Pr. Joseph Crippen

In the midst of plague and a broken society and world, we join with others of the same situation and give thanks to God on this day.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Day of Thanksgiving, year A
Texts: Deuteronomy 8:7-18; Luke 17:11-19

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Remember to give thanks to God when you prosper, Moses says.

As the Israelites prepare to enter the land promised to them by God, where they will flourish, they are warned not to exalt themselves when they thrive there. They mustn’t forget that the God of their ancestors took them out of slavery and led them through the “terrible” wilderness to this good place.

When Jesus heals ten people afflicted with leprosy, perhaps they did what Moses warns against. Nine, in their joy, or eagerness to be with family again, or for any reason, forgot to thank the One who just miraculously cured them.

In prosperity and abundance, in relief at healing, in hope for the future, in security and peace, it’s possible to forget to thank God. These readings urge us: don’t forget to be thankful when all is well and good.

They don’t seem to fit this year.

How would today’s Gospel sound if Jesus weren’t there to heal?

If the ten lepers simply had a normal day of sitting by the roadside, shouting “unclean,” hoping someone might toss them a coin, would anyone ask, “Why didn’t all of these give thanks?”

For us, over a quarter of a million people have died to pandemic in this country, a contagion at least as serious as leprosy was. There are many more empty places at thousands of tables this Thanksgiving Day than usual. And additional empty places where loved ones separated from us for safety would usually sit. Some haven’t seen loved ones for eight months. So many, even just in our congregation, are isolated and alone. Shall we be chastised for struggling to be thankful?

How would Deuteronomy sound if the people were told that once more at the gate of the Promised Land they would be punished again with another 40 years in the wilderness? Would they then need warning about getting so fat and comfortable they might forget to thank God?

For us, far from feeling prosperous and secure in our nation, we’re in the midst of a presidential transition the Founders never envisioned. What if the one who loses refuses to step aside? And will the administration do any governing now until Inauguration Day, do anything to stem the tide of COVID? The great social issues that challenge our society boil over every day, different ones at different times, all demanding our attention. Do we need warning of being too self-confident, proud of our secure, safe, nation, as if we made it so?

Demanding thankfulness in the midst of suffering or disease or civil unrest feels abusive, lacking compassion and sensitivity.

And it doesn’t work. No one becomes thankful – to God or to others – because someone chided them, or guilted them. True thankfulness rises up in the heart on its own when someone feels gratitude, becomes aware of blessings, recognizes graces that have been received.

So there are no lectures to you to be thankful this Thanksgiving. Not if you, like so many, are struggling to find a thankful heart, reasons to be grateful.

But today is Thanksgiving Day nonetheless. Perhaps, rather than a lecture, we could witness someone who knew as well as we do that life is not always disease-free and lived in the abundant milk and honey and peace of the Promised Land.

In 1637, Europe was in the middle of a war that raged for 30 years.

Fought between Christian nobility over the issues of the Reformation, the peasants, the ordinary folk, paid dearly for it in blood. Christian war brought massive suffering and death. In the midst of this war, recurrences of the plague spread throughout Europe.

In Eilenburg, Saxony, Pastor Martin Rinkhart had served since the war’s beginning. Many refugees fled to this walled city, bringing with them overcrowding, starvation, and disease. Armies overran the city. The Rinkharts, not wealthy, housed many refugees over the years. And in 1637, the plague came to Eilenburg.

The contagion spread fear and panic, and eight thousand died in the city in two years. In 1637, Rinkhart was the only surviving pastor in the city, and held more than 4,500 funerals that year, including his wife’s.

Pandemic, death, and fear of disease. Civil strife and fighting between Christians. The feared collapse of societal institutions. That sounds familiar.

And in the middle of those times, Martin Rinkhart wrote a hymn.

He doesn’t stand in privilege and unconcern and rebuke us for our struggle to find gratitude in these days. No, he invites us to join him, and the survivors of Eilenburg, to sing in the midst of disease and social strife: “Now thank we all our God with hearts and hands and voices, Who wondrous things has done, in Whom this world rejoices; Who, from our mothers’ arms, has blessed us on our way with countless gifts of love, and still is ours today.”

Might we recognize a kindred spirit here, and join this song? Remaining open-eyed to civil crisis and the uncertainty of our times, to a global pandemic that burns hotly, could we join this brother, and the millions who have sung this with him these past four hundred years?

It’s actually easy to forget to give thanks in both good times and bad.

Perhaps, singing this, we might find gratitude in our times, too. Gratitude for the beautiful creation, and a sunny, frosty November morning. Gratitude for the gift of people who love you – even if you must be at home alone, or  you can’t see them, they still love you and pray for you and hold you in God’s care. Gratitude for the joy in the midst of grief that those who have died are in the arms of God in life that does not end. Gratitude for food and drink abundant enough to share. Gratitude for signs of hope that healing of our society and nation might be coming. Even gratitude for signs that a lessening and finally an ending of this plague might be ahead, even if it’s still months.

You may perhaps, if you sing with Martin, find many more things to give thanks for welling up in your heart and your voice. But most of all, you’ll remember that nothing can separate you from God’s love in Christ Jesus. Not this life, not death. You are beloved and precious. As are all.

“Now thank we all our God with hearts and hands and voices,

Who wondrous things has done, in Whom this world rejoices; Who, from our mothers’ arms, has blessed us on our way with countless gifts of love, and still is ours today.”

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

You are given God’s abundant gifts, according to your ability, and invited to use them free of fear, because the Son of God has taken all punishment into the life of the Trinity and changed it to blessing and life.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twenty-Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 33 A
Texts: Matthew 25:14-30; 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

The crisis in this parable is fear.

The third servant fears his master’s retribution and buries what was given him to use. He believes his master is harsh, taking what others work for.

But look: the master hands over his own property to three trusted servants – and Jesus uses extravagant, enormous numbers in this story – and then goes away. Nearly 2 million dollars in our money is given to them, divided according to their ability, with no restrictions or stipulations. This master seems generous and trusting.

And yet, when the master returns, he certainly does treat the third servant harshly. His portion is handed to another, and he is thrown “into the outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

This punishment for just being afraid makes this parable frightening to us, too. But worse, Jesus adds this tag: “For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have in abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.” That sounds horribly wrong to us, on top of our fear.

But you can’t forget this: the death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ is the center of your hope for life now and life to come.

We claim the Scriptures say that God took on our human flesh, lived among us, and allowed us to put God-with-us to death, to love us even in the worst of our evil. As Paul says in Romans, “while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” God’s forgiving love is freely poured out for all, for you, at the cross. This is our only hope now and always.

Whatever is happening in this parable, it cannot, cannot override what God does at the cross. God’s deepest revelation of love, the drawing of the creation into the Triune God’s life in the cross and empty tomb, is God’s final word, always. You can’t trust the cross sometimes and abandon it at others.

So, you have to understand how this parable fits underneath and within the truth of God’s love at the cross.

Your path to that understanding opens up in Gethsemane.

It’s possible that Jesus, nearing his death, and in righteous, divine anger, was considering punishing God’s people who rejected God in their midst. All his Holy Week parables reveal that judging intensity. Therefore, Gethsemane was a real struggle, a true crisis for Jesus, not a pre-determined outcome. He really had to make a decision. Would he take God’s path of self-giving, sacrificial love, or bring down God’s wrath, as his late stories suggest?

And Jesus decided not to avenge his rejection by God’s people, not to give the vineyard to worthier tenants, not to slam the door or throw into darkness, but to enter himself into the evil and pain of this world freely. To offer, out of love, God’s life to the creation.

In Gethsemane, Jesus fixes this parable, changes the ending. Instead of the one with abundance getting even more, while those with nothing lose all, Jesus chooses the opposite. The One who has it all – divine power and glory, life within the Trinity – gives it all up, loses everything so that those who were lost, who had nothing, no faith or trust in him, who even rejected him, might receive all.

So what’s left of this parable?

Well, now it makes sense, start to finish. The owner gives the servants all the owner’s property, millions of dollars in the story, just as God gives us, God’s children, the whole creation in extravagant trust.

And you and I are asked to use what we’ve been given, to care for God’s property. Talents, in the parable, are money. So, using our wealth to serve our master is the invitation here. But talents in English are gifts – spiritual, physical, intellectual – so using our God-given talents to serve our master is also the invitation here. Use your gifts, don’t bury them. That’s all that’s asked.

And there’s no need to fear anything. The master entered the outer darkness himself, the Son of God has drawn all punishment and death into God’s life and destroyed their power.

From start to finish, because of the cross and empty tomb, this is a parable of grace and gift and invitation.

“Therefore encourage one another and build up each other, as you indeed are doing,” Paul says today.

For two weeks in a row now Paul has given you a word of encouragement to share with your siblings in Christ, your neighbor, your world.

You belong to a God of abundance who gives to you and to all abundantly, according to ability. To use and care for and make a difference as best you can, knowing you are loved no matter what, so you can confidently serve, without fear, until the master returns for you.

Therefore, encourage one another and build up each other, as you indeed are doing.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

You are beloved and trusted to be able to serve God’s healing of this world, and encouraged that, despite the time it will take, that healing will come.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 32 A
Texts: Matthew 25:1-13; 1 Thessalonians 4:18

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

All ten bridesmaids were prepared for this wedding.

Honored with such a role, these close friends and family were excited and ready to do their job, to process the groom and his party to the wedding place. All ten had their lamps filled and lighted. All were ready. At least at mid-afternoon.

Then an hour went by. Another. It started to get dark. Sitting and waiting for hours makes you sleepy. Finally at midnight they wake up, disturbed by the noise of the approaching people.

That’s when five realized they had a problem. They weren’t ready for a delay like this.

That’s this parable’s crisis: being prepared to serve is one thing. But what if there’s a long, interminable delay?

Jesus speaks to the depths of our reality. 2,000 years later, we’re still living in a world with injustice, suffering, oppression. We stand between the pain and evil we see in the world and our hope that God in Christ will bring healing and restoration. It’s exhausting to work and stand in that in-between space.

Because no matter what the outcome of Tuesday’s election, huge work was going to be there for all of us. The work of building a better society, working for the common good of all, would still be there. The work of trying to rebuild our cherished institutions of free and open elections, checks and balances in our government, accountability of our lawmakers and law enforcers – the list is long and the work will take time. So many in this world ask, “How long, O God, how long?” Many give up on the bridegroom, abandoning faith in God. It’s hard to blame them. How long can we wait for God?

It’s easy to be energetic when you first serve God, when you see places you can help.

We remember moments of high excitement and energy for being Christ in the world, making a difference. We remember elections, or moments in our society and culture where great hope dawned and it looked like we were turning a corner to being a caring society, a world like God envisions in Scripture. But the longer things take, the bigger the problems, the more daunting the political landscape, the easier it is to lose hope, to lose energy, to lose the will.

“Save us from weak resignation to the evils we deplore,” we plead in a beloved hymn, because weak resignation is all we can muster sometimes. Our country is clearly still deeply divided, polarized, demonizing each other. Do we even want to be engaged, we wonder, if evil is so strong?

And we’re not sure what it is to have enough oil, or if we can get it.

What is it to be prepared? The next two parables in Matthew 25 help. Next week, having enough oil is using the talents we’ve been given – time, wealth, gifts – to serve the Bridegroom. In two weeks we’ll hear that having enough oil is caring for those in any need, because that is caring for the Bridegroom, for Christ.

But do we feel we can get enough oil for what’s needed? What can any of us do?

Some of us are retired; how can they engage? Some of us are homebound, not getting around; how can they make a difference? Some of us have small children, lives filled every second; where can they find the time? And who of us has the leverage, the influence, to make a difference? Name whatever problem our society faces and our hope from God, and most of us get stuck here: I don’t know if I have any ability to help.

It’s not that we don’t want to store up extra oil for the delay; we’re not sure we can get any.

This is a wake-up call from Jesus – he literally says “stay awake” – a reminder that God’s restoration is happening, but it will take time.

Jesus says in this parable, be ready for that delay. Keep it in your heart that you might not see it all in your lifetime. Jesus tempers the hopeful encouragement that the Bridegroom is coming, God’s healing restoration is coming, with honesty about the timing. But that helps, doesn’t it? If you know it will take time, you can prepare better for that.

Jesus also says in this parable, waiting is not passive. Make sure you’ve got oil set aside, be of service. And if you’re concerned you can’t help or aren’t sure what you could do, remember Jesus assumes all the bridesmaids had it in them. Jesus assumes you can find the oil, too. There are things you can do that will bring about the promise God is making, using your talents, caring for those in need.

And if you think this wake up call is Jesus threatening you or me, think again. Remember, the true Bridegroom, a day or so after telling this, lets us slam the door in his face, kick him out of our party, saying, “Truth is, we don’t know you.” The Bridegroom allows himself to be killed by those he’s come to celebrate with. And in rising from the dead, the risen Bridegroom says, “I love you, but we’ve still got lots to do to prepare, so get your oil and lamps ready.”

“Therefore encourage one another with these words,” Paul says today in a different context.

Here are your reasons for courage today:

Jesus loves you enough to make you one of the beloved ones chosen to serve the coming of the Triune God, and to die and rise for you so you’re not terrified of punishment, but live freely as God’s beloved.

Jesus trusts you enough to believe you have the oil you need to be ready.

Jesus cares for you enough to alert you to the delay so you can be ready for that.

And Jesus believes in you enough to trust that if you, and I, and all God’s children, live such prepared lives, the healed, restored creation God is making through the true Bridegroom will come to pass.

Therefore, encourage one another with these words.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen