Vicar at Mount Olive

Vicar Mollie Hamre

The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 12 A
Texts: Jeremiah 20:7-13, Matthew 10:24-39

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

Our scriptures today are not saying what you might think. 

Jesus tells us that he comes not to bring peace, but a sword. That there will be separation. That those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life, for Christ’s sake, will find it. It sounds like a whole lot of tension, distress, and loss. This does not sound like our Jesus. The one that is supposed to be advocating for peace, not a sword. The one who feels gut-wrenching compassion for his sheep, not separation.

And while peace, compassion, and love continue to describe Jesus, today he is addressing another part of our faith lives. How do we live into these loving characteristics and trust God when we face conflict, discouragement and are overwhelmed? When the tension of our faith lives leave us with questions. When we are now part of that gut-wrenching compassion, it is more than we can handle. What does that mean for us now?

The Prophet Jeremiah knows about this. 

We hear Jeremiah describing images of a fire burning within him and weariness from holding it in. Exasperated by the world he sees. The laughingstock he has become to the people around him. He is exhausted. And yet, he declares God’s presence and continues to work towards justice. And I can not help but wonder why he is sticking around. Jeremiah did not want to feel alone, excluded, or ridiculed. The easiest option would be to pack one’s bags and give up. So what brings him back giving him hope and trust in God?

It is a question we do not talk about often. 

What is calling us back? Why do we continue to seek out the Triune God when we know, just as Jesus’ disciples are learning, that living into God’s reign will not be easy, but will instead leave us with questions and tension as we look at our world. Why do people hate? Why are people marginalized in our country? Why is there judgment and sides being drawn? What changes are happening as pollution settles over our cities and debates ensue about taking care of our Earth. These are all heavy loads. If this is the tension we carry today, connecting with Jeremiah suddenly becomes a little less difficult. 

In his laments, Jeremiah comes to a conclusion about this tension: 

Leaving is not an option for him, but neither is being quiet. The reality of God’s reign of peace, justice and loving the neighbor is one that is actually possible to him and needs to be proclaimed. If this could be the way that all of creation could live, why wouldn’t we be compelled to work towards it? Somewhere in his distressed and messy world, Jeremiah holds that God is within it and cares for it. Cares for creation and hopes for the future it could have. One without violence, corruption, divides. That even when we feel frayed and wanting to give up, God doesn’t. Instead Jesus, God with us, comes to be with us. 

The presence of God, Christ within us, the Spirit around us. 

With the Triune God so abundant and present, what other option do we have but to seek out peace, justice, and loving the neighbor? What other option do we have but to pursue God’s hope for the world and stand those that are marginalized? To bring healing to our Earth? To live our lives in ways that remind one another that each person is beloved, important, loved as they are. More valuable to our world than any amount of sparrows as Jesus says. Like Jeremiah shows, God’s reign is continuously reaching out, being embodied, and can not be ignored. 

And the good news for us is we do not have to carry this weight alone.

The Gospel of Matthew tells us “for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known.” God’s compassion, love, and healing is abundant and can not be covered. It will be brought to light from the shadows and proclaimed from the housetops. That the world and creation will be held by God’s love for them. 

That God is doing this not only through you, but your communities, your neighbors, and everything in between. God is constantly within us, compelling us to work for change, and it can be scary. It causes tension, separations, disputes with those around us and inside of ourselves. 

Jesus tells us that he comes with a sword because such a proclamation is jarring, abrupt, and transforming. These texts are not an invitation to go pick a fight or to point out someone’s faults. It is not an opportunity to shame those we determine are wrong. But our hope and peace is that God alone prevails. Not the sides we have made, not our winning and someone else’s loss, but instead that God moves through us and those divisions are dissolved and God’s reign becomes what exists. 

And that is what God calls us to today. 

To trust that the Triune God’s reign is uncovered, brought to light, and proclaimed from the housetops in our world and that you are a part of it. That you are told to have no fear because you are deeply beloved and worth more than you can imagine. That, just as the men and women who entered into the early days of the church, anxious of what the future may bring–they knew God was with them. 

They knew that when they cared for, loved, and embraced those around them, God’s reign was uncovered and continues to be by each of us. As we navigate this world together, guided by God.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Pastor Paul E. Hoffman

The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany

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

Claudio was an anxious Eucharistic minister. And he wore his anxiety on his sleeve, so much so that one day I finally asked him about it.

“Such holy things, pastor. Such holy things. When I carry the chalice I’m carrying such holy things. In my head there is always a voice that is repeating, ‘don’t drop it, don’t spill it, just do what you’re called to do; don’t drop it, don’t spill it, just do what you’re called to do…’”

As we catch up with Jesus this morning, the Sermon on the Mount continues. Preaching to his disciples and the crowds, Jesus echoes what Claudio was feeling, “just do what you’re called to do.” In the case of equipping first-century witnesses Jesus gives guidance that is very clear and positive. He speaks to his beloveds of such holy things:

You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.

Honestly, the power and the impact of Jesus declaration is lost on us. In our overstimulated culture, the metaphors of salt and light seem – well – a bit bland and dim. They are gifts we take for granted

But salt was essential to survival in Jesus’ day. It wasn’t just an optional ingredient that might be added to food to spice things up like cumin or cayenne. Salt was used to preserve food and blazed a trail for international trade. It functioned as an antiseptic, saving lives from infection and disease. As it became more and more valuable as a commodity, it stood at the center of economic and political power.

In a similar way, we who live in the bright glare of cities that never sleep have only the faintest idea of how light functioned before elec-tricity. News flash: the ancients didn’t have a beam of light from their smartphones to find whatever was lost under the car seat, or to blaze a pathway from the bed to the bathroom in the night.

Declaring his people to BE salt and light is a new wisdom that Christ preaches. It is not a wisdom of this age, or of the rulers of this age. It is a new wisdom that Matthew proclaims along with the apostle Paul, the wisdom of Christ and him crucified. Those who are salt and light in the world not only bring this new wisdom into the world, Jesus proclaims that they actually ARE that wisdom in the world. YOU are that wisdom in the world. You, people of God, are salt and light.

Jesus pushes the envelope.  As Jesus often does. Listen: I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Say it like this: there is a difference between knowing about salt and light and being salt and light. A difference between knowing about our Lord Jesus, crucified and risen from the dead and being our Lord Jesus, crucified and risen from the dead.

Jesus invites us to let our righteousness exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees, and to let our light shine. To be his love in the world. This is what Christ means when he says, I have not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it. I am not interested in followers who know about righteousness, or who know about salt, and light, and commandments and teachings. I am not interested in followers who are god-ish. I am interested in followers who are Godly.

Let’s be honest. For a guy like me, it is easy to be god-ish. A cradle Lutheran, I grew up in the 60’s in an area of the country that was deeply Christian. I thought everyone was. Honestly, it wasn’t until I moved to Seattle in 1996 that I met a bone fide pagan, someone who openly if not proudly chosen to practice no faith at all. For a guy like me, being god-ish was easy. Very little risk. I have spent my life being able to go along and get along, to be like salt and light in the world.

Jesus wants us to know a greater gift. Jesus wants more for us, because Jesus always longs for what is best for us. Jesus offers us a gift beyond measure.

On a particular Sunday, I noticed that Claudio was possessed of an uncharacteristic calm as an assisting minister. His hands did not shake. When he handed me the chalice and purificator after com-munion his palms were not sweaty. His face was relaxed and radiant, not furrowed and pinched. After worship, I asked him about it.

“Yep, pastor, there’s been a change. I’m no longer overcome with the mantra, “don’t drop it, don’t spill it, just do what you’re called to do.” God has given me a sense of peace. “What changed?” I asked him.

The last time I was Eucharistic minister, when I sat the chalice on the altar, I realized that Christ was not somehow magically in that chalice. I knew that if I spilled it or dropped it, God would understand. When I looked out across the congregation and saw all the people of God that I was privileged to serve, I realized that Christ was not in the chalice. At least not only in that chalice. Christ was now in all of them. In all of us.”

Claudio had come into a new righteousness that did not eliminate one letter, not one stroke of a letter of all that had gone before. He was able to see Christ fulfilling the Law in a way he’d never seen before. He saw God’s people as bearing the cross of Christ to the world. He saw them as salt and light. In short, he moved them in his mind from god-ish to Godly. He might spill some wine, but he also recognized in a truly sacramental way, that God’s love had spilled into the bodies, the hearts, the minds, of God’s people.

Beloved in Christ. You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. You are not like a bit of seasoning to make bad things a little better. You are not just a sprinkling of light to make someone’s random hard day a little bit brighter. God has been and will once again today be spilled into you.

On our body and in our heart, through our words and by our actions, we ARE salt and light. It’s very sacramental. What once was in the loaf and chalice is now in us. We are bread for the hungry, drink for all who thirst. We are no longer god-ish. Baptized into Christ we are Godly. It is both joy and privilege, gift and task, and Jesus walks with us every step of the way. Because he lives, we shall live also, to bring Christ to the world for others. Light for the world to see.

Salt and light. Christ in the world. This is who we are. Rise and shine, people of God. Godly people. Bringing peace to the troubled. Food to the hungry. Shelter to the homeless. Such Godly people we are called to be.  Such Godly people we get to be. Godly salt. Godly light.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Pastor Paul E. Hoffman

The Fourth Sunday after Epiphany

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

Before we go charging head-long into Matthew 5, let’s review. To this point in his Gospel, Matthew has told us, among other things, of

An inconvenient pregnancy
The threat of divorce – Joseph’s from Mary
A quirky set of visitors from the East, following a star
A maniacal, manipulative king
A dream-inspired flight to a foreign country, making the Holy
Family refugees
The slaughter of innocent children

We have heard about the cousin of Jesus and his eccentric preaching: winnowing forks, unquenchable fire, an ax lying at the root of the tree, that sort of thing…

We learn in early Matthew about:
A forty day fast in the wilderness ending with an encounter
between Jesus and the devil
Christ’s teaching and healing those afflicted with various
diseases and pains, demoniacs, epileptics, and paralytics

That’s what gets more-or-less covered in the first four chapters as Matthew sets out to tell the story of Jesus. And with that scene- setting backdrop, we turn the page to chapter 5, Jesus climbs a
mountain, has a seat, and begins to speak…

The poor in spirit are blessed, for the reign of heaven is theirs.
Those who mourn are blessed, for they will be comforted.
The gentle are blessed, for they will inherit the earth.

What are the first four chapters of your life? Frankly, I have no idea. I haven’t known you long enough. But, I know this after forty years of ministry. I know that the chapters of your life and my life are a
whole lot like the opening strains of the Gospel of Matthew.

They are life stories that contain
An inconvenient pregnancy somewhere in our family
The threat of divorce: our own, our friends’, a member of our
own family
We have quirky friends who may have followed a star or something a whole lot more bizarre in search of something meaningful or real
We are not strangers to maniacal, manipulative leaders
Is there a day that goes by that we don’t hear of siblings in
Christ fleeing for their lives to a foreign country?
We are, unfortunately, acquainted with the death of children;
painfully, some of them have been our own.

We know what it means to be tempted, and we ourselves or those we love with all our hearts are
afflicted with various diseases and pains…

So Jesus is not just whistling Dixie when he sits down here among us, today, in – of all places  Minneapolis, Minnesota – and says, says to us – in a way that the world around us would find foolish…. Jesus says, “I know. I get it. I see you.”

Jesus, who by God’s grace, came to live among us full of grace and truth knows first-hand how the crowded ways of human life get crossed up.
With wretchedness and need.
With human grief and burdened toil.
With famished souls from sorrow’s stress.
The world will never see us as Jesus does. The world in its wisdom wants us to move on, to get over it, to buck up and pull ourselves together.

But Jesus sees us with all the tempts us, with all our various diseases and pains, with our broken relationships, and grandiose ideas gone south. He knows how we are tempted to go chasing off after other gods, and how that never, ever satisfies. And so he sits among us today, right here, right now, and says, you who hunger and thirst for righteousness are blessed. You are mine. You are beloved.
Loving us as he does, just as he loved those before us on the dusty roads of Galilee and the lush mountains where he sat to teach…

Knowing us as Jesus does, and loving us, is reckless in the eyes of world. Foolish. The world does not deal well when those who are low and despised get God’s attention. The world roils and fumes even
more when those who it deems losers are given the title “blessed.”

At its worst, the world will be so flummoxed by those who are called by his name, so undone by any who do justice, or love kindness, or walk humbly with our God that the world will revile us, and
persecute us, and utter all kinds of evil against us falsely.

And yet, and yet. This is what defines us. This is who we are. Blessed at the hand of the One whose own hands are pocked by nail prints, whose side was pierced with pain to heal the pain inside of us. This is
who we are – not perfect, but blessed. In all the messiness of whatever chapters of our lives have led us to this day. Gathered at Christ’s feet once again today we find ourselves: wounded, yet grounded. By mercy surrounded. Already and not yet. Always moving forward in the power of God, and the wisdom of God.

Blessed. Blessed. Blessed.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.