Nothing Lasts Forever

This sermon was delivered to the people of the Lutheran Church of the Nativity on November 24th, 2013.  The scriptural text for the sermon is Jeremiah 29:1,4-14.

But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.

For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.

- Jeremiah 29:7,11

You ever have one of those days when nothing seems to go right?  When no matter what you do, it all feels like it’s for nothing?  Your friends and family feel disconnected or distant?  It feels like you’re all alone, that even God has abandoned you?

This is how the majority of people who suffer from depression go through every single day of their lives.  They feel isolated and alone.  They feel abandoned and cut off from the people they care about.  They feel that even God has left them.  

And this is how the people of Israel feel when we find them in the text from Jeremiah this morning.  They have been conquered by the Babylonians, even though they have tried to fight and pray to God.   And, to make matters worse, the Babylonians have taken the royal family, the priests, the prophets, and the entire upper class off into exile in Babylon.  The people feel isolated.  They feel alone.  They feel abandoned by God.  

And like many of us who have days where we feel abandoned or isolated, the Israelites have started to chase after false visions of the future.  These visions of the future are ones that we can sympathize with, perhaps all too easily.  

They are visions of a future that’s all about me - that I no longer have to worry about other people.  Visions that tell me, that because I am isolated and lonely, other people do not actually exist and I don’t have to interact or deal with them.  That whatever I do is fine, because I’m in such pain at this moment, that I can’t even begin to develop a concept of another person.

And these visions of individualism and loneliness in turn lead us to chase after other false visions of the future.  Visions of the future that speak of monetary wealth, or physical health.  Visions of lustful sexuality or escapism into the alternate reality provided by drugs.  Or perhaps these visions cause us to just give up.  We might find ourselves chasing after the delusion that we are incapable of making any lasting changes, or that we can mistreat the earth because, “it’s all going to end, eventually.”  Our mantras in this loneliness are that “nothing really matters” or “nothing lasts forever.”

As the people in exile chase after their own versions of these false futures, Jeremiah writes to them encouraging them that “nothing lasts forever.”  And when Jeremiah says this, he really means “This feeling of nothingness, this feeling of loneliness and isolation, this feeling of being abandoned by God will not last forever.”  He offers these people in exile words of hope, words of comfort that even though this pain might last for a long time, the seventy years he mentions in the text, that seventy years is not eternity.  

Jeremiah does not deny the pain and suffering that the people are going through.  He does not pretend that life is going to be easier, that the feeling of nothingness will just fade away, as quickly as it overwhelmed them.  He does not pretend to have all the answers to the questions that they have, questions that make them wonder about why they feel the way that they do.

Instead, Jeremiah offers them God’s vision for the future.  Jeremiah reminds the people of the dream that God has been sharing with them since Adam and Eve were in the garden.  God’s dream is that of the people’s welfare.  

However, our word that is used in the translation isn’t quite accurate.  The Hebrew word for welfare that we see used throughout this text is actually shalom.  More often than not, when we come across shalom in the Bible, it gets translated as peace.  And yet, the true definition of shalom lies somewhere in between these two definitions.  Shalom conveys the emotional feelings and calm that come up out of being made whole in God.  It’s being healed of physical and spiritual maladies.  It’s being made new as part of the kingdom of God.

And so, as part of Jeremiah’s message of hope, this message of shalom, of God’s kingdom, he offers the people in exile some baby steps on their journey to healing and wholeness.  He encourages them to build houses, to plan gardens, to marry, to have children, to live their lives in such a way that they start to recognize the fact that other people are in the world.  More importantly, Jeremiah encourages the people to seek shalom for Babylon - to seek healing and wholeness with the very people that have taken them into exile in the first place.

Now our reaction to this is similar to how the Israelites reacted, I’m sure.  We look at Jeremiah’s words and think, “You’re crazy.  There’s no way that I can seek to be reconciled with the very people who have hurt me.  I’m not going to be able to look at them and see them as part of God’s kingdom when they’ve brought me into exile. They’ve created these feelings of isolation and loneliness within me.  I’m not going to be at shalom with those people.”

Even here in America, where we aren’t in exile, nor are we isolated or cut off from our loved ones or our communities, we share in this message with the Israelites.  We live in a culture that is dominated by individualism, that very feeling that happens in depression - the uncanny feeling that no one else matters.  We might let one or two people into our high walls that protect ourselves, but we tend to overlook or ignore people who are outside of those walls.  We want to keep them out, because we think “nothing really matters” and “nothing lasts forever.”

And that’s true.  “Nothing does last forever.”  Well, it’s almost true.  God lasts forever.  God’s kingdom lasts forever.  But these feelings of nothingness, that nothing matters - those things will not last forever.  

They might not disappear overnight.  They might take five years, ten years, seventy years, or a thousand years, but they will disappear eventually.  These feelings will vanish in the presence of God’s light.  There is no room for the anxiety that these thoughts and feelings produce in the kingdom of God.  Instead, there is only room for shalom.

And like the Israeli people in exile that Jeremiah encourages in his letter, it is in bringing about shalom for those around us that we will find shalom for ourselves.  It’s in building up, planting gardens, creating families, feeding the hungry around us, caring for those who are ill, spending time to understand one another, to really listen to one another, to be a presence of shalom for the people we come across day after day, that we will truly understand what Jesus talks about when he tells us that he leaves us with “Peace, but not as the world gives.”

Jesus’ peace is shalom.  It’s being comforted and welcomed with our sisters and brothers around the world into the kingdom of God.  It’s learning from one another and being made whole in what we learn.  It’s feeding the hungry and then in turn being fed.  It’s about losing that “It’s all about me” feeling and gaining a “We’re all in this together” feeling.  It’s about imitating Christ’s love for us in all that we say and do.  And I honestly cannot think of a better future than that.  Amen.

Blurred Lines

This sermon was delivered to the people of The Lutheran Church of the Nativity on Sunday, November 10, 2013.  The text that the sermon is based on is Amos 1:1-2; 5:14-15, 21-24.

What is justice?

Merriam-Webster defines justice as: the maintenance or administration of what is just especially by the impartial adjustment of conflicting claims or the assignment of merited rewards or punishments.

That seems a little lackluster for our text from Amos.  I mean, Amos’ words are full of what we might call “poetic justice.”  It’s language that is rich in imagery and meaning.  It’s full of passion and energy.  Merriam-Webster doesn’t seem to be doing the text much justice.

So then, where can we turn?  What about the justice that we see in movies and television shows?  Is justice something akin to what Robin Hood and Batman do?  Where people get their “just deserts” for lying, cheating, or stealing their way to wealth and prosperity.  Is God’s justice like that of a vigilante, who makes sure people get what’s coming to them, especially when the law fails?

A Batman-esque God seems to work.  Thinking of Batman Gotham City with it’s great disparity between the 1 percenters and the rest of the population is very similar to the Israel that Amos is speaking to in this mighty proclamation.  For both Batman and Amos, we see how the rich and wealthy are crying out because of the “filth and poverty” that surround them.  The wealthy in both cases seem to miss the fact that their misuse of power and money has caused the great disparity in both landscapes.  And both Batman and Amos work to bring about a justice that is comforting for those who have been oppressed, but is anything but comforting to those who have been oppressing the lower classes.

And this view of justice really speaks to us in our society today.  Remember the “Occupy Wall Street” and “I am the 99%” from a few years back?  We see in our very own country a wealth disparity that happens, typically at the expense of the middle and lower classes.  People in these lower classes that have been neglected by society turn to violence, drugs, and crime as a way of making ends meet because it looks like all other doors have been shut by them.  Voices cry out for justice all over the country - those who have money are discouraged by the violence and crimes of those who don’t have money.  And those who don’t have money cry out for a little more equality in the status quo.

This is exactly why heroes like Batman, Robin Hood, and others who “rob from the rich and give to the poor” are so popular.  We all want justice and we see it in Batman and Robin Hood.  

And yet, even this heroic view of justice seems to fall a little flat when we try to understand God’s justice.  God’s justice is filled with mercy and grace.  I’m not sure the last time I saw Batman be merciful to a bad guy.  

So, then what is God’s justice?

This “feels” like an important question.  We see the prophets in particular focus in on living justice.  Amos and Micah in particular focus on the fact that God doesn’t desire people to gather together and worship in a particular setting or by saying a few “right words.”  God doesn’t desire sacrifices.  God isn’t even looking for good singers or beautiful music.  God desires justice.

And if God desires justice, shouldn’t we know what that means?  Shouldn’t we have an idea what it is God is asking of us?  We don’t want to let God down?  

As I’ve been wrestling with this over the past week, trying to pin down an answer to what it means to live God’s justice I realize that it’s not as simple as coming up with a step-by-step guide to living a godly life.  I can’t live out a justice rooted in mercy and grace if I write it down into some sort of moral code or law, because as soon as I think I’ve got it phrased just right, I will immediately run in to some situation that breaks every idea of justice that I’ve just codified.

Try as I might, I will never be able to pin down exactly how to make justice roll down like waters.  I cannot describe how righteousness will flow like an ever-flowing stream.  I can only dream and imagine.

I can dream like Amos dreamed, of a day when the lines between the wealthy and the impoverished will be blurred.  Of a day when there will be no way to distinguish between those who had money and those who have never had money.  There will be no way to distinguish between the 1% and the 99%.  Amos dreamed of a day when no person would go without.  Of a day when God’s justice will come rushing down over the world, wiping away all of the walls that the wealthy have built to keep the poor out.

I can dream like Susan B. Anthony dreamed, of a day when the lines between male and female will be blurred.  Dreams of a day when we no longer look at a person’s gender to make decisions about their strengths and abilities.  Anthony dreamed of a day when no person would be turned away because of their gender.  Of a day when God’s justice will come rushing down over the world, wiping away the walls that men build to keep women out.

I can dream like Martin Luther King Jr. dreamed, of a day when the lines between black and white will be blurred.  Dreams of a day when there will be no way to distinguish between the two races.  Dreams of a day when there is no distinguishing where someone came from.  King dreamed of a day when no person would be excluded based on the color of their skin.  Of a day when God’s justice will come rushing down over the world, wiping away all of the walls that whites built to keep those who are of a different race out.

I dream the dream that women and men have been dreaming for thousands of years.  I dream of a day when we no longer say, “me vs. you” I dream of a day when we no longer exclude someone based on how much money they have, how they look, or who they love.  I dream of a day when no one is turned away because they are “different” or “weird.”  I dream of a day when God’s justice will come rushing down over the world, wiping away all of the walls that we build to keep the “others” out.

I dream the dream Jesus dreamed when he said, “Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.”  Or, to say it better.  “I dream of a day when those who carry my name do their part to tear down the walls that we have built around me and you, so that no matter who they are looking at, they see a brother or sister in the family of God. That those who truly worship me, come to the holy table, are swept up by the waters of justice, grace, and mercy, and flow into the world, creating new rivers and streams and waterfalls wherever they go, that all the world might experience the gift of new life found in the removal of these walls.”

Maybe we can define justice after all.  Maybe justice is being able to welcome our sisters and brothers in Christ all over the world back into the family.  Isn’t that what God wants?  God wants us to all be able to look at one another and no longer see rich or poor, male or female, white or black, straight or gay, Christian or Muslim, but rather to welcome the person we see standing there as a child of God.  To embrace their differences so that our differences might be embraced. To embrace their flaws so that our flaws might be embraced by them. To embrace and be embraced so that we might all find God’s healing and righteousness.

I love Amos’ dream, Susan B. Anthony’s dream, Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream, the dream of all of us who are dreaming God’s dream.  This dream of justice that overflows with compassion.  This dream that tears down walls in the name of God’s love for all people.  This dream of righteousness and relationships that allow all men and women, you and me, to become an “us” that lives in to the grace-filled life we experience in the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Re-Formation

This sermon was delivered to the people of The Lutheran Church of the Nativity on October, 27, 2013.  This is Reformation Sunday for many Protestants, and the text was 1 Kings 5:1-5; 8:1-13.  

Our journey through the narrative lectionary continues this morning with the next step on the faith journey of the Israelites.  They have had two kings, who while they both had their flaws, helped unite Israel and bring peace.  Now, they are on their third king, Solomon who takes it upon himself to build a house for the Lord.

And this was some house.  It took Solomon seven years to design, gather materials, and build.  The people made large pots, huge candlesticks, and even decorated the innermost dwelling place with golden cherubim.  This is a house fit for a king.  And God does come to dwell among the people.  God’s presence fills the house of the Lord - God’s presence is so great that the priests cannot stand to minister there.  Solomon explains for us that “The Lord has said he would dwell in thick darkness.”

And the form of Judaism that we come to recognize with the High Priests in Jesus’ day slowly begins to form.  For this particular group of people, the temple is no longer a place to signify God’s presence in and among the people.  Rather, for them worship becomes all about saying the words just right, making sure the animals are sacrificed in just the right spot, and that people give enough to pay for the priests’ food and the upkeep of the temple.  

Sounds a little familiar right?  For those of us who grew up Lutheran, every year on Reformation Sunday, we hear about how the Catholic church was worrying more and more about money, worrying more and more about saying the right things, and worrying more and more about making sure everything was in its proper place.  We associate these with bad things, because our superhero, Martin Luther, comes in with his mighty hammer - reminiscent of Thor - and starts pounding his 95 Theses to the door of the high and mighty Catholic church in Wittenberg.  Luther wants to reform these things within the Catholic church, much like the prophets of Israel wanted to reform the Jewish faith as we’ll see in the next couple of weeks.  

For the prophets and for Luther, it wasn’t about making sure that things were said just right, or that the building was perfect.  Like Pastor Mark said last week, God doesn’t care about outward appearance.  God is concerned with the heart of the individual.  Luther and the prophets were concerned about the hearts of the people who were claiming to be children of God, but weren’t acting like it.  They said that God doesn’t dwell only in a building, or in the priests, or in the pastors, but that the Spirit of God dwells with each and every one of us.  God dwells in the thick darkness, not in some building that humans have built.

We have been blessed with an opportunity to live through a period of re-formation of the church today.  There are several authors writing right now that talk about how the church is in a period of upheaval.  We’re beginning to let go of some of these things that don’t matter, an institutionalized faith focused on blind participation rather than the heart, mind, and soul’s engagement with God.  We too, have lost sight of what’s important to God - our heart -  in favor of this great institution that we have built out of Martin Luther, who would likely shudder to hear us call ourselves Lutheran after him.

That’s not to say that what Martin Luther did for the church was bad, no he put the scriptures in the hands of everyone, so that all might have a personal experience with God, and he tried to show that God dwells with each and every one of us when he uses one of his popular phrases, “priesthood of all believers.”  Martin Luther reminds us that we cannot earn our salvation, and to borrow the phrase from The Princess Bride, “and anyone who says differently, princess, is selling you something.”  Martin Luther and those who are working alongside him, John Calvin, Philip Melanchthon, and others, are trying to remind the church that it’s about the heart.

This is similar to the religion associated with the temple, because this form of Judaism didn’t start out as this institutionalized Judaism that would focus exclusively on right worship, with disregard for the poor or oppressed.  Instead, this temple was built out of love for God, out of gratitude for what God has done, and out of desire to let people see that God dwells among them.  It was a physical icon, or worship aid, to help people focus their hearts and minds to be with God, and to be transformed by God.

Unfortunately, as is the problem with many icons, these worship aids to help us focus our hearts and minds to be present with God, the people started to think of the temple as THE place where God was present, to the exclusion of everything else.  Those who followed about 150-200 years after Martin Luther started to think of the icons that he developed in his writings to help people dwell with God, began to think of those icons as the only ways that people could dwell with God.  Just as there are many worship aids that we have developed over the past 50 years, that have been seen as the only way to worship or be with God.  

Yet, now we are seeing people pick up hammers and smash these idols, which once were icons, just as Martin Luther did almost 500 years ago.  We are able to let go of some of these things that were created to help us worship, but now hinder the worship of others.  We see people pick up things that haven’t been used for a thousand years, and say “This is a place where God’s light shines through.”  That’s why we celebrate the Reformation today, why we celebrate the building and dedication of Solomon’s temple.  We celebrate the fact that God continually inspires us to re-form, re-think, and re-build icons that help us see God more clearly.  We also celebrate the fact that God encourages us to challenge, question, and smash the icons that have become idols, so that we might let go of something that stands between our hearts and God.  Amen.  

'67 Impala

This sermon was delivered on September 22, 2013 for the people of Nativity Lutheran Church. It is from the Genesis 27-28 text about Jacob and Esau - I encourage you to read over those two chapters before listening/reading the sermon.

There was a man whose name was Isaac.  Isaac's one great passion was his 1967 Chevy Impala.  This black beauty was the fourth love of Isaac's life, after his wife Becky, and his two sons Esau, and Jake.  And there were certainly times when the car was in first or second place, even before his family.  Isaac had saved and saved for almost ten years to buy this car, and he was finally able to sign the deed when his two sons were born.  Now, even though Esau and Jake were twins, they were as different as the black paint and the chrome finish of Isaac's Impala.  

Esau, who went by E, was down to earth, not terribly bright, but could fix anything when he put his mind to it.  E just had an intuitive feel for how machines worked, and so naturally E and Isaac were extremely close.  They spent hours and hours working on the Impala, making adjustments, keeping her running - they lived to hear the purr of her engine.  

Jake was the complete opposite.  He was definitely his mother's favorite, because he was extremely bright, had a passion for puzzles and games, and could work magic with his pen and pencil in school.  Becky knew that Jake was going to do great things, if only he could afford college - see, with Isaac pouring all of their spare money into keeping up his Impala, college was not on the horizon for either of his sons.  This wasn't a problem for E, because he was going to follow into his father's footsteps and work at the garage, but Becky wanted more than that for Jake.  

Now, as Jake and E were about to graduate from high school, Isaac had a stroke.  It caused him to go blind, and left him mostly paralyzed.  E immediately dropped out of high school to take charge of the shop - the position he was groomed for since he was six years old.  But Becky knew that Jake was never going to be able to work there, and she worked to find a way to get Jake the money for college.  

After his stroke, Isaac's health kept getting worse and worse.  He knew that he didn't have a whole lot of time left, so he went to his wife Becky and said, "Becky, I know that I'm not going to live much longer.  I want to write up a Will so that the boys know what's theirs after I'm gone."  And when he said that to her, Becky saw her chance to give Jake a shot at a future.  Becky and Isaac sat down and started to write up a Will, Isaac spoke and Becky wrote it down.  Things went well enough until they got to the Impala. Becky knew that Isaac's pride and joy was worth thousands of dollars - certainly enough to get Jake through college.  She saw her opportunity and she took it.  Instead of writing down E's name, she put in Jake's - knowing Isaac wouldn't be able to notice that she had written the wrong name down.  After they had finished, she and Isaac got his will notarized - Becky's plan hadn't been noticed.

Not long after Isaac's will was signed and sealed, he died.  Becky knew that E was not going to be happy that Jake got the car, so she snatched the car keys and gave them to Jake saying, "Take this, I made sure you got the Impala after your father died.  Take it and sell it so that you can go to college and have a better life than your father and I did."  Jake was understandable confused, but realized that E would be furious when he found out that Jake had gotten the Impala.  He hopped in the car and drove off, as far away as he could go - leaving all of his other possessions behind.  All Jake knew was that he was going anywhere-but-here, thoughts of college were gone he was so afraid of his life.

After a few days though, Jake realized what his mother meant.  He realized that he could sell his father's Impala, and pay for college.  He realized that he could sell this artifact of his father's time, and make his own legacy for himself.  He realized that if he was going to do this, he better do it quickly.  So Jake started to drive to a used car lot, but something happened to him when he was on the road.  He suddenly got a whiff of his father's cologne, Old Spice, wafting up from within the leather seats.  He was transported back to his childhood, about when he was six or seven and his father took the whole family on long drives on Sunday afternoons.  He saw his father, his mother, and his brother all sitting together in the car as the radio played something by Kansas, he thought it was "Dust in the Wind," and Jake realized something else.  He realized that if he sold this car, he wasn't just selling an artifact from his father's time, but was selling the love and devotion that his father had put in, not just to this well worn Impala, but also his family.  The last thing Jake heard before his flashback faded was his father saying, "I love you, I will take care of you, cause you are my family."  Jake snapped back to the steering wheel, and he thought to himself, "I can't sell this car.  I can find another way to pay for college and make my own way that still honors everything my father has done for me."

Now I know all the older siblings in the room are going to be with me, when I say, "This story really ticks me off!"  Both of these stories, the one we heard in Genesis and the one I just told.  I sit there and go, "that's not fair!"  I instinctively take up the roll of Esau and say I'm the good son.  I'm the one who did everything my father asked of me, and what do I get?  I get the short end of the stick...again.  It seems to be the curse of the oldest, our parents try so hard to not make any mistakes, to make sure we turn out perfectly.  They try to shelter us as a way of showing us that they love us.  And they do a good job.  We turn out ok, we think that's the best way of parenting, because they are our parents and they love us.  At least until kid number 2 comes along.  And then they're the baby, they get the special treatment, or worse, they get a little more freedom than we got when we were their age.

The biggest thing I remember about this was the first time my brother got to see a PG-13 movie.  I couldn't tell you what the movie even was, but I remember being sooo mad.  See, I had only been 13 for a few months, and it was a big deal for me that I got to see this movie.  And along comes my 8 year old brother to the movies with us.  I thought, "This isn't fair.  I had to wait and wait.  Why doesn't he have to wait?"  And of course, the answer was, "Well this movie isn't as bad as we thought it was going to be."  Like that made sense to my 13 year old mind.

Now, I know that's not as big of a deal as the birthright, or inheriting a '67 Impala from your dad, but it's just another instance where the bigger brother gets the short end of the stick.  And you know what really rubs me about Jacob and Esau?  Its that God still goes to the younger brother, the cheater, and promises to make a great nation out of him.

I think, really God?  Really?  You're going to pick him?  He failed the test.  He cheated his brother, he lied to his father, and then he ran away because his actions had consequences.  You're going to pick him?  Look at Esau, he's the mighty hunter, he's the strong man, he's the one who's faithful to his family.  All he did was what his father told him to do.  Why couldn't you have gone to him after all this and said, "Don't worry that your brother took everything, I'm going to give it back to you a hundred times over."  That'd be a much better story, right older siblings out there?

And then after I've cooled down a little bit after this story.  I start thinking about why it makes me so angry.  And it's not just because my brother got, at least from my perspective, "special treatment."  No, I think what makes me the maddest about this text is what it says about me and my relationship with God that I get mad about Jacob's special visitation by God.

I want God to have the back of the older brother.  I want God to smite Jacob for lying to his father.  I want God to uplift Esau and give him the blessing anyways.  I want God to play by the rules.  I don't want God to go to Jacob.  So what does God do?  He goes to Jacob.

How often does this happen to us, though?  We see people lie, steal, and cheat to the top.  And we want them to get their just deserts.  We want to see them fail.  We want to see them fall.  We want God to lift us up.  We want God to give us what we think we deserve.  We don't want to see God offer those who have wronged us forgiveness.  So what does God do when the Word becomes flesh?  He goes to those whom we do not want him to go.

Jesus goes to the tax collectors, the embezzlers, and tells them of God's forgiveness and God's presence and God's grace.  Not exactly the smiting we think they deserve.  God does the same for the beggars, the lepers, the prostitutes, those who are "outside" of God's promises and reminds them that even in their sin, God is there, forever and ever.  

And even this makes us mad.  We want justice.  We want those who break the law to be punished by the law.  We want embezzlers, prostitutes, thieves, murderers to go to jail.  We don't want to forgive them.  And so what does God ask of us?  To grant God's justice, rooted in mercy.  To forgive. To reform the social order that turns people into embezzlers, prostitutes, thieves, murderers.  To help those who struggle with addictions, to show people a better way.  To stop the vicious cycle that they are in, to show them that God loves them even in the midst of their sin.  To remind them that God's Word became flesh to bridge the gap between God's kingdom and our fallen world.  To let them know that no matter their crime, no matter their sin, the cross changes everything.  

And God comes to us, and he shows us time and time again that we shouldn't be mad when God goes to the liar, the cheater, or the thief.  God goes to them, not because he loves us any less, but because God desires us to love them as much as God loves them.  God reminds us that our call to love neighbor extends to those who have wronged us.  And God reminds us that if Jesus can forgive those who killed him while he was on the cross, we can offer forgiveness to our younger siblings that have wronged us in some way.  God reminds us that we are all his family, that we have all done things to upset God.  God reminds us that even in those sins, those mistakes, the offenses, God's going to come to us too.  We are reminded that this is God's good news above everything else.  Amen.