sermon

God’s reign is found in the one (and the many) who stand against the world’s power and invite all to God’s feast that will transform even enemies into beloved family.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 28 A
Texts: Matthew 22:1-14; Isaiah 25:1-9; Psalm 23; Philippians 4:1-9

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

“Why are you so angry?” we heard God say to Jonah three weeks ago.

“You’re concerned about the death of a bush you didn’t make, one that lived only 24 hours. Shouldn’t I be concerned about one hundred and twenty thousand people in Nineveh, and also many animals?” (Jonah 4:11)

That is the nature of the Triune God we know from Scripture. This is who God is, Scripture says, full of steadfast love and mercy. Mercy. Even the angriest prophets, who denounce the sins of the people with passion, conclude their words with God’s mercy and love overriding punishment. Ask Isaiah, Jeremiah, Amos. Ask Hosea. God’s wrath is always overcome by God’s mercy, love, compassion, and desire to embrace and restore God’s people.

The God the Bible reveals would never act like the king in this parable. Never. God doesn’t send armies to sinful people’s cities, kill everyone in them, and burn their cities down. If you winced when you heard this, you had good reason. The heart God gave you cried out against those words. Cried out against the terrible end to the parable, a brutal, cruel king berating a wedding guest who isn’t dressed properly and binding him “hand and foot, throwing him into outer darkness, where there’s weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

How can this be a parable about God’s reign when its heart is completely antithetical to the Triune God the Scriptures proclaim?

Well, maybe we’re looking at the parable in the wrong direction.

Jesus’ parables are images and stories meant to open our minds, our imaginations, to grasp complex truths. Like jewels, we hold parables up to the light and see what shines. Then, because these images and stories are meant to inspire us to think deeper, we turn them in the light and see new things. Jesus said this is a parable of the reign of God, in spite of the cruelty we see. So, turn it in the light a little.

And then you notice Jesus is telling this to the chief religious leaders of his people, a story about a cruel king who abuses his power. A capricious ruler who destroys anyone who dares to defy him, who breaks faith with people if they displease him. Something very familiar sounding in these days.

To these powerful people, Jesus describes the way the world works. Powerful people use their power to get what they want, cruelly throw away and destroy people who are no longer useful, and grab anyone else – bad or good, as Jesus says – to fill their roles. They’re furious at any who dare to stand up to them and refuse to dress as they do, that is, act as they do, endorse their way of ruling. At any who refuse to come to their feast at the cost of playing by their rules. At any who stand silent before their accusations.

Who does that sound like? Who refused to follow the world’s way, stood silently before a ruler, not defending himself for going against the world’s way, and was cast out into darkness and killed?

Turn this parable in the light and suddenly Jesus is in it, bravely standing alone, facing death.

This really is a parable about the reign of God.

It’s a parable that doesn’t require us to twist ourselves into pretzel shapes trying to explain why a good, loving God would do half the things in this story. Or ignore the pain we feel in our Christly hearts when we hear it. Seeing it in this light, we find hope: our God has already gone into the outer darkness where there’s weeping and gnashing of teeth. Into death itself. And has broken its power forever.

In this world, it feels like cruel kings still have the upper hand. And they kind of do. But Jesus’ story tells us that you can stand up against them, even if it means death (as Renee Good and Alex Pretti experienced) and that cruel people with power ultimately have no power to stop the resistance of good over evil.

And if more than one person refuses to wear the robes of this culture, if many refuse to come to the world’s feast at the expense of others, at the cost of doing things the world’s way, when more and more join God in the outer darkness, everything changes.

In the power of that Christly resistance, a new feast, prepared by God, is revealed.

Isaiah says God’s preparing a feast of rich food and well-aged wines for all peoples – four times the prophet says “all” – and that God is tearing apart the shroud of death and cruelty and power that covers the world, ending that power forever. And even people the prophet calls “ruthless” will be there. Maybe this is a promise of the end of time, but it’s still a hope worth having. That one day, at the end of all things, all people will come to God’s feast and rejoice with each other. All people.

But King David would like a word. Today’s beloved psalm ends with living in the house of God forever. But it is the life lived here that is the heart of this psalm. Led on right paths, fed in green pastures, walking with God through the valleys of the shadow of death, Psalm 23 revels in the joy of having our Shepherd always at our side through joy and sorrow in this world. And preparing a feast for you and me in the presence of our enemies.

Do you see now? Do you hear? Our enemies are at the table with us, here. God’s feast is for all people right now. And when you sit down at God’s table here with your enemies, they’re no longer enemies; they become beloved family. Even in this life, reconciliation and healing happens at God’s feast.

Maybe that’s hard to hear.

Not just because it doesn’t look like such a healing feast of reconciliation is possible in this broken, violent, suffering world. But also because Jesus’ command to love our enemies is one of the hardest we have. Maybe Isaiah says that ruthless people are welcome to God’s feast, and David says enemies come together in peace there. But we’ve been realizing in these past weeks that maybe we don’t always want that.

But don’t give up so soon. See, part of the feast is here today, at Christ’s table. You’re going to come to this table knowing you’ve done wicked things, thought bad thoughts, acted poorly, and you’re going to receive life and forgiveness and healing of heart. You’ll get a foretaste of God’s true feast where all, no matter who they’ve been, what they’ve done, are welcome to life and wholeness.

And God will change your heart at this table, bit by bit. God is changing hearts at tables all over the world, bit by bit. Inviting all to a feast of love and grace for all, where even cruel kings are invited and transformed. Where enemies are changed into beloved ones.

Rejoice in that, Paul says today. Think of that good, honorable, and true thing. And the peace of God surpassing all understanding will guard your mind and heart in Christ Jesus, until all are together at God’s table. Until all things are healed.

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

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We can, with God’s grace, change the story from ingratitude and evil to love of God and neighbor and sharing so all may live.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 27 A
Texts: Matthew 21:33-46; Isaiah 5:1-7; Psalm 80:7-15 (also referencing John 21)

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

It didn’t have to end this way.

These people wanted to grow grapes but didn’t have land or grapevines, or the capital to build a fence and a watchtower and a wine press. But they found someone who did, and agreed to share some of the harvest as rent. So far, we’re in the same story Jesus tells.

But when the grapes poured into their baskets, the juice flowed out of the winepress, they could have had a celebration. They could have welcomed the owner’s representatives, even the son, shared the owner’s portion of the harvest, and invited all to sit at their tables in joy. What if the story ended that way?

But the “what if” is deeper than that.

This story clearly leads us to consider Jesus’ death on the cross. It evokes the Triune God’s incarnation as one of us, the vineyard standing in as the creation as in Isaiah and the psalm today. The prophets come to the vineyard of God’s people, inviting faithfulness to God, and some are thrown out, some are killed. Finally the son comes, and he is also killed. Little wonder the religious leaders “realize Jesus was speaking about them,” as Matthew says.

But there’s another possibility. Everyone could have followed Jesus’ call to love God and love neighbor. Like the people of Nineveh a couple weeks ago, everyone who heard Jesus could have recognized their brokenness, and rejoiced that the One who provided the richness of the creation out of love, forgave them in love. The whole world could have chosen to love God and love neighbor and have been changed right then, flowing out of Judea. Jesus wouldn’t have had to die on the cross.

It’s hard to imagine that happening, given how humans typically behave, but it could have. Which raises an important question: is there any way we could reverse this story in our own lives? Find the celebration and joy, rather than this alternative? The only way to get there, unfortunately, is by asking Matthew’s statement as a question: “Do we, do you, realize Jesus is talking about us? About you?”

Surely not, we’re tempted to say.

We haven’t killed anyone. We might be stingy with sharing our harvest, but we’re not that bad. Isn’t this parable about the religious leaders of Jesus’ day?

That’s not how Scripture works. God’s Word speaks in every day, and addresses you and me as much as those leaders. And it isn’t clear that our hands are clean.

Every dollar we spend is tied into an economy and a world that is so complex, we have no idea what damage we’re doing. Did the apple we bought come at the cost of migrant workers mistreated or barely paid? What carbon footprint got it to our store? What chemicals making it look pretty leached into the ground?

And any one of us who has a pension or investments has even more to ask. My pension has always been invested in the ELCA’s “social purpose funds,” companies vetted for their good principles. Do I know for sure that they are good? That there aren’t children abused or killed on the other side of the planet because of my investment? Do I know that none of those companies ever oppresses, or pollutes, or supports war and violence, or pays inequitably due to gender or race or other reasons? I do not.

I can’t speak for you. But I most definitely realize that Jesus is talking about me today. And that makes the judgment line sound pretty ominous: “The owner will put those wretches to a miserable death and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the harvest time.” Ouch.

But hold on a minute.

Jesus doesn’t say that line. Not in Matthew’s telling. Jesus asks: when the owner comes, what will the owner do?” The listeners provide the judgment. Now, Mark and Luke do give the judgment line to Jesus. But Matthew may be suggesting Jesus’ question is open for a different answer.

And that’s exactly what happens in real life. First, the Son of God comes into the vineyard very differently. Jesus willingly risks vulnerable love with God’s people, knowing he might be killed for it. This parable tells of the son as victim. Nothing in the Gospels suggests Jesus is a victim at the cross.

And consider this: what happens to the tenants when the Son rises from the dead? Jesus doesn’t tell that end of the story today.

Well, we know that the risen Christ doesn’t come and wreak vengeance on those who killed him. Not even on those who loved him but betrayed him. No one is put to a miserable death. No one is thrown into outer darkness where there’s weeping and gnashing of teeth, the judgment we’ll hear next week. No doors are slammed in the face of unprepared disciples, no frightened followers who bury their talents are thrown out. After the resurrection, Jesus rejects all those promised judgments.

In fact, the risen Christ goes back to the beginning of this story and asks you and me, “what if it ends differently?”

Christ looks deeply at Peter, who betrayed him, and asks three times, “do you love me?” Three times Peter says he does, with more pain each time Jesus asks.

And instead of saying, as he had every right to do, “depart from me into the outer darkness,” Jesus, risen from the dead, says, “Then feed my lambs. Care for my sheep.” Use the harvest of the creation, the blessings you have received from a loving God, the wealth you have of time and talent and treasure, to care for my beloved children.

Change the end of the story, the risen Christ says. Make it a party. A celebration for all.

And that’s what you and I get to do.

When we, in this faith community, share our wealth together to feed Christ’s lambs, care for God’s children, it’s about as clean a use of our wealth as we can make in our complex world. Our stewardship to do God’s ministry here changes the whole story. We agree to take from the harvest we know we only have because God is generous and good, and share it with each other, using the best wisdom God gives us, to make a difference as Christ here in our neighborhood, in our world.

Instead of clinging to our things, our time, our money, even our talents, or using them only for us, which, as the parable rightly says, leads to death and destruction even if we don’t intend it, we choose a different way.

We look into the eyes of the God whom we love, we hear, “feed my sheep,” and we do just that. We make the harvest in the vineyard a celebration of delight and joy that brings hope and life to others and fulfillment to us.

When you realize that in this story Jesus is talking about you, that can be very good news, indeed. Because Jesus trusts you to do the love he needs done.

This won’t be easy. Human nature is a stubborn thing.

But the other part of the story Jesus doesn’t tell today is how the owner helps the tenants, how God helps you and me, respond with gratitude, sharing, and love.

Paul told us that part last week: “It is God who is at work in you,” he writes to the Philippians, “enabling you both to will and to work for God’s good pleasure.” God empowers your grateful heart, your giving of money and time and talents to our work together here, God changes you into a tenant who rejoices so much at being able to live and work in such a vineyard that the only response you can make is joyful gratitude and giving. God will enable this in you, and in me.

What if you took that seriously? What if you took that joyfully? How might the story go then?

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

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Like the vineyard owner’s sons, we sometimes say “yes” but fail to follow through, and we sometimes take a detour on our path to obedience. Either way, we are still beloved and still invited.

Vicar Emily Hagen
The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 26 A
Texts: Ezekiel 18:1-4, 25-32; Psalm 25:1-9; Philippians 2:1-13; Matthew 21:23-32

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

At first, the parable of the vineyard owner’s children reads like a teaching moment not for us, but for the chief priests.

When they approach Jesus with a tricky question designed to trap him into claiming divine authority, in a classic rabbinical move, he turns the question back on them. They convict themselves a bit when they answer that it was the first child in the parable that obeyed their parent: the child who rebelled at first, but later got the work done. Now that we have heard Jesus’ response, this child sounds a bit like the tax collectors and sinners who had heard John the Baptist’s call to repentance and chosen to follow him and Christ into a new way of living. We can’t be sure whether these religious leaders recognized those newly reformed sinners as the first children who got it right, who turned from rebellion to obedience… or whether they saw themselves reflected in the second child—the one who obeyed in word only.

But when we begin asking where we see ourselves reflected in this parable, there is a danger that we might walk away with the assumption that only one child turned out to be the good child: that is, the one whose motto is “better late than never.” But for us and for our lives, there is something else worth noticing here… and … spoiler alert… it has to do with grace. But let’s explore what we have in common with the parable’s characters to see why.
We might well identify with one or the other of the vineyard owner’s children.
Just as they both received the same command from their parent… to go to work in the vineyard… we also have all received a central commandment: Love God, and love your neighbor as yourself. We might live out this command in many different ways, but as Jesus points out to the Pharisees in the very next chapter of Matthew, this one sentence sums up the central task of discipleship. And yet it is anything but simple. The world we live in does not make it easy for us to stay focused on our love for God or to love our neighbors as Jesus loves. And that is why we must resist the temptation to take the same lesson the religious leaders may have taken from Jesus’ parable–something like “actions speak louder than words, so go forth and be the first child”–and then just move on. In our everyday lives, there is more to the story than that.

You see, it isn’t simply a question of which child in the parable we are or should be, because the truth is we are all both children.

We are the first child when we see need and suffering around us, and in our hearts, we feel the pull of our call to love our neighbors…but today, right now, we can’t. So we say “no.” We are the first child when we have already said “yes” to so many other obligations that we are running on fumes, and then that one more request comes in, and there is just no way we can make it work, so we say “no.”

We are the first child when we see an opportunity to speak out or do the right thing, but it involves some kind of significant risk… and we hesitate. And sometimes we are just plain mad at God… so we rebel. We all have moments we can identify when we suspect we are receiving an invitation to be part of the simple but not-so-simple work Jesus invited us to do… but for any of a thousand different reasons, we say “no.” And there is no shame in that. Some of them are fantastic reasons, like avoiding burnout, or prioritizing our ability to be there for our loved ones. Those things matter to God, too. This first child… the one that seems to come out as the winner in the parable… also said no. They started out by refusing to obey their parent, and we DO NOT know why. Like us, they might be rebellious, they might have other plans they can’t break, or they might just be overwhelmed. They aren’t perfect, just like we are not perfect. And that’s ok. But in the end, they got it right… as we sometimes do…not because they were the perfect child, but because when the right time came, something moved them.

On the other hand, sometimes we’re the second child. We say “yes” right away out of the very best intentions and then get too busy… conflicts come up… and we forget. Sometimes we say yes at first, but when it actually comes down to it, we are not willing to do the really hard things. Sometimes loving God and loving our neighbors as ourselves can cost us more than we expected. This might be what happened for the religious leaders who tested Jesus: the cost of acknowledging that John and Jesus spoke with authentic prophetic voices simply became too high. And how about this: sometimes it can be much harder than we expect to figure out how to care for one neighbor without unintentionally harming another neighbor. When resources or time run short, figuring out the most loving path forward can become more complicated than we first expected.

With all this said, let’s clarify what the parable might be saying to us… and what it doesn’t say.

Is it a problem to claim that we follow Christ, but act in ways that do not show love for God or our neighbor? Absolutely. That is a problem. In the same way, saying “yes” when we already know we will absolutely not follow through is also a problem. Following Jesus does mean living in honesty, authenticity, and integrity: not just talking the talk, but walking the walk. And we might call that the bottom line of this parable.

But also notice this: neither child in this story is perfect, but both are still God’s beloved children—and so are we.

In speaking to the religious leaders this way, Jesus is not simply shaming us for sometimes being the second child in our everyday lives—the child who said yes, but didn’t quite make it to work. The story is open-ended. Jesus never said that time was up for them. In fact, Jesus didn’t even say that time was up for the leaders who were questioning him. He said that those sinners who had chosen to listen to John, to repent, to follow through would experience the abundant life of God’s reign first… not that the religious leaders’ deceit or fear or hesitation had disqualified them from grace.

The good news for them and for us is that whichever child we might be on a given day, whether we are quick to say “no” or our “yes” turns into a “maybe later,” God’s love for us does not depend on our making it to the vineyard on time… or on anything else. We are all people deeply in need of grace, so receive this word of reassurance: this parable is not telling us that it is wrong to say no to a request that is too much. It also does not say that we are failures if circumstances get in the way of following through with a particular commitment.
Sure, God loves you deeply and completely during your most faithful, purpose-filled moments when you show up, act according to your faith, and do the work. But God loves you just as deeply and completely when you have good intentions, but you sleep through your alarm, feel overwhelmed, or need to take your time figuring out how to respond to someone with love. If there truly is an invitation to deeper discipleship that you have been missing, for whatever reason, that is not the end of the story. At any given moment, you might be about to receive whatever nudge the Holy Spirit sent that first child that caused them to turn around and head for the vineyard. There is always hope for all God’s children… because our hope is in the love of Jesus Christ, who will never stop inviting us.

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

Your eyes and heart, how you see and love, are precious to God because they directly affect the joy of your life, and God desires abundant life for you now and always.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 25 A
Texts: Matthew 20:1-16; Jonah 3:10 – 4:11

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

What’s baffling is that everyone in these stories shares the same situation.

None of the people who, in Jesus’ story, came to the little village marketplace looking for day jobs woke up knowing if they’d be able to feed their families that day. Everyone hoped someone was hiring that day, hoped somehow they’d get hired. As the last ones hired said, they weren’t working only because no one had hired them all day. And as 5:00 approached, they despaired that even if they did get hired, the money wouldn’t provide the day’s meal.

All these workers would have known each other. Known their children. Shared an existence on the edge of survival. So why do the early workers resent that their neighbors’ children would also get to eat that day?

As for Jonah, hatred for your enemy, centralized on their capital city, is so common in human history as to be hardly worth mentioning. Of course Jonah hates the Ninevites; all good Israelites probably did.

But Jonah’s real anger is at God forgiving them of their wickedness. Even though Jonah himself has just disobeyed God so significantly he was thrown into the sea during a raging storm and swallowed by a fish as punishment, and then experienced God’s forgiveness. Why would he be angry if others received that, too?

Matthew’s community clearly struggled with how to live in God’s grace.

In the past few weeks, we’ve heard Jesus teach a process of reconciliation, tell a parable of an unforgiving slave, and today a parable of these workers.

The last two weeks the problem was, if you’re completely forgiven by God, why won’t you offer the same love and forgiveness to others? Today it’s even more troubling: if God chooses to offer complete and utter love and grace to all, why would you be angry? It’s not only about whether you forgive, Jesus says. It’s also whether you resent God forgiving someone else. Loving someone else. Blessing someone else.

And if you think someone doesn’t deserve that, if you resent that, why? What’s at stake for you in someone else’s grace? Jesus asks.

These stories hit far too close to home.

We live in a deeply polarized society. The divide between people on so many things, the inability to have civil conversations even with family in these days, is as great as many of us have ever experienced.

It’s not new that we disagree with other people over policy questions, the direction of government, over safety nets versus bootstraps. That’s always been the political reality in this country, in public or at home.

What is viscerally different now is that hating the other person is now our society’s way. It’s not enough to disagree. People loathe those on the other side of issues, mock them, attack them. They nurse that hatred and spew it in social media, on street corners, even in family conversations. Like Jonah, they’d like to sit and watch God’s destruction come on them. Like the early workers, they wish people would get their fair deserts.

I say “they” do this. Let’s be honest. We do this. If any two of us here sat down and talked about this, we’d likely both realize there were people in this country whom we despise, hate. Even wish ill on.

So, Jesus and Jonah’s author are actually talking about Jesus’ hardest commandment: “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you – or others.” If someone enrages you so much you can’t think well of them, you don’t want good to happen to them, that person is precisely who you are commanded to pray for. To love.

And our problem with such love is an illness of both our eyesight and our hearts.

“Are you envious because I am generous?” is actually a paraphrase.

Jesus literally says “is your eye evil because I am good?” Is your eye bad, diseased because of my goodness? And the owner genuinely wants to heal the eyes of the early workers. He explains they got a full day’s pay, as agreed. They and their children will eat tonight. But he wants them to see, to understand, that he wants everyone’s family to eat that night.

And God tries to help Jonah see why God doesn’t want to destroy a city of 120,000 people and a bunch of animals. God hopes Jonah will see in his sadness over the loss of a shady bush how God might see the loss of such a city. God wants Jonah to understand. To see as God sees.

And in both stories, the hearts of Jonah and the early workers need healing.

God really wants Jonah to care about the Ninevites as much as he cares about his little shade bush, to have empathy for these people who are repenting, turning to God. The owner really wants the first workers to care about their neighbors, to imagine what it would have been like had they not been picked early and had to sit in the square all day, desperation climbing with every passing hour.

When Jesus says “love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you (or others),” he really wants your eyes and your heart to be changed.

Now, you know God’s promises well enough to know God gladly will heal you.

God will give you vision to see as God sees, God will create a clean, new heart in you. That can be your prayer, your desire from God.

But you might ask, “why would it be?” What difference does it make if you or I hate someone who we think clearly deserves it? Who cares if we secretly wish God’s punishment on someone? We’re good people, we love our friends and family, do good in the world. Why would we need or want such healing?

Because God cares about your heart and eyes. If they are not well, you are not well and that matters to God. If you have corners of hate in your heart, they will eat away and gradually deaden you. If you have bad eyesight, you will see less and less like God. And eventually you will be diminished, less than you could be. And that would break God’s heart.

Don’t you remember how all these words began a few weeks ago? God is a shepherd who cannot abide losing even one of one hundred sheep. “Some” of God’s flock safe and healthy and whole is just not enough. Your eyes and your heart are precious to the Triune God, because you are precious to God.

We know that faith in Christ isn’t an individualized proposition.

We hear again and again from Scripture that we are called into a faith community, we are called to be Christ for the sake of the world. And that is all true. But for today, just trust this, too: You are precious to the Triune God, and beloved. And if you’ll let God heal your eyes and give you a new heart, you will find the life God has dreamed for you since before you were born. The abundant life Jesus came to bring, filled with joy in all God’s children being held in God’s blessing and love. And yes, you’d even be a blessing to others with God’s grace as well.

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

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The foolishness of God’s reconciling, forgiving love is from the beginning of time, and in the cross we see it most fully and are changed to become that love.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The feast of the Holy Cross
Text: 1 Corinthians 1:18-24

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

Paul says that the heart of our proclamation is God’s foolishness.

A foolishness seen in the cross of Christ.

But in fact, God’s foolishness began far before then. As Paul says a little later, this foolish wisdom of God has been the plan from “before the ages.” (2:7)

God’s foolishness begins at the beginning, creating human beings in God’s own image and then giving us the trust to live into that image. The vulnerable love of God that created the universe is no more vulnerable and at risk than in God’s trusting and hoping that humanity will become who they are made to be.

And we’ve proven the foolishness of that plan ever since.

But God doubled down on the foolishness.

Every time people failed to live up to the trust, let God down, sinned against God or against each other, God’s decision – apart from the story of the flood – was to forgive them. Even in our Hebrew forebears story of a garden and a first couple’s sin, God forgave. The story says they were told if they ate of the fruit, they would die. But they didn’t die. They were given forgiveness and grace to live and do better.

When God created a relationship with a chosen family, God’s foolish forgiveness and reconciliation continued. Abraham was unfaithful to God several times; God forgave. Jacob blundered and lied and sinned his way through life; God forgave. When the people were rescued from slavery and on their way to their new home, they repeatedly broke covenant with God; God forgave. Even when the sin of the people led to their exile, God forgave and restored them. The harshest of the prophets still include a message of hope in God’s love and forgiveness in their fiery words.

Forgiveness and reconciliation are the very heart of the Triune God. And that’s foolishness in a world that includes people like us. Paul says God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and we’ve learned to trust that. But there’s no mistaking that God’s way looks like a fool’s way in worldly terms.

The cross of Christ, then, is the only logical next step in foolishness. The likely outcome of God’s way.

Now, there could have been a reality where God’s utter vulnerability in coming as a human being among us didn’t end with the cross. All people could have seen the face of the Triune God in Jesus and followed his call to repentance and new life, to love of God and love of neighbor. We wouldn’t have had to kill him.

But given human nature is what it is, the cross was probably the only way this was going to end. With Jesus embodying God’s foolish love, disregarding even laws of God to extend that love, proclaiming God’s reign in everyone who embodies that love themselves, Jesus’ cross was likely unavoidable.

So this raises a question. If forgiveness and reconciliation are the heart of the Triune God, and therefore God doesn’t need the cross to forgive, yet still faced it, why?

The first answer is what Paul proclaims.

The cross, while not necessary for God to forgive, is an unmistakable sign of God’s forgiveness and love. The eternal Christ, the Son of God, loved humanity fully in our flesh, and continued God’s covenant promise not to use violence and destruction against us, a promise that goes back to the aftermath of the flood. A promise that led to his death.

In showing that use of power and force isn’t God’s way, love is, even if that means God dies to prove it, Jesus shows clearly how deep and powerful God’s love actually is. The resurrection of Jesus only confirms that a vulnerable, sacrificial, self-giving love cannot be stopped by any power of evil. Not even death.

This may be a stumbling block to some people’s faith, Paul says. It may be foolishness to others’ sensibilities. But the cross of Christ, the love of God willing to die out of love for the universe, is God’s true power and wisdom. It is the unmistakable proof that you are loved always, that forgiveness will always be God’s way with you.

The other answer is the cross is an example for you and me and all who see it.

The Son of God who hung on the cross literally said, “I’m giving you an example for you to follow.” He said that on his knees, with wet hands wiping on a towel, and then commanded love for one another as he loves them. Loves us. Loves you. Loves all.

And the servant love he shows in washing feet on Thursday, Jesus completes in his death on the cross. So his command stands: this is the love I call you to follow. Self-giving, sacrificial, vulnerable love for each other and the creation. “Love to the loveless shown that they might lovely be,” the hymn sings.

The cross shows you and me the path of our life as Christ.

This is all foolishness, no question.

A power-hungry, violent world mocks such a love. As Paul says a little after these verses, the powers of this world never understand it.

That’s because this is the love that is the life and breath of the universe. The love that God has been hoping to see in you and me from before creation. The love God risked never seeing by foolishly trusting humanity to live into the image of God we were made to be.

The love that is yours in Christ Jesus, that nothing can separate you from, and that will shape and mold your heart until you live and breathe God’s foolishness and find the wisdom of life and hope and healing in it. For you. And for all.

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

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The heart of the Triune God is and always has been utter forgiveness and reconciliation, and it is that heart that will replace yours to be the same.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 24 A
Texts: Matthew 18:21-35; Genesis 50:15-21

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

Listen to what God says:
“[A]fter those days, . . . I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. . . . [T]hey shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, for I will forgive their iniquity and remember their sin no more.” (Jeremiah 31:33-34)

In these treasured words from Jeremiah, God’s true nature is revealed to us. From the beginning of Scripture, from the life of our Hebrew forebears through our own, the Triune God’s heart is set on reconciliation and forgiveness. As we’ll consider tomorrow at our Eucharist on Holy Cross Day, God’s forgiveness doesn’t start at or depend on the cross of Christ. It’s quite literally always God’s whole heart.

That’s why forgiveness isn’t optional when you follow Christ.

It’s literally a command of the One on whose life and death our own lives and deaths depend, the One whose heart saves us and shapes our own heart.

And like Peter, that’s a challenge for us. So, like Peter, we negotiate. How much forgiveness? How often? Who deserves it? Virtually every conversation among Christians about forgiveness quickly moves to negotiation and compromise, rules and boundaries, seeking any options other than Jesus’ clear meaning.

Because Jesus is perfectly clear here today: forgiven people forgive. Period. We can negotiate all we want. We just won’t be talking about forgiveness.

If we are following Christ, if we are Christ, Jesus commands us to forgive.

But there’s another challenge in Jeremiah’s word of God.

Did you hear the last bit? God says, “I will remember their sin no more.” God covenants with us not only forgiveness, not only that we, that you, belong to God forever. God promises even to forget your sins and mine.

God wants nothing to do with “I can forgive, but I can’t forget.” The forgetting completes the forgiveness. And we struggle with that. We might be able to imagine forgiving someone for a wrong they’ve committed against us. But releasing that wrong from our head, out of our memory, that’s hard. Every time we remember someone has hurt us, every time we see their face, we’re hurt all over again. We forgive, but then we think of it again. We forgive, but then we remember and feel the pain all over again.

So today Jesus says, forgive it again. And again. And again. Seventy-seven times. Or seventy times seven times if you have to. As long as it takes for the hurt to be lost to you, unimportant, nothing.

If we are following Christ, if we are Christ, God asks us to forgive every time we remember the hurt. Until it’s gone.

As long as we’re counting ways this command is hard, here’s another.

We’d be glad to forgive, we say, if and when the other person repents. If and when the other apologizes. If and when we think they’re sincere.

But Jesus commands, “Forgive your brother or sister from your heart.” Period. We’re never told to wait for them to do something. Jesus commands, “love one another as I have loved you.” Period. Jesus never gives preconditions for our self-giving love.

Look at Joseph and his brothers. Their father has died, and they’re convinced Joseph only held back from punishing them for their evil against him because Daddy was still alive. Now that he’s gone, they’re worried. A lot.

But they don’t repent. They lie and say that Jacob, before he died, had commanded them to tell Joseph to forgive them. And Joseph will have none of that. He weeps, he forgives them, he promises to always provide for them and their little ones. He acts like Jesus would act.

If we are following Christ, if we are Christ, God commands us to forgive, regardless of what the other one does. Because forgiveness is about your heart, not the other person’s.

All these together seem overwhelmingly impossible.

We are commanded to forgive. We are told to forgive as often as we need to until we forget the offense. And it doesn’t matter if the other ever regrets, repents, apologizes, asks forgiveness. Who could ever do this? How is it possible?

Well, this truth about God changes us forever. God’s heart of forgiveness, the 10,000 talent/billion dollar forgiveness of this parable, changes your heart. God loves you beyond comprehension and even dies to prove that love. Dies to break your heart. Dies to show you forever that you are always forgiven and loved. Then, risen from the dead, the Son of God does what the Son of God always does: invites you to love, to become Christ yourself.

When we follow Christ, when we are Christ, this is the pattern God shapes in you and in me. Forgive first, because God does. Love first, because God does. The healing act that saves you and me is God forgiving us into life. The healing act that will save the world is when we do the same.

Once you grasp this astonishing love of God for you, anything is possible.

Once you can trust how beloved you are, how God forgives you before you even figure out your mess, once that actually touches you, it will be impossible for you to act like this person in Jesus’ parable.

Your heart of stone is replaced with a heart of love, just as we prayed at the start of this liturgy. You’ll lose interest in doing forgiveness math, negotiating limits or boundaries. You won’t wait for the other to repent or feel sorry. Instead, you’ll find such joy in offering forgiveness, such healing of your heart, that you’ll finally begin to understand why it’s God’s way, too. It’s how relationships are healed, life between people is restored, and hope is brought into reality.

May God replace our hearts of stone with hearts of love, that we might become Christ’s forgiving love to others, and find our true joy.

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

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