Author: Rebecca

Repenting, rejoicing, and giving are the themes for this Sunday. Zephaniah did speak words of comfort, but the people were in exile, refugees of an Old Testament kind. He said peace and modest prosperity would return but only after the proud and arrogant who flaunted their accomplishments and self-sufficiency against God were removed. The words of rejoicing were spoken to the poor. 

And Paul wrote his letter to the Philippians from prison, encouraging them to rejoice and to be generous to all.  Joy and generosity. Opening our hearts and lives to the peace of God which passes all understanding leaves no room for pettiness about possessions, control, and status which are the basis for most of our worries and tensions. 

And then we get John the Baptist blasting away out there in the stubble-covered desert, surrounded by tinder-dry brushwood and rocks calling the people a brood of vipers, where if a spark started a desert fire, the snakes would slither out of their crannies and hiding spots and flee in fear of the flames. 

The Jews thought of themselves as safe from judgment because of their status as the God’s chosen.  But John said no!  We hear strong images:  fire chasing the snakes from their hiding holes; axes chopping down trees; and a flat, wooden, shovel-like tool tossing grain and grain dust into the air, sifting and separating the useless from the worthy.  Once again, we reminded that the love and the judgment of God go together.  God doesn’t allow us to be worthless but will instead purify us. For love’s sake God is relentlessly stern with everything in us that is self-centered. 

Rejoicing might be easier if John the Baptist’s words were not so very concrete.  Most of us, after all, have a lot of shirts, and money in the bank to buy more. Years ago, I preached on this text in another congregation.  I asked the people what would happen if those of us who had two cars rushed out to give one of them to family who needed one. I asked, “What would happen if those who have a second home were motivated by the Baptist’s words to find a homeless family who might be settled there?  Let your imaginations go wild…” I challenged.  “What would it be like to give away the clothes from our closets, the food in our cupboards and our freezers?  Would we find a peaceful simplicity and a full and true rejoicing?  According to John the Baptist, then we would be ready for the day of the Lord.”

I can’t tell you how stunned I was when the next week when a woman shared with me, privately, what she and her husband had done.  They owned a vacantvrental house in a small Minnesota town.  A friend of her sister’s had lost her job and was living in a shelter in Minneapolis.  So, that week they moved her into their vacant house for the winter. And there was a different kind of joy that season.  It was a tempered joy—because the homeless woman’s challenges continued and the solutions were not easy—but there was joy. 

I read a story in the Christian Century Magazine by Austin Crenshaw Shelley. He wrote about growing up with his grandparents in a 500 square foot home in South Carolina. His grandpa reviewed all expenditures, except the grocery shopping which was entirely up to his grandma. Though they never went hungry, there was good reason to be frugal.

Every Saturday Austin went with his grandma into town and pushed their cart up and down the aisles while she carefully selected food in duplicate—two boxes of cereal, two jars of peanut butter, two bags of flour—until as he said, “our cart looked like an abstract rendering of Noah’s ark with its produce and nonperishable food items arranged two by two.”

Afterwards they drove straight to the town’s food bank, where his grandmother would donate exactly half of everything she’d just purchased. She bought his silence each week with a small candy bar, which was not immune to her rule: one chocolate treat for him, one for the food bank.

He remembered on one of these grocery trips, when he was eight or nine years old, he asked for a name-brand cereal he’d seen advertised. “We can’t afford that one,” she replied without looking up from her list. “We can if we don’t buy two of them,” he grumbled. Grandma met his eyes, put her list down so she could place her  hands firmly on his shoulders. She measured her words carefully: “If we can’t afford two, we can’t afford one.”

Was their weekly grocery run a direct response to John the Baptist’s words? “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none, whoever has food must do likewise.” Austin reflects: “Given my grandmother’s tendency to interpret scripture more literally than I, the odds are favorable that John’s exhortations laid an unavoidable claim on her heart—a claim that required her obedience through concrete action.”

It’s all too easy to rationalize the claim of the gospel on our lives. Like John the Baptist’s hearers who relied on God’s covenant with Abraham, we lean heavily on Jesus’ promises of forgiveness and grace, often ignoring our responsibility to love our neighbors. “What shall we do?” ask the crowds, tax collectors, and soldiers in this passage.  We try to wiggle our way out of those demands for ethical living by claiming a figurative reading of the text. Or we abstract the prophet’s words from the reality of our lives and the lives of others. We talk a good game. But most of us, myself included, buy the single box of the more expensive cereal without a thought.

The question at the heart of this text is not “What shall we believe?” It’s– “What shall we do?”  John’s response is clear. Repentance has to do with ethics, with action, with the Holy Spirit’s compelling us to be God’s hands and feet in the world—with attention to the needs of others rather than preoccupation with our own salvation.

Austin Crenshaw Shelly concludes his article with these words:  By the world’s measure, my understanding of John’s preaching is more nuanced than my grandmother’s. But no advanced degree in theology will ever come close to her faith. “What shall we do?” the people ask the prophet. Sometimes we like to pretend the answer is complicated. Sometimes it really is. But buying two bags of flour is a good start.

I think he’s right.  God asks us to share what we have been given, not to share more than we have been given. It is the same with ministry. God asks us to do what we can; God doesn’t expect us to do what we can’t. After all God is the one who does the miracles. This is something I know I need to relearn again and again.
 
I was moved by another story this week about another grandmother told by her granddaughter.  At the time of her grandfather’s death, at 90 years of age, her grandparents had been married for over 60 years. Grandma felt the loss deeply and retreated from the world, entering into a deep time of mourning for nearly five years. 
 
One day the granddaughter visited, expecting to find Grandma in her usual withdrawn state. Instead, she found her sitting in her wheelchair beaming. When the granddaughter didn’t comment quickly enough about the obvious change, Grandma asked her “Don’t you want to know why I’m so happy? Aren’t you even curious?”

She explained her new understanding: “Last night figured out why I’ve been left to live without my husband. Your grandfather knew that the secret of life is love, and he lived it every day. I have known about unconditional love, but I haven’t fully lived it. … All this time I thought I was being punished for something, but last night I realized that I have a chance to turn my life into love, too.”  Although age inevitably continued on its course, her life was renewed. She became a force for reconciliation and good relationships in her family. In the last days of her life, the granddaughter visited her grandma in the hospital often. As she walked toward her room one day, the nurse on duty looked into her eyes and said, “Your grandmother is a very special lady, you know…she’s a light.” Yes, love and joy lit up her life and she became a light for others until the end.
 
Everything we have is a gift from God, even the gift of life. And these gifts have been given to us to use and then to give away. That’s how we rejoice. John says that those who have two coats or more food than they need should give to those who have none. When that grandma did not give away her life to others in love, when she was focused only on herself, she was not happy, she had no reason to live. But as soon as she came to the realization of another way, things changed. 
 

Rejoice in the great goodness of our God, who uses peace and joy and love to win us. Let’s live in the light of joy. ‘Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.

Once there was a man who joined a Cistercian monastery and began his 3-year path to becoming a monk. When he arrived, the monk in charge of novices gave him a tour. He showed him the gardens, the barn, the kitchens—all the places where daily work took place. He showed him the refectory where meals were eaten, the chapel of course, and the rooms where each brother lived. The rooms were spare, just a bed, a chair, and a desk with a bible and the rule of the order on it. At the end of the orientation tour the monk reminded the novice about the Cistercian order’s vow of silence.

A regular pattern of work and prayer continued for a year at which point the novice met with the Abbot for his first review. He was allowed to speak two words. He said, “bed hard!”  The abbot raised his eyebrows. The next year went by and he came in for his review. At the end of the meeting his two words were, “food bad.”  Well, the abbot didn’t look very pleased by that comment either. The next year went by and at his review the novice said, “I quit.”  “I’m not surprised,” the abbot said, “all you’ve done since you arrived is complain!”

Silence is a rare thing, especially here in Mazatlan. Zechariah found himself silent for nine-months, while Elizabeth, his wife, was pregnant with their one and only son, John the Baptist. What do you suppose Zechariah discovered in the quiet? What if we could get inside his story. How would he tell it? He might start by saying:

It has been hundreds of years since Israel has heard from a prophet. The nation is a mess with its series of weak and corrupt kings, dominated by one Empire after another, the Assyrians, the Babylonians, the Greeks and finally the ruthless Romans. We have been hoping for a deliverer – a Messiah – who will set us free from our oppressors and be a King like David, establishing a kingdom of righteousness and justice.  

We know the words of Isaiah, unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given… and the government will be upon his shoulders and his kingdom will never end. We hold to the covenant God made with Abraham – I will bless you and make you a blessing… and through your seed, all the world will be blessed.

But there’s been a lot of waiting and hoping and not much change though– except more injustice and oppression – which seems to know no bounds.

He might ask:

Do you like your government?  Do you ever wish things could be better? In Israel, we have had enough… we want a good government!  But I’m an old man. If I’m honest, I doubted that I would see it in my lifetime, that the prophecies of our prophets would ever be fulfilled?  I’m an old Jewish priest. All my life I’ve known only foreign rule. Oppression.  The Romans – I despise them.

I wasn’t always old. I’ve just slowly gotten older and older and now here I am. I’m old. Maybe even ancient. My wife is named Elizabeth. She, is not old. Oh no! Elizabeth is most definitely not old. She is, let me get this just right – I learned this in marriage class…“well along in years.” That means she getting better and better as the years go by.

All my life I’ve been waiting and praying for three things: first to serve in the temple as Priest, next– to be a father, and finally– to see the Messiah. 

As I said, I am a priest. My father I was a priest. Let me tell you about that. Serving at the Temple in Jerusalem is the highest honor a priest can have. Eash priest serves at the temple for one week each year. I am a member of one of 24 divisions in the priesthood, one of approximately 18,000 priests. Each priest only officiates at the sacrifice once in his lifetime. And we are selected by lottery. In other words, you could be a priest all your life and never be called to serve in the Temple.

Finally, my name was called! My first prayer was answered. So, there I was in the temple – it’s our most holy place in all the world. I was feeling very excited, hoping I wouldn’t make a mistake. My job was to burn incense – symbolizing the prayers of God’s people rising toward heaven.

The altar of incense is made of acacia wood with a veneer of gold. Acacia is a beautiful hardwood that is almost indestructible. The altar is thirty-six inches high and eighteen inches square. It serves as a place for the daily burning of incense, both morning and evening. This twice daily exercise consists of a priest taking burning coals from the bronze altar in the temple court, to the altar of incense, and placing the coals upon the incense. The incense is a mixture of five spices. When the hot coals hit the incense a burst of smoke and smells float up to heaven.

Well, that day, my day, in that moment, as I placed the coals on the incense – symbolizing prayer – I got a message. You could say an angel appeared and said… “your prayer has been heard.”  When I saw him, I was startled, afraid. It’s not every day that you get a message from God. The message was: “Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son.

If I’m honest, I’d given up on that after all the years. I thought it was too late.  The message  continued. His name would be John. Of course he would be a joy and a delight for us, but the angel said that many would rejoice because of his birth, and he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He will be filled with the Holy Spirit even before he is born. He will bring many people to God. And he will go before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah.

Of course I recognized his words … from Isaiah – and Malachi. I was startled and shaken… and without thinking I blurted out…, “How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.”

I thought it was a fair question. I was not expecting all that when I woke up that morning – and besides – I was already excited to serve in the Temple…. So, I over-reacted! That did not go well at all!  The angel looked at me with astonishment,

“I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news. And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their appointed time.”

Then I realized – this is no low-level angel – this is Gabriel!  Before I had time to apologize… Boom. Immediately, I lost my speech. Talk about bad timing. You see, when the priest comes out of the temple – after burning incense- he gives a blessing to the people…But I couldn’t speak…all I could do was use sign language. The people gathered at the temple that day knew something unusual had occurred.

I’m sure they were wondering what took so long? What happened? And of course, I couldn’t say a word. Like I said before If you want to talk when an angel is around – well, just don’t.  Keep your mouth shut! So, I just made motions with my hands… I think I looked shaken and I may have staggered a little. People seemed to figure it out… “he’s seen a vision” … I think something happened in there!”

I just wanted to go home and be with Elizabeth. But I couldn’t even talk to her! Two prayers answered in one day!  …and after all these years of waiting… and waiting. Those words are still ringing in my ears – “your prayer has been heard.” Except… I lost my tongue. Nothing was coming out. Not a sound. I discovered something about angels – they like to have the last word! 

Maybe it was God’s way of saying – stop talking and just watch… I’ll take it from here. And then – not long after this temple “experience” – Elizabeth announces that she’s pregnant.

I was filled with anticipation.  I had time to think. And read. I remembered our patriarch, Abraham, and his wife, Sarah. They also had no children. They also were old. They also had a visit from an angel to talk about a baby. Their baby – baby Isaac – was a fulfillment of the covenant God made to Abraham.

Is our baby going to have significance on the scale of Isaac? Is this the beginning of the new covenant? The one Jeremiah prophesied about 500 years ago? The implications are amazing and overwhelming.

Six months into the pregnancy another piece of the puzzle appears. Elizabeth’s cousin, Mary, arrives for a visit. You won’t believe this but it turns out she also had a visit from the same angel – Gabriel.  But that’s another story—a long story.

Sure enough, Elizabeth gave birth to our son. Our neighbors and relatives came and shared our joy. On the eighth day we came to circumcise our baby. Everyone thought we were going to name him after me – Zechariah, that’s the Jewish way. But, Elizabeth spoke up and said, “No! He is to be called John.”  People questioned her and asked me what I would like to name the child. I asked for a writing tablet, and to everyone’s astonishment wrote, “His name is John.”

I wanted no part of a run in with Gabriel again. My mouth was opened and my tongue set free, and I began to speak. Everybody was filled with awe, and throughout the hill country people were talking about all these things, wondering, “What is this child going to become?”

You know, I’d had a long time to prepare my words. Maybe all expectant parents should be struck silent for 9 months, long enough to realize the child is not just an extension of its parents but has its own God-given life and role and dreams to fulfil. Until then I thought a child would make me proud, give Elizabeth the honor she deserved. But God has so much more in mind for my son, I suppose for every child. It’s like Jeremiah said about God, “For surely I know the plans I have for you, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.”  I was thrilled to finally sing the song I had been composing over my silent months, to praise God’s actions in the past, and to look forward to the good things God has planned for us.

Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel,
who has come to his people and set them free.
The Lord has raised up for us a mighty Savior,
born of the house of his servant David.
Through the holy prophets God promised of old to
save us from our enemies,
from the hands of all who hate us,
to show mercy to our forbears,
and to remember his holy covenant.
This was the oath God swore to our father Abraham:
to set us free from the hands of our enemies,
free to worship him without fear,
holy and righteous before him, all the days of our life.
In the tender compassion of our God
the dawn from on high shall break up on us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death,
and to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Amen.

Pastor Rebecca Ellenson; NBC Mazatlan

Symbols and art have played an important role in shaping the faith of believers, especially before literacy was widespread. They helped a priest to educate, they inspired the mind to things difficult to understand.

Christ was often portrayed as Almighty Lord of All Creation, often in a particular pose called pantocrator—Greek for all powerful. The risen Christ is depicted, crowned, regally overlooking all things, one hand raised in blessing, the other holding the Word of God, the Book of Life.

This mosaic dates back to the late 1200’s and is visible on the upper walls of the Hagia Sofia in Istanbul.

Similar paintings are found throughout the Christian world.  This one is in Barcelona.

Today is Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday in the church year. Next week is the first Sunday in Advent, the season leading up to Christmas. Our texts today are filled with images and symbols of God as ruler over all earth.  From Psalm 93 “The Lord is king, robed in majesty, robed and girded with strength.”  From Revelation 1: Grace and peace to you from the one who is and who was and who is to come, from Jesus Christ, the ruler of the kings of the earth, to him who loves us and freed us from our sins and made us to be a kingdom, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. I am the Alpha and the Omega, says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty—there’s that word, pantokrator.

This painting hangs in our dining room at home.

When I was about 10 years old, my Dad bought it from the college where he worked. He collaborated with the head of the art department to design the scene. Dad traveled to church youth gatherings and college fairs, recruiting students for Concordia College, a Lutheran liberal arts college in Moorhead, MN. It’s three panels stood, like a booth, behind his recruiting table:  all the pursuits of study and life under the dominion of Christ the King, with the words of Colossians 1: 17 across the top: All things hold together in him. The symbol of the trinity behind the figure of Christ in classic pose, the book of life in one hand and the orb of the world in his upheld right hand.

What I like about this painting is that it is full of real life—sports, children, art, work. It’s relatable all things hold together; Christ is in the midst of real life. I’m sure I have been shaped by looking at it, day after day from the dining room table. Christ holds the world and all things. Christ, crown on his head, is king.

Christ the King Sunday is a very new addition to the liturgical calendar. It was instituted by Pope Pius 11th in 1925 as a countercultural observance. He saw a world becoming ever more dominated by totalitarian governments and exploiting economies and knew that Christians, all types of Christians, needed a reminder of where our allegiance and trust must be. Thus, Christ the King Sunday.  This is not a Sunday celebrating that Jesus is the King of our hearts or our souls or our spirits. This is a Sunday celebrating that the Crucified and Risen Christ is the King of the Cosmos, of all things.

The early followers of Jesus greeted one another by saying Jesus is Lord. That may sound super spiritual to us, but in their day that greeting was radical and dangerous. Citizens of the Roman empire said “Caesar is Lord,” the way citizens of the Third Reich said, “Heil Hitler.” But Christians insisted, that “Jesus is Lord. Hail Jesus.” That is what got them burned at the stake and fed to lions. They were martyred because they refused to bow down to the political system.

When we say that Jesus is Lord or that Christ is King or that Jesus Christ reigns or we talk about the Kingdom of God, we are talking about something real, tangible, everyday, actual. Jesus is Lord and money is not. Jesus is Lord and political parties are not. Jesus is Lord and fame is not. Jesus is Lord and The United States, or Mexico, or Canada is not. Jesus is Lord and violence is not. Jesus is Lord and religion is not. Jesus is Lord and as followers of Jesus we give our allegiance to him, place our trust and faith in him. Christ Jesus reigns as lord and king over all.

Ok, back to the images of Christ as King. In our gospel reading today, Jesus hangs between heaven and earth, between the power of God and the powers that be. “Are you the King of the Jews?” Pilate asks.  “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” he puts back to Pilate. Everything in the conversation—indeed, everything in the Gospel—has been pointing toward verse 36. “My kingdom is not from this world,” says Jesus. If it were, his followers would take the usual steps by the usual means to rescue their king. This all leads up to his hanging literally, on the cross, with the sign “King of the Jews” over his head.

Those pieces of art I showed you before don’t really capture the whole truth about Christ.  Surrealist painter Salvador Dalí, painted a work called Christ of Saint John of the Cross. On the bottom of his sketches in preparation for the painting Dali wrote about a dream he had experienced, what he called a “cosmic dream,” in which he saw an image in color that he said represented the nucleus of the atom which took on a metaphysical sense. “I considered in ‘the very unity of the universe’ the Christ!” As he was preparing to paint his dream someone showed him a sketch by the 16^th century Spanish mystic, St. John of the Cross who is remembered for his reflections on the dark night of the soul.

The composition of Dail’s work was based on the sketch. He wrote:  I worked out geometrically a triangle and a circle, which aesthetically summarized all my previous experiments, and I inscribed my Christ in this triangle.

Here it is.

I love the sharp darkness cast by Christ’s outstretched arm. Christ crucified contemplates an abyss skeined over with clouds before (or maybe after) a storm. There is something antigravitational about the perspective, how Christ hangs from the cross and the cross hangs in the sky so very un-wood-beam-like.

For me, this painting conveys something of the sacrificial regency of Christ, the King who came not to be served but to serve, the one who “did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped” (Philippians 2:6).

Christ’s power and glory comes by way of the cross. The polarities of his kingship are reversed. And we, the people drawn to him by his lifting up on the cross, have become a kingdom, “priests serving his God and Father,” says Revelation, whose vision of power is reversed as well. The cross of Christ calls power into question but also serves as the basis for a different sort of power. The genius of the gospel hangs together on the cross: the cross with its power that is not power, the cross that takes shape as the pattern of our lives, the foundation of Christian thought that is always also a kind of anti-foundation, the disturber of worlds.

In our gospel today, John 18, Jesus, the king who is crucified, calls into question the assumptions of power. We’re left asking: Who stands before whom? Who interrogates whom? Who is the king? Not the one who commands iron legions but the one who willingly lays down his life for the sheep. “Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice,” says Jesus, speaking of his kingship and more. But brutality and blood have crumpled Pilate’s sense of truth down into irony. “What is truth?” he asks.

For Christians, this means that any exercise of power that does not trace back to the self-sacrificial love of the cross is illegitimate, having lost its proper grounding in the cruciform mandate of God. I say that at the risk of sounding too academic. But that’s really the heart of the Christian faith, isn’t it?  It’s how we live day to day, how we want and how we purpose, how we steward influence, money, position, and all the rest toward God’s ends on behalf of the least of these. The cross shapes the power we use to work with and under and no longer over, at least not over in the same way.

Jesus’ cruciform kingdom is the basis for a different sort of power. Jesus has trampled down Death by death, and now it’s in that power of his name that the church preaches and heals and teaches and draws together the broken.

This is not a metaphor. This is real power of a different order that rescues us from the bondage of sin, from the fear of death, from slavery to our own little selves. All power resolves into Jesus, is follows his pattern: resurrection. “To him be glory and dominion, forever and ever.”

It is hard to hold onto that vision or version of power. It’s so easy to be pulled into the crowd, crowing for Barabbas in whatever new form that base but reliable power might take in our time, whetted sharp and holstered up. Whenever the church, throughout the world, throughout time, has leaned on Barabbas-power it has stumbled. Whenever the church plays the long game of faithful dependence on the Lamb that was slain, it ultimately wins. Parades of nuclear-tipped military power snaking through concrete capitals impress, but the cross in its turnabout mystery wins in the end.

Christ, crucified, is the one in whom all things hold together, the one who we need to know if we’re going to know anything else. Amen.

New Blue Church; Pastor Rebecca Ellenson

My cousin Rick was out in their horse barn this summer with his 6-year-old grandson, Jackson. In one of the cracks, between the thick rubber mats that cover the floor, there was a golf ball sized dung beetle. They are ugly–with big pinchers. Jackson looked up at his grandpa and said, “Should I squash it?” 

Wisely, Rick paused and asked him, “Do you want to?”

Jackson thought about it and, shaking his head, said, “No, it might be the last one!” continuing with another warning— “And that goes for grasshoppers too grandpa.” 

There’s some hope to be heard in that little voice. Even under the specter of extinction, we can hear the call to act for life, we can protect even the ugliest of creatures.

Our texts today are both examples of a type of literature focused on the end times. Apocalyptic writings arose during the few centuries just before until just after Jesus’ life. Daniel, the Book of Revelation, and this 13^th chapter of Mark’s gospel are classic examples, featuring graphic symbols, images, angels and fantastic beings. Often written under a pseudonym or attributed to a famous person, apocalyptic texts describe the end of the world, the last times, and offer hope beyond any present doom. The writings speak during times of oppression or persecution. Daniel was written in the 2^nd century BC, when the Greek culture and rule threatened Jewish practices. Mark’s gospel was written during the 60s AD, when internal division weakened the people of Israel and revolution against the domination of Rome threatened to bring the power of the state down on them.  Both texts offer an alternate vision for difficult times.

Every time this sort of text appears in the schedule of readings it seems timely. There’s never a shortage of fear or doomsday thinking in this world–Today is no exception. With the election of Donald Trump as president, half of the United States and much of the world is wondering if we’re tipping off into a political apocalypse. If the election had turned out the other way, of course, the other side would be doing the doom-scrolling.

Wars, rumors of wars, nations rising against nation, kingdom against kingdom, earthquakes and famines. Each generation around the globe asks, with Peter, James, John and Andrew, what will the sign be? 

Irish poet, William Butler Yeats, wrote his famous poem, The Second Coming at a time when doom was prevalent. It was 1919 just after WWI at the beginning of the Irish War of Independence, just after the Bolshevik Revolution. He wrote:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

The poem’s powerful images capture more than just political unrest and violence. It exudes the anxious concerns of the social ills of that time: the rupture of societal structures; the loss of collective religious faith, and with it, the collective sense of purpose; the feeling that the old rules no longer apply and there’s nothing to replace them—all of those factors have just been building for a hundred years now.

Some of the dreadful things Yeats wrote about came about actually. Looking back now, we know that the twentieth-century history did turn more horrific after 1919, as the poem forebode. The narrator suggests a “second coming” is about to occur, but rather than earthly peace, it will bring terror.

As for the slouching beast in the poem, it wasn’t just a particular political regime, or even fascism itself, but the broader historical forces, the technological, the ideological, and the political. Here we are, a century later and the slouching beast can be the threat of nuclear war, genocide, climate disaster, famine and new threats that we can’t even understand—like Artificial Intelligence. There is no shortage of cause for doom. Millions of people today aren’t just wondering about an apocalypse, they are living and dying in one, in the Middle East, Ukraine, and Sudan. Entire countries look like places of unanswered prayers.  Doom scrolling is certainly an understandable reaction.

It’s tempting to copy Woody Allen’s mindset who said, “More than any other time in history, humankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to utter despair and hopelessness. The other path to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly!”

There are other options, though. Mark Twain once said, “My life has been filled with tragedies, many of which never happened .”

H.G. Wells suggested that the opposite of love isn’t hate, but despair. The perennial question is how do we move beyond despair and doom to a place of hope, kindness and action?

Jesus gives two pieces of advice for times like these—for all times, in fact.  First, he says “don’t be afraid.” Don’t be frightened or alarmed, don’t be worried or anxious. I especially like the translation of the parallel passage in Luke 21:9 in the New American Standard Version, “don’t be terrified.” Given the things that Jesus predicts — famine, war, earthquakes, imprisonment, torture, and more, this feels like wildly counterintuitive advice. It also feels like what some of us may need to hear: don’t be afraid. Instead, trust the mysterious providence of a loving God. Pray for Jesus’s promise of the “peace that the world cannot give.”

Let’s be careful here—hope is not denial. It’s not ignoring the problems in front of us. I’m not suggesting a kind of Pollyanna approach or a pie-in-the-sky-when you-die focus, looking away from very real challenges in this life.

Jesus’ second bit of advice is repeated at least eight different times in Mark 13, Jesus tells us, “don’t be deceived.” Watch out. Be on your guard. Take heed. Be alert. Keep watch. In other words, he calls us to vigilance and discernment, especially in light of all the many reckless lies and false promises that characterize times when people fear the ends of the age. Jesus says, don’t be duped, deceived, or distracted. Live in reality. Keep things in perspective.

There is work to be done. Always. We follow the risen Lord- who engaged with others in the world, who confronted oppression when he saw it, drew in the outcast, engaged people in healthy relationships and meaningful community.

The record producer Quincy Jones just a week ago. Many of the obituaries quoted him as saying, “Every day you have to make a choice between love and fear. As much as you can, choose love.”  We can live beyond doom—we can live into love, hope and action.

Let us pray: Gracious God, when things fall apart, remind us that you are the center that does hold. That you came in a rocking cradle, you continue to come, to lead us to choose love instead of fear. Amen.

Ruth 3: 1-5, 4: 13-17; 1 Kings 17: 8-16 and Mark 12: 38-44;

Nov 10, 2024; Pastor Rebecca Ellenson; New Blue Church, Mazatlan

My grandma was widowed when my dad was just 8 years old. It was during WWII. My grandparents’ general store, the Ellenson IGA, and gone bankrupt in the 30s and they had been rebuilding their lives. Times were hard even before my grandfather died. Before she married, my grandma had been a teacher. She found a job as a teacher again and they moved to a small town and lived in 2 rented rooms. My dad never spoke of the hardship, except when his arthritic feet hurt, hammertoes a result of shoes too-tight throughout his growing years. No, he spoke of the care and love that surrounded him, the mentors and father-figures who stepped into the gap, and of his mother’s strength of character.

Maybe you have a widow’s story in your family. Widows figure prominently in the scriptures, 81 times to be exact. Widows, orphans and strangers stand as a sort of archetype of need. God commands their care, warns consequences for those who fail to care or cause them harm. A portion of every third year’s tithe when to support widows.

The story of Ruth has a relatively happy ending. Boaz was a relative of Elimelech, Naomi’s dead husband, and he fulfilled his duty, married Ruth and provided for them. She produced a son who became the ancestor of David and Jesus. Naomi and Ruth did what they had to do to survive.

The text from 1^st Kings shows us another important widow in Israel’s history. The prophet Elijah had spoken a word of judgement to King Ahab and Jezebel, predicting a drought and famine. Then, at God’s leading, he flees to Zaraphath, what is now Sarafand in Southern Lebanon, a city recently bombed by the Israelis, creating new widows and orphans. In the miraculous story we heard today, Elijah, the widow and her son are saved from starvation.

Jesus referred to this story in Luke’s gospel, chapter 4, right after his first message in the synagogue in Nazareth. He quoted the prophecy, The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. And said, today this scripture is fulfilled. There’s a linkage there, between his reference to the widow of Zarephath and his mission, our mission. Widows, orphans and strangers, symbols or need.

In today’s gospel Jesus points out another widow. Sometimes “The Widow’s Mite” is used as part of Stewardship Sundays, the day when congregations ask people for pledges of giving and set the budget for the coming year. Who hasn’t squirmed when a well-meaning pastor asks: “If a poor widow can give her sacrificial bit for the Lord’s work, how can we — so comfortably wealthy by comparison — not give much, much more?” I’ll admit it; I’ve preached that sermon. And I’ve squirmed, because it feels exploitive to use the text that way. I doubt Jesus had that in mind when he commented on her giving. I wish I knew her name. I hope that she died with dignity.

Died?  Yes.  Died. I suspect that she died, probably mere days after she dropped those two coins into the Temple treasury. Remember what Jesus said about her as she left the Temple that day: “She, out of her poverty, has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

I think that was an accurate statement. If Jesus said the woman gave everything she had, well, she gave everything she had. We can be sure that she was an impoverished widow in first century Palestine, a woman living on the margins of her society, without a safety net. No husband to advocate for her, no pension to draw from, no social status to hide behind. She was vulnerable in every single way that mattered, just two pennies short of the end. 

As Mark presents the timeline, Jesus died about four days after the events in this story. I wonder if the widow died then, too. Mark prefaces the story of the widow with an account of Jesus blasting the religious leaders of his day for their greed, pompousness, and crass exploitation of the poor.  “Beware of the scribes,” Jesus tells his followers.  “They devour widow’s houses and for the sake of appearance and say long prayers.” The Scribes’ practice of their faith, in other words, is phony, and the religious institution they govern is corrupt — not in any way reflective of the God the Psalmist calls a “Father of orphans and protector of widows.”

In the days leading up to the widow’s last gift, Jesus offers one scathing critique after another of the economic and political exploitation he witnesses all around him.  He makes a mockery of Roman pomp and circumstance when he rides into Jerusalem on a donkey’s back.  He cleanses the Temple’s money-mongering with a whip. He refuses to answer the chief priests, scribes, and elders when they demand to know the source of his authority.  He confounds religious leaders on taxes, indicts them with a scathing parable about a vineyard and a murdered son, defeats them on the question of resurrection, and bewilders them with riddles about his Davidic ancestry.

Jesus isn’t pointing to the widow as a model of giving here… Why on earth would he praise a woman for endangering her already endangered life to support an institution he keeps criticizing? Jesus never commends the widow, applauds her self-sacrifice, or invites us to follow in her footsteps. He simply notices her, and tells his disciples to notice her, too.

Wouldn’t you love to hear Jesus’ tone of voice. Was he heartbroken as he tells his disciples to peel their eyes away from the rich folks and glance in her direction instead? Was he outraged? Or was he resigned?  What does it mean to him, mere seconds after he’s described the Temple leaders as devourers of widows’ houses, to witness just such a widow being devoured? 

Then to top it all off: immediately after the widow leaves the Temple, Jesus leaves, too, and as he does, an awed disciple invites Jesus to admire the Temple’s mammoth stones and impressive buildings.  Jesus’ response is quick and cutting: “Not one of these stones will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.”

Ouch!  I wonder if the widow is still on Jesus’ mind as he predicts the destruction of the Temple.  He has just watched a trusting woman give her all to an institution that refuses to protect the poor.  No structure funded by such injustice will stand.Jesus calls out, and we can call out any form of religiosity that manipulates the vulnerable into self-harm and self-destruction? 

Let’s find the good news. The gospel is this: Jesus notices the widow. He sees what everyone else is too busy, too grand, too spiritual, and too self-absorbed to see.  He noticed the widow’s courage.  Imagine what courage it took for her to make her gift alongside the rich with their fistfuls of coins, to allow the last scraps of her security to fall out of her palms, to swallow panic, swallow desperation, swallow the entirely human desire to cling to life no matter what — and face her end with hope.

Jesus noticed her dignity.  She must have had to steel herself when widowhood in her culture rendered her worthless, “expendable”, even in the Temple she loved.  She had to trust — in the face of all the evidence piled up around her — that her tiny gift had value in God’s eyes.

And finally, Jesus noticed her vocation.  Whether she knew it or not, her action in the Temple was prophetic.  She was a prophet because her personally-costly offering amounted to a holy condemnation of injustice and corruption. Without speaking a word, she spoke God’s Word in the ancient tradition of Isaiah, Elijah, Jeremiah, and other Old Testament prophets.

She was also prophetic in the Messianic sense, because her self-sacrifice prefigured Jesus’ own giving.  Perhaps what Jesus noticed was that kinship.  Her story mirrored his.  The widow gave everything she had to serve a world so broken that it killed her.  Days later, Jesus gave everything he had in his unceasing intent to redeem, restore, and renew that same world.

We all know that the biblical world was patriarchal and misogynist, as has been most of human history. Women have not had self-determination, education or freedom. They were chattel, passed from control of fathers to husbands at marriage and passed back to fathers of on to their husbands’ male relatives at widowhood. But, in much of the world it’s still that way. There are 258 million widows worldwide, tens of thousands in Ukraine, 3000 in Gaza.   

How can we not make the connection between Ruth and Naomi, destitute, fleeing from Moab to Bethlehem and today’s widows without resources. How can we not see in them the faces of modern-day war widows, refugees, and victims of famine, making their own difficult way, nearly empty handed, carrying only the hope of safety and new life. 

God cares about this woman and her sacrifice. Our God sees her plight and recognizes her affliction. Our God will not stand for abuse, especially under the guise of religious piety. God sees her…and God cares about her. I doubt anyone else, including the religious elite parading around the Temple that day and dropping in their token offerings, noticed this woman. I doubt the disciples following Jesus noticed her either, until their Lord lifted her up for their attention.  God also sees struggles, recognizes challenges, cares about those who are hard pressed to make ends meet.

There’s a message to us, given our relative privilege in this world, too. God invites us to see each other, not just those like us, but those we don’t know too. To really see – the pain of those who are discriminated against because of their ethnicity, the desolation of those who beg on the street, those who have been exploited by sex traffickers, the millions of refugees seeking safety. God invites us to see them, to care for them, and to advocate for a system that does not leave anyone behind.

Oh, these are squirmy texts for sure…but the bottom line is this: God cares, and God invites us to care, too. God believes that we have something to contribute, that our words and actions can help bring more fully to fruition the kingdom God’s own Son, proclaimed and embodied. God cares about the widow and her sacrifice. God will not countenance abuse –especially under the guise of religious piety. 

God not only sees all our struggles and cares. God also believes in each one of us enough to use us to make a difference.  Where is God already at work?  Can we join God’s efforts to see those in distress, help them find comfort and relief, and work for a more just world?

Deuteronomy 6: 1-9; Mark 12: 28-34

Context is important when it comes to understanding most things. That’s true with these texts.

There are several layers of context to consider when we look at any scriptural text. The book of Deuteronomy begins with the people standing on the border of the promised land, which they are about to enter and occupy. That’s the storyline context- Moses and the people who have wandered the wilderness, preparing to conquer the land. The book of Deuteronomy is presented as a speech from Moses to the people before they enter the land in which he summarizes all the laws.

There’s another layer though. You see, the text wasn’t written down in 1300 BCE. It was first written down many centuries later, somewhere between 700 and 400 BCE. Deuteronomy was written in the context of foreign domination, just before, during or after the time we think of as the Exile. It’s important to remember that for most of Israel’s history they didn’t have their own kingdom with a temple and priests and so forth. Israel has nearly always been occupied land, dominated by various Empires—the Assyrians, the Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, the Romans, the Byzantines, the Arabs, Crusaders, the Ottomans and the British.  

The 10 commandments are found in the chapter right before today’s reading. The law is to be observed, “so that it may go well for you, so that you may multiply greatly in a land flowing with milk and honey.”  The original writers, in the 7^th to 5^th Century BCE, and the listeners or readers through the centuries that followed—even up until today— would have had the benefit of history to understand that text.

We know something about colonization, invasion and occupation. When we step back a bit and read the text with a historical mindset rather than the simple storyline view of it, we see the dangerous link between religion and politics. If we keep reading we find these words…

When the Lord your God has brought you into the land—a land with fine houses filled with all sorts of goods that you did not hew, vineyards and olive groves you did not plant, when you have eaten your fill, take care that you do not forget the Lord, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.

When God is used as justification for the subjugation of one people by another, things don’t go well for anyone. Whether that means the Israelites conquering Canaan during the period called the conquest, or the early white immigrants in what is now Canada and the US claiming the first nations’ peoples’ land through manifest destiny and the doctrine of discovery, or the Spanish conquistador’s domination of the Mexica or Aztec people, or the fighting over the Holy Land in our own times–when God is used as an excuse for domination and war, life becomes anything but a land of milk and honey. Contextual reading calls us to remember God as the liberator of slaves from Egypt and letting that understanding prevent the enslaving of others.

There are even more layers of context to consider though.  A few hundred years later, after the text in Deuteronomy was actually written down, the words were interpreted again in a new way.  During the Hasmonean dynasty, from about 140 BC, after the Maccabean revolt—from which the holiday of Hannukah arises—until 37 BCE, the Jews experienced a rare period when they enjoyed freedom and self-rule. It was during that time that Herod the Great had the second temple built. It was during that time period that the practice of reciting the Shema developed.

The Jewish people have a prayer called the Shema, after the Hebrew word for hear, with which the prayer begins. As familiar as the Lord’s Prayer is to Christians, Jews, everywhere, twice a day, cover their eyes with their right hand and recite,

Shema Israel, Adonai elhenu, Adonai achad. Hear, O Israel, The L-rd is our G‑d, The L-rd is One. 

They continue in a softer tone,

Blessed be the name of the glory of G-d’s kingdom forever and ever,

followed by the words from our Old Testament lesson for today.

You shall love the L-rd your G-d with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might. And these words which I command you today shall be upon your heart. You shall teach them thoroughly to your children, and you shall speak of them when you sit in your house and when you walk on the road, when you lie down and when you rise. You shall bind them as a sign upon your hand, and they shall be for a reminder between your eyes. And you shall write them upon the doorposts of your house and upon your gates.

They often pray standing to show respect and deference and cover their eyes to prevent distraction. Their words express the belief that nothing exists outside of God, that all this exists is a veiled manifestation of God, that all is connected and interdependent, that life is continuously being re-created.

It was during that Hasmonean time that the use of phylacteries emerged. Still, today, some Jews take those words literally and they physically bind onto their foreheads and around their arms little leather boxes with long straps called phylacteries or tefillin. Those boxes have the words of the Shema printed within. They also place a little thingamajig on their doorposts, a mezuzah, which also holds the text of our lesson today. Jews touch the mezuzah as they enter and leave their homes.

Twice a day, Jesus would have recited the words,

Shema Israel, Adonia Elhenu, Adonai Achad! 

As I said, Shema! translates roughly to Hear! Or Listen! But it carries much more weight than that in Hebrew because there is no separate word for obey.  Hear means Listen and Do!  It’s sort of like that familiar parental command. Listen to me when I’m talking to you! It means: Listen and DO what I say. It’s why Jesus sometimes said Let those who have ears Hear, or They have ears but do not listen!  When he is asked what the greatest commandment is, his response is simply an elaboration of the word, Shema.  Love the L-rd your G-d with all your heart, soul and might and love your neighbor as yourself!  Shema! 

So that brings us to the next layer of context. The setting for our gospel reading for today is Jesus’ encounter with the scribe, during what we think of as holy week. Jesus had already entered Jerusalem on a colt to shouts of Hosanna! During the next few days, he was met with one challenge to his identity and authority after another. The Chief priests, scribes, elders, the Sadducees, Pharisees, and Herodians have all argued with him and tried to entrap him. They each reacted to him with questions, disagreements, or doubt. In our text a scribe engages Jesus in the only civil conversation of the week. That’s the story-line layer of context of our gospel—Jesus’ encounters during the days before his crucifixion.

In his and the scribe’s words we can hear all the previous layers of context, the 1300 BCE storyline, the exilic period when Deuteronomy was written down, the Jewish identity shaped by centuries of domination and movement, the Maccabean revolt, the new temple built by Herod the great that would have been standing in Jesus’ own time, the practice of recitation of the Shema, all underlaid by the liberating history of God’s deliverance and blessing, the various factions within Judaism and the Roman power structure during Jesus’ lifetime, the roles they each played in his trail and death.

Then, bear with me, there’s yet another layer. Mark wrote his gospel some 30 years later, during another period of unrest. There were four main factions of the Jewish world around 65 to 70 AD, the Zealots, Pharisees, Essenes, and the Sadducees. They were basically engaged in civil war with each other, not to mention coping with the new sect of Judaism—Christianity that was emerging.

Nero was the Roman Emperor. In 68, he sent his best general, Vespasian, to crush the rebellion of the Jews in the northern region of Galilee. Vespasian then became the new Emperor in 69 and sent his son, General Titus, to finally put down the revolution by besieging Jerusalem.  Unrest and rebellion against the Roman authority had been the order of the day. The internal division weakened the cohesion of the Jewish territory and meant that the Roman army could put down the rebellion and eventually destroy Jerusalem and the Temple in 70 AD.

That was the contemporary context of Mark’s writing.  When Mark includes the various challengers to Jesus’ authority, Mark’s community would make a connection between the opposing factions of their own time.

In Mark’s gospel, Jesus responds to the scribe’s question by reciting the text from Deuteronomy 6, and adding to it another command, from Leviticus, And love your neighbor as yourself.  His words call to mind the eternal dilemma of exclusive faith and universal love, the challenge faced by every time and people, that of loving One’s own God while maintaining a love toward those who love another God.  

Certainly, there is yet one more context to consider—today. How do we hear these texts on November 3, 2024? It is two days before an historic election in the United States, a nation challenged by division and the threats of Christian Nationalism and civil unrest. The nation of Israel is at war, a complicated situation nearly impossible to unravel even as the cities are being destroyed there, once again. The good news of Jesus Christ speaks to us, through the layers of history, with words of profound conviction and challenge.

Before I close today with a prayer in poetic form by Walter Bruggeman, included in his 2008 book Prayers for Privileged People. It is titled:
Post-Election Day

You creator God
     who has ordered us
       in families and communities,
       in clans and tribes,
       in states and nations.

You creator God
     who enacts your governance
       in ways overt and
       in ways hidden.
     You exercise your will for
       peace and for justice and for freedom.

We give you thanks for the peaceable order of
   our nation and for the chance of choosing—
     all the manipulative money notwithstanding.

We pray now for new governance
   that your will and purpose may prevail,
   that our leaders may have a sense
     of justice and goodness,
   that we as citizens may care about the
     public face of your purpose.

We pray in the name of Jesus who was executed
   by the authorities.  Amen.

The greatest commandment speaks through all the layers of history and can guide us onward. Love your neighbor as unconditionally as you love God, as God loves you. No historical situation, ethnicity, politics or religion is greater than this.

The New Blue Church, 2.5.23, Pastor Rebecca Ellenson, Nothing but Christ

A few weeks ago, I read a fascinating book by one of my favorite authors, Barbara Brown Taylor, called The Luminous Web. It is a collection of her essays, exploring the dialogue between science and Christian faith. She considers what insights quantum physics, new biology, and chaos theory can teach a person of faith.

As those of you who have heard me preach know, I am sort of a nerd about things like that. I would just love to spend this time exploring such heady topics with you. In fact, I started a sermon on just that—the compatibility of science and religion and the changing world views through the centuries. But then, Paul’s words in our assigned reading for today put me back on track. He said, “I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you in lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified!”

Oh, Paul drifted into lofty words of wisdom here and there—it’s an occupational hazard for preachers. In the book of Acts, Chapter 17, we learn that Paul was part of the cultural elite of his time. When he was in Athens he debated with the Jewish, Epicurean and Stoic philosophers. He said: “The God who made the world and everything in it, The One who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands…God gives to all mortals life and breath and all things… and allotted the times of existence and the boundaries of the places to live so that they would search for God and perhaps grope for God and find God though indeed God is not far from each one of us.” Paul quoted Epimenides, a philosopher from the 6^th Century BC, saying. “For in God we live and move and have our being.”

Paul held his own with the intellectuals of his day and wrote about the mystery of God in Christ and the Unity of Being with eloquence in several of his letters, identifying Christ as the revelation of God. But, in writing to the church in Corinth he turned away from rhetoric and debate to proclaim the gospel, plain and simple. He was continuing a theme begun in the previous chapter where he wrote, “For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing (a word he uses to describe unbelievers) but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written, ‘I will destroy the wisdom of the wise and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart.’ Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?…we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to the Jews and foolishness to the Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.”

Six years ago, on a Saturday afternoon, I got a phone call from Norman Peters, who was scheduled to read the same texts we that were read today. For those of you who don’t remember Norman, he was born in England, held two engineering degrees. He and his wife, Sylvia spent nearly 3 decades of winters here and were some of the charter members of this congregation. Each year the Christmas Eve gospel was read with his elegant elocution and proper British pronunciation, adding a sort of regal air to Luke chapter 2. Well, on that Saturday, Norman, the most exquisitely logical man, called me, absolutely beside himself over the text from Corinthians.  “What in heaven’s name does this mean? How can God be opposed to wisdom?” We had a long conversation which did not fully satisfy his question. I remember feeling lost in my own lofty words during that conversation. Both Norman and I knew the gospel and did our best to live in and through it. But even we could get tied up in knots.

Recently I’ve been corresponding with another friend of mine, who is also an electrical engineer. I’ll call him Fred. He would like to believe in God but cannot reconcile what the has heard about God with what he knows of the world. His approach to life is orderly and logical. Fred approached me with a proposal- that he would write what he calls “thought experiments” to me and I would provide careful responses.

The crux of his first question was, ‘If God is all-powerful, all-loving, and responds to prayers why doesn’t God stop the senselessness of mass shootings.’  As I composed my email response I found myself turning away from lofty words. Like Paul, I decided to know nothing except Jesus Christ and him crucified. I wrote to Fred, as Paul wrote, in weakness and in fear and in much trembling, hoping my speech and my proclamation were not filled with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that his faith might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God.

I know that if he is to come to faith again, it won’t be through any logical argument. The proof he seeks for the truth of Christian faith cannot be found in theory. It musts be encountered in spirit. Clearly he is drawn to something he glimpses in his wife’s faith and in our conversations, which have been going on for years.

I love to read about the advances in scientific thought and method. I love to consider philosophical arguments. Lofty words and hair-splitting theology can be interesting, but in themselves they do not save anyone. Doctrines divide, the love of Christ unites. As Paul wrote later in his letter to the church in Corinth: “If I speak in the tongues of mortals and angels but have not love I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have prophetic powers and understand all mysteries and all knowledge but do not have love I am nothing. …Faith hope and love abide and the greatest of these is love.”

About 10 years ago, a man came to the church that I was serving to photograph the baptism of his friend’s child. I’ll call him Mark. During the service, I made the same announcement I always make before communion. I noticed that he did not come forward. I visited with him after the service and invited him to come and join us again. I told him about our community meal and said I hoped we’d see him there too.

The next month Mark came to our community meal and asked if he could talk with me in my office. He told me that he had grown up in church, served as an acolyte in worship, was confirmed. He moved to another state and fell out of the practice of attending worship. When he moved back to Minnesota to care for his parents, the church he had grown up in refused to serve him communion because he wasn’t a member anymore. That was it for Mark. Their doctrine excluded him, and he decided to be done with church. I assured him he was welcome to participate in any way he wanted, including partaking of communion. I think it was the fellowship and sense of belonging that motivated him to begin attending on Sundays.

When Lent came that year, I encouraged the congregation to read through the gospel of John. Mark was one of those who did. Over the 5-week reading program he encountered Jesus. He understood that the good news of Jesus Christ was for him and that all he needed to know about God he could find in Jesus. It’s absolutely thrilling for a pastor to see that happen, to field the questions when someone digs into scripture, to hear the excitement and new insights that come from a thorough engagement with the gospel.

The picture of God we find in Jesus Christ is compelling.  God reveals God’s own self in Christ—that is our starting and ending point. Colossians 1 tells us:  “In him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell.” In Hebrews 1 we read: “He is the exact imprint of God’s very being.”

All anyone needs to know about God can be found in Jesus Christ. It’s really that simple. It’s not lofty wisdom.  In Jesus we can see another way- the way of self-giving love.  We are invited into right relationships. We are called to justice and a life of purpose.  In the powerlessness of the Christ on the cross we see the God who knows our suffering, who is in all and through all.

How long has it been since you sat down and read through one of the gospels? I know some of you are reading the scriptures regularly but there may be some of you here who, like Mark, are drawn by the sense of belonging and fellowship, without having really encountered Christ lately. Others of you may have never read the gospels in their entirety. It doesn’t take very long. If you’ve got a smart phone, then you’ve got access to a bible! Why not pick a gospel? It would make a good Lenten discipline. I would recommend Mark. It was written first and is the shortest and most straightforward of the gospels.

It has been a real pleasure to be with you today. I know I speak for Steve to when I say we miss you and we miss Mazatlan. We pray that you will grow in faith and love for God and for God’s world. We give thanks that the God who called each one of us will strengthen us to have the mind of Christ and that nothing can separate us from God’s love.  Amen.

2.6.22; Not a Fish Story; Rebecca Ellenson; ICCM

Maybe you have heard the fish story about Ole and Sven.  They decided to go up north for a fishing trip.  They were from Minnesota but had always wanted to go to Canada where the fishing was really good. But they had worried about how much it would cost them.  Finally they just decided to go anyway no matter how expensive it would be. 

So they got their equipment together and decided to go all out and replace some of the things that were old or worn out.  They checked into different resorts and travel packages and after all the arrangements were made, off they went. 

Well, they were gone for a whole week.  It was the longest real vacation either of them had ever taken.  The problem was, they didn’t catch anything worth keeping.  They couldn’t come home with little fish

like the kind they caught close to home.  They kept trying, expecting each day that the next day would be their lucky day.  Finally, on the last day of fishing, Ole caught a great big Walleye, it was 9 pounds.  Ole were thrilled. 

On the drive home the next day Sven was feeling pretty down, after a whole week of not catching anything.  He started to scribble on some paper.  Ole asked him what he was doing.  Sven said, “Ya, you know Ole, that von fish cost us over two tusen dollars.”  Ole shook his head and said, “Vell, ya don’t say.  It’s a good ting ve only caught von den.”

I think that would be about my luck too.  I grew up spending 3 months out of each year beside a lake.  But, noone in my family fished. Over the years I have learned to fish.  When the weather is nice, when a breeze keeps the bugs away, when the fish are biting so well that little waiting is required, and when I’m not preoccupied with something else–then I like to fish.  But, that doesn’t happen very often.  More often than not, fishing, in my opinion, consists of being too hot or too cold, bug-bitten, bored, frustrated with knots and kinks in line, and lots and lots of waiting.  It isn’t the times when the big one gets away that are so bad, it’s the times when the big ones stay under the weeds and never even make a splash. 

Living close to the fishermen here in Mazatlan I see what it minght have been like to be Simon Peter, James, or John, fishing day in and day out for a living.  This gospel story is one of the best told stories in the bible, it is also one of the most well-known stories–perhaps due to the children’s song based on it. 

The story has the ring of a tall tale, a fish story which would have left the people in Capernaum buzzing with talk for days.  Two years ago, at the start of the pandemic there was a fishing story right here in Mazatlan that got people talking. I saw photos of a great fish giveaway to ant and all takers.

In today’s gospel, though, the remarkable catch of fish is only the opportunity for something even more remarkable.  The ripping nets and sinking boats are left behind, ripening by the minute in the hot Mideastern sun.  This is not a fish story, it is a story about Christian discipleship, a story about following the Lord regardless of whatever else would keep us back.

Let’s look closer at this story, beyond the huge catch of fish to the human drama.  Anyone who has fished more than once or twice can easily identify with Simon Peter at the start of the story.  He’s been out fishing all night without catching a thing.  He must be tired and hungry and frustrated, maybe even worried about financial matters since he was not just a recreational fisherman but a professional with no catch.  When Jesus tells him to give the fishing one more try Simon Peter points out, from his years of experience, that the fishing has not been good. 

Knowing what we do about Simon Peter from the rest of the gospel stories we can just about see him shaking his head and muttering, “What does he know about fish–is he a professional fisherman?  No, he’s just a wandering teacher.  Oh, well, I’ll humor him.”  and down go the nets.  Then, as usual Jesus surprises Simon Peter.  The nets are so full they are breaking.  Help has to be called in and even then, the boats cannot hold the whole catch without beginning to sink.

If this were just a fish story the fish would be what Simon Peter reacts to or comments on. The response he makes, falling on his knees in the smelly fish and saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!”  is hardly the response expected from a fisherman with an overflowing boatload of fish.  Neither would it seem likely that Simon Peter and the others would leave this catch, their boats, and everything when they had just gotten what they had only ever dreamed of, if this were just a fish story. We can give credit to Simon Peter in this story for recognizing what is happening.  He sees beyond the fish to the power of God that Jesus carries and to his own weakness compared to that power.  This is the same response that we see in other bible stories involving God’s call to follow. 

Moses, like Peter was out doing his job when his call came, he was tending Jethro’s sheep when the bush burned.  What did Moses do?  He hid his face and was afraid to look, knowing that God’s power was present. 

Gideon was threshing wheat when an angel appeared to him and caused fire to spring from a nearby rock.  His response too, was one of fear and a recognition of the commanding power of God’s presence.

Isaiah, too, was filled with fear and a sense of unworthiness when the vision we read about in our OT lesson came to him. 

The displays of God’s presence in each of those stories, like in our gospel, are so impressive that they may take over our memories of the stories, as if the burning bush, the fire from the rock, the transformation in the temple , or the boatload of fish were the point. 

All of them are aware of their sinfulness and the overwhelming power of God.  But, their sin and sense of unworthiness does not disqualify them for the mission of God.  Instead, the same power that brought them to their knees in humble recognition also raises them and empowers them and sends them out to carry on God’s purposes. 

This is not a fish story.  It is about the call to discipleship.  Those who encounter our Lord will meet an overwhelming power.  It is a power that is so strong that human sin and weakness is clearly evident in comparison.  It is also a power that raises up those who are unworthy and sends them out with a mission. 

As new followers of Christ Simon Peter, James and John set off to catch not fish but people–that is their mission, and ours, and anyone else’s who wants to follow Christ.  Jesus uses a word there for catching people that does not mean to hook them or spear them or capture them as natural resource to consume.  It is not a word normally used for fishing.  It means to catch and take alive for the purpose of rescuing.  Following Jesus is about saving people from death. 

The Christian life is not like a fishing vacation, a recreation that is given up when the bugs bite and the fish don’t bite or when the equipment fails or the weather turns bad.  Following our Lord is not a hobby, it is not a do it now and then sort of thing.  Following Jesus means having a mission, an important mission–to rescue people. 

The overwhelmingly powerful God that calls each of us to follow has high expectations of us.  In the ninth chapter of Luke’s gospel Jesus clarifies just how high those expectations are. 

As they were going along the road someone said to him,

“I will follow you wherever you go.”  Jesus replied, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air

have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” 

He said to another man, “Follow me.”  But the man replied, “Lord, first let me go and bury

my father.”  But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go

and proclaim the kingdom of God.” 

Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.”  Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

Jesus does not let any of us off the hook any more than he let those would-be followers off the hook.  There are people to catch, to rescue. There are hungry people, lonely people, empty people, angry bitter people.  There are people who have not known love in their lives, either the love of God or other people’s love.  There are people drowning in alcohol or other addictions.  There are people caught in a net of greed and self-absorption.  We have been given a mission and a call and the power to carry it out.  AMEN

Good morning. I want to thank you all for your prayers and support. I am doing well, and have been resting, following doctor’s orders. I’m going to keep this brief as i only have one functional hand to type with.Over the years here I have assembled a group of people to help make decisions and to manage the administrative tasks of our congregation. On Tuesday the advisory group and I will meet to make plans for the rest of the year.In my reading this week I came across an article by Evan D. Garner, in the Christian Century magazine. He reflects on the psalm for today, 71:1-6

1 In you, O Lord, have I taken refuge;
let me never be ashamed.
2 In your righteousness, deliver me and set me free;
incline your ear to me and save me.
3 Be my strong rock, a castle to keep me safe;
you are my crag and my stronghold.
4 Deliver me, my God, from the hand of the wicked,
from the clutches of the evildoer and the oppressor.
5 For you are my hope, O Lord God,
my confidence since I was young.
6 I have been sustained by you ever since I was born;
from my mother’s womb you have been my strength;
my praise shall be always of you.

He writes:

I like to go for walks and day hikes, losing touch with people and electronics for a few hours out in the woods. But I don’t hike far enough or long enough to have ever needed to scramble for shelter. I remember an informational hike with a naturalist who encouraged us, if ever stranded, to look for the rootball of an overturned tree as a possible place to take refuge. The hollowed out hole in the ground, the overhanging mass of roots and dirt, and the surrounding leaves can provide some shelter from the elements. Of course, one dreams of finding a cave or even a large crack in a rock face to crawl into during a bad storm or overnight. I think that’s what the psalmist had in mind when he imagined God as the crag and stronghold in which the psalmist has taken refuge.

I don’t often think of hiding in God. Maybe that’s because I take my house, my car, and my overcoat for granted—sources of shelter that are always close by. Or maybe it’s because I take God for granted—the never-failing one whose presence is true but unseen. But the psalmist knew what it meant to take cover in God, to hide from the enemies, to wall up from threats, to be defended by the Almighty. Still, I wonder what that looked like.

So often the protection that God offers is as transparent as the wind and as open as the night sky. God sends us out into the world as vulnerable as the prophets—as sheep in the midst of wolves. The crag in which we take refuge is rarely a crack in the rock, a turret in the castle, a shelter underground. As the psalmist prays, our shelter is God.

We take refuge in God not by walling ourselves off from the threats around us but by encountering them clothed with power from on high. Sometimes, in the face of violence or abuse, we do run and hide, and we pray that God would keep us hidden. Often, though, we look around and find no where to take cover except in God. And still God is our refuge and strength, our crag and our stronghold.

I’d love to hear from those of you who read this post about the times you have found refuge in God. Share a few words, or a paragraph, or a page. Let’s use this forum to uplift each other.

May God hold you in the palm of God’s hand!

Humor and joy are two of the best things in human life.  They are gifts from God, who, according to our lessons for today also enjoys these capabilities.  Our God is a god of gladness and delight.  In fact it is the creation, including us humans, in which God delights.

Listen to Isaiah’s words:

     You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, a royal diadem in the hand of your God…  The Lord delights in you…As a young man marries a young woman, so shall your builder marry you, and as the young bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice in you.

What a contrast to some of the descriptions of humanity we hear and say. Compare the images– an adornment for God’s beauty, like a necklace on a beautiful woman, a crown on a good and just King  –or the words we hear so often,  we are by nature sinful and unclean, in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves, unworthy, broken, sinful…

Those words of confession are true.  They describe part of who we are.  But the words of Isaiah also express part of the truth of who we are.  According to God, we are really something special, precious and beautiful like jewels.  God delights in us!  Get the image clearly in your mind.  This God of ours is as glad as a young bridegroom head over heels in love with his bride, ready to brag about her to anyone who will listen. 

Think of someone who is newly in love. I’m not talking about infatuation, but real deep-down all enveloping love, love that overshadows every other thing in life and fills the days with grins and happiness. 

That is the picture Isaiah gives us of God.  God is a God of gladness, a God who wants a relationship with us as close and joyful as that of a couple of blissful newlyweds.  The picture of ourselves that we get from this same passage is an uplifting one.  God loves us.  God grieves when we turn away from this wonderful love that is offered to us.  God will not rest until we shine like the dawn or like a burning torch, filled with divine love and adoration. 

The second lesson expresses another cause of gladness.  Paul tells us along with the Christians at Corinth that we are all gifted. In schools sometimes there are programs for students identified as “gifted.” These programs select a few individuals for special opportunities. According to 1st Corinthians each and every one of us is gifted.  No one is left out.  Every person has something wonderful about them, some God-given talent.  These talents are given for the common good and are to be celebrated and enjoyed and developed.

The image of God we get from Paul’s words is one of a generous giver of good things.  God, our maker, the same one who delights in us, blesses us with talents and abilities and then activates them in us for the good of all. 

The God we see in the gospel lesson is again a God of gladness and one who gives lavish and wonderful gifts.  Jesus was at a wedding feast.  It was a celebration, a special time in the life of a family and the community.  The family would plan long and hard for such a celebration.  They would scrimp and save to secure all the best provisions.  Friends and relatives would gather to surround the newly married couple with support and join in a weeklong celebration of good food, wine, and music.  Hospitality was a very crucial value in that culture and they would have purchased the best food and drink available and affordable. 

Jesus was there with his friends and family to join in the fun.  In the middle of this happy celebration, a problem arises.  The wine has run out.  Jesus saved the day.  He transformed something good into something outstanding.

Water was and is precious in the Middle East.  It had to be drawn from a limited number of wells and then carried and stored carefully. Water was something special.  The wedding celebration was something special.  Jesus begins his ministry with this miracle of transforming what is already special and precious and joyous into something wonderful beyond comparison. 

There is more to this miracle than Jesus fixing a household shortage with an outstanding batch of wine.  This miracle is the first sign in John’s gospel of who Jesus is and what he has come to do.  Jesus comes to transform all of life, to bring about goodness and gladness and joy beyond all comparison. 

There is a detail noted in this gospel that is well worth noting.  Jesus made 6 jars of wine, each holding 20-30 gallons.  That’s 120-180 gallons of wine.  My goodness!  When our Lord does something he really does it up right!  Not only was it exceedingly good wine that Jesus made it was an enormous overabundance of this outstandingly good stuff. 

Our God is a God of Gladness, a God who delights in us, who makes us all gifted, talented people.  That might have been enough.  But God doesn’t stop there.  Jesus created a special vintage of wine there in Cana, about 150 gallons of it.  He kept that celebration going. He joined in the joy and gladness of the party.  But more than that he showed what he came to do and continues to do among us.  He transforms even the good and precious and valuable in life into something beyond comparison. 

Jesus came to Cana and changed water to wine, he did the first of his signs there and revealed his glory.  The disciples watched and saw what happened and believed in him.  They “read the sign” as best they could, because at that point they had no way of knowing that through his broken body and spilled blood, Jesus would transform even the dead into new and living beings.  We can “read the sign” of what he did in Cana even more clearly than the disciples can.  For we know that those who drink the wine at Jesus’ table receive a very special vintage, the best wine of all, and wine that will never run out, wine of pleasure and joy because of what this God of gladness does.