The Body of Christ--A Spiritual Exercise

A reflection based on 1 Corinthians 12:12-31.

Do me a favor—raise your right hand right now. Look at it for a second and imagine rejecting it. Declaring that it’s not part of you. Then imagine your right hand agreeing, and having it act independently from you. You don’t control it, it’s not part of your body. Your right hand is not part of your body.

 

Ridiculous, right? Flex your fingers for a second. Make a fist and relax it. Of course it’s part of your body. It couldn’t not be. Actually, if it wasn’t, the rest of you would really have to work to make up for it.

 

Paul’s letter to the Corinthians points out that this is exactly how it works in the Body of Christ as well. We’re all part of it, and whatever part we play is beyond just important—it’s the only way it works.

 

Every time I read this passage, I’ve tried to think about what part of the body I am. Now that I’ve said that, some of you might be thinking about what part you are, too. That’s good. It’s a good way to start getting into that self-awareness about our faith lives.

 

Actually, if you haven’t been thinking about it, do that now.

What part of the body of Christ might you be?

 

Some of us might be eyes and ears that gather information and transmit it to the rest of the body. Some of us might be the legs or feet that propel the body where it needs to go. Some might be the stomach or lungs—hidden parts that supply the body with what sustains it. Some might be the hands arms that reach out to serve.

 

Some might feel like the foot that fell asleep. I admit, the last time I read through this letter to the Corinthians, I sort of felt like that foot. Anyone ever have that happen? A foot fall asleep? At the time, I thought that what I needed was for the rest of the body to shake me awake. At that time, it is what I needed, but what I didn’t ask was why the body had sat still long enough for a foot to fall asleep.

 

That’s the question I should’ve asked. Why was the body so still, so complacent, so sedentary, as to let a foot fall asleep? More to the point, why was I so complacent and still as to do that?

 

If you’ve ever had a foot completely asleep, you know two things:

1. It will hurt a little to wake up.

2. You’re likely to fall flat on your face until it does.

We’re part of the body of Christ. This is a body of mutual care between all the parts. When we remain still, complacent, not using ourselves for what we’re supposed to, we hurt ourselves and endanger the body. We’re responsible to ourselves and to one another. When we try to destroy or undermine a part, we do the same thing.

 

If the muscles didn’t work with the eyes, we’d run ourselves into walls. If the nerves didn’t work with the limbs, we’d do all sorts of damage to ourselves.

 

So we kind of get what happens when we’re destructive to ourselves, what happens when we try to lift each other up? Just reverse all of that. When the muscles work with the eyes, the limbs, the nerves, the ears, we can really go places. We can run races, we can climb mountains, we can cook and serve amazing meals, we can put together furniture, we can smell spring flowers, we can create, go and do.

 

Seems like a pretty common sense analogy. When we work together, we can do more. When we as a group listen to all the parts, we’ll go further. If we try to disconnect ourselves from the body, we destroy ourselves even as we hurt the body. Remember your hand? A hand without an arm, nervous system, muscles, bones, can’t do much. An eye without an optical nerve and body to communicate with is pretty useless, too. A body without an eye will have to compensate to survive, and won’t have the same capacity it did with the eye.

 

We need all the parts of our body. Each one enriches the whole and enables something that wouldn’t be as possible without it.

 

The catch is, when we think of our own body, it’s automatic. Breathing, getting from here to there, sitting down, standing up, watching a sunset, all that just happens and we can scarcely imagine it any other way.

 

When we think of the body of Christ, it’s not automatic. When the different parts are different people, things get trickier to envision. All of us here, part of the body of Christ. All of the people out there—worshipping elsewhere this morning, sitting at home, wherever—part of the body of Christ. Dividing ourselves into us and them doesn’t change the reality that we are all one. Inextricably tied to one another, tied into a need to mutually care for one another. To play our part as part of the whole.

 

That takes a little thinking—it’s tough to see that the person in front of or behind me or the one who brings my breakfast at the diner is inextricably tied to me, and I am to them. That diversity enriches the body, and oversimilarity hinders it. That’s probably part of Paul’s point—it’s not automatic, and it should be. It should be automatic, but we don’t see it. There’s a gap in what the body of Christ actually is (a whole), and what we think it is.

 

And it can’t just end there—in a mental exercise. If this faith life thing is important, and we'll guess it is or we wouldn’t be here, since this is important, we don’t just say so and do nothing about it.

 

If a foot falls asleep we wake it up—which might be painful for us and the foot. If we are that foot, we have to be prepared to wake up, which might be painful. We don’t sit still, either, doing nothing or just doing the same thing over and over. We move together, work together, and try new ways to reach the world together. We rejoice in the accomplishments and contributions of one another. If there’s something to do, we do it—hands and feet and eyes and ears.

 

What we do matters. In a few minutes, we will have the opportunity to meet as one group and hear from one another—to get a picture of the whole from all of the parts. It matters if we stay or go; it matters if we work together or try to dislocate ourselves or try to strengthen one another.

 

Where is the good news in this? Right now it sounds like a lot of work, I suppose. It is. The good news is in the potential. Look again at your hand. Rather than imagine it being removed from the body, look at it as it is—as a part of the body. Notice the wrist, which allows movement for better function, the arm that connects it to the torso, the muscles that allow it to lift heavy objects.

 

Now see the hand as the person next to you. Remember what part you were.

 

What’s your job in this Body of Christ? How does it connect to theirs?

Baptism Of Jesus

This sermon is based on the Baptism of Jesus as recorded in Luke 3:15-22.

There is a lot going on in today’s gospel reading. We have we have John and Jesus, mistaken identity, the Baptism of our Lord, what we are celebrating today, promises fulfilled, heavens open, and a new era beginning.

 

At the beginning of our reading, people are excited. I invite you to imagine the scene. It’s a warm, dusty day. A rusty, orange-brown color sort of swirls around clusters of people at the edge of a village. The buzz of conversation reaches a new level. If we walk up and stand near one of these clusters, the talk becomes a little clearer. We hear the name Messiah, and our own pulse skips a beat. The Son of God? The one we’ve been waiting centuries for? The one the prophets spoke about? Messiah. We listen a little longer, and hear a little clearer. The Messiah is coming. Now is the time. He’s been in the wilderness. His name is John, isn’t it? John the Messiah.

 

The people are excited. They’ve been waiting centuries—hundreds of years—for this person, and they finally have a lead. John, the one in the wilderness, the one who provides the cleansing ritual of baptism for the forgiveness of sins. Could he be the Messiah? Could this be real?

 

John says no. John himself comes on the scene and answers the crowds for himself. He is not the one they are looking for. The one they are looking for will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire. The one they are looking for will be able to separate the wheat from the chaff, the good from the evil, the necessary needed harvest from the empty straw that gets in the way.

 

That’s the one we’re looking for. That’s the promised Messiah.

 

Hmmm. Okay, so not John. Again we go back to the scene. Maybe we sit down, just a little deflated from our disappointment on the river banks and watch those getting baptized. Time goes by, maybe a few hours, maybe a few weeks. We go back, but we don’t know why.

 

Suddenly, one day as we’re sitting there, something happens. The sky looks…different somehow. The heavens are, could we say, opening? Pulling apart.

 

Pause for a second—THE HEAVENS ARE PULLING APART. The sky is falling, the heavens opening. Something like a bird comes down, and a voice that seems to come from every angle swallows up the world as it speaks.

 

There’s a lot going on in the reading today because this is a HUGE event.

 

Jesus has been baptized, and we now know who it is that has been promised is here. Jesus’ birth is told in two of the gospels. His lineage is recorded in two of them as well. This story is recorded in all four gospels. Every one of them. The one God is present throughout the Bible. This story has the three distinct persons—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—there in specific distinction. The voice of God the Father, who names Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit that descends in bodily form like a dove—you can see the Holy Spirit.

 

This is a HUGE event.

 

Jesus has been baptized. His divinity is clearly established. It’s right there for people to see or hear.

 

And guess what? His humanity is now unquestionable, too. Jesus has been baptized as all the people—all the humans—were baptized. Jesus is one with humanity in this act. Fully human, fully divine. He now comes with the authority and ability to understand humanity and save it.

 

Okay, that’s big in and of itself, but what does it mean for us?

 

Over the past year, this congregation celebrated 12 baptisms. Many of us may have also received this sacrament. In baptism, we are united to Jesus Christ as well. Through him, with the power of the Holy Spirit, we are made children of God. We are given the promises of forgiveness, salvation, and eternal life.

 

Like I said, HUGE event.

 

And it changes us. We are united with Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, and that makes things different for us. We get to act like people who have been saved and forgiven, because that’s who we are. In response to this gift of grace God gives us, we PROMISES OF BAPTISM. Essentially, we try to follow and live like the one we are united to in baptism—Jesus Christ.

 

We can never be Jesus, however. That’s important to remember, too. Think of John—oh yeah, remember him? Who was he, anyway? Not Jesus, but the one who pointed to Jesus. One who looked for the Messiah and knew that the Messiah would come, but John was not him. John was a human and not divine.

 

John is a great example to us. Like John, We are human and not divine—we are united to God through Jesus, though, and God is the one who does that. We don’t—we can’t—do the uniting, but we are united to Christ and one another through God’s work in us. 

 

How that changes us and what we do in response, that part is for us to worry about.

 

We are saved, and we get to act like it.

Christmas Eve

A Christmas Eve Reflection based largely on the First Reading, Isaiah 9:2-7

Two years ago, I attended a choir concert given by St. Olaf College. They were on their tour in Nebraska, and I couldn’t pass up a chance at music of that caliber. About halfway through the concert, the director introduced a piece written by one of the students. The student was a fairly conservative Christian, but he had used text from one of his Ba’hai friends’ faith for the piece. The director commented that this was an ensemble that regularly put their differences aside to create something amazing.

 

As they sang the song, the director’s words rang true. These were college students from just about every field of study offered at St. Olaf, from all sorts of religious and political views, and here they were, filling a building with enveloping melodies and rich harmonies. Putting aside every conflict and difference for this one common cause—creating music of excellence.

 

We live in a messy world. Forces try to divide us and persuade us that our differences are cause for hate and fear rather than for enrichment and enlightenment. Our world is messy, but good wins. Light wins.

 

Our first lesson tonight states: “Those who have walked in darkness have seen a great light.” At the beginning of our service, we read from John 1, verse 5, declaring that, “Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.” There has been much darkness this year. We are barely ten days out from the tragedy of Newtown, not five months from the tragedy in the Sikh temple near Milwaukee. We only have to turn on the news to be reminded of the hunger, disease, and conflict still present in the world.

 

Despite all that, we declare to ourselves, to the world and to the darkness that the light cannot be overcome. I ask you tonight to join me in that declaration—3 times I will say, “light shines in the darkness,” 3 times I ask you to please respond, “and the darkness cannot overcome it.”

 

Light shines in the darkness

And the darkness cannot overcome it.

 

Light shines in the darkness

And the darkness cannot overcome it.

 

Light shines in the darkness

And the darkness cannot overcome it.

 

We live in a messy and broken world. There is darkness in the world, but light shines there—and where light shines, darkness retreats. Our faith, our God tells us that. It says “You don’t win, darkness.” Christ has come. Jesus Christ, God incarnate, light itself, has come into the world, and darkness cannot overcome it.

 

Christmas Eve is a night we remember a story of the unexpected and unexplainable love and light God brings to our lives.

 

God comes to this messy and broken world and becomes human—but Jesus comes to us as a helpless baby, not a warrior. Jesus comes through this young woman, Mary, who is with her husband Joseph. Two peasants on a pilgrimage in a strange town, not wealthy established and secure households. Jesus comes to a stable, not a palace. Jesus’ birth is announced by angels to shepherds in a field, not to kings and queens and political powers.

 

That’s Christmas. The greatest gift we could know of, and that’s how it happens. Completely unexpected. The amazing brilliance of Emmanuel—God with us—comes to the world in this way.

 

Isaiah says it better than I could. "People who have walked in darkness have seen a great light."

 

Again, I go back to that evening in Nebraska. People had gathered—some for the whole season, some for a few of the days, some just for that night. Watching all the people from different places and opinions come together up front and all of the people from different professions and parts of town come together on the floor all for this one thing—this music—made me realize how similar we are and how much we can do when we stop worrying about what divides and start worrying about what unites. When we see that, the light of Christ is present.

 

The shepherds watching their flocks in the night, saw it. The St. Olaf Choir, with all their differences, saw it. We, too, see it. We see it whenever we glimpse the goodness of the world in the midst of everything else that goes on. In our friendships, in kindness shown to a stranger, we see it. When a hungry person is fed, a cold person given a blanket, when anyone finds what they need, we see it.

 

We see it. When we remember the one who came for our sake, in the most humble way, we act for that goodness, the light of Christ is there. We carry it with us. We say, you don’t win, darkness, because, where light is, darkness cannot be. Light is the victor in the end.

 

This is a candlelight service for a reason. We will declare again the victory of the light in a few moments by lighting our candles. As we lift up our candles tonight, take a moment to watch as the darkness recedes. As the lights multiply, the darkness recedes further and further—the light is brighter when we join together.

 

We are a group of differing political, professional, and maybe even theological interests. But when we set that aside, we can make something amazing happen. We can shine light into the darkness.

 

Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.

Christ the King

This reflection is based on the Gospel reading for this week from the Revised Common Lectionary, found here.

“Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?”

 

Jesus cuts right through all the sugar-coating and defensive or back-and-forth rhetoric and gets right down to it.

 

Jesus is standing face-to-face with Pilate, and he just says it: After watching me, after meeting me, is this a conclusion you’ve come to, or did someone else feed you this line to repeat at me here.

 

Jesus gets brought to Pilate on the accusation that he’s claiming to be King of the Jews. King. That’s serious stuff. Why? This country already has a king, and it’s Caesar. That guy on all the money. Pilate—the guy whose job is to keep order in the land—reads him the charge. Jesus is claiming the authority of Ceasar.

 

This is the crown the people put on Jesus. They give him this title—Messiah—and they throw all sorts of assumptions on top of what that category actually looks like. Commander of armies. Restorer of the land. Ruler. King. Rich. Rider of the clouds.

 

Problem: these images don’t mesh with what Jesus said about himself.

 

Shepherd. Bread. Light. Gate. God’s Son. Son of Man. Resurrection. Life. Teacher. Way. Truth. Vine.

 

That's just from the book of John, but you get the idea. Jesus didn’t say great general. Or Caesar. Or anything like that. He doesn’t mention earthly wealth or owning land. In fact, Jesus flat out denies a kingdom of this world.

 

So what could have led to these assumptions? Well, Jesus does affirm that he is the Messiah, and that is a really loaded term in their world. Legend had it that the Messiah was this coming ruler—set to take back the land God had promised the Israelites on earth. Falling into the category of a messiah—an anointed one—ultimately put these generalizations on a person. It was a category. A classification.

 

The classification people put on Jesus.

 

So today, Jesus says look me in the eye, meet me, listen to me, and then tell me I want an earthly kingdom.

 

Pilate, actually looking at Jesus, admits that he’s repeating the rumors fed to him by others. When faced with the person rather than the categorical generalizations, he sees the differences and realizes what has been brought to him looks differently in person than the image the gossip presented.

 

It’s not the golden crown of jewels, but something else. We can probably see this at first glance, but we have the advantage of a few centuries of hearing this story. We know what’s coming. In this world, it is not a throne, but a cross that Jesus arrives at. His true kingdom is not in this world, but in a world that we have yet to fully see.

 

It’s New Year’s Eve. Did you know that? I know, all this talk about Thanksgiving, and it's already New Year's Eve. It's true, though. Christ the King Sunday marks the last Sunday of the church year. Next week, we will be talking about Advent. The chancel up here will have turned blue, the greens will have been set up, and our season of waiting and watching for the coming of Christ will kick off our new year.

 

That makes this New Year’s Eve. New Year’s Eve—it’s a time of celebration. It’s a time to think about what will be happening in the coming year, to consider what we hope to accomplish in our lives, to reflect on where we’ve been and what we’ve done so far. It’s a time of excitement and possibility.

 

At this particular time of the church season, we proclaim Christ as King. As we’ve seen, this king’s kingdom is one that is especially appropriate for a New Year’s Eve. It’s a kingdom that is to come. We can consider today the hope within Jesus’ words here—the kingdom he rules is not of this world. It’s a hope and a promise.

 

So, what’s in store for this coming year?

Where do we want to go?

What do we want to be?

 

As part of the church’s presence in this world—part of Jesus’ legacy—who do we hope to be? Who do we hope the rest of the world will see us as?

 

This is still a world that operates on assumptions. That sees people as categories—gender, ethnicity, age, status, and yes, even religion. Christians are stereotyped in this world—and not all of the opinions are positive.

 

How do we cut through that red tape of assumption to the heart of the matter? How do we get to what’s inside? How do we follow Jesus and call the world to see past categories and gossip and assumptions to see the real story? How do we show our care for this world that God has made—for all the people in it?

 

This is the New Year’s Eve of the church year. We get a chance today to remember who we are, who we belong to, where we’ve been, where we are now, and where we’d like to go. We get a chance to see Jesus as Christ the King, but we also get a chance to hear his words and realize what they mean for us. Amen.

Giving Thanks on Thanksgiving

We live in a world that constantly tells us to worry.

 

While the things we worry about might be changing every day, the concept has been around for thousands of years. Our gospel lesson for this evening makes that very clear:

• Matthew 6:25-34 "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? 27 And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? 28 And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, 29 yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. 30 But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you-- you of little faith? 31 Therefore do not worry, saying, 'What will we eat?' or 'What will we drink?' or 'What will we wear?' 32 For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33 But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34"So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today's trouble is enough for today.

 

Worry. While this definitely applies to us today, it was around in Jesus’ time, too. How do we know? Jesus talked about it. They're like warning labels—they wouldn’t exist if there wasn’t a reason.

 

In today's world, we are told that we have to not only worry about having food, but having the right kind of food. Not only having clothing, but the right kind of clothing. Not only having shelter, but the stuff to make it comfortable and attractive. Beyond even these things, we also have to worry about having the right phone, transportation, bike or car, job, internet presence, lifestyle. Worry. Worry. Worry. Worry.

 

In two days, we have one of the most massive shopping days in the country. A new worry: will there be enough of the latest fashion/toy/deal left? Scarcity. The ads tell us what we need, and then that they won’t have enough for everyone. Worry.

 

This is probably closer to what those in Jesus’ time would have worried about—not necessarily brands and internet sites and such, but having enough. Scarcity. It’s what almost every advertisement is built on—do you have enough? What if you run out?

 

Worry brings about fear. In this case, we have the fear that someone will get to what I want or need before me and that because of that, there will not be enough left for me. Fear. What’s the solution to this fear?

 

Society would say—beat that other person to what you want before they beat you. Win. If the store only stocks 100 of that item, then be sure that you beat out person number 99 and buy the last three.

 

What about Jesus? Now, I’m not asking what Jesus would do or say, but what he did say. Look, right there in the Scripture: Do not worry about your life…can any of you by worrying add a single hour to it? Are you not of more value than birds of the air?

 

Jesus says “stop worrying.” A life is more than food or clothing—more than stuff—and worrying about getting enough stuff does not benefit anyone.

 

I said that in two days, one of the biggest shopping days in the country will take place. Companies have invented things we’ve lived without for thousands of years, and advertisements have convinced us that we need it, that we can’t survive this year without it, and we better get there before someone else beats us to it.

 

Am I saying don’t go shopping on Friday? No—go ahead, go shopping, who knows? It might be fun. What I am saying is that we need to watch how much meaning we attach to stuff—to wants and luxuries.

 

If our eyes are only on that, only on Friday sales and stuff and shopping, we miss something. Something else takes place before that. Thursday. Thanksgiving Day. A day that we celebrate abundance. This is the opposite of scarcity. Thanksgiving is a day that we remember all that we have already.

 

In celebration and evidence of this abundance, mountains of food are prepared. In evidence and celebration of the parts of life that are more than material, families or friends gather together, caring for their relationships. These blessings are more than just stuff. Tomorrow is the day we remember all we have, not all we want, and we realize all we have is a lot.

 

When we get to that point—the realization of our own abundance—we move a bit more toward the second part of the gospel lesson. We strive for the kingdom of God. Yep, kingdom of God. It’s right there in verse 33: strive for the kingdom of God and God’s righteousness. Kingdom of God and God’s righteousness.

 

The Kingdom of God. That place that is like a mustard seed, where people love their neighbor as they love themselves, where everyone loves God first and foremost, where the sick and suffering are cured. The Kingdom of God that belongs to the poor, the children, the last and least in this earthly realm.

 

This is the reality that will come fully at the end of time, but that we get little glimpses of through Jesus’ descriptions and the work of the Holy Spirit in the world we live in now. This is the reality we get glimpses of when we see the good happening in the world, when we see that all of God’s creation—people and creatures—have what they need.

 

God knows what we need--really need--and God knows that it’s more than stuff.

 

We have what we need in abundance. Abundance. Abundance of time—a holiday. Abundance of care in relationship—family, friendships, community. Abundance of food—grandma’s cooking or St. Joe’s meal. Abundance of love—God’s love for us and our love for one another.

 

We are blessed beyond belief. We have a God who cares for us so much that this God actually came to us in his Son, to live with us, laugh with us, cry with us, rejoice with us, suffer with us, and die with us. This God, who took on humanity so we might understand, so we might have life now. This God who rose that we might rise as well. This God, who made the world, full of blessing, overflowing in abundance.

 

So, on Thanksgiving, don’t worry about tomorrow. Be there in the day of thanksgiving, and celebrate abundance. That is what we do, after all. We celebrate abundance—we give it away, and we make sure that everyone has more than enough. We make sure—as a community—that this life, this day, is about more than just me, myself, and I.

 

We gather together with family, friends, with community. Whether you’re at grandma’s house, your own home, at the local community center, or wherever, take a moment to look around at everything and everyone around you, and remember that you are blessed with abundance. Amen.

Focus

This sermon is based on the lesson of the widow's mite, found here.

Look at the scribes who wear the long robes in the marketplace—they pray magnificent long prayers and record the many tenets of our faith. Their prayers are meaningful. These are the words that must cross the chasm of the cosmos to the very ear of God. And Look! Look at the wealthy of our community, giving so much money to the treasury of our faith. They truly bless us with their gifts. Amen. Amen!

 

This is how the scene in our gospel might look if we were actually there--immersed in the culture of the time. This is the socially-approved perspective. Those who have power and status have the attention, and people pay homage to them. The people who have the focus of the people keep the focus on themselves, and so the people keep focusing on them. The camera doesn’t move.

 

Did you catch what was missing in the retelling? Jesus caught that, too. Jesus moves the camera to an area that doesn’t get a lot of attention, and says to pay attention there.

 

In today’s gospel, people are greeting, walking, devouring, praying, and giving. Scribes are praying long prayers and rich people are giving large amounts to the treasury. People greet these scribes in the streets—these scribes who pray long prayers and wear the long robes. People probably also admire these rich ones for giving so much to keep their church going.

 

What is faithful? In our socially-approved retelling of the gospel, faithfulness is a showy long-winded and fairly empty public display and shallow greetings with popular figureheads. Faithfulness is making sure you keep enough to live in luxury and then ornately depositing the excessive surplus in good causes for all to see.

 

Jesus shifts the focus, though. Jesus zooms in, underneath all the superficial wealth and words and focuses in on a different sort of attitude. He looks at a couple of practically worthless coins in this pile, and finds for us someone who is never seen, who gives from the take home, not the leftovers, and says this is where it’s at. This is faithfulness.

 

Jesus shows us the widow.

 

Read the gospel again as it’s actually recorded: 

"As [Jesus] taught, he said, "Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, ³⁹ and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! ⁴⁰ They devour widows' houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation." ⁴¹He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. ⁴² A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. ⁴³ Then he called his disciples and said to them, "Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. ⁴⁴ For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on."

 

It would seem to me that it’s about attitude. It’s not that the scribes walk in long robes and are greeted with respect and get seats of honor, it’s that they like doing these things—often at the expense of people like the widow—a person who can barely support herself.

 

It’s not that the rich people give large sums, it’s that they give out of their abundance, their leftovers, after their luxurious feasts and fancy clothes and whatever else they buy has been bought. How does that balance out?

 

Now, I have to admit, I felt really guilty as I was going through these texts. I am guilty of missing the point, of investing my time and money in myself from time to time. I am guilty.

 

I am also guilty, then, of turning this whole thing around and making it about me. Jesus is standing here, highlighting the widow, turning the camera on her, pointing out the good that is going on, and what do I do? I move the camera back on me.

 

How many times do I—or we—do that? Look at a situation where something amazing is happening and evaluate how it affects us. There’s a ton of good going on and we totally miss it because we’re focused on the big center stage show rather than the sidelines. We throw the weight where it shouldn’t be.

 

When our focus is self-centered, that is sin. Jesus came to tell us this—to remind us where we need to adjust our perspective, move the camera, widen our gaze. And then, Jesus came to forgive and let us try again. We make mistakes. We are forgiven again, and freed to try again.

 

Jesus moves the focus to where no one would think to look and points out an amazing person. The widow. If we turn her into an archetype, an example, or a source of our guilt, we start seeing only what the widow represents to us and we stop seeing her.

 

We can do what Jesus did—move the focus to those places people don’t often notice and highlight the great things happening there. Getting the focus off of ourselves, and lifting up, complimenting, supporting those who are doing well. We are freed to be—in the words of Martin Luther—a servant to all. We can serve all by highlighting all, not just those already in the spotlight.

 

In today’s gospel, hands are open—in greeting, in prayer, and in offering. One set of those hands is highlighted. The widow’s. Jesus points her out as an amazing person. We can celebrate her open faithfulness and act of charity. If we forget, we remember that we are freed to try again. Jesus renews us every minute to start fresh, change our perspective, our attitude. We can go out with open hands, too—hands open in service.

 

One of the things I loved about November 6—every voting day, in fact—was that the scales, which are so often unbalanced, are evened out, because no matter what I have—status, time, class, stuff, money, talent—I have one vote. One. No more, no less. Everyone gets that—and only that. You can’t buy more votes, there are no deeds so you can accumulate more like cars or shoes, you can’t take someone else’s from them. Everyone gets the same amount of the spotlight.

 

Maybe we start in our own lives—celebrating the things that often go unnoticed. Maybe we recognize that all we have—all of us, are God’s, and then treating everything and everyone that way. Amen.

Power Struggles

This sermon was based on the gospel reading from the Revised Common Lectionary, Mark 10:35-45. This was also Domestic Violence Awareness Sunday with an element of healing during Holy Communion.

Equality. It’s a really nice concept. Really. Everyone on the same level, with the same opportunities. It's a great idea.

 

The trouble is, we aren’t wired for that. We continually try to outdo our neighbors. We want the better cars, salary, jobs, stories, history, fishing tales, etc.

 

Our society isn’t structured for equality either. Maybe society influences us, or maybe we influence society—you could argue that one either way. But either way, it’s true. Promotions don’t go to everyone…just the best or the most well-connected. Salaries for the same jobs/work vary depending on any number of things. Gender roles are still unconsciously observed and instilled in our children. People still go to bed hungry, while others refuse to take home leftovers from dinner at the restaurant.

 

This is nothing new…in our gospel lesson, James and John fall into this very temptation. They want seats of honor for their time with Jesus. These two have identified themselves as the most important people in Jesus’ life, and they want Jesus to say so.

 

Jesus doesn’t.

 

Jesus doesn’t buy into the power struggle. He says this right/left hand status is not something he grants. He won’t play the disciples off each other in a worldly game like that.

 

James and John are humbled go back to the group. That’s right! They’re not the only two disciples, either. The other ten hear about what James and John did, and they are hurt and angry, too. I can only imagine them whispering to each other about James and John’s request. Planning to kick them out, ignore them, make them pay for their arrogance.

 

Problem—that makes the other ten arrogant. Jesus won’t let that happen, either. Jesus understands the nature of humanity—there is nothing one can do to be kicked out of God’s group. Everyone is in.

 

Jesus checks the egos of the disciples. He reminds them what it truly means to follow him into greatness—be a servant of all. Having authority means using it to promote equality. The lowly are lifted, and the oppressors—those who would use their power for themselves at the expense of others—are overturned.

 

Jesus never tolerates abuse of power.

 

He overturns tables of profiteers at the temple, stands up for a woman about to be stoned to death, heals blind beggars, defeats the aspirations of a rich man, and today he reverses the egotistical tendencies in his own disciples.

 

Jesus never tolerates abuse of power.

 

So why do we?

 

Today we remember that October is Domestic Violence Awareness month. We will have an element of healing for anyone who wishes to come forward. We lift up the services available here in Waushara County and remember those here and around the world who have been touched by this type of violence.

 

Here’s the thing: today we remember that October is Domestic Violence Awareness month. …and we wouldn’t need to if domestic violence weren’t an issue.

 

We as a society look the other way all the time in this system—by allowing those who use power to get themselves ahead to advance, by ignoring the incidents in our neighborhoods, our culture, and our world that reinforce power dynamics in favor of the powerful rather than the oppressed and marginalized. These behaviors set up a pattern that allows domestic violence to even exist, and so we would need to remember and be aware of it.

 

Jesus never tolerates abuse of power. He also loves us. We are reminded that we live as broken people in a broken world. However, there is nothing too big or too awful that would ever ever make Jesus turn away from us or stop loving us. The love that Jesus shows is absolute and eternal. He works that all of us—all of us—would have life.

 

Whatever has happened to us, whatever has been done, Jesus still loves us.

 

We are not abandoned by God. Ever.

 

The disciples ask the un-askable—to have seats with Jesus in glory. Jesus doesn’t kick them out, doesn’t turn away. The ten other disciples become angry with James and John. Jesus doesn’t kick them out, doesn’t turn away.

 

Jesus never tolerates abuse of power, and he reminds us we are always loved. Jesus himself is the example of that level of selflessness. He who would be the master of all—God incarnate—becomes the servant of all.

 

If we are to follow Jesus, we must do that as well. We must realize where we are in the global scheme and how we are using what we have. If we have power, we must use authority we have to lift those who cannot lift themselves. To give up our power to effect equality. To stop the abuse of power by others.

 

And if we are oppressed or abused, then we ought to be lifted and liberated. We can realize that we are loved by God and should be treated as such.

 

Equality. It’s not easy, and it won’t always be happy, but it is good. It is the notion that life can be lived with love and without fear. That we are all deserving of that. Sometimes, that will mean realizing where we deserve better, and having the strength to claim that. Sometimes, it will mean realizing that we have more/better than we need, and working to bring others up, realizing we can afford it—even if it means we go down a bit.

 

As we said, we live in a broken world. It will never be perfect, but it can get better. Jesus came to bring up the low—to heal the sick, suffering, and sorrowful from all that burdened them. Today, we also ask for that healing. In a moment, we will have the opportunity to receive a prayer of healing along with the anointing of oil.

 

Whatever our cares, burdens, or obstacles to the world, we are invited to bring them with us, think on them, and pray on them. We ask God in Jesus’ name to help us give up those burdens and go over those obstacles. We hold on to the hope that tomorrow will be better than today—that we can heal. We will continue healing from everything from prejudice to physical ailments to mental and emotional hurts to systemic injustices.

 

Our hope is in Jesus, who sets our example, who holds on to us when we hurt, when we fail, when we try again. Jesus, who loves us and stays with us no matter what, came that we might have life. That life is our hope. AMEN.