June 2019
June 9, 2019
"A Leap of Faith," based on Acts 2:1-21
(reading follows the sermon)
Once upon a time, there was a pond next to a flowing river. The pond was full of little fish, who spent their days swimming round and round and round. One morning, on the edge of the pond, there was a huge splash. A rainbow colored, sparkling fish had just jumped into the pond. “Where did you come from?” exclaims a startled pond fish. The sparkling fish smiles brightly and replies, “Well, I come from the sea!” The pond fish looks puzzled and says, “What is the Sea?” The sparkling fish tells her, “Why, the sea is what fish are made for! It’s nothing like this tiny pond. You don’t have swim in circles all day. You can dance with the tides!”
Then a pale gray pond-fish asks, “But, how do we get to the sea?” The sparkling fish replies: “It's easy! You jump from this little pond into that river. Then the current will carry you to the sea.” The gray fish’s eyes open wide with fear, “But that river is too deep and strong! We don't know where it goes. It's much too risky!" The sparkling fish tells him, “But you don't understand—I've been there! The Sea is far more wonderful than you can imagine. It’s worth the risk. You just have to have faith and jump! The river will take you to the sea. I’ll show you. Who wants to come with me?" At first no one moves. Then two brave little fish swim to the side of the Sparkling Fish. Together they leap into the river, and the current sweeps them away to the Sea.
This fish story is, of course, a parable for anyone who’s afraid of change. Like some of us who today may be facing a difficult life situation. Or churches that resist trying something new—who follow the cardinal rule for congregations: “But that’s the way we’ve always done it!”
But I think this fish tale is the perfect story for Pentecost. Just like the fish in that little pond, the disciples in today’s first lesson are called to experience something new. Something never done before. Without knowing what would happen next, they gather together in prayer and anxiety. When suddenly, a fierce wind blows through the windows, and flames appear over their heads. Spontaneously, everyone starts speaking strange languages. A cacophony of weird sounds. The people around them think they’re drunk. In reality, it’s the Holy Spirit, making them act crazy.
We Christians call Pentecost the birthday of the Church. But in many congregations, it’s a pretty dull party. Most of us Lutherans would never do what those early believers did. At least not in public. But maybe that’s what has brought us to where we are today. The age of a dying Church. Where soon there may be more Americans who openly claim no Church affiliation than those who sit in pews on Sunday mornings. Which tells us something needs to change. I believe living out the Gospel means daring to make decisions, even when we fear the consequences.
Hudson Taylor, a British missionary, once said: “Unless our Christian life is lived with elements of risk in our exploits for God, there is no need for faith.” The early Christians in the Book of Acts faced persecution and imprisonment, even death. Pentecost is a symbol of that kind of faith. A faith so desperately needed today.
Several years ago, some researchers conducted a study of 300 churches identified as successful. In his book, Excellent Protestant Congregations, Paul Wilkes names 26 characteristics of those churches. Three of which deal with taking risks. The first quality identified by Wilkes is vibrant faith. The kind of faith where church members say they feel excited when they face challenges in our modern world. For them, faith is an adventure, rather than a passive, leisure-time activity. They take risky actions based on their beliefs. Our congregation revealed this kind of faith when you voted to be Reconciling In Christ 28 years ago. That decision confirmed a never dying commitment to welcome all people, regardless of gender identity and sexual orientation.
The second risk-taking characteristic of successful churches is that they are entrepreneurs—willing to engage in new ventures. Does that sound familiar? Well, it should. Let me remind you that we’re currently looking for a new worship space so we can move by August 1st. If that’s not a new venture, I don’t know what is. But that’s not the only new thing we’ve tried. Over the past years, we’ve developed an ongoing relationship with Churches United for the Homeless. We sublease office space to other organizations. We work with and on behalf of immigrant families…. Many of you could add something to that list.
The third characteristic of risk-taking congregations is a willingness to move beyond comfort zones. They dare to go places where others would never dream. Again, does that sound like St. Mark’s? This week, I’m reminded of the risk you took in calling me as an openly gay pastor. In a state that seems even more conservative than when I moved here three years ago!
So, beloved people of St. Mark’s, it sure seems like we fit all three of those criteria. Not that we’re perfect. No one is. And not that we’re done. For change is a constant factor in all our lives. And it can feel scary. But to me all this says that Pentecost is still happening in this community. The Spirit is here today. And just like that group of believers on that first Pentecost, the Spirit calls us to follow Jesus without knowing exactly where we are going. As Martin Luther King, Jr. once wrote: “Take the first step in faith. You don't have to see the whole staircase—just take the first step.” May God help us take that first step—even a first leap in faith. And the next and the next and the next…. As we follow the call of that unpredictable Holy Spirit. Amen.
+ + +
Acts 2:1-21
When the day of Pentecost had come, [the apostles] were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each.
Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”
But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:
‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit, and they shall prophesy. And I will show portents in the heaven above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and smoky mist. The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day. Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’”
Then a pale gray pond-fish asks, “But, how do we get to the sea?” The sparkling fish replies: “It's easy! You jump from this little pond into that river. Then the current will carry you to the sea.” The gray fish’s eyes open wide with fear, “But that river is too deep and strong! We don't know where it goes. It's much too risky!" The sparkling fish tells him, “But you don't understand—I've been there! The Sea is far more wonderful than you can imagine. It’s worth the risk. You just have to have faith and jump! The river will take you to the sea. I’ll show you. Who wants to come with me?" At first no one moves. Then two brave little fish swim to the side of the Sparkling Fish. Together they leap into the river, and the current sweeps them away to the Sea.
This fish story is, of course, a parable for anyone who’s afraid of change. Like some of us who today may be facing a difficult life situation. Or churches that resist trying something new—who follow the cardinal rule for congregations: “But that’s the way we’ve always done it!”
But I think this fish tale is the perfect story for Pentecost. Just like the fish in that little pond, the disciples in today’s first lesson are called to experience something new. Something never done before. Without knowing what would happen next, they gather together in prayer and anxiety. When suddenly, a fierce wind blows through the windows, and flames appear over their heads. Spontaneously, everyone starts speaking strange languages. A cacophony of weird sounds. The people around them think they’re drunk. In reality, it’s the Holy Spirit, making them act crazy.
We Christians call Pentecost the birthday of the Church. But in many congregations, it’s a pretty dull party. Most of us Lutherans would never do what those early believers did. At least not in public. But maybe that’s what has brought us to where we are today. The age of a dying Church. Where soon there may be more Americans who openly claim no Church affiliation than those who sit in pews on Sunday mornings. Which tells us something needs to change. I believe living out the Gospel means daring to make decisions, even when we fear the consequences.
Hudson Taylor, a British missionary, once said: “Unless our Christian life is lived with elements of risk in our exploits for God, there is no need for faith.” The early Christians in the Book of Acts faced persecution and imprisonment, even death. Pentecost is a symbol of that kind of faith. A faith so desperately needed today.
Several years ago, some researchers conducted a study of 300 churches identified as successful. In his book, Excellent Protestant Congregations, Paul Wilkes names 26 characteristics of those churches. Three of which deal with taking risks. The first quality identified by Wilkes is vibrant faith. The kind of faith where church members say they feel excited when they face challenges in our modern world. For them, faith is an adventure, rather than a passive, leisure-time activity. They take risky actions based on their beliefs. Our congregation revealed this kind of faith when you voted to be Reconciling In Christ 28 years ago. That decision confirmed a never dying commitment to welcome all people, regardless of gender identity and sexual orientation.
The second risk-taking characteristic of successful churches is that they are entrepreneurs—willing to engage in new ventures. Does that sound familiar? Well, it should. Let me remind you that we’re currently looking for a new worship space so we can move by August 1st. If that’s not a new venture, I don’t know what is. But that’s not the only new thing we’ve tried. Over the past years, we’ve developed an ongoing relationship with Churches United for the Homeless. We sublease office space to other organizations. We work with and on behalf of immigrant families…. Many of you could add something to that list.
The third characteristic of risk-taking congregations is a willingness to move beyond comfort zones. They dare to go places where others would never dream. Again, does that sound like St. Mark’s? This week, I’m reminded of the risk you took in calling me as an openly gay pastor. In a state that seems even more conservative than when I moved here three years ago!
So, beloved people of St. Mark’s, it sure seems like we fit all three of those criteria. Not that we’re perfect. No one is. And not that we’re done. For change is a constant factor in all our lives. And it can feel scary. But to me all this says that Pentecost is still happening in this community. The Spirit is here today. And just like that group of believers on that first Pentecost, the Spirit calls us to follow Jesus without knowing exactly where we are going. As Martin Luther King, Jr. once wrote: “Take the first step in faith. You don't have to see the whole staircase—just take the first step.” May God help us take that first step—even a first leap in faith. And the next and the next and the next…. As we follow the call of that unpredictable Holy Spirit. Amen.
+ + +
Acts 2:1-21
When the day of Pentecost had come, [the apostles] were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each.
Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”
But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:
‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit, and they shall prophesy. And I will show portents in the heaven above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and smoky mist. The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day. Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’”
June 16, 2019
"The Wisdom of New Beginnings," based on Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-21 and John 16:12-15 (readings follow the sermon)
When I was a student in seminary, I began the painful struggle of coming to terms with my sexual orientation. Back then, I knew that if I came out, I could would be kicked out of the ordination process. So, my fears kept me in the closet of depression, isolation and shame. Finally, in the fall of my senior year, I started to explore what being gay might mean for me. I discovered an organization in Minneapolis called Gay and Lesbian Community Services that offered a four-week coming out group. So, I signed up.
On that first Saturday morning, walking through the front door of their building, I remember feeling terrified. A common experience for those coming out. I didn’t know what to expect or who might be there. What I found were people like myself dealing with what it meant to be LGBTQ. And I met my first gay friends. For me, it was the initial step of a long journey. A decision that led to major changes in my life. Sometimes, an inner Spirit reveals a path leading us to a life transition that we, by ourselves, could never imagine. In our Gospel lesson, Jesus talks about that. Jesus says, “When the Spirit of truth comes, she will guide you into all the truth.”
Our first reading also reveals that kind of Spirit. The book of Proverbs calls her “Wisdom.” Because she’s a woman, some theologians call her “Lady Wisdom.” I love that. According to one Jewish tradition, Lady Wisdom was present when God made the cosmos—serving as architect to the divine master builder. The Hebrew word for “wisdom” is Chokhmah (חָכְמָה). In the book of Exodus, the same Hebrew word is used for the “skills” of the artists who created the beautiful curtains and altar furnishings for the tabernacle—the sanctuary tent that the people of Israel carried with them during 40 years of wandering in the desert. Maybe that’s the kind of wisdom we need here at St. Mark’s. In our journey towards a new place of worship, we need more than head knowledge. We also need the skills and wisdom of those among us who have walked the path of change and transition in our lives. Who have found faith to be a source of strength when life presents a strange detour. Who know that even though change can feel scary and uncertain and stressful, it’s often the way to arrive at something new for us as individuals and as a community.
Change is often surprising. It can happen without much notice. One day, you get up and go through your morning rituals. And a few hours later, you’re faced with something completely unexpected. Just ask my husband Charlie, who on Wednesday had a tumble with his bicycle. Eleanor Roosevelt was a woman who faced change. A little over a century ago, Eleanor married Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who later became America’s longest-serving President. FDR led our country through the Depression and World War II.
After 13 years of marriage, Eleanor was devastated to discover her husband was having an affair with her secretary and friend, Lucy Mercer. A revelation that almost killed her, as she walked through a time of deep disillusionment and despair. Struggling through her own pain and shyness and self-doubt, eventually Eleanor developed her own wisdom. She found the personal strength to become the major public figure that she remained for the rest of her life. Looking back at her personal ordeal, Eleanor once wrote: “Somewhere along the way, we discover who we really are, and then we make our decision for which we are responsible. [Just be sure to] make that decision for yourself, because you can never really live anyone else’s life.”1
Of course, reaching the point where you’re ready for a major change is not a simple process. There can be many forces of resistance: fear and insecurity, family voices and naysayers, career and financial consequences, anxiety and worry. Unfortunately, there’s no magic test to tell you whether you’re ready for a change, or when it’s time for a new beginning. But there are a couple things to consider. The first is the reaction of people who know you well—but not in terms of whether or not they approve.
When I decided not to get ordained over three decades ago—because I wanted to live an authentic life and have someone to love, one of my gay friends got really angry with me. He thought I could be a pastor and have a secret gay life on the side. However, people who truly know you can give insight about whether what you plan to change is really something new, or simply a replay of an old pattern in your life or community.
Another question to ask yourself is whether this decision is really the next step in a transition process. For example, some people jump quickly to a new job because they’re frustrated with their current position—without any time for analysis of what they really want to do next. But change often requires a liminal period. An in-between time to consider various options and what a specific change might mean. I think our congregation has had that kind of time—both during our three years at Elim and our two years here at Prairie St. John’s. Because of our own congregation’s period of reflection and living in a liminal space, today we have a clearer picture of our true identity as a faith community. Of who and what we want to be in a new space.
We have a better sense of where Lady Wisdom is calling us next. A new beginning that comes not out of desperation or frustration or fear. For new beginnings don’t come out of that. They come from within yourself, your soul. From within the hearts and minds of a community. From the wisdom of compassionate leaders. From the prophetic voice of the Spirit of Truth. Out of all that, comes a vision of what a new beginning might look like, and how to get there. Of being ready to make a decision and act. For at some point, you just have to take a leap of faith. Without knowing exactly where it might lead—only that the Spirit is leading us, and God’s hand guiding us to new ventures. Where the creative fingers of Lady Wisdom trace the map of our lives and of our community. A path that sometimes leads us from pain and suffering, to hope and love. Amen.
-------------------------------------------
1 William Bridges, Transitions—Making Sense of Life’s Changes (Da Capo Press, Cambridge, MA, 2014), p .165.
+ + +
Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31
Does not wisdom call, and does not understanding raise her voice? On the heights, beside the way, at the crossroads she takes her stand; beside the gates in front of the town, at the entrance of the portals she cries out: "To you, O people, I call, and my cry is to all that live. The Lord created me at the beginning of his work, the first of his acts of long ago. Ages ago I was set up, at the first, before the beginning of the earth. When there were no depths I was brought forth, when there were no springs abounding with water. Before the mountains had been shaped, before the hills, I was brought forth—when [God] had not yet made earth and fields, or the world's first bits of soil. When [God] established the heavens, I was there, when [God] drew a circle on the face of the deep, when [God] made firm the skies above, when [God] established the fountains of the deep, when [God] assigned to the sea its limit, so that the waters might not transgress [their] command, when [God] marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside [God], like a master worker; and I was daily his delight, rejoicing before him always, rejoicing in the inhabited world and delighting in the human race.
John 16:12-15 (Note: I have adapted this lesson by using feminine pronouns and words in reference to the Spirit. The original Greek text uses gender-neutral language. Using the feminine forms can help us see this passage in a new light.)
Jesus said: "I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, she will guide you into all the truth; for she will not speak on her own, but will speak whatever she hears, and she will declare to you the things that are to come. She will glorify me, because she will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father/Mother God has is mine. For this reason, I said that she will take what is mine and declare it to you.”
On that first Saturday morning, walking through the front door of their building, I remember feeling terrified. A common experience for those coming out. I didn’t know what to expect or who might be there. What I found were people like myself dealing with what it meant to be LGBTQ. And I met my first gay friends. For me, it was the initial step of a long journey. A decision that led to major changes in my life. Sometimes, an inner Spirit reveals a path leading us to a life transition that we, by ourselves, could never imagine. In our Gospel lesson, Jesus talks about that. Jesus says, “When the Spirit of truth comes, she will guide you into all the truth.”
Our first reading also reveals that kind of Spirit. The book of Proverbs calls her “Wisdom.” Because she’s a woman, some theologians call her “Lady Wisdom.” I love that. According to one Jewish tradition, Lady Wisdom was present when God made the cosmos—serving as architect to the divine master builder. The Hebrew word for “wisdom” is Chokhmah (חָכְמָה). In the book of Exodus, the same Hebrew word is used for the “skills” of the artists who created the beautiful curtains and altar furnishings for the tabernacle—the sanctuary tent that the people of Israel carried with them during 40 years of wandering in the desert. Maybe that’s the kind of wisdom we need here at St. Mark’s. In our journey towards a new place of worship, we need more than head knowledge. We also need the skills and wisdom of those among us who have walked the path of change and transition in our lives. Who have found faith to be a source of strength when life presents a strange detour. Who know that even though change can feel scary and uncertain and stressful, it’s often the way to arrive at something new for us as individuals and as a community.
Change is often surprising. It can happen without much notice. One day, you get up and go through your morning rituals. And a few hours later, you’re faced with something completely unexpected. Just ask my husband Charlie, who on Wednesday had a tumble with his bicycle. Eleanor Roosevelt was a woman who faced change. A little over a century ago, Eleanor married Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who later became America’s longest-serving President. FDR led our country through the Depression and World War II.
After 13 years of marriage, Eleanor was devastated to discover her husband was having an affair with her secretary and friend, Lucy Mercer. A revelation that almost killed her, as she walked through a time of deep disillusionment and despair. Struggling through her own pain and shyness and self-doubt, eventually Eleanor developed her own wisdom. She found the personal strength to become the major public figure that she remained for the rest of her life. Looking back at her personal ordeal, Eleanor once wrote: “Somewhere along the way, we discover who we really are, and then we make our decision for which we are responsible. [Just be sure to] make that decision for yourself, because you can never really live anyone else’s life.”1
Of course, reaching the point where you’re ready for a major change is not a simple process. There can be many forces of resistance: fear and insecurity, family voices and naysayers, career and financial consequences, anxiety and worry. Unfortunately, there’s no magic test to tell you whether you’re ready for a change, or when it’s time for a new beginning. But there are a couple things to consider. The first is the reaction of people who know you well—but not in terms of whether or not they approve.
When I decided not to get ordained over three decades ago—because I wanted to live an authentic life and have someone to love, one of my gay friends got really angry with me. He thought I could be a pastor and have a secret gay life on the side. However, people who truly know you can give insight about whether what you plan to change is really something new, or simply a replay of an old pattern in your life or community.
Another question to ask yourself is whether this decision is really the next step in a transition process. For example, some people jump quickly to a new job because they’re frustrated with their current position—without any time for analysis of what they really want to do next. But change often requires a liminal period. An in-between time to consider various options and what a specific change might mean. I think our congregation has had that kind of time—both during our three years at Elim and our two years here at Prairie St. John’s. Because of our own congregation’s period of reflection and living in a liminal space, today we have a clearer picture of our true identity as a faith community. Of who and what we want to be in a new space.
We have a better sense of where Lady Wisdom is calling us next. A new beginning that comes not out of desperation or frustration or fear. For new beginnings don’t come out of that. They come from within yourself, your soul. From within the hearts and minds of a community. From the wisdom of compassionate leaders. From the prophetic voice of the Spirit of Truth. Out of all that, comes a vision of what a new beginning might look like, and how to get there. Of being ready to make a decision and act. For at some point, you just have to take a leap of faith. Without knowing exactly where it might lead—only that the Spirit is leading us, and God’s hand guiding us to new ventures. Where the creative fingers of Lady Wisdom trace the map of our lives and of our community. A path that sometimes leads us from pain and suffering, to hope and love. Amen.
-------------------------------------------
1 William Bridges, Transitions—Making Sense of Life’s Changes (Da Capo Press, Cambridge, MA, 2014), p .165.
+ + +
Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31
Does not wisdom call, and does not understanding raise her voice? On the heights, beside the way, at the crossroads she takes her stand; beside the gates in front of the town, at the entrance of the portals she cries out: "To you, O people, I call, and my cry is to all that live. The Lord created me at the beginning of his work, the first of his acts of long ago. Ages ago I was set up, at the first, before the beginning of the earth. When there were no depths I was brought forth, when there were no springs abounding with water. Before the mountains had been shaped, before the hills, I was brought forth—when [God] had not yet made earth and fields, or the world's first bits of soil. When [God] established the heavens, I was there, when [God] drew a circle on the face of the deep, when [God] made firm the skies above, when [God] established the fountains of the deep, when [God] assigned to the sea its limit, so that the waters might not transgress [their] command, when [God] marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside [God], like a master worker; and I was daily his delight, rejoicing before him always, rejoicing in the inhabited world and delighting in the human race.
John 16:12-15 (Note: I have adapted this lesson by using feminine pronouns and words in reference to the Spirit. The original Greek text uses gender-neutral language. Using the feminine forms can help us see this passage in a new light.)
Jesus said: "I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, she will guide you into all the truth; for she will not speak on her own, but will speak whatever she hears, and she will declare to you the things that are to come. She will glorify me, because she will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father/Mother God has is mine. For this reason, I said that she will take what is mine and declare it to you.”
June 23, 2019
"No More Borders," based on Luke 8:26-39
(reading follows the sermon)
When I moved to Fargo/Moorhead three years ago, I wondered about the state border between these two cities. When Charlie and I were shopping for a house, I asked a few people whether it would make a difference—since I was a pastor of congregation in Fargo—if we lived in Moorhead. What most people said to me was something like, “Oh, no, lots of people do that!”
So, we ended up buying a house in Moorhead. And since then I have made a daily trek from home to office—traveling all the way from Minnesota to North Dakota and back. At first it was kind of exciting, crossing the state border each day. But after a while, it became very routine. Except this past Thursday, when I crossed the border several times! On Thursday morning, Charlie had an appointment at the new Sanford Hospital on the west side of Fargo for a C-scan for his arm, which he injured in an accident last week, so he couldn’t drive himself.
Of course, I had an appointment at the same time at the Sanford clinic in north Fargo. So, we drove from Moorhead to the hospital, where I dropped off Charlie, then headed to my own appointment. After that, I drove back to the hospital, picked Charlie up and took him home—again crossing the border. Then at noon, I had set up a lunch meeting with Curt, a friend from our Rainbow Seniors group, and Charlie decided to join us. So, we rode from Moorhead back to Fargo, crossing the border again! After lunch, Curt wanted to see our church’s old organ, so I took Charlie home and then drove back to our office in Fargo— which made two more border crossings. About 4:30 p.m., I drove home. Another crossing! But my driving day was not done. Because we went to the International Potluck that evening at Olivet Lutheran in Fargo. Once again, we crossed the border. Finally, after the potluck, we had our final border crossing. So, if I count correctly, that made a total of eight border crossings in one day! An all-time record!
Today’s Gospel also tells a story about border crossings. The lesson starts with Jesus and the disciples sailing across the Sea of Galilee, arriving at the country of the Gerasenes, located in modern day Syria. The Gerasenes were the people of the Roman district of which Gerasa was the capital city. So, Jesus crosses what today is an international boundary—but without any security checks or border wall. Jesus passes freely to a city originally founded by the Greeks a couple centuries before.
When Charlie and I visited Israel seven years ago, we sailed on a boat on the Sea of Galilee. Our guide pointed out the spot where supposedly this story took place, on the east side of the lake. Where a Roman settlement once stood. Where the farmers raised pigs for pork, a food forbidden by Jewish dietary law. This story is situated in the center of a clash of cultures—contrasting the homeland of Jesus with a completely different society. The foreigners there would have been hated for their allegiance to the oppressive empire. Yet, the man Jesus heals is one of those foreigners. By crossing the border, Jesus enters this man’s country and culture—a controversial act for any Jew of that time.
Based on the animosity many felt, Jesus could have turned his back on that man’s misfortune. Instead, Jesus, an immigrant himself in that moment, heals a despised and dangerous foreigner. A Jew who steps beyond his community to reveal God’s grace in the person of an outsider. A Gospel parable enacted in real life. In this healing, Jesus sends the legion of demons into a herd of swine. “Legion” was the Roman word for a unit of 5,000 soldiers. And the pigs were probably intended as food for the military unit of the occupying force there.
In all this, there’s a not-so-subtle impediment.
Jesus seems to engage in the kind of resistance sometimes practiced by oppressed people. Not an open, public protest, but symbolic defiance. Like the blacks who sat at Southern lunch counters in the 1950s. Like the transgender and gay individuals who refused to follow police orders just before the beginning of the Stonewall Riots. Like the Lutheran congregations that called LGBTQ pastors before the 2009 ELCA vote. Like the caravans of refugees who cross the Mexican border, knowing they might be sent to U.S. detention centers.
Like the law enforcement in certain cities who are refusing to cooperate with raids planned by immigration agents.
Like them, throughout his ministry, Jesus resisted the evil of this world. Jesus crossed borders. Jesus defied cultural norms. Jesus embraced the marginalized. Jesus welcomed the stranger. Jesus healed the foreigner. That kind of welcoming grace and hospitality is the central message of the Gospel Jesus preached, and lived, and died for. The same kind of hospitality recently extended to our congregation by members of Temple Beth El Synagogue—who have graciously invited us to share their space. The same kind of love we are called to live out today. A love that transcends our differences. As St. Paul writes in our second reading from Galatians: “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”
Paul suggests that Christ removes all the walls that divide us from one another. That we are now united in the love of Jesus, the One who came to change all that. The One who shatters the dark hatred of this world. The One who crosses the borders that separate us. The One who gives healing to our weary bodies. The One who grants comfort to our broken hearts, The One who brings together our diverse communities. Amen.
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Luke 8:26-39
Then [Jesus and his disciples] arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me”—for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion”; for many demons had entered him. They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss. Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.
When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.
So, we ended up buying a house in Moorhead. And since then I have made a daily trek from home to office—traveling all the way from Minnesota to North Dakota and back. At first it was kind of exciting, crossing the state border each day. But after a while, it became very routine. Except this past Thursday, when I crossed the border several times! On Thursday morning, Charlie had an appointment at the new Sanford Hospital on the west side of Fargo for a C-scan for his arm, which he injured in an accident last week, so he couldn’t drive himself.
Of course, I had an appointment at the same time at the Sanford clinic in north Fargo. So, we drove from Moorhead to the hospital, where I dropped off Charlie, then headed to my own appointment. After that, I drove back to the hospital, picked Charlie up and took him home—again crossing the border. Then at noon, I had set up a lunch meeting with Curt, a friend from our Rainbow Seniors group, and Charlie decided to join us. So, we rode from Moorhead back to Fargo, crossing the border again! After lunch, Curt wanted to see our church’s old organ, so I took Charlie home and then drove back to our office in Fargo— which made two more border crossings. About 4:30 p.m., I drove home. Another crossing! But my driving day was not done. Because we went to the International Potluck that evening at Olivet Lutheran in Fargo. Once again, we crossed the border. Finally, after the potluck, we had our final border crossing. So, if I count correctly, that made a total of eight border crossings in one day! An all-time record!
Today’s Gospel also tells a story about border crossings. The lesson starts with Jesus and the disciples sailing across the Sea of Galilee, arriving at the country of the Gerasenes, located in modern day Syria. The Gerasenes were the people of the Roman district of which Gerasa was the capital city. So, Jesus crosses what today is an international boundary—but without any security checks or border wall. Jesus passes freely to a city originally founded by the Greeks a couple centuries before.
When Charlie and I visited Israel seven years ago, we sailed on a boat on the Sea of Galilee. Our guide pointed out the spot where supposedly this story took place, on the east side of the lake. Where a Roman settlement once stood. Where the farmers raised pigs for pork, a food forbidden by Jewish dietary law. This story is situated in the center of a clash of cultures—contrasting the homeland of Jesus with a completely different society. The foreigners there would have been hated for their allegiance to the oppressive empire. Yet, the man Jesus heals is one of those foreigners. By crossing the border, Jesus enters this man’s country and culture—a controversial act for any Jew of that time.
Based on the animosity many felt, Jesus could have turned his back on that man’s misfortune. Instead, Jesus, an immigrant himself in that moment, heals a despised and dangerous foreigner. A Jew who steps beyond his community to reveal God’s grace in the person of an outsider. A Gospel parable enacted in real life. In this healing, Jesus sends the legion of demons into a herd of swine. “Legion” was the Roman word for a unit of 5,000 soldiers. And the pigs were probably intended as food for the military unit of the occupying force there.
In all this, there’s a not-so-subtle impediment.
Jesus seems to engage in the kind of resistance sometimes practiced by oppressed people. Not an open, public protest, but symbolic defiance. Like the blacks who sat at Southern lunch counters in the 1950s. Like the transgender and gay individuals who refused to follow police orders just before the beginning of the Stonewall Riots. Like the Lutheran congregations that called LGBTQ pastors before the 2009 ELCA vote. Like the caravans of refugees who cross the Mexican border, knowing they might be sent to U.S. detention centers.
Like the law enforcement in certain cities who are refusing to cooperate with raids planned by immigration agents.
Like them, throughout his ministry, Jesus resisted the evil of this world. Jesus crossed borders. Jesus defied cultural norms. Jesus embraced the marginalized. Jesus welcomed the stranger. Jesus healed the foreigner. That kind of welcoming grace and hospitality is the central message of the Gospel Jesus preached, and lived, and died for. The same kind of hospitality recently extended to our congregation by members of Temple Beth El Synagogue—who have graciously invited us to share their space. The same kind of love we are called to live out today. A love that transcends our differences. As St. Paul writes in our second reading from Galatians: “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”
Paul suggests that Christ removes all the walls that divide us from one another. That we are now united in the love of Jesus, the One who came to change all that. The One who shatters the dark hatred of this world. The One who crosses the borders that separate us. The One who gives healing to our weary bodies. The One who grants comfort to our broken hearts, The One who brings together our diverse communities. Amen.
+ + +
Luke 8:26-39
Then [Jesus and his disciples] arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me”—for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion”; for many demons had entered him. They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss. Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.
When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.