Sermon: "Discipleship: After the Deluge"

First, a note: this sermon was way-hay-hay too long, and too convoluted. But, it was a hard text to preach on, and am interested to hear others' thoughts and ideas on what to do with this text.

Pentecost 15

Luke 14.25-33

Now large crowds were traveling with him; and he turned and said to them, 26 "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. 27 Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. 28 For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? 29 Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, 30 saying, 'This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.' 31 Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? 32 If he cannot, then, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace. 33 So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.

Discipleship: After the Deluge



The day the waters came, I was told to wake up before the sun even broke through the night at the horizon. The day the waters came, my mother was a parish pastor at a church in Point of Rocks, Maryland. The church sat on top of the rocky hill overlooking the Potomac River, right on the border between Maryland and Virginia. The church was called St. Luke’s Lutheran Church, a tiny parish serving the small town.

We had a rough winter that year, I remember. The first big snow storm of my memory happened that year, in December of '95. I was only eleven years old, and I remember the snow being so high in our yard that where my father had shoveled the snow in the walkway from our front door to the driveway, the snow was taller than I was. Kind of like this past year’s winter, right?

Well, the day the waters came, it was early mid-winter, the cold of January. All of the snow had melted away, but the air was still chilly afternoons and freezing in the mornings and evenings, and the sky was still a perpetual gray, as if you were looking at the world through a black and white television set.

The day the waters came followed this horrible winter, and followed rain storms up in the northwestern part of Pennsylvania. The sun had melted all the remnants of the rough winter snow off the tops of the mountains, which then drained into the Potomac River. This combined with the already swelled waters from the rain storms hundreds of miles away. And so, the flood came. And I, a little boy of eleven, was packed into my mom’s car along with my brother and sister, and drove out to the church which sat high on the hill, providing a good vantage point as the sun finally appeared over the horizon, to watch the waters begin to seep up the hill. The flood began sometime around January 18th or 19th, “ahead of a strong cold front. In the day leading up to the floods, strong southerly winds and dew points reaching in to 50's created ideal conditions to melt the snowpack that was covering the entire Mid Atlantic region. As the cold front moved through the area on January 19th and 20th, intense rainfall accelerated the snowmelt even further, causing massive amounts of runoff to enter the rivers and streams.”1

The day the waters came… it was a mess. I remember the frantic way in which the few hundred people who lived on that hill rushed trying to pull their possessions out of their houses as the waters without mercy climbed higher and higher. You could see the water rising, inches at a time. You could physically see the water as it went up and up and up, crawling along the grass.

The day the waters came… you could see the panic on peoples’ faces as they watched the waters force its way into houses. Houses are supposed to be safe; a place of refuge, comfort, there’s no place like home! There’s no place like home, but there is also nothing like watching your home be raped and used by flood waters, your place of comfort and rest being torn apart by mud and water and river.

The church, St. Luke’s, sat high enough on the hill that it was in no danger of being flooded, and congregants who fortunately lived out of harm’s way, out of the river wild’s maniac path, helped in whatever way they could—the women provided food and hot beverages, the men of the congregation pulling people’s furniture out of the path of the water, us children watching in horror as people’s homes were destroyed, watching the pain on people’s faces, seeing the tears in their eyes as the water came without ceasing, climbed without resting, took without caring.

The oddest thing I remember about that day, the day the waters came, was how still the river looked. It wasn’t teaming or whirling or raging, but it was tranquil, placid, almost, the surface of the climbing water as still as a lake. The currents underneath the surface were fast enough to sweep away entire trees, roots and all, but from my vantage the water seemed so gentle, so calm…

The water climbed thirty-six point five feet that day, a record.2 Nearly every single house in Point of Rocks was damaged in some way by the flood. The entire county declared a state of emergency. Damage estimates for this small town of just under one thousand residents were in the millions.3

Reflecting on the flood now, I cannot help but think of the Bible verse out of Amos, “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”4 Thinking back on the flood, I can tell you that this was neither justice nor righteousness. And what Jesus tells us today in the gospel text—that’s not my idea of discipleship, that’s not my idea of justice or righteousness. Jesus tells us to hate our parents, our spouses, our own children and our siblings. Jesus tells us to hate life itself. The cost of discipleship is so great that we are to carry a cross and follow Jesus to death. Even more, we are told to give up all of our possessions. High stakes, here. Hate? That doesn’t sound very Christ-like to me. These words are coming out of the same man who said just a few chapters ago to love God with all of our hearts and souls, and to love our neighbors as ourselves.

Jesus just got out of dinner with Pharisees, sees a huge crowd, and they start following him. Jesus turns around and says these choice words. “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, spouse and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself cannot be my disciple.” We are told the cost of discipleship, there it is. Can you take it back? I don't want it. What do you mean I have to hate those whom I love?

Jesus further says, “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.” To share in the discipleship of Jesus means to carry his cross, to share in his death, as Saint Paul says. Again, I don't want it.

Jesus finally says, “None of you cannot become my disciples if you do not give up all of your possessions.” Um... to be a disciple is to go into a life of poverty? To become a burden on others as we cannot feed ourselves or our families? What are you talking about here, Jesus?

These three requirements should cause us to pause, sitting in our pews, and think... wow, what is this, what is Jesus calling me to do? What is being a disciple really like?

First, in a world of broken families, people who suffer from depression and other ailments, people who are poorer than poor, I honestly do not think Jesus is telling us to hate our loved ones, to hate our lives, and to sell all of our possessions. Rather, we are told that the life of a disciple is a hard one, one with heavy costs and heavy burdens. In this life, in this world, those whom we love can and will die. Our possessions can be taken away by something as simple and as horrible as a flood.

Some televangelists will tell you that if you just believe in Jesus, if you just pray hard enough, if you just send a check, then all your problems will go away and God will bless you with possessions and good health, praise Jesus, hallelujah! Is that what Jesus is saying here? That if we believe in him, if we pray to him hard enough, nothing bad will happen, our lives will be easy, we can kick back and relax through life? No!

Families, the familiar, possessions, all of these can bring comfort, and even worse, complacency. We can get trapped up in spending so much time and energy with our family or for our children that we forget to take care of our own health, for instance. And even more so, we forget that there are those around us who do not have families, who have lost loved ones, who have no support network.

We are not to hate the ones we love, but we are to detach ourselves from the comfort and complacency that it can bring. Because, life can suck, sometimes, to be honest. Nothing truer has ever been said. Floods can come, hurricanes can come, health can fail, loved ones can die, all flesh is grass and the glory of the flower is grass, Isaiah says, the grass withers and the flower fades. But, the word of the Lord endures forever.5

Because the cost of discipleship is high. In the flood of 1996, I saw the cost of discipleship in the midst of the flood. I remember that my mother helped carry a blind woman out of her house who refused to leave the house she loved and knew, the woman screamed as she was carried from her house even as the waters were ankle deep.

The discipleship, the community shown by the huddled masses of the church parking lot, holding vigil that night, waiting for the flood waters to cease, as the Red Cross and church members not affected by the flood donated food for a cookout, so people could have food in the cold January weather, the church opening its doors to and even its restrooms to the community so people could have a warm place to gather. Nothing in this world can heal the hurt that was felt by the community that day. Nothing. But, the promise of God is for a brighter tomorrow, for a new day, the promise manifested in the community that day, in the disciples who labored endlessly that day and night, is what helped a town get through a disaster.

That is discipleship, that is picking up your cross and carrying it. The hours of clean up by volunteers, the love, the open doors, the donations, the discomfort of being forced to stand together with people you never normally would have met or even spoken to as you share stories and bread on a church parking lot as you watch the flood carry mud and trees and dead animals through your homes.

The message Jesus is telling us is that bad things can and will happen, disciple or not. But, being a disciple is that when these things happen we come together as a community, get over our differences, and we gather together and live the Gospel whatever the cost. When the economy crashes, we help those who lose a job, when a loved one dies, the community gathers and supports the family, when the going gets tough the community, trusting in God, provides the help and care needed, even if it means discomfort. How are we being called as a community of faith to be a disciple? How is Parkville hurting, how is Baltimore hurting, how is the world hurting in ways, even simple ways, that we can help? How can we pick up the cross and follow Jesus?

The Kingdom of God that Jesus brings is like a flood. It comes without ceasing, ripping down the barriers of race and class, the barriers that separate men and women from having equal rights and opportunities, the barriers of sexual orientation or economic wealth. Nothing that oppresses or hurts the least among us can stand in the way of the Kingdom of God and not be washed away. The comfortable lifestyles, the many possessions we have, do you think those can stand between us and the flood of the Kingdom of God?

But, the waters of justice, the streams of mercy and righteousness, the font of every blessing, just like baptism, brings new life from the old, the many nutrients washed down the Potomac River brought a spring that was never seen before, a spring full of such beauty and flowers and blossoms and plenteous crops from the lower fields from all the nutrients, the new life the flood brought was overwhelming. It didn't make up for all the hurt, but it was amazing nonetheless. Annie Dillard, an amazing nature writer, describes one such story in her book, The Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, where a huge flood came through Virginia and wrecked homes and destroyed properties. But she tells of this one poor family, who after the flood had left the bottom floor of their house covered in slime and mud, later that year, even after all the cleaning, a giant mushroom grew in their living room, providing the family food, a final gift that the flood had departed for them, an almost consolation prize.

Even more than the springtime to follow the January floods, the plentiful harvest time to follow the heavy rains, the mushroom gifts discovered, how much more so does the Kingdom of God bring new life after all the hardship and turmoil, the ripping the mighty from their thrones, the grief, after all that is done how much more does the Kingdom of God give us new life?

Jesus tells us to hate what in this life makes us comfortable, because the comfort becomes a screen against helping others, the discomfort of living the life that Jesus calls us too is to easy to ignore when we are surrounded by what makes us comfortable. We are not told to literally hate our loved ones, in fact, as I said, just a few passages earlier Jesus tells us to love God above all else, but also to love our neighbors as ourselves. But when love for the comfortable, love for the familiar, love for the close at hand becomes more than love of God and love for those who need it most, the loveless, we are not living the life of a disciple. We are not following the via dolorosa, the path of Jesus, the life Jesus calls us to.

Because you know what? Jesus sought us when we were strangers. The grace of God which binds our wandering hearts to God, and yet continuously we turn away from the weight of the crosses we are called to carry, we turn away from the poor and turn to the embrace of comfort. Daily we wander, daily are we prone to leave the God of love. But the streams of mercy, the fonts of blessing, the never-ending flood of grace is always, is always filling us, healing us, making us whole, and binding our wandering hearts to God, calling us to the discomfort of discipleship, the discipleship that comes after the deluge, after the flood.

For the day the waters came at baptism, we were forgiven. The day the waters came we were made whole and are made whole, the day the waters came we were called to a costly discipleship, the day the waters came we were given new life. Amen.


Image above from https://www.fredericknewspost.com/sections/archives/fnp_display.htm?storyID=108664, taken by Sam Yu. This image was from a recent flood in the Brunswick/Point of Rocks area.

All Bible quotations from the New Revised Standard Version

Book Review: Bonhoeffer, Althaus-Reid, and Fryer

Marcella Althaus-Reid's The Queer God

Routledge, 2003
Althaus-Reid was senior lecturer in Christian Ethics and Practical Theology at the University of Edinburgh, and the author of several ground-breaking books, including Indecent Theology. She passed away in early 2009 while she was in her mid-fifties. This is a huge loss to the academic community as I can only imagine what amazing new things she could have contributed. What a pioneering woman! She will certainly be missed!

This book takes a post-modern, queer-theorist look at God. God is described as sensual, sexual, omnisexual. What Althaus-Reid attempts to do is to describe the kenosis (emptying) of the heterosexual God as a suicidal move, one which allows the queer God to come out of the closet. This is not literal, of course, but rather expressing the hope that theology can leave behind the oppressive heterosexual God (who she describes as always having an erect penis, the Viagra God), and allow for alternative ways of seeing God to come forth. No longer is God the one who is destroying Sodom, but God is the one who we meet at the gate of Sodom.

Althaus-Reid uses many post-colonial theologies from South-America, and is clearly influenced by deconstruction, liberation theology, and feminism. What she hopes to inspire is a new theology from the margins of sexual deviance, where God is no longer restricted by heterosexuality, and where those who are not heterosexual are no longer kept from experiencing God (or, being allowed to experience a God other than one that condemns them).

The book was mind-bending for me to read. It, pardon my language, but it fucks with you. It allows you, as a stranger, to meet God as a stranger; it allows you as you are to not be a stranger and to see that God is not a stranger, either.

That said, the book was very hard for me to get through. In fact, it took me the entire summer to read. It is in some places beautifully written, but, in others, very academic as she packs thought after amazing thought into a page, making you have to stop after each small section to process and reflect on what you just read. A great book, but certainly a little too academic for some. I give this book an 8.75 out of 10, only because it was so hard to get through at times. But even the heavy academic stuff was paradigm-shift inducing!



Dietrich Bonhoeffer's Christ the Center

I read an old edition, translated by John Bowden; Harper & Row, 1960. I hope there are more recently translated editions out there!
Dietrich Bonhoeffer just... I can't talk about his life in a short little intro paragraph. I hate Wikipedia, but you can check him out here for a fairly decent article explaining his life.

At any rate, Christ the Center is not actually a book written by Bonhoeffer, but is instead a Christology complied from lectures he gave while teaching at the Confessing Church seminary. It's kind of dry compared to a lot of his other writing, but that could be the result of the translator or the compiler or who knows.

The book itself is a call for the church to make Christ the center of their theology, ministry, and mission once more. Obviously, the 1930s German church was not good at this.

One of the most amazing parts about the book is Bonhoeffer's notion of Christ "pro me," that is, Jesus is only Christ for me. Christ is not Christ in and of Christ's self, but Christ is Christ in relationship. Yet, Jesus is also Jesus throughout time and space. It's an interesting concept, and it's hard to do it justice in a little paragraph.

I read this book at the same time I read Carter Heyward's Saving Jesus From Those Who Are Right. The two books present quite an awesome argument with one another. I tend to lean more towards Heyward's understanding, of a much more relaxed Christology that is based on mutuality. But, Bonhoeffer does say some pretty awesome things. He also makes an ecological claim, stating that "Like history, nature suffers from the loss of tits meaning and its freedom. It longs for a new freedom.... The word of preaching is that enslaved nature is redeemed in hope.... In the sacraments they are freed from their dumbness and proclaim directly to the believer the new creative Word of God. They no longer need [our] interpretation" (66-7). I thought that was quite the revolutionary thing for Bonhoeffer to say in 1930s, and certainly falls upon my ears in this time of ecological crises in a powerful light (though, I would argue that precisely our thinking that nature needs our interpretation is part of what caused the ecological crisis in the first place).

Overall, it's a decent book. This translation uses exclusive language both about humanity and God, which I find offensive, though it is also reflective of both the period it was written and the period in which it was composed. I certainly hope that newer translations are more inclusive in language. This book I would recommend for someone who is interested in Bonhoeffer's Christology, otherwise, I wouldn't recommend it, except perhaps for the "Christ pro me" concept. For the modern reader, though, this book lacks the power I believe it had in its original context. But, that may just be me. I give the book a 6/10.



Kelly A. Fryer's Reclaiming the "C" Word: Daring to be Church Again

Augsburg Fortress, 2006.
Fryer has become somewhat of a celebrity in ELCA circles, her break-through book Reclaiming the "L" Word: Renewing the Church From its Lutheran Core becoming a best seller (by Augsburg Fortress standards), being used for Bible studies, book studies, council devotions, sermon series, and much more. And then, of course, she shocked everyone by resigning from ELCA roster and her position at Luther and coming out of the closet as a lesbian (for which she receives my full support and prayers! Power to you, sister!).

At any rate, this book, as was Reclaiming the "L" Word, stunning, brilliant, and eye-opening. It calls Christian Churches everywhere, but especially us Lutherans, to take a good look in the mirror and see if we are really acting the way God's church should be acting. In other words, are we too comfortable being a church "in here," too comfortable in our complacency, to make a difference as a church "out there," changing the world to be a better place. Fryer uses the compelling story of the early church from the book of Acts to show how far we have strayed from being the dynamic church, led by LAY LEADERS, NOT JUST PASTORS, to tell the story of Jesus, and, led by God, care for the world (God's work, our hands, anyone?).

The book itself is humorous, easy-to-read (a nice break from all the heavy stuff I read in seminary), and perfectly designed for personal or group devotions or a book study.

Fryer apologizes in the beginning of the book that for some, this book may not go far enough, and for others, too far. I think her words are honest and necessary for today's church. I would venture out into much deeper waters myself, but this book provides the perfect opportunity for those too afraid of drowning to wade out a safe distance from shore (but still, getting them off their butts on the beach and into the water!). However, it should be noted that while Fryer's language about humanity is certainly inclusive, her language about God still is exclusively male. I give it a 9 out of 10.

A Man's Journey Towards Feminism

"You know you don't have to be a woman to be a feminist. You should just be a... feminist. And if you're not a feminist, you should kill yourself. Because, like where did you come from, did you grow out of the ground? We're all here because of women."
-Margaret Cho

People often ask me why I am a feminist, or the similar and related question of how I became a feminist. And perhaps most important, people often ask me why feminist issues, particularly inclusive language, are important.

Journey Towards Feminism
Barbara Brown Zikmund, former president of Hartford Seminary, writes in her article "Trinity and Women's Experience" that, "[f]or most of us, faith development is a process. We grow in wisdom and stature and favor with God." She further writes that for her, the development into an understanding of feminist issues came in three stages: first, the need for inclusive language about humanity, second, the need for inclusive language about God, third, the recovery of language about God (in which she means that instead of referring to God by gender neutral nouns, such as the Holy One, The Rock, etc., she learned to feel at ease with words like "Mother" and "Father," "God" and "Goddess"). Lutherans believe that faith is not something that one develops, but is something that is given by the dynamic movement of the Holy Spirit within our life. But, we can grow into that faith, a faith seeking understanding, as Augustine put it. My journey towards feminism is similar--a movement towards deeper understanding of the world around me, of my sisters in faith and love, and of a God who was and is my Mother, my Father, my Lover, and my Friend (McFague).

Fragments of Memories:
My development toward a feminist understanding began when I was a child. I specifically remember asking my father at a young age why he referred to my sister, brother, and I as "guys," which, clearly to my young mind, did not include "gals." My father explained to me how words like "guys" and "mankind" are inclusive, how these words are commonly understood to include women. I accepted that at face value, and pocketed that sentiment without deeper thought for over a decade.

I also remember my father complaining about how a friend of my mother, who happened to be a feminist female clergy member of the Methodist Church, referred to God solely as "female." I agreed when he explained it to me. Sure, God was genderless, and referring to God with feminine imagery on (very rare) occasion is alright, but to refer to God exclusively as female is just an abomination (never mind that this "genderless" God is exclusively referred to by the majority of Christians as male).

I remember hearing a joke when I was probably about twelve about God. The fact that this stuck with me for so long proves how important it was to my understanding of God as genderless. You may have heard this or a similar joke yourself, and I feel bad sharing such an insensitive joke, but this was, oddly enough, important to my sojourn into deeper thought about the mysterious persona of God. A babysitter of mine told this joke:

A child asks his parent, "Is God a man or a woman?"
The parent replies, "God is both."
The child then asks, "Is God black or white?"
The parent replies, "God is both."
The child pauses, thinking for a moment, before replying, "So... is God Michael Jackson?"

Clearly this joke is insensitive, and I feel bad sharing it, especially in light of the anniversary of Michael Jackson's death. However, like I said, the joke, oddly enough, revolutionized my thinking about God. At the time I heard the joke, I did not even know who Michael Jackson was, but the idea that God was not an elderly white man, but was somehow both a man and a woman, both black and white shocked me and created perhaps my first major paradigm shift in my thinking about God.

Although, going to church every Sunday, seeing images of God in pop culture, in my illustrated Bible and every single reproduced painting of Jesus as the white guy with blondish-brownish hair opening his arms to a group of white blond-haired children, hearing exclusive language about God being a man (e.g. "His will," "God loves all of His creation," "Mankind was made in His image," etc.) only reinforced this notion that God was in fact male and that mankind somehow represented all of women as well.

Yet, almost as long as I've gone to church I've had the experience of my mother being my pastor, she having been ordained when I was nine, but serving as a vicar for several years before that. Thus, my earliest memories of the church have my mother in a leadership role within the church. When I first became aware of some of the negativity women clergy experience from the church hierarchy and laity alike, I was incredulous since my mother, at least from my young point-of-view at the time, seemed well received within her church. It was not until I was older that I began to see some of the challenges my mother faced being a woman clergy member.

But, even as a teenager, I lived in the fantasy world of white privilege. I was a white male Christian, and I had friends of different cultures and skin colors and religions and from my point of view "they" seemed to be treated equal in school and at the mall and wherever else I would hang out. Granted, Columbia, MD, is a fairly diverse place, and the Howard County school system has a zero tolerance policy on discrimination and racism, yet I was still blind to the discrimination that many of my friends and peers were facing because they were black, female, gay, Muslim, etc. I honestly thought (and how wrong was I!) that I lived in a world where black and white people, men and women, gay and straight were treated equally, never mind the fact that every picture I saw of God was an old white dude in the sky, every television show I saw referred to humanity as "mankind" (and every popular television show had a predominantly white cast) every spoken bit of liturgy I used, every hymn, referred to mankind and his relationship with his male God.

New Directions (No, not the Glee choir)
Suffice to say, I was unaware that I was being exclusive in my language and thinking. That I did not realize that even just by thinking that everything was alright when clearly it wasn't was causing harm. It was a professor of mine in college, Dr. Mary-Theresa Hall, that first alerted me to my exclusive language. I received a paper back from her, covered in red ink (as was her style). I don't even remember what the paper was about, but I remember she crossed out the word "mankind" and wrote above it something like "humanity--the word 'mankind' is no longer considered by academia to be appropriate and is outdated." I was shocked. I had simply never been told before that mankind was old or wrong. Ever since I first learned that mankind included women, I took it at face value. I did not even realize that mankind was exclusive. But as soon as I heard it was, I realized that just because I felt that it included everybody does not mean, nor should it mean, that it means the same thing across the board. And, why should it? What is wrong with using humanity if it is more inclusive? Why must we stick with language that causes harm to people just because, in theory, it should include everybody. These revelations hit me at once when I received the paper back. Needless to say, from then on, all my papers referred to humanity in inclusive terms, even going so far as to replace all exclusive language from authors and scholars I was quoting with inclusive language.

The rest of the story is confusing to me. I almost feel like I must have woken up one day with a feminist understanding as I cannot remember any more specific revelations I had along my journey. Even still, I have to admit--with pop culture telling me feminism is stupid, not to be taken seriously--it was a slow journey. But I do know that by the time I got to seminary I was already well on the path towards feminism (though I would probably not have referred to myself as such). It needed professors like Dr. Hall, Professor Wise, Dr. Thompson, Professor Wagoner and so many more who were patient, kind, yet firm in their desire to push me outside of my comfort zone and see the world as something other than my naivety and experience as a white male Christian provided. It also helped that I had been discriminated against by many for being an "other," not conforming to society's view of normal in every way.

As Zikmund said, or even St. Paul in his bit about "Now we see but through a glass darkly" (I Corinthians 13.11-12), we really don't know. We are stuck in a state of ignorance, an ignorance that, first of all, is far from bliss, but also will one day move into full knowledge. But until then we sojourn along with one another, move towards deeper understanding as best as we are able. For anyone to claim complete knowledge over another is only proof of their ignorance. I was one who claimed knowledge more complete than others, that somehow my belief that God should be referred to as a man was more "right" than those who believed otherwise. When I realized that my claim on knowledge was out of ignorance, I was able to, ironically, take the first step towards deeper knowledge. Augustine asked "What do we love when we love our God?" and replied that he did not know the answer, yet proceeded to write about God anyway, of whom he could say nothing yet not stop speaking. This is what the first step in my journey towards feminism was about for me.

Why Inclusive Language is Important
Language informs how we think and how we act. It's true, you cannot get around it. Just look at any propaganda posters, advertisements, or television commercials. I need look no farther than my own experience--hearing God referred to by exclusively male terms when I was a child made me think that God literally was male (and anyone who thought otherwise was wrong or misinformed).

I cannot begin to summarize the wealth of information that feminist theologians such as Carter Heyward, Sallie McFague, Rosemary Radford Ruether, Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, and so many more have shared, explaining why the need for inclusive language is important. I cannot even hope to add to that wealth of information. I can only share a story told to me by a very dear friend. This friend of mine was approached by her young daughter one day after church (this is a Lutheran family who attend an ELCA congregation) and asked if God loves boys more than girls. My friend replied, "No! Of course not! God loves girls and boys equally! Why would you think that?" The daughter replied, "Because God is a man, so doesn't he love boys more?" Needless to say my friend was dumbstruck. The fact that this girl thought that she could not be loved as much as her brothers by God alone should show the importance of inclusive language, both about God and about humanity.

Martin Luther coined the phrase "Theology of the Cross" to describe his interpretation of the Pauline image of Christ--that is, the cross is where we are to get our knowledge of this God. From the cross we see that God became truly human, that God suffered and died for our behalf, and that, therefore, our God is a God who takes on our suffering--who is present in our suffering--that our God is one that suffers along side us as opposed to the cause of our suffering.

Feminism and the cross sometimes are more opposed than in sync, and for obvious reasons. I, too, am prone to believe in a non-violent atonement. However, where the theology of the cross and feminism meets I think has been discovered by liberation theologians. In James Cones' book A Black Theology of Liberation he tells us of the black Christ. Sure, Jesus was more-than-likely a middle-eastern man (and certainly not European in appearance!!!!!!), but that the God on the cross takes on our suffering, and suffers along side us. Thus, the Christ on the cross is the same Christ in the fields of the South, on the over-crowded diseased boats in the slave trade, and hanging from the lynching tree. Christ suffers along side. This Christ crucified is the Syrophoenician woman at the well, pleading with the Hebrew Grecco-Roman Jesus for a miracle, the Christ who is the battered woman escaping with her children from an abusive husband while the church of glory tells her that to get a divorce is a sin. It is in this theology of the cross that we see Christ crucified is not just the Son of God, but the Daughter of God, perhaps crucified from the beginning of time to the end as the God-man (as Moltmann would say), but so much more, the true presence of God in teary eyes of every person who has ever felt pain.

In this patriarchal culture, women get paid less then men for the same amount of work. How can we expect this to change if we say that all "men" should be paid equally? Women aren't part of that phrase. How can we expect change if women aren't even part of the spoken or written equation? When we have biblical passages telling us that women should be silent in church and obey their husbands, never mind the passages that say that in Christ there is no man and woman? And how can people expect to be baptized into a church of equality and love when we forced by an out-dated ruling of the council of bishops (that was by far majority all male) to be baptized under the patriarchal hierarchy of "Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?"

These were the questions I simply could not answer in my old way of thinking. As I continue this journey I have learned to listen to the experiences of others, to lay aside old ways of thinking, even if only for a moment, so I can hear the voices of others that have previously not been given a chance to speak by the church or by society. And most of all, I continue to remind myself that I don't know the answers. No one does. But until then, we move forward in grace, trust, and hope, faith seeking deeper understanding.

That is why I'm a feminist, and that is why I think it matters.

Trinity Sunday Litury

A liturgy I crafted for Holy Trinity Sunday. This is the result of spending a semester looking at the Trinity, reading great authors like Karl Barth, Deitrich Bonhoeffer, Augustine of Hippo, Martin Luther, Marcella Althaus-Reid, Carter Heyward, Rosemary Radford Ruether, and Sallie McFague. I feel the relational and mutual aspect of Trinity is important, and I tried to highlight that throughout the liturgy below. Some images may seem modelistic, but when presented with a wide variety of images it is my hope that people can look past vaguely defined heresies and delight in the wonder of language and our language of God, recognizing that all of our attempts to speak of God (of whom we cannot but speak) are flawed.

Intro
We welcome you to our worship service this day! Today is Holy Trinity Sunday, in which we celebrate the revelation that our God is a God of relationship, traditionally expressed as “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” On this day, we look at other images of the Triune God, recognizing that God appears to us also as “Mother, Daughter, and Spirit,” and in many other ways.

Invocation
P: In the name of God: the Parent, the Lover, and the Friend.
C: Amen.

Confession and Forgiveness
P: Blessed be the holy Trinity, + one God, who forgives all our sins, and whose mercy endures forever.
C: Amen.
P: God of all mercy and consolation, come to the help of your people, turning us from our sin to live for you alone. Give us the power of your Holy Spirit that we may confess our sin, receive your forgiveness, and grow into the fullness of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.
C: Amen.
P: Let us confess our sin in the presence of God and of one another.
Most merciful God,
C: we confess that we continually sin against you, turning away from you with our thoughts, words, and actions, betraying the love and grace you give us. We, in our arrogance, try to name you, creating false idols against you.
We confess that we continually sin against our neighbors, those like us and those not like us. We have participated in corrupt structures that benefit a few over others, and we have discriminated against people based upon gender, sexual orientation, creed, ethnicity, culture, financial and social situation, and beliefs that are different from our own.
We confess that we continually sin against your creation, often in the name of progress, wasting limited resources and betraying the hospitality that nature provides us.
In your endless compassion forgive us all of our sins, known and unknown, things we have done and things we have failed to do. Turn us again to you, bring us to mutuality, and lead us into your eternal dance of love, so that we may serve you, our neighbors, and your creation, in newness of life through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen.

Apostolic Greeting
P: The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all.
C: And also with you.
P: We praise the Creator, who continually creates the universe, breathing fire into the stars, spinning the electrons, who makes all things new.
C: All glory and honor to the Creator!
P: We praise the Redeemer, who through living and breaking bread with us, through dying, and through raising from the grave redeems us all.
C: All glory and honor to the Redeemer!
P: We praise the Sanctifier, who takes this broken world and mends it, bringing all things towards wholeness and completion.
C: All glory and honor to the Sanctifier!
P: Let all the world sing praise to our God in three persons, blessed Trinity!
C: Amen!

Prayer of the Day
P: The Triune Lord be with you.
C: And also with you.
P: Let us pray through our body, mind, and spirit:
blessed are you, O God, Mother of creation, King of the universe. Before time began you were in relationship, eternally in mutuality, love, and dynamic movement. We call out your name in worship, trust, and prayer. Send your Spirit to us, and like a fire, let it spark forth truth, hope, and a wanderlust for good and service, so that we might live into the grace that our friend Christ has given us. We pray this all in your Triune name: the Spark, the Fire, and the Flashing Forth.
C: Amen.

Prayers of Intercession
P: With the whole people of God in brother Jesus, gathered together in the communion of the Holy Spirit, let us pray for the church, those in need, and all of God’s creation.
P: Eternal Triune God, we pray for the universal church, for all religions, and their ministry and mission in the world. We pray especially that we may proclaim the good news to all the world. Lord, in your mercy,
C: Hear our Prayer.
P: God our parent, you held all creation in your womb, nurturing it, singing songs to it, loving it. At its birth you lit the stars and molded the planets. Even still you create, continuing to call us into the dance of creation with you. We pray for our brother Sun, our sister Moon, our brothers and sisters of the air, ocean, forests, and land. We pray that we may learn from our siblings, and we pray that you will lead us to sustainability and care for your whole creation. We join our voices in praise and thanksgiving with that of the entire cosmos, saying, Lord, in your mercy,
C: Hear our Prayer.
P: God our leader, you cast the mighty down from their thrones and uplift the humble of heart. We pray for peace in the world, we pray for all nations and governmental leaders, that we may all learn to live in partnership and community. Teach us to look past political, ethical, social, religious, ethnic, and cultural differences so that we may live as one yet many, many yet one. Lord, in your mercy,
C: Hear our Prayer.
P: God our lover, you entered into this broken world as one of us. You taught us by your example to care for the poor, the oppressed, the sick, the bereaved, the lonely, the outcast, the hopeless. Your compassion knows no limits, and your grace no bounds. We pray that you liberate all people, free all who are oppressed from all oppression and free us who are oppressors, give us knowledge to see our betrayal of mutuality. Lord, in your mercy,
C: Hear our Prayer.
P: God our friend, you bind us together, knitting us into one community of faith and love. We pray for this our congregation of friends, family, loved ones, and neighbors. We pray that you will continue to restore us with your Holy Spirit, through baptism, preaching, and meal. Grant us vision to see outside of these walls, hearts burning with passion for your justice. Lord, in your mercy,
C: Hear our Prayer.
P: Even here, even now,
C: Your Spirit moves us.
P: Even though we sit with clenched teeth, arms crossed, unwilling to change, unwilling to do your justice in the world,
C: Your Spirit calls us.
P: Into your hands, gracious God, we commend all for whom we pray, trusting in your mercy, send us the power of your Holy Spirit; through Jesus Christ, our Savior.
C: Amen.

Great Thanksgiving
P: The Lord be with you.
C: And also with you.
P: Lift up your hearts.
C: We lift them to the Lord.
P: Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
C: It is right to give our thanks and praise.
P: It is indeed right, our duty, and our joy, that we should at all times and in all places give thanks and praise to you, almighty and merciful God, through our Savior Jesus Christ. You reveal your glory as the glory of the Parent, Lover, and Friend: equal in majesty, undivided in splendor, one Lord, one God, ever to be adored in your eternal glory. And so, with all the choirs of angels, with the church on earth and the hosts of heaven, we praise your name and join their unending hymn:
(Sanctus)


I also suggest for the Creed that one might use either Martin Luther's explanation of the creed in the "Small Catechism" or the Athanasian Creed. Portions of the liturgy are adapted from "traditional" Lutheran Liturgy, some of which is in the Evangelical Lutheran Worship hymnal (2006). Please feel free to use any or all of this liturgy; however, please give credit to the author.

Sermon--Year C, Pentecost 4

Before I get into the sermon, let me just explain something about the context. The congregation this is meant to be preached at is one that I have a relatively good relationship with, otherwise I would not preach such a political message. This is a once-farming community, but now in a suburban context.

Luke 8:26-39 

26 Then they arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. 27 As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. 28 When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, "What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me" -- 29 for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) 30 Jesus then asked him, "What is your name?" He said, "Legion"; for many demons had entered him. 31 They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss. 32 Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. 33 Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.

34 When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. 35 Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. 36 Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. 37 Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. 38 The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, 39 "Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you." So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.


Year C: Pentecost 4

In several states in the mid-Atlantic region, the quest for coal has reached new heights, quite literally, as the purple mountains majesty of Appalachia are de-crowned in a process called Mountain Top Removal Mining, in which entire tops of mountains are blasted away in order to find seams of coal buried in the rocks contained hidden away in the heart of the mountains. First, this process requires that the top of the mountain is deforested, as if the mountain, once green and full of life, is shaved and balded, naked. Then, the tops of mountains are blasted off, and the rock and earth and soil are dumped into a valley, which often blocks streams and destroys even more forest.

After the few strips of coal are removed from where the hallowed massive mighty living mountain once stood, now nothing more than a large hollowed, naked, exposed piece of rock, the space is reclaimed with the intention of slowly reforesting the land. But the fact remains, the mighty mountain is gone forever.

The environmental impact of Mountain Top Removal Mining is, needless to say, overwhelmingly negative. Entire ecosystems are destroyed, streams are blocked, and water is contaminated with high levels of minerals, which are not only poisonous to fish and wildlife, but also poisonous to the many people who get their water supply from these now polluted streams. Not to mention that these mountains, a part of the natural beauty of this world, these mountains which so many grew up with, are now gone forever, lost to all future generations. The United States Environmental Protection Agency estimates that over 1.4 million square miles--or, about the size of the state of Delaware--of Appalachian mountaintops and forests will have been cleared by this process over the past thirty years.

You may be asking, why hasn’t this been stopped? Why isn’t there legislation to protect these mountains? Well, the issue is complicated. Mountain Top Removal Mining provides income for many people in a place where frankly, there are not many other options for employment available, especially during this time of economic turmoil. The United States receives over fifty-percent of its electricity from coal, and so the demand is high. To stop Mountain Top Removal Mining would be to force hundreds, perhaps thousands of families, out of work and, perhaps, even change the life styles of hundreds of thousands of families who rely on coal power for their electricity.

Is the health of the environment, not to mention the health of the few hundred families who have unsafe drinking water worth the stability of the hundreds of thousands of people who receive electricity from coal and the thousands of families who receive their sole income from this process? Are the few who are currently being largely ignored by the greater community worth enough to make change which will adversely effect a larger population?

In the gospel today, Jesus is faced with a similar decision. Imagine, if you will, that you are one of the swineherds, observing this interaction between the demoniac and this person you’ve never met before, someone called Jesus. Sure, you have heard about Jesus before, and his healings in Galilee, but as a gentile living in a gentile nation, Jesus’ life and ministry seem to you to be more of a Jewish phenomenon and nothing of any importance to you. Jesus is just one of the many self-proclaimed prophets who wonders through Judea, and you could hardly be concerned with him. What makes this one so special? you might ask.

So here you are with several other swineherds, tending your large herd of pigs. And you see this man step out of his boat with a few of the followers. That’s a little odd, because they seem to have made it across the sea of Galilee during the storm last night without capsizing, but here they are. Almost immediately after stepping out of the boat, you hear the all-too-familiar loud shrieks of the demoniac from behind you. You turn around just to see him run past--naked, dirty, covered in bruises and scratches. He runs past you and up to Jesus and bows down at his feet, grabbing onto Jesus’ robes and pleading with him, falling down on the ground. You can hear bits of the conversation from where you stand. You share a glance with some of the other swineherds, a glance of disapproval.

You see, you know this man, this demoniac. He would become so violent towards himself and others that he would need to be kept in chains and guarded so as not to hurt anyone. This man was not just a noisy nuisance, or an unpleasant sight as he ran around naked, but this man was full of evil, almost out of control as he would bring harm to other people and himself. You debate going down there to grab this man and take him away before he acts out against Jesus or one of his followers, but before you can shout any warnings down to Jesus you realize that it seems Jesus already has the situation under control.

You watch as the conversation unfolds, the demoniac asking for healing, for release from his demons. And Jesus agrees, attempting to cast these demons out. But then the man shouts “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me!” Jesus looks at the man with kindness and simply asks “What is your name?” The man replies “Legion!” as if he were full of many of these demons. And then the man begged Jesus not to send them into the abyss, into the darkness, and instead to enter into the pigs.

You look around at the other swineherds to see if they are getting any of this. They smile that knowing smile, like this is some sort of comedy. And it is--this crazy, demon possessed man first of all having a conversation with Jesus, and now asking Jesus to cast the demons into the pigs, as if Jesus had some sort of power to do that. I mean, you’ve heard about deviled ham, but this?

But you hear from your vantage point Jesus agree, and before you know it, you hear your pigs start squealing as if something had scared them. You and your peers try in vain to corral them, but the pigs begin to stampede, rushing towards the end of the cliff. And before they could be stopped, your entire herd of pigs leap off the edge of the cliff and into the foaming sea below. At first you stand in disbelief, peering over the edge of the cliff and into the waters where your large herd of swine just drowned. And then, you turn around, angry at this Jesus. He just killed your entire herd of swine! This was your income, your job. How will you be able to put food on the table for your family? How will you be able pay the tax collectors? Not just that, but these pigs were your own, you raised them, you loved them, and sat long nights with them, protecting them. And now they are gone. Your anger quickly turns to fear as you think about this power Jesus has, a power to kill an entire herd of swine.

You and your companions run back to the city to tell everyone about the horror that had just taken place. People don’t believe you at first, but soon, a large crowd appears and follows you back to the area by the sea where it had all taken place. And there they see it--Jesus and his disciples, and the man--the demoniac--now clothed and in his right mind, and having a casual conversation with Jesus.

The crowd from the city is just as afraid as you are, and so they begin to shout at Jesus, and you join. “Leave here! We don’t want you! You disturb the peace! You are helping these freeloaders like the demoniac! We work hard for our money and our community and our well-being, and you would help this evil man at our expense?”

Jesus does not argue but heads back towards the boat, his disciples follow. Before he leaves, the demoniac once more throws himself at Jesus’ feet. You can’t hear what is said over the loud shouts of the crowd, but Jesus speaks to him, embraces him, and then leaves. The man gets up, turns around, and races towards you shouting “Jesus has healed me! Look at all God has done for me!”

Jesus had to make the choice: is this one man’s spiritual and physical health worth more than the economic well-being of the farmers and the community? Jesus chooses here the reconciliation of one at the expense of many.

This seems to be a central theme of Luke’s telling of the gospel story. Over and over again we see Jesus heal people who were cast out of the community, bringing them back into full relationship with the larger community even if it comes at the community’s expense. His many parables are full of stories where those who have must give up what they have in order to stand in solidarity with those who have not. Right from the beginning of this gospel we hear the song of Mary, proclaiming before Jesus is even born the type of things he will do on behalf of his Parent, the Lord God. Yes, Jesus’ message and ministry is the kind that rips the mighty down from their thrones in exchange for the rising up of the humble, feeds the hungry and leaves the fed no part.

Leave no doubt about it: Jesus’ ministry is a radical one, one that brings both good and bad news. The good news is whenever you are cast out from society, the power of the gospel will bring you back in no matter what the cost is to those who cast you out. The bad news is that this community comes at the expense of us who have much and are unwilling to share.

In contemporary times we are faced with these difficult decisions. Health care reform, the ELCA Human Sexuality Statements and decisions, and Mountain Top Removal Mining are just a few examples. We have entire communities at stake on either side of the issue. And, the majority’s lifestyle is often what is at stake. The haves not wanting to give up their hold to let the have nots in. Our elected officials in the church and the country make difficult decisions all the time, having often to weigh the pros and cons on both sides. I am not going to pretend I know what is best for this country or this church.

But, what I will say is that the gospel consistently shows that Jesus will help those in need in spite of those who already have everything and more, and often at their expense. The gospel should rattle us in our current lifestyles and force us to look outside of ourselves. For instance, is it not our responsibility to find sustainable employment for the miners that is not poisonous to the environment and local communities? Is that not our call as community? As family?

The gospel calls us to true reconciliation and community. And when we discriminate or bar people from this table, from this fellowship, from this man who is God, the gospel will work around us, and yes, in spite of us.

No matter who you are, or where you are in life’s journey, this gospel also shows us the good news. Jesus goes out of his way to help us when we are excluded by the community. Just as Jesus not only showed compassion to the man who was kicked out of the community for being possessed, but also to the very demons who possessed him, Jesus shows compassion to the oppressed, the excluded, the last, lonely, lifeless, lost. Whether you are excluded because of your race, gender, sexual orientation, creed, social status, culture, or even because you are struggling with your own inner demons, whatever forms they may come in, the gospel brings you into full community.

And yes, evil exists in this world. That is why we are faced with these hard decisions about health care and environmental problems, and that same evil rejoices, rejoices when we bar people from community based on sexual orientation, gender, age, race, health care or not, democrat or republican, rich or poor, social status, sick or in perfect health, even those possessed by the worst of demons. But Jesus stands up against that evil, the one man against the legion, against the many, almost as if it were an epic show off. And Jesus shows us that that fighting that evil and doing the right thing almost always comes at a cost. It cost the swineherds their flock, the community their food and commerce. It often costs us today our comfortable “hard-earned” lifestyles. And it ultimately cost Jesus his life. Amen.

Sermon for Passion Sunday

Passions Sunday; The Trial of Jesus; Luke 23.1-25




Feudal Japan, the early seventeenth century. Portuguese missionaries are successful in bringing the gospel of a loving, crucified God to the Japanese people. The Christian movement catches on fast, almost as if the Holy Spirit created an unquenchable wild fire within the hearts of the Japanese people during the Tokugawa Shogunate Dynasty.

But then! A new ruler comes to power, and he finds the rapid spread of this new religion brought on by a foreign government to be dangerous, and so he outlaws this new religion, the religion of the loving, crucified God. This ruler also raised taxes to fund the construction of a new palace. Peasants, angry that their taxes were raised when they are already poor, and angry that their newfound religion was taken away from them, fight back, in what is called the Shimabara Rebellion. The new ruler defeated the rebellion, and tightened his grip over the nation of Japan, and began a campaign of bitter persecution against those who followed this loving, crucified God.

The Christian movement did not stop, but was forced to become an underground movement, what is called the Kakure Kirishitan movement--the hidden Christians. Risk of persecution was great--Christians would be imprisoned, tortured, and asked to renounce their faith by trampling on or defacing these beautifully carved images of Jesus called fumie. These fumie, often made of wood or bronze, would depict pictures of Jesus or Mary, and by asking a Christian to trample on it would be asking them to perform the ultimate act of apostasy, of turning one’s back on God. If they would not apostatize, the Christians would be faced with torture--either having boiling water poured over them, or hot coals placed on them, burning through their skin, or any other number of horrible things done to them until they either died or apostatized.

Shusaku Endo, a Japanese novelist, wrote a fictional account which takes place during this historical period of a priest named Friar Rodriguez in his acclaimed book, Silence. Rodriguez, a Portuguese missionary, journeys to Japan in the midst of all these rumors of torture and apostasy, to gather information and to help lead the Kakure Kirishitans, the hidden Christians, who were left without leadership after many of the missionaries and priests were captured and tortured. Rodriguez is filled with love for his God, for Jesus, the crucified God, and with love for the Japanese church in its time of affliction and suffering.

After several months, Rodriguez is captured and jailed. Praying to God for release from prison, Rodriguez slowly begins to feel and hear the silence of God--the crucified God that Rodriguez loved dearly is nowhere to be found as he awaits torture or apostasy. “Where are you God? Why don’t you answer my prayers?” The prison cell is silent, and Rodriguez is heartbroken.

An afflicted, broken nation under foreign occupation long prayed to a silent God. This nation, what was called Israel and now, under Roman rule is called Judaea, waited and waited and waited for an answer to their prayers, with silence as their only response. Then, this man begins teaching and preaching and healing throughout Judaea, claiming to be the Messiah, to be God’s answer to God’s people’s prayers. Finally! Here is the one who will lead the people of God out of captivity, the one who will restore the autonomy of this nation under God, the one who will be King. This man, this Jesus, rides triumphant into Jerusalem, people laying cloaks and palm branches before him, singing songs of praise and shouts of Hosanna. This man will save us.

It is weird that only a few days later, this same man, this Jesus, stands on trial.

Jesus stands on trial before Pilate, before Herod, before the religious leaders and the mob, and Jesus stands on trial before us. What is this man guilty of? The mob said that Jesus was perverting the nation, forbidding the proper payment of taxes to the emperor, and claiming to be the Messiah--the anointed one, the chosen one of God most high proclaimed and foretold in the scriptures. Jesus claimed to be the answer to a nation’s bitter, painful, prayer of oppressed people under an oppressive foreign occupation.

Is Jesus guilty?

Well, the Gospel of Luke does not tell us whether or not Jesus was perverting the nation, nor does it tell us if Jesus was forbidding the proper payment of taxes. But, ah, what the Gospel of Luke does tell us from the beginning is that this man is proclaimed as the Messiah. In Luke, Chapter 4, Jesus is teaching in the synagogue and reads a portion of Isaiah, which says: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Luke 4.18-19). Jesus closes the scroll, looks over his captive audience, every eye is upon him, and Jesus says “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing” (Luke 4.21).

From the very beginning of Jesus’ public ministry he has been not just proclaiming that he is the Messiah, but healing, teaching, preaching, casting out demons, and even prophesying against his contemporaries. All these things point to the fact that yes, Jesus is sent from God, that yes, Jesus is the Messiah.

But, as the excitement of the triumphal entry into Jerusalem that we celebrated this morning with palm branches and shouts of hosanna, and songs of praise for our king… when that excitement died down and the crowd waited anxiously to see Jesus finally go the next step, go the distance, be the long awaited Messiah that would rid Jerusalem--the very city of God--from the emperor who claimed lordship for himself, a false idol ruling over the Temple of the True God--the crowd eagerly awaiting Jesus’ next move, his bringing down of the man, the system, the government, and restoring Israel--God’s very chosen people--to full covenantal relationship and autonomy under the God who promised these things and more--the crowd waited… and waited… and waited… and Jesus did not deliver. He did not deliver to their expectations, he did not deliver them out of bondage. Jesus fails to meet the expectations of the Messiah who would lead a people to freedom from oppression. Jesus is guilty of not being who his people hoped he would be. Jesus is guilty of proclaiming to be the Messiah, the chosen one, when all evidence in the minds of the expectant people, waiting in the midst of their silent suffering, when all evidence points to the fact that he is proclaiming to be the Messiah when he in fact is not. Or if he is, he is not the one that the oppressed cried out and prayed through thousands of broken, silent, suffering nights hoped him to be. Jesus, the same one who said that he would let the oppressed go free seems to stand idly by, healing here and there, preaching good news of God’s love, while performing no action against the Roman emperor who is the very vehicle of oppression in the minds and hearts of the people of Judea.

And! What is worse? When asked if he is the Messiah, Jesus says, perhaps in a biting, sarcastic tone, “You say that I am.” That is, as if to say, you were the ones who built up these hopes and dreams of who I would be, you are the ones who said I would free you from Roman occupation. You say that I am these things.”

Herod, hoping for a miracle, gets silence from Jesus. Pilate, hoping Jesus would defend his innocence, gets silence. The mob, mocking and jeering, filled with disappointment and anger and frustration and evil, get silence.

We, along with the mob, stand with fingers pointed at Jesus, eyes narrowed, saying crucify, crucify, crucify. Because we, along with the crowd, continually have our hopes dashed by this man.

When the poor go hungry, the sick die, the lonely remain alone, children halfway around the world dieing from AIDS and children next door going hungry. When people are abused, battered, broken--when oppressive regimes create genocide and unjust wars are fought throughout the world--where is this man who claims to be the Messiah?

Friar Rodriguez was feeling the same thing when he sat in his prison cell that dark night before he would be asked to either be tortured or renounce the God who had thus far only showed him silence to his suffering. All night long he prays, but no answer.

The morning arrives--“the first rays of the dawn appear” (171). Endo tells us of how Friar Rodriguez is taken outside, and before him is placed the fumie, the image of Jesus, a face that he has loved but now has grown to hate--the face for which he has suffered so much already, and is now asked by his oppressors to trample upon that face or be tortured. With a heavy heart, Friar Rodriguez lifts his foot, poised, ready to trample upon that face… when the silence is broken… Yes, Endo writes that Friar Rodriguez stands poised, and looks at “that fumie, a burning image… On it was a copper plate on which a Japanese craftsman had engraved [Jesus’] face. Yet the face was different from that on which the priest had gazed so often…. It was not a Christ whose face was filled with majesty and glory; neither was it a face made beautiful by the endurance of pain; nor was it a face filled with the strength of a will that has repelled temptation. The face of the man who then lay at his feet was sunken and utterly exhausted…. It was this concave face that had looked at the priest in sorrow. And then the Christ in bronze [the face of Jesus from the fumie] speaks…: ‘Trample! Trample! I more than anyone know of the pain in your foot. Trample! It was to be trampled on by [humankind] that I was born into this world. It was to share [humankind’s] pain that I carried my cross.

“The priest placed his foot on the fumie [and trampled]” (171-176).

Jesus’ voice from that image pierced through the silence that clouds Shusaku Endo’s novel. That voice of Jesus, speaking to Friar Rodriguez, telling him to trample. Yes, it was “In sorrow [that Jesus] had gazed up at [Friar Rodriguez] as the eyes spoke appealingly: ‘Trample! Trample! It is to be trampled on by you that I am here‘” (176).

You see, Jesus speaks to us in the hopeless silence our hearts feel from time to time. Jesus’ silence to the crowd, to Pilate and Herod, Jesus’ silence was a self-accusing silence, a silence to the questions burning in everyone’s hearts, a silence that would seem to all the world to be finalized on the cross, but a silence that Jesus would break once and for all on the third day. Because Jesus did come to rid us of oppression, but not the oppression of Rome but the oppression of sin.

Jesus does speak to us in silence, and speaks to us in our suffering from his own suffering on the cross. You see, Jesus is not the Messiah we ask for, nor is he the Messiah we deserve, but he is the Messiah that dies for us and our sins.

Holy week is about that silence, living in it--the time between Good Friday and Easter Sunday when the disciples waited in fear, all their hopes shattered. When we feel the heavy emptiness, the roaring silence fill us up, with no apparent answer. The silence that grows in the space between every spoken word, the silence at the end of a prayer before the amen is finally heard. This week, I invite you to live in that silence, to wrestle with it. To let it fill you up and empty you out, the grace that hurts almost as much as it heals.

Yes, let us feel that silence the disciples felt that crucifixion Friday, and that Saturday before the resurrection dawn lit up the sky and their hearts. But even here, like the fumie to Friar Rodriguez, even in the midst of the silence Holy Week brings, Jesus speaks to us--we look forward to Maundy Thursday, when we are reminded that God’s presence is among us every time we break bread and share the cup of wine. We are reminded of God’s presence with us and among us in our suffering when God died for us on Good Friday. And on Easter Sunday, we celebrate with the whole church and all of creation, even the rocks and trees and mountains, we celebrate the day when the silence is broken once and for all with Christ’s definitive “AMEN!”

But, for now, my brothers and sisters, as we enter this week, let us remain in the apparent silence of Jesus, the silent response to us as we shout along with the mob, even today, the sin filling our hearts, as we shout “Crucify him! Crucify him! Crucify him!” as we put the King of all the Cosmos on trial for not being the King we expect. Yes, and when in our suffering and in our sin and in our pain, we put Jesus on trial, we raise our foot to trample, to crucify, foot held high, poised, looking down at that face, the silence is broken for us, too, as that face looks back at us, the eyes of Jesus, full of love and understanding, proving his suffering along with us in our suffering, and begging us to “Trample. Trample. Trample.”

Devotion XVI at Bethany Village

My sixteenth devotion at Bethany... amid all the Christmas joy and sugarplum fairies and stuff, sometimes it's good to remember that for some Christmas brings pain and loss of their loved ones, and it is good to stand with them during this time and support them. What is the spirit of Christmas, the true spirit?

Matthew 1.32b “…‘and they shall name him Emmanuel,’ which means, ‘God is with us.’”

The spirit of Christmas is found in stillness.

In Oberndorf, Austria, there is a church named Nicola-Kirche (the Church of Saint Nicholas). 24 December 1818, the pastor, Rev. Josef Mohr, and the head musician, Franz Gruber, realized that the organ was no longer working, apparently, the bellows had been eaten through by mice. The bellows are essential to the organ because it keeps the air pressure at a steady rate, which allows for the movement of air through the pipes. In other words, holes in the bellows meant no music. So, Mohr went to his study, grabbed a poem he had written some time earlier, and had Gruber compose it to music. The Christmas service that night was played solely on guitar, with this one new song not being played masterfully on the grand organ, but instead on the quiet strings of the guitar. The song was, of course, “Stille Nacht,” or “Silent Night” as we know it.

Of course, the whole organ story is legend, no one knows for sure anymore the particular motivation for this song being written on guitar instead of the organ, but I think it is a likely story. And, even if the story is false, it still holds the beauty of Christmas, the beauty of simplicity.

Certain churches have the tradition of, during “Silent Night,” having a candle lighting where all the lights are turned off, sometimes even the organ will go silent, and you’ll just hear the voices of those around you singing the words “Silent night, holy night/ all is calm, all is bright,” where the good singers and the bad singers are drowned out by the music of the people around you, and you hold you light close to the book so you can attempt to read the words in the darkness, trying not to catch it on fire where kids fight behind you, trying to purposefully catch each other on fire.

There is something about the faith expression there, something in it, that our culture’s rushed, hurried, and perfectionist view of Christmas has never quite captured. Regardless of what your faith is, the simplicity carries forth the faith. Even those who do not believe sing the words, relying on the belief of others to fill their hearts and minds, knowing that when, not if, they return to belief, the others will return the favor.

Christmas spirit comes in the silence. It comes when you’re completely exhausted and sit down for the first time in what feels like days and you just are quiet. Pensive. Peaceful. It is the long needed rest for the weary.

Christmas is also in the expecting. The Advent which proceeds Christmas. The long awaiting of something… that knowing that something better is yet to come. That is the Christmas spirit. It is silence. It is expectance. It is rest. It is peace. It is not doing for once.

I remember how my brother, sister, and I used to sing together in three part harmony, standing next to each other in the pews on Christmas Eve. The music was glorious. My brother, sister, and I even made homemade recordings of us, me on piano, my sister on flute, and my brother on cello or guitar, and then we gave those out to family members for Christmas.

My brother passed away unexpectedly two years ago at the age of eighteen. And the hardest time of the year consistently is Christmas, where all the joyous family traditions we had—the singing together in a pew on Christmas Eve, the playing our instruments together, decorating trees, all of that is different. Christmas can be a very joyous time for many. But for those who have lost loved ones, Christmas may be a heavy-hearted time.

When I miss my brother this season, I cannot help but think of that first night that “Silent Night” was sung, just the simple guitar. Christmas is about family and love, true, but sometimes I feel more Christmas “spirit” when I’m alone, maybe just decorating my little apartment, humming a Christmas carol to myself. I feel it in the absence of Justin. Where he is no longer with us. I feel that. And I feel the Christmas spirit in his absence. The knowing that he’s gone now, but something better is yet to come. Peace of mind? A harmony that is now only the sound of one voice, united, sad, but peaceful? A voice that begins in silence before the first note even begins. That has silence in the spaces between each note, each phrase. That silent night where a nation heavy with mourning, under foreign occupation, had all their dreams realized in a tiny, little child born in the most humblest of places, a lowly cattle stall. That is where the Christmas spirit lies.

Let us pray.
Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe. Be with us this advent season, help us prepare for the advent of your reign, an advent realized in the birth of our king in lowly and humble attire. Be with us, we pray, in the name of your son, whose name is a promise in itself: Emmanuel, God is with us.

Let us pray the prayer your son taught us:
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us today our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. Amen.