Follow Me
Words for Fearful Hearts
God in Christ brings healing to our blindness, deafness, and lameness to the world’s needs, and in that healing we find our calling and our life.
Note from the preacher: Profound thanks are due to Michael Bridges and George Baum, “Lost and Found,” whose song “Must Be” insisted on working into my heart and mind whenever I read these texts this week. http://speedwood.com/aboutmusic/lyrics/mustbe.php
Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 23, year B
texts: Isaiah 35:4-7a; Mark 7:24-37; James 2:1-17
Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
The Pharisees ask Jesus an insightful and frightening question in John’s Gospel, near the end of the story of the healing of the blind man.
Jesus is speaking of seeing and not seeing. He just healed a man born blind, so some might have assumed that’s what he meant. But the religious leaders who opposed Jesus sensed he might be talking about something other than physical blindness. They asked, “Surely we’re not blind, are we?” (John 9:40) What a realization that is. That’s exactly what Jesus is suggesting. And frightening is only the beginning when it dawns on us that we might need to ask the same question.
James does this to us. Today Isaiah speaks of God healing the blind, the deaf, the lame. Then James insists on making us see and hear things about ourselves that make us wonder if we’re the ones needing such healing.
James’ people surely didn’t think they were prejudiced. They were probably decent people. But James shows them how they couldn’t see the way they fawned on wealthy visitors while being cooler to the poor who came to them. They certainly cared about those in need, but James shows them how they are deaf to the cries of the hungry by blessing them in God’s name without helping them find food. They definitely had faith, but James claims that if their faith is lame, and won’t act, it’s a dead faith.
James makes us nervous.
Is it possible we’re the ones who can’t see?
That we in our privilege and status are unable or unwilling to see what is really happening in the world? Or that we, though we hate to think this, are racist and biased at times, that we have prejudices that blind us?
Is it possible that we drive past what is happening in this city, look away from the suffering we see in the news, lower our eyes when we approach others in our neighborhoods, because we’d rather be blind than see what is uncomfortable, challenging to us?
Maybe we are the blind ones.
Is it possible we’re the ones who can’t hear?
That we put in our earphones or turn up our radios to pleasant things so we don’t hear the cries of those in our city and our world who are dying? That we listen to entertainment that distracts us and keeps us occupied so we don’t have to listen to what’s wrong, or hear others challenge us on our views and our part in the problems?
We hear news reports breaking in on our lives and are irritated more at the interruption than sad at the latest pain that has happened.
Maybe we are the deaf ones.
Is it possible we’re the ones who can’t walk?
That we sit in our comfortable homes and think about what could be done for this world but somehow are unable to get up and do it? That we’re glad when others volunteer in disaster areas, or work in our neighborhoods and city to help others, but somehow we don’t get up off our couches?
We seem to find the amount of work needed to bring life to the people of this world so great that we fall into inactivity and lethargy rather than do even a little, helpful thing.
Maybe we are the lame ones.
Is it possible we’re so wrapped up in our own needs and worries, our own life and concerns, we simply cannot see any more, cannot hear a thing, and are unable to move?
It’s not only possible, it’s certain. Yes, sometimes we see the truth, sometimes we hear the cries of others, and sometimes we even act, but it’s often not our main way of being. It’s far easier for us in our middle class situation to turn our eyes away, shut our ears, remain in our seats in the face of the world’s pain and need. When the pain and suffering aren’t ours we have the privilege to ignore it however we choose. Those in the midst of it have no such choice.
Speaking only for myself, these readings make me painfully aware how easy it is to avert my eyes, quit listening to what’s going on, stay put rather than act. I could just as well be blind, deaf, and lame sometimes for all I actually do.
And if this is the truth for all of us, that’s profoundly sad, and deeply frightening. Where is hope for the rest of the world in this? Thanks be to God, we hear Isaiah tell us today.
“Say to those of a fearful heart,” he says, “be strong, do not fear! Your God will come and save you.”
And the eyes of the blind will be opened, the ears of the deaf unstopped, and the lame will leap like deer.” That’s Isaiah’s hope for us, which becomes reality in the life and actions of the Son of God like we saw today.
This is the meaning of salvation for Isaiah: God will not leave us blind and deaf and lame. God will come and open our eyes, unplug our ears, make our legs work again.
We may be so mired in ourselves we can’t imagine how to get unstuck. What joy, then, to hear that we’re not the ones who can do the unsticking, we can’t heal ourselves.
The Triune God has entered the world and our lives for this very purpose, to heal us so we once more see, hear, and act for God’s healing and life in the world.
We even find Good News today for when we think God is blind, deaf, or lame.
We don’t know whether Jesus really meant to insult this woman, but she called him on it. She challenged his apparent blindness, deafness, and inactivity, even if he wasn’t planning to refuse her. And if Jesus really couldn’t see his ministry extending beyond the Jewish people before this, after this encounter he went right into the region of the Decapolis. That’s Gentile territory, so the deaf man healed today was likely a Gentile, whom Jesus healed with no argument or hesitation. Maybe this woman’s prayer to the Son of God opened his eyes and ears and motivated his action. We can’t know.
So also we don’t always know what the Triune God is doing, why God acts or doesn’t act. This woman encourages us to challenge God, just as we challenge ourselves. We get to say so if we think God can’t see or hear or won’t act.
Maybe we’ll change God’s mind, open God’s eyes. Maybe they never needed changing. But she shows us we can speak up, and Jesus shows us God will listen.
This is the joy of our salvation: we are made new for the life of the world.
That we find joy and purpose in our lives when we can see the truth, hear what is happening, act in our own small ways, is icing on the cake. The deeper grace is that when we see, hear, and act, the brokenness and pain of this world no longer overwhelm us because we do those things in the strength and courage of the Triune God who heals us for this very purpose.
And we will see waters burst in the wilderness, pools transform the burning sands, and springs of water quench this world’s thirst. We will see the healing of all things continue in and through us, and that is the joy of God we have longed for our whole lives.
In the name of Jesus. Amen
Visible Faith
Our faith’s value and truth is seen in the life it creates, the servant love we live in the world; God’s grace shapes our heart to show such visible grace in our lives.
Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 22, year B
texts: James 1:17-27; Mark 7:1-23 (several verses added into the middle of the lection); Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-9
Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
Our faith is worthless if it doesn’t result in actions of love.
Our faith has no value for us or for God if it doesn’t shape our lives into servant lives.
These are hard words to hear. But they’re James’ trumpet call over the confusing din of Jesus’ argument with the Pharisees. James brings clarity to what we often make a distracting sideshow. How do we know if our heart is right with God? When we live God’s love for those in need.
Pure religion, James says, is caring for the widows and orphans, for all who are on the edge, all who hover at the fringes of the world, all who struggle to make it through a day. That’s it, James says. That’s how you know your faith is real.
James makes Deuteronomy simple for us: don’t just hear God’s Word, do it. Do God’s Word, keep yourself unstained by the world, and take care of people.
Otherwise, our faith isn’t genuine.
Hard as that sounds, we might be surprised at how much sense James makes if we actually read him.
We’re going to hear from James in the next weeks, and we’ll learn he gives a helpful corrective to Lutherans. We value good thinking, proper doctrine, orthodoxy. James, a letter we don’t pay enough attention to, reminds us that how we act and live is a truer measure of our closeness to Christ than whether we get our theology right.
This little letter barely mentions Christ Jesus in the way of proclaiming the Good News of Christ’s death and resurrection for our salvation and life.
But this little letter is full of the way of Jesus, full of what Jesus actually lived and taught and urged and called to those who would listen. James never denies we are forgiven freely by God’s grace. He simply, urgently, asks: does that come out in how you live in the world?
In fact, James helps us understand God’s grace in the right way.
As long as we limit our view of the forgiveness of sins we receive in Christ to our not being punished, we limit our serving as disciples. As long as we keep a childish view of confession, that we’ll do it only so we don’t get in trouble, we miss the true depth of what God’s grace and forgiveness is meant to do.
The forgiveness and grace we receive in Christ is God’s way to reshape and heal our hearts for visible love. There’s nothing about Christ’s death and resurrection that forces the Triune God to forgive us. God could do that without the Incarnation, without the cross, without the empty tomb. God can, and does, simply forgive people and refrain from punishing them. It happened all the time in the Old Testament.
But if God really wanted humanity to return to a place of loving God and loving each other that was intended in creation, something more drastic was needed.
God needed to become one of us, teach us, show us how to live and love. God would have to take all of human hate and evil and be killed by it to show us that is the path to end human hate and evil. Not by overpowering it, but by absorbing it and transforming it with love. Changing death into life.
The forgiveness we receive in Christ’s death and resurrection is our path to a healed and new heart, our path to a life of costly love for the world and all in need.
As for God’s law, rather than arguing over which are still valid, or other points of theology, James says: act like Jesus. That’ll do.
Imitate our Lord in his love and grace, compassion and healing. Act like we care for the widow and orphan, the poor and outcast, the sick and needy, the oppressed and hated.
We have been forgiven of all we are and have done in order that we will live this very life. When we act like we’re gracious, loving, compassionate people of God, we become gracious, loving, compassionate people of God.
That’s James’ gift. Don’t talk so much theology, he says, revel in the new birth you have as first fruits of God’s creatures for the healing of this world. Act like you’re Christ – because you are – and you’ll start looking like you’re Christ.
And people will get helped. People will get well. People will get fed. People will find life. People will find hope. Which is what God really needs.
It turns out the Pharisees might have a point, though.
There are habits we have, rituals we do, that can shape our lives. Maybe not a ritual handwashing. But we are shaped by what we do.
Part is what James already has said: doing God’s Word, practicing being Christ, these are habits we need to learn. We become what we imitate and practice.
And there are habits of worship and life that make a difference in our lives acted in the world. Our worship here shapes our sense of both belonging to God and being called to be God’s presence in the world.
The rituals we do here are not important in their own right. But when they help us worship God, when they shape our hearts toward love of God and neighbor, when they help us come before God and seek forgiveness for healed and new hearts, when they help us hear God’s Word in such a way that we start doing it, they’ve done their jobs.
If they don’t, we need to re-think our habits and life, in worship, at home, at work.
Sometimes the best way is the simplest way, even if it’s hard to hear.
James shocks us when he speaks of worthless religion, of faith that has no value. But he shows a clear path to walk, where we can tell as we go whether or not it’s the right path.
Nothing can separate us from God’s love in Christ, we know this. James helps us with what’s next: how we will know that love is embedded in our hearts and lives. Do God’s Word. Keep unstained by the world. Take care of people.
It’s the way of Jesus. It’s our way to life, too.
In the name of Jesus. Amen
Where Else?
What Christ asks of us terrifies us, but so does not being in God’s love; so we trust that our transformation is in the hands of the One who died and rose for us, the One who loves us forever.
Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 21, year B
texts: John 6:56-69; Joshua 24:1-2a, 14-18
Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
Let’s praise Peter for once.
As always, he speaks for us, looks like us. He’s often our bumbling foil; laughing at him helps us laugh at ourselves. Today he is a gift. Today Peter names our deep, abiding fear so we can look at it ourselves.
So far, religious leaders have rejected Jesus. Many of the crowds he fed have left him, with no repeat performance coming. Today actual disciples leave him. These are people who “went about with him.” Who’d left family and home and followed him as master. That’s who’s leaving now.
Peter’s scared. You don’t want to be the last one on a sinking ship, and now friends are sneaking off. He’s scared of what Jesus is teaching, as they are. They left because Jesus’ teaching got difficult, unacceptable. Peter and the twelve had to have thought the same.
But Peter knows Jesus. He knows, somehow, he is God’s Holy One. And, thank God, he says, “where else can we go? You’ve got the words of eternal life.”
We can’t dodge this crisis. Jesus won’t let us.
Today we have to give up the sugary-sweet picture of Jesus the good teacher, who says nice things we can memorize or put on pillows, who has some good ideas. Today he crosses a line.
It was bound to happen, given that he will end up at the cross, condemned. It begins here. Jesus puts before his disciples two paths.
On one path we believe Jesus is the Son of God, who, in dying and rising, gives his flesh and blood for the world, gives eternal, transforming life. On the other, we think Jesus is out of his mind, believing himself to be something he cannot be.
There’s no middle path to take.
We can’t separate Jesus the teacher from Jesus the Savior, he’s one Christ, one Lord.
For the Hebrews, body and blood together meant the totality of the person. Jesus says he must be completely taken in, believed, swallowed. We can’t take him apart into believable pieces and hard parts we’re going to ignore.
Jesus makes it very hard for some to keep following him when he forces us to face that he is offering himself, completely, for our transformation. Because that will mean changes we might be unwilling to accept.
That’s what’s so difficult. We’d like to stay the same, to keep all we are.
But it doesn’t appear that’s an option.
When I led youth groups at Christikon, the Lutheran mountain camp in Montana, the first night the guides would put the trail packs out for each group and have them put all of the things they’d brought onto the packs. Then they’d shock the kids by tossing aside everything that wasn’t coming. Deodorant, shampoo, extra shirts and extra underwear, flip-flops, hair dryers. The kids were stunned at what they couldn’t take along for this journey into the wilderness.
That’s a tiny bit of the fear we have when we realize what following Jesus means we’re letting go of.
Our self-centeredness will have to be left at the side of the road. Our easy irritation at some people has to go. Our low self-esteem and sense of worthlessness can’t stay in our bags. Our prejudices and biases can’t be kept, even in the smallest amount. Our desire for material things at the expense of others has no place. Our need to have things our own way, or our fearful inability to ask for what we need from others, will be set aside. When we take Christ into us for our life journey with him, we let go of a lot.
And that’s difficult to accept. We’re like Joshua’s people, swearing to serve God and keeping our idols packed in our suitcases. Just in case.
So Jesus’ question to the twelve has to be ours: will we stay? Or will we go?
If only we could come to Jesus, get a promise of life in heaven after we die, feel encouraged for the next week, and that would be it, we’d be fine. If we could keep him at arm’s length from the rest, that would be good.
But Jesus insists on offering us eternal life, the very life of the Triune God. There’s no way that won’t change us. We are not who we were made to be; we will be changed fully into the image of God that was ours at the creation.
We don’t have an option of Jesus Lite. Only the life of God poured into our hearts and lives, filling us with the Spirit and transforming us into Christ for the world.
If that’s so, we have to be with Peter. If this is what Jesus can do, where else can we go?
We’ve lived enough to know that what the world offers doesn’t satisfy us. Being allowed to be ou selfish and self-centered, getting whatever we want, seeking things that promise to change our lives for the better, none of this really fills us. Advertisers can sell all they want, the culture can tell us all it can, but in the quiet of our hearts and the dark of the night we know we need more. No product or service or lifestyle or chemical or self-help or anything else answers our need.
But we do know Christ Jesus is the Holy One of God. We know that in his death and resurrection all things are being made new, and even death is powerless. We know he makes it possible for us to be with God. He embodies God’s love for us.
We might not be ready for the changes the Spirit is going to make. We might be frightened that we’re called out of our comfort zones and habits and ruts into new paths with scary challenges.
But we know no one else we can trust like our Lord Jesus. We’ve never heard anything close to the promise of life he gives us and the world. So where else can we go?
Christ Jesus is where we find life. That’s all we know. But it’s enough.
Today Peter still has no answers to his fears. No idea what his life will look like if he continues to follow. He’s still very afraid.
But he knows this is God’s Holy One, and this is where he has to be. This is where we have to be.
Having no answers, we turn to the One we know is God’s answer to this world’s pain. Having nowhere else that offers us real life, we turn to the One who will fill us with God’s life, and give us purpose and joy in our journey. Fearing change, we turn to the One who is life and love, and trust that changing into Christ, into that One, will be grace, even if it’s not easy.
Lord, you have the words of eternal life. There’s nowhere else we can go. Nowhere else we want to go.
In the name of Jesus. Amen
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