October 2020
"The Unexpected Invite"
Based on Matthew 22:1-14 (reading at the end of the sermon)
October 11, 2020
“And the king said, ‘Go into the streets, and invite everyone you find to my wedding banquet.’ So they went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found. And the wedding hall was filled with guests.”
Last Thursday morning, I received a text from our former Bishop Terry Brandt, telling me that his spouse Kristi wanted to talk with me and asking if he could give her my cell number. “Sure,” I texted back, wondering what it was all about.
Kristi called me about a half hour later. Kristi works as principal of Valley City High School. As we chatted, she told me about a cohort of 15 teachers in her district seeking a master’s degree in a Teacher Leadership Academy. The group has had discussions about issues related to diversity.
One concern that came out of that is how to prepare these teachers to deal sensitively with LGBTQ students and their families. They want to learn more about how to create an inclusive classroom and safe environment. But, like many of us, some are afraid of saying the wrong thing.
So, Kristi was calling to invite me and my husband Charlie to talk with that group. Kristi had met Charlie about a year ago, when I preached at Kathryn parish and Charlie came with me. She and Bishop Terry attended the service and afterwards invited us to lunch at the Bridges Bar and Grill in Valley City.
Kristi told me that she was impressed by both of us during that conversation. By our comfort with our sexual orientation. By our easy way of presenting ourselves. And by our love for one another.
After speaking with Charlie, I called Kristi back the next day to tell her that we were accepting her invitation to meet with the group this coming Wednesday. It’s interesting to think that Kristi’s invitation might not have happened if we had not had lunch together last fall.
The parable that Jesus tells in today’s Gospel lesson is also a story about an invitation centered around a meal. Where a king invites friends to a wedding party for his son. But each of the guests declines. So, the king tells his slaves, “Go into the streets, and invite everyone to my wedding banquet.”
This parable also appears in the Gospel of Luke, but with a less complicated plotline. A man holds a banquet and sends out invitations. Again, everybody declines. So, the man tells his servants to gather in “the poor and maimed, the blind and lame.” He fills his house by welcoming the needy. And that’s where Luke’s story stops. I like that ending.
But the author of Matthew doesn’t like happy endings. He turns the parable into an allegory for a struggle in the early church about what it means to be Christian. And shifts the focus to judging the worthiness of the guests—where a man without the proper outfit is shamed and kicked out.
Shame is central to Matthew, like a dysfunctional family. The parable ends by suggesting that no one can live up to his standards: “Many are called, but few are chosen.” That verse has been used by modern Christians within the Church to decide who is “in” and who is “out.”
In many ways, Matthew’s story is an allegory for how marginalized people have been treated for centuries and even in recent times. Of course, it’s not just faith communities that have done that. All of our human institutions do it: schools, businesses, charities and government agencies.
Instead of opening the door to everyone and anyone, we put qualifiers at the bottom of each party invitation. Things like: “All are welcome to our church.” (But not if you’re trans.) Or, “All are welcome to our neighborhood.” (But not if you’re black or brown.) Or, “All are welcome to our Facebook group.” (But not if you’re from the other side of the political divide.
As members of St. Mark’s Lutheran, I believe each of us wants to do things that demonstrate our commitment to being a welcoming congregation. So, we expect that those who are part of this community, or those who would want to join us, share those values--
- Like fully welcoming those who are LGBTQ.
- Like showing that we want to make a difference for the homeless in our community through groups like Churches United.
- Like getting involved in Black Lives Matter, and standing side by side with African Americans, indigenous peoples, immigrants and others who feel threatened in our country today.
- Like creating our Welcome Connection’s office space as a place to work hand in hand with community partners committed to similar issues.
- Like worshiping in a Jewish synagogue, when anti-Semitism is rising in our world.
- Like being a resource to other leaders and teachers, pastors and parents in our community and state.
The challenge for us today is how to keep doing that, given the limitations of the COVID-19 pandemic and the extreme divisions within our society. Where even in family gatherings, people walk on eggshells to avoid hot topic issues.
Speaking of families, most of us have had the experience of getting a home ready for relatives for a holiday meal. Before moving here to Fargo, Charlie and I used to spend most Thanksgivings and Christmas Days at his mom’s house. We’d often get there early to help his mother Dona set things up. She has a dining room table that we would pull apart and add a couple leaves to make it bigger. So everyone could fit around it.
A simple image for the way that Jesus talks about the Gospel. A table that can grow big enough to include everyone. Expanding that table isn’t about digging in our heals about rules or politics or what we believe. It’s about offering an invitation free of the kind of shame the Church has used so often to put a qualifier on God’s grace.
The good news is that we St. Mark’s folk are not alone in wanting a more welcoming table. There are so many people out there today who want the same thing. People looking for a place to feel at home.
The even better news is that Jesus shows us how to do it. Jesus sets a bigger table. Jesus tells us to go out and offer an unexpected invite. To anyone and everyone. Jesus knows that we don’t need to reinvent the Church to do that. Or start a new ministry. Or launch a building campaign. We just open the doors and set the table of our own hospitality.
To create a space where differences can be openly acknowledged and fully welcomed. Both as a faith community. And as individuals. Whether that’s inviting people we don’t know to participate in discussions or gatherings. Or everyday small acts of kindness and hospitality—hospitality as simple as coffee in a parking lot, or a phone call to ask how someone is coping.
My prayer today is that we all may find ways to create a welcome table in our community and world. That in our living, we may become what we receive in Jesus.
And offer an unexpected invite to someone who just needs a word of grace. Amen.
+ + +
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 22:1-14
Once more Jesus spoke to them in parables, saying: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. Again he sent other slaves, saying, ‘Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.’ But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, while the rest seized his slaves, mistreated them, and killed them. The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. Then he said to his slaves, ‘The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.’ Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests. “But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?’ And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ For many are called, but few are chosen.”
Last Thursday morning, I received a text from our former Bishop Terry Brandt, telling me that his spouse Kristi wanted to talk with me and asking if he could give her my cell number. “Sure,” I texted back, wondering what it was all about.
Kristi called me about a half hour later. Kristi works as principal of Valley City High School. As we chatted, she told me about a cohort of 15 teachers in her district seeking a master’s degree in a Teacher Leadership Academy. The group has had discussions about issues related to diversity.
One concern that came out of that is how to prepare these teachers to deal sensitively with LGBTQ students and their families. They want to learn more about how to create an inclusive classroom and safe environment. But, like many of us, some are afraid of saying the wrong thing.
So, Kristi was calling to invite me and my husband Charlie to talk with that group. Kristi had met Charlie about a year ago, when I preached at Kathryn parish and Charlie came with me. She and Bishop Terry attended the service and afterwards invited us to lunch at the Bridges Bar and Grill in Valley City.
Kristi told me that she was impressed by both of us during that conversation. By our comfort with our sexual orientation. By our easy way of presenting ourselves. And by our love for one another.
After speaking with Charlie, I called Kristi back the next day to tell her that we were accepting her invitation to meet with the group this coming Wednesday. It’s interesting to think that Kristi’s invitation might not have happened if we had not had lunch together last fall.
The parable that Jesus tells in today’s Gospel lesson is also a story about an invitation centered around a meal. Where a king invites friends to a wedding party for his son. But each of the guests declines. So, the king tells his slaves, “Go into the streets, and invite everyone to my wedding banquet.”
This parable also appears in the Gospel of Luke, but with a less complicated plotline. A man holds a banquet and sends out invitations. Again, everybody declines. So, the man tells his servants to gather in “the poor and maimed, the blind and lame.” He fills his house by welcoming the needy. And that’s where Luke’s story stops. I like that ending.
But the author of Matthew doesn’t like happy endings. He turns the parable into an allegory for a struggle in the early church about what it means to be Christian. And shifts the focus to judging the worthiness of the guests—where a man without the proper outfit is shamed and kicked out.
Shame is central to Matthew, like a dysfunctional family. The parable ends by suggesting that no one can live up to his standards: “Many are called, but few are chosen.” That verse has been used by modern Christians within the Church to decide who is “in” and who is “out.”
In many ways, Matthew’s story is an allegory for how marginalized people have been treated for centuries and even in recent times. Of course, it’s not just faith communities that have done that. All of our human institutions do it: schools, businesses, charities and government agencies.
Instead of opening the door to everyone and anyone, we put qualifiers at the bottom of each party invitation. Things like: “All are welcome to our church.” (But not if you’re trans.) Or, “All are welcome to our neighborhood.” (But not if you’re black or brown.) Or, “All are welcome to our Facebook group.” (But not if you’re from the other side of the political divide.
As members of St. Mark’s Lutheran, I believe each of us wants to do things that demonstrate our commitment to being a welcoming congregation. So, we expect that those who are part of this community, or those who would want to join us, share those values--
- Like fully welcoming those who are LGBTQ.
- Like showing that we want to make a difference for the homeless in our community through groups like Churches United.
- Like getting involved in Black Lives Matter, and standing side by side with African Americans, indigenous peoples, immigrants and others who feel threatened in our country today.
- Like creating our Welcome Connection’s office space as a place to work hand in hand with community partners committed to similar issues.
- Like worshiping in a Jewish synagogue, when anti-Semitism is rising in our world.
- Like being a resource to other leaders and teachers, pastors and parents in our community and state.
The challenge for us today is how to keep doing that, given the limitations of the COVID-19 pandemic and the extreme divisions within our society. Where even in family gatherings, people walk on eggshells to avoid hot topic issues.
Speaking of families, most of us have had the experience of getting a home ready for relatives for a holiday meal. Before moving here to Fargo, Charlie and I used to spend most Thanksgivings and Christmas Days at his mom’s house. We’d often get there early to help his mother Dona set things up. She has a dining room table that we would pull apart and add a couple leaves to make it bigger. So everyone could fit around it.
A simple image for the way that Jesus talks about the Gospel. A table that can grow big enough to include everyone. Expanding that table isn’t about digging in our heals about rules or politics or what we believe. It’s about offering an invitation free of the kind of shame the Church has used so often to put a qualifier on God’s grace.
The good news is that we St. Mark’s folk are not alone in wanting a more welcoming table. There are so many people out there today who want the same thing. People looking for a place to feel at home.
The even better news is that Jesus shows us how to do it. Jesus sets a bigger table. Jesus tells us to go out and offer an unexpected invite. To anyone and everyone. Jesus knows that we don’t need to reinvent the Church to do that. Or start a new ministry. Or launch a building campaign. We just open the doors and set the table of our own hospitality.
To create a space where differences can be openly acknowledged and fully welcomed. Both as a faith community. And as individuals. Whether that’s inviting people we don’t know to participate in discussions or gatherings. Or everyday small acts of kindness and hospitality—hospitality as simple as coffee in a parking lot, or a phone call to ask how someone is coping.
My prayer today is that we all may find ways to create a welcome table in our community and world. That in our living, we may become what we receive in Jesus.
And offer an unexpected invite to someone who just needs a word of grace. Amen.
+ + +
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 22:1-14
Once more Jesus spoke to them in parables, saying: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. Again he sent other slaves, saying, ‘Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.’ But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, while the rest seized his slaves, mistreated them, and killed them. The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. Then he said to his slaves, ‘The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.’ Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests. “But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?’ And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ For many are called, but few are chosen.”
"Imago Dei"
Based on Matthew 22:15-22 (reading at the end of the sermon)
October 18, 2020
Years ago, I had a friend who owned some rental properties in Minneapolis. Once in a while, “Greg” needed someone to clean out a vacant apartment, or rake the yard, or tear down a wall.
So, he would go to a homeless shelter to see if anybody wanted to earn some quick money. Usually, someone took him up on the offer. At the end of the job, Greg would pay the person. No time clock. No paperwork. No taxes. Just cash for a hard day’s work.
Greg, who wasn’t religious, saw it as a kindness—a charitable act for somebody in need. Somebody no one else would hire, because of their alcoholism or mental illness or undocumented status. But for desperate individuals like them, it provided a day’s salary.
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus talks about that kind of money. He asks to see a silver denarius—a coin worth a day’s wages for a common laborer back then. Today, the average wage in North Dakota for manual labor is about $13 per hour. So, eight hours of work would earn you about a hundred bucks.
Like many low-income people, those who heard Jesus would have considered that a lot of money. In fact, the word “denarius” eventually came to mean just “money” in certain countries. That’s where the Spanish word “dinero” comes from.
In the time of Jesus, few people could afford to give up the money they earned in a day. Just like a lot of modern workers, most lived hand-to-mouth, paycheck to paycheck.
Yet, I don’t think Jesus is really talking about wages or even taxes. The coin represents something much bigger.
Our Gospel lesson takes place with a group of religious leaders in the court of the Jerusalem Temple. The original question seems innocent enough. “Should we pay taxes to the emperor?”
But it’s just like a modern debate on TV. You have to be careful about political landmines. Like stacking the Supreme Court. Or defunding the police. And Jesus recognizes this tax question as a trap. For if he says, “no,” Jesus gets in trouble with the Roman authorities. But if Jesus says “Yes,” then he would find himself in conflict with overtaxed workers, who resent Rome as an oppressive regime. Initially, it seems like a no-win question.
Then Jesus cleverly flips the debate on its head. When they show him a denarius, he asks, “Whose image is on the coin?” Now Jesus could have stopped right there. For Roman coins not only carried an image of the emperor—they also had an inscription saying, “The Divine Caesar, Son of God.” And for someone to produce a denarius within the Temple compound was seen as a blatant disregard for the First Commandment which forbids the use of graven images, even on money.
In fact, Jewish people were not allowed to bring Roman coins into the Temple. That’s why they had moneychangers at the entrance who exchanged them for Jewish shekels.
With this in mind, Jesus’ words take on new meaning: “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” Behind this reply is an unstated question: “What, actually, are the things that belong to the so-called divine ruler of this great empire, who also claims to be the Son of God?”
For people of that time, the Roman empire controlled everything. It held power over the entire Mediterranean world. It claimed divinity for their king and demanded unquestioning obedience. To disobey or protest meant treason. Often without a trial. And death by crucifixion. An effective deterrence.
Not that long ago, the thought of an American president thinking as themselves as God-like would have been laughable. Yet today, it almost seems like that. Where human rulers and judges act like they control our world and lives.
And seem willing to create and change laws that take away certain human rights. Who view themselves either consciously or unconsciously in the image of God.
But that’s not what we believe. “Imago Dei” is Latin for “image of God.” It means in likeness, or similarity, to God. The term “imago Dei refers to two theological concepts: First, God's self-revelation through humanity. And second, God's care for people.
To say that humans are created in the image of God is to recognize the special qualities of human nature that allow God to be made manifest in us. In other words, being made in the image of God means we are the creatures through whom God's plans and purposes are revealed and made real. That we are a mirror reflecting the face of God to the world.
I believe “imago Dei” means that we can even say that we are co-creators with God. The moral implications of the doctrine are apparent in the fact that if we are created to love God, then we must also love one another and other creatures as expressions of God. Today, I believe Jesus is calling us to remember that, as Christians, we bear the image of God. And that in baptism, we were marked by God.
When I gathered with the family of Harrison Hanson last weekend in their backyard for his baptism, part of that holy ritual is to make a sign of the cross on the baby’s forehead, which we did. A mark that stays there no matter what.
Symbolizing that in our lives, we display the face of Jesus to those around us. Even on those days when we don’t feel or look very divine. Even when we feel unlovable, we are still the face of God to others.
That is the promise of the Gospel. That God makes us holy in our brokenness. For even when we feel most discouraged—not sure if we can continue standing up to the evil forces in our world—God’s Spirit gives us the strength we need.
The Rev. Asher O'Callaghan currently serves as pastor of Highlands Lutheran Church in Denver, and was the first known trans individual ordained in our denomination in 2015. Years ago, Pastor Asher wrote a prayer poem based on Psalm 139 about “imago dei” during the process of fully embracing his own gender identity.
It’s also a blessing for the journey of life, especially for those who are queer, or who have struggled with seeing themselves (due to body image or skin color or social media) as beloved images of God.
I’d like to close with that poem:
“Learn to live and love
accordingly attuned to
the compass with which
your Maker has endowed you--
Imago Dei irreplaceably displayed
within your own heart.
May you courageously trust
that sacred thread
by which you are tenderly
knit together with infinite
wisdom, intention, and affection
carefully hemmed in each and every stitch--
back inside your mother's womb
and every single moment since.” *
May God help us remember the promise of “imago Dei,” conceived in our birth and reflected in the waters of our baptism. Declaring us to be the presence of Christ in our world today. Amen.
----------------------------------------------
*https://www.elm.org/2018/03/01/blessing-for-the-mystics/
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 22:15-22
Then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap [Jesus] in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, “Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, “Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.” And they brought him a denarius. Then he said to them, “Whose head is this, and whose title?” They answered, “The emperor’s.” Then he said to them, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” When they heard this, they were amazed; and they left him and went away.
So, he would go to a homeless shelter to see if anybody wanted to earn some quick money. Usually, someone took him up on the offer. At the end of the job, Greg would pay the person. No time clock. No paperwork. No taxes. Just cash for a hard day’s work.
Greg, who wasn’t religious, saw it as a kindness—a charitable act for somebody in need. Somebody no one else would hire, because of their alcoholism or mental illness or undocumented status. But for desperate individuals like them, it provided a day’s salary.
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus talks about that kind of money. He asks to see a silver denarius—a coin worth a day’s wages for a common laborer back then. Today, the average wage in North Dakota for manual labor is about $13 per hour. So, eight hours of work would earn you about a hundred bucks.
Like many low-income people, those who heard Jesus would have considered that a lot of money. In fact, the word “denarius” eventually came to mean just “money” in certain countries. That’s where the Spanish word “dinero” comes from.
In the time of Jesus, few people could afford to give up the money they earned in a day. Just like a lot of modern workers, most lived hand-to-mouth, paycheck to paycheck.
Yet, I don’t think Jesus is really talking about wages or even taxes. The coin represents something much bigger.
Our Gospel lesson takes place with a group of religious leaders in the court of the Jerusalem Temple. The original question seems innocent enough. “Should we pay taxes to the emperor?”
But it’s just like a modern debate on TV. You have to be careful about political landmines. Like stacking the Supreme Court. Or defunding the police. And Jesus recognizes this tax question as a trap. For if he says, “no,” Jesus gets in trouble with the Roman authorities. But if Jesus says “Yes,” then he would find himself in conflict with overtaxed workers, who resent Rome as an oppressive regime. Initially, it seems like a no-win question.
Then Jesus cleverly flips the debate on its head. When they show him a denarius, he asks, “Whose image is on the coin?” Now Jesus could have stopped right there. For Roman coins not only carried an image of the emperor—they also had an inscription saying, “The Divine Caesar, Son of God.” And for someone to produce a denarius within the Temple compound was seen as a blatant disregard for the First Commandment which forbids the use of graven images, even on money.
In fact, Jewish people were not allowed to bring Roman coins into the Temple. That’s why they had moneychangers at the entrance who exchanged them for Jewish shekels.
With this in mind, Jesus’ words take on new meaning: “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” Behind this reply is an unstated question: “What, actually, are the things that belong to the so-called divine ruler of this great empire, who also claims to be the Son of God?”
For people of that time, the Roman empire controlled everything. It held power over the entire Mediterranean world. It claimed divinity for their king and demanded unquestioning obedience. To disobey or protest meant treason. Often without a trial. And death by crucifixion. An effective deterrence.
Not that long ago, the thought of an American president thinking as themselves as God-like would have been laughable. Yet today, it almost seems like that. Where human rulers and judges act like they control our world and lives.
And seem willing to create and change laws that take away certain human rights. Who view themselves either consciously or unconsciously in the image of God.
But that’s not what we believe. “Imago Dei” is Latin for “image of God.” It means in likeness, or similarity, to God. The term “imago Dei refers to two theological concepts: First, God's self-revelation through humanity. And second, God's care for people.
To say that humans are created in the image of God is to recognize the special qualities of human nature that allow God to be made manifest in us. In other words, being made in the image of God means we are the creatures through whom God's plans and purposes are revealed and made real. That we are a mirror reflecting the face of God to the world.
I believe “imago Dei” means that we can even say that we are co-creators with God. The moral implications of the doctrine are apparent in the fact that if we are created to love God, then we must also love one another and other creatures as expressions of God. Today, I believe Jesus is calling us to remember that, as Christians, we bear the image of God. And that in baptism, we were marked by God.
When I gathered with the family of Harrison Hanson last weekend in their backyard for his baptism, part of that holy ritual is to make a sign of the cross on the baby’s forehead, which we did. A mark that stays there no matter what.
Symbolizing that in our lives, we display the face of Jesus to those around us. Even on those days when we don’t feel or look very divine. Even when we feel unlovable, we are still the face of God to others.
That is the promise of the Gospel. That God makes us holy in our brokenness. For even when we feel most discouraged—not sure if we can continue standing up to the evil forces in our world—God’s Spirit gives us the strength we need.
The Rev. Asher O'Callaghan currently serves as pastor of Highlands Lutheran Church in Denver, and was the first known trans individual ordained in our denomination in 2015. Years ago, Pastor Asher wrote a prayer poem based on Psalm 139 about “imago dei” during the process of fully embracing his own gender identity.
It’s also a blessing for the journey of life, especially for those who are queer, or who have struggled with seeing themselves (due to body image or skin color or social media) as beloved images of God.
I’d like to close with that poem:
“Learn to live and love
accordingly attuned to
the compass with which
your Maker has endowed you--
Imago Dei irreplaceably displayed
within your own heart.
May you courageously trust
that sacred thread
by which you are tenderly
knit together with infinite
wisdom, intention, and affection
carefully hemmed in each and every stitch--
back inside your mother's womb
and every single moment since.” *
May God help us remember the promise of “imago Dei,” conceived in our birth and reflected in the waters of our baptism. Declaring us to be the presence of Christ in our world today. Amen.
----------------------------------------------
*https://www.elm.org/2018/03/01/blessing-for-the-mystics/
GOSPEL LESSON: Matthew 22:15-22
Then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap [Jesus] in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, “Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, “Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.” And they brought him a denarius. Then he said to them, “Whose head is this, and whose title?” They answered, “The emperor’s.” Then he said to them, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” When they heard this, they were amazed; and they left him and went away.
"Reformers"
Based on John 8:31-36 (reading at the end of the sermon)
October 25, 2020
Martin Luther is the founder of our Lutheran Church. A little over 500 years ago, he set the Reformation in motion by nailing his 95 theses to the door of Wittenberg Church on October 31, 1517.
Luther started out as a monk and priest and professor. Back then priests had to be celibate. Even today, they can’t get married in the Roman Catholic Church. But that was one of Martin’s points of disagreement. A point that he lived out in his personal life.
However, in terms of marriage prospects, Martin wasn’t a great pick. He was a 42-year-old overweight bachelor, known for being loud and argumentative. The Pope called him a wild boar—like Pumba in “The Lion King.” If Luther were a modern presidential candidate, I think he’d be more like a confrontive Donald Trump than a mild-mannered Joe Biden.
Yet, despite his prickly personality, a former nun named Katharina von Bora saw something that grabbed her heart. When they married in 1525, it was a scandal worthy of a headline in the Enquirer: “A former monk and nun break their vows of celibacy to vow their love to one another!”
Two strong personalities working side by side for 20 years. Raising a family. Leading a grassroots movement. Challenging those in power. Reforming a broken Church.
But their story didn’t begin with a romantic encounter. Katharina escaped her convent by hiding in a herring barrel. Along with her were eleven nun-filled barrels in a horse-drawn cart. Seeking freedom and new lives. The other sisters were married off quickly. But Katharina turned down several suitors—she only wanted to be with Martin.
Who was very reluctant. Martin was convinced that he would be executed or assassinated for his beliefs. Marriage seemed like a wasted effort. When Martin finally agreed to marry, he wrote, “I have made the angels laugh and the devils weep.”
Luther’s enemies seized on Katharina as a weak point in his religious campaign. They called her an alcoholic, a money-grabber. An ugly rumor spread that she had children out of wedlock.
Yet, despite all that, Katharina was a self-confident and strong-willed reformer—qualities viewed as negative attributes for women of her time. Not much has changed in 500 years.
Together Martin and Katharina started a religious reform. A sea change whose waves still ripple today. Martin was the movement’s mouthpiece. Katharina was the campaign manager. Around their dinner table each evening, Martin would lead intense discussions—hammering out the framework of the Reformation. Katharina organized the gatherings and meals, and actively participated in those table talks, which some of the men (of course) didn’t like.
Together, Martin and Katharina were reformers. Partners in starting a faith revolution. Together, they spoke truth to power. Together, their shared truth set them and others free to do something new.
In today’s Gospel reading from John, Jesus talks about that kind of truth-telling. Jesus says, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free." Jesus tells us that God’s love and truth lead to liberation—even when we are reluctant and afraid, like Martin was with Katharina.
Like Martin, when truth comes to us, it can change us and the course of your life.
Truth can come to us in the words of a counselor. In the face of a neighbor who looks different than you. In the midst of a pandemic. In the serenity of sobriety. In the surprising twist of a love story. In someone’s decision to come out.
As Lutherans we say that when things like that happen, it’s God’s grace revealing truth to us. The good news is not that you possess the truth, but that the truth can possess you. Giving you the courage to be authentic. The freedom to stand up for what you believe. And the confidence to become a reformer.
Early on, Martin’s eyes were opened to the Gospel. This revelation came to Martin as he was studying the passage we read from Romans, which says, “For there is no distinction, since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God; they are now justified by God’s grace as a gift.”
For Luther, it was a life-changing, eureka moment. He came to the conclusion that God’s love is not dependent on anything we do or don’t do. Grace is a gift. Period. Full stop.
In God’s eyes, we are both saints and sinners. Sinners because we still make mistakes, and do things that harm ourselves and others. Saints because God truly loves us and embraces us as beloved children. As Lutherans we believe that God accepts us even when you feel like a failure. Even when others condemn you for who you are. Even when you feel isolated and alone. Even when you feel filled with shame.
Martin the reformer knew what that was like. And Martin the reformer found freedom in the Gospel. The same kind of liberation and grace we Lutherans can share with others. A theology that makes us reformers, too.
In reality, the Reformation didn’t really begin with Martin and his 95 theses. It began with a renegade Jewish rabbi named Jesus. Who one day showed up and starting mucking up the religious tradition and society of his day.
Jesus the reformer healed the sick on the Sabbath. Jesus the reformer touched the unclean and outcast. Jesus the reformer offered forgiveness to prostitutes. Jesus the reformer overturned tables and spoke truth to the powers of that time. All of which Jesus the reformer knew would cost him his life. The fate of many reformers.
Today, more than ever before, our Church needs reformers. Today, when condemnation by religious communities leads queer youth to thoughts of suicide, we know we need reformers. Today, when the name of Christ has become affiliated with white supremacy and xenophobia, we know we need reformers. Today, when Christians seem so willing to call out the sins of others, but unwilling to look at our own racist and oppressive systems, we know we need reformers.
The Rev. Lenny Duncan is a modern-day reformer. Pastor Lenny a black queer preacher in the ELCA—which he calls this nation's whitest denomination. In his book Dear Church (which we are starting to read in a discussion group this Thursday) Lenny the reformer speaks loudly and clearly.
Cutting through the white noise of cheap grace. Telling us would-be reformers that if we really want a Church that is more diverse, we must make drastic reforms now.
Formerly incarcerated and homeless, Lenny the reformer writes:
“Be the line in the sand. Say that you will no longer allow a false gospel narrative—based on fear and a lack of understanding of the deep wells of mercy and grace that God offers—to be sold as ‘church.’ Assert that this is the generation when it stops, and you are the people who will turn the tide…. This means that some of us are going to have to wade through the pain, the trauma, the real hurt of staying in the role of the prophet.” *
Today, Lenny the reformer challenges us—especially us white Lutherans—to hear the call of Jesus. In a world full of lies and hatred and oppression, to be prophetic voices for truth and love and justice.
Beloved, today on this Reformation Sunday, that is God’s question for you. Will you hear that call? Will you be a reformer? Amen.
------------------------------------------
* Lenny Duncan, Dear Church: A Love Letter from a Black Preacher to the Whitest Denomination in the US, (Minneapolis: Fortress Press/1517 Media, 2019), 133.
GOSPEL LESSON: John 8:31-36
31Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; 32and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” 33They answered him, “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free’?” 34Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. 35The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there forever. 36So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”
Luther started out as a monk and priest and professor. Back then priests had to be celibate. Even today, they can’t get married in the Roman Catholic Church. But that was one of Martin’s points of disagreement. A point that he lived out in his personal life.
However, in terms of marriage prospects, Martin wasn’t a great pick. He was a 42-year-old overweight bachelor, known for being loud and argumentative. The Pope called him a wild boar—like Pumba in “The Lion King.” If Luther were a modern presidential candidate, I think he’d be more like a confrontive Donald Trump than a mild-mannered Joe Biden.
Yet, despite his prickly personality, a former nun named Katharina von Bora saw something that grabbed her heart. When they married in 1525, it was a scandal worthy of a headline in the Enquirer: “A former monk and nun break their vows of celibacy to vow their love to one another!”
Two strong personalities working side by side for 20 years. Raising a family. Leading a grassroots movement. Challenging those in power. Reforming a broken Church.
But their story didn’t begin with a romantic encounter. Katharina escaped her convent by hiding in a herring barrel. Along with her were eleven nun-filled barrels in a horse-drawn cart. Seeking freedom and new lives. The other sisters were married off quickly. But Katharina turned down several suitors—she only wanted to be with Martin.
Who was very reluctant. Martin was convinced that he would be executed or assassinated for his beliefs. Marriage seemed like a wasted effort. When Martin finally agreed to marry, he wrote, “I have made the angels laugh and the devils weep.”
Luther’s enemies seized on Katharina as a weak point in his religious campaign. They called her an alcoholic, a money-grabber. An ugly rumor spread that she had children out of wedlock.
Yet, despite all that, Katharina was a self-confident and strong-willed reformer—qualities viewed as negative attributes for women of her time. Not much has changed in 500 years.
Together Martin and Katharina started a religious reform. A sea change whose waves still ripple today. Martin was the movement’s mouthpiece. Katharina was the campaign manager. Around their dinner table each evening, Martin would lead intense discussions—hammering out the framework of the Reformation. Katharina organized the gatherings and meals, and actively participated in those table talks, which some of the men (of course) didn’t like.
Together, Martin and Katharina were reformers. Partners in starting a faith revolution. Together, they spoke truth to power. Together, their shared truth set them and others free to do something new.
In today’s Gospel reading from John, Jesus talks about that kind of truth-telling. Jesus says, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free." Jesus tells us that God’s love and truth lead to liberation—even when we are reluctant and afraid, like Martin was with Katharina.
Like Martin, when truth comes to us, it can change us and the course of your life.
Truth can come to us in the words of a counselor. In the face of a neighbor who looks different than you. In the midst of a pandemic. In the serenity of sobriety. In the surprising twist of a love story. In someone’s decision to come out.
As Lutherans we say that when things like that happen, it’s God’s grace revealing truth to us. The good news is not that you possess the truth, but that the truth can possess you. Giving you the courage to be authentic. The freedom to stand up for what you believe. And the confidence to become a reformer.
Early on, Martin’s eyes were opened to the Gospel. This revelation came to Martin as he was studying the passage we read from Romans, which says, “For there is no distinction, since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God; they are now justified by God’s grace as a gift.”
For Luther, it was a life-changing, eureka moment. He came to the conclusion that God’s love is not dependent on anything we do or don’t do. Grace is a gift. Period. Full stop.
In God’s eyes, we are both saints and sinners. Sinners because we still make mistakes, and do things that harm ourselves and others. Saints because God truly loves us and embraces us as beloved children. As Lutherans we believe that God accepts us even when you feel like a failure. Even when others condemn you for who you are. Even when you feel isolated and alone. Even when you feel filled with shame.
Martin the reformer knew what that was like. And Martin the reformer found freedom in the Gospel. The same kind of liberation and grace we Lutherans can share with others. A theology that makes us reformers, too.
In reality, the Reformation didn’t really begin with Martin and his 95 theses. It began with a renegade Jewish rabbi named Jesus. Who one day showed up and starting mucking up the religious tradition and society of his day.
Jesus the reformer healed the sick on the Sabbath. Jesus the reformer touched the unclean and outcast. Jesus the reformer offered forgiveness to prostitutes. Jesus the reformer overturned tables and spoke truth to the powers of that time. All of which Jesus the reformer knew would cost him his life. The fate of many reformers.
Today, more than ever before, our Church needs reformers. Today, when condemnation by religious communities leads queer youth to thoughts of suicide, we know we need reformers. Today, when the name of Christ has become affiliated with white supremacy and xenophobia, we know we need reformers. Today, when Christians seem so willing to call out the sins of others, but unwilling to look at our own racist and oppressive systems, we know we need reformers.
The Rev. Lenny Duncan is a modern-day reformer. Pastor Lenny a black queer preacher in the ELCA—which he calls this nation's whitest denomination. In his book Dear Church (which we are starting to read in a discussion group this Thursday) Lenny the reformer speaks loudly and clearly.
Cutting through the white noise of cheap grace. Telling us would-be reformers that if we really want a Church that is more diverse, we must make drastic reforms now.
Formerly incarcerated and homeless, Lenny the reformer writes:
“Be the line in the sand. Say that you will no longer allow a false gospel narrative—based on fear and a lack of understanding of the deep wells of mercy and grace that God offers—to be sold as ‘church.’ Assert that this is the generation when it stops, and you are the people who will turn the tide…. This means that some of us are going to have to wade through the pain, the trauma, the real hurt of staying in the role of the prophet.” *
Today, Lenny the reformer challenges us—especially us white Lutherans—to hear the call of Jesus. In a world full of lies and hatred and oppression, to be prophetic voices for truth and love and justice.
Beloved, today on this Reformation Sunday, that is God’s question for you. Will you hear that call? Will you be a reformer? Amen.
------------------------------------------
* Lenny Duncan, Dear Church: A Love Letter from a Black Preacher to the Whitest Denomination in the US, (Minneapolis: Fortress Press/1517 Media, 2019), 133.
GOSPEL LESSON: John 8:31-36
31Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; 32and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” 33They answered him, “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free’?” 34Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. 35The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there forever. 36So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”