sermon

You are called as Christ to go out your door and serve as Christ, and you will be changed, but you also go out with the grace and strength of Christ.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday in Lent, year A
Texts: Genesis 12:1-4a; Psalm 121; John 3:1-17

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

Bilbo Baggins once said to his nephew, Frodo,

“It’s a dangerous business . . . going out your door. You step onto the road, and . . . there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”[1]

Nicodemus would agree. So would Sarah and Abraham. Once you step out of your door onto a journey there’s no knowing what might happen. What might change. What will challenge you, what dangers you might face.

But what they learned was that who you are journeying with matters most.

Nicodemus went out his door into the streets one evening.

He’d heard of Jesus, this rabbi who was doing astounding things that only could come from God. And yet Jesus hadn’t sought the permission or support of the religious leadership, and reportedly said things that seemed counter to God’s law. Nicodemus was a respected teacher, rabbi, leader of his people. He felt he had to investigate.

And Nicodemus, this respected teacher, rabbi, leader of his people, who knew the Scriptures better than most, found something in Jesus that radically shifted the ground on which he stood, the certainty with which he taught. It was a dangerous business for him to go out the door that night. And he was forever changed.

Sarah and Abraham also stepped out of their door into uncertainty.

This unknown God called to them, claimed to be the one, true God, and said, “I need you to go to another place that I will show you.” No destination named, just stop when I say stop.

Imagine those first days and nights, living in tents instead of a comfortable house, temporary corrals for the animals, missing the beloved extended family. This journey became the founding story of a people of God who were intended to bless the earth, and who did. But on the road surely Abraham had moments of wondering, “Did I really hear God’s voice?” It was a dangerous business for them to go out the door. And they were forever changed.

But Nicodemus wasn’t alone; he met with Jesus, God-with-us.

Abraham and Sarah started and continued and ended their journey with the God of the universe leading them.

There’s a prayer Lutherans in this country love, having had it in our worship books since 1958. Written by Eric Milner-White, dean of King’s College, Cambridge, for his 1941 compilation book “Daily Prayer,” it’s meant to reflect Sarah and Abraham’s days and nights on that road. It’s carved beautifully in wood in our north stairwell. You know it well. He prayed,

“O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us.”

It’s a dangerous business to go out your door. Unless you are accompanied by the God who loves, guides, and holds you.

This prayer so often seems to speak precisely to where we are.

It closes most annual meetings of this congregation and many of our Vestry meetings

In these challenging, frightening, troubling days, it remains the prayer we need. We know we’re called to go out our door and be Christ in the world. You know your faith isn’t just for your benefit, it’s your calling to bear God’s love however you can. Even if our whole society collapses, which some days seems more likely than not, you and I are called to be Christ’s light in that mess. When our neighbors are executed or torn from their homes, you and I are called to stand with them, to do what Jesus would do if he were here. When crises happen, you and I know we can’t sit back, but must be love and grace for those struggling.

It is a dangerous business to go out your door as Christ. But like Dean White, like Abraham and Sarah, like Nicodemus, you know this: the God who loves you beyond death is guiding you, walking with you, holding your hand in this journey. And that’s enough.

But you certainly will learn things on the road as these faithful ones did.

You will learn, like Sarah and Abraham, that while it’s often confusing and frightening to follow God’s call, if you take one step at a time, praying for understanding and courage, you can move forward.

You will learn, like Nicodemus, to let go of some cherished opinions and ways of thinking which don’t stand up to the wind of the Holy Spirit, who blows where she wills and invites you to an entirely new way of thinking and loving and being.

So much so, Jesus says it’s like she’s giving birth to you into a new life. A life where you see God’s love for the whole world as so powerful God came in person, not to judge but to save, and not just the chosen few but all who trust in that love. A birth into a life where following faithfully isn’t about having all the answers but about trusting the One who guides you and holds you by the hand.

All who follow God’s call are radically changed by it. But these three witness to the joy of that new life, that new birth, that journey in the heart and love of God.

God has called you, God’s own servant, to ventures of which you cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown.

But God hasn’t left you alone to these perils, those paths, these ventures. You go out your door, knowing it’s a dangerous business, but also knowing each step of the way you are accompanied by the Triune God whose love made the universe and fills it, who unsleepingly watches over your going out and your coming in, as Psalm 121 reminds today, whose love knows you by name, who guides you and gives you the courage to be what God needs you to be in this world of pain and grief.

So always remember this lesser-known name for God: “Faithful Companion on the Journey.” And with God at your side, open your door. Go out. And rejoice where you and God will go, step by step.

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

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[1] J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Saint Elisabeth Fedde

Week 1: Sharing our Suffering, Easing Anxiety

Vicar Erik C. Nelson
Texts: Hebrews 5:5-10; Matthew 6:25-27

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

Today our church commemorates Sister Elisabeth Fedde, a Norwegian immigrant known for her life of caring for the poor and outcast, especially through her efforts to build hospitals.

When Elisabeth Fedde was 13, her mother died, leaving her an orphan, and she entered the workforce as a maid. She worked for a shoemaker in Stavanger, Norway. She was impressed by her employers’ deep faith and life of service, and prayed that she also could live a life of faith and service.

Some years later, a visiting seamstress encouraged her to become a deaconess, and Elisabeth recognized her call from God, and joined Oslo’s Deaconess Motherhouse when she was 23.

This was the beginning of a lifelong effort to work for the good of others. The wife of the Norwegian consul in New York City put out a call, hoping someone would come help the poor Norwegian immigrants in New York. Sister Elisabeth responded, and with the support of some local pastors in New York, she set up a Deaconess hospital in Brooklyn.

Later, she came to Minneapolis and set up a Deaconess hospital here as well.

Sister Elisabeth was someone who lived fully into her baptismal identity. She lived a life of care and service, motivated by her faith in Jesus and relationship with God.

In spite of many challenges, she knew who she was called to be. She knew that her call came from God. God called her beloved, and God called her to service, and no one could challenge that.

Some Christians take the words of today’s readings, “don’t worry about your clothing; God will provide. Don’t worry about your food; God will provide,” and they use it as an excuse or a proof-text to talk their way out of doing good works.

Sister Elisabeth would have heard these words, and I think she would have known her place in them. She would know that yes, God provides, so we don’t need to be anxious about tomorrow. But she would know that very often, God provides through us. We are the only hands and feet God has in the world.

I think about our neighbors who have been hidden in their homes for the last few months, too afraid to venture out for food and other necessities. I can only imagine how much anxiety and worry they’re living with.

And so I have so much gratitude and love for the people in this congregation who have become the hands and feet of God for these neighbors. Every time you load up a truck of groceries, bring it here, pack it into boxes, and send it out to be delivered, you are the fulfillment of Jesus’s words.

You are the ones who God in heaven is sending out to feed and care.

This is how the people of God are called to live in the world. Remembering how the waters of baptism still cover us. These waters quench our thirst and soothe our pain and send us out for service.

When Jesus was baptized, he didn’t just stay there in the river. He brought that water with him into the wilderness.

And so that’s what we do. Everywhere we go, we bring that water of life with us.

But as our calendar brings us into Lent, I can’t help but feel like we’ve already been wandering in the wilderness. Since December, our lives have been full of these disciplines of Lent.

Maybe we’ve already been fasting, whether we realize it or not, as we rearrange our schedules, stepping away from some things we love, to make time for mutual aid and neighborhood patrols and supporting our neighbors. My own prayer life has been more active in the last couple months than it has been in years. And the money this congregation has raised for neighbor support is breathtaking.

This church knows about fasting, prayer, and almsgiving.

You don’t need me to tell you how to do the Lenten disciplines. So I will invite you, this year, to live into the reality that God has called you Beloved. Live into the truth that you are not defined by what you do or don’t do. I want to invite you to this Lent to live into your baptism in ways that maybe don’t feel like Lent.

I have great admiration for Sister Elisabeth, obviously. The hospitals she started live on today in the Fairview Medical System here and the NYU Medical System in New York. She also helped set up hospitals in Chicago and Grand Forks. She distributed food and clothing and cash to destitute Norwegian immigrants. Her work saved and improved countless lives.

But when you read her diaries and her autobiography, her utter exhaustion comes through clearly. Her life came with a heavy burden. After 13 years in America, her health gave out and she had to return to Norway.

If you feel today, at the end of your rope, if you feel like you’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Maybe Lent is an opportunity for you to slow down. Take a breath. Take a weekend away just by yourself, for yourself. Trust that others will hold the line for you.

Trust that God in heaven loves you deeply and dearly, more than anything else in the universe. God loves and cares for you. God doesn’t expect you to crawl over broken glass or wear yourself out. God invites us to abundant, eternal life.

This Lent, as we rest in the knowledge that we are God’s beloved, maybe there are some things it would be okay for you to let go of, to trust to God’s care.

Maybe if Sister Elisabeth had a community like Mount Olive around her, a community that really knows how to love and care, she would have lasted longer.

Maybe this is the year we do what we can, in a way that’s sustainable, in a way that doesn’t wear us out, and trust that God can handle the rest.

Thanks be to God.

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

Whatever lies the Great Slanderer whispers in your ear and plants in your heart, hear this truth: you are God’s child, you are beloved, and you are well-pleasing to God.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The First Sunday in Lent, year A
Texts: Matthew 4:1-11

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

Who do you trust to tell you the truth about you?

And how do you know if someone is lying about you, or falsely accusing you, or slandering who you really are? Today there is such an abandonment of objective truth in our society that anyone can say anything about another person, and if they say it enough, it is believed. Any one can claim the truth about events that are self-evidently different than they say, and if they repeat it enough, it is believed.

So what about when that happens to you? Or worse, when you, in fear and anxiety, slander yourself?

The Great Slanderer shows up in our Gospel today. That’s what the Greeks meant by their word diabolos, a word translated “devil,” a word that becomes diabolical in English. It can also mean “false accuser,” which is the meaning of the Hebrew word “Satan.”

So Jesus, soaking wet from his baptism, heads into the desert, where the Slanderer whispers lies into his ear, lies intended to destroy Jesus’ sense of his identity, his truth, his purpose in life.

But the Slanderer apparently doesn’t notice that Jesus is dripping with baptismal water. And that’s a huge mistake.

Dutch priest and theologian Henri Nouwen named three lies we believe about ourselves, lies that kill us.

There is the lie, “I am what I do.” The lie that my value and identity come from what I accomplish, what my job is, from my success.

There is the lie, “I am what other people say or think about me.” The lie that my value and identity come from others, from what they say I’m worth.

And there is this lie: “I am what I have.” The lie that my value and identity come from what I possess, what I’ve accumulated, what I own and control.

These three lies destroy our sense of our identity, our truth, our purpose in life. And strangely, these are the same three lies the Slanderer whispers to Jesus in the desert.

Are you really God’s Son? the Slanderer said. Can you do anything?

Could you turn these stones into bread? If not, what are you worth?

But Jesus still has water dripping off him from the Jordan and he knows what he heard from his Father’s voice: “You are my Son.” Jesus doesn’t need to do a miracle prove that. He is a child of God.

Remember that when the Slanderer whispers in your ear that you aren’t successful enough or don’t have abilities, that you can’t prove you belong to God in any way worth noticing. The Slanderer has forgotten that you still have water dripping off you, too, and you’ve heard the same voice of the Triune God say to you: “You are my child.”

That is your truth, child of God.

So the Slanderer tries another lie. How sure are you that you matter to God?

Do you really think you’re protected, safe, secure? This mission you’re going to do, Jesus, isn’t going to end well. Do you think your Father really cares for you? the Slanderer asks.

But Jesus is still soaking wet, and knows what he heard from his Father’s voice: “You are my beloved.” Even within the mystery of the life of the Trinity, these words are precious and life-giving: I love you. Jesus doesn’t need to test that, jump off a high building to see if he’ll be safe. He is God’s beloved.

Remember that, child of God, when the Slanderer whispers in your heart that you really aren’t important enough to matter to God. That if God really loved you you wouldn’t get sick, or you wouldn’t have setbacks or suffering. You wouldn’t know pain or grief. Because the Slanderer has once more forgotten that you’re soaking wet, too, and you’ve heard the same voice of the Triune God say to you: “You are my beloved.”

That is your truth, beloved child of God.

There’s one more lie to attempt.

Surely, Jesus, you can’t believe you’re important if you control nothing? You’re poor, insignificant, with no political or religious authority. If only you had control of this world, you’d know you were the Messiah. Everyone would know. I could do that for you, the Slanderer says.

But Jesus shakes the water from his head and remembers what he heard from his Father’s voice: “I am well pleased with you.” Jesus doesn’t need wealth or possessions or control or power to prove he is doing what God wants, or to heal the world with God’s sacrificial love.

Remember that, beloved child of God, when the Slanderer whispers to you that you really can’t know God is pleased with you if you don’t have possessions and wealth, visible signs of blessing. Or tells you that you need power and control over others to know who you really are. Because the Slanderer has forgotten, again, that you have water to shake from your head, too, and you’ve heard the same voice of the Triune God say to you: “I am well pleased with you.”

That is your truth, beloved and well-pleasing child of God.

The Slanderer really ought to remember that all these lies should have a warning label attached: do not fully immerse in water.

Because your baptismal waters, still clinging to you, still quenching your thirst, still cooling your brow, still cleansing your heart, dissolve any and all lies about who you are, what God thinks of you, and whether you are following God faithfully.

You are God’s child. You are God’s beloved. You are well-pleasing to God. There is no other truth that matters for you, ever.

And Jesus says if you know the truth, you are free. Free from fear. Free of lies. Free to follow Jesus’ cross-shaped path and be who God says you are, for the healing and life of the world.

And the Slanderer has nothing of value to say to you ever again.

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

When you remember that you are mortal, that you will die one day, it frees you up to live as Christ in every moment, every day that you are given.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Ash Wednesday
Texts: 2 Corinthians 5:20b – 6:10; Joel 2:1-2, 12-17

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

You are going to die. We all are. But that’s OK.

You came here today to remember this. To receive a cross of ashes on your forehead, and hear, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Today you will see black crosses on every forehead, from the foreheads of 90 year olds to the foreheads of small children. We’re all going to die. And that’s OK.

See, the Triune God has death taken care of. God’s love at the cross proves what was always true: death cannot stop the love and life of the God who made all things. When I die, when you die, there is new life waiting. Death is never to be feared, it’s only a door.

But you need to remember you are mortal so you can truly live in this life. That’s why you’re here today.

Repentance and confession are part of our worship today, and that’s good.

The prophet Joel calls you to turn around, to return to God, for God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love. And today you and I take extra time to name our sinfulness, seek God’s forgiveness, hear God’s promised love and grace.

But every time you come to worship here you embody repentance. You turn from your daily life and come toward God. To hear God’s voice guide you, challenge you, comfort you. To receive God’s forgiveness and love in Word and in Meal. To be blessed and restored for your journey in God’s way. You don’t need one day a year to remember to repent: your whole life of worship is that repentance. You don’t need one day a year to confess and be forgiven: every day that is your grace to cherish.

And “remember that you are dust” isn’t a threat to push us to reconcile with God, either.

Ash Wednesday has often been used that way. “You’re going to die, so get your act together.”

It just doesn’t make sense. Paul’s call today to be reconciled to God starts with Paul’s conviction that God’s already done all the reconciling needed. Here are the verses immediately before our reading today:

¹⁷ So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; look, new things have come into being! ¹⁸ All this is from God, who reconciled us through Christ to God and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; ¹⁹ that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to God’s very self, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us.   2 Corinthians 5:17-19

Reconciliation with God is already a reality. It’s what enables Paul to live as he describes in these words to the Corinthians today, through whatever it is that comes, hardship or not, because he’s grounded in the reconcling love of God. You and I and the whole creation are already reconciled in God’s love because of Christ. You’re already a new creation, Paul says: now live as that new creation.

But to live that way, we say “Remember that you are dust.”

Something we easily deny, or forget, or ignore. How much energy and time and money do we spend on trying to avoid aging, trying to deny we are getting older? And why are people surprised when they get a terminal illness? Did they think they were going to be the only one to escape dying? Obviously the timing of death can be a surprise and a grief. But death itself seems to be a surprise to nearly everyone. Most live as if they’ve got all the time in the world.

But when you remember that you are mortal, that you don’t get out of here alive, your life becomes gift. You’re not afraid of the outcome, of death itself – God’s already got that in hand. But if you also simply said every day, “I am going to die, so today I’m going to live fully and wholly,” your life would be demonstrably better.

Some of the most beautiful people of faith I’ve been privileged to serve as pastor have taught me this, again and again. When you accept that you will die one day, that’s when you truly start to live.

There is joy and freedom and life in “remember that you are dust.”

We start Lent, our yearly reflection on our baptismal identity, remembering that we are going to die because we need to remember we don’t have indefinite time to live. If you’re going to live as God’s baptized child, the time is now.

I know I am going to die. I don’t know the timing, obviously. But knowing the truth means I’m not afraid of dying. I just know at some point I won’t be able to love, to live, to help people, to be kind. I won’t be able to say the things to my loved ones I want to say, or make a difference in the world in God’s love.

And that’s deeply freeing. And a cause of joy. Because I can greet each new day with thanks that I have it, with no promises of tomorrow. If I live long enough for parts of my body to wear out, hurt, need repairing, I’m not surprised – I know this body can’t last forever. If it turns out death will come much earlier to me than I hoped, I can handle that because I’ve known all along that it was coming.

My life definitely has an endpoint. So now, now is the time for me to live as Christ.

Remember that you are going to die. So you can really live.

That’s the joy of the Christian life. When the outcome of death is no longer to be feared, because you will live after you die in Christ, and you find the acceptance that you will not live here forever, you are free to be Christ, to live as Christ, in ways you’ve never dreamed.

Beloved child of God, you’ve got today to be Christ, you know that much. Start there, and live.

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

The wonder and glory of the Transfiguration wasn’t meant to just stay on the mountain. Our own mountaintop encounters with God restore our spirits and carry us through the valleys.

Vicar Erik C. Nelson
February 15, 2026
Texts: Exodus 24:12-18; Psalm 2; 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9

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

The first time I ever preached in public was for Transfiguration Sunday in 2018. I was a youth worker at a church in Jamestown, North Dakota, and I think my pastor wanted Super Bowl Sunday off.

My sermon was 37 minutes and kind of wandered all over. There are things in that sermon that I probably wouldn’t preach today, but there’s one thing I stand by: this mountaintop story is not about the mountaintop.

It is about a moment of encounter with the divine, how we respond to it, and what God invites us to in the time after.

I can only imagine what the disciples were thinking in the moment of the Transfiguration, when earth melts away and the curtain between heaven and earth is ripped open.

In this unbelievable moment, Peter, James, and John fall to the ground in fear. I wonder if they were thinking about the God described in today’s Psalm, the one that demands you submit with fear and bow with trembling. I wonder if Peter was regretting his attempt to fill the silence.

I wonder if they were thinking about the impossible things Jesus had already told them… “If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also;” “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” “Take up your cross and follow me.”

Even so, the voice from heaven tells them, and us, to listen to Jesus. And like the disciples, we can be scared when we hear that, when we consider how high the stakes really are. When we follow Jesus, we follow him to a cross.

But we’re not alone in it.

After this voice proclaims, “listen to him!” Jesus could have followed that up with his own commands. A normal ruler would have told them to do something or serve him in some way.

But instead, he doesn’t speak. He comes over to them, touches them with love and care, bringing them back into their bodies, into the moment. And then he says to them, “Get up and do not be afraid.”

This is Jesus’ word for us today as well. Get up and do not be afraid. When he tells us not to be afraid, this isn’t just spiritual bypassing. These aren’t empty words telling you to get over what you’re feeling and move on.

This is Jesus reminding them and us that he is with them, so they really do have nothing to fear. This God of glory and majesty from our Psalm is with them, but doesn’t demand trembling submission. He comes to them in compassion and tenderness.

He is with them on the mountain. He comes to humanity in these celestial moments where heaven and earth come in direct contact. He is with us in our sacramental life.

He is also with the disciples as they go down the mountain. He remains with humanity in the everyday, not just in those moments of spiritual peak. He is with us as we leave this place, going out to serve our neighbors.

We need moments on the peak. We need experiences where God comes close to us in power and majesty.

And we also need moments down in the valleys. If we spent all day every day here, in this room, always in prayer and worship, who would pack boxes of groceries to deliver to our neighbors? Who would patrol the streets? Who would take the kids to school? Who would shovel the sidewalk? God is with us in our holy everyday moments.

Because we have these mountaintop experiences, we are able to go out and do all the other works God has prepared for us. When we hear Jesus say to us, “get up and do not be afraid,” when we have this reminder that he is here with us always, the other words he says maybe don’t seem so hard.

Because we know Jesus is with us, we are able to love our enemies. We’re able to pray for those who hate us. We hear him say, “blessed are the poor,” and we rise up to bless the poor. We hear him say, “blessed are those who mourn,” and we rise up to mourn with them.

The things that Jesus says, the life that he calls us into, those things are hard and costly and contrary to the way of the world, but we have these promises that we don’t do it alone.

These promises feel especially close this week, in the life of this congregation. Today, as we welcome new members to join us in this mission. Later this week, as we lay our sisters Marilyn and Rhoda to rest.

The God whose glory covered the mountain is the one who now holds Marilyn and Rhoda in love. The God who accompanied Peter, James, and John down the mountain is the one who guides us in our mission now.

God is heard in this booming voice from heaven. And God is seen in the compassionate person of Christ. This title Jesus uses for himself, the Son of Humanity, the Son of Man, is a reminder that he is truly one of us.

He’s not just far away, demanding perfect answers and constant fear and trembling. He comes close and reaches out to us in love.

At the end of my sermon eight years ago, I said, “And there’s no better, no dearer friend we can have than Jesus. He knows all things, he sees every trial, and He’s there to support us through it all. He’s with us when we feel like we’re on top of the world, and he’s with us when we feel like we’re in the lowest valleys.”

I stand by that. There is no dearer friend we can have than Jesus. Rhoda and Marilyn knew that in their lives on earth, and they experience the fullness of it now. And when we come to the table in a few minutes, we too will have a glimpse of that eternal feast.

Just like on that mountain, the glory of God will come to us in bread and wine, the body and blood of our Lord. Together with Peter, we can say, “Lord, it is good for us to be here.”

And then, when we leave, God will go with us.

Thanks be to God.

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

You are salt; you are light; you are God’s heart. Don’t be afraid, and be who you are, for the sake of the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, Lect. 5 A
Texts: Matthew 5:13-20; Isaiah 58:1-12

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

You are blessed, and you are beloved. Jesus has told you so.

But you are this, too: You are salt. You are light. You are already in God’s reign, so – don’t be afraid.

Don’t be afraid, even if what we’ve just heard from God’s Word seemed frightening and heavy. Especially on top of all that disturbs us in our world today.

You know the weight of that list: democratic practices that have served us for centuries are threatened, ignored, dismantled. Nations with whom we’ve long been friends are rudely insulted and treated as nothing. And our government threatens and harms the weakest, the most vulnerable, whether it’s our neighbors, or the earth itself.

And today God’s Word sounds no better. Isaiah frightens with warnings and judgments. Jesus gives no slack, for none of God’s law is abolished, he says, all, to the last letter, must be done, and if we are not exceeding in our righteousness, he says, it won’t be well for us.

But don’t be afraid. Things are not as they might seem, at least not with God. You might just have missed the truth in these words from God.

You are salt. You are light. You are already in God’s reign. Remember what that means.

Salt is gift. Salt keeps precious things from going rotten. Salt brings flavor and life to what is bland and dead. Salt, in our climate, keeps neighbors and friends from falling and breaking their necks. Salt melts ice. That’s who you are.

Light is gift. Light reveals truth and exposes deceit. Light brings understanding and warmth in confusion and cold. Light opens up paths for walking and beckons others to join. That’s who you are.

And the reign of heaven: that’s where people follow God’s will. It’s where God reigns in people’s hearts because God’s love has so moved and shaped their hearts that they, in turn, are God’s love. They are God’s heart. That’s who you are.

Sometimes you forget, and think whenever Jesus says “enter the reign of heaven” he means “go to heaven when you die.” Remember, your life is joined to Christ’s death and resurrection; life with God after you die is always your gift.

And remember, what Jesus is always saying is, living under God’s rule, shaped by God’s heart, is living in God’s reign. Right now. That’s where you are.

You are salt. You are light. You are already in God’s reign. So – be who you are.

That’s all Isaiah and Jesus ask. Isaiah doesn’t expect that one person will end oppression and injustice, provide clothing for all who are naked, and end homelessness and world hunger. Jesus doesn’t expect that one disciple will provide salt and light for the whole world. They simply ask, be who you already are.

Be salt. Be the one who keeps the good from going rotten, who preserves precious things in this world for the sake of life. Be flavor and beauty in the ugliness of the world. And care for all those falling on ice. Salt can help. It’s who you are.

Be the light of God’s hope in your place, where you are. Reveal truth; name deceit. Don’t hide that you love other people, that God loves all people, because you fear exposing yourself in a world of hate. Get up on your soapbox or stool or whatever you have, and shine light so others can see. It’s who you are.

And be the warmth of God’s love in the world, for you are God’s righteousness already.

God has said so in your baptism; will you disagree? Sometimes you wonder if you’re righteous enough, and today Jesus’ words raise that anxiety. But in your baptism God claimed you as a beloved child. Clothed you forever in God’s righteousness. That’s who you are.

Remember? we sang with the psalmist that the righteous are “merciful and full of compassion.” That’s God’s righteousness. Mercy and compassion. Remember that when Jesus, who said every letter of the law must be fulfilled, was pressed as to what was the heart of God’s law, he said the whole law of God was fulfilled in “love the Lord your God with all your heart, and love your neighbor as yourself.” To be God’s righteousness is to be God’s heart in and for the world. It is to be God’s mercy and compassion for those who are hungry, afflicted, oppressed.

That’s the righteousness that exceeds that of the best law-keepers, scribes, Pharisees, whomever. Keeping God’s law isn’t following rules and punishing those who fail. The Son of God, who reveals the heart of God to us, who died and rose as the truest witness of the eternal love of the Triune God, has told us, told you: Keeping God’s law is knowing and loving the heart of the Lawgiver, and bearing that heart into the world the Lawgiver so loves.

You are salt. You are light. You are God’s heart. So don’t be afraid.

And hear what Isaiah says that means for you: God “will guide you continually,” says the prophet, “and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. You shall be the repairer of the breach.” And hear this – “the restorer of streets to live in.”

That’s your truth as God sends you into a world that is frightening and disturbing, as you live in a desert and feel incapable of doing anything: you are a watered garden in that desert, to refresh others, you are a repairer, a restorer, and God will guide you, satisfy your needs, make your bones strong.

So go, be who you are, so God’s salt and light and heart can bring healing and life to this world as God always intended.

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