Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”

Mark 8:31-38

My sermon from First Sunday in Lent (February 25, 2018) on Mark 8:31-38. Listen to the recording here or read my manuscript below. 

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It’s kind of amazing how the aftermath of the shooting in Parkland, Florida hasn’t followed the typical script. We’ve had so many of these kinds of attacks over the last 20 years that we’ve developed, as a society, a normal rhythm for its aftermath. After a sudden and collective burst of shock and grief, after everyone sends the victims their thoughts and prayers, our collective attention starts to dissipate. Within a week, we’ve pretty much moved on to whatever the next thing might be. We’re pretty good at following the script but this time feels different. It’s been 11 days and the shooting is still showing up in our conversations. Some of us know the names of the survivors more than the name of the attacker which isn’t how it normally goes. And that’s because, I think, that this is the first time when the survivors of this kind of attack have had the resources to amplify their voice and speak for themselves. I don’t think these kids are saying anything that is new. In the aftermath of Columbine, all the kids around me were saying the same kinds of things. But this time, the overall environment is different. The kids from Parkland don’t know what a world without people amplifying their own voice actually looks like. They were in pre-k when Facebook first came out and in 2nd grade when Apple introduced the first iPhone. By the time they picked up their first Level 2 easy readers, they watched websites, blogs, and social media launch political movements like the Tea Party. In 4th grade, they saw political activist burst all over North Africa and the Middle east with the rise of the Arab Spring. And when parents gave them their first smartphones, being a Youtube star was an actual thing. In their world, amplifying your voice and inserting yourself into a wider conversation is normal. Social media activism, movements like Black Lives Matter and how a tweet is now an actual presidential address, is these kids’ everyday reality. This social media world is the environment the kids from Parkland live, breathe, and move fluently in. Now, none of the kids in Parkland created Facebook or Twitter or the like. All of these tools to amplify their voice were created by others and given to them. So when these kids felt a desire to affect change, they used their environment to amplify their message. They used what’s around them to make their point. And that’s exactly what Jesus is doing in our reading from the gospel of Mark today.

Now Jesus didn’t have a social media world. But his world was full of statues, temples, cities, and other things that told a specific story in the area he was. So to grasp Jesus’ environment, we need to take a little field trip to Caesarea Philippi where this passage from the gospel of Mark takes place.

And here it is….today. Well, some of it at least. As you can see, this part is mostly ruins. But the cave there is the reason why Caesarea Philippi existed in the first place. That cave marks the location of a deep freshwater spring that still works today. Water flows out of the bedrock in the cave, down the hill, and into what eventually becomes the Jordan River. This next picture gives us an idea of how lush and green the area actually was. It’s beautiful and sort of just pops out as an oasis in the middle of the wilderness. In fact, a temple to the god Pan, the god of “desolate places,” was built there. Now, over time, the area became more important and King Herod’s son, Philip II, decided to build a city there. He named the city Caesarea in honor of the Roman Emperor, Caesar Augustus. As the city grew, the local rulers tried to make the city as Roman as possible. They built theaters, markets, and even a temple dedicated to the Roman emperors. The hillside, as you can see, became a holy place filled with the images of Roman gods, Roman Emperors, and other symbols of the Roman Empire. The Roman values of power - power through conquest, control, and violence was honored and celebrated there. The city of Caesarea Philippi made a specific claim that Rome was all that mattered. And it’s in that place, in the shadow of the Roman temples and Roman statues that Jesus does a very strange thing: he rebukes the power that he sees. Rome didn’t believe in suffering; it believed in making other people suffer. That’s what power, to them, looked like. Yet Jesus makes a promise to his disciples, to us, and to the world that what will truly make a difference is a power that doesn’t, on its surface, look like power at all.

Now that’s a pretty gutsy thing to say in a city that loves Rome. And Jesus says this quite openly. He predicts the Cross and what the Cross will actually mean. Jesus isn’t just going to die; he’s going to be killed by the Romans in the most shamefilled way possible. He’s going to physically perish, socially perish, and be completely abandoned by all around him. Jesus, this guy who casted out demons and healed the sick, is going to be reduced to nothing. And that’s why his friends don’t believe him. Peter even tries to tell the Son of God that he’s definitely got it wrong. Peter’s world is a world where power is about what we have power over. When Peter looked at Jesus, he saw someone with power over illness and suffering. He assumed that Jesus would use this power to push out the Romans and build up a new political kingdom that would thrive without Rome. Power, to Peter, is about dominating and winning. But Jesus, when he mentions the cross, is talking about losing. So Peter tries to correct him. And Jesus doubles down, making sure all his friends and even random people in the crowd hear him. In the shadow of symbols glorifying power and violence, Jesus makes a promise that God is doing something new.

Like the kids in Parkland, Jesus’ environment amplified his message. He didn’t build the temples, the markets, or the symbols that celebrated Roman power and values. But he did know how to live, move, and speak in that world. And when he was confronted by an environment that said power over self and others is the ultimate virtue, Jesus’ own presence challenged that. As a member of the Trinity, as God, as the one through whom all things in the entire universe was made, Jesus really isn’t someone who needed to worry about who can have power over him. Nothing could muster that kind of power so he is never going lose. But he knows that people do. So he gave up the power of dominance and control that we all want and he chose the very human kind of life that we all have to live. That life, as imperfect as it is, is worth everything to God. It’s worth carrying, and holding, and walking with even during those times when we know there’s nothing we can do to “win” our way through. Jesus, as he stood staring at the temples and statues that said conquest and violence and winning were the only values worth having, embraced a different way. A way that wasn’t easy but that looked towards the neighbor first. A way that knew what’s normal for us isn’t necessarily normal for God. And a way that knew that other people’s lives were worth his heading to the cross. An environment that celebrates the power some have over others can only be overcome by a new reality where everyone is empowered in service, care, and love. And that new reality, that new world, that new possibility is available to us right now because Jesus, through the Cross, showed that God’s power, God’s kingdom, and God’s love will have the final say.

Amen.

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There is a tendency in the world of spirituality to split a person into parts. You are not only a person; you also have a spirit, soul, heart, brain, emotions, passions, body, flesh, and more. Each part of our humanity is compartmentalize so that it lives on its own. Then, when we look at each other, we assume that we are all just separate pieces barely holding together. We assume that God looks at us the same way. Faith deals with the different parts of us (our soul, our spirit, our beliefs) in different ways. This splitting up of the human person is an old idea. It comes from Plato, an ancient Greek philosopher, who put an ideal world (the place of the soul) in competition with the real world. The real world is broken, messy, and imperfect. The abstract/spirit world is perfect and the goal of life is to live (and get) to that perfect world. This thinking still exists in the church. When we talk about the afterlife, heaven is described as a nicer version of our world. Sometimes, when we feel tension in our lives, we quote Matthew 26:41 - "the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak." When we split ourselves into different parts, we act as if these different parts matter in different ways to God. We say that God cares more about our soul than our body. We claim that our broken body gets in the way of our faith. Faith is a mater only for the soul and it mostly ignores (or criticizes) our body. When we separate ourselves into parts, we believe that God cares only about part of us as well. 

In Freedom of a Christian, Luther borrowed the language of soul and body. But unlike his peers, Luther refused to separate the two. Instead, he considered the whole human person. You are a body, mind, spirit, and heart. You are a totality. You experience life as a complete unit and people experience you as a complete unit too. In this passage from the Freedom of a Christian, Luther is talking about the spiritual connection faith brings us. But this faith does more than keep our soul close to God. This faith, like a heated iron that glows when it is placed in fire, causes our entire being to love God and serve our neighbor. Faith, for the Christian, is the fuel for everyday living. With faith, we can love. With faith, we can serve. And the faith that God gives us is a gracious gift, helping us to do the impossible: trust that, through everything, God is still here and that God still oves. 

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Memorizing song lyrics is not one of my spiritual gifts. If you asked me to recite the lyrics to my favorite songs, I would be embarrassed by how many of the words I would get wrong. When I am at a show, standing on the floor and watching one of my favorite bands play, the lyrics to their songs flow through me. But once the show is over, it’s like I never heard those songs before. Lyrics do not stay at the forefront of my mind. Rather, the entire experience of singing – from the music to the lyrics to whom I’m singing with – is how I hold onto this event. I need the music to recall the lyrics and the lyrics to recall how the song made me feel and the emotions from the song to help me remember the music. Songs, to me, are events that are hard to separate. 

You might have noticed in worship that new music is entering into our rotation. David Scance is doing a wonderful job finding new contemporary music to introduce to the 9:00 am service. At the 10:30 am worship, we’ve intentionally been repeating hymns every week. The one verse we sing when we bring the bread and wine to the altar is repeated for a month, helping us rehearse a new piece of music. After that, the song is repeated all year long. The hymns we have picked at 10:30 am are hymns written by Martin Luther. Some of these songs might be familiar to you; others might be brand new. These new songs are invitations to discover God’s grace in a new way. New words and new tunes can help us see God’s love for us anew. 

The month of March this year is a month that is hard to separate. For 31 days, we are in Lent. The songs of Lent from “Jesus, Keep Me Near the Cross” to “Ah, Holy Jesus” will carry us into the Three Days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday. Lent is an opportunity to see ourselves and our God in a new way. Let’s see if the words we sing, even new ones, can help us discover and embody God’s grace in a new way. 

See you in church! 

Pastor Marc 

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Today's First Reading is the opening of Martin Luther's "On Christian Freedom." Written in 1520, this short writing is one of Luther's most poetic works. After Luther posted his "95 Theses" on a church door in October, 1517, a split grew within the church. On one side was Luther, a monk and theology professor, who felt compelled to speak out about abuses in the church. On the other side was the Pope, Roman Catholic Church, and the Holy Roman Emperor. Luther's sermons and writings were widely published, making him one of the first best selling authors. As the debate about  abuses grew into a wider conversation about faith and Jesus, different people tried to reconcile the opposing sides. During one of these attempts, Luther was asked to write a "reconciliation-minded letter" to the Pope. Luther wrote the letter and attached a short writing describing the heart of his beliefs. That short writing is "On Christian Freedom."

The core subject of Luther's writing is faith itself. Using the standard writing devices of his day, he begins by talking about his experience of faith. He asserts himself as a learned authority on the subject and invites us into his writing. Luther firmly believes that faith matters and he wants to show us why it should matter to us too. But faith isn't merely abstract thoughts located in the brain. Faith is something we live out loud. Luther moves from his invitation into his themes or how he will structure his writing. He will explore faith in two sections focused on freedom and service. And those two sections appear to be at odds with each other. In Christ, we are subject to no other person. We are as free as we can be. Yet at the same time, we are subject and bound to everyone. That everyone includes more than just our family and friends. It includes neighbors and strangers too. Luther's writing begins by making the claim that the Christian life is a paradox we get to live out.

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In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him.And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.

Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

Mark 1:9-15

My sermon from First Sunday in Lent (February 18, 2018) on Mark 1:9-15. Listen to the recording here or read my manuscript below. 

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So if it’s okay, I’d like to do something a tad different today. In honor of Mark’s version of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness being the shortest version we have, I’m going to be a little shorter today too. At merely 1 verse in length, Mark’s description of Jesus’ time in the wilderness lacks the details we might expect. Mark tells us that Satan, the devil, tempted Jesus but we don’t really know what that means. Matthew and Luke will expand that story, giving us details about what Satan will do to the Son of God. But Mark doesn’t do that. Mark, instead, gives us an intriguing detail, inviting us to use our imagination to visualize, expand, and dig into what that detail might mean. And then Mark rushes to the next thing. Jesus was in the wilderness, hanging out with wild animals in an untamed place where only God could be in control - and then Jesus learned that John the Baptist was arrested. John, as we find out later, spoke out against the sexual coercion and abuse the king did in his quest for more power and control. The king tried to silence John only to have Jesus respond instead. Jesus in Mark jumps quickly from his baptism to his preaching and teaching in the world. And If we read this passage too quickly, we might think we’re supposed to skip over those 40 days that are full of trials, hardships, dangers, and mystery. If we read too fast, we can skip past the evil, skip over struggle, and just move on to the next part of the story. But sometimes moving on is something we can’t do. Sometimes we’re in that wilderness, in that evil, in that struggle, and in that place where life is hard. There are times when living through our life rather than just skipping over to the next part is the only thing we can do. And when we’re caught up in those moments, that doesn’t mean God loves us less.

Kate Bowler is a professor of North American Religion at Duke Divinity School. She just released a new book that I haven’t read but it is on its way to my house. It’s called “Everything happens for a reason and other lies I’ve loved.” It’s a memoir of sorts because Kate found herself, at the age of 35 married, with a 1 year old, working her dream job, and living her best shiny and bright life - and then she was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. She’s still undergoing treatments but is actively promoting her book, giving interviews, and even launched her own podcast. Her writing and interviews are rooted in being where she’s at: caught up in this moment where her mortality is very real, very present, and where she has to make decisions she never expected to make. She can’t skip or spend her energy on the next part of the story that’s all shiny and bright. She’s living in a moment that’s hard. And she knows it’s hard. And she values those around her who say, out loud, that this is hard. And awful. And full of mystery. If I was describing her story, I’d say she’s living in the wilderness, living in an untamed place, living in her version of Lent but that doesn’t mean God loves her less.

This living in Lent...living in what is hard...is not an easy thing to do. If we had our choice, we won’t really want to be there. Who wants to struggle, and cry, and know that we might not get back to the way we were? Who wants to have to admit that life is going to keep getting harder? And who wants to know how broken they truly are? In a world where every moment is supposed to be about living your best life, living in Lent seems downright strange. Because when we live in Lent, we admit who we truly are. We admit that life isn’t always shiny and bright. And we admit that we will struggle, that we will make mistakes, and that we will try to run away from what’s hard. But there’s one more admission we get to make. We know and trust that we are not the only one who lived through Lent, lived with struggle, and lived with suffering. We know that Jesus did too. And his 40 days with the wild beasts, Satan, and temptation was just one of his Lents, one of many moments when life was hard - like when his friends left him, and denied him, and when he suddenly found himself alone. Jesus didn’t rush through his Lents and he doesn’t ask us too either.

Instead, Jesus knows there are moments when life is hard. There are moments when we wish we could skip to the next part of our story. Living in Lent means living in what’s hard, in what might feel untamed, wild, and full of grief. It’s a moment we aren’t asked to like. And this moment might last way longer than just 1 verse or 40 days or even a decade. But even when we are caught up in those moments, we are not living in them alone. Because the Jesus who was in his wilderness is in yours too. And he isn’t trying to only help you survive. Jesus is here to love us through our Lent and he bring us to the other side.

Amen.

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Confessing our sins is a spiritual practice we do when we gather together for worship. But how can we confess our sins when we are not in church? During our daily ritual of prayer and time with God, what words can we use to confess and ask for forgiveness? You might have the confession we use on Sunday mornings memorized. Those words might be the ones you need to name the sins you know but the sins you do not realize participated in. But I also know that memorizing long lines of text is not a gift all of us have. I struggle with memorizing anything longer than one sentence. But I know all of us can memorize at least one phrase to use in our daily life. I invite you to find a phrase in scripture to help you confess your sins. And if you don't have one, take the first half of the first verse from Psalm 51: "Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love." 

That half verse is powerful. The first four words asks God for mercy. That request isn't only a general statement. When we ask God for mercy, we are invited to wonder why we need that mercy in the first place. We are invited to reflect on our lives and the ways we stumble as followers of Jesus. We are asked to name the ways we have failed to love God and our neighbors. We look back into our past and ask deep, meaningful, and difficult questions. And then we turn to God and ask for mercy and love. 

Our God is a God who loves and forgives. Through the work of Jesus Christ on the Cross, we are reconciled with the creator and sustainer of the cosmos. By confessing our sins and naming the ways we fail to follow Jesus, we reorient ourselves towards God. This reorientation helps us see where Jesus is in our live and in our world. Our daily spiritual life needs prayer and confession. And it's through these kinds of spiritual practices that we see God's love for us and the world more clearly. 

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“Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward.But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Mark 9:2-9

My sermon from Ash Wednesday Evening Worship (February 14, 2018) on Matthew 9:2-9. Listen to the recording here or read my manuscript below. 

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I always expect my ash making for Ash Wednesday to be loud. But so far, the sound has always underwhelmed. You would think, with all the different tools I use to make ashes, that loud sounds would be part of the process. I need a large metal coffee can, a bunch of matches, and a deep stack of dried palm fronds. I take all of this to the barbecue pit outside the church. I have plenty of opportunities to make something loud. I could, for example, drop the metal can and listen to it clang and clang and clang as it rolled down the parking lot. And, when I finally get to the pitl, setup the coffee can, and stuff the palm fronds into it, I should hear a loud WHOOSH as I light the extremely dry, extremely brittle, and extremely fragile palm branches. And since I’m lighting this fire outside, the everyday loudness of the outside world should show up. The cars on Pascack Road usually honk. The giants trucks, as they drive by, rattle and rumble the building. And I’m always on the lookout for a low flying airplane making a dull roar as it prepares to land at Teterboro airport. I even half-expect a fire engine from the Woodcliff Lake Fire Department to stop by with its siren wailing, wondering why there’s so much smoke coming from the grounds of the church. The ash we will use tonight was made in the middle of the day, during the middle of our everyday life. And my everyday life expects some kind of loud noise. But in all the years I’ve burned palms here in Woodcliff Lake, the loud sounds I expect never come. Instead, it’s always the silence that surprises me.

I don’t know what it is about Ash Wednesday but, for me, today is a day filled with a very full silence. Even the loud sounds that I know will come, like the bellowing of the organ and the cry of a 3 year old child, seem to be less intense than normal. When I prepared the ashes for today, the clang of the metal can bouncing on the top of the metal grill didn’t disturb me like it’s suppose do. And the pops and crackling of the burning palm fronds was barely audible. I found myself over the last several days falling into an old Ash Wednesday pattern where I keep asking people to repeat themselves because, even though they’re speaking at their normal volume, the silence of this day keeps drowning them out. The sounds of everyday living - from ash making, to cars honking, to the music we sing - on Ash Wednesday, these sounds collide with a day that is already full. Because Ash Wednesday isn’t just another day on the church calendar. Ash Wednesday is an interruption of our everyday expectations.

And this interruption starts with the date itself. For one thing, Ash Wednesday takes place on Wednesday. It shows up in the middle of our week. And it’s never the same date year to year. It can show up in early-February or right next to President’s Day Weekend or skoot all the way into early March. Ash Wednesday can even show up on Valentine’s Day, which it hasn’t done since 1945 but will do again two more times before the year 2030. Ash Wednesday this year has inspired reporters, theologians, pastors, and priests to interrupt their normal routines and have a little fun. They’re busy sharing punny memes online, creating Lent-friendly heart shaped candies, and writing a bunch of articles wondering if it’s okay to eat Chocolate on this first day of Lent. Whatever our expectations for what this 2nd full week of February is supposed to bring, Ash Wednesday shows up, interfering and disrupting our normal routines. It inserts itself, almost without asking, into the busy school, work, sports, and life schedules we’ve already created. And when Ash Wednesday shows up, it does something a little odd. The day isn’t, I think, trying to give us one more thing to do. Even though we’re here at church and some of us will have ashes placed on our face, we’re not here trying to just fill up our time with our actions. Ash Wednesday isn’t a day centered on what we do. You’re here but it isn’t to do something. Rather, you’ are here to rediscover who you really are. Ash Wednesday interrupts the ways we fill up our time and our sense of self-worth by doing and doing and doing - And instead invites to remember who and what we already are. And that Ash Wednesday proclamation is declared during the silence.

There are moments in today’s service that will be silent. There will be long pauses after the readings and space between prayers. There will be times when the silence might feel awkward and you might try to fill it either out loud or with thoughts racing through you mind. But I invite you to hold off, accept that awkward feeling, and just let the silence be. Because that silence isn’t empty. It’s really full of words. And its words are centered in one sentence that begins with the word, “Remember.”

“Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

Dust, on its own, cannot live or move or make much noise. There’s nothing that dust can really do. It cannot fill its time or run around doing all that it can to give it some sense of meaning. When it comes to what is eternal, when it comes to the divine, dust...can’t say much. Instead, dust can only sit in its silence - and wait for a sound that gives it meaning. Wait for a voice that says it matters. Dust needs that word that says its loved. On Ash Wednesday, the silence is a paradoxical kind of place. On one hand, we are confronted by who we are and our own mortality. And yet, in that very same moment, we are assured of the eternal promise God gives to us. Whether you chose to wear the ashen cross on your forehead today or not, all of us carry that mark of Christ. We carry this silent sign of who we are and who we belong to during every moment of our everyday live. And in those moments when we are surrounded by bellowing noise and in others moments when silence is all we have, Jesus promises that you are known and loved. Your imperfections will not cause God to abandon you. And the promise of God’s love for you doesn’t end because of what you ever you’ve gone through. t’s through our connection with Jesus Christ that we learn to stop trying to fill up our lives and we discover how Jesus fills us with His life instead. The silence of this moment, the silence of this Ash Wednesday, is how God interrupts our life right now to tell us that we are known, that we are seen, that we are cared for and that we will be, forever, loved.

Amen.

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“Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward.But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Matthew 6:1-6,16-21

My sermon from Ash Wednesday Noon Day Worship (February 14, 2018) on Matthew 6:1-6,16-21. No audio recording. Read my manuscript below. 

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David Bryne, former lead frontman of the pop band The Talking Heads, has a pretty neat theory about how music works. He thinks that the music we created, from African drum beats to Gregorian chant to Rock and Roll, was determined by the space it was performed in. So if you’re outside, far from the walls of buildings, the complex rattle and rumble of drums reverberates freely; and it grows in beauty the farther the sound travels. Much of the hymns, chants, and music we sing in church was designed for a specific kind of place. Cathedrals in Europe, with their large ceilings, needed the right kind of sound filled with long notes to fill the space but it couldn’t sound messy. Even the contemporary music we sing on Sundays at our 9 am service is designed to be played in a concert venue or a large auditorium where the stage is the most prominent feature. I haven’t spent much time with David Bryne’s theory but it feels, to use a phrase that contradicts his 1984 concert film, it feels like it actually makes sense. And I think this because I experience these same thoughts when I’m preparing to preach. The space I preach in plays a role in what I actually preach. And the space matters so much that when I began to setup this chapel for worship this morning, I realized the sermon I planned to preach wouldn’t work. This space isn’t designed to be a place where I stand up front and talk at you for 12 minutes. This is a space filled with movable furniture, bright lights, and wonderful colors. It’s an intimate environment that, I think, invites us to worship in a slightly different way. And so, I’m going to invite us to do just that. But instead of music or a loud sound to start us off, we’re going to start with silence.

If you are able, I’d like you to make sure your feet are firmly planted on the floor. Then, put your hands on your lap or on your knees in a position that is comfortable but won’t make you fall asleep. Sit up straight, if you can, and in such a way that you are noticing exactly where your body connects with the chair. And once you’re set - close your eyes. And, for a moment, we’ll sit in silence.

(A brief silence).

Now I’d like you to pay attention to your breathing. Notice the breath as it goes out and comes in. And if this silence feels a tad awkward, and random thoughts keep entering into your brain - that’s okay. Notice them. Pay attention to the fact that they are there. But don’t dwell on them. Watch the thought come in...and then out while you focus on your breath.

(A brief silence)

And now I want you to hear something honest and true - something we will share together very shortly.

Remember that you are dust -

And to dust you shall return.

(A brief silence)

And since you are dust - you are mortal - know that you were created by a God who cares that you exist, by a God who knows you, and by a God who loves you right now.

(A brief silence)

And in those moments when you feel alone, know that Jesus is there. And in the moments when you do not know where to go, know that Jesus is there. And in the moments when life is difficult, I promise that Jesus is there.

(A brief silence)

And I’d like to end with something our presiding bishop wrote for today:

“The history of salvation is one extended love story between God and God’s creation, between God and humankind, between God and God’s people. We were created in love for love. Real love. Love that is solid and deep and unflinching. Love that is true enough to be honest….

God’s work of reconciliation in Christ is God’s eyes-wide-open acknowledgement of human rebellion and sin, the undeniable fact that all is not well no matter how hard we try to fix it or deny it. The remedy was the all-in, complete love of the incarnation, crucifixion and death of Christ. Jesus meets us right in the middle of our pain - the pain we feel and the pain we cause others - and without minimizing the depth of our offense, offers forgiveness and new life…”

So on this Ash/Valentine’s Day, know that “Ash Wednesday is [your] valentine from God, one that invites us to enter deep into the mystery of true love, honest examination of our lives and the possibility of real repentance. The Ash Wednesday valentine starts us on the journey to the cross, to the passionate love of God shown in the Passion of Christ. And after the cross, the resurrection.”

(A brief silence)

You may open your eyes.

Jesus Christ is all-in with you.

Amen.

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Even if you know your bible well, this passage from the gospel of Mark (Mark 9:2-9) is odd. Elijah, as we see in our first reading (2 Kings 2:1-12), never died. He is taken into heaven and his status as a prophet is passed to Elisha. Elijah and Elisha are not the only prophets in the text. There is some of kind of prophet community in the background, a group that might resemble  modern day monks or nuns. These prophets served a specific role in the ancient Israelite community but we do not know exactly what they did. They appear to serve as a liaison between God and the wider community. Some, like Elijah and Elisha, were recorded in scripture due to their special relationship with God. Others, like the company of prophets, remained nameless. Elijah's relationship with God was so unique, he was taken into heaven. Over the centuries, an expectation developed where Elijah and Moses (who died but whose body is purposefully hidden) would return to announce the return of the Messiah. They are here in this story to announce that Jesus is exactly who God says he is. Jesus is God's Son, the beloved, and the one in whom God is well pleased (see Mark 1). And because Jesus is unique in this way, everyone in invited to listen to him. 

If Elijah is confusing to you, I invite you to read his story. He first appears in 1 Kings 17:1 (but start reading at 1 Kings 16:23). He shows up after King David has died and the kingdom of Israel has split into two. In the words of Everett Fox, "of all the figures that appear in Kings, none is as powerful, or mysterious, as the prophet Elijah. He appears as if from nowhere, mediates miraculous deeds, and inserts the word of [God] into the political events of the region...He is constantly on the move, argues wit God, and almost succumbs to despair." Elijah is very human but also resembles Moses. Moses is the template that all future prophets (including Jesus) are compared to. Once we know Moses story (see Exodus - Deuteronomy), we will see the parallels with Elijah and Jesus. I invite you, when you can, to spend time with Elijah. You might be surprised by how much doubt, struggle, arguments, and hope are required in one's relationship with God.

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Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.

As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.

Mark 9:2-9

My sermon from Transfiguration (February 11, 2018) on Mark 9:2-9. Listen to the recording here or read my manuscript below. 

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It’s been a week full of sport spectacles. We started with the Super Bowl, continued with it’s celebrations, and ended with the beginning of the 2018 Winter Olympics in South Korea. For those of us able to watch, we witnessed Tom Brady fail to get that 4th quarter comeback he usually pulls off. We watched sports fans riot, turning over cars, climbing light poles covered in crisco, and hanging from any street sign with the name “Eagle” on it. And then the week peaked with the opening ceremony at the Olympics. That show was filled with incredible pyrotechnics, 1200 drones making patterns in the sky, and there was a parade of nations full of smiling faces, questionable glove choices, and a shirtless gentleman from Tonga waving his nation’s flag in the below freezing temperatures. As a non-athlete, I experience these events in a very visual way. My eyes take in all the colors, shadows, bright lights, and bursts of motion at these amazing events to create an overall experience that I participate in. Now, I know I will never catch a touchdown in the Super Bowl. I will also never slide a large stone down a long sheet of ice and have it stop in just the right spot during an Olympic curling event. I will never be that kind of athlete but through the gift of sight, I can see people who are and I’m left in awe. I marvel at their skills and talent. I join with fans from all over the world to celebrate their accomplishments and revel in the thrill of sports. I rely on my eyes to carry me into a wider story that celebrates the amazing things people do. This last week was a week full of visual spectacles. It was a week meant to be seen. And today’s story from the gospel of Mark is an event God wanted Peter, James, John, and even us, 2000 years later, to experience and see. God wanted to show off and God put together a light show no Olympic opening ceremony or Super Bowl halftime show should could ever pull off. This mountain top moment even one upped Justin Timberlake by including the actual Moses and Elijah in the event instead of relying on a hologram. At the end of this cosmic light show, a cloud came down and covered everything. And then a voice from the cloud spoke, telling everyone to listen. The visual feast and spectacle of the Transfiguration is replaced by a command to hear.

Now this moment, in verse 7, is the only time in the gospel according to Mark when God the Father, God the Creator, told the disciples to do something. And it’s a bit of an odd command since it comes in the middle of Jesus’ story. For the previous eight chapters, Jesus preached and taught in Galilee and the surrounding territories. He put together a group of disciples who, occasionally, at least try to listen to him. Jesus spent a lot of time casting out demons, healing the sick, and debating with religious scholars, theologians, and priests. There were plenty of opportunities for the voice to show up in those teaching moments and tell everyone to listen. But it’s at this very visual moment, after a light show that no human beings could duplicate, when God’s voice shows up. And instead of commenting on the light show, instead of pointing to Elijah and Moses and explaining what they were seeing, God tells everyone to just listen. Listen to God’s Son. Listen to God’s beloved. Listen to Jesus.

And then the spectacle is over. Moses, Elijah, and the cloud are gone. The mountaintop is empty except for these three disciples and Jesus who is, I think, back in his regular clothes. I imagine they all stood there, saying nothing. And then Jesus turned around and led Peter, James, John, and all of us, back down the mountain.

God told the disciples to listen and then Jesus leads them into the places where he knows he won’t be listened too. Even the disciples failed to understand what Jesus says as they go down mountain. When Jesus was on that mountain top, he was in a place where even the great faith leaders of old showed up to listen to him. But Jesus chose not to stay there. He went down the mountain, back to the places and the world he already knew. Jesus, and all of his disciples, return to the villages and towns full of people who are sick and hurting. They go back into the cities full of Roman soldiers and tax collectors and people who care more about personal power than anything else. Jesus chooses to walk down into our everyday lives. He doesn’t stay in the spectacle. Instead, he comes down to live in a world that chooses suffering and violence more than it does love and service. Jesus knew that the world would not always listen to him. But I think Jesus came down so that, in the words of the Rev. David Lose, “we might understand that the God who created and still sustains the vast cosmos not only knows that we exist, but cares. Cares about our ups and downs, cares about our hopes and disappointments, cares about our dreams and despair, cares about all the things we care about,” and this God in Christ who cares will never, “ever let us go, and in time” will “ redeem us and bring us into the company of saints.” Jesus, after a visual spectacle designed to resonate through the ages, comes back down into the messiness of our lives and the messiness of our world because our God isn’t a God of special effects or a God only for Super Bowl and gold medal winners. Our God is a God for every moment of our lives because every moment of our life matters to God.

I bet, most of us, would sometimes like it if the god of the spectacle, full of flashing lights and descending clouds and other special effects, showed up in our lives more often. It would be awesome to have these great faith filled experiences that we could share with our family and friends that they could see. It would be amazing if, in some kind of cosmic light show, God was made know in a very public way because that would make God easier to follow. Because it’s easier to follow the spectacle, easier to sometimes think we’re listening to it. And it would be safer to follow a Jesus that threw himself a Super Bowl halftime show every once in awhile often. But it’s better, I think, to have a Jesus who came down from that mountain and straight into our very mundane, and boring, and sometimes fearful lives. Because a Jesus who stays on the mountaintop is a Jesus we could never, because of our sin, because of our imperfection, because of the ways we fail to listen, a Jesus on that mountaintop is a Jesus we would never be able to reach. But a Jesus who comes down to us is a Jesus who is already here, already with us, already giving us the grace we need to love, and serve, and, to finally, listen to him.

Amen.

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