How to Pray

Text: Philippians 1:3–11

I want to talk today about praying. I’m going to talk about ways we might pray. And also about things that get in the way of praying. And I’m going to start with Paul’s prayers in his letter to the Philippians.

Paul is enthusiastic, a word which mean infused by the spirit. He writes to the church he started in Philippi. Even though Paul is in prison when he writes this letter, he tells his readers that he is full of joy. More exactly, he says he is constantly praying with joy in every one of his prayers for them.

What is Paul doing? When we hear that Paul is praying for joy, what do we imagine? That he is kneeling by his bedside prison? Or that he stands with his arms raised? Or his head lowered? Does he pray out loud, or quietly? It doesn’t matter, I suspect. But what does Paul mean for his readers—for us—to think when we hear that he prays? Is he doing something different than just thinking about the Philippians? Could he say “every time I think of you, I’m filled with joy?” It is not the same, is it?

For many, praying is the same thing as wishing for something, or asking for it. The jargon word for that is petitionary prayer. You are petitioning God for some outcome, just as you would petition the court for a favorable judgment. Please bring world peace and please let the Patriots win and please let me find a parking spot are all petitions to a being who can make things happen, no matter how likely. It is also the kind of prayer that Paul prays later in the letter, when he says “My prayer is that your love may overflow.” Paul is asking for something.

It is the kind of prayer children are first taught (after meal grace). Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. When I was a child I was told that Amen meant “let it be so,” which is a petition tacked onto a petition. (But Amen, as Jesus used it, just means “truly.” It is an emphatic punctuation mark. Maybe we should translate it “you bet!” or “for sure!”)

But there are other kinds of prayer. A friend of mine says that there are only three basic prayers: Thanks, Wow, and Please. Prayers, in other words, of gratitude, prayers of awe or worship, and prayers of petition. My friend is partly right, but he leaves out an important kind of prayer, which I’ll get to later. His three prayers have us doing the talking, which is not the whole story.

When we do do the talking, we pray to ask or pray to tell. To ask something from God or to tell God something. I’d like today to say six things about prayer. You can think of them as opportunities of prayer. Or possibilities. Or tips. Six tips for praying. Or just observations. The first three are about asking for things.

Number one: Pray for what you want. Do not be too polite. Do not worry about what other people pray for. Do not worry about whether what you want is OK to want. Praying to God is not a performance or an assignment. It is not for anyone else’s benefit. You do not have to be worried about whether you are praying for something embarrassing. Or something trivial. Or something way too grand.

Number two, a corollary of number one: Pray for things of all sizes. Pray for little things. Pray that you win the lottery. Pray for nice weather for your picnic. Pray that you do well in the 10K race. If that is what you want, pray for it. And pray for big things. Pray for world peace and an end to war. Pray that your friend will get better and recover. Pray that your marriage will always be filled with joy. Do not think that the small stuff is beneath God’s notice or that the large stuff is beyond God’s power.

Number three, which enables numbers one and two: Do not edit your prayers before you pray them. Your job is to do the asking. God’s job is hear you and respond. Do not anticipate what God will do and therefore modify your prayer before it even gets out of your mouth. How do you know what is pleasing to God’s ears? As good as it is to be humble, God does not demand your humility in prayer. You do not have to protect God’s sensibilities. God can take it. Ask truthfully.

If the first three tips are about asking God for something, the next three are about telling God things. Paul’s prayers about his joy in the Philippians are prayers of declaration. God, Paul says, I am really happy about the church people in Philippi.

Tip number four: Pray about the ordinary day to day things that are happening in your life. Tell God what’s up, how you are feeling, what’s happening at the moment. Make small informative prayers. It sounds a little like Twitter, I guess. Divine Twitter. Tell God that you are unhappy with that guy who just turned left in front of you. Tell God that you are worried about the meeting you are about to attend. Tell God that you are really enjoying this fresh mozzarella and tomato sandwich. Do not worry about boring God. Little prayers like this remind you that you and God are connected.

Number five: Pray quietly and also pray loudly. There is no special tone of voice with which you must pray. Pray in silent meditation, pray when singing hymns, pray in loud alleluias. Come to the altar and whisper your prayers to God. Or stand in your room or come in to church someday in the middle of the week and yell your prayer out, if that’s what you need to do. No one has to hear you but God.

And number six: Speak your mind. If you are grateful, say thank you. If you are confused, tell God so. If you think it is stupid to pray, tell God that, too. Be watchful for the times you think: “I cannot pray that.” Those are times and the things you most need to pray for. If you are angry, tell God you are mad. If you are disappointed, tell God that.

A summary of these six tips is this: when you are doing the talking, ask for anything. tell God everything, and do it boldly.

But prayer is not all about talking to God. Prayer is a conversation with God. There are two beings involved, you and God. Sometimes you talk—asking and telling—and sometimes you listen.

So the last tip is this: Wait. I do not mean wait for your prayer to be answered. Not to wait for your petition to be granted or denied or your declaration to be acknowledged. Conversations are not transactions, with God any more than they are with people. Not everything we say in a conversation needs or gets a response.

I mean be in a state of waiting. Be wait-ful, if there were such a word. There are times when quiet waiting is the right thing in a conversation. When there is perhaps much to be said, but not said right this minute. Or maybe nothing to be said, as with two friends sitting across the table from one another after a big day. It is not just waiting idly, but waiting expectantly.

The vision statement of the New England Synod of which we are a part recently had as its motto: Pray Unceasingly. And Paul says he is praying constantly. This does not work if prayer is a like a series of messages, like emails, that you send to God. No one can do that unceasingly. But if by praying constantly you mean that you are ready to engage in a conversation, that you are ready to say something when you have something to say and ready to listen when you are ready to hear and ready to just sit with God when that’s all that you and God need to do—when you are ready to do that without being too self-consciousness and nervous and therefore rehearsing the whole conversation ahead of time to get it just right—then you can.

Prayer is one of the spiritual practices. That means, first, that is is something we do, part of the life of faith. And second, that it is a skill that changes and gets better as we do it. And finally, that it is something that both benefits our spirit and is guided by God’s Holy Spirit. When we pray, we do not pray alone. We pray with enthusiasm, infused by the spirit.

The Lord be with you. Let us pray. For sure.

Sabbath FAQs

Text: Genesis 1:1-5, 2:1-4

On Thursday, the city was deserted. On Thanksgiving day in Cambridge you could have walked down the middle of the street without danger. There were no cars, few people, no commerce. It was great!

It was like the good old days. In those times in Massachusetts there were things called Blue Laws. They required most businesses and retail stores to be closed on Sunday. No shopping allowed. No shopping meant no shoppers, which meant no cars. You could drive by a mall and the parking lot would be completely empty. No shopping meant no shops, so people who worked in retail did not have to go to work. It was very quiet. It was peaceful. It was nice.

The bad thing about Blue Laws, and the reason they were repealed, is that they forced a religious ethic—no work on Sunday sabbath—on people whose religion, or no religion, did not honor Sunday. But the good thing about Blue Laws is that they forced everyone to take a sabbath rest. It sounded like a deprivation, but it was a gift. It put the force of law as a balance against the forces of commerce and busyness. It made rest a requirement for the health of the culture, the city, and the health of its citizens.

In the end, as often, commerce and busyness won the battle. The Blue Laws went away, and no law of rest replaced them. We all let this happen, because we all forgot how much we need to rest. We lost the sabbath. We have forgotten the sabbath. And now we are starving for rest. We need a sabbath rest to live satisfactorily. To have forgotten that we need a sabbath is like forgetting that we need to eat. This is not good.

Since we have forgotten the sabbath, I’ve put together a short list of frequently asked questions (and answers) about the sabbath. They have to do with rest and with worship.

Question: Do we need a sabbath?

Answer: Yes.

Sabbath is downtime. Downtime is part of creation. The creator took a good chunk of time off after creating the universe. The story of the creation in Genesis is not a story of six days effort plus a footnote. The time that God rested is included in the story. The story starts, “at the beginning” and ends “these are the beginnings.” And between these two verse markers are God’s work and God’s rest. Downtime was important to our creator, and it is to us as creatures.

We know this to be true through experience and through research, which increasingly shows that not doing something—stopping work—is essential to performance, learning, and civil behavior. You cannot do, think, or be polite without prolonged rest.

And, even if that were not so, we are commanded to rest. Downtime is one of the Ten Commandments. Near the top. The third or fourth, depending on how you count them. I think you know that the Ten Commandments appear in two books of the Bible, one set in Exodus and the other in Deuteronomy. One of these versions says keep the sabbath because God did after creating the world. And the other one says keep the sabbath because once the Israelites were slaves in Egypt and had to work all the time, but now God has freed them. So God commanded us to rest because we need to and to rest because we can. We need to and we can.

Question: Can’t I take little breaks and spread the rest over all the days of the week?

Answer: No.

In Genesis it says that “God had finished, on the seventh day, the work God made and then God ceased, on the seventh day, all the work that God had made.” Little breaks are great and necessary, and maybe God took a few during the creation of the universe. God does, after all, sit back at the end of each day and admire the day’s work. But little breaks are not downtime. They are not sabbath. They don’t work that way, and we all know it. You cannot work seven days a week and ten hours every day and claim that you cease work because you take coffee breaks and naps. We need to take a day off like God does.

Question: Can there be too much downtime?

Answer: Yes.

The sabbath is created in the context of the work of creation. Work and rest are intertwined. Martin Luther wrote that work is a calling by God. This has been interpreted to mean that you should work as hard as possible. Bosses like that when dealing with workers. But that is not what Luther meant. First, Luther wanted to make sure that people, and especially the church, valued all work, not just church work. The clergy had an inflated view of their own work as especially godly, and Luther wanted to deflate that view. But second, and as important, Luther said that God loves a great pair of shoes made by a shoemaker and God loves a clean floor cleaned by a cleaning service. The doing of things with our hands and minds pleases God. But just not doing it all the time.

Final question: Then is this all just about me?

Answer: No.

Sabbath is good for us, and downtime is important for our well-being. But that is not the only reason why it is necessary. Sabbath is worship. Sabbath gives us quiet time and space to pray. It gives us sufficient spans of time in which our thoughts can settle and our hopes and fears become clearer. And it allows us to listen for God and to God. Sabbath is more than downtime in that it purposely pushes away those things that make us most fearful and anxious. Things like performing well and being well-off and having enough. For many people, days of sabbath are the days in which they feel most close to other people, to their families, and to the wonders of the world.

Sabbath is worship because it is connected with God. It is a gift of God and a command of God. So the pleasures we get from rest we can see as coming from God’s love for us and the discipline that sabbath requires we can see as coming from our trust in God.

One of the works of the church is to provide times and spaces for worship, quiet, and sanctuary. And to teach us how to take sabbath time. It is not the only work of the church, and churches do not always do it well. But unlike for the rest of the world, it is an essential part of the job description.

Advent marks the beginning of the church year. Although it inevitably it is seen as a prequel to Christmas, it is really a time of reflection and meditation. Advent Sundays can be sabbath times, downtime, times of rest in an otherwise anxious time. Especially in these days, when there seems to be a lot to be anxious about.

There is no movement on the horizon to bring back sabbath laws. But sabbath time has been given to us nonetheless. Accept the gift. Embrace the gift. Slow down. Stop. Rest.

That's What You Say

Text: John 18:33-37

Today is called Christ the King Sunday. But it would be more Biblical to call it Christ Not-the-king Sunday. Or maybe Who-says-Christ-is-King Sunday. For it is others, not Jesus, who call him king. In all four Gospels, Pilate asks in one way or another if Jesus is king. And in all four Gospels Jesus answers in one way or another “That’s what you say.”

Neither God the Father nor Jesus the Son are enthusiastic about kings. In the book of Samuel, the people of Israel ask God for a king to lead them, but God cautions that

[A king] will take your sons and make them serve with his chariots and horses, … and others to plow his ground and reap his harvest, and still others to make weapons of war and equipment for his chariots. He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive groves and give them to his friends. He will take a tenth of your grain and of your vintage and give it to his officials and attendants. Your menservants and maidservants and the best of your cattle and donkeys he will take for his own use. You yourselves will become his slaves. When that day comes, you will cry out for relief from the king you have chosen, and the LORD will not answer you in that day."

But the people say to God, “We want a king over us. Then we will be like all the other nations.”

In the Gospel of John, after the crowd of 5000 whom he has just fed try to make Jesus king, he runs away and hides out in the mountains. And in all the Gospels, Jesus seems to prefer titles like Son of God or Son of Humanity or Rabbi, meaning teacher. And yet people hoped that Jesus would be more like a king. And people still do.

The feast of Christ the King is not an ancient holiday of the church. It was invented by Pope Pius XI in 1925 and was not given its permanent spot as the last Sunday in the church year until 1970. Pius saw that there is in our world a deep and sometimes desperate call for someone to lead us as a king might and take care of us.

These are confused and anxious times, not times of contentment and peace. Wars rage constantly. We know that people suffer and we feel helpless to do anything about it. Social and political issues have divided the country and the world down the middle. Too many voices compete for our attention and for our affection. Too many people are trying to convince us of one thing or another. And too many of them are lying to us.

Things are scary because they seem not only out of our control but out of anyone’s control. We are like children in a household where there are no adults. Or where the adults act like children, and are childish and unreliable.

Isn’t there someone we can follow? Isn’t there someone who will tell the truth?

The two questions are related. Jesus relates them. Pilate asks about kings, and Jesus answers about truth. You say that I am a king, says Jesus, but I came to testify to the truth.

Ah, says Pilate—in a line left out of the lectionary, but in the Gospel—Ah, Pilate says, but what is truth? Not true facts. Not statements about doctrine or belief. Only in the Gospel of John does Jesus speak so much about the truth. And the word he uses means reliability, steadfastness, trustworthiness. More like true blue. Or true friends. True grit. Something both immeasurable and yet undeniable.

To be true is to be in alignment with the world as God created it to be. Like a wheel being true. To be smooth and effortless. To travel an effortless path, where, as Isaiah has it, every mountain and hill is made low; the uneven ground level, and the rough places smooth.

The enemy of truth is not falsehood, not error or mistake, but fantasy. Most of us live in a world that is at least a little fantastic. We think more of ourselves than we ought to—or we think less that we deserve. We imagine motives in others than do not exist. We have groundless fears and unhelpful hopes. We deny our own habits and obsessions, and we deny our own sorrow. If truth is a smooth path, fantasy is a rocky one. Acts that spring from fantasy destroy us and our world. It is too tiring and in the end too discouraging to have fantasy occupy us. You will be freed, as Jesus testifies earlier in John, if you know the truth.

For Christians, the truth has something to do with Jesus. Not about Jesus so much as through Jesus or from Jesus. To see the truth is to see as Jesus sees. To see through the lens of Jesus. Or to put it in a different way, to interpret the world as Jesus interprets it for us. We agree when we follow Jesus to let him explain things to us and to believe him when he does. When he talks about ethics or prayer or money or hypocrisy or corruption or compassion, we believe him. We say that Jesus sees the truth, or see things truly, or describes the world truthfully. We give Jesus the authority to tell us what to do because Jesus is the truth, in the way I’m talking about.

I’m convinced that of all the gifts Jesus had, it his ability to see and tell the truth that drew the band of disciples and the crowds of people to him. They could tell. People who convert to Christianity in an instant see the truth of Jesus immediately. Other people come to think so over time, through reading, conversation, prayer, and through confirming experience. We give Jesus sovereignty over us and are obedient to him, which is one way in which he is king. Follow me, he says. The kingdom of God is better called the reign of truth.

But we are obedient not because he is a tyrant, or because he is a better manager, or because he hangs around with people in high places, or because he is a great general for whom we would fight. All the kingly things. We do not give Jesus the kind of obedience we would give a boss (or king), but the kind of obedience that we would give a guide or mentor. Jesus has our focus. What does Jesus say? What does Jesus see? To where does Jesus lead us?

Everybody, from Pilate to Pius, wants Jesus to be king. Everybody but Jesus. People make out Jesus to be what they want him to be.

But Jesus does not command our attention like a king. He draws our attention like a lover. Present in our minds, as we walk, or shop, or eat, or work, or take a break. The one for whom we change our plans. The recipient of our vows. The one of whom we are mindful.

Jesus retells God’s lesson in Samuel as he talks to Pilate. Kings have armies and fight holy wars. If you want that, he says, if you want a king like everybody else, go find a king. But if you want to live a true life, follow me.

Unimagination

Text: Mark 13:1-8
Other texts: Daniel 12:1-3

Forty years ago it seemed like the world was on a roll. It was the beginning, everyone thought, of a new age. The dawning of the age of Aquarius. The Berlin wall, a symbol of the old, national, hateful way of international politics, had fallen. And not long after, our scary enemy, the Soviet Union, would collapse. Possibilities were expanding. Humans were walking on the moon. Ancient limitations were yielding to human cleverness. The old generations, stuck in century-long patterns and traditions, were being replaced by a new, younger, smarter, more adventurous generation.

And here we are. War, starvation, oppression, and greed are still among us. The stability of the world’s climate is threatened. There seem to be no good and simple solutions to anything. Everything seems much too complicated to even think about. Is the world falling apart? Can anything hold?

In times like this, things are beyond our powers. Things cannot go on like this, people say. The more powerless people feel, the more they begin to hope for a quick and radical solution. And some begin to hope for a kind of divine restart. Seeing no human fix, some hope that God will wipe the desk clean and start over. A clean install.

This kind of thinking is called apocalyptic, a word that comes from the title of the Book of Revelation. Revelation is the most extensive example of apocalyptic writing in the Christian tradition, but there are others in the Bible, starting with Daniel, about whom we heard in the first lesson. And in the Gospels, including Mark, there are little apocalypses, as they are called. In all these writings there is a slightly sweet and rotten combination of fear, antsiness, and hope.

These end-of-the world stories come from people and times of oppression and occupation. So they ask God to share with them their urgency. They are not about faraway redemption, but rescue now, this moment. Soon.

But predictions made two thousand, twenty-five hundred, years ago, have not come to pass. We are still here. The world continues to exist. It turns out that God is not us. That God is not like us.

God’s patience is greater than ours. God seems to be in it for the long haul. God is evidently more willing to see how things work out, and to let them work out. God is less likely to panic than we are.

God’s forgiveness is greater than ours. Maybe the worst things that can happen are not quite as bad in God’s eyes as they are in ours. Maybe we are like little children for whom every slight and sin is a major event. Maybe God is more even tempered.

God’s flexibility is greater than ours. God seems less doctrinaire than we can be. God allows a little slack in the affairs of the world. God is opinionated but not unmovable. God changes God’s mind and reverses judgments. God is influenced by argument, as God is by Abraham and Moses, and by repentance, prayer, and extenuating circumstances. And by intercession.

And mostly, God’s compassion is greater than ours. The apocalyptic writings predict anguish and violence and death to the oppressors and enemies and sinners. People left behind suffer horribly. It is vengeful and retributive. But it seems that God loves us too much to zap us all in a divine cataclysm. Forgive those who harm you, says God in Jesus. And in older scripture God seems to be less wrathful and instead disappointed and saddened by the sins of the people of God.

It is not right that we should usurp the calendar of the end of time and to lobby God to destroy all of creation, which after all was made in God’s hope. It is arrogance and hubris to think that because we are freaked out God would be too, or should be too. How can we think that our own particular sorrows—even though they be great—and our anger, and our hysteria could justify the end of the world? How can we believe that the spirit of God in creation would let life fade so easily? How can we hope for “anguish that has never before occurred,” as it says in Daniel? Or famines and war? It is almost pornographic.

Scary times seem to demand extreme measures. That’s because it is hard to think about solutions when the problems seem so enormous and immediate. Apocalyptic hopes reflect lack of imagination. They are sort of: I don’t know what to do, so tomorrow is cancelled. All of us feel this way from time to time, but it doesn’t mean we hope for the end of the world. At least not usually. Apocalyptic thinking is kind of an extreme form of the geographic cure. When in trouble and in doubt, leave. Go somewhere else.

In scary times, cosmically or personally, we first of all are convinced that the future will be the same as today. We see the future as just one long and tiresome stretched-out present. We cannot imagine a different future. And second, even if we could, the steps we’d have to take to get there seem impossible. We cannot imagine how we could get realistically from today to tomorrow. And third, it seems to be all or nothing. We cannot imagine how any intermediate actions would make a difference. In good times you know that things change, that small steps make a difference, that intermediate actions are effective. In scary times, you forget.

But Jesus reminds us. It is basic and fundamental to Christianity that something new is possible. Not only possible but inevitable. The good news that Jesus brings is that tomorrow need not be the same as today. That to hope to be healed, and to be restored, and to be refreshed is realistic, not fantastic.

Both to nourish this hope, and as result of the teachings of Jesus, we do three things. First thing, we forgive the past and know that we will be able forgive the present. Second thing, we can count on the constant and intimate presence of God. There is nothing, as the apostle Paul says, that can separate us from the love of God. And third thing, we gather into communities of people who look out for one another and remind one another of the first two things.

So here we are. In whatever circumstances. In hope or worry. In concern or celebration. But we will not be here for long. Not because things will end, but because they continue. The walls of no temple are permanent, no matter how big and unmovable they seem. God draws us forward into life. We may resist or we may welcome this divine pull. But God, patient, forgiving, open-minded, and compassionate, makes things new.

No More Tears

Text: Isaiah 25:6-9
Other texts: Wisdom of Solomon 3.1-9, Revelation 21.1-6a

How greedy life is. How greedy we are for life.

Life is good. We take pleasure in things. We are pleasure creatures, enjoying a good view as much as a good dinner. A good conversation, a good hug, and good handshake. A good friend. We are made to enjoy life, to enjoy living, to enjoy the company of others, to enjoy the beauties of the earth. It is our blessing that we love and are loved, that we create things and admire them, that we have aspirations and accomplishments, and also that we can overcome adversity and solve problems. We are clever and fun and complicated.

Life is sturdy. We live in a sea of organisms, not all of them friendly, yet we mostly persist. We live among hard and dangerous objects, yet we mostly survive. We are complex and fragile mechanisms, yet we and all of God’s creatures are resilient.

We value our lives. And we value the life in others. We form attachments that are rich and soulful. The wiring of our brains and the flow of hormones and enzymes in us mysteriously but actually connect us with the people around us. We are not alone.

So it is on All Saints day that we remember the dead. Or better to say we mark our memories of them, we bring those memories up and forward, and we refresh our affections for those who have died. And we ponder their missing.

Each of us has a strong and unshakeable sense of identity, of the “I” that I am. We seem to be continuous and coherent persons. And those we love seem so, too. So, no matter what the circumstances, no matter how well we are prepared, no matter how sensible and understandable, even no matter how desirable, the death of another is inexplicable. How could it make sense?

So death must be a corruption. All the ways we die—disease, suicide, accident, system failure—seem an interruption in the order of things. How is it that we who are so marvelously made could be unmade? How it that any creature could be? How can it be that someone who was so present can be lost to us? It is not right for life to end.

Life is good, yet life is also sorrow and suffering. I don’t have to tell you. Bad things happen to us in body, mind, and spirit. Discouragement, pain, and despair always attack and sometimes are overwhelming. It is tiring. Injustices are perpetrated on us. Burdens that are given to us, that are taken up by us, that are forced on us, burdens that accrete over time, or shock us in surprise—the burdens get heavy and heavier.

And then. Then death is more welcome. “Since I lay my burden down, my troubles will be over,” says the song. “For all the saints,” we just sang, “who from their labors rest … we feebly struggle, then in glory shine … soon to faithful servants cometh rest.” We quote the verses for evening prayer—“until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes and the busy world is hushed, the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then, Lord, in your mercy, grant us a safe lodging, and a holy rest, and peace at the last.”—And we say these same words at a funeral, at the end of life. Peace at the last.

Even as greedy we are for life, we seem not to want to live forever. My grandfather, who at the time was nearing 90, once said, “I always wanted to live to a ripe old age. But I think I’m a little overripe.” The burden we let go is the “I” itself, our identity, our self, which at some point seems to take too much effort to maintain. And then we see that the words on Ash Wednesday, “remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return,” could be a promise, not a threat. A relief. Release. Letting go.

Death is as much a part of us as anything in life. It is in our nature as created beings. It is not that we are wicked or imperfect or flawed, and therefore mortal. It is only the way we are made. It is how things work. And I guess we could look at it with the same amazement as we look at all the common and yet unbelievable things our bodies do: like see or love or dance or think.

But we don’t. Such a view is not sufficient. First, death causes too much sorrow for us on this side. And we don’t know for sure how they are feeling on the other side. Second, it is always too sudden, even when it is not. And third, most of all, we cannot believe that force of our lives, the momentum of existence, does not carry us into an active future where either loose ends are tied up or wounds healed or rewards realized. How can it be that evil deeds done—injustices—go unpunished or good deeds go unrewarded (as they certainly do in our lifetimes). How can it be that we cannot know and enjoy our eternal rest. How can it be that the promise and vitality of our youth is not restored. And how can it be that we are not reunited actively with God our lover and our maker?

The alternate first reading—the lectionary sometimes lists two choices—the alternate reading today is from the Wisdom of Solomon. It starts like this:

“The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment will ever touch them. In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died, and their departure was thought to be a disaster, and their going from us to be their destruction; but they are at peace.”

In other words, the good will out. In the end justice prevails. The righteous are rewarded. Evil does not succeed, no matter how things seem. This is God’s working to set things right. God, as always, extracts the good from the evil. It is a kind of story of Lazarus in a cosmic realm. Death is not the period at the end of the sentence.

This is good news. Death is only a moment in life beyond which the living cannot see. It is good news, but it is not good enough. What Isaiah writes is better news. What God promises in Isaiah is not a revival or a renewal or a resuscitation. What Isaiah promises is an end to death altogether.

“God will destroy the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations;

God will swallow up death forever. And then God will wipe away the tears from all faces.”

The story of the Bible reinforces our instinct that death has no permanent part in the order of things. The intention of God in the first chapters of Genesis, the first book of the Bible, is realized finally in the last chapters of Revelation, the last book.

In the end, it says in Isaiah, and also in Revelation, which quotes Isaiah, we are given more than comfort for the way things inevitably are. Instead, these prophecies and fantastic accounts predict an end to mourning, an end to tears, an end to crying and pain. The new creation is the one that God hoped for in the old creation. Our intuition about life will be realized and our greed for life fulfilled. We will no more light candles for the dead. We will no longer weep.

Reformation Freedom

Texts: Romans 3:19–28 and John 8:31–36
Preacher: Pastor Seitz

Today we celebrate the Reformation and we remember our denomination’s name-sake, Martin Luther.

The story of Luther is well known among many of us but just to highlight a couple of his accomplishments lets start with the verse attributed with starting the Reformation. It is the last verse from the Second lesson, Romans 3:28 “For we hold that a man is justified by faith apart from works of the law.”

This verse was a complete contradiction of the time. The Catholic church was teaching that salvation (or justification) was only attainable through works. You had to do what the church told you in order to be saved. One reason for this was that the Bible was only available in Latin and the church services we held in Latin. And most people did not know Latin so they relied on what the church leaders told them was necessary for salvation.

One of the first things Luther did as a result of discovering this verse that led to his theological revelation was to decide that it was not enough for him to be able to read the promises laid out for us in scripture. But that everyone should be able to read it for themselves so he translated the Bible from Latin to common German.

Well this is where the theological revelation moved into a social revolution. In Luther’s efforts to reform the Catholic church – he taught that any Christian is as close to God as any priest. And that almost every Christian was closer to God than the Pope whom Luther often referred to as the Devil.

Through the Word of God as revealed through scripture, every Christian could be and should be pursuing their own faith journey with Jesus. That everyone should be a leader in church as followers of Christ.

Now the Gospel text for today, 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.”

And the Jews who were listening to him responded to Jesus saying, “We are descendants of Abraham, and have never been in bondage to anyone, how is it that you say, “you will be made free?””

I am only a pastor and not a true Biblical Scholar, but it seems to me that the Jews who respond to Jesus are missing something. What is wrong with this statement? Anyone? Uh, now again just speaking as a common pastor, isn’t there something in the Bible about Moses, the Pharoh, the Egyptians, and an Exodus? Jesus doesn’t like to argue but it seems like he could have just mentioned this in his response.

Now the reason we have this Gospel text attached to our celebration of the Reformation is that Luther showed us freedom in Christ in ways we were not aware of before. Through having scripture in our own language and sermons and services in our own language – we know that, as Luther taught and we still teach today, through Jesus we are free from Sin, Death, and the Devil. We are free to live without guilt, without fear, and without mortal grief. We know through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, that our sins are forgiven, that death has no hold on us, and that the Devil is powerless against us as those who follow Jesus.

We are FREE! Free to live guilt free stress free fear free lives! Hallelujah!

If somebody said to us, you are not free - you are all slaves. Like those responding to Jesus, we could say, we are Americans and the patriots of our country died so that we could have freedom. Slavery was abolished – we have freedom of religion and democracy. We could say that we are the most free people in the world! Not only do we have secular and religious freedom but as followers of Jesus we have freedom from Sin, Death, and the Devil. We could not be more free!

But how many of us feel free?

Speaking as a thirtysomething-year-old: as a representative of my generation and those coming up behind us: we work more hours than any generation before us, have more families where both parents are working full time, we have less vacation, we have more student loans, more credit card debt, less comprehensive health insurance, less job security, higher morgages and more stress than any generation before us. And lets not forget a whole list of other things like the recession, politics, corporate corruption, and war.

Now I hate to mention this in my sermon but I have to because today is Reformation Sunday.

Now speaking as a pastor, I can tell you, in reality – even for someone who dedicates their life and career to walking with Jesus; there are really only two times when I truly feel free.

One is whenever I get to relax with my beautiful wife and our son and none of us is watching the clock because soon one of us has to go. So, for at least a little while many evenings and some days I feel free. Because when I am with my family, and we are relaxing together, I am not worried about income or debt, not car nor house, or any other thing or situation that I am tied to that causes me stress.

The other time I feel free, and this is the Gospel truth, is right here and now. Whenever I get to spend time with my family of Faith and we get to worship and sing and pray together.

And our children are running around together and we stand young and old from all our different backgrounds and journies – and together we gather around the table that Jesus has set for us and we stand and kneel side by side under the cross of Christ together – in this 100 year old building together – whenever I get a chance to be here and share in this community I am not worried about income or debt, not car not house, or any other thing or situation that I am tied to that causes me stress.

In my family at home and at Faith when we come together I feel supported and I remember why I work hard and manage all the stressors in my life. When we come together I feel free and that I am a child of God who is blessed and blessed again. And when we come together we each remember who we are and that we are not alone in our struggles or our stresses.

For it is only when we are alone in our struggles and our stresses that we cannot feel our true freedom. From the very beginning we were made to be in community. When God made the first human, and he had the world and all the animals, he was lonely. So God made a companion for Adam, because as God put it, it is not good for him to be alone.

Now today in the Gospel, 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.”

Well thanks to Luther, we have been invited to continue in God’s word for 500 years. And Jesus tells us that those who continue in his Word are not just his followers, but truly his disciples.

Now sometimes we see the disciples in scripture as an insular little band of 12 followers. But I commend to you today that they were more than just followers. Jesus said to each one, follow me, and they followed. But eventually he says, now go and do likewise.

Feed my sheep, be laborers in the field of the Lord, heal the sick, comfort those who mourn, preach the good news, bring good news to the poor and set the captives free!

Jesus teaches us to be servants and more than servants! He teaches us, as his true disciples, to be servant leaders. Eventually the disciples went out and did as Jesus taught them – the very fact the church exists today is evidence of that fact. At some point the disciples did more than answer the call: follow me. They extended the call to those around them and said to others: follow me.

Now on Reformation Sunday celebrate that Luther put the power in our hands so that we could be like priests ourselves, be leaders ourselves, and not wait for other leaders in the church to tell us what to do. And Jesus says “if you continue in my word you are truly my disciples, and the truth will make you free.” And God designed us to be in community so that we are supported in our lives and can feel our freedom.

We also remember on Reformation Sunday that the reformation is not over – not for us, not for the church, and not for this congregation. The next step in our own reformation is to move forward as disciples: as servant leaders and go to those in need – not waiting for others but embracing our Lutheran heritage and our Lord’s teaching and living as servant leaders ourselves. By moving forward and helping those in need and saying to those around us – be they our family at home or our family here or people just standing around and saying to them, Follow Me. We don’t have to go out by ourselves – we should go out as a community to those who feel alone. We are called to serve all those around us who may never feel their freedom because they feel alone in their struggles and stresses.

There are people all around us who need our help. We don’t have to wait for someone else to find a service opportunity and invite us - they may be waiting for us to invite them. Who among us would say no if any one of us said I am going to help someone right now – follow me!

I will close with something useful I heard at the Bishop’s Convocation this week. The keynote speaker said, “It is easier to act our way into a new way of thinking than it is to think our way into a new way of acting.”

So let us go forth as servants of Christ, as Lutherans, and as disciples who are servant leaders – acting in ways that not only help us to feel our own freedom but setting others free by showing them they are not alone in their struggles and that we are all in one community as children of God. Because Jesus says, “So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.” So let us be free indeed!

Money and Abundance

Text: Mark 10:17-31

A man approaches Jesus and tells him in so many words that he would like to live a good and Godly life. A noble goal. Since the man was already righteous, meaning he was following the rules of his faith, he no doubt expected a little mild coaching, or a tip of the day. Instead, Jesus tells the man he has to sell all he owns and give the proceeds to the poor. It is hard to follow Jesus. The man, who comes to Jesus eager and confident, leaves distressed, saddened, and uncertain. The story does not tell us what he does. Only that he leaves, not so much shocked as we heard today, but disheartened, downhearted. Having heard Jesus, whether he kept all he had or sold it all, his choices were discouraging.

Money is powerful. It is not even a real thing, but it demands our attention even so. It is a convention based on trust among people that lets us do things in life that are essential or frivolous. Because it is without meaning itself, it can stand for all that we need, hope for, are afraid of. The fear of being without money is closely tied to the fear of death. No food, no shelter, no health care. Hardly anyone thinks that money is unnecessary. Yet “sell all you have and give to the poor,” Jesus said to the man.

Money seems inescapable. A newsletter sent this past week to leaders of Lutheran churches claimed that its topic was stewardship. Stewardship means taking care of things. It does not necessarily have to do with money. But the newsletter was all about money and how to get it and how to keep it. The lead article was titled “practical help in a fluid economy.” It had little to do with Jesus. It could have appeared in USA Today.

When Jesus talks to the man, Jesus looks him in the eye, it says, face to face. And Jesus loved him. Jesus knows, I’m sure, that what he is about to say will be hard words to hear. He knows that the things we hold onto so tightly hold us in turn. That the thing we grasp so tightly grasp us even harder. Anything that we desire to keep, keeps us. All the things we own, our favorite things, demand attention, and love, and loyalty, and protection from us. How much of our lives are devoted to caring for what we own?

We celebrate the 100th anniversary of this building next week. It has been a place that has protected and nurtured people praising God and being fed by God. It is place whose purpose is to gather people who care for and celebrate each other and others in the community. It is place, as our motto says, of spirit, joy, reverence, and service. At the same time, it is a burden. One that we gladly bear, but one nonetheless. It demands time, money, and energetic thought. It is our responsibility, which requires tending.

The man cannot give up his possessions without much grieving, for he loves them so. They have given him much that is good and fine and safe.

But it is not just what we own that owns us. We are connected to many things by little strings of responsibility and affection and common purpose. The man is disheartened when he hears what Jesus says. But the disciples are more than perplexed, as it says. They are astonished and terrified. For when Peter explains that he and the others have given up everything for Jesus, Jesus speaks to them about leaving their “house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields.” That is, everything that has any hold on them. Not only on their stomachs, but on their hearts. Which means not just things and loves and responsibilities, but also plans and schemes and dreams.

What Jesus promises is freedom. He offers a light-traveling nomadic life that has a spiritual clarity. A kind of life in which a person is transparent, the same inside oneself as outside. Both unencumbered and therefore undisguised. Without guile, as Jesus once said of Nathanael. Without any need to dissemble or to worry about what face is forward. And with this freedom we are able to hear God more clearly and we are able to act for God’s world nimbly and with more courage.

I used to think, and preached, that this passage told us what we should do. That Jesus was telling us what to do. After all, the man says to Jesus, “what must I do?” If we wanted Christian freedom then we had to let things go. And that was that. Just let go of all that you hold dear, and everything will work out fine. So, go ahead. Go on. Let me know how things work out. As if it were easy. As if it were possible.

But now I see in the eyes of Jesus nothing but compassion. As Jesus looks, eye to eye, loving the man, Jesus knows what is happening inside this person. It is no doubt true that all that we grasp onto diminishes us. And that our tight grip harms the world. Jesus’ analysis of the problem is correct. But we can hardly do otherwise. We hold onto what we have for dear life.

The man goes away gloomy. What Jesus asks for is impossible. He says so himself. Mortals cannot do it. So where does that leave those—the man, us—who wish to be disciples of Jesus? Is it OK if we hedge our bets? Do things work out if we cling to our possessions, or is it all or nothing, a binary theology? Can we keep a little? How much is too much? Or is it like exercise: any little thing we can let go of helps? Can the man be a disciple of Jesus—follow me, Jesus says—if he does not do exactly what Jesus tells him to?

With God, all things are possible, Jesus tells his disciples. Do we believe that to be so? Do we believe what Jesus says here? Not believe in Jesus, but believe him. Is God trustworthy? If we give up all we possess—and those things that therefore possess us—will God take care of us? Do we trust God to do that?

Trust is not something that just arrives, like a package in the mail. It is a result of many encounters and experiences. Many tentative proposals, most with favorable responses. Many little experiments. Even for people who are vouched for by another (your best friend tells you: “she’s a great person”), trust is built gradually. Even when you fall head over heels in love with someone, trust comes over time. So it seems it is with us and God. Even if God is vouched for by scripture and teachings and by the testimony of other’s experiences. Even if you fall in love with God. Trust takes take and trials.

One reason we follow Jesus is because the promise he makes of a good and abundant life strikes us as real. And his analysis of the power of money and other possessions, material or otherwise, to interfere with that life strikes us as correct. We know he is right about this.

This does not mean to go hungry or become destitute. (Give to the poor, Jesus says; it is not good to be poor.) Or to sever ties with each other, or to deny our interdependency, or to spurn the love of others, or hesitate to ask for help. But it does mean we do not rely on our stuff for healing, protection, and guidance, or for the good life.

The story of the man ends in uncertainty, as do ours. We do not know how he interpreted the words of Jesus, how he acted, what decisions he made. Do we want to spend the hours of our short lives tending our possession and under their power?

Jesus looks into our lives—and to the heart of the world—with compassion and love. There is a better way.