November 2020
"The Gospel Train"
Based on Matthew 5:1-12 (reading at the end of the sermon)
November 1, 2020
When I was a little kid, we had an old record player. The kind that played the original vinyl records that have become popular again. Because my family was poor, we didn’t have much of a collection. It included some ancient 78s that were big and thick and scratched.
I used to enjoy listening to the records while I played with my toys. I listened to them over and over and over again. One record had an African American spiritual, sung by a black soloist with a deep bass voice. The music style was unlike anything I heard in my Swedish Lutheran Church. But because I listened to it so many times, the song got stuck in my psyche. Sometimes it still pops into my head and I start singing it for no reason. The song’s title was, “Get on Board, Little Children.” It’s also called “The Gospel Train,” and it goes like this:
“The gospel train is comin’,
It’s comin’ round the bend.
I ain’t seen the good life,
Since I don’t know when.
Get on board, little children,
Get on board, little children,
Get on board, little children,
There's room for many a more.”
The ride is cheap and all can go;
The right and poor are there.
No second class upon this train,
No difference in the fare.
Get on board, little children,
Get on board, little children,
Get on board, little children,
There's room for many a more.”
The song highlights a theme that used to be common among black and white preachers alike, whose sermons might have said:
“Heaven is our home and I want to go up there. I want to meet all the saints who have gone before me. I want to see my mother and father up there. I want to look into the eyes of Abraham, listen to Moses, and talk with Ruth. I want to ask Job about his suffering, thank the prophets for their courage, and sit beside Lazarus up there. And more than anything else, I want to be with Jesus up there. There won’t be no more crying up there. There won’t be no more pain up there. There won’t be no more second-class citizens up there.” *
Many African American spirituals reflect a theology (originally promoted by white Christianity to keep slaves in their place) that our faith is primarily about the hereafter. That heaven is the reward for all our suffering. That black people who faced slavery, oppression and brutal deaths in this world, would someday take the Gospel train to a better world with Jesus and all the saints.
The Black Liberation theologian James Cone, writes: “The contrast between white treatment of black people as things and God’s view of them as persons is so great that it is easy… to think that God has withdrawn from history and the ‘devil’ has taken over. Jesus thus becomes a magical name which gives people a distorted hope in another life…. In reality, this is not the perspective of biblical faith but, rather, a hopeless faith that cannot come to terms with the reality of this world.” **
Cone wrote those words half a century ago, but they sound like they are written for us today. Our Gospel lesson has often been used to talk about that kind of distorted theology. This passage is Matthew’s version of the beatitudes. But the word “beatitude” doesn’t appear in Bible. It comes from a Latin word that begins each verse, and translates as “blessed” or “happy” or “lucky.”
The beatitudes appear only in Matthew and Luke, which have two quite different versions. Luke presents the beatitudes in social justice terms: “Blessed are you poor. Blessed are you hungry.” In Matthew, there are eight blessings with a more spiritual tone: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
Traditionally, the Church has taught us—especially the poor and oppressed—that if you just endure your current unfortunate situation or unlucky fate, then someday you will go to heaven. That God will bless you, and make up for every bad thing experienced in this life.
But that’s not the promise Jesus makes here. Instead, Jesus moves the beatitudes into the here-and-now, day-to-day existence of people on the edges. People who are completely destitute. People with no food for themselves or their children. People who are homeless, forced to sleep in a shelter. People who, instead of hearing about a Church with no restrictions, today hear hate speech from Christian nationalists and political leaders.
People whose loved ones are killed. This past Monday, two Philadelphia police officers shot a 27-year-old African American man holding a knife, as his mother watched him die. A young man with mental illness. The shooting of Walter Wallace Jr., captured on a cell phone video, is just the latest incident in a long history of violence against Black men in our nation.
Wallace's family have asked that protesters keep their demonstrations peaceful to respect his memory. If I were the father of Walter Wallace, I’m not sure I would be able willing to offer words of peace like that.
Jesus calls people like that peacemakers. Jesus calls them blessed. Jesus calls them blessed. Jesus calls them children of God. For even in the face of hatred and violence, there are those who respond with a different vision of our world. A vision reflecting what Jesus preached and lived. A vision that opens our eyes to how God sees them. A vision where the beatitudes are not just nice words telling us how we ought to look at the less fortunate. A vision that doesn’t just offer empty promises telling those who suffer to accept their lot in life.
But a prophetic vision that is “performative”—a fancy theological word for when the speaking of a blessing makes it a reality for the person being blessed. Not merely describing something that already is. Or what will be in the sweet by and by. But making the spoken promise happen today.
That’s the kind of radical blessing Jesus gives. Which is also radical because of who is blessed. For Jesus blesses the very ones that the rest of the world seems to have no time for.
People in pain. People in desperate situations. People lying awake with grief or depression. People sitting for months in detention centers. People dying alone in hospitals. People who aren’t the lucky ones—who never get the breaks experienced by others blessed with privilege.
Those are the people Jesus calls blessed. And Jesus lavishly disburses blessings on them. Blessings that have nothing to do with what they or even we deserve. And everything to do with God’s grace. And the Kingdom of God, here and now.
And so it is with you and me. For Jesus calls each of us blessed, too, whether we deserve it or not. Jesus also calls us to be a blessing to those who have no one to bless them. To invite them to get on board our Gospel train—no matter who they are.
Beloved, that’s the true meaning of the beatitudes. That we are blessed to be a blessing. “Blessed are you,” Jesus says to us. “Blessed are you,” we say to one another. “For yours is the Kingdom of God.” Amen.
----------------------------------
*Based on words of Cone, James H., Black Theology and Black Power (The Seabury Press, New York, 1969), 122.**Ibid, 122-123.
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 5:1-12
When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”
I used to enjoy listening to the records while I played with my toys. I listened to them over and over and over again. One record had an African American spiritual, sung by a black soloist with a deep bass voice. The music style was unlike anything I heard in my Swedish Lutheran Church. But because I listened to it so many times, the song got stuck in my psyche. Sometimes it still pops into my head and I start singing it for no reason. The song’s title was, “Get on Board, Little Children.” It’s also called “The Gospel Train,” and it goes like this:
“The gospel train is comin’,
It’s comin’ round the bend.
I ain’t seen the good life,
Since I don’t know when.
Get on board, little children,
Get on board, little children,
Get on board, little children,
There's room for many a more.”
The ride is cheap and all can go;
The right and poor are there.
No second class upon this train,
No difference in the fare.
Get on board, little children,
Get on board, little children,
Get on board, little children,
There's room for many a more.”
The song highlights a theme that used to be common among black and white preachers alike, whose sermons might have said:
“Heaven is our home and I want to go up there. I want to meet all the saints who have gone before me. I want to see my mother and father up there. I want to look into the eyes of Abraham, listen to Moses, and talk with Ruth. I want to ask Job about his suffering, thank the prophets for their courage, and sit beside Lazarus up there. And more than anything else, I want to be with Jesus up there. There won’t be no more crying up there. There won’t be no more pain up there. There won’t be no more second-class citizens up there.” *
Many African American spirituals reflect a theology (originally promoted by white Christianity to keep slaves in their place) that our faith is primarily about the hereafter. That heaven is the reward for all our suffering. That black people who faced slavery, oppression and brutal deaths in this world, would someday take the Gospel train to a better world with Jesus and all the saints.
The Black Liberation theologian James Cone, writes: “The contrast between white treatment of black people as things and God’s view of them as persons is so great that it is easy… to think that God has withdrawn from history and the ‘devil’ has taken over. Jesus thus becomes a magical name which gives people a distorted hope in another life…. In reality, this is not the perspective of biblical faith but, rather, a hopeless faith that cannot come to terms with the reality of this world.” **
Cone wrote those words half a century ago, but they sound like they are written for us today. Our Gospel lesson has often been used to talk about that kind of distorted theology. This passage is Matthew’s version of the beatitudes. But the word “beatitude” doesn’t appear in Bible. It comes from a Latin word that begins each verse, and translates as “blessed” or “happy” or “lucky.”
The beatitudes appear only in Matthew and Luke, which have two quite different versions. Luke presents the beatitudes in social justice terms: “Blessed are you poor. Blessed are you hungry.” In Matthew, there are eight blessings with a more spiritual tone: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
Traditionally, the Church has taught us—especially the poor and oppressed—that if you just endure your current unfortunate situation or unlucky fate, then someday you will go to heaven. That God will bless you, and make up for every bad thing experienced in this life.
But that’s not the promise Jesus makes here. Instead, Jesus moves the beatitudes into the here-and-now, day-to-day existence of people on the edges. People who are completely destitute. People with no food for themselves or their children. People who are homeless, forced to sleep in a shelter. People who, instead of hearing about a Church with no restrictions, today hear hate speech from Christian nationalists and political leaders.
People whose loved ones are killed. This past Monday, two Philadelphia police officers shot a 27-year-old African American man holding a knife, as his mother watched him die. A young man with mental illness. The shooting of Walter Wallace Jr., captured on a cell phone video, is just the latest incident in a long history of violence against Black men in our nation.
Wallace's family have asked that protesters keep their demonstrations peaceful to respect his memory. If I were the father of Walter Wallace, I’m not sure I would be able willing to offer words of peace like that.
Jesus calls people like that peacemakers. Jesus calls them blessed. Jesus calls them blessed. Jesus calls them children of God. For even in the face of hatred and violence, there are those who respond with a different vision of our world. A vision reflecting what Jesus preached and lived. A vision that opens our eyes to how God sees them. A vision where the beatitudes are not just nice words telling us how we ought to look at the less fortunate. A vision that doesn’t just offer empty promises telling those who suffer to accept their lot in life.
But a prophetic vision that is “performative”—a fancy theological word for when the speaking of a blessing makes it a reality for the person being blessed. Not merely describing something that already is. Or what will be in the sweet by and by. But making the spoken promise happen today.
That’s the kind of radical blessing Jesus gives. Which is also radical because of who is blessed. For Jesus blesses the very ones that the rest of the world seems to have no time for.
People in pain. People in desperate situations. People lying awake with grief or depression. People sitting for months in detention centers. People dying alone in hospitals. People who aren’t the lucky ones—who never get the breaks experienced by others blessed with privilege.
Those are the people Jesus calls blessed. And Jesus lavishly disburses blessings on them. Blessings that have nothing to do with what they or even we deserve. And everything to do with God’s grace. And the Kingdom of God, here and now.
And so it is with you and me. For Jesus calls each of us blessed, too, whether we deserve it or not. Jesus also calls us to be a blessing to those who have no one to bless them. To invite them to get on board our Gospel train—no matter who they are.
Beloved, that’s the true meaning of the beatitudes. That we are blessed to be a blessing. “Blessed are you,” Jesus says to us. “Blessed are you,” we say to one another. “For yours is the Kingdom of God.” Amen.
----------------------------------
*Based on words of Cone, James H., Black Theology and Black Power (The Seabury Press, New York, 1969), 122.**Ibid, 122-123.
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 5:1-12
When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”
"The Right Way and the Wrong Way"
Based on Matthew 25:1-13 (reading at the end of the sermon)
November 8, 2020
Before coming to St. Mark’s, I served as Executive Director of The Aliveness Project, a community center in Minneapolis. There, we had a case management program that helped members deal with problems related to health insurance and finances, food and housing, chemical dependency and mental illness.
One of our case managers was loved by her clients. “Sue” was outgoing, funny and deeply compassionate. But she was also very disorganized. Our government grant required documentation of every client encounter. And billing had to be submitted at the end of each month. But Sue often procrastinated and usually waited to do her case notes until the last couple days.
Her supervisor Karen was the exact opposite. She liked to have procedures followed and deadlines met. She was extremely critical of Sue’s failure to do things the right way. Karen tried over and over again to get Sue to change her patterns, but nothing worked.
If you’ve ever taken the Myers Briggs Personality Inventory, you might remember that it gives you four letters that represent your personality type. For example, I’m an INFJ. Each letter has a pair of preferences. Most of us are familiar with the first letter options: I for Introvert and E for Extrovert. The letters aren’t intended as judgements—that one is better than the other. But rather to help people understand how specific individuals operate and react to circumstances.
The fourth set of letters represents how you like to live your outer life. And the behaviors others see. If you are a J, which stands for “Judging,” you prefer a structured lifestyle. Like making lists, putting work before play, and not rushing to meet a deadline. Karen the case management supervisor was definitely a J.
The other option is P—for Perceiving. P people have a carefree approach to life. You like being loose and casual. Deadlines are things that force you to get things done. Sue the case manager was an all-out P.
The dance of those two personality extremes between Karen and Sue never went away. And I was usually stuck as their mediator.
We also could use the Myers Briggs test to compare how two very-different presidential candidates have reacted to the results of this week’s election. One seems logical and methodical and calm. The other seems to want to throw out any possible excuse for a negative result.
You could also use the same system to analyze the women in today’s Gospel lesson. Jesus’ parable of the 10 bridesmaids presents two groups who seem like polar opposites. The “wise” bridesmaids are definitely J’s. They come well-prepared—with their lamps carefully trimmed and extra oil on hand just in case. They’re ready when the bridegroom arrives.
The second group are obviously P’s. The so-called “foolish” bridesmaids run out of oil and rush out at the last minute to buy some more. A mistake with dire consequences. When they return, the bridegroom has already arrived and locked the door. And refuses to hear their excuses for being late.
Clearly, the author of Matthew’s Gospel is making a judgement about the latter group. This parable is only found in this Gospel and reflects Matthew’s perspective. This story has been called the “closed door” parable because of how it ends. For Matthew likes to see faith in extremes. For Matthew, there’s right way and a wrong way for doing things. And you’d better do it right.
A philosophy that often doesn’t fit our daily lives. For sometimes, just when you think everything is carefully planned out, the unexpected happens. A drive to work ends up with a car accident. An unknown virus turns into a deadly pandemic. Your spouse gets laid off a good-paying job. A doctor tells you a medical test came back positive.
When faced with bad news, some Christians say that if you just believe hard enough, God will answer your prayers and fix the problem. They imply that when bad things happen, it must be your fault. Because your faith is lacking. Because of something you did wrong. On the other hand, when good things happen, it must be God blessing you—because you’re living the right way.
500 years ago, Martin Luther offered a different system for interpreting life’s troubles and tragedies. For moving away from a legalistic approach to thinking about faith, sin and life. The theology of the cross. A term he compares to what he calls a “theology of glory.”
Among Christians, one hallmark of a theology of glory is the unwillingness to acknowledge the reality of sin and evil and racism in our world. In contrast, a theology of the cross presents suffering as a symbol of God's involvement. For even in the midst of disappointments, disillusionment and even death, a theology of the cross accepts the difficult realities of life.
Instead of trying to change what’s happened, or offering simple explanations, or assigning blame, a theology of the cross reveals a suffering God. In his teachings, Luther took things one step further. He said that God was not only hidden in suffering, but is at work in the midst of our anxiety, fear and failures.
When you’re at the end of your rope, when our nation remains so divided, when a drawn-out struggle never seems to end, that is when God is most present. A theology of the cross defines life in terms of giving rather than taking, self-sacrifice rather than self-defense, loving rather than hating, and grace rather than legalism.
In his book, Stealing Jesus, Bruce Bawer talks about two kinds of Christians: legalistic believers, who think Christians should live a certain kind of life. And Christians who believe the message of Jesus is about love and acceptance. Bawer writes:
“The real Jesus….was not about asserting power, judging, or destroying; he was about love. To many legalistic Christians today, this sounds trivial, simplistic, and irrelevant to their perceived religious needs and desires…. They are more likely to be impressed by power, hate and destructiveness than they are by love…. But Jesus came precisely to speak to people like them and to tell them otherwise—to reveal to them the ultimate supremacy of love.” *
Bawer’s words make me think that if it were up to me, I would change the ending of the judgement-filled story in our Gospel reading. For if Christ were the bridegroom, I believe Jesus would fling the door wide open. And welcome each of those foolish, ill-prepared young women. For Jesus isn’t looking for perfect followers—people who have everything figured out in their heads and hearts and lives. Jesus doesn’t want a Church that serves as a country club for the successful.
Instead, Jesus welcomes those of us who feel like fools and failures and misfits. Who need a community where we can honestly admit when we make mistakes, or hurt one another, or slip up in maintaining sobriety. A place where we put our faith in a Christ whose brown body was hung on a tree. Who offered God’s love to those the world often ignored or mocked or condemned.
A place where we celebrate God’s grace as amazing, God’s mercy like it has no end, and God’s justice like an ever-flowing stream. Amen.
----------------------------
*Bruce Bawer, Stealing Jesus: How Fundamentalism Betrays Christianity (Three Rivers Text, New York, 1997), p. 326.
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 25:1-13
[Jesus said to the disciples:] “Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise replied, ‘No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I do not know you.’ Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”
One of our case managers was loved by her clients. “Sue” was outgoing, funny and deeply compassionate. But she was also very disorganized. Our government grant required documentation of every client encounter. And billing had to be submitted at the end of each month. But Sue often procrastinated and usually waited to do her case notes until the last couple days.
Her supervisor Karen was the exact opposite. She liked to have procedures followed and deadlines met. She was extremely critical of Sue’s failure to do things the right way. Karen tried over and over again to get Sue to change her patterns, but nothing worked.
If you’ve ever taken the Myers Briggs Personality Inventory, you might remember that it gives you four letters that represent your personality type. For example, I’m an INFJ. Each letter has a pair of preferences. Most of us are familiar with the first letter options: I for Introvert and E for Extrovert. The letters aren’t intended as judgements—that one is better than the other. But rather to help people understand how specific individuals operate and react to circumstances.
The fourth set of letters represents how you like to live your outer life. And the behaviors others see. If you are a J, which stands for “Judging,” you prefer a structured lifestyle. Like making lists, putting work before play, and not rushing to meet a deadline. Karen the case management supervisor was definitely a J.
The other option is P—for Perceiving. P people have a carefree approach to life. You like being loose and casual. Deadlines are things that force you to get things done. Sue the case manager was an all-out P.
The dance of those two personality extremes between Karen and Sue never went away. And I was usually stuck as their mediator.
We also could use the Myers Briggs test to compare how two very-different presidential candidates have reacted to the results of this week’s election. One seems logical and methodical and calm. The other seems to want to throw out any possible excuse for a negative result.
You could also use the same system to analyze the women in today’s Gospel lesson. Jesus’ parable of the 10 bridesmaids presents two groups who seem like polar opposites. The “wise” bridesmaids are definitely J’s. They come well-prepared—with their lamps carefully trimmed and extra oil on hand just in case. They’re ready when the bridegroom arrives.
The second group are obviously P’s. The so-called “foolish” bridesmaids run out of oil and rush out at the last minute to buy some more. A mistake with dire consequences. When they return, the bridegroom has already arrived and locked the door. And refuses to hear their excuses for being late.
Clearly, the author of Matthew’s Gospel is making a judgement about the latter group. This parable is only found in this Gospel and reflects Matthew’s perspective. This story has been called the “closed door” parable because of how it ends. For Matthew likes to see faith in extremes. For Matthew, there’s right way and a wrong way for doing things. And you’d better do it right.
A philosophy that often doesn’t fit our daily lives. For sometimes, just when you think everything is carefully planned out, the unexpected happens. A drive to work ends up with a car accident. An unknown virus turns into a deadly pandemic. Your spouse gets laid off a good-paying job. A doctor tells you a medical test came back positive.
When faced with bad news, some Christians say that if you just believe hard enough, God will answer your prayers and fix the problem. They imply that when bad things happen, it must be your fault. Because your faith is lacking. Because of something you did wrong. On the other hand, when good things happen, it must be God blessing you—because you’re living the right way.
500 years ago, Martin Luther offered a different system for interpreting life’s troubles and tragedies. For moving away from a legalistic approach to thinking about faith, sin and life. The theology of the cross. A term he compares to what he calls a “theology of glory.”
Among Christians, one hallmark of a theology of glory is the unwillingness to acknowledge the reality of sin and evil and racism in our world. In contrast, a theology of the cross presents suffering as a symbol of God's involvement. For even in the midst of disappointments, disillusionment and even death, a theology of the cross accepts the difficult realities of life.
Instead of trying to change what’s happened, or offering simple explanations, or assigning blame, a theology of the cross reveals a suffering God. In his teachings, Luther took things one step further. He said that God was not only hidden in suffering, but is at work in the midst of our anxiety, fear and failures.
When you’re at the end of your rope, when our nation remains so divided, when a drawn-out struggle never seems to end, that is when God is most present. A theology of the cross defines life in terms of giving rather than taking, self-sacrifice rather than self-defense, loving rather than hating, and grace rather than legalism.
In his book, Stealing Jesus, Bruce Bawer talks about two kinds of Christians: legalistic believers, who think Christians should live a certain kind of life. And Christians who believe the message of Jesus is about love and acceptance. Bawer writes:
“The real Jesus….was not about asserting power, judging, or destroying; he was about love. To many legalistic Christians today, this sounds trivial, simplistic, and irrelevant to their perceived religious needs and desires…. They are more likely to be impressed by power, hate and destructiveness than they are by love…. But Jesus came precisely to speak to people like them and to tell them otherwise—to reveal to them the ultimate supremacy of love.” *
Bawer’s words make me think that if it were up to me, I would change the ending of the judgement-filled story in our Gospel reading. For if Christ were the bridegroom, I believe Jesus would fling the door wide open. And welcome each of those foolish, ill-prepared young women. For Jesus isn’t looking for perfect followers—people who have everything figured out in their heads and hearts and lives. Jesus doesn’t want a Church that serves as a country club for the successful.
Instead, Jesus welcomes those of us who feel like fools and failures and misfits. Who need a community where we can honestly admit when we make mistakes, or hurt one another, or slip up in maintaining sobriety. A place where we put our faith in a Christ whose brown body was hung on a tree. Who offered God’s love to those the world often ignored or mocked or condemned.
A place where we celebrate God’s grace as amazing, God’s mercy like it has no end, and God’s justice like an ever-flowing stream. Amen.
----------------------------
*Bruce Bawer, Stealing Jesus: How Fundamentalism Betrays Christianity (Three Rivers Text, New York, 1997), p. 326.
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 25:1-13
[Jesus said to the disciples:] “Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise replied, ‘No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I do not know you.’ Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”
"Trust. Joy. Fear"
by Pastor Helen Beth Kuhens
Based on Matthew 25:14-30 (reading at the end of the sermon)
November 15, 2020
The Children’s Sermon
And now, a children’s sermon for children of all ages. Every Sunday at St. Mark’s we have three readings. We just heard Tara reading the first one; right after the children’s sermon Elna will lead us in the back and forth reading of the Psalm; and then there’s the Gospel reading which is read by the pastor. And as you know, there are four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. For almost a year we have been reading from Matthew’s gospel, but at the beginning of Advent – in two weeks—we begin a new church year and the gospel readings will be from Mark. Whenever we come to the close of the Matthew year, I get kind of upset with him because he can sound so harsh like he does at the end of today’s reading. I think we accomplish more by using encouraging and gentle words than by using harsh and angry words.
So, as a way to illustrate this, I’m going to tell an old, very old, story called: “The North Wind and The Sun.”
The blustery North Wind boasted of great strength; but the Sun argued that there was surprising power in gentleness. “Well, let’s have a contest,” said the North Wind.
Far below them they saw a man traveling a winding road. He was wearing a warm winter coat.
“All right,” said the Sun, “let us see which of us can make that man take his coat off.”
“Oh, it will be quite simple for me to force him to remove his coat,” bragged the Wind. Then the North Wind blew and blew. The Wind blew so hard, the birds clung to the trees. The world was filled with dust and leaves. Wind blew until he was almost out of breath, but the harder the wind blew, the tighter the shivering man clung to his coat!
“Now it is my turn,” said the Sun as he came out from behind a cloud. Sun warmed the air and the frosty ground. The man on the road began to unbutton his coat. The sun grew slowly brighter and brighter. Soon the man felt so hot, he took off his coat and sat down in a shady spot.
“How did you do that?” gasped North Wind.
“It was easy,” replied the Sun. “I lit the day. Through gentleness, I found a way.”
And that’s the very old story of the North Wind and the Sun.
The Sermon
If your response to today’s gospel reading is anything like mine, by time you get to “the gnashing of teeth” you have almost forgotten what is likely the essence of the story. As I see it, the essence is captured in three words: Trust, Joy & Fear. “Trust” appears in the text in two forms. The master in the parable “entrusts” all three servants, giving to each a superabundance of gifts. Two of those servants are commended for being “trustworthy.” “Trust,” then, in the form of “entrusted” or “trustworthy” occurring five times. Trust matters.
And the opposite of “trust” as the parable portrays it? “Fear!” The servant who is deemed untrustworthy says: “Master I knew that you were a harsh man, so I was afraid and hid your talent in the ground.” Oh, the strangling sound of fear! We know from our own lives and from this sad exemplar: Fear paralysis. No wonder we hear the Scriptural behest many times over: “Fear not!” “Do not be afraid!” Yes, we can know from our own lives and from this parable: Fear entraps us and trust sets us free! Trust matters. And Joy is the result! Hear the melodious lilt of those words: “Well done, trustworthy one. Enter into my Joy! Enter into the joy! Trust & Joy! Yes, trust joyfully receives and graciously shares and returns the superabundance of God’s good gifts! This is expressed so very well from one of my favorite liturgical prayers – the offertory prayer some of you will remember from the “green book,” /the LBW: Merciful Father, we offer with joy and thanksgiving what you have first given us – our selves, our time, and our possessions, signs of your gracious love. …….
One of the clues of the story quality of this parable is its hyperbolic assertions. As Matthew has Jesus telling the story, the hearers would have gasped and probably guffawed as Jesus named the extreme amounts entrusted to the servants – the extreme amount even to the one-talent servant. A talent in today’s average wages or earnings, (they tell us) would take 19 years of steady labor. But Jesus begins with the entrusting of the 5 talents, so can you imagine the taken-abackness of the crowd when he says that the master gave the first servant 95 years worth of wages….
I mention Jesus’ use of hyperbole not only to help us hear with amazement these amounts as the first hearers did, but also for another reason. And this isn’t hyperbolic. When we consider what all we have been given—the gift of life itself—“our selves, our time, and our possessions – what has been entrusted to us cannot be measured by talents or pounds or dollars or anything else… for what we have been given is immeasurable. And so all we can say and do as entrusted, trusting and trustworthy recipients of such gracious outpouring is: “Merciful Father, we offer with joy and thanksgiving what you have first given us!”
All three of our readings for today – the gospel, the psalm and the epistle—remind us of something else about this precious gift of life. That this gift is limited. We prayed in the prayer of the day: “prepare us for the joy of the day of your coming”—reminding us of the theme of Advent. Jesus has come and is coming again. As the reading from Thessalonians reminded us: “Now concerning the times and the seasons, brothers and sisters, you know very well that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night.” Some of you, like me, might be all too aware that the “Day of the Lord” talk or “end times” talk has been used as a kind of scare tactic. And that is concerning. But no matter how we interpret “end times” talk, the Psalmist reminds us clearly of the limits of our own personal life-span. And the closing verse which is a request , a prayer, from the heart of the Psalmist presents us with the essential teaching of this Psalm: Teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart.”
“The days of our life are seventy years or perhaps eighty, if we are strong.” Pastor Joe and Charlie are experiencing the full weight of that as they gather to grieve the loss of Charlie’s mom whose life-span was amongst those whom the Psalmist calls “strong.” A few of us virtually gathered today are past 70, even fewer past 80. But even we who have reached these landmarks can look back and say in that old hackneyed phrase: How quickly time flies! And in this light I share a quote from my dear oldest sister, Betty. In her 85th year she completed a memoir. She lived into her 88th year, but at the beginning of her memoir she writes: “Looking back at 85 years of life, it is easy and fun to remember, relive and rejoice. It is quite different to look forward to the unknown. What I can do at this moment is enjoy every day, love my family and friends, and be content. Life goes so fast. I look back and feel as if my life is just starting out. What I feel is, “Wait a minute! I just got here!”
And so, we, too, pray with the Psalmist: “Teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart.” As we live in these days of a world-wide pandemic, the fragility of life is palpable as is its preciousness. When Isaac Watts in 1714 penned “O God, our help in ages past, our hope in years to come, our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home -- based on this Psalm, he spoke not only to his day, but to days such as we are now living.
And so these three prayers to live into:
Merciful Father, we offer in joy and thanksgiving what you have first given us – our selves, our time, and our possessions, signs of your gracious love.
And . . Teach us to number our days that we may live wisely, generously and well.
And… from the third verse of the hymn that we are about to sing:
In gratitude and humble trust we bring our best today to serve your cause and share your love with all along life’s way. O God, who gave yourself to us in Jesus Christ your Son, teach us to give ourselves each day until life’s work is done. Amen and Amen.
* * * * * * * * *
Matthew 25:14-30
[Jesus said to the disciples:] 14“For it is as if a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them; 15to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. 16The one who had received the five talents went off at once and traded with them, and made five more talents. 17In the same way, the one who had the two talents made two more talents. 18But the one who had received the one talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money. 19After a long time the master of those slaves came and settled accounts with them. 20Then the one who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five more talents, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents.’ 21His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ 22And the one with the two talents also came forward, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me two talents; see, I have made two more talents.’ 23His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ 24Then the one who had received the one talent also came forward, saying, ‘Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; 25so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.’ 26But his master replied, ‘You wicked and lazy slave! You knew, did you, that I reap where I did not sow, and gather where I did not scatter? 27Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received what was my own with interest. 28So take the talent from him, and give it to the one with the ten talents. 29For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. 30As for this worthless slave, throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ ”
And now, a children’s sermon for children of all ages. Every Sunday at St. Mark’s we have three readings. We just heard Tara reading the first one; right after the children’s sermon Elna will lead us in the back and forth reading of the Psalm; and then there’s the Gospel reading which is read by the pastor. And as you know, there are four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. For almost a year we have been reading from Matthew’s gospel, but at the beginning of Advent – in two weeks—we begin a new church year and the gospel readings will be from Mark. Whenever we come to the close of the Matthew year, I get kind of upset with him because he can sound so harsh like he does at the end of today’s reading. I think we accomplish more by using encouraging and gentle words than by using harsh and angry words.
So, as a way to illustrate this, I’m going to tell an old, very old, story called: “The North Wind and The Sun.”
The blustery North Wind boasted of great strength; but the Sun argued that there was surprising power in gentleness. “Well, let’s have a contest,” said the North Wind.
Far below them they saw a man traveling a winding road. He was wearing a warm winter coat.
“All right,” said the Sun, “let us see which of us can make that man take his coat off.”
“Oh, it will be quite simple for me to force him to remove his coat,” bragged the Wind. Then the North Wind blew and blew. The Wind blew so hard, the birds clung to the trees. The world was filled with dust and leaves. Wind blew until he was almost out of breath, but the harder the wind blew, the tighter the shivering man clung to his coat!
“Now it is my turn,” said the Sun as he came out from behind a cloud. Sun warmed the air and the frosty ground. The man on the road began to unbutton his coat. The sun grew slowly brighter and brighter. Soon the man felt so hot, he took off his coat and sat down in a shady spot.
“How did you do that?” gasped North Wind.
“It was easy,” replied the Sun. “I lit the day. Through gentleness, I found a way.”
And that’s the very old story of the North Wind and the Sun.
The Sermon
If your response to today’s gospel reading is anything like mine, by time you get to “the gnashing of teeth” you have almost forgotten what is likely the essence of the story. As I see it, the essence is captured in three words: Trust, Joy & Fear. “Trust” appears in the text in two forms. The master in the parable “entrusts” all three servants, giving to each a superabundance of gifts. Two of those servants are commended for being “trustworthy.” “Trust,” then, in the form of “entrusted” or “trustworthy” occurring five times. Trust matters.
And the opposite of “trust” as the parable portrays it? “Fear!” The servant who is deemed untrustworthy says: “Master I knew that you were a harsh man, so I was afraid and hid your talent in the ground.” Oh, the strangling sound of fear! We know from our own lives and from this sad exemplar: Fear paralysis. No wonder we hear the Scriptural behest many times over: “Fear not!” “Do not be afraid!” Yes, we can know from our own lives and from this parable: Fear entraps us and trust sets us free! Trust matters. And Joy is the result! Hear the melodious lilt of those words: “Well done, trustworthy one. Enter into my Joy! Enter into the joy! Trust & Joy! Yes, trust joyfully receives and graciously shares and returns the superabundance of God’s good gifts! This is expressed so very well from one of my favorite liturgical prayers – the offertory prayer some of you will remember from the “green book,” /the LBW: Merciful Father, we offer with joy and thanksgiving what you have first given us – our selves, our time, and our possessions, signs of your gracious love. …….
One of the clues of the story quality of this parable is its hyperbolic assertions. As Matthew has Jesus telling the story, the hearers would have gasped and probably guffawed as Jesus named the extreme amounts entrusted to the servants – the extreme amount even to the one-talent servant. A talent in today’s average wages or earnings, (they tell us) would take 19 years of steady labor. But Jesus begins with the entrusting of the 5 talents, so can you imagine the taken-abackness of the crowd when he says that the master gave the first servant 95 years worth of wages….
I mention Jesus’ use of hyperbole not only to help us hear with amazement these amounts as the first hearers did, but also for another reason. And this isn’t hyperbolic. When we consider what all we have been given—the gift of life itself—“our selves, our time, and our possessions – what has been entrusted to us cannot be measured by talents or pounds or dollars or anything else… for what we have been given is immeasurable. And so all we can say and do as entrusted, trusting and trustworthy recipients of such gracious outpouring is: “Merciful Father, we offer with joy and thanksgiving what you have first given us!”
All three of our readings for today – the gospel, the psalm and the epistle—remind us of something else about this precious gift of life. That this gift is limited. We prayed in the prayer of the day: “prepare us for the joy of the day of your coming”—reminding us of the theme of Advent. Jesus has come and is coming again. As the reading from Thessalonians reminded us: “Now concerning the times and the seasons, brothers and sisters, you know very well that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night.” Some of you, like me, might be all too aware that the “Day of the Lord” talk or “end times” talk has been used as a kind of scare tactic. And that is concerning. But no matter how we interpret “end times” talk, the Psalmist reminds us clearly of the limits of our own personal life-span. And the closing verse which is a request , a prayer, from the heart of the Psalmist presents us with the essential teaching of this Psalm: Teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart.”
“The days of our life are seventy years or perhaps eighty, if we are strong.” Pastor Joe and Charlie are experiencing the full weight of that as they gather to grieve the loss of Charlie’s mom whose life-span was amongst those whom the Psalmist calls “strong.” A few of us virtually gathered today are past 70, even fewer past 80. But even we who have reached these landmarks can look back and say in that old hackneyed phrase: How quickly time flies! And in this light I share a quote from my dear oldest sister, Betty. In her 85th year she completed a memoir. She lived into her 88th year, but at the beginning of her memoir she writes: “Looking back at 85 years of life, it is easy and fun to remember, relive and rejoice. It is quite different to look forward to the unknown. What I can do at this moment is enjoy every day, love my family and friends, and be content. Life goes so fast. I look back and feel as if my life is just starting out. What I feel is, “Wait a minute! I just got here!”
And so, we, too, pray with the Psalmist: “Teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart.” As we live in these days of a world-wide pandemic, the fragility of life is palpable as is its preciousness. When Isaac Watts in 1714 penned “O God, our help in ages past, our hope in years to come, our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home -- based on this Psalm, he spoke not only to his day, but to days such as we are now living.
And so these three prayers to live into:
Merciful Father, we offer in joy and thanksgiving what you have first given us – our selves, our time, and our possessions, signs of your gracious love.
And . . Teach us to number our days that we may live wisely, generously and well.
And… from the third verse of the hymn that we are about to sing:
In gratitude and humble trust we bring our best today to serve your cause and share your love with all along life’s way. O God, who gave yourself to us in Jesus Christ your Son, teach us to give ourselves each day until life’s work is done. Amen and Amen.
* * * * * * * * *
Matthew 25:14-30
[Jesus said to the disciples:] 14“For it is as if a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them; 15to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. 16The one who had received the five talents went off at once and traded with them, and made five more talents. 17In the same way, the one who had the two talents made two more talents. 18But the one who had received the one talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money. 19After a long time the master of those slaves came and settled accounts with them. 20Then the one who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five more talents, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents.’ 21His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ 22And the one with the two talents also came forward, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me two talents; see, I have made two more talents.’ 23His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ 24Then the one who had received the one talent also came forward, saying, ‘Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; 25so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.’ 26But his master replied, ‘You wicked and lazy slave! You knew, did you, that I reap where I did not sow, and gather where I did not scatter? 27Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received what was my own with interest. 28So take the talent from him, and give it to the one with the ten talents. 29For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. 30As for this worthless slave, throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ ”
"Gratitude"
Based on Matthew 25:31-46 (reading at the end of the sermon)
November 22, 2020
When I graduated from high school, I received a lot of cards from people I knew. Cards with lots of “congrats” and “best wishes.” Cards from relatives. Cards from church members. Cards from people I grew up with in my hometown of Dassel, Minnesota. Many cards had cash and checks enclosed.
Since 10th grade I had worked at Isaacson’s Grocery Store. The owners Cliff and Mabel were like second parents for me. Mabel was the one who encouraged me to make plans for college and save my money for that. Mabel liked to give me advice. Advice like sending thank you notes to everyone who gave me a graduation gift within two weeks. Which I did.
A couple weeks later, I was at the post office, where I ran into Eleanor, whose husband Elmer was the town barber. Elmer had been cutting my hair since I was a little kid. The Fargo barbershop I go to now reminds me of his shop. Eleanor casually asked if I had received the card and gift she had mailed. Without thinking, I responded bluntly: “No, I didn’t get a card from you.” Her facial expression showed that Eleanor was puzzled and shocked by my response, but I wasn’t sure what I could do about it. So I said goodbye.
But that wasn’t the end of my card story. When I went to work the next day, Mabel told me that Eleanor had come to the store and spoken with her about the missing card. I felt defensive, and explained to Mabel that I had carefully checked my list of cards received. And I was sure nothing came from Eleanor. Mabel suggested that I must have misplaced the card. Which I knew wasn’t true. But Mabel instructed me to send a thank you anyway. In her mind, it was the right thing to do.
So that’s what I did. I sent a hand-written note to Eleanor and Elmer, thanking them for a gift I never received. To me, it seemed like I was expressing gratitude for nothing.
I was reminded of that experience after reading the parable in today’s Gospel lesson. The story of the sheep and the goats is well known. This parable only appears in Matthew and is the very last teaching of Jesus in that Gospel. Right after this, Matthew moves us into the narrative of the last supper and Jesus’ crucifixion.
The parable begins with a king offering a thank you and eternal reward to the sheep for the good things they have done to him. But the sheep are puzzled by the king’s gratitude. They say, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you drink?” It seems like the king is thanking them for something they never did. To which the king responds, “Just as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.”
Of course, Matthew converts this parable into a story with a moral. Suggesting that anyone who unknowingly does kind things to sick and needy people will be rewarded with eternal life in heaven. But anyone who fails to do the right things will suffer eternal punishment in hell. A lot of preachers have used this parable to motivate us Christians to do charitable acts for the poor and hungry and homeless. As Lutherans, we talk about living grace-filled lives—that we give to those in need out of gratitude for the good things God has given us.
But there’s something about all that that bothers me. It makes me wonder about the ethical motivations behind good deeds. It makes me question if Jesus is really suggesting that (whether we do so consciously or not) we should expect to go to heaven because of the way we have lived our lives.
I think there are a lot of people—including a lot of Christians—who no longer buy into that belief system. People who no longer find meaning in many of the teachings of traditional religion. Where God is like a mighty king or judge checking to see if we do everything the right way. Instead, they long to find spirituality and meaning in their lives and human relationships. Where God is a spirit that fills all of creation and our hearts with love and kindness and gratitude.
Rabia al-Adawiyya lived in the eighth century. She founded the Sufis, a sect of Islamic mystics. As a girl, Rabia was sold into slavery. According to some legends, she gained her freedom, because her master was puzzled and amazed by a miraculous light shining over her head.
Rabia devoted her life to a quest for direct contact with God. But she also questioned traditional beliefs. Rabia once wrote the following prayer: “O Allah! O God ! If I worship you for fear of hell, burn me in hell. And if I worship you in hope of paradise, exclude me from paradise. But if I worship you for your own sake, grudge me not your everlasting Beauty.” *
In a similar vein, during this Thursday evening’s reading circle about Lenny Duncan’s book Dear Church, we talked about what the word “Church” means to us. About how the Church (both past and present) has condemned and hurt many of us—especially those who are queer or people of color or women.
Some of us here at St. Mark’s have stories like that. Like Pastor Lenny in his book, we talked about what makes people like us stay in the Church despite the emotional and spiritual scars we carry. I shared my experience in the years after seminary when I decided not to get ordained because I am gay. About how painful it was. About how challenging it was to find a welcoming community. About what I longed for in a church.
Back then, one place I found a spiritual home was in a 12-Step group. Al-Anon isn’t a religious program, but a spiritual one for those of us with family or friends struggling with chemical dependency.
Like AA, they don’t impose a particular definition of God, or who or what your Higher Power is. Instead, we leave it up to individual members to define these terms for themselves. (A radical concept that would probably make many Christians’ heads explode!) The group I attended was for LGBTQ individuals. Back when I wasn’t out, it was a safe space for me. A space where I could work through my life story. A space to explore what God and spirituality meant for me. A space to learn about gratitude.
An Al-Anon member named Cindy once wrote:
“I express my Gratitude by trying to live the Steps. Today gratitude is a practice, and it is more important than how I sometimes feel. Gratitude is the deep knowing that my Higher Power is guiding and loving me. Gratitude is knowing that those around me have hope and help in their most difficult times. Gratitude is knowing that I may not be feeling super serene right now, because I’m busy being… grateful for my life.”
One spiritual practice often suggested to newcomers in a 12-Step Program is to make a list each day of three things for which they feel grateful. I read of one person who didn’t stop writing until they had a list of 5,000 items.
That’s a practice that you might want to try this week. This Thursday is Thanksgiving. A Thanksgiving unlike any most of us have ever experienced. Where COVID-19 keeps us in isolation. Separated from those we love. Made even more painful for some of us who are dealing with the loss of loved ones and our grief.
And while we acknowledge the loneliness and the strangeness of these days, this can also be a time to think about gratitude. Gratitude for the good things we see today as signs of God’s grace.
However, we shouldn’t shame others for finding life hard or unpleasant. Well-intended suggestions that others be “more positive” or “grateful for what they have” often come from those who are uncomfortable with their own negative feelings. Gratitude is not something we are forced to do. It’s not a thank you card for a gift never received.
But it is a psychological and spiritual practice for days like these. An exercise, a ritual, that can give us hope in the midst of despair. And a reminder of the One who holds us when we can no longer hold one another.
A Higher Power who calls us each day to love and gratitude and abundant life, even in the face of death. Amen.
---------------------------
*https://www.encyclopedia.com/history/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/rabia-al-adawiyya
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 25:31-46 (NRSV)
[Jesus said to the disciples:] 31“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. 32All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, 33and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. 34Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 35for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ 37Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ 40And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family you did it to me.’ 41Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; 42for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ 44Then they also will answer, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’ 45Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ 46And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”
Since 10th grade I had worked at Isaacson’s Grocery Store. The owners Cliff and Mabel were like second parents for me. Mabel was the one who encouraged me to make plans for college and save my money for that. Mabel liked to give me advice. Advice like sending thank you notes to everyone who gave me a graduation gift within two weeks. Which I did.
A couple weeks later, I was at the post office, where I ran into Eleanor, whose husband Elmer was the town barber. Elmer had been cutting my hair since I was a little kid. The Fargo barbershop I go to now reminds me of his shop. Eleanor casually asked if I had received the card and gift she had mailed. Without thinking, I responded bluntly: “No, I didn’t get a card from you.” Her facial expression showed that Eleanor was puzzled and shocked by my response, but I wasn’t sure what I could do about it. So I said goodbye.
But that wasn’t the end of my card story. When I went to work the next day, Mabel told me that Eleanor had come to the store and spoken with her about the missing card. I felt defensive, and explained to Mabel that I had carefully checked my list of cards received. And I was sure nothing came from Eleanor. Mabel suggested that I must have misplaced the card. Which I knew wasn’t true. But Mabel instructed me to send a thank you anyway. In her mind, it was the right thing to do.
So that’s what I did. I sent a hand-written note to Eleanor and Elmer, thanking them for a gift I never received. To me, it seemed like I was expressing gratitude for nothing.
I was reminded of that experience after reading the parable in today’s Gospel lesson. The story of the sheep and the goats is well known. This parable only appears in Matthew and is the very last teaching of Jesus in that Gospel. Right after this, Matthew moves us into the narrative of the last supper and Jesus’ crucifixion.
The parable begins with a king offering a thank you and eternal reward to the sheep for the good things they have done to him. But the sheep are puzzled by the king’s gratitude. They say, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you drink?” It seems like the king is thanking them for something they never did. To which the king responds, “Just as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.”
Of course, Matthew converts this parable into a story with a moral. Suggesting that anyone who unknowingly does kind things to sick and needy people will be rewarded with eternal life in heaven. But anyone who fails to do the right things will suffer eternal punishment in hell. A lot of preachers have used this parable to motivate us Christians to do charitable acts for the poor and hungry and homeless. As Lutherans, we talk about living grace-filled lives—that we give to those in need out of gratitude for the good things God has given us.
But there’s something about all that that bothers me. It makes me wonder about the ethical motivations behind good deeds. It makes me question if Jesus is really suggesting that (whether we do so consciously or not) we should expect to go to heaven because of the way we have lived our lives.
I think there are a lot of people—including a lot of Christians—who no longer buy into that belief system. People who no longer find meaning in many of the teachings of traditional religion. Where God is like a mighty king or judge checking to see if we do everything the right way. Instead, they long to find spirituality and meaning in their lives and human relationships. Where God is a spirit that fills all of creation and our hearts with love and kindness and gratitude.
Rabia al-Adawiyya lived in the eighth century. She founded the Sufis, a sect of Islamic mystics. As a girl, Rabia was sold into slavery. According to some legends, she gained her freedom, because her master was puzzled and amazed by a miraculous light shining over her head.
Rabia devoted her life to a quest for direct contact with God. But she also questioned traditional beliefs. Rabia once wrote the following prayer: “O Allah! O God ! If I worship you for fear of hell, burn me in hell. And if I worship you in hope of paradise, exclude me from paradise. But if I worship you for your own sake, grudge me not your everlasting Beauty.” *
In a similar vein, during this Thursday evening’s reading circle about Lenny Duncan’s book Dear Church, we talked about what the word “Church” means to us. About how the Church (both past and present) has condemned and hurt many of us—especially those who are queer or people of color or women.
Some of us here at St. Mark’s have stories like that. Like Pastor Lenny in his book, we talked about what makes people like us stay in the Church despite the emotional and spiritual scars we carry. I shared my experience in the years after seminary when I decided not to get ordained because I am gay. About how painful it was. About how challenging it was to find a welcoming community. About what I longed for in a church.
Back then, one place I found a spiritual home was in a 12-Step group. Al-Anon isn’t a religious program, but a spiritual one for those of us with family or friends struggling with chemical dependency.
Like AA, they don’t impose a particular definition of God, or who or what your Higher Power is. Instead, we leave it up to individual members to define these terms for themselves. (A radical concept that would probably make many Christians’ heads explode!) The group I attended was for LGBTQ individuals. Back when I wasn’t out, it was a safe space for me. A space where I could work through my life story. A space to explore what God and spirituality meant for me. A space to learn about gratitude.
An Al-Anon member named Cindy once wrote:
“I express my Gratitude by trying to live the Steps. Today gratitude is a practice, and it is more important than how I sometimes feel. Gratitude is the deep knowing that my Higher Power is guiding and loving me. Gratitude is knowing that those around me have hope and help in their most difficult times. Gratitude is knowing that I may not be feeling super serene right now, because I’m busy being… grateful for my life.”
One spiritual practice often suggested to newcomers in a 12-Step Program is to make a list each day of three things for which they feel grateful. I read of one person who didn’t stop writing until they had a list of 5,000 items.
That’s a practice that you might want to try this week. This Thursday is Thanksgiving. A Thanksgiving unlike any most of us have ever experienced. Where COVID-19 keeps us in isolation. Separated from those we love. Made even more painful for some of us who are dealing with the loss of loved ones and our grief.
And while we acknowledge the loneliness and the strangeness of these days, this can also be a time to think about gratitude. Gratitude for the good things we see today as signs of God’s grace.
However, we shouldn’t shame others for finding life hard or unpleasant. Well-intended suggestions that others be “more positive” or “grateful for what they have” often come from those who are uncomfortable with their own negative feelings. Gratitude is not something we are forced to do. It’s not a thank you card for a gift never received.
But it is a psychological and spiritual practice for days like these. An exercise, a ritual, that can give us hope in the midst of despair. And a reminder of the One who holds us when we can no longer hold one another.
A Higher Power who calls us each day to love and gratitude and abundant life, even in the face of death. Amen.
---------------------------
*https://www.encyclopedia.com/history/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/rabia-al-adawiyya
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 25:31-46 (NRSV)
[Jesus said to the disciples:] 31“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. 32All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, 33and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. 34Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 35for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ 37Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ 40And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family you did it to me.’ 41Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; 42for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ 44Then they also will answer, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’ 45Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ 46And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”
"A Lost Tradition"
Based on Mark 13:29-37 (reading at the end of the sermon)
November 29, 2020
“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!” (Isaiah 64:1)
When I was a kid, I absolutely loved Christmas. I loved decorating our Christmas tree with delicate ornaments and brightly colored bulbs and silver tinsel. I loved driving by houses with holiday lights. I loved going to our town hall and waiting in line to see Santa, an old man with a German accent. His helpers handed out a paper bag to every kid. Inside each bag was a big red apple and a Hershey’s chocolate bar.
Another tradition I loved was putting together a cardboard house based on the well-known poem, “The Night Before Christmas,” about original Santa story and its tradition. A story I knew better than the Jesus story.
The paper house came with all the characters, like the children nestled all snug in their beds, “while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.” And mamma in a kerchief and dad in a cap. And Santa in a miniature sleigh with eight tiny reindeer.
As the years went by, parts of the cardboard house gradually became more tattered and torn. Each year, I carefully taped those pieces together. It became an obsession for me.
Eventually, however, house became so worn out, that it could no longer stand. So I finally stopped putting it up. It became a lost tradition. Something only I remember.
“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus talks about a lost tradition—the Jewish Temple. Biblical scholars tell us that Mark’s Gospel was written just after the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans in 70 AD.
Unlike Matthew and Luke, Mark has no Christmas story. No virgin birth. No baby Jesus. No shepherds. No magi. If we Christians had only the Gospel of Mark, we would have none of our Christmas traditions.
Next week we’ll hear the beginning of the Gospel, but today on this first Sunday of Advent—the first Sunday of the church year—we start at the end, right before Jesus’ crucifixion. This section of Mark is often called “The Little Apocalypse.” The word comes from the Greek word for “revelation” and usually refers to a cataclysmic event.
Up until this point, Mark is telling the Gospel story. Telling us everything Jesus said and did during his ministry. But suddenly in chapter 13, Mark changes gears. For Mark’s Jewish community is in crisis. The Temple—which was the center of their religious and political and economic life—stands in ruins. A pile of giant stones. A catastrophe that ended worship traditions that had lasted nearly a thousand years. Not worn out, but torn down by an evil empire.
“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”
For many of us, 2020 has been a year of lost traditions. COVID-19 has wreaked havoc on our country, quarantined our schools, and torn apart our social structures. Our temples haven’t been destroyed, but our church buildings stand empty—devastated by a pandemic that keeps us isolated.
Our medical system is overwhelmed, filled with record numbers of the sick. Our hearts are broken as we eat holiday meals separated from those we love. Our church liturgy has been turned upside down.
Mark compares an era like this to a fig tree in spring. But I think it’s more like the birch tree in my front yard that still holds onto its leaves—blowing in the wind like torn pieces of paper. Like us believers who stubbornly hold on to rituals and prayers and traditions that comforted us in the past.
I wonder if perhaps this Advent might be a time for us to remember and re-live those traditions. To sing carols from worn-out hymnals. To allow the story of Jesus to be re-woven into the frayed fabric of our daily lives so that our world takes on a holy texture.
Moving us to open our dusty boxes of ornaments and musty linens and faded wreaths. And put them out in defiance of death and despair and fear. Even if it means no one else will see them.
But we will see them. And God will see them. And it will be a living tradition. Reminding us that we can still hope in the future. Just as generations long past dared to hope their ways through depressions and world wars, political upheaval and AIDS epidemics.
“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”
What I love about our Lutheran tradition and the liturgical year is that each December we get to restart the story of faith. We re-sing the story, re-live the story, and re-tell the story of Jesus. Over and over and over again. And we don’t do it alone. We do it with one another. We do it with all those who have come before. We do it with all those who follow. Long after we are dead and gone. Long after our sermons and bulletins and church newsletters have been shredded and burned.
Together, as the Church Universal, we share a kind of duel reality in the now and not-yet. A faith that tears open the fabric of time and space. A faith that finds meaning not in future predictions, but in the faith of our past traditions and in the hope of beginning something new. A glimmer of hope so desperately needed today.
A long-awaited vision finally becoming reality. Like a vaccine that saves millions of lives. Like a new government that seeks justice. Like a church that worships together again.
Like a holy love so powerful that it rips the heavens apart to come down to dwell among us. Like The Word that in the beginning creates the cosmos and finishes the story by becoming human. Like a blessing that comes at the end of an ancient liturgy.
“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”
In her book Circle of Grace, Jan Richardson shares a poem called “Blessing When the World Is Ending.”* It reads as follows:
“Look, the world
is always ending
somewhere.
Somewhere
the sun has come
crashing down.
Somewhere
it has gone
completely dark.
Somewhere
it has ended
with the gun,
the knife,
the fist.
Somewhere
it has ended
with the slammed door,
the shattered hope.
Somewhere
it has ended
with the utter quiet
that follows the news
from the phone,
the television,
the hospital room.
Somewhere
it has ended
with a tenderness
that will break
your heart.
But, listen,
this blessing means
to be anything
but morose.
It has not come
to cause despair.
It is simply here
because there is nothing
a blessing
is better suited for
than an ending,
nothing that cries out more
for a blessing
than when a world
is falling apart.
This blessing
will not fix you,
will not mend you,
will not give you
false comfort;
it will not talk to you
about one door opening
when another one closes.
It will simply
sit itself beside you
among the shards
and gently turn your face
toward the direction
from which the light
will come,
gathering itself
about you
as the world begins
again.”
May the Word of God tear open the heavens, break open your heart to hope again through old and new traditions. And come down to you today with the blessing of this Advent. Amen.
-------------------------------------
*Jan Richardson; Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons (Wanton Gospeller Press, Orlando, Florida, 2015); © Jan Richardson; www. janrichardson.com.
GOSPEL LESSON: Mark 13.24-37
[Jesus said:] 24“In those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light,25and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. 26Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. 27Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. 28“From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. 29So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. 30Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. 31Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
32“But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. 33Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. 34It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. 35Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, 36or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. 37And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”
When I was a kid, I absolutely loved Christmas. I loved decorating our Christmas tree with delicate ornaments and brightly colored bulbs and silver tinsel. I loved driving by houses with holiday lights. I loved going to our town hall and waiting in line to see Santa, an old man with a German accent. His helpers handed out a paper bag to every kid. Inside each bag was a big red apple and a Hershey’s chocolate bar.
Another tradition I loved was putting together a cardboard house based on the well-known poem, “The Night Before Christmas,” about original Santa story and its tradition. A story I knew better than the Jesus story.
The paper house came with all the characters, like the children nestled all snug in their beds, “while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.” And mamma in a kerchief and dad in a cap. And Santa in a miniature sleigh with eight tiny reindeer.
As the years went by, parts of the cardboard house gradually became more tattered and torn. Each year, I carefully taped those pieces together. It became an obsession for me.
Eventually, however, house became so worn out, that it could no longer stand. So I finally stopped putting it up. It became a lost tradition. Something only I remember.
“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus talks about a lost tradition—the Jewish Temple. Biblical scholars tell us that Mark’s Gospel was written just after the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans in 70 AD.
Unlike Matthew and Luke, Mark has no Christmas story. No virgin birth. No baby Jesus. No shepherds. No magi. If we Christians had only the Gospel of Mark, we would have none of our Christmas traditions.
Next week we’ll hear the beginning of the Gospel, but today on this first Sunday of Advent—the first Sunday of the church year—we start at the end, right before Jesus’ crucifixion. This section of Mark is often called “The Little Apocalypse.” The word comes from the Greek word for “revelation” and usually refers to a cataclysmic event.
Up until this point, Mark is telling the Gospel story. Telling us everything Jesus said and did during his ministry. But suddenly in chapter 13, Mark changes gears. For Mark’s Jewish community is in crisis. The Temple—which was the center of their religious and political and economic life—stands in ruins. A pile of giant stones. A catastrophe that ended worship traditions that had lasted nearly a thousand years. Not worn out, but torn down by an evil empire.
“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”
For many of us, 2020 has been a year of lost traditions. COVID-19 has wreaked havoc on our country, quarantined our schools, and torn apart our social structures. Our temples haven’t been destroyed, but our church buildings stand empty—devastated by a pandemic that keeps us isolated.
Our medical system is overwhelmed, filled with record numbers of the sick. Our hearts are broken as we eat holiday meals separated from those we love. Our church liturgy has been turned upside down.
Mark compares an era like this to a fig tree in spring. But I think it’s more like the birch tree in my front yard that still holds onto its leaves—blowing in the wind like torn pieces of paper. Like us believers who stubbornly hold on to rituals and prayers and traditions that comforted us in the past.
I wonder if perhaps this Advent might be a time for us to remember and re-live those traditions. To sing carols from worn-out hymnals. To allow the story of Jesus to be re-woven into the frayed fabric of our daily lives so that our world takes on a holy texture.
Moving us to open our dusty boxes of ornaments and musty linens and faded wreaths. And put them out in defiance of death and despair and fear. Even if it means no one else will see them.
But we will see them. And God will see them. And it will be a living tradition. Reminding us that we can still hope in the future. Just as generations long past dared to hope their ways through depressions and world wars, political upheaval and AIDS epidemics.
“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”
What I love about our Lutheran tradition and the liturgical year is that each December we get to restart the story of faith. We re-sing the story, re-live the story, and re-tell the story of Jesus. Over and over and over again. And we don’t do it alone. We do it with one another. We do it with all those who have come before. We do it with all those who follow. Long after we are dead and gone. Long after our sermons and bulletins and church newsletters have been shredded and burned.
Together, as the Church Universal, we share a kind of duel reality in the now and not-yet. A faith that tears open the fabric of time and space. A faith that finds meaning not in future predictions, but in the faith of our past traditions and in the hope of beginning something new. A glimmer of hope so desperately needed today.
A long-awaited vision finally becoming reality. Like a vaccine that saves millions of lives. Like a new government that seeks justice. Like a church that worships together again.
Like a holy love so powerful that it rips the heavens apart to come down to dwell among us. Like The Word that in the beginning creates the cosmos and finishes the story by becoming human. Like a blessing that comes at the end of an ancient liturgy.
“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”
In her book Circle of Grace, Jan Richardson shares a poem called “Blessing When the World Is Ending.”* It reads as follows:
“Look, the world
is always ending
somewhere.
Somewhere
the sun has come
crashing down.
Somewhere
it has gone
completely dark.
Somewhere
it has ended
with the gun,
the knife,
the fist.
Somewhere
it has ended
with the slammed door,
the shattered hope.
Somewhere
it has ended
with the utter quiet
that follows the news
from the phone,
the television,
the hospital room.
Somewhere
it has ended
with a tenderness
that will break
your heart.
But, listen,
this blessing means
to be anything
but morose.
It has not come
to cause despair.
It is simply here
because there is nothing
a blessing
is better suited for
than an ending,
nothing that cries out more
for a blessing
than when a world
is falling apart.
This blessing
will not fix you,
will not mend you,
will not give you
false comfort;
it will not talk to you
about one door opening
when another one closes.
It will simply
sit itself beside you
among the shards
and gently turn your face
toward the direction
from which the light
will come,
gathering itself
about you
as the world begins
again.”
May the Word of God tear open the heavens, break open your heart to hope again through old and new traditions. And come down to you today with the blessing of this Advent. Amen.
-------------------------------------
*Jan Richardson; Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons (Wanton Gospeller Press, Orlando, Florida, 2015); © Jan Richardson; www. janrichardson.com.
GOSPEL LESSON: Mark 13.24-37
[Jesus said:] 24“In those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light,25and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. 26Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. 27Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. 28“From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. 29So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. 30Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. 31Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
32“But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. 33Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. 34It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. 35Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, 36or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. 37And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”