," based on Luke 6:17-26
(reading follows the sermon)
During my last year at Luther Seminary, I had to write a senior thesis. The course was called “Systematic Theology.” The goal of the class was for each student to lay out their personal theology. I was in a liberal mindset even back then. And internally I was struggling with my sexual orientation and how to justify that within a theological framework. Of course, no one knew I was gay in seminary. If I had come out, I would have been expelled.
So, I decided to write my paper about liberation theology. About how human sin is not just an individual issue, but also imbedded in social structures. I had read books by Latino liberation theologians, like Juan Luis Segundo—as well as others like James Cone, who wrote theology books from the black experience.
When the day came for me to present my thesis to my classmates, I knew that I might face criticism. But I wasn’t prepared for the intensity of unbridled anger and hostile condemnation that I heard in response. When I started talking about God’s “preferential option for the poor,” I might as well have thrown a grenade into that classroom of seminarians.
The phrase “preferential option for the poor” was coined in 1968 by a Jesuit priest, Pedro Arrupe. A term later used by Catholic bishops in Latin America. The concept is based on many parts of the Bible that talk about God as protector of the vulnerable. Where God has a preference for powerless individuals who live on the edges of society. Liberation theology fully embraced that concept—linking it to passages in the Gospels that connect the poor and marginalized with Jesus.
Today, liberation theology—including queer liberation theology—is taught in our seminaries and church colleges. Andrés Albertsen, a gay Argentinian Lutheran pastor I know, just started teaching a class at St. Olaf College, called, “Reading the Bible through the Eyes of Latin American Liberationist Christianity.” But my initial interest, 30 years ago in seminary, was way ahead of its time.
I was reminded of that senior paper when I read today’s Gospel lesson. This reading is Luke’s version of the Beatitudes. But the word “beatitude” does not appear in Bible. The term comes from the Latin word, “beati,” that begins each verse, and translates as “blessed” or “happy” or “lucky.” “Beatitudes” is what we call the unique blessings spoken by Jesus. If you Google it, almost every site refers to the list found in the Gospel of Matthew.
Most Christians assume that the Beatitudes are the same in both Gospels. But they’re not. In fact, they are radically different. In Matthew, there are eight blessings spoken by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew’s version has a definite spiritual flavor, like: “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” or “Blessed those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,” or “Blessed are the pure in heart.”
Luke, on the other hand, has only four beatitudes, that obviously highlight social justice issues, stating: “Blessed are you who are poor,” and “Blessed are you who are hungry,” and “Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, and revile you….” Notice that Luke also changes the focus to “you.” Instead of saying, “Blessed are the poor,” Jesus speaks directly to them, by saying, “Blessed are you who are poor.” However, when Jesus uses the word “poor,” it’s not the working poor that politicians like to talk about. The Greek word here means “destitute”—who today would be the homeless, the indigent.
Luke also adds four curses to the Beatitudes. The New Revised Standard Version in our lectionary, starts these out with the word, “Woe.” But a couple translations use much stronger language. Like “Cursed are you rich.” My favorite is the one that says, “damn you”—curse words we don’t normally use in church. Words more likely heard in a bar, or on an urban street, or maybe from a preacher like Nadia Bolz-Weber, if she were here today. Shocking words that I believe convey what Jesus originally intended—where he might say, “Damn you rich! You already have your consolation! Damn you who are well-fed! You will be hungry! Damn you who laugh now, you will learn to weep!”1 When I read the Beatitudes like that, I find them to be intense and raw and inescapable.
As an artist, I like to see things visually. Here, I can imagine Jesus painting two pictures for us. One painting is of a group of poor, hungry and sad people standing in front of a hut in a Third World village. Or maybe a drug addict on a street corner of one of our cities. People who are outcasts. People to be pitied. Yet, Jesus looks at them and says, “Blessed are you! You’re the lucky ones!”
Then there’s a second painting. It’s a group portrait of our community. Looking happy and healthy, with nice clothing. No matter how we rationalize or deny it, most of us Americans fit that picture. We have jobs. We have places to live. We’ve got money to buy food. We’re self-sufficient. We are blessed and, gosh, everybody likes us. Right? But when I read these crazy Beatitudes in Luke, my eyes are opened. I see own portrait, painted by Jesus. For Jesus takes all my self-perceptions and desires, and politely blows them to pieces. Is anybody else bothered by that? I know I am. It’s no wonder my seminary friends got angry. But that’s exactly the point. For if we’re really reading it, we should be disturbed. Sometimes, art and scripture do that to us.
Today, faced with this text—with these Beatitudes—I believe we have two simple options. Option 1 is for us to take these blessed sayings and explain them away—gradually watering them down, to dull their bitter taste. For most people, that’s a pretty compelling path. The path most pastors and Christians take. In Option 2, we let these words interpret us. To change our vision of ourselves as Christians. Or as the theologian Walter Brueggemann once said: “The prophetic tasks of the Church are to tell the truth in a society that lives in illusion, grieve in a society that lives in denial, and express hope in a society that lives in despair.”
Our calling is to ask ourselves the hard questions, like: What is Jesus saying to me in these words today? What if I could let Jesus challenge my ideas about what the good life and success are really all about? What if our idea of church could be infused with that vision, and focus not on wealth and buildings and church growth, but on the poor and marginalized of our community? Thankfully, I believe that here at St. Mark’s we share that vision already, at least in part. That’s the blessing (and the curse) of us no longer owning our own building. We live with the uncertainty of life. The challenge for our church is that there are always new things for us to see and new ways to look at issues like poverty and racism, sexism and homophobia. And new ways to read the Beatitudes today. Something, maybe, like this:
- Blessed are you poor, for in your face we see the eyes of God.
- Blessed are you hungry, for we are called to feed you.
- Blessed are you who feel rejected by our society, for this is a place where you are welcome.
- Blessed are you who weep, for we are here to cry and laugh with you.
- Blessed are you who are separated from us by walls and fences, for Jesus calls us to tear them down.
- Blessed are you who march with Native American women, queer people, refugees, and others hated by this world, for together we shall be called “children of God.”
Today, we are blessed to have a place and community like this. A place where we can talk about how we see ourselves. A place to think about who we want to become.
A place to listen to the words of Jesus. A blessed place, to see God walking beside us.
Even when we don’t know exactly where we are going. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------
1 The Five Gospels: The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus; Robert Funk, Roy W. Hoover, and the Jesus Seminar; Macmillan Publishing House, New York, 1993; p. 289.
+ + +
Luke 6:17-26
Jesus came down with them and stood on a level place, with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. And all in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them.
Then he looked up at his disciples and said: "Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets. "But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets."
So, I decided to write my paper about liberation theology. About how human sin is not just an individual issue, but also imbedded in social structures. I had read books by Latino liberation theologians, like Juan Luis Segundo—as well as others like James Cone, who wrote theology books from the black experience.
When the day came for me to present my thesis to my classmates, I knew that I might face criticism. But I wasn’t prepared for the intensity of unbridled anger and hostile condemnation that I heard in response. When I started talking about God’s “preferential option for the poor,” I might as well have thrown a grenade into that classroom of seminarians.
The phrase “preferential option for the poor” was coined in 1968 by a Jesuit priest, Pedro Arrupe. A term later used by Catholic bishops in Latin America. The concept is based on many parts of the Bible that talk about God as protector of the vulnerable. Where God has a preference for powerless individuals who live on the edges of society. Liberation theology fully embraced that concept—linking it to passages in the Gospels that connect the poor and marginalized with Jesus.
Today, liberation theology—including queer liberation theology—is taught in our seminaries and church colleges. Andrés Albertsen, a gay Argentinian Lutheran pastor I know, just started teaching a class at St. Olaf College, called, “Reading the Bible through the Eyes of Latin American Liberationist Christianity.” But my initial interest, 30 years ago in seminary, was way ahead of its time.
I was reminded of that senior paper when I read today’s Gospel lesson. This reading is Luke’s version of the Beatitudes. But the word “beatitude” does not appear in Bible. The term comes from the Latin word, “beati,” that begins each verse, and translates as “blessed” or “happy” or “lucky.” “Beatitudes” is what we call the unique blessings spoken by Jesus. If you Google it, almost every site refers to the list found in the Gospel of Matthew.
Most Christians assume that the Beatitudes are the same in both Gospels. But they’re not. In fact, they are radically different. In Matthew, there are eight blessings spoken by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew’s version has a definite spiritual flavor, like: “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” or “Blessed those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,” or “Blessed are the pure in heart.”
Luke, on the other hand, has only four beatitudes, that obviously highlight social justice issues, stating: “Blessed are you who are poor,” and “Blessed are you who are hungry,” and “Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, and revile you….” Notice that Luke also changes the focus to “you.” Instead of saying, “Blessed are the poor,” Jesus speaks directly to them, by saying, “Blessed are you who are poor.” However, when Jesus uses the word “poor,” it’s not the working poor that politicians like to talk about. The Greek word here means “destitute”—who today would be the homeless, the indigent.
Luke also adds four curses to the Beatitudes. The New Revised Standard Version in our lectionary, starts these out with the word, “Woe.” But a couple translations use much stronger language. Like “Cursed are you rich.” My favorite is the one that says, “damn you”—curse words we don’t normally use in church. Words more likely heard in a bar, or on an urban street, or maybe from a preacher like Nadia Bolz-Weber, if she were here today. Shocking words that I believe convey what Jesus originally intended—where he might say, “Damn you rich! You already have your consolation! Damn you who are well-fed! You will be hungry! Damn you who laugh now, you will learn to weep!”1 When I read the Beatitudes like that, I find them to be intense and raw and inescapable.
As an artist, I like to see things visually. Here, I can imagine Jesus painting two pictures for us. One painting is of a group of poor, hungry and sad people standing in front of a hut in a Third World village. Or maybe a drug addict on a street corner of one of our cities. People who are outcasts. People to be pitied. Yet, Jesus looks at them and says, “Blessed are you! You’re the lucky ones!”
Then there’s a second painting. It’s a group portrait of our community. Looking happy and healthy, with nice clothing. No matter how we rationalize or deny it, most of us Americans fit that picture. We have jobs. We have places to live. We’ve got money to buy food. We’re self-sufficient. We are blessed and, gosh, everybody likes us. Right? But when I read these crazy Beatitudes in Luke, my eyes are opened. I see own portrait, painted by Jesus. For Jesus takes all my self-perceptions and desires, and politely blows them to pieces. Is anybody else bothered by that? I know I am. It’s no wonder my seminary friends got angry. But that’s exactly the point. For if we’re really reading it, we should be disturbed. Sometimes, art and scripture do that to us.
Today, faced with this text—with these Beatitudes—I believe we have two simple options. Option 1 is for us to take these blessed sayings and explain them away—gradually watering them down, to dull their bitter taste. For most people, that’s a pretty compelling path. The path most pastors and Christians take. In Option 2, we let these words interpret us. To change our vision of ourselves as Christians. Or as the theologian Walter Brueggemann once said: “The prophetic tasks of the Church are to tell the truth in a society that lives in illusion, grieve in a society that lives in denial, and express hope in a society that lives in despair.”
Our calling is to ask ourselves the hard questions, like: What is Jesus saying to me in these words today? What if I could let Jesus challenge my ideas about what the good life and success are really all about? What if our idea of church could be infused with that vision, and focus not on wealth and buildings and church growth, but on the poor and marginalized of our community? Thankfully, I believe that here at St. Mark’s we share that vision already, at least in part. That’s the blessing (and the curse) of us no longer owning our own building. We live with the uncertainty of life. The challenge for our church is that there are always new things for us to see and new ways to look at issues like poverty and racism, sexism and homophobia. And new ways to read the Beatitudes today. Something, maybe, like this:
- Blessed are you poor, for in your face we see the eyes of God.
- Blessed are you hungry, for we are called to feed you.
- Blessed are you who feel rejected by our society, for this is a place where you are welcome.
- Blessed are you who weep, for we are here to cry and laugh with you.
- Blessed are you who are separated from us by walls and fences, for Jesus calls us to tear them down.
- Blessed are you who march with Native American women, queer people, refugees, and others hated by this world, for together we shall be called “children of God.”
Today, we are blessed to have a place and community like this. A place where we can talk about how we see ourselves. A place to think about who we want to become.
A place to listen to the words of Jesus. A blessed place, to see God walking beside us.
Even when we don’t know exactly where we are going. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------
1 The Five Gospels: The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus; Robert Funk, Roy W. Hoover, and the Jesus Seminar; Macmillan Publishing House, New York, 1993; p. 289.
+ + +
Luke 6:17-26
Jesus came down with them and stood on a level place, with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. And all in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them.
Then he looked up at his disciples and said: "Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets. "But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets."
February 24, 2019
"The Judgment Game," based on Luke 6:27-38
(reading follows the sermon)
When I was in elementary school, I did just about everything with my twin sister, Joyce. Looking back, I think we were pretty good kids. However, I remember one time when we got into trouble. Together. We were in 5th grade, and I remember there was some kind of fight happening among the girls in our class. Two of our classmates, Cheryl and Cindy, had a disagreement and everybody was taking sides. I can’t even remember what the fight was about. But Joyce and I were on Cindy’s side. In our minds, Cheryl’s group was the enemy.
One day, Joyce and I were with our mom at the laundromat in town. We discovered that someone from our class had written some words in chalk on the outside wall of the building. It read, “Cindy is stupid.” I have to admit that between Joyce and me, I was often the twin who instigated things. So, this time, I came up with a bright idea. We found some chalk, and I rubbed out Cindy’s name and wrote, “Cheryl is stupid.” Of course, I couldn’t stop there. I added, “and she smells.”
A couple days later, Joyce’s teacher called us into her room after school. Mrs. Johnson was angry. She told us she knew exactly what we had done. She gave us a lecture about how disappointed our parents would be if they found out. Then Mrs. Johnson made us go back to the laundromat and clean up what we had written. Today I can laugh at that story. We were kids fighting over a silly argument. Acting like we hated one another. Playing what I like to call the “judgment game.” But to us, it was deadly serious.
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus talks about the judgment game. But from a totally different perspective. “Love your enemies,” Jesus says. “Do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.” Here, Jesus uses the Greek word “agape” for love. Agape is used throughout the Gospels and New Testament. This passage is part of the Sermon on the Plain in Luke. Last week, we heard Luke’s Beatitudes. Today, we hear about love and hate. I believe some people don’t want to hear what Jesus is really saying. In fact, Jesus starts out by stating, “I say to you that listen.” In Greek, it literally reads, “I say to those of you who are hearing me.”
We Americans tend to hear things in terms of how they apply to us individually. We say things like, “When he did that to me, I was so angry!”—or, “I can’t believe how she treated me!” But throughout this Gospel lesson, in the original Greek, Jesus does not address what he says to the individual “you.” He always uses the plural form for “you.” A subtle, but important distinction that’s hard to hear in English. So, when Jesus says, “Love your enemies,” he’s not speaking just to me. Literally it would be, “All of you must love all your enemies.”
Jesus tells us to love, not just on an individual level, but as a community. One thing that has been especially shocking for me over the past few years is how hatred has become a feeling that unites people. Tribalism now rules our political discourse, dividing us into camps. We see it happen everywhere. For example: Your neighbors either hates immigrants, or your community feels compassion for them. Your church either condemns queer people, or you vote to become a welcoming congregation. Your political party either opposes equal rights, or you join protesters in a Woman’s March.
It’s the same judgment game I played as a child, only now the issues are more serious. Typically, the judgment focuses on figuring out who is on your side. And once I figure out you’re not on mine, suddenly, we have nothing to talk about. We judge one another.
But I believe something happens to us psychologically when we play that judgment game. Momentarily, at least, you feel better about yourself. You step up on that little pedestal we all have in our heads or egos or psyches. And you end up looking down on “those” people. They become enemies. And, boy does that feel good! But today Jesus is calling us to quit playing the judgment game. “Don’t judge,” Jesus says (and again he’s using that plural form of “you”)—“and you all won’t be judged.”
But how do we stop playing that game? How do I stop feeling angry about what those people say about my queer community? How do you stop hating those who want to build a wall? How do we stop resenting the people who are unwilling to change state laws and corporate policies to protect our the most vulnerable among us? I believe the key is that the love that Jesus talks about is not just about feelings—not that I would ever deny the importance of acknowledging how we feel. Emotions are a normal part of our human experience.
But the kind of agape-love Jesus talks about is not based on our feelings. It’s based on actions. Loving actions that can overcome the hatred that pervades our world. The past couple weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about that, including a couple situations that have made me feel a lot of anger and resentment. It’s made me wonder: How do we move beyond the judgment game?
The story of Joseph in our first lesson shows us one way to do that. This is one of my favorite stories in Genesis, probably because it’s my namesake. When you look at Joseph, he had a lot of good reasons to hate—to play the judgment game. His brothers resented Joseph so much that they sold him into slavery (today we would call it human trafficking.)
In Egypt, Joseph becomes a servant of Potiphar, the captain of the guard, Later, Potiphar’s wife falsely accuses Joseph of attempted rape. So, Joseph goes to prison. There, Joseph interprets the dreams of two cellmates. Eventually, Pharaoh calls for Joseph to interpret his own recurring dream, predicting a seven-year famine. Pharaoh likes him so much, that Joseph gets appointed as director of a famine relief program.
Eventually, the brothers of Joseph come to Egypt for food, because they are starving. But they don’t recognize him That’s when Joseph gets pulled into the judgment game. He hides a silver cup in the grain bag of Benjamin, his youngest brother, the one he truly loves. Then he accuses the brothers of theft. Finally, Joseph tells them the truth. Of course, Joseph had every reason to hold a grudge. He could have just sent them back to Canaan. To live with regret and the memory of what they did. Instead, Joseph forgives them. Now, that doesn’t mean Joseph forgot what happened. After all, his community passed this story on to us, centuries later. But Joseph chose to no longer play the judgment game. He did something unexpected. Something based on grace. Something based on agape love.
The story of Joseph is not a story of retribution—though Joseph had the right to ask for that. It’s a story of restorative justice. God saves Joseph from death and slavery, and restores him to a position of blessing. Likewise, Joseph saves his brothers from starvation and guilt, and restores their relationship as family. Forgiveness is like that. It’s not just about one person saying they’re sorry. It’s also about the person who’s doing the forgiving. About finding a way to restore the trust that was broken. To let go of resentment. To start on a new path in the journey of that relationship.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who fought for years against apartheid in South Africa and saw many friends go to prison because of it, once wrote: “Forgiving is not forgetting; it’s actually remembering—remembering and not using your right to hit back. It’s a second chance for a new beginning. And the remembering part is particularly important. Especially if you don’t want to repeat what happened.” May God help us to remember. To remember there’s a way to end the judgment game. The way of love. The path of agape. The shared journey to reconciliation. Amen.
+ + +
Luke 6:27-38
Jesus said, "But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.
If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for [God] is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. "Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back."
One day, Joyce and I were with our mom at the laundromat in town. We discovered that someone from our class had written some words in chalk on the outside wall of the building. It read, “Cindy is stupid.” I have to admit that between Joyce and me, I was often the twin who instigated things. So, this time, I came up with a bright idea. We found some chalk, and I rubbed out Cindy’s name and wrote, “Cheryl is stupid.” Of course, I couldn’t stop there. I added, “and she smells.”
A couple days later, Joyce’s teacher called us into her room after school. Mrs. Johnson was angry. She told us she knew exactly what we had done. She gave us a lecture about how disappointed our parents would be if they found out. Then Mrs. Johnson made us go back to the laundromat and clean up what we had written. Today I can laugh at that story. We were kids fighting over a silly argument. Acting like we hated one another. Playing what I like to call the “judgment game.” But to us, it was deadly serious.
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus talks about the judgment game. But from a totally different perspective. “Love your enemies,” Jesus says. “Do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.” Here, Jesus uses the Greek word “agape” for love. Agape is used throughout the Gospels and New Testament. This passage is part of the Sermon on the Plain in Luke. Last week, we heard Luke’s Beatitudes. Today, we hear about love and hate. I believe some people don’t want to hear what Jesus is really saying. In fact, Jesus starts out by stating, “I say to you that listen.” In Greek, it literally reads, “I say to those of you who are hearing me.”
We Americans tend to hear things in terms of how they apply to us individually. We say things like, “When he did that to me, I was so angry!”—or, “I can’t believe how she treated me!” But throughout this Gospel lesson, in the original Greek, Jesus does not address what he says to the individual “you.” He always uses the plural form for “you.” A subtle, but important distinction that’s hard to hear in English. So, when Jesus says, “Love your enemies,” he’s not speaking just to me. Literally it would be, “All of you must love all your enemies.”
Jesus tells us to love, not just on an individual level, but as a community. One thing that has been especially shocking for me over the past few years is how hatred has become a feeling that unites people. Tribalism now rules our political discourse, dividing us into camps. We see it happen everywhere. For example: Your neighbors either hates immigrants, or your community feels compassion for them. Your church either condemns queer people, or you vote to become a welcoming congregation. Your political party either opposes equal rights, or you join protesters in a Woman’s March.
It’s the same judgment game I played as a child, only now the issues are more serious. Typically, the judgment focuses on figuring out who is on your side. And once I figure out you’re not on mine, suddenly, we have nothing to talk about. We judge one another.
But I believe something happens to us psychologically when we play that judgment game. Momentarily, at least, you feel better about yourself. You step up on that little pedestal we all have in our heads or egos or psyches. And you end up looking down on “those” people. They become enemies. And, boy does that feel good! But today Jesus is calling us to quit playing the judgment game. “Don’t judge,” Jesus says (and again he’s using that plural form of “you”)—“and you all won’t be judged.”
But how do we stop playing that game? How do I stop feeling angry about what those people say about my queer community? How do you stop hating those who want to build a wall? How do we stop resenting the people who are unwilling to change state laws and corporate policies to protect our the most vulnerable among us? I believe the key is that the love that Jesus talks about is not just about feelings—not that I would ever deny the importance of acknowledging how we feel. Emotions are a normal part of our human experience.
But the kind of agape-love Jesus talks about is not based on our feelings. It’s based on actions. Loving actions that can overcome the hatred that pervades our world. The past couple weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about that, including a couple situations that have made me feel a lot of anger and resentment. It’s made me wonder: How do we move beyond the judgment game?
The story of Joseph in our first lesson shows us one way to do that. This is one of my favorite stories in Genesis, probably because it’s my namesake. When you look at Joseph, he had a lot of good reasons to hate—to play the judgment game. His brothers resented Joseph so much that they sold him into slavery (today we would call it human trafficking.)
In Egypt, Joseph becomes a servant of Potiphar, the captain of the guard, Later, Potiphar’s wife falsely accuses Joseph of attempted rape. So, Joseph goes to prison. There, Joseph interprets the dreams of two cellmates. Eventually, Pharaoh calls for Joseph to interpret his own recurring dream, predicting a seven-year famine. Pharaoh likes him so much, that Joseph gets appointed as director of a famine relief program.
Eventually, the brothers of Joseph come to Egypt for food, because they are starving. But they don’t recognize him That’s when Joseph gets pulled into the judgment game. He hides a silver cup in the grain bag of Benjamin, his youngest brother, the one he truly loves. Then he accuses the brothers of theft. Finally, Joseph tells them the truth. Of course, Joseph had every reason to hold a grudge. He could have just sent them back to Canaan. To live with regret and the memory of what they did. Instead, Joseph forgives them. Now, that doesn’t mean Joseph forgot what happened. After all, his community passed this story on to us, centuries later. But Joseph chose to no longer play the judgment game. He did something unexpected. Something based on grace. Something based on agape love.
The story of Joseph is not a story of retribution—though Joseph had the right to ask for that. It’s a story of restorative justice. God saves Joseph from death and slavery, and restores him to a position of blessing. Likewise, Joseph saves his brothers from starvation and guilt, and restores their relationship as family. Forgiveness is like that. It’s not just about one person saying they’re sorry. It’s also about the person who’s doing the forgiving. About finding a way to restore the trust that was broken. To let go of resentment. To start on a new path in the journey of that relationship.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who fought for years against apartheid in South Africa and saw many friends go to prison because of it, once wrote: “Forgiving is not forgetting; it’s actually remembering—remembering and not using your right to hit back. It’s a second chance for a new beginning. And the remembering part is particularly important. Especially if you don’t want to repeat what happened.” May God help us to remember. To remember there’s a way to end the judgment game. The way of love. The path of agape. The shared journey to reconciliation. Amen.
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Luke 6:27-38
Jesus said, "But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.
If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for [God] is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. "Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back."