March 2021
"Precepts or Promises?"
Based on Exodus 20:1-17 and John 2:13-22 (texts are available below)
March 7, 2021
When I was young, my twin sister Joyce and I went to Sunday school almost every week. My parents sent us not because they were religious or even went to church very often, but because we lived two blocks from the Lutheran church in our small town. And because (back then) that’s what everybody did on Sunday.
And even though I didn’t feel a lot of pressure to go from my parents, I enjoyed Sunday school. I liked the stories about Noah and the ark, about Moses and the stone tablets, about David and Goliath. I liked the songs we sang, like “Jesus loves me.” I even liked memorizing the 10 commandments and Bible verses.
Attendance was a big deal in my Sunday school. I remember the teacher had a little chart with each child’s name. You got a gold star for every day you were there. And if you had perfect attendance at the end of the school year, you received a special pin. Apparently, St. Mark’s had a similar practice. Here’s a pin that Naomi found in our archives.
As a kid, I received a pin more than once. But sometimes, I just didn’t feel like going. And I knew that being sick didn’t count against you. I remember one Sunday in fourth grade, I stayed home—telling my mom I didn’t feel well. But later that day I had a miraculous healing, and went skating at the ice rink in the park across the street from our house. On Monday a friend of mine named Craig, who sat in the desk in front of me at school, asked me why I wasn’t in Sunday School. I said I was ill.
The next week in Sunday School, when the teacher started taking attendance, I told her I was sick the week before. But then Craig chimed in to tell her in an accusing tone that I wasn’t really sick, because someone had seen me skating. When the teacher looked at me, I felt humiliated.
That and other experiences taught me at an early age that sometimes the Church was all about rules instead of grace. About precepts instead of promises. For me, it was clear that one of the unwritten commandments was “Thou shalt not skip Sunday school.”
I was reminded of that experience when I read our first lesson from Exodus with the 10 commandments. I think a lot of Christians read these as rules that we are all expected to follow. Scholars call this list the “Decalogue,” which literally means “ten words.” Which is how this passage begins: “God spoke all these words….” Notice that it doesn’t say “commandments.” When reading this passage, it’s important to understand the context. God says, “I am the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.”
For the Ten Commandments are not really a legal code or a body of rules designed to stand apart from the original story of the people of Israel freed by God from oppressive slavery. They were never intended to be posted on monuments in front of government buildings—like the one at our Fargo City Hall, which has stood there for 60 years. And they certainly weren’t created to be a set of rules for students to be posted in classrooms—as proposed by a current bill in our North Dakota legislature.
A lot of us read the 10 commandments in negative terms. We think their primary purpose is to make us feel guilty and keep us from doing some things that we would really like to do. Precepts to follow without a promised reward. In church or Sunday school, you probably learned a basic Lutheran belief: that “the Law” convicts us of our sin and drives us to Christ. That the Law tells us what we did wrong, when maybe we really just want to hear a promise of forgiveness. But I believe the 10 commandments are not just precepts. They are a covenant—words of promise between God and God’s people for both the people of Israel and those of us who call ourselves Christian.
Not unlike the words a couple says to one another at a wedding. When my husband Charlie and I were able to finally get legally married in 2013, these are the promises we made to one another:
“I commit myself to you in love. I promise that: I will be faithful to you and honest with you; I will respect, trust, help and care for you; I will share my life with you; I will forgive you and strengthen you.”
Which is not to say that the two of us have perfectly kept all of those promises each and every day. We haven’t. In fact, no couple really can. And sometimes a promised relationship doesn’t work out, no matter how much the partners try. Yet the purpose and intent of the original vows are to express your desire to live with one another with love and respect and caring. Which is what God intends with the promises made with the people of Israel in the commandments. Which is also what God intends with the promises God makes with us today in the Word and sacraments. Promises—not just precepts—that keep us focused on relationships—not just rules.
As Terrence Fretheim, an Old Testament professor I had at Luther Seminary once wrote:
“Obedience to the commandments is relationally conceived…. The Ten Commandments, then, are a gracious word of God and they begin with a word of good news about what God has done on behalf of “you” as a member of the community of faith. The commandments are to be read through the lens of that redemptive confession. God’s saving actions have drawn the people of God into a new orbit of life and blessing, to which the people respond by giving a certain ‘commandment shape’ to their lives.” *
I’ve spent the past three Sundays in Lent preaching about promises. Two weeks ago, we talked about God’s rainbow promise to protect Noah and all creatures of this world. Last week, we talked about God’s promise of continuing love and care for Abraham and Sarah and future generations.
Today we’re talking about God’s promise of a grace-filled relationship with the Jewish people. About God’s promise to walk with them. From the time of slavery, through the events leading to their liberation and exodus from Egypt. Through their 40 years of wilderness wandering. Finally arriving with Moses at a new place to live. With new precepts to live by. And new promises to live with.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus makes similar promises. In a Gospel that begins by saying: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” The same “word” that God revealed to Moses. The same word that dwelled with the people of Israel in the desert. In fact, in Greek the word for “dwelt” is the verb form of the word “tabernacle”—the movable temple which the Jewish people carried with them from place to place.
So, it’s no surprise that in today’s Gospel Jesus refers to his own body as the Temple. For Jesus is the Word Incarnate. The one in whom all the precepts and promises of God reside. The one in whom the covenant of God dwells. The Gospel of John is unique in that it places this story of Jesus cleansing the Temple at the beginning of his ministry. In the other three Gospels, it happens during the last week of his life, which we call Holy Week. John puts it here to make a point—that Jesus does what he does because of his zeal and love for God. The same kind of zeal and love God has for us.
The kingdom of God was at the beginning and center of Jesus’ message and ministry. For God’s kingdom is not just about life after death and a heavenly star for those who live a perfect life. Something that none of us can do. Instead, the Kingdom of God is also about how we live and love together here on earth.
I believe that’s the real intent of the 10 commandments. That we as God’s people promise to work together to transform this world into a place where justice happens and peace abides. Where every child and adult together learn precepts that teach us how to act with kindness, speak words of mercy, and build community.
And where we share promises that fill us with faith and meaning and hope. Promises like: “God will always dwell with us—with you and me.” And, “You are a beloved child of God forever.”
Promises written not on stone tablets. But upon our human hearts. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------
* Fretheim, Terrence; “Working Preacher” website; March 4, 2018; https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/third-sunday-in-lent-2/commentary-on-exodus-201-17-4
FIRST READING: Exodus 20:1-17 God spoke all these words: I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and the fourth generation of those who reject me, but showing steadfast love to the thousandth generation of those who love me and keep my commandments.
You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God, for the Lord will not acquit anyone who misuses his name. Remember the sabbath day, and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work—you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your livestock, or the alien resident in your towns. For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day and consecrated it.
Honor your father and your mother, so that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you. You shall not murder. You shall not commit adultery. You shall not steal. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or male or female slave, or ox, or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor.
GOSPEL LESSON: John 2:13-22
The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. He told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me.” The Jews then said to him, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” The Jews then said, “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?” But he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken.
And even though I didn’t feel a lot of pressure to go from my parents, I enjoyed Sunday school. I liked the stories about Noah and the ark, about Moses and the stone tablets, about David and Goliath. I liked the songs we sang, like “Jesus loves me.” I even liked memorizing the 10 commandments and Bible verses.
Attendance was a big deal in my Sunday school. I remember the teacher had a little chart with each child’s name. You got a gold star for every day you were there. And if you had perfect attendance at the end of the school year, you received a special pin. Apparently, St. Mark’s had a similar practice. Here’s a pin that Naomi found in our archives.
As a kid, I received a pin more than once. But sometimes, I just didn’t feel like going. And I knew that being sick didn’t count against you. I remember one Sunday in fourth grade, I stayed home—telling my mom I didn’t feel well. But later that day I had a miraculous healing, and went skating at the ice rink in the park across the street from our house. On Monday a friend of mine named Craig, who sat in the desk in front of me at school, asked me why I wasn’t in Sunday School. I said I was ill.
The next week in Sunday School, when the teacher started taking attendance, I told her I was sick the week before. But then Craig chimed in to tell her in an accusing tone that I wasn’t really sick, because someone had seen me skating. When the teacher looked at me, I felt humiliated.
That and other experiences taught me at an early age that sometimes the Church was all about rules instead of grace. About precepts instead of promises. For me, it was clear that one of the unwritten commandments was “Thou shalt not skip Sunday school.”
I was reminded of that experience when I read our first lesson from Exodus with the 10 commandments. I think a lot of Christians read these as rules that we are all expected to follow. Scholars call this list the “Decalogue,” which literally means “ten words.” Which is how this passage begins: “God spoke all these words….” Notice that it doesn’t say “commandments.” When reading this passage, it’s important to understand the context. God says, “I am the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.”
For the Ten Commandments are not really a legal code or a body of rules designed to stand apart from the original story of the people of Israel freed by God from oppressive slavery. They were never intended to be posted on monuments in front of government buildings—like the one at our Fargo City Hall, which has stood there for 60 years. And they certainly weren’t created to be a set of rules for students to be posted in classrooms—as proposed by a current bill in our North Dakota legislature.
A lot of us read the 10 commandments in negative terms. We think their primary purpose is to make us feel guilty and keep us from doing some things that we would really like to do. Precepts to follow without a promised reward. In church or Sunday school, you probably learned a basic Lutheran belief: that “the Law” convicts us of our sin and drives us to Christ. That the Law tells us what we did wrong, when maybe we really just want to hear a promise of forgiveness. But I believe the 10 commandments are not just precepts. They are a covenant—words of promise between God and God’s people for both the people of Israel and those of us who call ourselves Christian.
Not unlike the words a couple says to one another at a wedding. When my husband Charlie and I were able to finally get legally married in 2013, these are the promises we made to one another:
“I commit myself to you in love. I promise that: I will be faithful to you and honest with you; I will respect, trust, help and care for you; I will share my life with you; I will forgive you and strengthen you.”
Which is not to say that the two of us have perfectly kept all of those promises each and every day. We haven’t. In fact, no couple really can. And sometimes a promised relationship doesn’t work out, no matter how much the partners try. Yet the purpose and intent of the original vows are to express your desire to live with one another with love and respect and caring. Which is what God intends with the promises made with the people of Israel in the commandments. Which is also what God intends with the promises God makes with us today in the Word and sacraments. Promises—not just precepts—that keep us focused on relationships—not just rules.
As Terrence Fretheim, an Old Testament professor I had at Luther Seminary once wrote:
“Obedience to the commandments is relationally conceived…. The Ten Commandments, then, are a gracious word of God and they begin with a word of good news about what God has done on behalf of “you” as a member of the community of faith. The commandments are to be read through the lens of that redemptive confession. God’s saving actions have drawn the people of God into a new orbit of life and blessing, to which the people respond by giving a certain ‘commandment shape’ to their lives.” *
I’ve spent the past three Sundays in Lent preaching about promises. Two weeks ago, we talked about God’s rainbow promise to protect Noah and all creatures of this world. Last week, we talked about God’s promise of continuing love and care for Abraham and Sarah and future generations.
Today we’re talking about God’s promise of a grace-filled relationship with the Jewish people. About God’s promise to walk with them. From the time of slavery, through the events leading to their liberation and exodus from Egypt. Through their 40 years of wilderness wandering. Finally arriving with Moses at a new place to live. With new precepts to live by. And new promises to live with.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus makes similar promises. In a Gospel that begins by saying: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” The same “word” that God revealed to Moses. The same word that dwelled with the people of Israel in the desert. In fact, in Greek the word for “dwelt” is the verb form of the word “tabernacle”—the movable temple which the Jewish people carried with them from place to place.
So, it’s no surprise that in today’s Gospel Jesus refers to his own body as the Temple. For Jesus is the Word Incarnate. The one in whom all the precepts and promises of God reside. The one in whom the covenant of God dwells. The Gospel of John is unique in that it places this story of Jesus cleansing the Temple at the beginning of his ministry. In the other three Gospels, it happens during the last week of his life, which we call Holy Week. John puts it here to make a point—that Jesus does what he does because of his zeal and love for God. The same kind of zeal and love God has for us.
The kingdom of God was at the beginning and center of Jesus’ message and ministry. For God’s kingdom is not just about life after death and a heavenly star for those who live a perfect life. Something that none of us can do. Instead, the Kingdom of God is also about how we live and love together here on earth.
I believe that’s the real intent of the 10 commandments. That we as God’s people promise to work together to transform this world into a place where justice happens and peace abides. Where every child and adult together learn precepts that teach us how to act with kindness, speak words of mercy, and build community.
And where we share promises that fill us with faith and meaning and hope. Promises like: “God will always dwell with us—with you and me.” And, “You are a beloved child of God forever.”
Promises written not on stone tablets. But upon our human hearts. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------
* Fretheim, Terrence; “Working Preacher” website; March 4, 2018; https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/third-sunday-in-lent-2/commentary-on-exodus-201-17-4
FIRST READING: Exodus 20:1-17 God spoke all these words: I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and the fourth generation of those who reject me, but showing steadfast love to the thousandth generation of those who love me and keep my commandments.
You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God, for the Lord will not acquit anyone who misuses his name. Remember the sabbath day, and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work—you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your livestock, or the alien resident in your towns. For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day and consecrated it.
Honor your father and your mother, so that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you. You shall not murder. You shall not commit adultery. You shall not steal. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or male or female slave, or ox, or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor.
GOSPEL LESSON: John 2:13-22
The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. He told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me.” The Jews then said to him, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” The Jews then said, “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?” But he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken.
"A Promise on a Stick"
Based on Numbers 21:4-9 and John 3:14-21 (texts are available below)
March 14, 2021
When Charlie and I lived in Minneapolis, we used to go to the Minnesota State Fair in at the end of August. It was an end-of-summer tradition. With hundreds of thousands of sweaty bodies, wandering from the cow barn to the education building to the midway. A lot of people go to the Fair for the food and drinks. From church diners to the all-you-can drink milk stand.
But the most popular is food on a stick—which began with the “pronto pup” 74 years ago. Today there are all sorts of options. Most involved some kind of regular food, dipped in batter and fried in oil. There’s mashed potatoes on a stick. A giant egg roll on a stick. And, of course, the very-Lutheran tater-tot hotdish on a stick. I’ve tried the Scotch egg on a stick (not my favorite.) And I like a battered Snicker bar on a stick. There’s even spaghetti and meatballs on a stick. And my favorite: a deep-fried Twinkie on a stick. Yum! I sure miss that State Fair food.
In our first lesson, the people of Israel talk about missing the foods they used to eat. Earlier in Numbers, they complain: “We remember the fish we used to eat in Egypt… the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic; but now our strength is dried up, and there’s nothing at all but this manna to look at."(Numbers 11:5-6) And although the Egyptian cuisine probably didn’t include food on a stick, it was vastly different than what they were eating in the desert. Manna and quail. The two foods God miraculously provided to them each day. Manna and quail. Day after day. You can almost hear their complaints: “I’m so sick of this food!”
If you remember, manna was the heavenly food God sent to the people of Israel as they wandered in the wilderness. We don’t really know what manna was. Even the Israelites didn’t know—the Hebrew word for “manna” is actually a question, meaning: “What is it?
The author of Numbers describes it in chapter 11: “Manna was like coriander seed, and its color was like the color of gum resin. The people went around and gathered it, ground it in mills or beat it in mortars, then boiled it in pots and made cakes of it; and the taste of it was like the taste of cakes baked with oil.” (Numbers 11:7-8) Which sounds a lot like deep-fried fair food, but without the stick. Which is tasty if you eat it once a year, but not for every meal for 40 years. So in this story, the people grumble.
A normal human reaction. When I worked at The Aliveness Project (a Minneapolis community center for people living with HIV/AIDS), we served meals six days a week. It wasn’t unusual for someone to come through the line and make a negative comment about what was being served that day. They’d say things like: “Not meatloaf again!” or “I don’t like fish, what else is there?”
The kitchen staff often felt annoyed or angry about their complaints. “Why can’t they just be grateful for a free meal?” they would tell me. But from my perspective, I would suggest considering that these were individuals who were poor and sick—with little power or control in their lives. So, complaining about their lunch was really a way for them to have a voice about something that was happening to them, no matter how trivial.
In today’s lesson, God is also annoyed by the people’s complaints. So annoyed that in anger God sends poisonous snakes into their camp. Snakes that bite individuals, who then die. I wonder how many of you would agree with me in saying that this is a very weird story. Where God acts like a vindictive bully. Whom Moses tries to de-escalate and convince to stop the snake attacks and deaths.
So God tells Moses to create a bronze serpent and put it on a pole. And anyone who gets a snake bite and looks at the icon will be healed. You could call this story, “A snake on a stick.” A deadly predator that becomes a source of healing.
A long time ago, just before my second year in seminary, I went to visit a classmate in Texas at the end of August. Of course, it was really hot—in the 100s every day. So one day, my friend “John” suggested we go to a nearby river, where his dad had a fishing boat. When we arrive, John pulls a shotgun out of the back of his El Camino pickup. “What’s the gun for?” I ask. “Snakes,” he says. As we boat down the river, he points out a “rattler” coiled on the sunny rocks along the shore. Then he pulls out his gun and shoots it. Apparently in Texas, the only good snake is a dead snake.
Likewise, when reading the snake story in Numbers, I wonder why God didn’t just kill the snakes? Or with divine power, make them magically disappear. After all, that’s what the people wanted. Just like those among us who have prayed and wondered why God doesn’t just make COVID-19 disappear or create a miracle drug to cure the sick. For even though the vaccines are making us feel more hopeful, deep down we know that this pandemic is not magically going away. For us, there’s no snake on a stick.
In our Gospel reading, Jesus compares himself to a snake on a stick. A reference to the story in Numbers. But not an image you expect Jesus to use. Yet in John we hear Jesus say, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.
But a snake? Like Indiana Jones says in one of my favorite movies, Raiders of the Lost Ark: “Why did it have to be snakes?” There are so many other images for Jesus that give us comfort—especially in this Gospel. For example, in John Jesus is the good shepherd—who carries a lost sheep gently upon his shoulders. In another passage, Jesus says “I am the bread of life”—feeding our souls with heavenly manna. John also calls Jesus “living water”—quenching the thirst of the Samaritan woman at the well and others like her rejected by their communities. At the beginning of this Gospel, Jesus is introduced as the incarnate Word and the light of God—illuminating the hopeless and dreary spaces in our hearts and world. Elsewhere in John, Jesus is “the way”—who like Moses guides us ornery people through the wilderness of our lives to safe and welcoming places.
Each of these images offers us a sense of grace, shelter and security. However, most of us don’t look at the Jesus of the Gospels and normally think of a poisonous serpent. Yet, that’s the image we have here—a snake on a stick. A bronze symbol that promised healing to anyone who looked at this image on a pole. A snake with a promise. So, Jesus also offers healing to anyone who gazes upon the One who hangs on a wooden cross. The promise of the cross.
Today, there are so many who look for healing. People living with COVID and their loved ones. Individuals struggling with depression and grief in response to a year of social isolation and loss. Workers laid off their jobs who feel desperate. Those diagnosed with cancers, disabling conditions or other diseases largely overlooked in the current pandemic. Trans and nonbinary youth who feel isolated and are the target of current legislation. Anxious students returning to classes who have lost so much in the past year—friends, teachers, proms, formal graduations, the routines of school life. And some among us mourn for loved ones who passed away without a final goodbye or public funeral.
If you are one of those looking for healing today, Jesus stands before you with his arms held wide—for you to see him hanging on the cross, a symbol of cruel torture and oppression. However, unlike the snake on a stick, Jesus does not offer a magical cure for all that we have lost this year.
Yet Jesus does take that sign of death and fear, and transforms it into a means of redemption. Jesus takes the ugly image of a snake, and turns it into a promise of restored life. Jesus takes the poisonous venom of human hatred, and turns it into the healing balm of forgiveness. Jesus takes the winter of this past year of lost dreams, and turns it into the spring of renewed hope. Jesus takes our burden of guilt and shame, and turns it into the assurance of forgiveness and grace.
And Jesus takes our internal wretchedness—the part of us that we want no one else to see, and turns it into a new vision of ourselves as beloved children of God.
Friends, that’s the promise of the cross. A promise on a stick. The promise of God’s amazing love for you and for me. Amen.
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First Reading: Numbers 21:4-9From Mount Hor [the Israelites] set out by the way to the Red Sea, to go around the land of Edom; but the people became impatient on the way. The people spoke against God and against Moses, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food.” Then the Lord sent poisonous serpents among the people, and they bit the people, so that many Israelites died. The people came to Moses and said, “We have sinned by speaking against the Lord and against you; pray to the Lord to take away the serpents from us.” So Moses prayed for the people. And the Lord said to Moses, “Make a poisonous serpent, and set it on a pole; and everyone who is bitten shall look at it and live.” So Moses made a serpent of bronze, and put it upon a pole; and whenever a serpent bit someone, that person would look at the serpent of bronze and live.
Gospel Lesson: John 3:14-21[Jesus said:] “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”
But the most popular is food on a stick—which began with the “pronto pup” 74 years ago. Today there are all sorts of options. Most involved some kind of regular food, dipped in batter and fried in oil. There’s mashed potatoes on a stick. A giant egg roll on a stick. And, of course, the very-Lutheran tater-tot hotdish on a stick. I’ve tried the Scotch egg on a stick (not my favorite.) And I like a battered Snicker bar on a stick. There’s even spaghetti and meatballs on a stick. And my favorite: a deep-fried Twinkie on a stick. Yum! I sure miss that State Fair food.
In our first lesson, the people of Israel talk about missing the foods they used to eat. Earlier in Numbers, they complain: “We remember the fish we used to eat in Egypt… the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic; but now our strength is dried up, and there’s nothing at all but this manna to look at."(Numbers 11:5-6) And although the Egyptian cuisine probably didn’t include food on a stick, it was vastly different than what they were eating in the desert. Manna and quail. The two foods God miraculously provided to them each day. Manna and quail. Day after day. You can almost hear their complaints: “I’m so sick of this food!”
If you remember, manna was the heavenly food God sent to the people of Israel as they wandered in the wilderness. We don’t really know what manna was. Even the Israelites didn’t know—the Hebrew word for “manna” is actually a question, meaning: “What is it?
The author of Numbers describes it in chapter 11: “Manna was like coriander seed, and its color was like the color of gum resin. The people went around and gathered it, ground it in mills or beat it in mortars, then boiled it in pots and made cakes of it; and the taste of it was like the taste of cakes baked with oil.” (Numbers 11:7-8) Which sounds a lot like deep-fried fair food, but without the stick. Which is tasty if you eat it once a year, but not for every meal for 40 years. So in this story, the people grumble.
A normal human reaction. When I worked at The Aliveness Project (a Minneapolis community center for people living with HIV/AIDS), we served meals six days a week. It wasn’t unusual for someone to come through the line and make a negative comment about what was being served that day. They’d say things like: “Not meatloaf again!” or “I don’t like fish, what else is there?”
The kitchen staff often felt annoyed or angry about their complaints. “Why can’t they just be grateful for a free meal?” they would tell me. But from my perspective, I would suggest considering that these were individuals who were poor and sick—with little power or control in their lives. So, complaining about their lunch was really a way for them to have a voice about something that was happening to them, no matter how trivial.
In today’s lesson, God is also annoyed by the people’s complaints. So annoyed that in anger God sends poisonous snakes into their camp. Snakes that bite individuals, who then die. I wonder how many of you would agree with me in saying that this is a very weird story. Where God acts like a vindictive bully. Whom Moses tries to de-escalate and convince to stop the snake attacks and deaths.
So God tells Moses to create a bronze serpent and put it on a pole. And anyone who gets a snake bite and looks at the icon will be healed. You could call this story, “A snake on a stick.” A deadly predator that becomes a source of healing.
A long time ago, just before my second year in seminary, I went to visit a classmate in Texas at the end of August. Of course, it was really hot—in the 100s every day. So one day, my friend “John” suggested we go to a nearby river, where his dad had a fishing boat. When we arrive, John pulls a shotgun out of the back of his El Camino pickup. “What’s the gun for?” I ask. “Snakes,” he says. As we boat down the river, he points out a “rattler” coiled on the sunny rocks along the shore. Then he pulls out his gun and shoots it. Apparently in Texas, the only good snake is a dead snake.
Likewise, when reading the snake story in Numbers, I wonder why God didn’t just kill the snakes? Or with divine power, make them magically disappear. After all, that’s what the people wanted. Just like those among us who have prayed and wondered why God doesn’t just make COVID-19 disappear or create a miracle drug to cure the sick. For even though the vaccines are making us feel more hopeful, deep down we know that this pandemic is not magically going away. For us, there’s no snake on a stick.
In our Gospel reading, Jesus compares himself to a snake on a stick. A reference to the story in Numbers. But not an image you expect Jesus to use. Yet in John we hear Jesus say, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.
But a snake? Like Indiana Jones says in one of my favorite movies, Raiders of the Lost Ark: “Why did it have to be snakes?” There are so many other images for Jesus that give us comfort—especially in this Gospel. For example, in John Jesus is the good shepherd—who carries a lost sheep gently upon his shoulders. In another passage, Jesus says “I am the bread of life”—feeding our souls with heavenly manna. John also calls Jesus “living water”—quenching the thirst of the Samaritan woman at the well and others like her rejected by their communities. At the beginning of this Gospel, Jesus is introduced as the incarnate Word and the light of God—illuminating the hopeless and dreary spaces in our hearts and world. Elsewhere in John, Jesus is “the way”—who like Moses guides us ornery people through the wilderness of our lives to safe and welcoming places.
Each of these images offers us a sense of grace, shelter and security. However, most of us don’t look at the Jesus of the Gospels and normally think of a poisonous serpent. Yet, that’s the image we have here—a snake on a stick. A bronze symbol that promised healing to anyone who looked at this image on a pole. A snake with a promise. So, Jesus also offers healing to anyone who gazes upon the One who hangs on a wooden cross. The promise of the cross.
Today, there are so many who look for healing. People living with COVID and their loved ones. Individuals struggling with depression and grief in response to a year of social isolation and loss. Workers laid off their jobs who feel desperate. Those diagnosed with cancers, disabling conditions or other diseases largely overlooked in the current pandemic. Trans and nonbinary youth who feel isolated and are the target of current legislation. Anxious students returning to classes who have lost so much in the past year—friends, teachers, proms, formal graduations, the routines of school life. And some among us mourn for loved ones who passed away without a final goodbye or public funeral.
If you are one of those looking for healing today, Jesus stands before you with his arms held wide—for you to see him hanging on the cross, a symbol of cruel torture and oppression. However, unlike the snake on a stick, Jesus does not offer a magical cure for all that we have lost this year.
Yet Jesus does take that sign of death and fear, and transforms it into a means of redemption. Jesus takes the ugly image of a snake, and turns it into a promise of restored life. Jesus takes the poisonous venom of human hatred, and turns it into the healing balm of forgiveness. Jesus takes the winter of this past year of lost dreams, and turns it into the spring of renewed hope. Jesus takes our burden of guilt and shame, and turns it into the assurance of forgiveness and grace.
And Jesus takes our internal wretchedness—the part of us that we want no one else to see, and turns it into a new vision of ourselves as beloved children of God.
Friends, that’s the promise of the cross. A promise on a stick. The promise of God’s amazing love for you and for me. Amen.
-------------------------------------------------
First Reading: Numbers 21:4-9From Mount Hor [the Israelites] set out by the way to the Red Sea, to go around the land of Edom; but the people became impatient on the way. The people spoke against God and against Moses, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food.” Then the Lord sent poisonous serpents among the people, and they bit the people, so that many Israelites died. The people came to Moses and said, “We have sinned by speaking against the Lord and against you; pray to the Lord to take away the serpents from us.” So Moses prayed for the people. And the Lord said to Moses, “Make a poisonous serpent, and set it on a pole; and everyone who is bitten shall look at it and live.” So Moses made a serpent of bronze, and put it upon a pole; and whenever a serpent bit someone, that person would look at the serpent of bronze and live.
Gospel Lesson: John 3:14-21[Jesus said:] “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”
"The Promise of Lament"
Based on Jeremiah 31:31-34 (text is available below)
March 21, 2021
A pastor named Mark Vroegop once wrote, “To cry is human, but to lament is Christian.”* While I agree with his thought, I would change the last word to say something like “spiritual” or even “universal.” For our faith is not unique in offering us ways to lament. Jews people of other religions sometimes do lament better that us Christians.
One dictionary defines lament as: “feeling loss, sorrow or regret, often expressed in a physical way.”** An example of lament is to feel sad and cry at a funeral. Another type of lament is wishing you would have done something different with your life.”
Jeremiah, the Jewish author of our first lesson, knew a lot about lament. Jeremiah served God as a prophet for much of his life until after the fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonians in 587 BCE. It was a time of social upheaval. Ultimately, thousands of Jews were exiled to Babylon as refugees. Jeremiah’s ministry spanned the reigns of five kings. With lots of political intrigue and death, it could have been a Jewish version of the TV series, “Game of Thrones.”
Jeremiah had to endure physical suffering for his commitment to his prophetic call. He also struggled with inner doubts and depression. Due to the difficulties faced during his life, some scholars call Jeremiah “the weeping prophet.”
Supposedly, Jeremiah also wrote the Book of Lamentations in the Hebrew Bible. A book that is partly a communal lament for the destruction of Jerusalem and its Temple, and partly a funeral dirge where the bereaved mourn all that has been lost due to the disaster. Words that could be written by many of us who have lived through this past year. During these difficult days, we all need words of lament. Not to just express our grief, but to feel that somehow our lament might lead us to something new, something better.
In today’s lesson, Jeremiah offers that kind of hope: “The days are surely coming, says the LORD, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel…. It will not be like the covenant that I made with their ancestors….. But this is the covenant that I will make with [them], says the LORD: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.” (Jer. 31:31-33)
God knew that the people had lost their homeland, their loved ones and their place of worship. Things that weren’t just coming back. Some Babylonian refugees were gone for decades. The path of lament they were traveling would last throughout their lives. God knew that because so much had changed, the people needed a new kind of covenant. So, God gives them these words of hope: that a new promise will be written on their hearts. The promise of God’s continuing covenant and love. Despite their current political mess. Despite their overwhelming losses. Despite their never-ending grief and cries of lament.
During the past few weeks, I’ve been participating in an online course through Luther Seminary called “Ministering to Grieving People.” This week, we talked about hope in the midst of grief. Our instructor, Dr. Don Eisenhauer, walked through four principles related to helping people move forward in their grief process.
From my perspective as a pastor and my previous experience in social work, the first principle seems simple and obvious, but it’s something that rarely happens: “Invite them to tell their story.” Many grieving people tell us that have no one to talk with about their grief. After someone dies, there’s typically a lot of activity and attention related to the funeral and people expressing their condolences. Of course, during this past year, we’ve lost many of those traditional practices. But as time passes, grieving people need someone to talk to about what’s happened and happening to them. To share memories about their loved one. To openly share their fears and struggles. Often, they don’t need a professional counselor. Just someone who’s willing to listen.
Along with empathetic listening, those who mourn also need time to grieve. People will often ask, “What’s the normal amount of time it takes someone to grieve a death or loss?” Some might guess a few months or maybe a year. But the real answer is there is no typical time period. No limit to how long it lasts. Grief is different for each individual.
For many, the 12-month anniversary is significant, but it is never the end of grief. There are several emotional milestones along the way. Holidays, birthdays, anniversaries. For many, the most difficult time is three months after a loss. Because that often is the point when the initial denial about the death starts to wear off. It’s also the time when everyone else “leaves” (both physically and emotionally), and others expect you to go back to “normal.” A lot of us think about grief as something you “get over.” Like a bad cold—where you are sick for a couple weeks, but then get better. People think of grief like that. They’ll say to a grieving co-worker or friend: “It’s been several months—aren’t you over it yet?”
But the grief process isn’t like a cold or flu. It’s really more like an amputation—where your hand or arm has been cut off, and you know things won’t ever be the same again.
About a year ago, someone I know from the LGBTQ community in Minneapolis was involved in a horrible car accident. Due to his injuries, Tom’s right leg was amputated at the knee. Now he has a prosthetic. Tom has shown incredible fortitude and persistence. He’s posted lots of photos on Facebook, documenting everything he has gone through. From being a healthy active man in his fifties. To months in the hospital recovering from an accident that almost took his life. To re-learning how to do basic things like walking and swimming.
Grief is like that. A life-changing experience. Where things never go back to the way they were. Where you lament all that has been lost. And gradually create a new normal. Like a new identify—such as when your husband dies, and you are no longer their spouse. Or making new friends. Or rediscovering a sense of purpose for your life. Or finding a renewed relationship with God.
Pastor Mark Vroegop—the author of the quote I read earlier and of the book Deep Mercy: Discovering the Grace of Lament—talks about how we humans like to define things (even grief) in comparison to what they are not. He writes: “You might think lament is the opposite of praise. It isn’t. Instead, lament is a path [that eventually may lead] to praise as we are led through our brokenness and disappointment. The space between brokenness and God’s mercy is where this song of lament is sung. Think of lament as the transition between pain and promise…. the path from heartbreak to hope.” ***
That is the promise of lament. A promise we need so much today. Especially after a week like this. The mass killing of eight people in Atlanta—including six Asian women—has left us all in shock. Deaths linked to the rising tide of racism targeting people of Asian descent.
During the past year, there have been nearly 4,000 incidents of anti-Asian racism in our country. In response, the ELCA’s Association of Asians and Pacific-Islanders has called for a day of lament. In response, a group of Asian and Black ministers shared stories of embodied hurt and created a silent physical lament, using non-verbal gestures of healing and blessing. ****
In solidarity with our Asian American and Pacific Islander siblings in Christ, I invite you now to join me in this embodied lament and blessing. Let’s start by reviewing the steps of the blessing:
Now, I join me in doing this embodied lament, blessing and healing. We begin by taking a deep breath and you can follow me by mirroring my gestures. Then, we will repeat the blessing.
(Here’s a video demonstration of the blessing:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3Vd3beUCnQ.)
And let God’s people say, “Amen.”
---------------------------------------
* Mark Vroegop, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy: Discovering the Grace of Lament (Crossway Books, 2029).
** https://www.yourdictionary.com/lament
*** Mark Vroegop, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy: Discovering the Grace of Lament (Crossway Books, 2029).
**** Speaking from the Heart: Embodied Blessing and Healing; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3Vd3beUCnQ
First Reading: Jeremiah 31:31-3431The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah. 32It will not be like the covenant that I made with their ancestors when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt—a covenant that they broke, though I was their husband, says the Lord. 33But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. 34No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, “Know the Lord,” for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.
One dictionary defines lament as: “feeling loss, sorrow or regret, often expressed in a physical way.”** An example of lament is to feel sad and cry at a funeral. Another type of lament is wishing you would have done something different with your life.”
Jeremiah, the Jewish author of our first lesson, knew a lot about lament. Jeremiah served God as a prophet for much of his life until after the fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonians in 587 BCE. It was a time of social upheaval. Ultimately, thousands of Jews were exiled to Babylon as refugees. Jeremiah’s ministry spanned the reigns of five kings. With lots of political intrigue and death, it could have been a Jewish version of the TV series, “Game of Thrones.”
Jeremiah had to endure physical suffering for his commitment to his prophetic call. He also struggled with inner doubts and depression. Due to the difficulties faced during his life, some scholars call Jeremiah “the weeping prophet.”
Supposedly, Jeremiah also wrote the Book of Lamentations in the Hebrew Bible. A book that is partly a communal lament for the destruction of Jerusalem and its Temple, and partly a funeral dirge where the bereaved mourn all that has been lost due to the disaster. Words that could be written by many of us who have lived through this past year. During these difficult days, we all need words of lament. Not to just express our grief, but to feel that somehow our lament might lead us to something new, something better.
In today’s lesson, Jeremiah offers that kind of hope: “The days are surely coming, says the LORD, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel…. It will not be like the covenant that I made with their ancestors….. But this is the covenant that I will make with [them], says the LORD: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.” (Jer. 31:31-33)
God knew that the people had lost their homeland, their loved ones and their place of worship. Things that weren’t just coming back. Some Babylonian refugees were gone for decades. The path of lament they were traveling would last throughout their lives. God knew that because so much had changed, the people needed a new kind of covenant. So, God gives them these words of hope: that a new promise will be written on their hearts. The promise of God’s continuing covenant and love. Despite their current political mess. Despite their overwhelming losses. Despite their never-ending grief and cries of lament.
During the past few weeks, I’ve been participating in an online course through Luther Seminary called “Ministering to Grieving People.” This week, we talked about hope in the midst of grief. Our instructor, Dr. Don Eisenhauer, walked through four principles related to helping people move forward in their grief process.
From my perspective as a pastor and my previous experience in social work, the first principle seems simple and obvious, but it’s something that rarely happens: “Invite them to tell their story.” Many grieving people tell us that have no one to talk with about their grief. After someone dies, there’s typically a lot of activity and attention related to the funeral and people expressing their condolences. Of course, during this past year, we’ve lost many of those traditional practices. But as time passes, grieving people need someone to talk to about what’s happened and happening to them. To share memories about their loved one. To openly share their fears and struggles. Often, they don’t need a professional counselor. Just someone who’s willing to listen.
Along with empathetic listening, those who mourn also need time to grieve. People will often ask, “What’s the normal amount of time it takes someone to grieve a death or loss?” Some might guess a few months or maybe a year. But the real answer is there is no typical time period. No limit to how long it lasts. Grief is different for each individual.
For many, the 12-month anniversary is significant, but it is never the end of grief. There are several emotional milestones along the way. Holidays, birthdays, anniversaries. For many, the most difficult time is three months after a loss. Because that often is the point when the initial denial about the death starts to wear off. It’s also the time when everyone else “leaves” (both physically and emotionally), and others expect you to go back to “normal.” A lot of us think about grief as something you “get over.” Like a bad cold—where you are sick for a couple weeks, but then get better. People think of grief like that. They’ll say to a grieving co-worker or friend: “It’s been several months—aren’t you over it yet?”
But the grief process isn’t like a cold or flu. It’s really more like an amputation—where your hand or arm has been cut off, and you know things won’t ever be the same again.
About a year ago, someone I know from the LGBTQ community in Minneapolis was involved in a horrible car accident. Due to his injuries, Tom’s right leg was amputated at the knee. Now he has a prosthetic. Tom has shown incredible fortitude and persistence. He’s posted lots of photos on Facebook, documenting everything he has gone through. From being a healthy active man in his fifties. To months in the hospital recovering from an accident that almost took his life. To re-learning how to do basic things like walking and swimming.
Grief is like that. A life-changing experience. Where things never go back to the way they were. Where you lament all that has been lost. And gradually create a new normal. Like a new identify—such as when your husband dies, and you are no longer their spouse. Or making new friends. Or rediscovering a sense of purpose for your life. Or finding a renewed relationship with God.
Pastor Mark Vroegop—the author of the quote I read earlier and of the book Deep Mercy: Discovering the Grace of Lament—talks about how we humans like to define things (even grief) in comparison to what they are not. He writes: “You might think lament is the opposite of praise. It isn’t. Instead, lament is a path [that eventually may lead] to praise as we are led through our brokenness and disappointment. The space between brokenness and God’s mercy is where this song of lament is sung. Think of lament as the transition between pain and promise…. the path from heartbreak to hope.” ***
That is the promise of lament. A promise we need so much today. Especially after a week like this. The mass killing of eight people in Atlanta—including six Asian women—has left us all in shock. Deaths linked to the rising tide of racism targeting people of Asian descent.
During the past year, there have been nearly 4,000 incidents of anti-Asian racism in our country. In response, the ELCA’s Association of Asians and Pacific-Islanders has called for a day of lament. In response, a group of Asian and Black ministers shared stories of embodied hurt and created a silent physical lament, using non-verbal gestures of healing and blessing. ****
In solidarity with our Asian American and Pacific Islander siblings in Christ, I invite you now to join me in this embodied lament and blessing. Let’s start by reviewing the steps of the blessing:
- First take a deep breath: inhale and exhale.
- Now place your hands on your heart with these thoughts: “I see myself. I acknowledge my feelings within my own body.”
- Next, bow: Acknowledging sacredness, resilience, humanity, and strength in myself, I bow.
- Now, look around with hands at the sides of your eyes: “I see you.”
- Then, cup your hands to your ears, representing: “I hear you.”
- Fold arms across your chest—as a symbol of collective sadness, grief, anger, and lament.
- Bow again: Acknowledging the sacredness, resilience, humanity, and strength in others.
- Now, lift your hands, palms up, with a breath—receiving blessings from God and from one another.
- Finally, touch your heart with one hand and extend the other hand out away from you, towards another—representing heart-to-heart compassion.
Now, I join me in doing this embodied lament, blessing and healing. We begin by taking a deep breath and you can follow me by mirroring my gestures. Then, we will repeat the blessing.
(Here’s a video demonstration of the blessing:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3Vd3beUCnQ.)
And let God’s people say, “Amen.”
---------------------------------------
* Mark Vroegop, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy: Discovering the Grace of Lament (Crossway Books, 2029).
** https://www.yourdictionary.com/lament
*** Mark Vroegop, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy: Discovering the Grace of Lament (Crossway Books, 2029).
**** Speaking from the Heart: Embodied Blessing and Healing; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3Vd3beUCnQ
First Reading: Jeremiah 31:31-3431The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah. 32It will not be like the covenant that I made with their ancestors when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt—a covenant that they broke, though I was their husband, says the Lord. 33But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. 34No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, “Know the Lord,” for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.