Sunday, October 20, 2019 – Pentecost 19

Pentecost 19 2019

Our Savior’s La Crosse

Luke 18:1-8

Jesus said “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people” (Luke 18:2).

I’ve been reading comments amongst people (some who are clergy) on both Facebook and Twitter this past week, folks trying to explain what it means to fear God. Some folks approach the subject in a childlike way, suggesting we ought to fear God because God has ultimate power OVER us and can condemn us to an eternity in Hell for no reason at all, just because God is God. They reject this fear, some rejecting this God. Which is understandable. Who wants to believe in a God only of wrath and condemnation?

A quick search of the web pointed me in another direction. A Lutheran Pastor from North Carolina wrote in our Living Lutheran magazine a few years ago (“Fear and Love,” Tim Brown, November 2, 2016) about his understanding of what it means to “fear and love” God:

My adult self will tell you that fearing God is like [as theologian Rob Bell once noted,] sitting on a    surfboard just offshore and finding a huge whale surfacing beneath you. The immensity of the event causes awe and respect and, yes, a certain fear as you are lifted. Whales are gentle but still wild, and in the vastness of the sea, encountering such a giant can’t but leave you breathless. And you love it.

And he wrote:

fearing God is like listening to the quiet after a large snowfall. Everything has changed and there is immense power in that. And yet, everything is more beautiful— even if it’s all just a little more complex. And you love it.

And he wrote:

fearing and loving God has less to do with cowering in a corner and more to do with being drawn to your knees in awe of something so impossibly giant you’re amazed it chooses goodness for you and not something else.

Just so—we are called to fear and love God. But the judge in our parable, he did not. He “neither feared God nor had respect for people” (Luke 18:2).

In the first chapter of the book of Deuteronomy, Moses instructed judges in how to behave. He wrote:

Give the members of your community a fair hearing, and judge rightly between one person and another, whether citizen or resident alien. You must not be partial in judging: hear out the small and the great alike; you shall not be intimidated by anyone, for the judgment is God’s (Deuteronomy 1:16-17).

So, as one commentator put it, “The Judge’s responsibility… was to declare God’s judgment and establish shalom” (“Commentary” Luke 18:1-8 The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 9, p. 336).

A judge who “neither feared God nor had respect for people” could hardly “establish shalom.” Until he was confronted by a “persistent widow.”

To understand the significance of the widow we have to understand the place of widows in first century ancient Israel, as well as the place of widows in scripture.

Widows were powerless back then. When their husbands died widows were left with nothing. The husbands’ brothers were charged with marrying the widows in order they might be provided for. But there was no guarantee. If the widows were not provided for by the husbands’ families—they had nothing. They were left to go to their local judge to beg for justice.

Scripture is full of reminders that God cared for widows and demanded that God’s followers do the same:

[God] will not ignore… the widow when she pours out her complaint (Sirach 35:17).

God will vindicate the widows (Numbers 22:22).

Religion that is pure and undefiled before God… is this: to care for orphans and widows in their   distress” (James 1:27).

In our parable a persistent widow “keeps bothering” an unjust judge, leading the unjust judge to grant her justice.

God is our Just Judge. Jesus told us that God, our “just judge” will “grant justice to [God’s] chosen ones who cry to [God] day and night” (Luke 18:7).

Prayer is our cry. Prayer is a tricky thing. When I was doing my first hospital chaplaincy years ago, I recall hiding in little chaplains’ offices, avoiding having to visit patients. I was afraid to pray for patients because I knew prayers aren’t always answered the way we want them to be.

When we make our prayers about us and our needs, we have to know we won’t always get what we ask for.

This story makes clear, if in our lives we face injustice and oppression, we must be persistent in our demands, praying for justice and freedom. But, if we are not facing injustice and oppression, our prayerful attention ought to be on those who are, rather than on ourselves. Likewise, if we are not hungry our prayer ought not be for food for ourselves; we ought to pray that God gives others this day their daily bread.

As one commentator wrote:

To those who are worn out, hard pressed, and lacking in hope, Jesus says to pray night and day… To those who have it in their power to relieve the distress of the widow, the orphan, and the stranger but do not, the call to pray night and day is a command to let the priorities of God’s compassion reorder the priorities of their lives.” (“Reflections” Luke 18:1-8 The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 9, p. 339).

May the priorities of God’s compassion guide our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

Amen.

 

Sunday, October 13, 2019 – Pentecost 18

Pentecost 18 2019

Our Savior’s La Crosse

Luke 17:11-19

 

“Your faith has made you well.”

(Luke 17:19)

Jesus spoke the words to an unknown Samaritan leper.

“Your faith has made you well.”

The Samaritan was in a liminal place.

“Liminal.”

According to bing.com the word “liminal” is an adjective describing when one occupies “a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.”

I got the idea of using this term from a pastor who wrote a commentary on today’s parable that was published in the Christian Century (September 25, 2019 p. 19).

The pastor wrote:

“Jesus meets people in this liminal space of the border. Ten men approach    and ask him to have mercy on them. They are lepers seeking healing, at the     border between clean and unclean. They don’t want to be on the unclean           side—they want, they need, to be healed. They are tired of being separated      from families and friends. Then Jesus shows up…”

I grew up in a town outside of Rockford, IL, just south of the Illinois/Wisconsin border. My mom’s younger brother and his family lived about 25 minutes north of us, just across the border on the WI side. I remember going to visit them and riding bikes on the county road, crossing back and forth over the state border. Back and forth. In WI. In IL. In WI. In IL. In WI…

Borders seem arbitrary. And yet they wield so much power.

Living in the first century as Jesus did, the boundary between clean and unclean was legal as well as religious. There were “laws of uncleanness” (“Clean and Unclean” in The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible” volume 1 p. 644). Apparently,

“The appearance of swellings, eruptions, and raw sores on a formerly clear skin has an uncanny quality, which to the ancient mind indicated the work             of evil powers or divine judgment on sin. The horrible effects of leprosy…   heightened the impression of mysterious forces at work…and brought them       into the realm of the unclean… which lasted until a cure was obtained or        the sufferer died” (ibid).

The ten lepers in this morning’s story lived in that liminal place, at the border between clean and unclean, waiting, hoping, longing for a cure.

Then Jesus showed up.

Note: all ten lepers were healed.

Note: only one was “made well” (Luke 17:19).

His faith made him well.

This man, formerly a leper now healed, knew God had acted in his healing. This man, formerly a leper now healed, knew God had worked through Jesus. This man, a Samaritan thus a foreigner, knew God had delivered him through Jesus. This man, formerly a leper now healed, a Samaritan thus a foreigner, threw himself on the ground on his face at Jesus’ feet giving thanks.

Where is your liminal place?

Where do you find yourself standing—on the threshold of something new or walking away from something old, or something painful, or something other you need to leave behind?

As you stand on that edge, on that border, in that doorway—do you find yourself hoping? Regretting? Excited? Afraid?

Remember, you aren’t alone.

God stands with you.

Your faith will make you well. Or it will make you brave. Or it will make you confident. Or it will bring you comfort.

We lost a friend this week, a sister in Christ who not only worked for us in the Clothes Closet, but was confirmed here at Our Savior’s years ago, and became a member here again a year and a half ago. Dawn Kinard, raised as Dawn Severson, died last Sunday.

I loved working with Dawn. She wasn’t the strongest person physically; she was frail. But her heart was huge. As Betty Linse said, Dawn had a hug and a kiss [on the cheek] for every woman who walked in the Clothes Closet.

As I described the work Dawn did for us in the Clothes Closet, I told one person that Dawn was Jesus for us. She was there with women who were homeless, offering them strength and hope. She was there for a woman who is living her life liminally, one foot in recovery from addiction, one foot back on the streets. She was there for a woman born in Nigeria, now living here in La Crosse. Dawn was Jesus in their lives, giving them love and hope and a shoulder to lean on. As I spoke to one of our clients, who was broken-hearted by the news of Dawn’s death, I promised her that we will love her as much as Dawn loved her. I intend to keep that promise.

Our theme verse for our Stewardship campaign this year is our first reading: our help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. Our help comes from the Lord—but it shows itself in the ways we live, one with another. As we stand on the threshold of our future as a congregation, our call is to be Jesus—our call is to touch others, to bring healing and hope, to love others as God has loved us.

May it be so.

Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday, October 6, 2019 – Pentecost 17

Pentecost 17 2019

Our Savior’s La Crosse

Luke 17:5-10

 

If I asked you which parable from the gospels is your favorite (if you have a favorite), I’m fairly confident most people would not name the Parable of the Worthless Servant (which is the name of the parable we have as our gospel text).

For a few reasons, this parable is a rotten little story…

First, we cannot avoid the slave imagery that is used. Some translations of the story substitute the word “servant” for slave. They may be trying to avoid the reality of the reading; there were slaves in the first century just as there were in 18^th and 19^th century nations just as there are now. Our American history is stained by an economy that was dependent on slave labor. Our history as a nation bleeds into current economic and social structures that continue to create haves and have nots, some of which is dependent on race and culture. These are subjects that make people uncomfortable. We never want our collective sins to be “aired” so publically.

Second, who wants to think of God as a slave driver? As a master? The imagery is grotesque. Particularly because that makes all of us who follow God slaves. Likening discipleship to slavery is sickening.

Third, if we accept the imagery of slave and master, the conclusion of the argument is: the disciples (that’s us) get no reward for their labor. Even if the “slave” (and again, that is us) does everything the slave has been asked to do—the slave is still “worthless” (Luke 17:10).

How do you visualize your relationship with God?

Do you imagine yourself as a much loved child held in the arms of a loving parent? Do you imagine yourself working all day and all night in servitude to God, giving all of yourself and all of your time and all of your talent, with no reward?

Here’s a visualization of the text as provided by one scholar:

The parable assumes the hearer’s familiarity with the customs that controlled the lives of slaves in the first century. Like many of Jesus’ parables in Luke this one begins with the question “Who among you…? And expects a negative answer, “No one; it would be unthinkable.” The parable assumes a small farmer who has one slave who does both the field work and the household chores. The master would never say to the slave, “Come here at once and take your place at the table.” Instead, the [slave] would be expected to start preparing the master’s evening meal immediately after coming in from the fields. Only after he had served the master could the [slave] tend to his own needs. The master would not even thank the servant for doing what was commanded. (“Luke 17:1-10 Commentary” in The New Interpreter’s Bible volume 9, p. 323).

This parable is making a significant point about God and about us as God’s disciples—an unpleasant point—God does not and will not reward our faithful discipleship. That makes for a great sermon, I say sarcastically.

But this is a sound, theological message. As the same scholar previously cited wrote: God owes us nothing for living good, Christian lives. God’s favor and blessing are matters of grace—they cannot be earned” (ibid Luke 17…).

There is good news in this.The good news is: we don’t ever have to earn God’s grace. God’s grace is a gift. God loves us. God forgives us. God frees us from any need to earn those things. God’s love is a gift.

A second piece of good news is this: if we do what we do for God, as disciples, because we think we HAVE TO in order to receive God’s love and grace, we can LET GO of thinking we HAVE TO. We don’t. There is no obligation. There is no reward.

So why be disciples? Why work on behalf of God? Why do things here at church or out in the neighborhood or in the world in the name of God?

The answer is two-fold.

First, because we want to. As God’s faithful children we want to love others. This is our way of saying thank you to God for all God gives us. Someone gives you twenty dollars you say “thank you.” God has given us God’s love. God has given us forgiveness of our sins. God promises to give us eternal life. Of course we say “thank you” in any way we can.

Second, because God asks us to. God asks us to love our neighbors as ourselves. God asks us to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. God asks us to care for refugees and share our wealth. God asks us to sing songs of praise. God asks us to pray.

Our acts of discipleship are for God—not for us.

Our acts of discipleship are expressions of thanksgiving, freely given to God, for God, from grateful hearts. This is a blessing: that we are free to choose how we might respond to all God gives us, all God provides for us, all God offers us.

Thanks be to God always for this freedom and this love.