Baseball and Social Justice

I was having a conversation with a dear friend this morning about baseball.

And I was trying to share with her my love for the Pittsburgh Pirates.  And she was like, "they are so bad, why would I ever want to root for them?"

And my response?  "I love them, precisely because they are so bad.  And because they get no love from anywhere but Pittsburgh folks anywhere else in the country."

(Note: This is a story that is loosely based on one line of a text message, many of the details have been changed to preserve my integrity and to prove my point)

And I started to think about how I was perhaps primed from a young age to be on board with social justice issues.

Growing up, my dad was a big fan of the Minnesota Twins, who are the running joke as being one of the worst teams in MLB.  And then we moved to West Virginia and I myself became a Pittsburgh Pirates fan.  The team, who also has become a running joke among baseball fans.

Neither of these teams has had much luck over the past...oh 20 years or so.  They've had some good runs, but what happens - especially with the Pirates is that their star players get traded off by mid-season, and then things fall apart after the All-Star game.

In all this, though, my love for the Pirates has not changed.  In fact, I think I love them even more because they are consistently the MLB underdog.  They will never be as successful or as popular as the Yankees or the Red Sox (or the White Sox).  It's just not going to happen.

But I love them.  And I want them to do well and to succeed.  And to not be mined out for their best players in such a way that keeps them at the bottom of MLB.

I want them to get respect.

Which is really, what social justice is, at it's heart.  It is loving the groups in our society, not because of what they've accomplished - but because they deserve respect and an actual chance to do well and succeed.

Social justice isn't about bringing the top down to the bottom.

It's about bringing the bottom to the top.

It's about giving everyone a chance to play 9 innings, with their best players.

It's about playing by rules that benefit both teams.

Sadly, we live in a world where the rules benefit only one team.

So let's change the rules.  Let's make the game actually fair.  Let's start treating the other team with dignity and respect.

I mean that's what sportsmanship is all about, isn't it?   Being a good sport means crying out that the rules or calls are hurting the other team.

Same with social justice.  Being an agent of social justice is, at it's heart, means crying out that the rules are hurting the other team.

Of course, in all this, I am also reminded that God's kingdom isn't necessarily like major league baseball.  It's better than that.

It's more like how the kids in The Sandlot play ball.  Especially when they're by themselves.  There isn't a winner, there isn't a loser.

It's just about playing the game.

God tells us to be childlike, because children - before adults get in the way - don't care about winning and losing.  They just want to play the game and have fun.

Let's learn to play together.  Let's learn to let go of needing to win - especially us white men - and let's learn to treat all of the other players on the field with the same dignity and respect we (again, as white men) have gotten for our lives.

The Marriage Feast

This sermon was preached to the people of 

Word of Hope Lutheran Church on Sunday, January 17, 2016.

The text for the morning was John 2:1-11.

Everybody loves a good wedding.  To be more specific, everyone loves a good wedding reception.  There’s dancing, there’s food, there’s family and friends, and a celebration of the love these two people have for each other.  And this morning in John, we even see that Jesus, his mother, and the disciples love a good wedding reception too.  And we also see that weddings where the Son of God are in attendance are not exempt from the cardinal rule of any social gathering - something will go wrong.

And in this instance, what went wrong was pretty terrible for a wedding in 1st century Israel.  They ran out of wine.  Now I was at some dear friends’ wedding a few years ago where they also ran out of wine.  Now it was no big deal, mostly because that particular group of friends are extremely goofy when we all get together.  We just had some soda and laughed and danced the night away.  This is not the case for 1st century Jewish weddings.  Wine was pretty much the only beverage you could serve and when the wine was out, the party was over.

And this isn’t a party that was only supposed to last for a few hours, this was a party that was supposed to last for at least a week.  Maybe more, depending on how wealthy the family was that got married.  Anything less would have been shameful and seen as a bad omen for the future of that marriage.  So, for the wine to run out on day 3?  Not a good sign at all.

And then after an interesting exchange with his mother, Jesus ultimately gives the family more wine, but he does it in one of those subtle, sneaky ways, that allows the family to keep their dignity and social standing.  You know, like Jesus does.  And then the author tells us that this was the first of Jesus’ signs that he performed in Galilee.

And then we’re left scratching our heads going, well sure, that’s impressive, but if it’s a sign what does it mean?  Does it mean that Jesus likes to party?  Does it mean that Jesus is a great social equalizer?  Does it mean Jesus sanctions weddings?  Does it mean that Jesus is a reluctant hero?  Does it mean there’s always going to be wine?  Is it a sign that this wedding is going to be great?  What does it mean, Jesus?  What does it mean?

So let’s look at the rest of the signs that Jesus does in John.  There’s a lot of healing, and feeding, and even some raising from the dead.  So what do they all point to?  I think these are signs that give us a glimpse at what life will look like in the kingdom of God.  There’s a lot of grace, there’s plenty of food, there’s no more illness, there’s no more pain, there’s no more grief, and there’s no more dying.  I think it’s safe to say these are all good things.

But really, let’s unpack why it might be important for this wonderful wine at a wedding to be considered a sign of God’s kingdom that is coming and breaking into the world.  Why a wedding and not, say one of the big religious festivals?  Why would Jesus want to use the occasion of a wedding to show what the kingdom of God will be like?

Well, one, because as I said before wedding receptions are kind łof awesome.  But also.  Throughout scripture, God’s relationship with the people of God has been likened to that of an old married couple.  God’s language of faithfulness is very similar to the language we use in our wedding vows now.  God’s promises are ones of fidelity and faithfulness through good and bad, God promises to care for God’s people, without hope or expectation of anything in return and God’s people make those promises in return - even though they don’t always know what those promises mean.  God even used the prophet Hosea’s marriage as very tangible metaphor for God’s relationship with God’s people.  

And it doesn’t stop there, there is still more scripture that refers to the kingdom of God as the marriage feast of the lamb.  And throughout the early Christian tradition there is reference to the church being the bride of Christ.  That we, the people of God are in this beautiful, holy, loving relationship with God that knows no end and that in the end of times, we’ll all be attending this magnificent wedding reception to celebrate that love that God has for us and we for God.

Which finally brings us back to Jesus, wine, and small town weddings in backwoods Israel.  For in this wedding of what was likely a poor couple, Jesus shows his disciples and us what the wedding feast at the end of time is going to look like.  Jesus turns around 180 gallons of water into wine.  Really good wine to boot.  Now 180 gallons is kind of hard to comprehend.  That’s enough wine for this party to keep going for at least a year.  And not just for those invited to the party, but for everyone in the village of Cana to join in the celebration for a year.  And in doing so, Jesus shows us a couple of things.

The first thing that Jesus shows us is that this a wedding feast that will not end.  There will be more than enough of the best of everything for all of us.  There will be plenty of wine for those who choose to drink, but there will also be plenty of food.  And because it’s heaven and I love food, I imagine it will be only the best food.  There will be burgers and hot wings, and fish and steak, and Indian buffets and Thai food, and Chinese take out food.  And you can eat as much of it as you want without getting fat!  Heaven.  

The second thing that Jesus teaches us is that the wedding feast is filled with grace upon grace.  That even when we think there’s enough, God will give us even more.  God will offer more than we think we deserve and more.  God’s love and faithfulness to us will just keep flowing and flowing, much like the wine did at this party.  And not only will that grace keep coming at us, each time we experience it, it will be better than the last.  God’s grace is without end.

And the third thing that Jesus’ sign at Cana teaches us is that all are welcome at the wedding feast.  There is more than enough for all to be able to partake.  There’s enough food and wine for everyone in the village to join in the Cana couple’s celebration and there’s enough food and drink for the whole world to join in God’s celebration.  All are welcome and all are invited to the table.  And the best part is, God promises that those three things won’t ever change - it’s all a part of that covenant God made with us.  Amen.  

Advent 1, Year C

This sermon was preached to the people of 

Word of Hope Lutheran Church on

November 29, 2015.

It’s quite an odd feeling to go from decorating my Christmas tree with my family to hearing these texts this morning.  All of them promising hope in the aftermath of tragedy.  And here we are, sitting kind of comfortably in a world that, for the most part, is unshaken by the kinds of tragedies that are being spoken about right now.  Jeremiah’s tragedy is about the complete destruction of the temple and the city of Jerusalem, of all the wealthy and affluent being taken into exile, and watching as those who are left behind begin to succumb to despair.  And in Luke, the tragedy is yet again the destruction of Jerusalem, many many years later.  Both of these tragedies feel like the stars and the moon are being thrown out of joint, both of them feel like the end of the world, and both of them are foretold to not be the end.

I don’t know if most of us get that in America right now.  The closest thing we’ve come to the destruction of a city was the horrific tragedy that happened on September 11, 2001.  Or maybe December 7, 1941.  These two were tragedies to be sure, but I don’t know if I can put them on the level of destruction of an entire city in an attempt to wipe out a way of life.  Those kinds of tragedies that happened during the Holocaust, the Rwandan Genocide, or what’s happening in the Middle East right now, in Syria and Turkey.  

I imagine that survivors and refugees from those tragedies would hear something entirely different when they hear the scripture readings that are being proclaimed to us today.  I mean, let’s take a second and imagine what life is like for those fleeing from Syria right now.  You hear rumors that someone is going to come in the middle of the night to take your children away, they’ll conscript the boys into military service, brainwashing them to turn them into mindless drones who will fight to protect the extremist right.  So, you run.  You take your spouse, your children, all the cash you can carry, and maybe one or two material possessions.  

You spend most of your cash bribing ship captains and smugglers to take you aboard.  You get separated from half of your family, because there is only so much room on the ship.  You sit next to people you don’t know, although you think you see a few more from your village, smell the stink of vomit as people get seasick, trying to tell yourself that it’s going to be ok.  That you will see your family again.

Finally, you land.  Only to find out that you’ve been refused entry into a new country because there’s no room.  They’re afraid of you.  They put you with thousands of others into a new camp.  Now you allow yourself to truly begin to feel terrified that you might not see your family again.  You cling to the one picture you managed to keep safe during the trip.  You’re almost out of money, you’re hungry, you’re cold.  Europe isn’t nearly as warm as your home.  You were unprepared.  And on your way to spend the last of your money on some soup you hear someone reading this:

“The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.’”

And at first you scoff at the ridiculous claim that this passage is making. But you can’t shake it.  You hear it again and again in your mind, even though you only heard it in passing, it sticks with you.  And you find that you allow yourself to hope again.  To believe that this isn’t the end again.  Even as you keep getting rejected from country to country, even as you still long to hear news of your family, you keep hearing, “The days are coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to you.”

Later you hear someone read something different, but it sticks with you just the same.  

"There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.  Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near."

And again this resonates with you.  Your stars are different from these you see above you now.  The earth is unfamiliar, you feel that the very foundation of your world is in distress.  And so you hold these two passages together.  Knowing that something new is going to happen.  Something scary.  Something that will surely make all this suffering and strife worthwhile.  And so you keep repeating them to yourself.  Keeping your head up.  Hoping for a redemption that will come with you.  Praying even when there are no words.  Repeating them even when you don’t believe them, because they are all that remains to you now.  Wondering if they will ever come true.  Putting your hope in them, even when all seems lost.  

That’s what I keep coming back to when I read these texts, but then watch as the rest of the world gets ready for Christmas.  This bizarre tension where the Church longs from Christ to return, hopes with all we’ve got for an end to violence and tragedy even as we drive around town, seeing pretty lights and picking out Christmas presents for others.  And that’s what I feel as I read these odd texts for the first Sunday in Advent.  These texts that don’t really have a whole lot to do with the birth of Christ, and more with the significance of Christ’s birth on a cosmic scale.  This tension of waiting to hear the beautiful narrative of the Nativity, perhaps while watching a Charlie Brown Christmas and waiting for the day when there is no more war.  

And I don’t know if the full impact of what the birth of Christ really means can hit me in quite the same way that it would for a refugee fleeing war, for someone who is living through domestic violence, for a child that is being abused, for someone who cannot escape poverty, for someone addicted to heroin.  I can hope for an end to violence, but sometimes i wonder if that’s just because seeing them unsettles me.  I don’t hope for an end to violence because I’m trapped in a cycle that won’t end.  And in fact, seeing the stars and moon fall out of place is scary for me, because it means everything is about to change, but for someone whose stars and moon being in place means living in a culture of fear, watching them change is a message of hope, it’s a sign that all things are about to change, all things are about to be redeemed, and the world is getting better.

So I challenge you to think about that this Advent.  To think about how these passages are inspiring for us, a nice little reminder that God’s in control, but for how some people, these passages are a lifeline.  These passages are the only hope that burns in their world of darkness.  These passages are ones that mean the difference between life and death.  They matter deeply and concretely to these people trapped in a system of violence, even as we listen to them and then watch our minds start to drift to our lists of things to do before December 24.  And so, let’s take this Advent to think about these people who are trapped, to pray for them and with them, to walk with them as the stars and moon are moved around, as the earth beneath us is shaking, and to join them as they cry, Come Lord Jesus.  Amen.  

Learning to Serve

This sermon was delivered to the people of the Lutheran Church of the Nativity on Sunday March 16, 2014. The text for the sermon was John 13:1-17.

As a child and teen, I had several chores that I would do throughout the week to earn my allowance.  And these chores were your basic, run of the mill chores that a kid would have to do: make my bed, clear the table, empty the dishwasher, etc.  But my least favorite chore to do as a child was to pick up after the dogs in the backyard.  My brother and I would each have a plastic bag and scour the yard looking for the presents our dogs would leave.  Trust me on this, not a fun chore to do.

And yet, it was a completely necessary chore.  My dogs couldn’t pick it up.  And if it was still there when my dad and later I went through with the mower, there was no way to pick it up after it had been smushed by the tires.  And if we wanted to play in the backyard, we wanted to make sure that our feet were clean when we came into the house - cause what self respecting kid wears shoes in the summer if they don’t have to?

And as I think about this chore from childhood and what my feet probably looked like when I came in after playing outside with my brother and our friends, I’m reminded of the text this morning.  

Picking up dog poop in the backyard with a Wal-Mart bag was certainly less degrading than what the servants of Jesus’ day had to do.  Wash feet?  Seriously?  Who would want to wash the feet of another person?  It’s gross for us to think about now, and we don’t walk everywhere in bare feet.  We don’t have to walk on dusty roads where camels and horses and donkeys all walk...no wonder for the people living in Jesus’ time thought feet where the most shameful part of the body.  I certainly wouldn’t want anyone to wash my feet for me after a day in the summer sun running through the grass at the age of ten.

So then it’s a complete and total shock when Jesus takes off his outer robe, and then starts to wash the feet of the disciples.  This guy, who they believe - rightly so - to be the Messiah, the Son of God, has taken on the role of the most lowly of the servants.  He’s going to wash their feet?  He’s going to wash all the dust, the dirt, the camel crap off of their feet?  No wonder Peter reacts so strongly.  Either that or maybe he’s really ticklish.

But I can’t blame Peter for his reaction.  He had a different expectation of the Messiah.  He’s been waiting for someone to come down and wipe the Romans from the face of Israel.  He’s been waiting for someone to come down and answer all the questions about God.  He’s been waiting for a king.  A priest.  A teacher.  Certainly not a servant.  And yet, here Jesus is.  Serving just like the unknown servant in our Isaiah text this morning.  

Jesus is shaking up the disciples, and I think our, understanding of God and what the kingdom will look like.  It’s not about being able to rule over people weaker than you, instead its about loving them and serving them.  It’s about meeting people where they are and not being afraid to get our hands dirty.

Except we are afraid to get our hands dirty, more often than not.  We have all sorts of excuses about why we can’t help someone.  Of why we don’t “have” to help them.  But most of our excuses boil down to, at the end of the day, that we’re better than the person we are trying to help - all of a sudden we’ve just become like the person mistreating the woman at McDonald’s because his order wasn’t “just” right.  We walk past the pain and shame that these people have, much like most people in Jesus’ day would ignore the feet of those around them.

And Jesus, in teaching his disciples and us what it means to be a member of the kingdom of God says that if he, the Son of God can lower himself to wash the feet of those who are learning from him, then we don’t have an excuse to do the same for those around us.  It’s not about ignoring the shame and pain of those around us, but helping people through them.  Getting to know them, and loving them as Christ loves them and us.

And in all of these things, we know that Christ comes to us, helps us with our guilt and shame and pain, washing them away, making us feel clean again when we are tired.  Christ continually comes to us, strengthening us, and patiently reminding us that the kingdom of God is not being served, but serving.  And the service industry there is powerful and sacred.  Amen.

What's the Word?

This sermon was delivered to the people of the Lutheran Church of the Nativity on December 22, 2013.  The text for this sermon is John 1:1-18.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God.

- John 1:1

It seems a little strange to go back to the beginning, now that we are about halfway through our faith journey.  We’ve seen creation, we seen the faith of the Patriarchs, we’ve seen guidance in the wilderness, we’ve seen kings and temples, and seen grief in the time of exile.  And now, as we get ready to see the Messiah, we take a slight detour.  We go “back to the beginning.”

Now while this seems a little disjointed, it shouldn’t surprise us. I think that we love the beginnings of stories best, especially when we’re little.  We love the rhythm of the “once upon a time” or “in a land far away” or “a long long time ago in a galaxy far far away.”  This familiar rhythm helps us get immersed in the story, and this text from John isn’t any different.  It opens like the familiar story from Genesis, “In the beginning…” But then John immediately shakes things up.

John doesn’t follow that next part that we know so well, the “...when God created the heavens and the earth…” instead he says “In the beginning was the Word.”  Right off the bat, John hints that his story isn’t going to be the familiar one that his audience grew up with, instead this story is new.  This story has a different ending.  

In the Genesis story, creation ends with exile from the Garden and being cut off from a relationship with God. That story ends with so much of what we see when we turn on the tv or read the newspaper.  It’s a story that ends with tragedy, disasters, violence, and hate.  It’s a story that requires competition to be successful.  It’s a story that says the lion eats the lamb.  It’s a story that has oppression and darkness.  It’s a story that we have found ourselves in time after time, even as we long for the “happily ever after” ending of the stories from our childhood.  

John’s story is different from the Genesis story though.  John’s story ends with the coming of the light, but not being overwhelmed by the darkness.  John’s story ends with the Word breaking through the darkness of the world that does not know him and still brings light and life to all the world.  John’s story ends with grace upon grace, which reveals God for all people.  John’s story gives us our “happily ever after.”

Our “happily ever after” comes when we hear that the Word is Jesus Christ.  That Jesus is the Word of God, and brought us grace upon grace.  That even though there was darkness, the light of Christ could not be overcome. The light of Christ will fill everyone and shine through everyone, out into the world.  Yep, that sounds like “happily ever after” to me.

Except, we look out into the world, and it still looks like the end to the Genesis story.  We see lives plagued by addiction, loneliness, mental illness, brokenness, violence; lives plagued by darkness.  We look into our world and it seems that “the world does not know him.”  We feel like the light of Christ has been overcome by the darkness.  And so, to find hope in the story we currently see, we push this text from John into the future.  We read it and hope that when Jesus returns, then all of these things will happen.  That’s part of why we celebrate Advent after all, we prepare ourselves for the time when we will get to see things work out “happily ever after.”

Yet, why not prepare the way for Christ’s return now, in our own lives and in our own hearts?  Why not let Christ’s light shine in the darkness through us?  Why do we focus on the Bible as the Word of God, when the Word of God was really flesh and blood?  Why do we shy away from pouring out grace upon grace, so that we can make God’s presence known?  Why do we “testify” or “witness” to the light, when we have become a source of the light through our baptisms?

One of my favorite authors, Peter Rollins, tells a parable about a woman who lives as this light, and as a faithful witness to the Word of God.

There was a once a young and gifted woman who set herself the almost impossible task of setting up a printing press so that she could translate and distribute the Word of God to the people.  Yet such a job would require a great deal of money, and so, almost as soon as she had conceived the idea, she sold the few items that she possessed and went to live on the streets, begging for the money that she needed.

Raising the necessary funds took many years, for while there were a few who gave generously, most only gave a little, if anything at all.  But gradually the money began to accumulate.

However, shortly before the plans for the printing press could be set in motion, a dreadful flood devastated a nearby town, destroying many people’s homes and livelihoods.  Without hesitation the woman used all the money she had gathered to feed the hungry and rebuild lost homes.

Once the town began to recover, the woman silently went back to the streets in order to start all over again, collecting the money needed to translate the Word of God.

Many more years passed, with many cold winters that caused great suffering to the woman.  Then, shortly before the target amount was reached, disaster struck again.  This time a deadly plague descended like a cloud over the city, stealing the lives of thousands.

By now the woman herself was tired and ill, yet without thought she spent the money she had collected on medicines and care for the sick and orphaned.

Then, once the shadow of the plague was lifted, she again went onto the streets, driven by her desire to translate the Word of God.  

Finally, shortly before her death, this faithful woman gathered the money needed for the printing press and completed the project she had set herself many years before.

After she passed away, it is rumoured by some that this godly woman had actually spent her time making three translations of the Word, the first two being the most splendid of all.

I love that line, the first two being the most splendid of them all.  This nameless woman was incredibly faithful and had the light of Christ shine through her into the darkness of the tragedies she found herself surrounded by.  And the darkness could not overcome the light shining through her.  Despite her witness, I cannot help but wonder if this woman also missed the point.  Was she so focused on the literary Word of God, like so many of us, that she couldn’t see that her actions were in fact, the best possible way to translate the living Word of God shining through her?

Did she see her actions, that were filled with grace upon grace, made God known more clearly than any book could ever do?  And even ifher head might not have ever understood it, her heart was transformed by the light.  This light that brings life, and grace, and truth.  The Word is flesh and lives among us.  That “in the beginning” of this woman’s story, the Word was there, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God, and this woman came into being through the Word.  And God was made known through her.

And so, as John reminds us, this isn’t our Genesis story.  Rather it’s a story that happens at the beginning of time, when all things were made.  It’s a story that happens when Jesus first comes into the world.  It’s a story that happens when our lives are joined to Christ in our baptisms.  It’s a story about how things will be when Jesus comes again.  But mostly it’s a story about “grace upon grace” breaking into this world, shining in the darkness, and illuminating our lives and the lives around us, so that God might be revealed.  And in our own translations of the Word, we can demonstrate exactly how things end.  We can show people what it means to live “happily ever after” now.  Amen.