God, Suffering and Christmas

The question is as old as time: Why suffering? Why, God? Put another way, it's the theodicy question: how do you reconcile a good God in light of suffering?

Many versions of this question have been asked and answered in light of the tragic elementary school shooting in Newtown, Connecticut, a few weeks ago. There are other forms of suffering we've heard about this year, from Syria to Hurricane Sandy, that cause us to ask the questions anew, for this day, for this time.

The answers are diverse, and frankly, most of them are entirely unsatisfying. Pundits and pastors comment on the nature of God, as if any of them could speak for the unknowable. There's an old saying, "Anytime you are absolutely, positively certain that God is on your side, it's time to get a second opinion."

In the end, there is precious little that can be said when we claim to speak for God or God's intention. In the wake of Newtown, I read a helpful commentary on triumph and tragedy as compared to the Virgin Mary's song, The Magnificat, by Luther Seminary Professor of New Testament Matt Skinner. Read it here.

When we speak of God and suffering, the only real and true and comforting words I find or offer is this: God came down. That's the message of Christmas: God came down to dwell with us, not to fix things but to be a loving, hopeful, saving presence. As Lutheran Christians, we believe that in the end, love wins, hope wins, light wins, even if it can't be seen now or in our lifetime.

On Christmas Day at Central, here's the image we used on the front of the bulletin, courtesy of Central member Sandy Mjolsnes:

The caption was a quote I found recently by someone named RW Griffin:

"We did not break into his light. He crashed into our darkness."

That is the message of Christmas and the response to suffering that gives me hope.

A Shepherd's Story (Sermon 12.24.12)

(This sermon was originally preached on Christmas Eve, 2012, at Central Lutheran Church, Anchorage, AK. It was presented orally, as a dramatic monologue, in some variation of the text below. I was wearing a shepherd's costume. You'll have to use your imagination. The text for the day is Luke 2:1-20.)

Do know you what it feels like to give up? I don't just mean give up on a project or give up on someone you thought was dependable. I mean, do you know what it feels like totally give up on yourself? Do you know what it feels like to give up hope, hope that people will care about you, or that you can make a difference or hope that the world really is a safe and wonderful place to live? Do you know what it feels like when everyone has given up on you?

That's how I felt when I became a shepherd. As you know, it's not a desirable job, it's not a respectable job. It's the job you do when there's no other option besides begging or stealing. And I admit, I've done a bit of that as well. Shepherds are known for being thieves, degenerates and liars. Some towns won't let us into city limits. Our testimony doesn't count in court. We're considered unclean by temple authorities and priests. I haven't given a proper sacrifice in years; there's no way to do it. Everyone else has given up on me, except the sheep. I gave up on God a long time ago, too, because I figured he'd probably long since given up on me.

That's why my story is so amazing. I'd long since given up, until one chilly winter night a few years back. My buddies and I were out a long ways from city limits. It was a clear night and we were watching the stars as much as we were watching the sheep. We hadn't seen any wolves in ages, so we just let them wander. One of the guys had a few small loaves of bread, which barely tamed our appetite. I admit, we were probably having a conversation not fit for mixed company. Suddenly, there was a bright light. I heard some of the other guys gasp for breath; one shouted. I was paralyzed; I couldn't say a word. Out of the light, I saw a figure, some kind of person, or something. It didn't seem real. I was so scared I couldn't even think straight. Was I having a dream or a nightmare? The person, whatever it was, spoke. It said, “Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people. To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and laying in a manger.”

I don't know if you can even believe this, because the story is so crazy, but I swear it's true. This person, this messenger, this angel, was actually sent to us. From God. I know, it's totally crazy. I was raised as a good Jewish boy who went to temple regularly, before my job made me unfit. I know that God spoke to lots of people, like Abraham, Moses and Elijah. But there was no way God would speak to me and my buddies. But when the messenger finished talking, I knew it was true. The messenger was from God. I wanted to interrupt and tell the messengers that they had gotten the wrong people. If it was true, if the Messiah had been born, the news should come first to the priests, or the scribes or at least some faithful Jews. Not us. We're nothing. I wanted to tell the messengers they had the wrong address. But I was too scared. I kept my mouth shut.

And then, something even more crazy happened: dozens more of these messengers, these shining beings, appeared. Just out of nowhere. They started signing. They sang, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth, peace among those whom he favors.” It was the most beautiful music I have ever heard. The sound was so big and the music so rich. I almost forgot to be afraid. Almost!

Just as suddenly as they appeared, they were gone. The light went out. There was only the dark of the night, some confused sheep and some even more confused shepherds.

We just stood there for a few seconds, staring at each other. Then one of my buddies decided we might as well go to Bethlehem (that's the city of David) and see if there was actually anything going on. Was there a child born who would become the Messiah, the chosen one the Scriptures fore-tell? We left the sheep (I know, I know) and ran toward the city. I know it seems like we should have gone to the temple   or at least to the homes of some very important Jewish people. That's where the Messiah would have been. But they wouldn't have let us in anyway. We didn't even talk about where we were going; it was like we just knew. We stopped in front of a modest home, we barely even knocked, ran inside and there they were, a woman, a man and a baby, lying in an animal's feeding trough. We knew the child was the Messiah, and we kept interrupting each other, stammering and stuttering out what we had seen and heard. The couple, Mary and Joseph, didn't seem as surprised as you would think people would be if shepherds burst into their guest quarters and called their baby the Messiah. They listened and we talked and then we just stared at the baby.

 And then we went home and found our sheep, but that's not exactly the end of the story. Even though this story is amazing and even outrageous, it's not even the most dramatic part. The most dramatic part happened after we left Mary, Joseph and the baby Messiah.

 Remember when I said that I had pretty much given up on myself, other people and God? Well, it's true. There was no reason to hope for anything better than a few more years out there with the sheep, feeling unwanted and shunned every time I came into town.

 As we left the home where Mary and Joseph and the baby were, I noticed something. There were no angels hovering over the stable that night. In fact, Mary and Joseph didn't even know about the angels. No one else on the streets seemed to know either; no one else was rushing to see the child. The angels didn't come to the temple, they didn't come to the very important Jewish people, and on that night, they didn't even come to Mary and Joseph or their families. The angels came to us. Everyone else had given up on us, except God. The angels came to us. God sent them to us.

 I don't know if you know what it feels like to give up. So I don't know if you know what it feels like to realize that someone hasn't given up on you. God didn't give up on me! God doesn't give up on you! God doesn't give up on any of us. And God comes right into the places where God is needed most. I felt  unwanted and unloved. God came. I felt disconnected and despairing. God came. I felt like the world wasn't fair. God came. I felt like nobody understood me. God came. God comes right into the places where God is needed most. God comes to you, right where you need him most. God comes in the very places it seems as if He has no business being. God comes to you. He might not send a bright and shiny messenger, so you might have to look a little more carefully. But He comes. God will never, ever give up on you.

 I said that the most important part of the story happened as we left Mary and Joseph and the baby. What happened was this: I realized that God cares, God came and God loves. And suddenly, without warning, I began to share the good news with everyone I met. Because God comes. God is here. God never gives  up on any of us. Amen.

The word of the Lord came (Sermon 12.09.12)

This sermon was originally preached on Sunday, December 9, 2012, Advent 2, at Central Lutheran Church. The text for the day is Luke 3:1-6. Some details of the opening story are changed for privacy.

I ran into an old friend recently, just after Thanksgiving, who asked if I had my Christmas tree up yet. No, I said, I like to celebrate Advent for a week or two and then put up the tree. She asked, “What's Advent?” I took some time to explain the four weeks of waiting, the time of preparation and quiet reflection. I talked about my family and personal traditions of the Advent wreath, candles, prayer and devotions. I talked about how Advent is a time to focus on what matters instead of getting caught up in the busy-ness and consumerism. When I finished, she said, “Wow! That sounds great! Maybe I should start celebrating Advent, too.” I asked if she had her tree up yet. “Of course,” she replied. “I have five.”  Then she told me about her Thanksgiving eve-Black Friday shopping marathon.” Sigh.

There are so many competing voices this time of year. The quiet song of Advent gets drowned out, unless some retailer decides there's money to be made on Advent wreaths, devotional booklets and blue candles. Advent doesn't speak very loudly; it's hard to hear and to perhaps harder to heed. Who speaks the loudest in our world? Who or what distracts us and fights for our attention? Who has the power to speak and command a captive audience?

In Luke's gospel, in the beginning of chapter 3, Luke tells us about power. He lists an emperor, governor, other political leaders and two high priests for good measure. These are powerful men. When they speak, people listen. People respond. People obey. It seems like the word of the Lord should come to one of those seven powerful men. The word of the Lord should come to the Emperor, it seems, or at least one of the high priests. But it doesn't. Read through the entire list of leaders and see where the word of the Lord comes. It comes to John, a wild-eyed prophet who eats locusts and lives in the desert. The word of the Lord comes to John.

What would Luke write today? In 2012, Barack Obama was president of the United States, David Cameron was the prime minister of the United Kingdom. Sean Parnell was the governor of Alaska and Dan Sullivan was the mayor of Anchorage; during the papacy of Benedict the 16^th and the leadership of ELCA Bishop Mark Hanson and Alaska Bishop Shelley Wickstrom, the word of the Lord came to... Where? Where does the word of the Lord come today? Is it coming? How? Would we notice it?

Let's think about this together. What happens when the word of the Lord comes to John the Baptist in the wilderness? When the word comes to him, he shares it broadly, all over the region around the Jordan. So when the word comes, we are to pass it on. What is the content of this word of the Lord? What kind of message does it bring? It calls for two things: repentance and preparation. Repent and be forgiven. Prepare the way of the Lord. How does one prepare the way of the Lord? Fill in the valleys, bring down the mountains, make the crooked places straight and the rough places smooth. This is not  a description for a civil engineering project. Do not hire a bulldozer. This is about justice. This is about righteousness. This is about taking care of those who do not have enough. This is about the wealthy sharing more than a few easy tax write-offs that they'll never miss. This is about broken relationships being restored. This is about letting go of whatever is keeping us from right relationship with God.

I think Luke starts out his gospel with powerful people to show that while they might seem loud and powerful, in the end, they don't rule the world. In fact, all those leaders were long dead by the time Luke wrote his gospel, 90 AD. But the followers of Jesus remained, and their numbers were growing. Perhaps Luke also starts with all those leaders to remind us that the word of the Lord comes to us not in some ethereal sphere or make-believe place, but comes right into our real world, into our political, social and economic world, just as it is.

Where has the word of God come for you? Has it come from political leaders or those with great power and influence? It's possible, but let me tell you, that is not where the word of the Lord has come to me. The word of the Lord came to me from my Polish grandmother, who kept her faith and trust in God even after she spent many years in a Siberian work camp during World War II, where she watched her beloved sister die of starvation. The word of the Lord came to me from a member of this congregation who recently lost a loved one and said, “I feel God's presence through the support I've received.” The word of the Lord came to me from a member of this congregation who is undergoing chemotherapy and said, “We need to appreciate every day. Those people out there walking around on the sidewalk have no idea how lucky they are.” The word of the Lord.

The good news for us this Advent season is that despite the powers and principalities of the world, and despite the noise and busy-ness, the word of the Lord comes. It's comes. God comes. That is the promise for you and for me. That is the promise for all. The word of the Lord comes.

And when the word of the Lord comes, it comes through people and places we might not expect. The word of God often comes through grandparents, parents and friends. The word may come from a child, a stranger, or someone you don't particularly like. Stay awake! The word of the Lord may come during coffee with a friend, at the dinner table, at work, at school, even at the shopping mall. Don't expect the word of God to come from people in power or noisy news-makers. Don't expect in on CNN, MSNBC or FOX. It might not even always come to you at church. God has this bothersome trend of speaking through those on the margins. Are we only listening to the voices of the powerful? Are we seeking relationships with those with no socio-economic standing or privilege? The word of the Lord comes.

When the word of the Lord comes, it doesn't just leave us as we are. The word of the Lord changes us. Otherwise it wouldn't be good news. It cannot come to us and leave us unchanged. If it did, we'd already be perfect and we wouldn't need a savior. So when the word comes, it changes us. That's not always easy. It calls us to repent, to turn and go in a different direction, toward God. The word of the Lord calls us to prepare the way of the Lord, which means making the world a more fair and just place. The word of the Lord calls us to fill in our valleys, knock down our mountains, smooth out our rough places and straighten our crooked ways. I don't just mean we ought to do this in our community and nation. We are to do it in our own hearts as well.

The word of the Lord comes and we are not left unchanged. The word of the Lord comes, and even God is not left unchanged, coming in flesh, coming into our world. Amen.

At the airport, Christ is still King

Because I almost always “opt out” of the fancy new airport security scanners and take the “pat down,” I was afraid I might someday have a bad experience. A few weeks ago, I finally did.

I’m no conspiracy theorist. I opt out for various reasons. It’s my preference. I have the freedom to do so. Also, the pat down doesn’t bother me. I’m generally at ease with appropriate touch at places like the doctor’s office, the physical therapy table and the yoga studio. Over the past several years I’ve flown a lot and probably have been patted down at least 25 times. It’s not a problem.

Until, suddenly, it was.

The husband and I were on our way to Hawaii about three weeks ago. We both opted out and waited at the little gate to pass through the metal detector. The “female assist,” came first, followed by a guy. They were both for me. The man was a trainer and the female a trainee. I was the training dummy. They told me this, but I didn’t think it would be a problem.

The woman, at least 20 years older than me, was very nervous; I was very polite and tried to help. She stuttered a bit so I helpfully added, “You’ll be using the backs of your hands on sensitive areas.” She smiled, nervous, and began.

The first thing I noticed was the pressure was pretty firm. She gripped my arms and legs as she checked for weapons or whatever they’re looking for. It was weird, but I didn’t say anything. Then she did the “sliding motion,” on the leg, where the security person runs hands up the leg on the inside until they meet “resistance.” This is usually quick and light. With this lady, it was firm. She lingered too long where my leg meets my torso, her hands moving much farther up than necessary. There aren’t any weapons up there, lady! This same procedure was repeated four times, front and back, left and right. The whole thing took about twice as long as usual, as the nervous trainee kept looking at the trainer (who gave a few instructions) for encouragement. I felt uncomfortable but didn’t say anything.

When it was all over, I still wanted to be polite and helpful. So I said to both trainer and trainee something like, “I am a frequent flier and take the pat-down every time. I have never had so much pressure used. What is your standard?” The (male) trainer assured me that firm pressure was needed. Then I got upset. I told him that it was too much and it made me feel uncomfortable. In my considerable experience, this pat down was rather unusual and unpleasant. He shrugged and so I walked away.

I collected my belongings and sat down on the bench outside airport security. I was shaken and planned to sit for a moment and collect myself. My husband walked up (he’d been done for ages) and asked if I was okay. I intended to make some crack about the touchy-feely-crazy security lady. Instead, I burst into tears. I was totally unprepared for my reaction. I sobbed uncontrollably. As we sat there, the airport security supervisor came over to me and asked me what happened. I tried to explain the pressure and the lingering and demonstrated on my husband. She said nice pastoral care things that I probably say to people, “I am sorry for your tears, “and “You can fill out a comment card.” It made me feel a little better but my husband did not. He began to argue with the woman, jumping to my defense. By this time, I was embarrassed (and a little ashamed) and I tried to quiet him. I just wanted it to all go away, to pretend nothing happened. My husband got the comment card, detailed the incident and then wrote: “Conduct training for airport security on each other, not on passengers.” Someone from airport security called me last week but I haven’t had the heart to call him back.

We flew off, had a wonderful nine days in Maui and now we’re back. But I’m still thinking about this incident, for many reasons.

First, I’m so curious and interested in my own responses. I’m surprised that I didn’t speak up while it was happening, to say, “Stop!” or at least, “this is unusual and uncomfortable.” I’m surprised that I didn’t just go to the supervisor myself. I’m surprised that I got so emotional. I’m surprised that I felt ashamed, as if the whole event was my fault. I’m surprised that when my husband leaped to my defense, I tried to quiet him.

I consider myself extremely lucky that in my life I have not been a victim of sexual or physical violence. Many of my friends cannot make the same claim. I consider myself lucky because, especially as a woman, I am almost constantly aware of my surroundings and the possibilities of assault. I do not necessarily think that I have made better choices in life (I’ve traveled alone quite a bit and gone running solo in sketchy places). I just think I am lucky.

I do not know what it feels like to be the victim of sexual or physical violence or assault. I have no idea. And even after my run-in with airport security, I still have no idea. My experience was in NO WAY even closer or equal to the pain and suffering that so many have known.

However, as I reflected on my experience, I do think I have a better appreciation for why these crimes do not get reported and why people do not want to speak of them. It’s embarrassing. It’s painful. It seems like somehow it might have been your fault. It’s seems easier to go on and pretend it never happened.

There have been many movements against sexual, physical and domestic violence in our nation and in our state. Alaska has particularly staggering statistics on sexual, physical and domestic violence. A 2010 University of Alaska Anchorage Justice Center random survey of almost 900 women found that 59 % of women surveyed reported physical abuse or threats from a partner or sexual violence from anyone at some point in their life. Statistics in rural Alaska are consistently worse than in other parts of the state. Alaskans know sexual and physical assault is a problem. People of faith need to keep putting the pressure on state leaders to address these issues in ways that go beyond lip-service or political posturing.

Last Sunday was Christ the King Sunday, see my recent sermon here. I’m reassured that God is more powerful than all the powers that seem to win the day. Christ as King means that hope is possible, that justice is possible and that safety is possible. It’s not God who will magically make it so. It is ours to work toward.

Who Rules? (Sermon 11.25.12)

(This sermon was given at Central Lutheran Church on Christ the King Sunday, November 25, 2012. The gospel for the day is from John 18:33-37.)

Today we celebrate Christ the King Sunday, a relatively new festival in the church calendar. Christ the King Sunday was created in 1925 by Pope Pius XI, as a response to growing nationalism and secularism in Europe. So we hear readings, like the ones you just heard, that lift up God as powerful ruler, mighty king and lord of all. When I hear such readings, like the visions described in Daniel and Revelation, I think of cartoonist Gary Larson and his Far Side comic images of God: a long beard and phenomenal cosmic powers. God dusts his opponent in a game show, or adds a few jerks to the earth for fun.

While I appreciate Larson’s humor, the truth is, it doesn’t always seem like God is in control. It doesn’t always seem like Christ is king and lord of all. We experience brokenness in our bodies, lives and families. We see wars rage in Syria and Gaza. We see hunger and poverty here at home and overseas. We just came through a national election cycle that left some of us disappointed, some of us cautiously optimistic but all of us keenly aware of the problems in our nation that desperately need solutions.

In Confirmation class a few weeks ago, we studied the kings of ancient Israel. In most Bibles, there’s a chart of the kings, years served and if they were good or bad. It looks something like this: bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, good, bad, bad, bad, bad and bad. I explained to the students that a king in ancient Israel was judged “good” based not on political or military strategy but by faithfulness to God. I explained that God didn’t want Israel to have kings in the first place. A king takes valuable resources for armies, chariots, courts and palaces that could have been given to the poor. A king with absolute power can become corrupt. Most importantly, a king creates unity under a national identity instead of under God. People put their faith, security and trust in the king and the empire instead of God. One of the students shot up her hand; I could almost see a light bulb above her head, and said, “Like we do today!”

Yes, yes we do. We don’t have kings but we are tempted to place our identity, trust and security in all manner of things that are not God. We trust political parties or leaders and place our identity there. We trust money, investments and possessions. We create an identity for ourselves based on work or accumulation of wealth. We believe the messages that advertisers tell us about the things we need to purchase for the sake of identity or security. We put our trust in all kinds of things that are not God.

In today’s gospel story, Pontius Pilate is trying to figure out who to trust: Jesus or the Jewish religious authorities. This section is part of a larger narrative in John’s gospel, a back-and-forth where Pilate moves between Jesus, who is in Pilate’s headquarters, to the religious authorities who wait outside. Pilate is trying to figure out the truth or at least trying to get out of this tangle.

The question of kingship arises right away. Pilate asks, as he does in all four gospels, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Ironically, Jesus actually is the king of the Jews and the ruler of all, but not in the way that Pilate thinks. Later, Jesus will get a crown of thorns and a purple robe as a mockery. He will be lifted up on a cross and three days later his real power will be revealed. He is a different kind of king than Pilate imagines. The king of kings and lord of lords is standing right before Pilate and Pilate cannot see it. Pilate asks, “What is truth?” without realizing that The Truth is standing right in front of him. Jesus says that everyone who belongs to the truth listens to his voice. Pilate missed it. Do we?

This text and this festival Sunday asks us to examine where we place our identity, our security and our sense of truth. Do we, like Pilate, go back and forth between Jesus and the competing voices in our world? Where do our loyalties rest?

Thanksgiving came early this year. Usually the Sunday after Thanksgiving is Advent 1, not Christ the King. It’s an interesting juxtaposition. We celebrate Christ as King today, though in the secular world Christmas started on Black Friday and with it the excesses. Too many advertising fliers, too many sweets, too many gifts people don’t need, too many parties, too much busy-ness.   In light of this, what does it mean to proclaim Christ as King? What does it mean to place our primary identity and security in God?

This is what it means to proclaim Christ as King: We claim that we belong to Christ; our most important identity is child of God. We claim that no matter who is president, God is at work in this world. We claim that the love and presence and power of God are everywhere, whether we can see it or not. We claim that forgiveness, mercy and peace are possible. We claim that love is more powerful that hate and that non-violence is stronger than weapons. God rules, God reigns, even if and especially when we cannot see it. Just like the power of God wasn’t obvious on the cross, love and truth won, three days later on Easter Sunday. It may seem the powers of this world are in control, but God is working and moving and loving, in hidden and surprising ways. Jesus was a different kind of king than Pilate expected. Might Jesus be working and moving and reigning in your life in a different way than you expect?

In his ministry on earth, Jesus said and showed what the kingdom of God would look like. There would be peace making instead of war-mongering, liberation instead of exploitation, mercy instead of vengeance, care for the vulnerable instead of privileges for the powerful, generosity instead of greed and embrace instead of exclusion.

This is the work of the church, our part in the kingdom of God. We come here, week after week, to remind each other that hope is possible and that the love and power of God reigns.  We need to hear this, and so does our world. Then we get to work, making this world look a little more like the kingdom of God. Amen.

Two truths, no lie (Sermon 10.28.12)

This sermon was preached on Reformation Sunday, October 28, 2012, at Central Lutheran Church, Anchorage, Alaska. The gospel was John 8:31-36.

Mercy, grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

This language about slavery and freedom in John's gospel sometimes makes our eyes glaze over. Slavery? Didn't we abolish that? Freedom? We're the land of the free and the home of the brave. Next topic, please. The people Jesus was talking to basically did the same thing. We're not slaves, never have been. We're descended from Abraham, very freely, thank you very much. Next topic, please.



Maybe Jesus should have been a little more pointed, to them. Weren't your ancestors slaves in Egypt? Weren't you forced into exile and governed by Babylonians and Persians? Aren't you, as we speak, ruled by and forced to pay taxes to Rome? Maybe that would have been a little more clear.



Maybe Jesus should be a little more pointed, to us. Have you ever felt stuck? Have you ever had a hard time getting yourself to do the right thing? Have you ever struggled to apologize or ask for forgiveness? Have you ever let yourself fly off the handle? Do you ever feel like you don't have enough faith? Do you ever feel maybe God wants you to try a little harder or get your act together?



If you or the people in Jesus' day could answer yes to any of those questions, you have been and are enslaved. You've either been enslaved literally (see: Egypt) or you are enslaved to sin, by which I mean enslaved other people's expectations or enslaved to your possessions and money or enslaved to your own pride or enslaved to your hot temper or enslaved to being right at all costs or enslaved to thinking you have to work your way into God's good graces.



I don't know about you but I don't actually enjoy being reminded that I am a slave to sin. I do not like to be reminded of my failures. I do not like to be reminded about my mistakes. I do not like to be reminded about where I get stuck. I like to think that I am basically a nice Lutheran person from the Midwest. I like to think I basically have things under control and I am basically a good person. I do not really want to come here and have anyone tell me that I am a slave to sin or anything else.



Apparently, I'm not alone. The Pew Research Institute earlier this month released a survey of Americans and their religious preferences, or not. The report, entitled, “Nones on the Rise,” claims 1 in 5 Americans do not identify with any religion. In the last five years, this group has moved from 15% of the US population to almost 20%. The largest percentage of these “nones” isn’t agnostics. It isn’t atheists. It’s those who claim no particular association.



Here's more. Researchers asked: Are you looking for a religion that’s right for you? 88% said no. 10% said yes. Per reports that one third of those under 30 have no religious affiliation (32%), compared with just 9% of those age 65 years or older. Young adults today are much more likely to be religiously unaffiliated as those of past generations at similar stages in their lives.



Why are there so many nones? That's a complicated question and beyond the scope of this sermon. However, other research, for example from Barna Research Group, reports that many people, especially young adults, believe that churches are judgmental and hypocritical. I guess they don't want to come here and hear about how they are a slave to sin, either.



But the truth is, we are slaves to sin. But the truth is, that's only half the story.



When Jesus tells the disciples that they will know the truth and the truth will set them free, he's talking about two fundamental truths: the truth about humans and the truth about God.



Here's the truth about humans. Paul says it in Romans 3:23, “since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” We're sinners. We turn a way from God. We focus on our own needs first. We mess up. We fail. We fall short. And the truth is there is NOTHING we can do to save ourselves. It's like jumping to the moon. You cannot do it.



I had a friend in college who didn't go to church. When I asked her about it, she said she didn't really think she was a sinner. When you don't really think you're a sinner, you don't really need a savior. The truth, the painful truth, is that we really are sinners, but maybe we need to use different words. Maybe we need to talk about brokenness. We could use words like stuck, questioning, disconnected, feeling something missing, feeling like something isn't right. Let us remind ourselves and then share the news with others that worship is precisely the best place to go when you're feeling stuck, out of sorts, disconnected, questioning or just not whole. You can go on a hike or go fishing or go to yoga, but you will not here the truth there about who you are and who God is.



Which brings me to the good news, which really is only good news when you know how much you need it. Or as my seminary pastor used to say, “Did Jesus need to die for you to preach this sermon? If not, don't bother.”



Just after Paul tells us that all have sinned, he continues in Romans 3:24, Paul writes: “they (referring to all) are justified by his grace as a gift, though the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.”



Let me break that down. All who have sinned (everyone) is justified (made right with God) by grace (God's love that we didn't earn) through the redemption (freeing something or someone held hostage) that is in Christ Jesus (see: the cross). You can imagine why Martin Luther, who we recognize on this Reformation Sunday, was pretty darn excited when he discovered these verses. We are made right with God as a gift, not by anything we say or earn or do or buy.



Because that is the second truth for today, the truth about God. The truth about God is that God loves us, loves you. God loves us so much that God chooses to offer us liberation, freedom, not just in the form of eternal life, but in the form of release from whatever enslaves us right now. The Romans text for today even starts with that word, “now.” Right now, the righteousness of God has been disclosed. Right now, God desires to tell you the truth that you are a beloved child of God, that you are accepted, and that you are welcomed into the household with all of your failures, despite all your flaws and even with your questions. You are part of God's family. God doesn't want anyone to throw you out of that house, including yourself.



So we do come here to worship, to this place, to hear the truth about ourselves: We are broken. We sin. We can't do it alone. We come here to hear the truth about God: We are loved. We are forgiven. We are accepted. Our very identity is a liberated child of God. We need to hear week after week that we are so liberated, so freed to love and serve the neighbor, not because God needs those acts of mercy and justice but because someone you know needs them very much. We need these two truths because with them we find true freedom. We find the freedom to enter into painful but necessary and healing conversations. We find the freedom from our own cares through helping someone in need. We find the freedom to joyfully release some of the money or things we hoard.



What might it mean for us at Central Lutheran Church to live as a community that faces up to those truths. Do we look at each other and see the truth about ourselves and God? Do we admit our own mistakes and ask for forgiveness? Do we find the courage to go someone in private and tell them they have hurt us? Do we bear a grudge and gossip? What is the truth about who we are as a family of God? And yet, what is the truth about who God is? Does God love the person in the next pew as much as God loves you? Does God accept the person in the next pew just as he is? Does God have compassion for failures and mistakes woman in the next pew as much as God has compassion for your failures and mistakes?



After all, which is harder to accept? The truth that you are a sinner or the truth that because of Christ you are a beloved son or daughter? Jesus said, “You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” Amen.

Who do we say that we are?

Central members and friends: What's our congregation all about? What's our focus, mission or reason to be? You might think the answer is Jesus. That's nice, but that's not what I'm asking.

You also might be thinking our mission statement: "The family of Central Lutheran Church comes together in the Word and goes out proclaiming God's presence, love and power. Coming and going, all we do is for the worship of God." That's nice, but that's not what I'm asking.

In our Sunday morning adult education class, we've been reading a book about the adult Catechumenate, Faith Forming Faith, which is about a congregation in Seattle who chose to use this ancient practice of faith formation as the centerpiece of their ministry. They welcome new Christians and mentor them in a year-long process before baptism. The Catechumenate is as old as St. Peter, or at least pretty close!

The author, Paul Hoffman, notes that congregations are always centered around something. There's always a hub around which a congregation's identity focuses, or a lens through which the congregation sees or understands its ministry. For the folks at Phinney Ridge, Seattle, it's faith formation, not just of new Christians but of the long-established ones.

So, Central folks? What's our center? Our hub? Our lens?

Put another way, what is the focus around which we orient everything, like worship, Bible study, fellowship and stewardship? For some congregations, it's faith formation. For some it's social justice or their worship and music life. What's ours?

It's worth noting that I asked this question of two different groups this past Sunday morning. I asked the 7-8 people who were at the adult education class, then I asked the dozen or so folks on church council. No one was in both groups. They each gave me the same answer, almost verbatim.

Here's what they said: Central is a congregation that is intentional in the community. Our central location makes us a hub for community activities. We are known for being active and engaged in our neighborhood and community, as a response to Jesus' command to love and serve. We are defined by a sense of our internal community.

Community, both beyond our walls and within them.

Central folks: what do you think? Agree or disagree, and why?

Anecdotes tell me that this focus on community is true. So often when I tell people where I work I hear, "Oh, you're the church with the Farmers' Market." And other times, "Oh, your church does so much in the community, like the Campfire after school program." Or, "Did I hear you guys are one of the emergency cold weather homeless shelter sites?" Why, yes we are! One of the most recent comments (compliments) I received was from a long-time member of a Catholic church. Aw, shucks. It almost makes a girl from the Midwest blush.

The point is this: many Central folks feel that this focus on community is our center, our hub and our identity. It's not for me to identify or define our hub, but I'm sure proud with what the last two groups have come up with.

What about you? What do you think about who we say that we are?

What we're buying, what we need (Sermon 10/14/12)

A Sermon for the Pentecost 20B, preached at Central Lutheran in Anchorage on Sunday, October 14, 2012. The gospel is from Mark 10:17-31.

 

Does anyone want to get up here and preach about this text? Anyone care to comment on how hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God? What about Jesus’ statement that it is easier for a camel to get through the eye of the needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God? Or, my personal favorite: sell all your possessions, give the money to the poor and come follow me. Any takers?

 

In this middle section of Mark’s gospel, Jesus has already set his face toward Jerusalem. He is on his way to the cross. Jesus makes three Passion predictions to explain to his disciples that he will suffer, die and rise again. Our text today is right before the third Passion Prediction.  In these texts between the passion predictions, Jesus explains to his disciples what it truly means to follow him. His words force the disciples to consider what barriers will keep them from following in the Way once Jesus has gone.

 

One of those barriers is love of money or love of possessions. Jesus speaks about money numerous times in the New Testament, far more often than he talks about other things, like sexuality. Money isn’t an evil, per se, but like any good thing it can be misused. It can be worshipped. It’s not so much money that is the problem; it’s our relationship to it and our expectations for it.

What’s our relationship like with money these days? I am suggesting we as a nation have an unhealthy relationship with money and possessions. Many of us (and I include myself) also have unhealthy attitudes about money.  Sometimes we give away our money or possessions out of what’s leftover, as an afterthought, or without a heart filled with gratitude. Sometimes we compartmentalize our money and our lives. We may think God only cares about what we do with 10% tithe of our money, but in fact, God cares about the rest of the 90%, too. God cares about how we spend our money for two reasons. One, because it impacts our neighbor. Maybe this election season we shouldn't ask, “Am I better off than I was four years ago?” Maybe we should ask, “Is my neighbor (think poor, not rich) better off than he or she was four years ago?” The second reason God cares about how we spend our money is that it has an impact upon our own welfare. It has an impact on our soul.

 

Consider unhealthy messages about money and acquisition we hear in our culture. We may say money doesn’t make us happy but we still act like it does. We buy things and expect them to make us happy. At the Luther Seminary conference I attended last week, Preaching Professor David Lose was speaking about possessions. He said his neighbor was going on and on about a new power-washer that he got and how it was going to revolutionize his life. Lose said he walked away thinking, “It may be a terrific power-washer, but you’re still the same old guy.”

 

There's a sociologist at George Washington University, named Amitai Etzioni, who is originally from Israel. He has done a great deal of research about consumerism and what makes people happy. In his Youtube video, “You don't need to buy this,” he talks about a time at a conference, he asked people about what material possessions they really need. He asked people if they really needed inflatable Santa Clauses for decoration. Everyone laughed. Then he asked if people really needed plastic flamingo lawn ornaments. Everyone laughed. Then he asked if people really needed flat-screen TVs. No one laughed. Then he asked if people really needed 4G phones. Again, no one laughed and someone said, “Now, that's enough.”

 Advertisers know how to get us to buy. They know better than to simply advertise that one product is faster, more durable or can out-perform another. Instead, they want you to believe you are not complete unless you buy these shoes or that laptop. Ever notice that in most commercials you often have no idea what they’re selling? They are selling the belief that you are not enough when you don't have enough. It is a lie. It is sick. Yet we are all buying it.

 Because we are all buying it, our economy is becoming more and more dependent on the purchase of consumer goods. Lose told us that 70% of the US GDP is consumer goods, compared to 60% a generation ago. Even though jobs are created when people make more and more stuff that and convince you to buy it, that doesn’t make endless consumerism right. Let us confess that in this nation we have an illness when it comes to our relationship with money and possessions. We are sick. And there is only one cure.

 In the gospel story for today, a rich man comes to Jesus because he knows he is sick. He's not physically ill, but there some kind of dis-ease. If he felt satisfied by his life, possessions and commandment-keeping, he would not have bothered to come to Jesus. But something isn't right. Something is missing. And so he comes. And he kneels at Jesus feet.

 

Every other time in the gospels when someone kneels before Jesus, they are asking for healing. What if we read this story as an account of a man who deeply wished to be healed?

 Jesus gives him an impossible cure: sell your possessions, give your money to the poor and come, follow me. It is the only time in the gospels where Jesus asks someone to follow and they do not.

 I cannot give you a simple answer as to why Jesus was so harsh with this man. Clearly there would be complete economic chaos if every Christian right now rushed out and sold all their possessions. Wealth was this man's stumbling block. It was his sickness. He needed to be healed, and maybe so do we. The rich young man needed to be healed of his sickness around money. But there's another point about money to be made. Jesus didn't ask the man to toss his fortune over a cliff. He asked the man to give the money to the poor, to see the needs of the neighbors around him and to find healing by giving money away, even when it hurts to see it go.

 Much has been made about the poor bruised camel in this passage: the one that keeps trying to get through the eye of the needle. The point is, of course, that it's impossible. No one is good but God alone. No one can actually keep all the commandments. No one can get the poor camel through the eye of the needle. We can't earn or buy anything from God. We cannot purchase our peace of mind, barter for forgiveness or make down-payments on eternal life. It is all a gift, from the God who looks at us in love the way Jesus looked at that rich man in love. God knows we are sick, God knows we have dis-ease. God knows. God sees. And God loves us, right now as we are.

God wants to help us, even if the cure might be harsh. God wants to walk with us as we make choices with our money, so that it works for the good of our neighbors and for the good of our own souls. We also need to be reminded that we have enough. Google “global rich list.” You can see how your annual income measures with the income of others in the world. For instance, I make about $45,000 a year, before taxes. Guess where the Global Rich List puts me? I am the 103,000,000th richest person in the world. I am in the top 1.7%.

The George Washington University sociologist Etzioni says that according to his research, there are only three things that make people happy: relationships, intellectual pursuits (under which he includes Bible study and meditation) and community participation. We do all these things here. You do these things in worship, in fellowship groups at Central, in your own prayer and devotional life. These are all ways that we as a people of faith can bear witness to the alternatives to the culture of wealth acquisition and endless consumption. Here in Christian worship and fellowship we are strengthened in the things that really matter, so that we are not as distracted by all the things that don’t. Amen.

Habitat of Humanity

Central team: Pr Ron M, me and Dave H.

For members of Central who actually read the church newsletter (God bless you), you already heard about my recent day at a Habitat for Humanity build. As I mentioned in the newsletter, I spent a week one summer working on a Habitat house in East Waterloo. I was a summer camp counselor, leading a group of high school kids on the week of work, play and reflection.

I needed the reflection, too. We were working in a part of Waterloo (population 75,000) that I'd seen only while driving through quickly with my doors locked. I grew up about an hour's drive from Waterloo and spent time there in malls and theaters. But I'd never dared or thought to stop by the neighborhoods where I worked on that Habitat house.

At the end of the week, we shared worship at a local Baptist church. The warm welcome we received was overwhelming for us Scandinavian types. There were hugs and handshakes and hallelujahs. We were put in the front row and the preacher went on for quite some time about how we had served the Lord through Habitat of Humanity. We giggled at his error but in the end, we were touched by the experience of being thanked so much for doing what seemed like so little.

Fast-forward a few years to this past week. I spent a day working on a Habitat build in Mountain View, here in Anchorage, at 4th and Oklahoma. I worked on the Thrivent Build house, sponsored by Lutherans and, coincidentally, promised to a Lutheran family from St. Mark's. I was there last Friday with a couple of folks from Central; Pastor Glenn was there this past Wednesday with others from our parish.

As a pastor, I get a lot of these "do good" opportunities. Sometimes I look forward to them, sometimes I'm just tired and want some time to myself. I might have felt a little weary when I showed up last week at 4th and Oklahoma and put on my belt and hard hat.

But, you know how it is, you pick up a hammer, climb some scaffolding, learn how to put some snow and ice shield on the roof, and everything feels a little better. You see how you are a part of something bigger than yourself. You see how the little bit that you are doing is contributing to a greater whole. You see how one person really can make a difference. You see how we are all connected in this city and this planet and how much we really need each other.

It really is a Habitat of Humanity.

Want to volunteer? People are still needed to get this house done by Thanksgiving (or maybe Christmas!) Indoor work available. Check out the Anchorage Habitat website to volunteer.

Grenades, Crosses and Who you Really Are, Sermon 9.16.12

Sermon preached at Central Lutheran, September 16, 2012, Pentecost 16B

Caesarea Philippi sits at the northern edge of modern Israel in what is now the Golan Heights. Today, it's an archaeological ruin. In Jesus' time, it was an iconic Roman city, built to honor the emperor, and home of a temple to the Roman god Pan. Before that, it was the northernmost limit to the nation of ancient Israel. It was a border land, the end of the known world, and the place where Jesus chooses to reveal his true plan and true fate to his disciples.

Not too far south, near the ancient city of Bethsaida, is a place I spent two weeks in college on an archaeological dig. My religion professor at Wartburg College, who now serves a church in Jerusalem, took students there each year to experience Israel and Palestine, religion and history, conflict and beauty. Archaeology isn't all that glamorous. We spent long, hot days digging in sand and dirt, carefully picking around ruins of house foundations, and sifting bucket after bucket of sand and soil, looking for fragments of pottery and artifacts. One day while I was digging with a small shovel, I heard a “clink.” We had been warned about this. Years of warfare in the area had left land mines and grenades strewn about. I'd hit a grenade. It was spent, but to be sure, the whole area was closed off for the rest of the day and weapons expert was brought in. I thought about it then and I still think about it: so much trouble, distraction, and worry over something that could do no more damage. Of course that grenade probably had done damage; if not that one, certainly many others had. One small piece of metal, so much suffering.

The text from James for today talks about a similarly powerful weapon: the tongue. The writer compares the tongue to a bridle that guides a horse or a rudder that steers a ship. The tongue may be small but it can wound deeply. It's like a fire. It's a restless evil. It's a deadly poison. With it we bless and curse. With it we love and hate. With it we empower and devastate. With it we share our worries and concerns. With it we share our hopes and dreams. With it we share rumors and half-truths.

I'm going to speak very plainly. As you might have noticed, we are trying a new worship schedule this fall, brought to you by your church council and worship committee. Tongues have been used in full force to plan, discuss, debate, dream and criticize this new format. There were a lot of rumors flying around. Many of them weren't accurate and weren't helpful. These words caused confusion. The words were grenades, still live and able to fracture the body of Christ.

I confess we as pastors and church leaders didn't always give you enough information. We didn't find the opportunity to listen to everyone and sometimes we didn't listen well or listened to some people more than others. I am sorry. Change can make us all anxious, even pastors.

Let me be clear. We are trying a new worship schedule primarily because tongues over the last several years have been asking for changes in the number of services and service format. You do not have to like everything that we do here at Central and it's certainly not perfect. But I am asking you to stay open and be careful what you say.

Words are powerful in the gospel lesson from Mark. Jesus chooses the borderland of Caesarea Philippi to have “the talk” with his disciples. This section of Mark, scholars say, is the heart and center of the gospel, the point where everything changes. Before this, Jesus was healing all over the place and demonstrating his power in that way. Now, Jesus makes what is the first of three passion predictions and begins his journey to the cross, the place of ultimate powerlessness.

Jesus speaks the truth about who he is and the disciples cannot accept it. It's understandable. As Jewish men, they had heard about the Messiah, the anointed one who was to come to save Israel. Jesus admits he is the Messiah (Christ in Greek) and but then everything he says he will do (suffering, rejection, death) doesn't sound very Christ-like to Peter.

Jesus has spent the first part of Mark's gospel in ministry to the sick and outcast. Now he reveals who he really is and extends and invitation. An offer you might want to refuse. If any want to be my disciples, let them deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me. But self-denial in the walk of faith isn't about delayed gratification or the latest diet trend. Self-denial isn't about self-annihilation. It's about re-definition.

When early Christians, like Mark's audience, began to follow the Way, they gave up everything. They separated from their families, jobs, culture and way of life. They redefined themselves as part of the family of Christ. They claimed a new identity, a new way of understanding themselves. And so must we.

Jesus tells his disciples that when they re-define themselves as part of the family of Christ, they end up letting go of something. For those who want to save their life will lose it, but those who lose their lives for my sake and for the sake of the gospel, will save it, Jesus says. It's human nature to cling to things. What are you clinging to? Power, position, wealth, possessions, status, reputation, the way we used to do church? What is Jesus asking you to do? What happens when we let go? Studies show one of the few ways money makes people happy is when they give it away. We receive love and friendship when we give it away. We receive happiness by making others happy. What are we afraid to lose? What do we have to gain?

This Sunday is the 16^th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 19 and Ordinary Time 24. Are you still awake? There's no major church festival today, but it's a significant time in our cultural calendar. It's fall; we feel the chill at nights and watch the snow creep down the Chugach. Fall is when students and teachers of all ages head back to school. Fall is a time to put away our summer play toys and get back to our routines and rituals. Fall is a time when churches launch fall programming (Ahem.) Fall is a time to get things accomplished, to start new projects and get down to business. Fall is a time when our cultural context lifts up anew the values of rewards, advancement, attainment, security and self-interest. Many things make a claim on your identity; none of them defines who you really are. You are a child of God; that is the good news. What if wefocused on receiving our identity as beloved children instead of trying to earn it?

Part of me wants to tell you that you must deny yourself, take up your cross and embrace the new fall worship and education schedule. Perhaps that is so. But even more, I want to tell you that now, today, is an exciting time for us as a congregation to ask ourselves questions about our corporate identity. As a church, who do we say that Jesus is? How do we live our faith in a world that makes claims on our identity? What is our mission at Central? What is our calling as a congregation?

This past year, we claimed our identity as a welcoming church to homeless families through our shelter program. The past month, we claimed our identity as the largest congregation in this synod as we hosted the bishop installation. As several pastors in the synod have told me, smaller congregations look to us as role model. When we are healthy, so is the synod. In the coming months, we'll claim our identity as a place that uses technology in a way that welcomes others, enhances our worship and yet keeps us true to our Lutheran roots. Perhaps we'll claim our identity as the congregation who listened to each other, worked together, used our tongues for good, stuck with it, compromised and found a way to worship together that supported the long-timers and graciously welcomed the new-comers. Perhaps we will do that, and more. We ask God to help and guide us. Amen.

Letter to a Young Pastor

My Dear Friend,

Congratulations on your ordination! I received the invitation in the mail several weeks ago and didn't get a card sent on time. I thought about you on your ordination day -- the parade of red stoles, the exhortations, the weight of the hands on your head and shoulders. You'll be a fine pastor; I knew it ever since the days we worked together in campus ministry at Wartburg College.

I've thought of you many times as you start your work at your new parish on the East Coast. I know what it's like to move halfway across the country to a place with no family and friends. I think about your first days, weeks and months at your new church. I think of my own first days at my first call. There are so many things you already know and so many things that your people will teach you. They will teach you how to be their pastor.

Your congregation will be curious about you, your husband and your children. You may think this will end, but it will not. They will want to know who you are, where you are from, what you like to do and where you have been. They will invite you to their homes. They will bring you small gifts from time to time. You will be grateful. Sometimes they will ask you questions you don't want to answer. You will smile and say, "Why do you ask?" They want to know who you are but they also want to know if you will love them.

You will love your congregation, of this I am sure. You will love them all, though you will love some of them differently than others. You will love them but you will sometimes need a break. You will love them but sometimes they will break your heart. You will love them but some of them will leave and some of them will die. You will preside at their baptisms, confirmations, weddings and funerals. When you stand beside them at the funeral home over the bodies of their loved ones (or over their bodies) you will weep, on the inside or the outside. This will not get easier the longer you are with them; it will get harder.

Some things will get easier. You will get better at preaching, leading worship, making home and hospital visits and leading Bible studies. Some of these things you will be able to do in your sleep. Some of these will still make you nervous, but they will get easier. You will feel like you were born for such a time as this. You will feel like God has called you to be right here, right now, with these people.

Some things will get harder. There will be conflict around money, no matter if you have too much or too little. There will be conflict with staff, other pastors and with church members. Someone will be unhappy with something that you do. This will probably happen more than you know but you will not always hear about. You will have to work very hard at avoiding triangulation. You will remind people again and again that if they have a problem with another person, they should go to that person, not vent to everyone else about that person.

Some of them will not like each other. Some of them will carry grudges against each other that last for decades. Some of them are still wounded from a previous pastor. Some of them are still deeply attached to a previous pastor. Many of them are grieving over the church that used to be. Many of them do not know they are grieving for the church that used to be. Many of them want to know that the church will be okay and you will not be able to make any promises.

You will hear people's stories. You will learn about their lives, upbringings, faith stories, memories, regrets, confessions, joys and sorrows. You will be astounded at their deep faith in times of trial. You will be shocked at some of what you hear. You will say, "Hmm," and "I see" or "Tell me more" but inside you will be quaking. You will walk into hospital rooms where the news is all bad and you will sit with people while chemo pours into their veins. You will be the non-anxious presence. You will watch someone die. You make the sign of the cross on the foreheads of those who have just dead. You will think you cannot bear it but you will, and with grace.

You will make changes in the parish. You will make some changes based on logistics. You will make some changes based on theology. You will make some changes after deep and careful listening to concerns over a period of many months. It doesn't matter why you made the changes or how many people you consulted. Your people (whom you love) will hate the changes immediately and lament the sorry future of this church. Months later they will tell you how much they love the changes or forget how it used to be. You will love your people anyway.

You will make mistakes. You will put off visiting someone and they will die. You will forget to acknowledge a death in someone's family and they will be hurt. You will say something unkind and someone will hear it. You will complain. You will mess up something in worship. You will blow up. You will melt down. You will be human. You will have to ask for forgiveness. You will be forgiven.

You will worry about the future of your church and the future of the Lutheran church. You will wonder if you did the right thing with your life and wonder if you should have been an English teacher like your mother always told you. You will wonder if you are leading your people in the right way. You will wonder if you are doing what God wants. You will wonder if your sermons are proclaiming a word that people can hear. You will wonder if your people will stick around when there are changes in the parish or when times get tough. You will wonder if the message of grace that you proclaim comes with it an equal measure of responsibility. You will wonder if you should ask more of people.

You will wonder, but you will rest on God's promises. Sometimes you will be the last person out of the church building and you will look at the cross and think about Jesus. You will think about His promises to never leave us alone, to never leave us abandoned. You will think about the power of love that is stronger than death. You will think about the Word of God that cannot be silenced. You will think about the power that is hidden in weakness, the weakness of suffering, cross and grave. You will think about that empty tomb.

My dear friend, you will be a wonderful pastor. God will use all of your strengths and all of your weaknesses. God is holding you. I am praying for you. I can't wait to hear all about it.

Your friend in Christ,
Lisa

My grandmother's faith and the bread of life

The following is the sermon I gave Aug. 19, 2012, at Central Lutheran. It's the story of my grandmother's life and faith, combined with the text for that day, John 6:51-58, where Jesus says that he is the true bread from heaven. Those who abide in him, eat and drink of him, will have eternal life.

Grandma and I in 2006, with a prayer shawl from Central Lutheran

Before my sabbatical earlier this year, I knew very little about the life and faith story of my paternal grandmother, Janina Smith. I knew she was a survivor of a Soviet work camp during World War II and that she was separated from most of her family at a very young age. I knew she was a kind and loving grandmother who baked cookies, showed up at our concerts and sporting events and encouraged us to follow the path in life that would make us truly happy. I never asked her about her life or faith because my parents told me not to bother her. She died five years ago. On sabbatical, I finally viewed a video of my grandmother talking about her life and her faith. I also did an extensive interview with my aunt Barb, her daughter. Here's what I learned.

She was born in Jasna, Poland, which is now in the Ukraine, in 1926, the youngest of six children, five girls and one boy. In September of 1939, Nazi Germany invaded Poland from the West and the Soviet army invaded from the East. During the years of 1939-1941, as many as 1 million Polish people were either killed or deported to work camps in Siberia. In 1940, my grandmother and her family were taken. She was 14 years old.

Her family lived on a small farm. On the night the soldiers came, only her father, three sisters and one brother were home. Her mother was staying with her older sister, husband and family and helping look after the little ones. It was winter. Her father work them up one morning saying, “Children, wake up, there are soldiers coming.” A dog was barking. They watched the soldiers coming closer. They knocked and came in without waiting for an invitation. They searched her father and brother for guns, found nothing and ordered them to start packing. A soldier stood over them with a gun. They packed – bedding, clothes, food. The rest was left behind. My grandma remembers crying and being so confused what was happening. Then the bobsleds started coming and took them to the train depot, where they were loaded into boxcars, four families to a car.

It was a plain wooden boxcar, with some wooden bunks for sleeping. The train was headed for the next town, Lwow, where my grandma's older sister lived. One of their neighbors had escaped, Grandma doesn't know how, and was able to go to her sister's house, tell them what happened and tell them to meet up at the train station.

When they stopped at Lwow, my grandma's mother, older sister and her family met them there. They saw them through cracks in the windows. They screamed for each other. Soldiers opened the door. The ones outside of the train begged to join their family. The soldiers said no, and slammed the door. My grandmother said, “It was a terrible thing. There was not a thing we could do. It was a terrible day.” She never saw her mother again.

When the train crossed the Polish/Soviet border, everyone cried. People were praying and singing Polish religious songs. But the train kept going. They were cold. There was no privacy, though some Polish ladies had set up a curtained area in one of the boxcars for a bathroom. They were served a thin soup that smelled like fish and shared what little food they had brought along. Babies would cry. Some people died on the train. The soldiers would open the boxcar and haul out the bodies. They asked if there would be a funeral and the soldiers said, no, they would just put them all in one big hole. “It was very scary,” my grandma said. They were on that train for over a month. Then they arrived in Siberia.

They were assigned a small house, and several families shared it. My grandma said the only thing they could see was timber, timber and sky. Everyone went to work, except my grandmother, who was deemed too young, and another sister, Agnescia, who was sick with a kidney infection. Even so, it fell to Agnescia and my grandmother to do the cooking. They got one piece of bread about six inches long that was supposed to last for the whole week. They got a little bit of rice, barley and a few potatoes. Agnescia made a thin soup. It wasn't enough.

Grandma said: “It was pretty rough. We didn't know how long it was going to be or how many of us were going to survive. But we all Polish people stuck together and tried to help one another. And prayed that someday will come some kind of relief. Somebody will ask for us.”

After work, they went to meetings. Attendance was mandatory and the agenda was propaganda. The Soviets told them how lucky they were and how good they had it at the camp. They told them there was no God, that Stalin was a god. They told them that whenever they saw hair grow on their palms, that's the day they would see Poland again. Grandma said they just looked at each other and hoped it wasn't true.

Grandma got by one year without working, but the next year she was deemed old enough. She worked from sunup to sundown, picking up brush and burning it and collecting sap from trees. They got a lot of cheap labor out of us, she said. Her family was there for more than two years. At some point along the way, her sister Agnescia died. She doesn't go into detail about it.

Finally, relief came. Grandma credits Winston Churchill and FDR for their liberation. They were sent somewhere in Asia first, Grandma doesn't say where, then the family was sent to Iran, where the Red Cross provided for them. Unfortunately, Grandma wasn't strong enough to go on to Iran right away; she was held back because she was too sick. She could barely move her legs; she was skin and bones. She was starving to death. When she was finally nursed back to health, she was sent to Iran, but her family was gone. The Red Cross sent people wherever there was room – Argentina, Brazil and Africa. Her sisters Marie and Honia and their father were sent to Kenya. Her brother volunteered for the British Army and later died in the D-Day invasion. One of my cousins found his grave in Loreto, Italy. My grandma's father didn't want to stay in Africa and eventually set out for Poland, where his wife and oldest daughter still lived. He got as far as London, where he died of pneumonia. No one in my family knows where he is buried.

Meanwhile, my grandmother was alone in Iran, though there were other Polish refugees there. She signed up to work as a waitress in a US Army mess hall for officers. There she met a young technical sergeant from Iowa there who was in charge of the warehouse of food and supplies. They fell in love and had to cross the border into Iraq to get married because that was the nearest US embassy. The date was June 15, 1946. When they both finally got back to Iowa (traveling separately), they started their new life together in rural Northeast Iowa. They farmed 240 acres and had four children. I am the eldest daughter of their eldest son, and I was raised on that same 240 acres and in the same house. My grandmother would return to Poland four times as an adult, but she didn't make it while her mother was still alive. Those were the days of the Cold War and travel to Poland was forbidden. My grandma wrote letters to her mother and her eldest sister in Poland, sending money and gifts. They later found out the money never made it. My grandmother did reunite with the three sisters who survived the war, but they all preceded her in death. She also remained close with her nieces and nephews, who live in Toronto, Chicago and Australia. Someday, I hope to visit them where they live.

My grandparents were very much in love. When my grandmother was dying of pancreatic cancer in 2007, she took my grandfather by the shoulders and said, “make sure you eat good and don't go down those basement steps.” She died in 2007; my grandfather followed in 2008, still carrying a picture of her in his wallet and telling everyone that she was the most beautiful girl and the most wonderful wife.

These past few weeks we've been focusing on the bread of life text from John 6. We've heard about Jesus feeding the 5,000 and about the throngs of people who follow him, looking for bread but missing the sign that Jesus himself is God incarnate and that Jesus will feed them with his own self. This week, Jesus makes the shocking statement that moves us from bread and fish to flesh and blood. He's not just a magician who multiplies, but he is the one who feeds us by getting into us in a real and tangible way.

John 6:56 may be the heart of the whole thing: “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.” John uses the word “abide” 40 times in his gospel, though sometimes it's translated “remain” or “stay.” The body and blood of Jesus reminds us in a tangible way that Jesus abides in us. Maybe the harder thing to realize is that we also abide in God. Abiding goes both ways and it lasts forever. You belong to God and you abide in God. That is the good news.

You can never really know another person's faith. You can only hear their stories and see the fruit that is their life's work. I never asked my grandma about her faith; I sure wish I had. But my aunt Barb did and she said that my grandmother was never bitter. Raised, Catholic, Grandma kept the picture of the Virgin Mary up in her bedroom and a rosary on her dresser, even though she and Grandpa attended the Methodist church near their home. Though they attended for years, it wasn't until my grandmother was sick that my grandfather finally decided to get baptized. He was 87 years old. Grandma said that her faith helped her survive the ordeal in Siberia. The one thing the Soviets couldn't take from them was their faith. My grandmother forgave the soldiers and chose not to be angry with God. She said that God didn't take them to Siberia. I would add: God was abiding with her from Siberia to Iran to Iowa.

Someone once said that Christianity is the most incarnational religion. We have a God who came down to earth and was incarnate, born, of woman. He lived, breathed, ate, laughed, cried, suffered and died. Now we eat of this bread and drink of this cup, as a way of getting Jesus inside of us. Then we go out, and serve as as Jesus' hands and feet in this world. As my Grandma learned, when God is in you this deeply and you are in God, there is no one and no thing that can pull you away from the safe place where you truly abide. Amen.

Grandma's story: Coming August 19

I'm not a fan of shameless self-promotion, but since many of you have asked, I'm letting you know that I'll be telling my grandmother's faith story as part of the sermon on Sunday, Aug. 19, at Central Lutheran. The service starts at 9:30 AM. I'll also be speaking about the texts of the day, from Proverbs, Ephesians and John 6.

Victory Bible Camp, Day 5

We're gathered.

Casta, Karen and our blueberry haul.

Today's theme at Bible camp was unity in Christ. That's unity, not uniformity. Since I was the only pastor left standing (read: here) I did the message at morning worship. I told two true stories about times when people helped me who were "unlikely suspects." Then I told the story of the Good Samaritan. We talked about how God made us different and that's a good thing. We all have different gifts, which is something to celebrate instead of fear.

I was tired this morning, since I was up late last night with some drama in the middle school girls cabin. A couple of girls were fighting and pulled others into it. When two of the counselors came over to find me (it was almost 11 pm), I walked back with them into a cabin FILLED with girls in a circle. I said a few words, prayed and dismissed everyone except the original two. We talked, they apologized, we all prayed and then went to bed (or at least I did). Whew. I thought about when I was in middle school. Everything was SO IMPORTANT and conflicts were TRAGIC. Whew.

This morning, another tragedy, but of the real kind. I got a Facebook message this morning from a member of Central to tell me this news: a woman in our congregation lost two sisters in a canoe accident in Eagle River yesterday. The husband of one of the sisters survived. I can't imagine the shock and sorrow. Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. I talked to her today and there are no words.

I also spent time on the phone today following up with one of the parents from the bullying situation yesterday.

Today was the last full day at camp. The weather was gorgeous, again! Campers spent their free time down at the waterfront on the boats and others bounced around in the gym on inflatables. I took another hike today on the ridge line above camp. Karen, Casta and I picked enough blueberries to fill Karen's hat; she promised to make jam enough to share.

Donovan in a skit at campfire tonight.

We had our last campfire this evening. Along with the usual songs and silliness, we also did a serious skit called "The Body Shop." It's the one where a person complains about not being happy with their body so they go to a "body shop" to try on a new one. Others are standing in various poses (athletic, musical, academic) and the person goes from one to another, "trying" them on. In the end, she decides her own one is the best. It's a good lesson, for all of us really, when we get distracted and wished we had someone else's gift, talent or ability.

Counselor Kevin and his duct tape shoes.

Now I'm sitting in Spruce Lodge, gathering place of the middle schoolers, for a talent show. Calvin just did a Justin Bieber impression and we're in the middle of a skit about goats that I don't understand. It's obvious the kids are having a blast, which is probably about all that matters.

Molly and Hanna Irish dancing at the talent show.