Sermon Audio – Cross of Grace

Mark 15:33-39When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o'clock, Jesus cried out with a loud voice, "Eloi, Eloi, lema sebacthani!" Which means, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" When some bystanders heard it, they said, "Listen, he is calling for Elijah." And someone ran and filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a stick and gave it to him to drink, saying, "Wait, let us see if Elijah will come and take him down." Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain in the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. Now, when the centurion who stood facing him saw that in this way he had breathed his last he said, "Truly this man was God's son." When I was a kid, we had a giant pit of sand and dirt in our back yard – about the size of our fire pit, over there next to the labyrinth. We cleverly called it the "Sand Pile" and it was a cheap, tasteless, makeshift version of what more sophisticated people would call a sand box, and we used it for sand castles, mud pies, dirt-track races for Matchbox cars, and whatever else kids who play in the sand, do in the dirt. (I think the Sand Pile started out as some sort of home improvement project at the church parsonage where we lived, but never amounted to anything, so my brother and I, along with our friends next door, co-opted it as a great place for little kids to play.)What made the Sand Pile cooler than your average sandbox, though, was that it wasn't self-contained. There were no sides, no cover, and no barrier underneath. One day, our neighbor friend had the brilliant idea that we should dig and just keep digging until we couldn't dig anymore. We knew this was going to take some time and I think the four of us decided to make it a summer project. Sometime after we started, I remember my dad coming home from work and noticing that we were up to something more ambitious than usual. When he asked what we were doing, we told him our plans and my friend declared that we were going to dig "all the way to Kingdom Come." We weren’t very sophisticated, but we were ambitious.And so we dug a little bit each day, for days. We found worms and bugs and rocks of all kinds. We hit water one day, which meant we were really getting somewhere, so that was cool. And then one of us had the realization that if we kept digging long enough, we'd dig our way right into Hell and we wondered if maybe that wasn't such a great idea. We did keep digging, but the expedition ended shortly after that, either because we were scared or skeptical or just plain tired of shoveling. But that was the first time I ever remember considering something like the question someone offered up for this morning:"Do we have to believe in Hell in order to believe in Heaven?”When I was older, in High School, and learned about World War II and the Holocaust, I wondered if that might be Hell: the injustice and horror of concentration camps; the gas chambers, the torture, the attempted genocide. Elie Wiesel, likely the most famous survivor of the Holocaust asked once, "How [do you] explain or even describe the agony, the terror, the prayers, the tears, the tenderness, the sadness of the scientifically prepared death of six million human beings? … Six million human beings sentenced to death by an evil dictatorship not because of their faith or their circumstances but because of their very being." It sounded – and sounds, still – like Hell to me, even if it wasn't someplace you could dig your way into.When I visited all kinds of jails and prisons in college, I wondered if the smell and the heat and the sounds and the danger and the circumstances that led and keep a person there might be Hell.When I worked as a hospital chaplain for a summer during seminary, I remember a guy who had been burned on over 80% of his body. That looked like Hell, and I wondered if Hell was the sickness, disease, and disasters that consume and kill men, women, and children every minute of every hour of every day in the world. When I traveled with my family and then with our high school kids a couple of summers ago to the Whitney Plantation, in Edgard, Louisiana, where enslaved human beings were used and abused and tortured and killed, like worthless animals, for generations – Hell seemed very nearby.Is Hell the war in Ukraine? Is it the famine, starvation, and destruction in Gaza? Is Hell a cancer diagnosis or is the rigors of chemotherapy or radiation – even if they work, but especially when they don’t? Is Hell a broken or breaking marriage; the death of a child; any kind of unbearable physical pain or emotional suffering? Is it paralyzing fear; hopeless loneliness; utter despair?With all of my questions, I guess you can tell that I don't think about Hell in the same way I did when I was digging around in the dirt as a child. But, from what I can tell, too many people – preachers, theologians, artists, and politicians – haven't moved beyond the sandbox. We hear too often, in my opinion, detailed images of Hell. You know them as well as I do: pictures of fire, deep dark places, chains and shackles perhaps, weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, for sure, and the little guy in the red suit with a pointy tail and a pitch fork with the capacity to inflict pain and suffering on his victims for all of eternity.And these same people will tell you how to get there faster than any shovel can dig. Instructions usually include breaking the rules or not having enough of the right kind of faith or 'doing faith' differently than what's expected or accepted or, generally, behaving in ways that make God angry enough to send you ‘there’ instead of calling you home to the right side of eternity.But I don't think any of this is what Hell is like or where it's at. Which is why I picked the readings I did for this morning. There are plenty of references in the Bible to Sheol and the Pit, to Hades and the Abyss. There's lots of talk about fire and punishment and the outer darkness – much of it from the very lips of Jesus himself.But nowadays, when I think of Hell, I think about the crucifixion and death of Jesus on that Good Friday afternoon. And it's not because of the abuse or the spitting or the whips or the thorns. It's not because of the darkness or the nails or the cross itself, even. It's because of the way all of these things added up to leave him hanging there alone, crying at the top of his voice, "MY GOD, MY GOD, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?" (Theologians call it Jesus’ “cry of dereliction,” and it’s why we say, as we do in our Apostles’ Creed, that Jesus indeed “descended into Hell.”)It's at that moment when Hell becomes more real and more scary than any pitchfork or fire pit, if you ask me. It's at that moment when Jesus experiences what many of us have known – or what we fear – more than anything else: being utterly alone, utterly afraid, utterly out of control, cosmically lost, and entirely without hope or faith or comfort – even from God.It's at that moment when Jesus himself knows fully the hell of every concentration camp victim, every prisoner, every enslaved person, every frightened soldier, every starving stomach, every struggling addict, every dying patient, grieving spouse, scared child, broken heart, and sin-sick soul that ever was or ever will be. "MY GOD, MY GOD, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?"So back to the question at hand. I was asked pointedly, if “we” believe in Hell, which seems to include the questioner, myself, and other leaders and pastors and theologians of the ELCA. I won’t speak for others, because I can’t – that’s part of the beauty of what it means to be an ELCA-flavored Lutheran, in my opinion. But I will tell you that, I don’t very much think about Hell anymore these days.If it does exist, it’s not a concern of mine, because I believe it’s been conquered and undone, dismissed and destroyed by the work of God’s love in Jesus Christ – for me, and for you, and for all of creation. You can cite for me every Scripture and verse there is about Hades and Sheol, about the outer darkness and The Pit. But I believe there is a Hell the way I believe there are K Pop concerts, hot dog eating contests, and white pride parades. They may very well exist, but I don’t – and won’t – ever have to show my face there, thanks be to God.We can find plenty of pictures in the Bible and elsewhere to scare each other into believing that Hell is as likely an option as Heaven or that damnation is as likely as grace. And there are lots of pastors and churches who will fan that fire with gusto and glee, but that's not what the Gospel promises. To suggest that we can faithfully choose Heaven… To suggest that we can faith-LESS-ly opt for Hell… To suggest that we can reject God’s willingness to love us all the way through Hell and back and remain in our sin and death, despite God’s clear desire to win us back… is to suggest that God is powerless over evil, that God is powerless over death, that God is powerless over Sin, that God isn’t all God is cracked up to be and that the very death and resurrection of Jesus was a cosmic waste of God’s time. And I don’t buy it.I don’t buy it because when Jesus cried, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me,” he was quoting the first line of Psalm 22, which he knew well. So he must have known how Psalm 22 ends, just the same – with the hope of God’s promised dominion, deliverance, power and provision. Verse 24 promises, “He did not despise or abhor the affliction of the afflicted; he did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him.” By invoking Psalm 22, what if Jesus wasn’t just announcing his despair and descent into Hell’s separation? What if he was declaring his hope for the Heaven that was to come, just the same?My adventure in the Sand Pile as a kid that summer didn't end just because we were scared of what we might find. I think it ended because, even as kids, we realized our digging wasn't leading

John 1:1-4, 14-18In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John testified to him and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’ ”) From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is the only Son, himself God, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known. We’re in week three of this series: Asking for a Friend. Real Questions. Honest Faith. We gathered your questions and promised to answer them faithfully. This week: “Do churches or denominations change the meaning of the Bible to fit what they want it to say?”It’s a timely question. Just this week, I saw too many stories and news clips about a pastor in Idaho saying things like: women shouldn’t vote, “godly women are designed to make sandwiches,” and that Southern slave owners weren’t sinning because their relationships with enslaved people were based on “mutual affection and confidence.” Doug Wilson, the pastor who said those awful things, believes they are gospel truth because he thinks he has Scripture to back it up.Like Titus 2:5 which says: young women should be “good managers of the household, kind, and submissive to their husbands, so that the word of God may not be discredited.” Or Ephesians 6:5: “Slaves, obey your earthly masters with respect and fear, and with sincerity of heart, just as you would obey Christ.”If we don’t agree with him, he’d probably say we’ve changed the meaning of the Bible to fit what we want it to say. Anyone who believes there’s only one correct meaning of a text would say the same. Disagree, and you’re wrong. But here’s the thing: there isn’t just one correct meaning.For too long, we’ve treated the Bible like a locked box, hunting for the interpretive key to the writer’s original intent. But words are more complicated than that. They carry layers of meaning, history and emotion. Most communication holds more than one meaning.So No, we don’t change the meaning of the Bible—because there isn’t just one. We interpret it. We ask: what does this mean for us here, now, in our lives? Sure, some twist Scripture for personal gain. Paula White, for instance, claimed John 11:44 meant people should give her $1,144 to receive a prayer cloth that could possibly bring them miracles. Others accuse us of twisting Scripture to justify our welcome of LGBTQ+ siblings, as a way of attracting more people. Truthfully, if that were our aim, we wouldn’t offer such a bold, hospitable welcome. We are the only church in this county to do it—and we do it because the Word of God calls us to, not as a marketing ploy.If we are following the 8th commandment (of not bearing false witness) and interpreting our neighbors’ actions in the best light, we’d say most people interpret Scripture in search of the Truth with a capital T. The real question we want answered is: whose interpretation is right? Whose is wrong? And why?Seminary students spend three years wrestling with this. Some pastors and theologians spend their whole lives. And you want me to answer it in 10 or 12 minutes? Sure.A small caveat, I am answering from a Lutheran perspective because it is what I know. That is not to say it’s the most right, though I do think it’s pretty useful. There are surely other ways to interpret Scripture that are insightful and faithful. But as Pastor Mark said last week, you asked me, sorta, so this is what you get. And so much more could be said, so this is not exhaustive by any means, but it’s a start.As Lutherans, we can’t talk about interpretation without first talking about what the Word of God is. And you might think, well it’s just the Bible, that's the Word of God. Well not exactly. First and foremost, the Word of God is Jesus. John says, “The Word became flesh and lived among us.” It’s not a book that became flesh—it’s God in Christ. Jesus is the Word. What this means is that we see and understand God most through and because of Jesus.Second, the Word is proclaimed. After the Word became flesh, lived among us, died, and rose, the story could not be contained. People shared it, again and again—witnessing, preaching, proclaiming Christ. Through that proclamation, we encounter Jesus. We hope that’s what happens here on Sundays…That you encounter Jesus through this preaching and that it confronts us, transforms us, and pushes out into the world holding onto the promises God makes to us. And then Third, the Word is the written Word—the Bible—because and insofar as it points us to Jesus. The whole Bible, as one story, reveals Christ. Some parts though point more clearly: the gospels, Jesus’ teachings, his death and resurrection, and for Luther, the book of Romans. These show most vividly what Christ’s life and death mean for us. Other passages, like Titus 2:5 urging women to be submissive, reflect cultural norms more than the gospel’s promise of oneness and equality, proclaimed most boldly in Galatians 3:28. How can we say this? Jesus lifted up the role of women. He taught unity, servitude, placing others before ourselves—but never that women must submit. These messages echo far more deeply than cultural instructions ever could.But someone might ask, how can one Scripture matter more than another if all Scripture is inspired by God, as that passage from 2 Timothy says plainly: “All scripture is inspired by God”? I’m not disagreeing with that. But Scripture points us to Jesus. We don’t worship the Bible. We worship Christ. Sometimes I fear we get that confused. The Bible is a tool, a means by which the Holy Spirit shows us God’s love revealed in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. And when we see that, it changes us. It transforms us. It shapes how we live. What matters most in interpreting Scripture isn’t only what it means. Yes, understanding the original intent matters. But what matters most isn’t just what the Bible means, but what the Bible does. The Word of God does something to you, to us. When we hear it, when we read it together, when we listen to it proclaimed, the Holy Spirit is at work through that Word. After all it is a living and active Word, not just ink on a page. it calls us, moves us, and shapes us, so much so that we live differently because of it.Take for example that passage from Exodus: You shall not wrong or oppress a resident alien. If you are an immigrant or refugee, that word is certainly good news because it shows how God longs for their care and well-being in every time and place. It must give comfort and hope to the desperate migrants in search of safety for themselves and their families. But it also confronts those who see no problem with the rhetoric and policies that harm them. And it should move those of us—like me—who have done nothing, who have simply shaken our heads and said, “How terrible,” without stepping forward to help our immigrant siblings. The Word meets us here, calling us to act, to love, to bear witness to God’s justice.You’ve heard it said that people can make the Bible say whatever they want it to say. And that’s true. But I am more interested in what the Bible, what the Word of God makes one do. So if the meaning you find in the text doesn’t make you afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted, if it doesn’t widen the bounds of your love, if it doesn’t encourage unity, or extend forgiveness, or move you toward repentance, and offer grace with no strings attached, then find a different, more Christ like meaning. Because the way we interpret scripture is by reading all of it through the lens of Jesus Christ, through whom we all have received grace upon grace. And that’s the gospel truth. Amen.

Luke 10:25-37Just then, a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered him, “You should love the Lord your God with all your heart, and all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus said to him, “You have given the right answer. Do this and you shall live.”But wanting to justify himself, the man asked him, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus answered him, “A man was going down the road from Jerusalem to Jericho when he fell into the hands of robbers who beat him, stripped him, leaving him half dead. Now, by chance a priest was walking along the same road and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So likewise, a Levite, when he came to the place, saw the man and passed by on the other side.But a Samaritan, while traveling saw the man and was moved with pity. He came near to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. He put him onto his own animal and took him to an inn to take care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the inn keeper and said, ‘Take care of him and when I come back I will repay you whatever more you spend.’”Jesus said to the lawyer, “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers.” He answered him, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.” Our questioner for this morning wasn’t specific, so I’m taking some guesses and some liberty at choosing what they could have meant by “When the system falls short…” – and how a Christian might respond. By that I mean, “SYSTEM” could mean lots of things. When I think “SYSTEM,” I think POLITICAL system, JUSTICE system, HEALTHCARE system, EDUCATION system, the ECONOMY, and so on.So, maybe our question refers to the ECONOMY that allows corporate CEOs to make 300 times as much as their average employees who then have to worry about the price of eggs or milk or gas or rent. (The economic system is falling short for a lot of people these days. How does a Christian respond?)Maybe our IMMIGRATION system was on the mind of whoever asked today’s question. Its shortcomings are something both sides of the political aisle actually agree about, after all. (That system and the current methods of remedy are a profound failure of human decency, respect, integrity, and moral character, if you ask me. What does a faithful Christian response look like there?)I contend that our JUSTICE system falls short every time a Black, brown, or poor person receives a harsher, longer punishment than a white or wealthy person for the same – or lesser – crime. (The justice system is shamefully, painfully failing a whole lot of people. What’s a believer to do?)And the SYSTEM, writ large, falls short when it chooses to fund the resulting prison industrial complex and a raging war machine rather than provide food, healthcare, and housing for its people. (For people who worship the “Prince of Peace,” the “Healer of Every Ill,” the One who calls us to feed the sick, clothe the naked, turn the other cheek, and forgive our enemy – we have to wonder “What would Jesus do?”)The SYSTEM is falling short when hospitals, major corporations, private schools, and public schools are bullied into denying, dismantling, or defunding their diversity, equity, and inclusion efforts. (For generations of Christians who grew up singing “Red and Yellow, Black and White, they are precious in his sight” how does our faith call us to respond?)So, again … the question of the day … What do we do when the system – or any of the systems within the system – fall short? When they don’t live up to our expectations or needs? When they downright fail? What’s a Christian to do? What does a faithful response look like, indeed? Good question.Before you ask me, though, I’d ask Shane Claiborne. He’s a faithful Christian activist who does crazy, beautiful things like turns guns into gardening tools – you’ve heard me talk of him before. Shane Claiborne once broke a very particular law, several years ago, in Philadelphia, which had made it illegal to feed homeless people, outdoors, in public spaces. So, in addition to pizza, he served them Holy Communion – all of which got him arrested calling attention to the broken, inhumane, unloving, mean-spirited law the courts ultimately declared unjust and unfair, thanks to his clever act of civil, faithful disobedience.And before you ask me this question, I’d look to Pastor Martin Luther King, Jr., who protested and broke the racist Jim Crow laws of the South to march, boycott, host sit-ins and to teach, preach, and promote God’s Gospel of diversity, equity and inclusion – showing the world that those are not dirty words and worthless endeavors.Before you ask me this question, I’d look to Lutheran pastor and theologian, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who preached and taught and wrote about The Cost of Discipleship and was executed for fighting against the moral, ethical, evil failures of the Nazis, during World War II. I’d wonder about Cesar Chavez who fought for fair wages, safe working conditions, and decent standards of living for migrant and agricultural workers in our country. I’d remember Mother Teresa who gave up everything to care for the poorest of the poor that every system of healthcare, education, and human compassion had failed.Each of these faithful Christian people responded to the broken, failing systems they witnessed in ways that were informed and inspired by the teachings of Jesus. And each of them, surely, was informed and inspired the Good Samaritan – this outsider who saw the suffering of a stranger, recognized him as a neighbor, crossed the road, broke some rules, risked his own safety, and gave up a full measure of his time and money to help, as nothing more and nothing less than an act of compassion and mercy.In some ways, the answer to today’s question is as simple as that – When the system falls short, faithful action looks like seeing everyone as your neighbor and showing them mercy, as a result.But the truth is, we like to pretend – you and I – that we don’t have courage or occasion enough of the time to encounter the suffering, dying, needs of our neighbor in as dramatic a fashion as Martin Luther King, Jr., Cesar Chavez, Mother Theresa, or that Good Samaritan in Jesus’ story. And maybe that’s true. Maybe we don’t have courage or occasion enough to respond like that.But since you asked, I’ll tell you what I’ve done, what I try to do, and what I hope for around here – as your pastor; as your Partner in Mission; and as a wannabe follower of Jesus. Because I believe my response – and ours together in this place – to the short-falls of the systems that surround us show up in lots of ways. We have a unique calling in this community, in this political climate, at this particular time – as fellow wannabe followers of Jesus – to do something about the systemic shortfalls that threaten us and that harm our neighbors.The easiest thing I do is that I say a lot of words. I do my best to preach and teach about a God who loves all people and hope that moves us all to defend, protect, support, welcome, affirm, and love all people, too – on this side of heaven, not just the next, which is key. God’s love and grace are meant to be shared with all people on this side of heaven, not just the next.Our Groceries of Grace food pantry matters because it helps mitigate the systemic shortfalls of a broken economic system by simply feeding people kindly, compassionately, generously, with dignity – and without a lot of questions or pre-requisites. And hopefully that allows them to spend the grocery money they save on other needs.Our Racial Justice Team matters because churches are one of the few institutions who haven’t been bullied by the system – yet – into decrying or dropping Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion efforts, and withholding the truth about the ongoing impact of racism on our neighbors. We aren’t perfect, but from what I know, Cross of Grace does that more deliberately and more faithfully than any congregation in Hancock County.I’m leading that Unclobber book study again (starting this Wednesday at 6:30 p.m.) because no other congregation in our community will do that either; and because not enough churches in our country have evolved to embrace the TRUTH about what the Bible actually says and does not say about homosexuality among God’s people.I chair the board for Project Rouj, too, because Jesus tells me that my neighbor isn’t just someone who lives next door or who looks and believes and behaves like I do. So I like building houses for my friends and strangers in Fondwa, Haiti.And, lastly – and not for nothing – when it comes to mitigating the impact of the broken, failing systems that surround us – my family gives our money away, because Jesus tells us to. The Havels give regular, if not monthly, financial contributions to places like Project Rouj, WFYI and NPR, and Susan G. Komen. And all of that is secondary to the more than 10% of our income that we give to the ministry at Cross of Grace, every year too.(I don’t say this to brag or guilt-trip anyone. I’m just answering the question. And I admit, it’s impressive and tempting to wonder about the swimming pools, nicer cars, college tuition, and second home we could have paid and saved for over the years with that money. And I pray for and dream about the day when more of you believe me when I tell you what a difference that kind of giving could make for you, your family, for the ministry we share, and for this broken world we’re trying to mend.)All of this is to say that – in the face of the failing systems that surround us – Jesus calls us to follow the Good Samaritan’s lead.Because let’s remember – without too much despair – that whatever system you think is failing you, or someone yo

Matthew 6:7-13“When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the gentiles do, for they think that they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.“Pray, then, in this way:Our Father in heaven,    may your name be revered as holy.    May your kingdom come.    May your will be done        on earth as it is in heaven.    Give us today our daily bread.    And forgive us our debts,        as we also have forgiven our debtors.    And do not bring us to the time of trial,        but rescue us from the evil one.“For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you,We begin a new series today called “Asking for a Friend: Real Questions. Honest Faith.” Usually we say Asking for a friend jokingly, when we want to know something for ourselves but might be too shy or embarrassed to ask. Yet, over the past several weeks we have gathered questions that you want answered. We’ve taken those questions, grouped a few, and over the next eight weeks we will answer each of them. In a literal sense, these people have asked their question, not just for themselves but for you too. Because I am certain with each question someone else sitting here or watching will say, I had the same question. You are the “friend” in this series. And what a gift it is to have thoughtful, honest questions raised about all sorts of faith things: from prayer to evolution, biblical interpretation to politics, heaven and hell, and more. We will do our best not to provide simple, sure answers, but to wrestle openly, honestly, faithfully with the questions raised. A favorite quip in our household comes from a college professor Katelyn and I both had who said, one’s faith is only as strong as their willingness to question it. Hopefully this series will do exactly that; strengthen our faith through the questions we engage. So to our first question, “what exactly do we mean when we say, ‘thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.’” I love this question for lots of reasons. It is concise and clear, as are all the best questions. It’s one of the rare occurrences when Jesus gives exact words to say. We often get things to do, fewer things to say, and even fewer to pray. So I’d say that it’s worth our study. And lastly, it is about something so familiar that rarely, if ever, do we stop to ask, what am I, what are we, actually saying? We pray this prayer aloud, together, every Sunday. You probably say it throughout the week. But when was the last time you wondered “ what am I praying for with this prayer?” But beware, “thy kingdom come, thy will be done” is a dangerous prayer. Dangerous for the world as we know it, and for us.It’s dangerous for the world because it is, in part, a political prayer. I’m guessing you never thought you were bringing politics into your prayer life every time you said the Lord’s Prayer—but indeed we are. And we can blame Jesus for that. Because in those three little words—thy kingdom come—Jesus is saying an awful lot. The kingdom on earth in Jesus’ time was Rome. A few wealthy men ruled, including Herod. Those who served the empire or its military were well off. There was no middle class. Everyone else—local businesspeople, artisans, and especially fishermen and farmers—were peasants, including Jesus. Herod was the ruler of Galilee, where Jesus grew up and began his ministry. But Galilee was under Roman rule, which meant Herod answered to Rome, not to his people. Like all earthly empires, this one hurt people, kept power in the hands of a few, and disregarded the lives of many, especially the people Jesus spent most of his time with.So when Jesus says thy kingdom come, he’s saying: “things are not as they should be. This empire of violence, oppression, and greed must be undone—stopped, even replaced. And in its place, give us your kingdom, Lord.” Which, if we pay attention to how Jesus describes it, is a rather radical thing to pray for. A kingdom where the last are first and the first last? A kingdom like a wedding party where the invited guests refuse to come, so people off the street—good and bad alike—are welcomed instead? A kingdom described as seeds and weeds and small, insignificant things? That’s what Jesus wants us to pray for? A kingdom that couldn’t be more at odds with the world as it is? Yes. Exactly.Jesus praying that prayer—and telling others to pray it too—was a threat to Herod and to Rome. Which shouldn’t surprise us. After all, Jesus had been a threat to the kingdoms of the world since his birth.What that means for us is that we too are asking for God’s kingdom to come, reforming all the violent, oppressive, greedy kingdoms of this world. It means we recognize that things are not as they should be in this world: hungry children dying in Gaza, a week ago today 5 kids were shot not 10 miles from here, the wealthy growing wealthier while others are crushed by scarcity. And because of all that and more, we long to be part of God’s kingdom—a kingdom of grace and mercy, of debts forgiven and cheeks turned, of self-sacrifice and love. When we pray thy kingdom come, we are praying not only for us to be in the kingdom, but for the kingdom to be in us. That we might be God’s kingdom at work in the world. Sounds pretty dangerous to me. But perhaps no more dangerous than the next part: thy will be done.And for this I need to share a story about my son, Clive. He is a wonderful, joyous, and downright defiant little creature. I have never known someone so uncooperative in all my life! Last week we were trying to get breakfast together. I asked him, "Do you want some oatmeal?" and he said, "No! I want candy!""No buddy, we don’t eat candy for breakfast.""But that’s what I want.""Clive, you can’t eat candy for breakfast.""I want blue candy for breakfast!"I thought, I can’t even think of what candy that might be… So I said again, "Clive, we can’t have candy for breakfast, it’s not good for us."To which he responded, "But it’s yummy and I want it!" and then proceeded to sprawl on the floor and cry. All I could do was laugh.But it made me think: this is how God must see us. Wonderful, joyous, but downright defiant little creatures who do what they will, regardless of whether it’s what God wills for us.When we say, “thy will be done”, we’re recognizing that the things we want are not always what they should be; like blue candy for breakfast, or whatever the newest, greatest product is. We live in a culture that says the perfect life is always one more purchase away—one more pill, one more upgrade, one more new thing. But the life we want is always just out of reach.So we pray thy will be done.We beg God to take away our heart’s desires and replace them with God’s desires.That’s dangerous.Because God’s will might not look like what we want.It might hurt. It might be uncomfortable. It might change us entirely. That was the case for Jesus, after all.When we say those four little words, we’re really saying: Have mercy on us, Lord.Don’t let things happen just because we want them to.Give us patience.Give us grace.Give us strength.To bear whatever you ask of us—crucifying our will,And raising up your divine will in its place.That’s a dangerous prayer indeed.We’re not just confessing that the world is marked by sin and sorrow—we’re admitting that we are too. So we ask God to change us so that we might go and change the world, little by little, bit by bit, until this world and those on it feel like we are in heaven, which is the goal, isn’t it? And by this, I don’t mean heaven, as a place, but as a condition - because to be in heaven is nothing other than being with God. So when God’s way of doing things takes over the world and our hearts, we will be with God and God will be with us in the best, fullest way possible. In that way, earth will be as it is in heaven. And that sounds even better than blue candy for breakfast. Amen.

John 17:20-23Jesus prayed, “I ask not only on behalf of these but also on behalf of those who believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.” Artificial Intelligence is not your friend—it’s the Tower of Babel. That was the title of the first article I saw this week while preparing for today. Another headline from a Jewish student paper read: AI: The Modern Tower of Babel. A theme was emerging. Faith publications and organizations are writing incessantly about AI and faith, the church, spirituality, and more. Then Pastor Mark told me to listen to a segment from 1A this week about AI and faith. It was fascinating—and a little frightening.I’ll be honest, I thought I had pretty good job security against AI and robots… until I listened to that segment. I learned about Pastors.AI, a chatbot trained for a specific church using sermons and resources from real pastors. Meaning, you could upload all the videos and manuscripts from Pastor Mark’s sermons over the past 24 years, and the chatbot would generate answers to questions, write sermons, and craft Bible studies—just like he would! You could have your own Pastor Mark in your pocket.Then there’s Gloo—AI evangelism. Gloo claims it helps churches grow by tracking digital interactions, managing prayer requests, responding to texts, and making new connections.Entire denominations are diving into AI. If you're Catholic, you can't use just any faith-based AI, so you turn to Ask Father Justin. Apparently, a problem arose where some people preferred confessing to Father Justin instead of their priest. Imagine that… And it’s not just Catholics who do AI.Episcopalians have Cathy—Church Answers That Help You. Right on the Diocese of Lexington’s homepage, you can talk with Cathy and learn anything you want from the Episcopalian perspective.But what good is the church or denominations if you can just chat with Jesus yourself, AI Jesus that is? If you try that one let me know. So is AI a threat to the church? Or a tool to help it grow? Is it humans trying to become like God, or is it a resource that makes God more accessible? Is this software a reversal of Genesis 1 where we make God in our image, one chatbot at a time?Is it a new Tower of Babel—our attempt to code our way to God? How might this ancient story help us with such questions? More importantly, what might it tell us about Jesus?The Tower of Babel is mysterious. It's short, raises more questions than it answers, and isn't referenced anywhere else in the Bible. Like the other stories in Genesis 1–11, it’s an origin story; one that tries to explain how different nations and languages came to be. Linguists agree though, this is not how languages came about. It much more complicated. As is this story. To read it as only an explanation of languages or cultures misses what all it reveals about God.It’s also the origin story of Babylon. Thousands of years ago, Babylon made a major technological advance: the brick. They could take bricks, butter’em with bitumen, stack them on top of each other and build. So the people said, “Let’s build a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and make a name for ourselves, or else we’ll be scattered across the earth.” That one sentence is full of so much irony. The tower didn’t reach heaven. In fact, God had to come down to earth just to see it. And when God finds it, God isn’t pleased. Why exactly? We’re not told. What we do know is that God confused their language and scattered all the people—the very thing they were trying to avoid.That question—why did God do this?—has led to many interpretations, some with harmful consequences.One interpretation says God scattered the people because mixing cultures, ethnicities, and languages is bad. That view has been used to justify segregation in this country and apartheid in South Africa.But I don’t read this story as the scattering being a consequence or punishment. God said twice “to fill the earth and subdue”. Well you can’t do that if people are all in one place. So scattering wasn’t punishment - it was the plan. As were the different languages and ethnicities. Diversity was God’s design from the start.Another view is that God is suspicious of cities. So, urban life must be prideful or ungodly, while small-town life is holier and safer. But that doesn’t align with the broader biblical story. God called Jonah to Nineveh, a powerful city, because God cared for its people and animals. Jesus longed to gather Jerusalem under his wing. Revelation envisions a new heaven and earth—with a new Jerusalem at its center. God is not suspicious of cities, but is as present there as anywhere else in the world.And perhaps most pertinent today: some believe God scattered humanity because they were too advanced. Such a reading makes folks skeptical of scientific progress and technological advances like, well, Artificial Intelligence. But I don’t think God was all that concerned about some bricks stacked a couple hundred feet in the air. Nor is God all that impressed with our towers of today: our advances, systems, or political structures. And I am pretty sure God isn’t wringing hands over Artificial Intelligence like everyone else seems to be.What I think God is concerned about is any human attempt to work our way up to God, any effort to work out our own salvation. And we try all the time. We think: “If I just do enough good,” “If I go to church enough,” “If I text with AI Jesus,” or “complete my Bible AI devotional”—then I’ll get to God. All our technological advances will undoubtedly do a lot of good. But if we think software can save us, it’s no different than thinking a tower can take us to heaven. The tower never reaches. We can’t code our way up to God.But the good news of our faith is that we don’t have to go up to God because God came down to us in Jesus Christ. And through that person, that real, divine, tangible person, do we and all the world receive the grace and forgiveness we could never create for ourselves, no matter how advanced we get. Through that person, all the scattered people of the world might be one in him. That’s what, or really who, holds this community together. We don’t all hold the same views, or come from the same backgrounds, or see the world in the same way. Sometimes it probably seems like we aren’t even speaking the same language. And yet, it is the grace and forgiveness and mercy of Jesus that binds us together as one.This A.I stuff isn’t going away anytime soon. It certainly has it’s dangers. At the same time it is a technological tool and the church has always engaged with these tools. When the printing press was invited, the church made tracts and pamphlets. When radio came around, preachers broadcasted their sermons across the airwaves. TVs gave rise to the televangelist. And today nearly everyone watches a service online before they ever step foot through our doors. So it should be no surprise that christians, churches, pastors, denominations, are using A.I. in all sorts of ways. But like any tool, it can be misused and lead to harm, like thinking it can somehow take us up to God, as an ancient tower once tried. Or that it can bring Jesus down to us. Yet it can’t do that either, because Jesus came down and is here already. Here at the table where we get our fill of his forgiveness in bread and wine. Here in the waters of baptism where we are washed by his grace. Here in your neighbor, who reflects the very image of God. By his coming down to us, Jesus made his love tangible through these physical signs of his grace that he freely gives to us. And that’s something A.I. can never give. Amen.

Genesis 9:8-17Then God said to Noah and to his sons with him, ‘As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.’ God said, ‘This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.’ God said to Noah, ‘This is the sign of the covenant that I have established between me and all flesh that is on the earth.’ I was worried I’d mess up and say, “The Gospel of the Lord,” when I got done reading that bit from Genesis. I was worried, because that’s just what I’m used to saying after reading whatever text it is I’ll be preaching on – which is more often than not, something from one of the actual Gospels in scripture. And, even though this bit from Genesis, in the Hebrew scriptures, can’t technically be called “the Gospel,” it – as much as anything else in the Hebrew scriptures – reads, sounds, and feels like Gospel good news to me.I mean, it has all the things, right? There’s the declaration of a covenant, for all of creation. There’s the promise of mercy, love, hope, and redemption. And there’s a visible, almost tangible, sign of all of that – not a cross, or an empty tomb, but that bow in the clouds. It seems so very much like the Gospel, if you ask me.It also seems/feels/sounds like “the Gospel” because it’s so BIG, so cosmic in scope, which is the way the “primeval mythology” we’ve been talking about is supposed to work. It addresses the big things … the big picture … in a big way. And you know it’s big when the idea of something like a great flood shows up in several other world religions, just like it does in our own.- The most familiar flood narrative – and the one very close to ours in terms of culture and content – is from the Epic of Gilgamesh, where a hero is warned by a god to build a boat in order to survive the coming rains.- Hindus have a flood story, too, where the fishy incarnation of Vishnu warns the first human about a coming flood and instructs him to build a boat.- The Greeks have Zeus send a flood where Deucalion and Pyrrha build a boat, survive, and repopulate the earth by throwing stones behind them.- And there are other flood narratives, too, from the Incas, the Aztecs, the Chinese, Aboriginals, and more.Smarter people than me use the seemingly universal nature of and affinity for such stories as evidence that there really was some sort of global deluge and flood that people of all stripes were trying to make sense of and ascribe meaning to. Other smarter people than me wonder if these stories are evidence of peoples and cultures simply trying to make sense of more localized natural disasters, torrential rains, and terrible floods when they hit – maybe like the tragedy we all watched play out in Texas a couple weeks ago; or the ones that have also threatened and taken lives in New York, Virginia, Washington, and South Korea, lately, too.Whatever the case – cosmic or close to home – it’s helpful for me to remind myself that our flood story isn’t necessarily about the water, the rain, or the flood. That it’s not so much about the length of days, the size of the boat, or the number of which kinds of beasts were on board with Noah and his family. (The guys at the Cross of Grace Brew Club yesterday wanted to be sure I explained how dinosaurs fit onto the ark, why God bothered to save the mosquitos, and something about pigs and bacon, too.) Someone at the “Ark Encounter”– that Noah’s Ark museum in northern Kentucky? – will pretend to give you an answer to those questions, but I’m suspicious of their certainty and I’m certainly not willing to pay them for it.Which is to say – again and again and again – the capital-T-TRUTH in these origin stories of our faith isn’t found by way of a literal reading of scripture. That is simply not their intention. And again, today’s story is not about the details of the flood, the length of days, the size of the boat, or the number of birds, beasts, or brothers on Noah’s boat. The Truth we’re meant to find in all of that is about the nature of the God we’re invited to wonder about – and to encounter – thanks to the telling of this ancient tale.This is a God who calls righteous people to do hard things; impossible things; unreasonably faithful, fearless things for the greater good.This is a God who calls people to respect, care for, and tend to the natural, created world and to humbly revere nature’s capacity for beauty and brutality.This is a God who never promises that life will be easy – or without its suffering and struggle and sacrifice. This is true for the sinful and for the righteous. (Just because Noah was chosen and survived, he lost plenty along the way, for sure.)And this is a God who promises that the world’s destruction – if or when or should it ever happen again – won’t be God’s doing; which is our call to faith, hope, and love, in action, if you ask me.To me, that means, if there’s to be another flood … or a fire … or a famine – on a cosmic scale or somewhere close to home – where so many lives are lost, it won’t be God’s fault. So maybe that’s a very practical, timely warning to pay attention to global warming. Maybe that’s our invitation to wonder about who’s at risk or in harm’s way – from floods or fires or famines or whatever. And maybe that’s our call to look out for and protect our neighbor – and the world around us – rather than to build a boat with only enough room to save ourselves. But I digress…There’s a recent trend on social media where parents of my generation ask their children or grandchildren to complete what have been identified as “toxic parenting phrases” that many of us heard often when we were growing up. “Toxic parenting phrases” that, in theory, parents have learned not to use as frequently – if at all – anymore, like they used to.Phrases like “Do as I say, not as I do.”Or, “Children should be seen and not heard.”Or, “If you don’t stop crying I’ll give you something to cry about.”The point of the exercise is to show how raising kids WITHOUT such negative, “toxic” phrases has changed and is, presumably better, more kind, loving, encouraging, emotionally intelligent, and psychologically healthy.And this seems obvious – and evident – once you hear children from more recent generations who’ve never heard those “toxic phrases” try to guess at filling in the blanks like many of you all just did so capably.For example, instead of “Children should be seen and not heard,” one young toddler said, “Children should be seen … at school.”Instead of “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you something to cry about,” other kids said, “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you … a hug … or I’ll give you something to eat.” Again, a much more emotionally healthy, loving, hopeful way to live as a young child in the world, don’t you think?And my favorite one of these – and perhaps the most toxic of them all – is that oldie but goody, “I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it.”How terrible is that if a kid hears if often enough and starts to believe it?!? And we can pretend it’s a joke … that it’s funny, perhaps … that we or our parents never really meant to follow through on that threat. But that just isn’t the case with the popular theology of the God so many have been raised to learn about and to believe in from Genesis.See, too much of the time, that’s all and only what we’ve done with the story of Noah, the Ark, and the Flood.Because as an origin story of our faith … as part of this “primeval mythology” we’ve been talking about … the other thing this story has in common with other world religions is that their flood stories are often very deliberately connected with the creation stories, too. Just like ours, they first tell of a God who has the power of creation and the power of judgment, punishment, and destruction, too.In other words, the story they tell is nothing more and nothing less than: “God brought us into this world and God can take us out of it.”So what makes Noah’s story – our story – so different for us, is that God promises that that won’t happen ever again. There’s a reminder and a rainbow, remember … there is a covenant and a promise … there is Gospel good news here for all people; for every living creature; for all flesh.And this good news should call us to live differently because of it.Because, on the other side of the flood – on the other side of the cross and the empty tomb of Jesus, too – the waters of the flood become waters of baptism; they become waters of forgiveness, redemption, love, hope, and new life.So, as we share the blessing of that water with Scout Ehle today (and every time we have the chance to share, celebrate, and remember the sacrament) – as we celebrate with his dads and his family – as we promise to pray for, support, and live together with him in this covenant that belongs to us all – I hope that it’s a God of grace and good news we’re living for, responding to, and sharing – with Scout, with each other, and with the whole wide world – every chance we get.Amen

Genesis 3:8-24They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man and said to him, “Where are you?” He said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself.” He said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten from the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” The man said, “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit from the tree, and I ate.” Then the Lord God said to the woman, “What is this that you have done?” The woman said, “The serpent tricked me, and I ate.” The Lord God said to the serpent,“Because you have done this, cursed are you among all animals and among all wild creatures; upon your belly you shall go, and dust you shall eat all the days of your life. I will put enmity between you and the woman and between your offspring and hers; he will strike your head, and you will strike his heel.”To the woman he said,“I will make your pangs in childbirth exceedingly great; in pain you shall bring forth children, yet your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.”And to the man he said,“Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten of the tree about which I commanded you, ‘You shall not eat of it,’ cursed is the ground because of you; in toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”The man named his wife Eve because she was the mother of all living. And the Lord God made garments of skins for the man and for his wife and clothed them.Then the Lord God said, “See, the humans have become like one of us, knowing good and evil, and now they might reach out their hands and take also from the tree of life and eat and live forever”— therefore the Lord God sent them forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from which they were taken. He drove out the humans, and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim and a sword flaming and turning to guard the way to the tree of life. If ever there was a story in the Bible that has been misunderstood, misused, and abused, it is this one. The story of Adam and Eve, and their leave from Eden, is what many have used to justify patriarchy and the subjugation of women, the explanation and origin of evil, sin, and death in the world, and why sex has long been treated as something shameful and dangerous. We come to these beliefs and practices by believing that there really were two people named Adam and Eve. And a serpent, who is clearly Satan, tricked the gullible Eve into eating the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Eve, being the temptress that she was, lured her husband into sampling the fruit, too. Suddenly, they realized they were naked, filled with shame, and ran to hide themselves with fig leaf loincloths. Then God shows up, gets them to confess to their sin, and punishes them both with painful labor: one in childbirth and the other in trying to bring life from the ground, and of course getting pushed out of paradise forever. And now, every person after can blame Adam, but mostly Eve, for bringing sin and death into the world. All from taking a bite of an apple…But what if we don’t have to believe all of those things? What if the text itself doesn’t really support any of that? What if there are a lot more ways to understand the story of our mythical first parents and what it might mean for us today? And more importantly what it tells us about God our Creator.So first things first - there was no apple. The text just says fruit. What kind of fruit, we don’t know. But I am pretty sure it wasn’t an apple, no matter what popular paintings portray. Now to something more serious. Did Adam and Eve exist? Two individual people in a perfect garden, from whom the whole human race descended? No—probably not. The archaeological, historical, and especially genetic evidence just doesn’t support that reading.And that’s where a lot of people start to worry. If that part of the Bible isn’t literally true, then what about the rest? If Adam and Eve weren’t real people—if this is a story rather than a historical event—then how can we trust the Gospels? Or the cross? Or anything else?That fear is what one theologian called “house of cards theology.” If one part of the story feels shaky, then the whole thing must come crashing down. But that’s a fragile way to approach Scripture. It leads to an anxious, defensive kind of faith—one that clings to literal readings and misses deeper truths.Yet we must remember, not only when we are looking at these stories in Genesis but throughout the Bible, God doesn’t only desire knowledge, but faith. And faith involves mystery, not certainty.As for an origin story, this is a sort of an origin, but not one about evil, sin, and death. Nowhere in the text is the serpent called Satan. Genesis 3:1 says, “The serpent was more crafty than any other wild animal the Lord God had made,” suggesting it too is an animal, created by God. If anything, based on what we know from the previous two chapters of Genesis, all of creation created by God, is good. What that means for this crafty serpent, I am not sure. Perhaps this is where we lean into God saying that creation was good, not perfect. Perhaps the serpent was good, not perfect, but also not evil. Could it be that even in a good creation, not everything was meant to be simple or safe?As for death, what rings in our ears is Paul saying, “the wages of sin is death.” So we often assume Adam and Eve were created immortal, and that because they sinned, now we all suffer the consequences—one of them being death.However, the question of Adam and Eve being created immortal remains open and unclear. If anything, God’s words in verse 22 suggest something different: “If they eat from the tree of life, they will live forever”—which implies they wouldn’t otherwise.In other words, part of being a creature is death. It is part of the created order. But if the serpent wasn’t Satan, and death wasn’t a punishment, then what about sin?Sin is certainly central to the story, no doubt. But not sin in the abstract. This is the first instance of sin, so an origin story in that way. Yet the way we often hear this is that because Eve ate the forbidden fruit, all humanity after her is cursed—sin passed down like a hereditary disease. But such a reading seems a little unfair to Eve and to us. Afterall, Adam was there with Eve the whole time she was talking with the snake! [pic 3] It says so right in v. 6. He wasn’t off gathering other fruit. He stood silent, passive, seemingly unengaged from what was happening right in front of him. Eve on the other hand, though she is labeled and seen as a temptress, she is anything but. Really, it is Eve who takes initiative. She rebuffs the serpent when it doesn’t tell the full truth. She makes decisions and is bold. All things we praise men for being, but not Eve. She doesn’t need to act as a temptress because she was clearly already in control. She handed Adam the fruit and he ate, no questions asked. No protest. No discernment. Just silence. Perhaps if Adam had been as engaged and discerning as Eve, we wouldn’t be in this mess. So if there is blame, it is squarely on both. For not only were they equal in creation, they were equal in sin, too. And just so it’s stated, the story, not before eating the fruit and not after, does not call for men’s dominion over women. As one writer puts it, v. 16 “is not a mandate by God for male dominance but a description of the distortion that now marks human relationships. A distortion brought by sin.And what was the sin exactly? We’re told its disobedience - clearly they disobeyed God. But disobedience is really the result of the actual sin at the heart of this story and the sin at center of our hearts, too. And that is mistrust. Genesis 3 tells us that we live in a world where there are alternatives to God’s voice, in this case the serpent. And those voices tell half truths and lies that make us wonder if life could be better, we could be better if we just had that thing we are missing. And we listen to those voices just enough that we begin to doubt not only ourselves, but God too. Creation is good, but not good enough. Perhaps it could be better. I am very good, according to God, but not good enough. Perhaps I could be better. Maybe the snake is right, I am missing something. And once you believe that, you no longer trust God. And with trust out the window, disobedience is sure to follow.We all have listened to the talking snake that tells us half truths and lies. If you just had this one fruit, this missing piece, then life would be better. If only I were skinnier or bulkier, if only I had more money or were more successful, if only I had more sex, or a nicer car, or a bigger house, then life would be better. It’s the same voice behind every perfectly filtered photo on instagram, every hustle culture mantra, every ad promising transformation if we just buy, try, or become something more. And finally we could be whole; we could be like God! But don’t listen to the snake, it's a damned liar, always has been! No human, no creature has it all. We are good, no

John 19:38-42After these things, Joseph of Arimathea, a follower of Jesus, though a secret one because of his fear of the Jews, came to Pilate and asked if he could take away the body of Jesus. Pilate gave him permission; so he came to remove his body. Nicodemus, who at first had come to Jesus by night also came, bringing with him a mixture of myrrh and aloes weighing about one hundred pounds. They took the body, wrapping it in the spices and linens, according to the Jewish burial customs. Now, there was a garden in the place where Jesus had been crucified and in the garden there was a new tomb in which no one had ever been [buried.] So, because it was the Jewish Day of Preparation, and because the tomb was nearby, they laid the body of Jesus there. “The Primeval Mythology of Genesis: Creation”I’ve already heard some curiosity – maybe mixed with some cynical suspicion – about the title of this new sermon series: “The Primeval Mythology of Genesis.” Curiosity and suspicion aren’t terrible things and I think it’s the word “mythology” that stirs the pot for some people, which was kind of our goal. Part of the point with this next round of sermons is to remind ourselves and each other that we’re called to read the Bible LITERATELY, not LITERALLY, and to see that its message and good news – its grace, hope, and promise – go deeper and wider when we do.So first, things, first … which is what “primeval” means, sort of … first things; of the earliest ages; the beginning of the beginning, you might say. The first eleven chapters of the Bible’s first book are where we will spend our time the next few weeks. The good stuff before the good stuff. The stage-setting. The foundation. The genesis, is where we begin.And the word “mythology” rightly ruffles feathers if we are inclined to equate the foundational narrative of our faith story with the fables, fairy tales, and fictional “myths” of, say, the Greek gods (Zeus, Poseidon, Aphrodite, and the like); or Aesop’s fables; or the tall tales of the wonderful world of Walt Disney. But that’s not what we’re up to.“Myth” and “mythology” can mean something more, something deeper from a theological perspective, which is what we plan to wrestle with. I would contend that, when we limit stories like creation, where we are beginning this morning, to all and only what we can glean from it LITERALLY, that that’s precisely how and when we reduce it to something like a mere fable, a fairy tale, a fictional “myth,” rather than when we wonder about the holy, sacred, profound Truths that this story – and the others like it in Scripture – hold for our life and faith in this world. And where better to start than at the very beginning – “it’s a very good place to start” – in the beginning, with the fact that, if we’re honest, the two very different versions of creation that we just heard – from Chapters 1 and 2 of the same book – make it really hard to take either of them LITERALLY?I mean, those are two very different versions of the same story, right? (Many Bibles, like the ones we read from each Sunday, say it plainly. Chapter 2 is “another story of creation.”) The story in Chapter 1 tells of the day-by-day, very long work-week of the Almighty, who creates first this, and then that, with a break and no small measure of satisfaction between each.“…and God saw that it was good…” “…and God saw that it was good…” “…and God saw that it was good…”“…and there was evening and there was morning, the first day…” “…and there was evening and there was morning, the third day…” “…and there was evening and there was morning, the fifth day…”But Chapter 2 goes down altogether differently. In that version of creation, God – like some sort of holy potter, or divine craftsman, or sacred sculptor – makes a man from the dust, then plants a garden and puts him to work, then decides he could use a companion and some help, so then creates all the rest, and a woman, to boot.In version #2, we don’t know which came first or next, on which day. And none of that matters.What matters is that God, something Divine, did something divine – created the heavens, the earth, and all that is in them. What matters is that it was and is good. What matters is that we are part of that goodness – you and I – and all people – created good, by God; and created for good, for God’s sake.What matters, if you ask me, is that we stop reducing the Bible to some sort of prehistoric science book – the authors of which never could have known a thing about bunker-busting missiles or atomic bombs; about Gaza or the West Bank, as we know of them today; about electric cars, school shootings, cancer, chemo-therapy, Medicaid or social media. And that’s okay. These stories have something to say to all of that – and to all of us – nonetheless.Because what the creation stories tells us – among so many other things – is that we are made in the image of the divine, even though we do so much to make that hard to believe. And we are made in the image of the divine, not just because we have heads, shoulders, knees, or toes……but we are made in the image of the Divine because we are made for community, like God; with the power to create and care about and have compassion, like God; that we have the capacity to do justice, like God; make sacrifices, like God; be generous, like God; forgive, like God; and love one another, like God.Oh, and this is important: the stories of creation make it very clear that none of us IS God and that we shouldn’t try to be – which Pastor Cogan will get to next week, I believe.Instead, for now, let’s let the stories of creation inspire within us what, I believe they were meant to inspire and to teach and to proclaim all along: a sense of reverence and awe about what God can do; a posture of humility and gratitude for our part in the grand scheme of things; and a response from each of us – and all of us together – that is generous, careful, and full of service that acknowledges our connection to all people and to the grand scheme of things.Because today’s good news includes the notion that we are created “just a little lower than the angels” – as the Psalmist puts it – and that God calls us to live differently because of that Truth. God invites us to tend to and care for what belongs to God – the earth and all that is in it. God calls us to replenish what we use up – from the earth and from each other, too; to give more than we take, save, and keep for ourselves.So, what if these primeval creation stories are nothing more – and certainly nothing less – than prehistoric best efforts at describing something that cannot be described; that is too big for words; that are meant to love us and leave us in awe and wonder for what God has done for us – and hopes to do through us – for the sake of the world where we live?What if these primeval creation stories are nothing more – and certainly nothing less – than poetic prose from a prehistoric Mary Oliver, who could marvel at creation as well as anyone, as far as I’m concerned? Her poem Wild Geese, goes like this:You do not have to be good.You do not have to walk on your kneesfor a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.You only have to let the soft animal of your bodylove what it loves.Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.Meanwhile the world goes on.Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rainare moving across the landscapes,over the prairies and the deep trees,the mountains and the rivers.Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,are heading home again.Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,the world offers itself to your imagination,calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –over and over announcing your placein the family of things.What if the point of the creation stories is simply, and profoundly, to announce your place – and mine – in the family of things?And what if these primeval creation stories are nothing more – and certainly nothing less – than like clever song lyrics from a pre-historic John Prine, encouraging you, with a wink and smile to…“Blow up your TV, throw away your paperGo to the country, build you a homePlant a little garden, eat a lot of peachesTry and find Jesus on your own.”What if these primeval creation stories are nothing more – and certainly nothing less – than prehistoric pieces of art – trying to capture, with words, something like Van Gogh’s “Starry Night”: or Monet’s “Water Lilies”: or even Ansel Adams who, like the story tellers of Genesis, certainly had a thing for trees. But, speaking of John Prine, I hope the Gospel reading wasn’t too on the nose this morning.

Luke 9:51-62When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to prepare for his arrival, but they did not receive him because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw this, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village.As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” And Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said, “I will follow you, Lord, but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” And Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” Jesus would have been a terrible pastor. And I am not the first pastor or preacher to say such a thing. Most pastors, yours included, work very hard to make things comfortable. When you come here, things are orderly and neat, (have you met pastor mark?). We do our best to explain what’s going on, where things are, and how to get involved (if you want to). We hope the worship is satisfying, the music gratifying, and the preaching not a snore. We want people to know this is a place where you are cared for. So we make sure Christian education is appealing and diverse in it’s offerings; there is plenty of opportunity for fellowship and meals together; and we do some service, but not too much. In all, we try to give people what they want, without too many demands — after all, it’s not like we can compete with sports or packed family calendars.Jesus is the opposite. I imagine if Jesus were a pastor and greeted you at the door, he wouldn’t say, “I’m so glad you’ve joined us,” but more like, “Are you sure you want to do this?” That’s essentially what he says to the would-be disciples in Luke. Jesus is walking toward Jerusalem when someone says, “Wherever you go, I’ll follow!” You can almost hear Jesus say, “You don’t even know what you’re saying. Creatures of earth and sky have homes — not me. Are you ready to be homeless?” We don’t know how the young man responds. But I know how I would — and I’m guessing you do too.And so it is with the other two would-be disciples. Jesus tells one not to bury his father. What kind of lunatic says that? Especially in a culture where honoring one’s parents was a sacred obligation. Surely Jesus can’t be saying that following him is greater than the traditions of their culture? Surely he isn’t telling us we can’t attend funerals or grieve those we love.And is it really a big deal that the third person wants to say goodbye? That doesn’t seem like an unreasonable request? I mean of course he would come rushing back to Jesus, right? A quick hug to mom, maybe one more meal, a good night’s rest, and then he’ll be ready. But Jesus says “you’ll only make crooked furrows and that’s no good in the Kingdom of God”. You see what I mean that Jesus wouldn’t make a good pastor? Here are people throwing themselves at Jesus and his response is “are you sure? Because this is going to cost you.” It will cost you your comfort; it will cost you the traditions and obligations you hold so dearly, it will cost you whatever or whoever it was waiting for you back home. We don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to preach that! It would be easier to stand up and say we are doing so well. Instead of a discipleship at all cost, we much prefer discipleship at little to no cost. We want Jesus, myself included, to sound like a used car salesman, reaffirming that this life of faith can be ours with little to no money down! We want discipleship on demand — where we hit pause when something else comes up, and resume when time allows. After all isn’t there grace?! And here among all places, isn’t grace offered with no string attached? But when grace becomes an excuse to avoid commitment — when it asks nothing of us — it turns into what Bonhoeffer called “cheap grace. “Cheap grace is that grace which we bestow on ourselves. Cheap grace is preaching forgiveness without repentance; it is baptism without the disciple of community; it is the Lord’s Supper without the confession of sin; it is absolution with out personal confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without the living, incarnate Jesus Christ”. Rather what Jesus offers to the would-be disciples and to us is a costly grace. It is costly because it will cost us comfort — but it is grace, because we follow Jesus.It is costly because it will upend our lives — but it is grace, because it offers life to the full, here and now.It is costly because we will lose relationships — but it is grace, because it leads us into deeper communion with others and with GodI want to be clear. Discipleship is not how much one goes to church. I don’t think Jesus is saying discipleship means you must be homeless, or that you can’t grieve a loved one, or doubt what you’re doing. But I also don’t want to chalk this up to hyperbole and say, “Nice try — at least there’s grace.” Grace isn’t an excuse; it’s a catalyst. Discipleship will cost us. So what is the cost — for you, in your life, right now? And what might it cost us, together, as a community of faith?What comfort might this costly grace afflict?What obligations are you asked to let go of?What relationships need reordered?In Winston-Salem, I saw costly grace embodied. The Dwelling is a church made up of — and for — people who live on the margins. Folks who are homeless or have been. People wrestling with addiction. Just out of incarceration. Some from nearby low-income housing. A few who looked like you and me. When we got to the dwelling for worship, their sanctuary looked nothing like ours. Think more living room, less cathedral. It was packed with people who walked in from the street, bags and dogs in tow. People would yell, sometimes at no one, sometimes at someone, sometimes playful, sometimes not. We ate breakfast together. But the smell of the egg casserole was not enough to mask the scent of sweat and smoke that filled the space. Worship began once seconds were finished, around 11ish, but no one sets their watch by it. And if you think our second service is loud… People held conversations, left, came back in, moved about at their leisure. But they also clapped and danced, and yell affirmations during the sermon and prayers. Did I mention it too is an ELCA church?After worship, they gathered for another meal, waiting in a long line on the blacktop as the North Carolina sun beat down. With early 2000s pop blasting from a speaker, the servers danced with abandon as they dished up a thoroughly southern lunch for over 200 people. And that’s what every Sunday is like. [return to screen].It is uncomfortable, especially for those of us who expect church to look, feel, smell, and sound more like this. It breaks many traditions of worship, programming, and education, especially for a Lutheran congregation. And it has cost them relationships. People won’t worship there because they think it could be unsafe, or they can’t tolerate the smell, or there’s no Sunday School. Yet as I sat in worship — clearly the minority in all sorts of ways — I saw costly grace. It was messy and beautiful, hard and joy-filled. But that’s discipleship.And at our best, I believe we embrace costly grace in faithful ways for our context. It sounds like raising hard questions and concerns about the dangers of Christian Nationalism. It looks like showing up at Pride with a booth and a message: that God’s love is for all — especially those who’ve been told it’s not. It means addressing the history and ongoing injustice caused by racism. It feels like giving a significant portion of our money away each and every year to people and places that need it. These things make us uncomfortable. They reorder our obligations. They challenge our traditions. And yes — they have cost us relationships. But isn’t that what Jesus said discipleship would look like?Discipleship is costly, Jesus is very honest about that. But he asks nothing of us that he hasn’t already done for us.Maybe that’s why he would have been a terrible pastor — but the perfect Savior. And thank God for that. Amen.

John 16:12-15[Jesus said,] “I still have many things to say to you but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all truth, for he will not speak on his own but he will take whatever he hears and declare to you the things that are to come. He will glorify me and because he will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said he will take what is mine and declare it to you.” I have often lamented, even loathed, Holy Trinity Sunday. It’s never been my favorite sermon to prepare or to preach. From what I can tell, the Gospel reading we just heard was chosen by the liturgical police simply because all three persons of the Trinity are referenced by Jesus himself and we’re invited to wonder about and wrestle with what that means from a theological sense. But, I think the stuff of doctrine and dogma belong in the classroom, more than they do in worship, which many of you have heard me say before.So, rather than snore our way through a bunch of 50 cent words and theological concepts and conundrums, I thought we’d watch a commencement address from Harvard University’s Class of 2025. Oftentimes, commencement addresses can be as boring as a sermon on Holy Trinity Sunday, but this one is different. I found it quite inspiring and full of connections to today’s liturgical calendar, believe it or not. “We are bound by something greater than belief – [we are bound together by] our shared humanity.”Now, smarter people than me have often said that the most important lesson, teaching, and meaning to be found in the Doctrine of the Trinity – what we call “the Father, +Son, and Holy Spirit,” because that’s the language of Jesus and in Scripture – isn’t so much the names and labels we’ve created to describe God. What really matters, they say … the lesson we’re to learn, the meaning we’re to find, the inspiration we’re to glean from it all … comes from the relationship it describes between the three.Speaking of smarter people than me, St. Augustine is famous for saying something like, “If you see love, you see the three – the one who loves (the Father), the one who is loved (the Son) and the love itself (the Holy Spirit). Love cannot exist in the abstract; you cannot say “I love” without saying what or whom you love … in [the love of the Trinity, according to Augustine] there is both perfect unity and perfect relationship.”Love. Love. Love.Unity. Unity. Unity – with God and with one another.At the heart of the Trinity, then – the essence, identity, and hope of God – is relationship — a perfect communion of love between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier; the lover, the loved, and the love, itself.And this isn’t just about God. It’s about our call, hope, and joy as believers, too – to know God, not as some untouchable, incomprehensible, unfathomable power somewhere up there and out there and on the other side of eternity. It’s about our call to look for, to know, to engage, and to embrace God in our neighbor, too. Again, as Luanna Jiang said it at Harvard, “We are bound by something greater than belief. [We are bound together by] our shared humanity.”And for Christians who want to follow Christ, that humanity was and is shared in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, from Nazareth. In Jesus, who gave us this language for God; who showed us this divine love; who shared this amazing grace; who birthed this beloved community; who suffered, died, and who was raised … not so that we would merely believe all the right things, but so that we would behave in ways that share this love. We are called to build community … feed the hungry … visit the prisoner … clothe the naked … bring good news to the poor, declare release to the captive, free the oppressed, and proclaim the year of the God’s favor. And we’re called to do this especially for the least of these by the world’s estimation – those whom the world refuses to love: the outcast and the immigrant; the poor and the unhoused; the L, the G, the B, the T, and the Q; the unforgiveable and the unforgiving, just the same.It doesn’t matter what we call God on Holy Trinity Sunday or any other day of the week. It doesn’t matter if we say it in Hindi, Tai, Chinese, or English; in Mongolia, Massachusetts, or New Palestine.If we aren’t working toward, praying for, or walking in ways that love and honor the shared humanity of all people, we are misunderstanding and misrepresenting the God we claim to worship.And we’re just plain missing out on the fullness of the loving relationship we’re called to engage – with them, with each other, and with Jesus Christ, our Lord.Amen

John 17:20-26"I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. Father, I desire that those also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory which you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world."Righteous Father, the world does not know you, but I know you; and these know that you have sent me. I made your name known to them, and I will make it known, so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them." Jesus has left the building. Sort of.I mean, on Thursday, the liturgical calendar reminded anyone who pays attention to that sort of thing that it was the Festival of the Ascension where, 40 days following Easter’s resurrection, Jesus left for Heaven; to the other side of eternity; to be with God, the Father, in a different way.And this bit of John’s Gospel we just heard is part of what the same people who pay attention to such things call Jesus’ “farewell discourse.” Only this long goodbye – which is three chapters long in John’s version of the story – really has more to do with his pending crucifixion and death, than it does with his ascension into Heaven. Which is to say, we’re all over the place, chronologically and liturgically, this morning.But the nutshell of it all, no matter which leave-taking you focus on, is that Jesus is, or has, or will be leaving soon when we hear him praying this morning.And I’ve always have a hard time with this passage – wrapping my brain around whatever in the world it is Jesus is trying to say and pray and convey. It’s clumsy, right? All of this talk about "being one as we are one…" About "I in you and you in me and them in us…." And about "being made known, knowing this and making that known…" It all sounds like a bunch of gibberish, really.And I’m okay with that. I always like to remind myself and whoever’s listening that it's okay to be a little confused, here. It helps me to recognize that Jesus is praying – that he's having a conversation with God and that it's not practiced or scripted. I actually wonder if it was ever really meant for anyone else to hear. And I wonder who actually did hear it. Did he know someone was listening or was it something he told someone about afterward? Whatever the case, it's nothing more – and certainly nothing less than – a prayerful conversation between a Son and his Father; between a man and his God; from the Savior of the world just before he leaves his people and heads off to his crucifixion.And even though it’s clumsy, there is something very meaningful about what Jesus prays. "God, make my disciples one just like you and I are one. Bind them together in a way that matters. Call them together in my name. Remind them that I am yours and that they are mine. Keep them focused on your grace and glory and help them to share what I've taught them about love with the world where they live."And I have to imagine Jesus would have been a bit upset or anxious or scared, here – not just because of all the pain and suffering and death that was in his future – but because he knew he would be saying goodbye to his friends… his family… his followers. Even if that whole resurrection thing panned out like it was supposed to, things were going to be different going forward, and Jesus would be leaving – eventually.And, we know Jesus knew enough about this band of misfits he called “disciples” to be more than a little concerned – if not anxious and scared – as he prepared to leave them. He knew about guys like Peter who could be temperamental, stubborn, impulsive, and lose their faith. He knew about guys like Thomas who would doubt and demand proof at all costs. And he knew about men like Judas who could be bought and sold for a small chunk of change. And he probably knew about the danger they’d be in, too, if they actually followed through with their commitment to follow him into all that was to come. It's no wonder Jesus prayed.And, remember, Jesus wasn't just praying for the handful of disciples who would be left when he left. He was praying for us, just the same. It's right there in the first sentence of this Gospel passage, "I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me …" Jesus was praying for all those who would call themselves followers and all those who would claim to be disciples or church members or Partners in Mission, or whatever.And he prayed that we would be one … not that we would be successful as disciples or that we would remain sinless in the eyes of God or that we would prove equal to the task of spreading the Good News, even. He didn’t pray that we would make the most money, or get the best job, or have the nicest house. Or that we would graduate or get into the best school, either. He didn’t pray that we would read our Bibles or go to the right church or vote this way or that. Jesus prayed, simply, that we would… somehow… by God’s grace… be one.In a world that tries to divide rather than unite, Jesus prayed that we would be one.In world that would separate rather than gather together, Jesus prayed that we would be one.In a world that would sooner fight than embrace; that points out differences before celebrating common ground; that labels people according to lifestyle, race, nationality, political party, income level, denomination, and more … Jesus prayed that we would be one; not just with each other, but one with the whole wide world; one with the kingdom of God, to which he bore witness and brought to life in our midst and for our sake.We have some discussions coming up, on Wednesdays in June, beginning this week, that might put some of this to the test – these discussions about American Idolatry and Christian Nationalism, I mean, and the corrupt theology and bad politics that, as the author of our book explains, “betray the Gospel and threaten the Church.” These will be hard, holy conversations that a lot of people … a lot of faith communities … a lot of Christians … more men than women, apparently … aren’t willing to engage.These are hard conversations because we have let corrupt theology and bad politics divide us, in terrible ways, in this country. These are hard conversations because denominations like ours have lost – or demanded that we not foster – the ability to talk about the ways that faith and politics intersect in the world around us. These are hard conversations, because we give too much power to the ways the world works to separate us – and keep us apart.But I believe Jesus’ prayer is a hard, holy invitation to wrestle with what it means to be one, in the face of that. Not that we “go along to get along…” Not that we ignore or deny the very meaningful ways we differ, one from another… Not that we dismiss the way our politics can impact, if not harm, the most vulnerable among us…But that we recognize the way God’s grace, love and mercy, is meant to inspire us to come together – to do the hard work, to have the holy conversations – as one – humbly; in repentance, when necessary; with a spirit of generosity and sacrifice for the sake of the other; until all know about the love we have been promised and the love we proclaim and the kind of love Jesus practiced and prayed for, in this Gospel.And I believe Jesus' prayer is answered – not just through hard, holy conversations – but every time we gather here, in worship, with all of our differing opinions and ideas about so many things. For me, it’s why life in the Church and the work of the Church still matters.When we gather around the water of baptism, all of the world’s labels and liabilities are washed away, and we are reminded of the grace that loves us all, in spite of that.When we gather around the table for holy communion – where we eat bread and drink wine and receive forgiveness and the promise of redemption – we are one with the body of Christ and one in the eyes of God and one with our neighbor, whether we like it or not.And I need this. Because I know that the sinful, broken, stubborn parts of myself are not – by my own understanding and strength – able to reconcile or unite spiritually with or forgive or love, for God’s sake, the sinful, broken, stubborn parts of all those with whom I differ and disagree, these days.But here, around this altar and at that font, what makes us one isn't that we always agree or get along or do the right thing. What makes us one, in this place, is that God calls us children. What makes us one is that God loves us whether we deserve it or not. What makes us one is that grace and forgiveness and mercy and love come to each and every one of us – in bread and wine, in the waters of baptism, in community with one another, and by the forgiveness of our sinful, broken, stubborn selves through the patient, loving, grace of our creator.And it helps me to imagine – and give thanks for the notion – that the master of the universe is praying for me, for you, and for all of us together – and until we get it right.Amen

Acts 16:6-15They went through the region of Phrygia and Galatia, having been forbidden by the Holy Spirit to speak the word in Asia. When they had come opposite Mysia, they attempted to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus did not allow them; so, passing by Mysia, they went down to Troas. During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, ‘Come over to Macedonia and help us.’ When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them.We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district* of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. On the sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer; and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. A certain woman named Lydia, a worshipper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, ‘If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.’ And she prevailed upon us. This weekend kicks off not only the start of summer for so many, but it also serves as the unofficial beginning of graduation season. In the office this week, I asked the question: what gift should you get a graduate? I told them about a friend's mom who would give monogrammed towels as her graduate gift. +Mark and Amanda informed me that I should not pick up that tradition. Money was the consensus, just get a card with some cash. I don’t disagree, but I am warning you graduates now, I can almost guarantee that someone will give out a copy of the Dr. Suess classic, “Oh The Places You’ll Go”. And it is a fitting tribute for the occasion:“ Congratulations! Today is your day. You're off to Great Places! You're off and away! You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the person who'll decide where to go.”It is a remarkable feeling, no? To be on the precipice of what comes next and then to set off on the journey. It is so exciting, perhaps a little frightening, if not for you, then for your parents or grandparents and other loved ones. Timothy likely felt this same way when he began his journey with Paul and Silas. In our text, the “they” we hear is in reference to those three Paul, Silas, and Timothy, maybe more. Timothy just joined the group. In the passage immediately before this, Paul and Silas stop in Lystra, where they hear about this young disciple named Timothy. Among believers in Lystra, Timothy is well spoken of. So Paul asks Timothy to join him on this mission. Timothy probably thought “oh the place I’ll go”. And go they did, from town to town, the churches were growing, everything was great!That is until they came to Phrygia. Paul and crew want to go to Asia. They think, “that’s where God is calling us to proclaim the Gospel. So that must be the right place for us.” So they went to turn left and head to Asia, but the Holy Spirit forbade them to go. That’s strange… why would the Holy Spirit not let me go? And what does that even mean? Did a giant wind push against them every time they tried to turn left? Did their compass only point them east? However it happened, they couldn't go into Asia. So the crew thinks well what do you do when you can’t turn left… you go right! And so they try to turn right and go to Bithynia, but the Holy Spirit doesn’t allow that either. With no other options left, they go to Troas.If you are Timothy, you’ve got to wonder what went wrong? Everything was so good? We were going to all these places, the church was growing, we had a great plan! But just when everything seemed great, suddenly it wasn't anymore. Graduates, this will undoubtedly happen to you. Surely everyone gathered has had a time like that: when everything seemed to be going great, you thought you were doing what God wanted you to do, but suddenly your plans changed (or they were changed for you), and the roads you wanted to take became blocked. Maybe the major you’d hope for didn’t work out. Or you didn’t get that job you thought you always wanted or were let go of the job you loved. Maybe that relationship you never thought would end came to a close. Or an unexpected trip to the doctor makes you put everything on hold. Despite your best efforts you ended up in a place you never wanted to be. We’ve all been there. As Dr Suess says: “I'm sorry to say so but, sadly, it's true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you. You can get all hung up, in a prickle-ly perch. And your gang will fly on. You'll be left in a Lurch. You'll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are, then, that you'll be in a Slump. And when you're in a Slump, you're not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.Yet, it is at those places you never wanted to be, in the times you least expect, that something will happen or someone will come and help and get you unslumped. For Timothy and crew their unslumping came from a vision that Paul had while in Troas: a man saying “Come to Macedonia and help us.” The three of them got up and immediately headed to Macedonia, “convinced that God had called them to proclaim the good news there”.They set sail from Troas, landed in Samothrace, and then came ashore at Neapolis. Neapolis is this wonderful little seaside town, the kind of place you want to land in, and maybe put down some roots; enjoy the sandy beaches and nice weather. I could imagine Timothy saying to Paul and Silas, “we don’t really need to follow that vision, that dream, that call, right?” But Paul and his companions don’t stop and stay there. It’s nice, but they know it’s not where they are supposed to be. You’ll have your own Neapolis too, places and opportunities that seem really nice, the city or job or relationship you could see yourself in. And the temptation to stay will be strong, yet you’ll know it’s not right. Heed the voice, the vision, the calling God has placed on you. There will be a reason you move on, even if it is not clear in the moment.Finally Paul, Timothy, and Silas land in Philippi, even though that was not the original goal. Remember Paul wanted to spread the Gospel and grow the church in Asia. But listen to how this part of Paul’s mission ends. On the sabbath they all go to the river, hoping to find people praying. They join a group of women and among them is Lydia, likely a wealthy business woman with great influence. She listened eagerly to Paul, had herself and her whole family baptized, and then opened her home to Paul and Timothy and Silas. Lydia is from Thyatria, which is in Asia, the very place Paul hoped to spread the gospel in the first place. Through all the travels, the wrong turns, and the change of plans, Paul does in fact fulfill his mission of growing the church in Asia, just not where and how he expected too.Despite our best efforts, God’s calling and leading come through mistaken directions and failed attempts, which can certainly be frustrating and make discernment difficult.We’d like to think “we are the one’s who decide where to go”. As Dr/ Seuss puts it. But that’s where he’s wrong. As Paul, Timothy and Silas attest, it is an illusion to think it’s all up to us. God is in charge of the journey you're on. At times, it won’t look the way you want or lead to the places you’d hoped. But thankfully Jesus promises us an Advocate, the Holy Spirit, that helps us in discernment and guides us to where we need to go, what we need to do, and who we should meet along the way. For Paul and Timothy, the journey nor the destination were likely what the team imagined. The wandering, the rejection, the vision in a dream, and the people they met. They did not expect a woman, that wasnt what the vision showed. Yet, in the end God’s will was done, not their own, which is what we all pray for.Graduates/young people, it’s okay if your journey in life looks like this. Parents/grandparents, it’s okay if your young person’s journey looks like this. God is still at work in the mess of it all. The reality for not just graduates but for all of us is our own journeys will be less like us deciding the places we go, and more like the wanderings of Paul and the rest: ending up in places we didn’t expect, receiving direction in ways we didn't anticipate, and meeting people we never predicted, but trusting that God is still leading.“Plans are made. Plans come apart.” Says Kate Bowler, “New delights or tragedies pop up in their place. And nothing human or divine will map out this life, this life that has been more painful than I could have imagined. More beautiful than I could have imagined.”Amen.

Revelation 21:1-6Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,“See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them and be their God; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. Do you teach them about the rapture? That’s the question a woman asked me as I sat at Starbucks trying to write a sermon. On Thursdays before I preach, I usually head to a coffee shop or the library to write. It’s not uncommon for someone to strike up a conversation—I guess it’s not every day you see someone sitting in public with a Bible open.On this day, a woman and her husband sat at the same large table as me. I could feel her eyes on me. I knew what was coming. I made the mistake of looking up from my screen—and she got me.“So, are you a Bible student?” No, I’m a pastor here in New Pal.“Well, you’re awfully young to be a pastor…” (Like I haven’t heard that one before.) “What’s your church?”When I said, “Cross of Grace Lutheran Church,” the back-and-forth stopped, and she proceeded to tell me how great her church and her pastor are. Then, either noticing my intentional body language—literally leaning away—or the way I kept glancing back at my half-written sermon, she ended the conversation with one last question:“Do you teach them about the rapture?”The rapture? I thought. I tried to come up with a kind response instead of simply saying, “Uh… no.”“Well, in my tradition, that’s not something we focus on…” I said.And goodness, was she disappointed in that answer.“Well, you gotta teach them about the rapture. It’s the most important thing.”The most important thing? There’s so much I could have—should have—asked:What do you mean by rapture?Why is it the most important thing?What does your pastor say when preaching about it? Who do you think gets left behind—and why?But I had a sermon to finish, after all.I’ve never preached on “the rapture.” I don’t think I’ve ever even preached on a passage from Revelation. So, wherever you are, lady, this one’s for you. Because you’re partially right—it is important for us to understand what the rapture is, the bad and harmful theology behind it, and what we might imagine in its place when we talk about life after death.Some of you know all about the rapture. Maybe you grew up in a more fundamentalist church or were terrified by the Left Behind series in the mid 90s. Others of you, good Lutherans that you are, may only have a vague idea of what it means. But all of us have been exposed to some version of this belief. Usually, when people talk about the rapture, it’s part of a theology called dispensationalism. You may have never heard that word, but you’ve definitely seen signs of it—like every time you pass a billboard like this, now how’d that pan out? Or this… Or when you notice our culture’s fascination with the apocalypse and end time predictions.Not to bore you too much, but the idea of the rapture was invented by a British preacher named John Nelson Darby in the 1830s. He took the traditional understanding of Jesus’ return and split it into two parts. First comes the rapture: Jesus appears in the sky, snatches up born-again Christians, and whisks them off to heaven for seven years. During that time, God inflicts wrath on the earth and Christians watch safely from above. Then, after those seven years, comes the final return of Jesus to fight the battle of Armageddon (mentioned in Revelation) and establish an earthly kingdom.This whole timeline is a patchwork—stitched together from one verse in 1 Thessalonians, three from Daniel, and a single verse from Revelation. Behind all that is a bad theology and a harmful hermeneutic—a way of reading and understanding the Bible. First, this approach takes the Bible literally, as if Revelation were some sort of roadmap to the end times. But, as you’ve heard us say before, we mustn't read the Bible literally—we’re called to read it literate-ly and seriously, taking into account the many voices and genres that make up Scripture. Revelation is apocalyptic literature, a kind of writing well known to the seven first-century churches it was written for. It’s not a crystal ball—it’s a prophetic vision full of metaphor and symbolic imagery, not a literal forecast of future events.Second, this theology takes a few out-of-context verses to offer false certainty about what’s to come, rather than wrestling with the mystery of faith. The Bible gives us many different images of Jesus’ return: a banquet in Luke, a wedding feast in Matthew, paradise, green pastures, even a return to Eden. But none of these say when this will happen. In fact, Jesus says clearly: “About that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.” (Matthew 24:36) Jesus doesn’t want us trying to piece together a divine timeline. He wants us to live in hope and with trust.And perhaps the biggest thing the rapture gets wrong is this: the idea that we’ll float off to heaven and away from all this; that our souls get to finally escape the pain of this world and just be with Jesus. But here’s the thing: the Bible never says we’re just souls that happen to have bodies. We are both—body and soul—and they will not be separated. Resurrection always includes the beautiful body God gave you.And what if—just hear me out—what if at the end of all things, we don’t go to heaven… What if heaven comes to us?Which is exactly what Revelation says. God establishes a new heaven and a new earth here, in our midst, and God takes up residence with us. Doesn’t that sound more like the God revealed to us in Jesus Christ? The God who entered into our suffering? The God who heals what is hurt? The God who accomplishes the divine plan through seemingly insignificant people, places, and things.It should be no surprise, then, that God would come down to this broken world—full of broken people—and heal it until there are no more tears, no more mourning or pain or death, and make a home here with us. That sounds like the God we know in Jesus.Lutheran theologian Barbara Rossing, an expert on the rapture and end-times thinking, says people are drawn to rapture theology because they want to see the Bible come to life. They want to connect Scripture with their own lives. They want to experience God—and think that can only happen if they leave this place.But the truth is: the Bible is coming to life and we do experience God—in this world, in our lives.The Bible comes to life everytime we feed someone who is hungry, give water to someone who is thirsty, wipe the tears trickling down one’s cheek, visit the imprisoned and detained, relieve someone’s pain, or welcome the immigrant. We are in the presence of God here on earth every time we come to the table, when we share meals with our friends and our enemies, or as Jesus says, when we love others as he loves us.Those acts—those holy, small, grace-filled acts—create little pockets of heaven on earth. They allow us to experience God right here and now, until that great day when God comes to live among us forever, making God’s kingdom come and God’s will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.So no—the rapture isn’t the most important thing. But trusting that God will come down, give us new life, and dwell with us in a world made new, free of pain and suffering and death? Now that sounds more like it. Amen.

John 10:22-30At that time, the festival of the Dedication took place in Jerusalem. It was winter, and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the portico of Solomon. So the Jews gathered around him and asked him, “How long will you keep us in the suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us, plainly.”Jesus answered them, “I have told you and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me, but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. My sheep hear my voice. I know them and they follow me. I give them eternal life and they will never perish. No one will snatch them from my hand. What the Father has given me is greater than all else and no one can snatch it from the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one.” “You do not believe because you do not belong to my sheep.”“You do not believe because you do not belong.” What if that’s the whole tweet, as they say? What if that’s all we need to hear this morning? And what if you and I are supposed to be convicted by that – as followers of Jesus – rather than use it as some kind of judgement against those who consider themselves not to be followers of the Jesus we claim?“You do not believe because you do not belong.”Jesus is talking to the Jews who weren’t on board yet with what he was up to. And, with a little pastoral imagination, I like to think his disciples were within earshot of this conversation; that they were following him around, as usual, and that Jesus knew he was being heard by both at the same time; that he was speaking to both crowds at once – those who belonged and those who didn’t believe.There are plenty of people in the world who don’t believe in Jesus – or God – or have a Christian faith for all sorts of rational, considered, thoughtful, theological reasons. Maybe they’re deliberately, purposefully atheists. Maybe they’re people of another faith – Jews, Muslims, Sikhs, Hindus, pagans. I’m not talking about them, necessarily.Instead, I found myself wondering this week about those who don’t believe, but who would, could, might believe, if only we – as followers of Jesus – would do better at finding ways for them to BELONG, first. (“You don’t believe because you don’t belong…”)I heard two stories just this week, in two very different, settings, from two very different sources, about two sets of parents who were struggling with the fact that their gay or lesbian children weren’t people of faith; didn’t go to church; didn’t believe or worship or practice a faith that their parents wished that they would. In one case, the child had been raised in the Church, but had fallen away from an active, practicing life of faith. In the other case, the family wasn’t one who had ever practiced a faith, but the father came to believe in mid-life, and wanted to bring his wife and grown children along with him for the journey. (For what it’s worth, one of these stories came by way of a colleague, here in Indianapolis. The other was from a completely unrelated story I heard on “This American Life.”)Anyway, what these two sets of parents have in common, is their outspoken disapproval of their children’s sexuality, which is evident to the adult children they want to love, by either the theology they adhere to (“Love the sinner. Hate the Sin.” sort of stuff.), their political persuasion (the politicians and policies they support that do harm to their gay children), or both.In other words, the children of these parents know that they don’t – and will never – BELONG to their parents’ faith communities or fit into their misguided view of the world, so how could they and why would they ever want to believe in the things their parents professed about a loving, gracious, merciful God?“…you don’t believe because you don’t belong.”In my opinion, so many people in so many walks of life are falling away from the faith or throwing it all out with the bath water, because they see Christianity connected with exclusion, judgment, hypocrisy, greed, violence, and more. People don’t believe because they don’t belong – or because they don’t want to belong – to a body that embodies any of those things. And, as hard and as sad and as frustrating as that is, it makes perfect sense to me. And it’s why we have so much work to do.And I think that work starts with belonging. They don’t believe because they don’t belong.People long to feel and to experience welcome, love, and affirmation. And when they do, they might begin to wonder about believing and embracing the God who promises it.If we want people to feel like part of God’s family… If we want people to learn about the grace we proclaim… If we want people to believe in the wideness of God’s mercy, in the amazing love of our creator, in the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and in life everlasting…I’m convinced that they need to know, trust, and feel like they BELONG, first. And I think our call is to show and to shout and to share the good news of that belonging as loudly and as clearly, as often and in as many ways as we can manage.I heard another, beautiful story this week – perfect for Mother’s Day – about a different family altogether who proved what belonging can do. Many years ago, this set of American parents adopted a 7 year-old boy from Romania, who had lived the first 7-and-a-half years of his life in an orphanage where he shared a crib with another boy his age that entire time. As they grew, they stayed in that crib, to the point that they had to sleep sitting up. They didn’t go to school. They didn’t go outside. They only left their crib to eat and to use the bathroom. Daniel, the boy who was adopted by the Americans in South Euclid, Ohio, never even knew the names of the adults who took care of him in that orphanage.The short of the long is that Daniel came to the states utterly unprepared for the life with which his adoptive parents hoped to give him – he simply wasn’t ready socially, emotionally, or intellectually for a life with people who loved him. After 7 years in a crib, how could he be? And after a six-month honeymoon period with his new family in the states, things went downhill fast and furiously.Daniel developed an anger and rage over all that he couldn’t process or understand about his experience in the orphanage, his having been put there in the first place by his birth parents, and his place in the world and with his new mom and dad. He threw tantrums they described as “tornadoes of rage … eight hour marathons where he would throw anything he could get his hands on.” There were thousands of holes in his bedroom walls from his violent outbursts.He abused social workers and specialists. He choked a puppy. He gave his mom, Heidi, a black eye, once. He held a knife to her neck, another time. It got so bad they hired the equivalent of a bodyguard to be in the house, so that Heidi was never alone with her new son.Finally – and I’m leaving out a lot of the story, mind you – they embarked on a fascinating, controversial treatment for Daniel’s diagnosed Attachment Disorder where they pulled him out of school, Heidi quit her job, and they spent several months side-by-side, literally no farther than three feet apart. If one of them went to the bathroom, the other waited outside the door. They only time they were not next to each other, was when they were sleeping.They worked to establish the bond that’s supposed to be created between mothers and infants, under normal circumstances, by being very deliberate about eye-contact, for instance, and proximity. Daniel wasn’t allowed to ask for anything – he had to learn, from experience, that Heidi would provide basic needs for him, like food and drink. Daniel’s punishment for not playing along, or for doing something wrong, was called a “Time In,” where he would be subjected to time on the couch, being hugged by his mother.Ultimately, it worked. After eight weeks of this and a year of “holding therapy” where the family of three cradled each other – holding 13 year-old Daniel like a newborn – for 20 minutes, every night for a year, Daniel began to transform, slowly, but surely, almost imperceptibly, into a boy who believed that he would be and could be and was LOVED by his parents. Another way to say this, if you ask me, is that Daniel came to believe in that love, because he was finally convinced that he belonged to his new family. He believed because he belonged.And I think this is our call as people of God in the world. People need to see and to know that they already belong to the good news and grace and eternal life we claim. And I think it’s our job and it should be our joy – even when it’s hard – to show that kind of love and belonging to them.I think they need to see us marching at PRIDE parades.I think they need to see us teaching about and practicing anti-racism.I think they need to see our kids walking against homelessness and they need to see us giving money to their cause.I think politicians need to receive our letters, our phone calls, and our votes – in the name of Jesus – that speak out on behalf of people who are hungry and homeless and criminalized for that. (Join us for that next Sunday, between services.)I think the women who are served by our Agape ministry to sex workers need to experience the proximity and generosity of that ministry.And the list goes on. But I’ve said enough. And, just because it couldn’t be more timely, I’ll close with something from the new Pope Leo that makes me think he’d agree with me. Apparently, he said this once:“We are often worried about teaching doctrine, but we risk forgetting that our first duty is to communicate the beauty and joy of knowing Jesus.”They don’t believe, because they don’t belong.I think those who don’t believe what we claim to know about the grace of God need to experience it, first; they need to see us making room for them, for their doubts, and for their unbelief – whoever “they” may be. And that needs to happen, not because it’s

John 21:1-19After these things, Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias. This is how he showed himself to them. Gathered there were Simon Peter, Thomas who was also called the Twin, Nathaniel of Cana in Galilee, the Sons of Zebedee and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” And they went and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.Just after daybreak, Jesus came and stood on the shore, but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. He said to them, “My children, you haven’t any fish, have you?” They said to him, “No.” He said to them, “Cast your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.” So they cast it and they were not able to haul in the net because it was full of so many fish. The disciple whom Jesus loved said to Simon Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was Jesus, he put on some clothes for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. The others went in the boat, bringing with them the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land; only about a hundred yards off.When they had come ashore, they saw a charcoal fire with fish on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring with you some of the fish you just caught.” So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, one hundred fifty-three of them. But even though there were so many fish, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.”Now, none of them dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they new that it was Jesus. He came and took the bread and gave it to them and he did the same thing with the fish. This was the third time he had appeared to them since he had been raised from the dead.After they had eaten breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter said to him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” A second time, Jesus said to him, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter said to him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” A third time, Jesus said to him, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter, upset that he had asked him a third time, “Do you love me?,” said to him, “Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. When you were a child, you used to fasten your own belt and go wherever you chose to go. But when you grow old you will stretch out your arms and others will fasten a belt around you and lead you to places that you may not choose to go.” (He said this in order to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) And when he has said this, he said to him, “Follow me.” Pastor Cogan said something, almost in passing last Sunday, in his sermon reflecting on Pope Francis. It was a one-liner that caught my attention in the moment and that came back to me when I read today’s Gospel. He said that Pope Francis – faithful, humble servant that he was – “was a shepherd who smelled like his sheep.” “… a shepherd who smelled like his sheep.”Did anyone else catch that? Or remember that? Or wonder any more about that? I did, because I think it has a lot to say about where we find Jesus and his disciples – and especially, this famous conversation and command to Peter – on the beach at breakfast, not long after the resurrection.“Do you love me?” … “Yes.” … “Feed my lambs.”“Do you love me?” … “Yes.” … “Tend my sheep.”“Do you love me?” … “Yes.” … “Feed my sheep.”And you can’t blame Jesus for asking again, and again, and again. It’s no coincidence that Jesus asked him three times, after what had happened just days before, of course, when Peter, questioned just before the crucifixion, denied Jesus three times to strangers, just as Jesus warned him that he would. So, this “Q and A” between Jesus and Peter – this whole experience on the beach after Easter, really – is chock full of symbolism and meaning. But, to the sheep and the lambs…Too much of the time for us, “sheep” and especially “lambs” – so close to Easter Sunday, in the spring of the year – elicit a warm and fuzzy, soft and sweet, cute, cuddly, cozy kind of vibe – don’t you think? They are the stuff of Springtime and Easter baskets, right. But the truth is, sheep are actually dirty and lambs are pretty dumb. (Here’s that video I’m sure many of us have seen of a sheep being both – dirty and dumb.) And remember that even the “sheep” Jesus refers to so often, even before this brunch on the beach, are pitiable and lost and in need of redemption, too. Remember that the “sheep” in Jesus’ teachings need to be separated from the goats, they need to be found because they’ve gone astray, they need to be saved from the clutches of the wolves that surround them, and they need to listen for the sound of their shepherd’s voice to lead them. And besides, all of that, remember that the warm and fuzzy Lamb, in Jesus himself, gets sacrificed, after all. And remember that the Lamb of God, in Jesus Christ, showed up to do the dirty work of taking away the sin of the world.There’s not much “warm and fuzzy” or “cute and cuddly” or “soft and sweet” about any of that, in the end. The Lord’s work is dirty work, to say the least. So it’s notable, for me, that Jesus uses “sheep” and “lambs” as a metaphor for Peter, the fisherman – again – this time around.So when he talks about feeding sheep and tending to lambs, it seems to me, that Jesus is talking about the hard and holy stuff of life and discipleship for believers, this morning. And he’s implying that you really need to LOVE Jesus, in order to fully enter into the business of following him faithfully.So we’re invited to wonder, what in the world that means for you and me? Where are the sheep and the lambs, the lost and the lonely, the scared, the sick, the suffering – and the stinky – in this world and in your life?He makes it really hard for us to avoid the question. When Jesus asks us if we love him, who and how and what is he really asking us to consider? How many of us – like Pope Francis – smell like the sheep we’re called to love and serve?For starters, it seems random, but it’s no mistake that the Gospel writer says there were 153 fish in the net that morning. It’s not likely anyone actually counted those fish. It’s a number that smarter people than me suggest is meant to symbolize the entirety of creation; or they say it symbolizes all the people and every nation of the world. So, it’s just another reminder that, as followers of Jesus, we’re meant to tend to, feed, care about, and love all people; from every nation; in every land; even when it’s hard. Even when it stinks. Do you love Jesus, even if it leads to people and to places where you may not want to go? Do you love Jesus, even if it leads people to your doorstep who you wish wouldn’t come?Of course, we answer this question in other ways, too.I hope, when we consider our financial commitments to the General Fund in the days ahead, we’ll hear that question, again: “Do you love me?” And I pray our commitments and the offerings that follow will be one meaningful way that we respond – even if it’s uncomfortable, unfamiliar, unconventional by the world’s standards and expectations.I hope, as we’re filling out our Time and Talent Sheets for the year ahead, too, that Jesus’ question will ring in our ears, “Do you love me?” And that how we choose to serve the world through our little part of the kingdom at Cross of Grace will reveal our answer in a faithful way – and that we’ll do it even when it’s inconvenient sometimes; even if it’s new; even if it’s something we’ve done before or something we never thought we’d do at all. Even if it stinks from time to time, like helping to clean the church or to mow the lawn.I hope, that as we live our lives in this broken and hurting world, that we see around us – on the evening news, in the hallways at school, in the house down the street, on the faces of strangers, and in the mirror – I hope we see the sheep and lambs of Jesus – the children of God – who are starving for, who need and who deserve to be fed and tended to and loved with the same grace we long for, need, and try to share around here.I hope that when we wonder about what it looks like to love Jesus, that we aren’t afraid to get our hands dirty, to stop pretending that life in this world – our own lives or the lives of our neighbors – are always neat and tidy, soft and sweet, cute, cuddly, and convenient. I hope our lives of faith in this world leave us smelling like sheep.Because the truth is we are all sheep. Each of us is a lamb. We all stink of the sin that covers us. And we’re all unable to be free of it on our own.So Jesus shows up to inspire us and to encourage us and to love us, first – all so that we might follow him – like he invites Peter to do – into a new way of life. So that we’ll follow him into a kingdom that is built on service and sacrifice, generosity and grace, mercy and good news; a kingdom built with very clear directions from the resurrected and living love of Jesus Christ our Lord – who so faithfully feeds, tend to, and loves us – and the world – so that we can’t help but return the favor, in his name.Amen