Vicar at Mount Olive

When you commit to the Gospel, you commit to take up the cross and follow the way of Jesus. That way can be uncomfortable and costly, and yet, it is the way of life.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 14 A
Text: Romans 7:15-25a; Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

Beloved 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 set the scene for this Gospel text. Jesus had recently sent his disciples out as missionaries to bring the Gospel to new communities. Some places had been receptive to their message, but some places had just run them out of town. John the Baptist, who was in prison, heard rumors about the stir that Jesus and his disciples were causing. John sent concerned messages to Jesus, who responded by saying: “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me” (Matthew 11:6). It seems clear that some people were indeed taking offense at Jesus and his teachings.

That’s where our Gospel reading today picks up today. Jesus is frustrated! He’s frustrated that some people refused to listen to John the Baptist, refused to listen to Jesus, and refused to listen to his disciples.

Instead of receiving the message, people were criticizing the messengers, saying: John the Baptist was too strict; Jesus is too wild! If Jesus had known the story of Goldilocks and the three bears, he might have compared these people to Goldilocks grumbling that ‘this porridge is too hot; this porridge is too cold!’ Instead of really hearing the Gospel teaching just as it is, they were waiting until it felt just right. They were waiting for it to be comfortable on their terms.

The lectionary actually cuts out Jesus’ harshest words of condemnation. The Gospel writer says, “Jesus began to reproach the cities in which his deeds of power had been done, because they did not repent.” Jesus names some of those cities by name: “Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida!” (Matthew 11:20-21). Jesus concludes: It would have been better if they’d just brought the Good News to someone else.

No wonder some people were offended! This is not a warm-and-fuzzy Jesus. This is a turning-over-tables Jesus. Can you imagine being called out like that? Can you imagine Jesus saying: “Woe to you, Minneapolis! Woe to you, St. Paul! Other people took the Gospel seriously and repented. Why didn’t you?”

You can see why the lectionary left those lines out. It’s uncomfortable to listen to the Jesus we find confusing or offensive! Sometimes we just want to skip ahead to the Jesus we find relatable or reassuring. Sometimes we, too, want the Gospel message to feel just right. We don’t want to sit in the discomfort of realizing that, even though we don’t live in Chorazin or Bethsaida, a word of conviction might come for us. We might be reminded that we have not been listening to God. That the same God who offers us reassurance, also calls us to repentance. The same God who offers us comfort, calls us to transformation. Sometimes change is uncomfortable, so we’re tempted to just avoid it.

It’s important to realize, though, that Jesus isn’t just angry when he cries woe on certain cities. He’s sad. We don’t use the word “woe” very often, but the Greek word here is used throughout the New Testament. It’s a cry of frustration and dismay. It expresses sorrow that the inevitable consequences of an action will not be good. My seminary professor liked to translate this word as ‘alas!’ “Alas for you, Chorazin! Alas for you, Bethsaida!”

Jesus isn’t cursing these cities; he’s grieving. Jesus is distraught that they didn’t accept his teachings, that they didn’t change their hearts when they heard the message of the Gospel. He wants them to listen. He wants them to hear. He wants them to change. Jesus is bringing good news, even if it’s hard news. Discipleship might be challenging but it’s worth it. Jesus wants good for these communities who are rejecting him.

But Jesus doesn’t give up on even the most recalcitrant of people. That’s just not Jesus’ way.

He knows that his message can be hard to hear, That it can sound backwards. Jesus is teaching the way of sacrificial love that will lead him to death on a cross. That way will looks like weakness to those who have been considered powerful; like foolishness to those who have been considered wise. Jesus’ teachings resonated instead with those on the margins, those who suffered, those who were poor in wealth or poor in spirit; those who truly were truly hungry and thirsty for righteousness.

So Jesus offers the invitation again: “Come to me, you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens.” The strong and powerful, the intelligent and successful, they might have missed it. But if you’re tired and weighed down, this good news is for you. If you’re lost and afraid, this good news is for you. If you’re struggling and hurting, this good news is for you. If you’ve been labeled an outsider, this good news is for you. If you feel like you’ve failed, this good news is for you.

And what good news it is! Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you, and I will give you rest.” Taking on the yoke of Christ, following the teachings of Jesus, brings rest for the soul. Who among us is not longing for that right now? Those who come to Christ are be received not with condemnation, but with gentleness.

No wonder Jesus is grieved that so many have rejected such a gift! Alas, alas, for them! This promise of Jesus, this gift of soul rest, is for those who follow Jesus’ teaching, who take up his cross. You can’t wait for the Gospel message to feel just right. You can’t think, “I’m strong enough to do this on my own, without God.”

But you can come just as you are, with all the mistakes, shortcomings, and burdens you bring with you, and you can put those things down at the feet of Christ. You can put down the despair that has been weighing on you.

Then you can pick up the yoke of Jesus’ teachings. You can love your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself. And that sounds hard! That is hard.

But you don’t carry that weight alone – no one carries a yoke alone. You are yoked to Christ, who bears it with you, You are yoked to one another, the community of believers, You are yoked to the great cloud of faithful witnesses who have come before you. You are never alone, you are never left behind, not even when you stumble.

As the apostle Paul says in Romans, even when you can’t live up to being the person you strive to be, when you end up doing the things you don’t want to do, and you can’t do the good you do want to do – even then, Christ is your rescue! Even then, you stand in God’s grace. Even then, you are filled with God’s holy spirit. God’s mercies are made new again and again, forever.

It turns out that the yoke that seemed so burdensome is light. It turns out that the love of neighbor that seemed so demanding is rewarding. It turns out that the journey of discipleship that seemed arduous is filled with joy. It turns out that the cross that brought death is the way to life.

You are invited to that life, you who are weary and weighed-down. You are invited that rest, the kind of soul-rest that revives you for the rest of the journey. You are invited to follow the way of Christ. It will change you and it will cost you, and it will also save you over and over again.

Amen.

Christ calls us to build relationships of mutuality, in which we both offer and receive care.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 13 A
Text: Matthew 10:40-42

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

It feels complicated to be community with one another right now.

COVID-19 forces tough decisions about who you can visit with, how close you can get, and how long you can stay. You have to calculate risk for every social interaction, no matter how minor. To ask: How do I stay safe and keep others safe? How can I love my neighbors while staying physically distant?

Increased awareness of police violence is causing people to re-consider what community safety might look like, to ask new questions about how we can take care of one another, especially those who are most vulnerable? How can we support movements toward systemic change and also support those who are affected by the resulting unrest? How can we raise our voices for justice and also open our ears for learning?

These are complicated and challenging questions, but they’re ones we can’t avoid. We need to wade into the public conversation about how to create community that is just and safe for everyone. We need to be part of this conversation because, as Jesus’ words remind us, caring for one another is part of the deal when you commit to a Gospel-centered life.

Offering hospitality and welcome to another is like offering hospitality to God! That’s what Jesus teaches his disciples. The acts of hospitality don’t have to be fancy. They can be as simple as offering a cup of cold water to a weary desert wanderer.

Cold water isn’t as scarce in our world as it was in Jesus’ world, when the arid climate of the Middle East could only be survived through access to rare natural springs, deep wells, or carefully guarded cisterns. But it’s worth asking: what resources do need to be shared in order for us to live out Christ’s vision of hospitality right now? To what do people need access in order to survive in our world? Sufficient pay? Safe housing? Affordable healthcare? Adequate education?

And what are the small acts, the cups of cold water, that each of us can offer to help move our society in that direction? A cup of cold water could look like donated diapers or laundry detergent. Welcome could look like wearing a mask or staying home. Hospitality could look like showing up for a neighborhood meeting. We offer what we can to whom we can whenever we can.

To be clear, though, Jesus doesn’t only call his followers to offer hospitality; he calls them to receive hospitality as well. He doesn’t just say, “When you welcome others, you welcome me.” He says, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me.” He says this to his disciples as he sends them out into the community to proclaim the message of the Gospel. Whoever welcomes you welcomes me and therefore welcomes God.

Scripture is adamant that those who love God are called to love neighbor: to give generously, to resist escalating violence, to protect the most vulnerable. But here, in this teaching, Jesus emphasizes that sometimes Christ-followers will themselves be the ones in need of welcome. Sometimes they will be the ones thirsty and exhausted, reaching out for a mercifully offered cup of cold water.

Earlier, Jesus told the disciples that when they go out into the world to proclaim the good news, they should intentionally go empty-handed. Don’t take any extra supplies, he said. No money, no extra clothes (Matthew 10:7-10). The disciples would be dependent on the generosity and hospitality of others. That will make them vulnerable. Jesus even uses the term “little ones” to describe the position this will put them in (Matthew 10:42). It will make them like children, in need of care from others.

That’s the thing about real hospitality: it requires vulnerability. Both sides have to take a risk. It’s risky to offer hospitality: to welcome others to your home, your table, your heart. It’s also risky to receive hospitality: to entrust your wellbeing, even your life, to others.

And Jesus harbors no illusions. He warns the disciples: Sometimes you will not be welcomed and cared for. Sometimes you’ll be rejected and mistreated, as Jesus himself was. That’s the inherent risk of vulnerability: you might get hurt. The message of the Gospel can be countercultural, even subversive. Walking the way of Jesus isn’t always going to make you popular. Actually, Jesus pretty much guarantees that it will cause tension in even the most intimate of relationships. Jesus uses uncomfortable language about dividing families and households (Matthew 10:35-37). To bear the Gospel is to bear the cross.

But the vulnerability also creates the opportunity for deeper relationships.

The relationship created by authentic hospitality is not transactional. It can’t be. When you invite someone into your home for a meal, you don’t expect them to pay you for it. They can pay it forward, but they can’t pay it back. It’s offered freely, out of joy. It’s received freely, with gratitude. Otherwise it isn’t hospitality.

This is why the work of actively dismantling systems of oppression is part of the Christian vocation.

When we say that there cannot be peace without justice, we are saying that equity is the foundation for authentic community. Creating a community in which everyone can flourish will require sacrifice and risk. Relationships of mutual vulnerability are foundational: Every person able to receive hospitality, and every person able to offer hospitality. Enough cold water to go around.

Womanist theologian Emilie Townes puts it this way: “With compassionate welcome, Jesus calls us to put our love in jeopardy so that its blessings are made manifest in our lives and in the lives of others.” This can add a new set of questions to your considerations of how to be community in these unusual times: How are you practicing the vulnerability of both offering and receiving hospitality? How are you putting your love in jeopardy, taking risks in order to build relationships of mutuality?

They aren’t easy questions and they won’t yield easy answers. But here’s the good news: the risk is worth it.

The way of vulnerable love is the way of life! We know that because we see that in Jesus Christ, who shows us the face of God. Jesus Christ, who was willing to give up everything for the sake of love, even his life. And somehow, miraculously and mysteriously, through that sacrificial death comes new life. Not easy life; not painless life. But real, lasting life.

When you practice loving others with vulnerable, sacrificial love, you are following in the way of Christ. You are taking up the cross. You are bearing the Gospel. You are fulfilling the vocation sealed by the Holy Spirit at your baptism – a baptism that baptized you into Christ’s suffering and death and also into Christ’s resurrection and life. In Christ you are freed by the love of God, for the love of neighbor.

There is enough cold water to go around. We live from a spirit of abundance and thanksgiving, not of scarcity and fear. We proclaim, as our ancestor Abraham did, that God will provide (Genesis 22:14). We rejoice, as the Psalmist did, that God has dealt bountifully with us (Psalm 13:6).

And if God has given us such bounty, it is our work to actively, intentionally, courageously share that bounty with others. It is our work to tear down barriers that prevent anyone from living into the flourishing God intends for them. It is our work to build the relationships of mutual trust that are needed for a just community. So take the risk to be Christ’s love in the world, and trust that others will also be Christ’s love to you.

Amen.

Trinity reveals to us the God who is relationship. We are created in the image of relationship, baptized in the name of relationship, and sent out to invite others into relationship.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Holy Trinity, year A
Texts: Genesis 1:1-2:4a; Matthew 28:16-20

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

It’s been a week since we celebrated Pentecost, with its wind and fire and tongues. This week has felt incredibly long, but the flame of the Holy Spirit is still igniting in our hearts, still spurring us to let Spirit speak through us. Across the world, in all languages, voices are being raised to cry out for justice, to name the human siblings whose lives have been ended by the violence of systemic racism.

It’s been a week since we celebrated Pentecost, and really, it’s been a week. Although the fires burning in our local communities have been extinguished, the anger at repeated instances of police violence still burns. People are still in the streets, demanding real, lasting change.

But anger isn’t the only force that’s still burning this week. There is a tremendous amount of compassion, generosity, and courage that is blazing through our communities. It is, as they say, spreading like wildfire.

People are protecting their neighborhoods, donating supplies and money, and calling their elected officials. People are helping to house and feed those who have been displaced by unrest. Along Lake Street, there have been hundreds of people out with brooms and dustpans helping clean. In the Longfellow and Powderhorn neighborhoods, street art is covering buildings and sidewalks, and food distribution sites are popping up on corners – even in our own parking lot at Mount Olive.

Down on Chicago Avenue, at the site where George Floyd was killed, there are people handing out free chips, popsicles, and hotdogs. They’re making sure that those who come there to witness, to grieve, to pray are sustained for the long haul. It’s not just the food that sustains, but the community, the being together. Even in the midst of a pandemic, when we can’t get as close as we’d like, we’re still getting as close as we can.

It’s been a week since we celebrated Pentecost, since we told the story of the wild and holy spirit of God coming into the world like a noisy wind, kindling divine power within each person like a flame, and bursting into beautiful expression like a diversity of tongues. And because– even in this time when a week feels like a year and a moment all at once – our liturgical rhythm still accompanies us, this week has brought us to Trinity Sunday. Today, we proclaim that the one holy God is three – Father, Son, and Spirit.

When we declare that God is Trinity, we declare that God is relational. Like parent and child, like a body and breath. More than declaring that God is relational, we declare that God is relationship. God is communal and connected, interdependent and interactive. God is a dynamic dance.

And, as the Genesis creation story makes clear, every person that lives is created in the image of that God, created in the image of that relationship. To be human is to be made in relationship. And that is, as God says, very good.

That’s why we call George Floyd our brother, because he was human, created in God’s image. That’s why we lament the breaking of relationship that results from systemic racism. To deny another’s dignity and rights, to fail to see the divine image in another human being, is sin. God grieves such sin, and so do we. In this season, the grief of that sin feels so great that it is almost overwhelming.

But don’t let that grief stop you from living into the relationship for which you were created. Don’t turn your eyes away from seeing the realities of racism in our society. Don’t turn your ears away from hearing the cries for justice. Don’t turn your back on your human siblings who need you to show up for them, in whatever way you can.

If you’re feeling doubtful – doubtful that you can make a difference, doubtful that you know the right words or actions to take, doubtful that anything will ever really change – if you’re feeling doubtful, then scripture has a word for you today.

Our Gospel reading is from the end of the book of Matthew, when the risen Jesus appears to the disciples. They recently watched Jesus, their teacher, friend, and savior, be crucified. They’ve witnessed and experienced violence. They’re beleaguered, terrified, grieving, and exhausted. And the text tells us that when they saw the risen Christ, they fell down in worship, “but some doubted.”

It’s not hard to imagine why they might have been feeling doubtful – doubtful of the reality of the resurrection, doubtful of their own commitment to Jesus, doubtful of their ability to carry on the ministry in his absence.

But no matter why they’re feeling doubtful, Jesus still calls them into mission. “Go out into the world,” he says, “and invite others into the relationship that is God. Teach people about the life-giving way you have learned from me. Walk with people as fellow disciples. And when you mark their transformation with the practice of baptism, seal them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; seal them in relationship.” This is what Jesus tells the disciples.

Despite their fear, despite their grief, despite their exhaustion, despite their doubt, they’re called into mission. They’re sent out to bear the good news that has changed their lives.

And despite their doubt, or maybe even because of their doubt, Jesus still gives them a promise: “I am with you always.” Jesus keeps that promise, always – to those disciples, and to you.

You are the inheritors of this mission and this promise. Take seriously your calling to be the bear the good news of Christ into the world, even when you’re worn down and scared and filled with doubt. And take seriously the real presence of the Triune God that is with you, always. God is present in the world, even during a week like this. God is here.

It is especially hard to remember this when you’re separated from your sacred space and normal liturgical practices, when you can’t worship together in person or receive the sacraments, those signs of God’s gracious presence.

Some of the volunteers who came to help distribute food from Mount Olive’s parking lot on Thursday told me that this was the closest they’d been to the church in months. I know others are grieving that they aren’t able to safely come even that close to the sanctuary and neighborhood they love so much.

But the Lutheran tradition emphasizes that church is not a place but an event; it is something that happens. Martin Luther understood church more as a verb than a noun. Church happens because God is active in the world, in you.

And often, when and where and how God acts is a surprise! Church shows up in ways you least expect. You can see signs of it, but you can’t summon it or own it or control it. You can’t pin church down for a photo opp. The church isn’t a building, even when that building is full of people and certainly not when that building is empty.

There will be a time when you can gather again in the beautiful nave to worship together. And in the meantime, God is still acting so church is still happening. Where do you see signs of it? Where do you see evidence of the grace of Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit? In your homes? On the streets? In shared food and colorful art? Keep watching for it and participating in it.

The God who is relationship is up to something in the world, and in you, always. The God who is relationship connects, heals, uplifts, transforms because that’s what healthy, loving relationship does. You were created in the image of that relationship, you were baptized in the name of that relationship, and you are sent out to invite others into that relationship. And that is, as God says, very good.

Amen.

The disciples’ joy at Jesus’ ascension comes from a foundation of trust in who Christ is and who they are in Christ. The light of Christ is not extinguished; it’s changed. Now, the disciples are tasked with carrying it out into the world.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Ascension of Our Lord
Texts: Acts 1:1-11; Luke 24:44-53

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

When Jesus ascends into heaven, right before their very eyes, the disciples are overjoyed!

I have to admit, this reaction surprises me. Joy? Confusion and fear seem to be more their style. Even if we consider only the weeks since Palm Sunday, when the disciples arrived in Jerusalem with Jesus, they have rarely reacted to events with joy. What they have done is misunderstand Jesus’ teachings, get into arguments about who’s the greatest, fall asleep while praying, and deny even knowing Jesus. Not to mention doubting the resurrection, locking themselves away in fear, and failing to recognize the risen Christ. The disciples aren’t especially known for their celebratory responses.

Even at the start of the last conversation before the ascension, the disciples “startled and terrified” when Jesus shows up. They think he’s a ghost! (Luke 24:37) How do they get from startled and terrified at the beginning of the conversation, to overjoyed by the end, especially considering this is their last conversation with Jesus? What does he tell them that causes such a change of heart?

Before his ascension, Jesus shares four things with the disciples: a teaching, a mission, a promise, and a blessing.

Jesus begins, as he did on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:27), with teaching. He teaches the disciples about the law and the prophets. He “opens their minds to understand the scripture.” (Luke 24:44) Jesus wants them to be able to understand his life, death, and resurrection within the wider narrative of God’s relationship with people of faith. And he wants them to understand their own role within that narrative as well.

So he gives them a mission. “You are witnesses,” he tells them. They are being sent out in the world to tell the story of God’s love in Christ. The early church will come back to this mission again and again. Although the word “witness” is only used a handful of times in the Gospels, in the book of Acts, which describes the life of the early church, it’s used more than a dozen times. The leaders of the early church reminded themselves of this vocational calling many times. We are witnesses. We are the ones who tell the story of God’s grace. We are the ones who testify to the power of the Gospel.

To be a witness was not an easy task, and in truth, many of the early Christians suffered because of their witness. Many were killed because of it. The same word that means ‘witness’ becomes synonymous for one who is killed because of their faith: a martyr. To be a witness requires commitment, courage, even self-sacrifice.
So Jesus gives them a promise: the Holy Spirit will empower you for this work. Although this is Jesus’ farewell to his disciples, the on-going presence of God will stay with them. Divine power will be poured out on them, Jesus says, it will clothe them. They will be surrounded, enfolded, covered by the mysterious and transformative power of God’s spirit.

And if those three gifts weren’t enough– the scriptural teaching, the call to be witnesses, the promise of the Holy Spirit– Jesus leaves them with a final blessing. The text says that while he is still speaking this blessing over them, that Jesus is drawn away into heaven (Luke 24:51). The very final words they heard him speak are ones of blessing and sending. There’s no more conversation; Jesus is gone, right before their very eyes.

And the disciples are overjoyed!

They leave eager to worship, committed to one another and to the Gospel. Perhaps Jesus’ parting gifts– teaching, calling, promise, and blessing– perhaps these helped the disciples bear the pain of this separation. It seems likely they still had questions, doubts, fears. They were still shocked and grieving. Likely they got into more arguments, made more mistakes, continued to be the same people who were masterful at missing the point. And yet, these disciples step into the next chapter of their lives with confidence and joy because they trust who Christ is and who Christ has called them to be.

They trust who Christ is. When Jesus told them that he would not leave them orphaned, they believed him. When Jesus told them that his body was given for them, they took him seriously. When Jesus told them that the gift of the Holy Spirit would be poured out on them, they knew it would be so.

And they trust who they are in Christ. Their identities are rooted in the truth and freedom of the Gospel. Jesus has made them witnesses, and they know that being called and sent by Christ changes everything. Their role is to go out and proclaim forgiveness in Chris’s name. Who wouldn’t be joyful at the task of inviting others into the life-giving, heart-opening, grace-filled way of Christ!

It’s not as powerful as having Jesus speak it to you, but I want you to know that this is your vocation as well.

And the gifts that Jesus gave the disciples are also yours: the teaching of scripture, that speaks the Word of God to you; the mission to witness to the redemptive love of God for the world; the promise that God’s powerful spirit is poured out on you; and the everlasting blessing of the holy and Triune God. These are also for you.

The Ascension story isn’t about Jesus absence it’s about Christ’s presence – in you!

It’s a story we tell our children every week in Godly Play. Every Godly Play classroom has a Christ candle that gets lit as children gather, a reminder that the light of Christ is with us. When it’s time to leave and put the candle out, we say, “Watch carefully, the light is going to change.” The light was all in one place, but it can be in many places at once. Like the smoke rising from the wick, God’s presence fills the room in a different way. We tell the children the Christ light still shines in each of you, and you will carry it out into the world. That’s what the story of Ascension is about, and that’s why it’s a story of joy.

After Jesus ascended to heaven, just in case the disciples missed that point (like I said, they did have a track record) some mysterious robed messengers show up to remind them (Acts 1:9-10). “Why do you stand looking up to heaven?” they ask the disciples. In other words: What are you looking at? The light isn’t up there. The light has changed. You’re carrying it. You know who you are. You’re witnesses. So you’d better get going out into the world and shine that light.

Amen.