Rebecca Ellenson lives in Mazatlán, Mexico with her husband Steve Cherne. She serves as the visiting pastor for the English Speaking Congregation of the Iglesia Cristiana Congregacional de Mazatlán, from November through April each year. During the summer they make their home in the North woods of Wisconsin.
A few years ago I came across the writings of a Franciscan monk named Richard Rohr. I was so interested in his mystical reflections that I signed up for a regular email from the Center for Action and Contemplation. Of course, I don’t agree with everything he writes, but I often find myself fascinated with his approach to theology. You can check it out for yourself at: cac.org
Here’s what he had to say this week:
You shall not take the name of God in vain. (Exodus 20:7)
Many Christians think the second commandment is a prohibition against swearing. But I believe the real meaning of speaking the name of God “in vain” is to speak God’s name casually or trivially, with a false presumption of understanding the Mystery—as if we knew what we were talking about!
Many Jewish people concluded that the name of God should not be spoken at all. The Sacred Tetragrammaton, YHWH, was not even to be pronounced with the lips! In fact, vocalizing the four consonants does not involve closing the mouth. A rabbi taught me that God’s name was not pronounceable but only breathable: YH on the captured in-breath, and WH on the offered out-breath!
We come from a very ancient, human-based, natural, biological, universally experienced understanding of God. God’s eternal mystery cannot be captured or controlled, but only received and shared as freely as the breath itself—the thing we have done since the moment we were born and will one day cease to do in this body. God is as available and accessible as our breath itself. Jesus breathes the Spirit into us as the very air of life (see John 20:22)! Our job is simply to both receive and give this life-breath. We cannot only inhale, and we cannot only exhale. We must breathe in and out, accept and let go.
Take several minutes to pause and breathe mindfully, surrendering to the mystery of wordless air, the sustainer of life. Part your lips; relax your jaw and tongue. Hear the air flow in and out of your body: Inhale: YH Exhale: WH
Let your breathing in and out, for the rest of your life, be your prayer to—and from—such a living and utterly shared God. You will not need to prove it to anybody else, nor can you. Just keep breathing with full consciousness and without resistance, and you will know what you need to know.
Healing beyond Cure; Mark 1: 21-28; 1/31/2021; Pastor Rebecca Ellenson; YLLC
The whole world is concerned about health right now. All our lives have changed. Millions of people are grieving or coping with illness. We’re washing our hands more, we’re wearing masks and protecting our own health and the health of others by keeping our social distance. We’re looking with hope to the vaccines and treatment advances even as we are concerned about mutations in the virus. Our prayers are for healing and protection.
Jesus was a great healer. The first chapters of Mark’s gospel are filled with his healings. In today’s gospel we read about the healing of a man with an unclean spirit. Next week we will read about the healing of Simon’s mother-in-law and many who were sick with various diseases and many who were possessed with demons. Then we’ll hear about the cleansing of a leper and the following week Jesus heals a paralytic. People are relieved of their physical symptoms and they are restored to a positive place in society. One thing we learn in these stories is that Jesus is interested in more than a purely physical cure. He also offers a healing beyond cure. And he offers it to us too.
Jesus treats, cures, heals them all, no matter what is wrong with them it seems. At one point he goes out to a deserted place to pray. When the others find him and tell him “Everyone is searching for you,” he says, “Let’s go on to other places so I may proclaim the message there too.” He goes throughout Galilee and proclaims, and casts out demons and keeps on healing people.
In our contemporary world we often view disease as a malfunction of the organism that can be remedied, assuming cause and cure are known, by proper biomedical treatment. Recently there have been all sorts of adaptations to that strict biomedical view, including energy fields, dietary concerns, awareness of toxins, supplements of all kinds, essential oils, visualization, you name it. But even in many of these approaches the focus is on restoring a sick person’s ability to function, to do. In the ancient Mediterranean world, one’s state of being and relationships were more important than one’s ability to act or function. The healers in that ancient world focused more on restoring a person to a valued state of being than solely on the ability to function. Healing included social and relational aspects, not just physical well-being.
Healing is not always one moment’s miraculous transformation. In Scripture as in our lives, healing is more commonly a process. Healing in the scriptures is linked to a deepening of one’s relationship with God. What we want for ourselves and our loved ones is a quick cure. I want medicine that will make it go away. We have been blessed with scientists and medical care givers that often can provide that quick fix for us. But such cures can come without inner transformation, without an awareness of God’s action, without gratitude or joy, and without a restoration to right relationships. The healing Jesus demonstrated, comes with an opening to God, the releasing of our fears into God’s hands, the trusting of God’s love and compassion which arises in the midst of our paralyzing fears.
Lately I’ve been thinking about my former mother-in-law, who is a breast cancer survivor. She, like most nurses, is a very practical, no nonsense woman. She worked as a Registered Nurse most of her adult life. Over 40 years ago now she was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis and was physically debilitated by it. They lived in a small town and her rapid physical decline was noted by everyone she knew. She had been active and able-bodied up until then. She was working as a nurse then and had four children ranging in age from 2 to 12. Throughout the onset of the arthritis, she was deeply involved in a home bible study group and felt surrounded by the prayers of her friends. Although she got health advice from every direction, she wasn’t receiving any medical treatment other than pain relief. Then something happened. She experienced a kind of physical healing. It wasn’t sudden. Over the next few months the pain and swelling simply went away and has never returned. She was able to resume her responsibilities. It was a very transformational experience for her that strengthened her faith and her sense of connection to the Christian community she was a part of.
She called me one day because she was going to lead a bible study and discussion about healing at a camp for incarcerated young women where she volunteered. She wanted permission to tell some of my personal story and the healing that I have known in my life. Now, I’ve never experienced anything that I would call a miraculous physical healing. Healing when I’ve been sick has come through the normal options like medicine or surgery. The greatest healing I’ve personally known was of an emotional and spiritual nature. I was the victim of a violent crime over 40 years ago and for me recovery was hard won. Physical healing is probably the first thing we think of when we read the healing stories in Mark’s gospel. But that’s only one narrow definition of the healing Jesus makes possible.
Sometimes there can be healing, even when physical conditions worsen and when there is no cure. I saw a billboard once that read, “Care beyond Cure.” It was the slogan for the Red River Hospice program. Care beyond cure. That is the nature of hospice care, after all. It is medical and spiritual care given to a patient whom the doctors are no longer hoping to cure. Often it is for cancer patients, when they are no longer fighting the disease with chemotherapy or radiation. These patients often return home, and hospice provides care in the home during the time before the disease kills the body. Hospice programs acknowledge that there can be appropriate and important care that does not result in cure. Even death, for those of us with resurrection faith, can deliver the ultimate healing, a release into the unlimited grace of God’s all-encompassing love. I don’t mean to minimize the loss and grief for those left to mourn after death. It can be so harrowing. But, I’ve also seen great healing happen around deathbeds. Pretenses are stripped away and relationships can be healed. There can be an opening to the care of God that extends beyond death.
I used to be a volunteer at the homeless shelter and I remember a wonderful conversation with another volunteer there about healing. Her name was Joanne and she was trained as a public health nurse and a parish nurse. She taught nursing in several locations and worked in Bangladesh for 5 years through the Episcopal church. At the time our conversation took place she was volunteering two days a week at the CHUM drop in center in Duluth . One day, one of the clients came in and asked her if she was religious. Joanne was very gentle. She said, “I claim to be a Christian.” “Yeah, uh, huh” the man said, “so would you wash someone’s feet?” “Yes, I would.” she responded. “No, I mean for real, would you like wash someone’s feet?” he persisted. She said, “I have been a nurse for almost 50 years and over that time I have bathed bodies from head to toe, from birth to death, and even after death. I consider it a great honor to do that.” “Oh, ok.” he muttered and walked off. Joanne told me that she has always considered her knowledge of the human body to be a sacred knowledge. To know how the body works is holy and to be entrusted with the care of another is a holy thing.
Later that afternoon when the medical students from UMD arrived for their weekly 2-hour shift they conducted a foot clinic. They made tubs of warm water available for the people to soak their feet. The students and Joanne were there to help them wash and dry their feet and check for sores. There were clippers available and attention was given to problem areas. Then the feet were rubbed with a moisturizer and the people were given fresh new socks. Did healing happen? I’m certain of it. Was anyone cured? Probably not. Were they served, ministered to? Most definitely.
We are all agents of healing, all of us who follow Christ. We are all connected across the whole universe by our hope, our suffering, and our healing. We give birth with pain followed by joy. We die through pain followed by release. We breathe each other’s air, drink the same molecules of water the ancients drank. We all comfort using our arms and we weep the same streaming salty tears. We all long to be whole, to make whole, to be embraced by others and by God.
Let us pray. Dear Christ, we come to you today, each of us, in need of your healing. Be present with us, touch us, heal us, through the prayers of your people and in their touch. Set us on a journey today that brings us closer to you, and deeper into that healing which alone means wholeness and eternal life. Amen.
For God alone I wait in silence; from God comes my salvation.God alone is my rock and my salvation, my stronghold so that I shall never be shaken. …For God alone I wait in silence; truly, my hope is in God.God alone is my rock and my salvation, my stronghold so that I shall never be shaken.In God is my deliverance and my honor; God is my strong rock and my refuge. …God has spoken once, twice have I heard it, that power belongs to God. …
This week I received several calls asking for prayer support. A friend’s grandchild was thrown through the windshield in a severe car accident. Hospice care supports another family as they watch and wait. A young boy struggles to cope with the death of his grandfather. A loving husband cannot visit his hospitalized wife due to pandemic restrictions. And so, after waiting alone in silence, resting in the stronghold and refuge that is God, I called the prayer chains I know of to wrap them all in the hope, deliverance, and power of God.
Find a quiet place and time today and wait in silence. Set a short timer of 3-5 minutes. Then read the words above from Psalm 62, first silently, then aloud. Read them again, first silently, then aloud. Close your eyes and breathe. Rest and listen to hear God’s word for you. God is still speaking. When we open ourselves to listen we find a stronghold so that we shall never be shaken.Don’t just read this post! Actually do this. Select a phrase from this psalm and let it be a refrain for you this week. Interrupt your days with silent waiting for God our refuge and stronghold.Blessings to you all! You are in my prayers and we are knit together in God’s power. Amen.
If you click on the link above you will find the letter signed by the leaders of 23 separate denominations in the USA in response to the recent events in Washington DC. I offer it here for your information.
January 3, 2021; Pastor Rebecca Ellenson; YLLC; Songs of Praise
Every one of our readings today is a song of praise. Music lodges in our minds in such an amazing way. Evidently, most people know over 4000 songs by heart! This week I’ve had Canticle #14 from the LBW repeating over and over again in my head. The words of today’s first lesson are set to its bright jaunty tune. When I was studying to be a pastor at Wartburg Seminary we sang Canticle 14 at least once a week. Wartburg is a residential campus with about 95% of the students living on campus. Our community life, including classes, was structured around daily chapel and fellowship in the adjoining refectory.
“Listen, you nations of the world, listen to the word of the lord, announce it from coast to coast, declare it to distant islands. The lord who scattered Israel will gather his people again; and he will keep watch over them as a shepherd watches his flock. With shouts of joy they will come, their faces radiantly happy, for the lord is so generous to them, he showers his people with gifts. Young women will dance for joy and men young and old will make merry. Like a garden refreshed by the rain, they will never be in want again. Break into shouts of great joy, Jacob is free again! Teach nations to sing the song: the Lord has saved the people.”
The prophet’s message is filled with hope and the transformation that would follow times of struggle. For me it carries the good memories of a community joined in one voice, harmonies lifting in the sanctuary. When we are able to gather again in this space, we’ll have to sing it together. I can just imagine how it will be here, to shout for joy, to have our faces radiantly happy.
I just love that all four of our lessons today are songs of praise. It’s what we need to hear right now: that God does save God’s people, over and over again. It happened in the Exodus, it happened after the exile, it happened when God sent Jesus to show us the way, it happened when the Holy Spirit filled the church on Pentecost, it happened in countless ways through the history of the Church, and it will happen again and again and again. Teach nations to sing the song, the Lord has saved the people! Indeed.
Each of our readings today really ought to be set to a magnificent musical score. There should be surround sound and fireworks, perhaps. These lyrical passages ring with rich images and lavish praise. Explanation isn’t really called for with texts like these. They stand on their own. The only appropriate response might be something like applause or a standing ovation.
Some of our best friends in Mexico have a tradition, they stop whatever they are doing at sunset each day and watch the sun sink over the horizon of the Pacific Ocean. They acknowledge the blessings of the day and stand at attention, lifting their faces to the heavens, to acknowledge God’s goodness. Our living room in Voyager Village faces West, and in these darkest weeks of the winter I too have been pausing to watch the sun sink into the tree line and paint the horizon with soft color.
Sometimes simple praise is the best response to the mystery of God. This week Steve and I were able to spend two afternoons on the cross-country ski trails. I thought of our psalm for today that sings praise for God’s Word. God’s command runs swiftly, transforming the world. The vivid images couldn’t fit any better. “God sends out a command to the earth; the Word running swiftly, giving snow like wool; scattering frost like ashes, hurling down hail like crumbs. Who can stand before God’s cold? God sends out the word, melting them, making the wind blow and the waters flow?” Wow!
After 4 winters in Mexico I’m really appreciating how the snow transforms the landscape, falling like wool, scattering like ash, covering up the drab brown of early winter. For the psalmist who wrote those words, snow would have been a rarity. No wonder the question is asked: Who can stand before God’s cold? It’s glorious language isn’t it? Like the other texts for this Sunday, the psalm is all about praise, expressing in imagery and song the wonder that is God’s Word.
Lutherans are not known for hand waving and outpourings of loud praise. I’ve heard us called the Frozen Chosen, in fact. But, all of our texts today invite us to give a cheer for the wonder of God’s word, the beauty of God’s creation, the sparkle of the crystal flakes, the crunch and squeak of snow underfoot, the transformation of God’s saving grace, the coming of Christ as the light in the darkness.
Paul’s opening words to the church in Ephesus simply drip with superlatives. These 11 verses are all one long sentence. 201 words of praise, each phrase builds on the one before it, heaping praise upon praise for the goodness of God. It’s not enough to say that God has blessed us, But God has blessed us with Every Spiritual Blessing in the Heavenly places. We are chosen, destined for adoption to be holy and blameless. This hymn of praise is like a musical crescendo of words, glorious grace, redemption and forgiveness, lavished grace on us, all things gathered up in the fullness of time, all things in heaven and on earth! It’s one long string of excess—it’s like glitter on top of sequins, heaping mounds of goodness according to the pleasure of God’s will. This section is almost too much to even understand! But hidden in there is the crux of it all—God’s lavish grace showered on us is so that we might live for the praise of his glory
So, finally we come to the gospel reading. The opening verses of John’s gospel are mystical and glorious praise. How does one begin to exclaim the glory of God, the mystery of the word made flesh? Well, again only poetry or music can even begin to express the wonder!
In the beginning was the word and the word was with God and the word was God. What has come into being was life, the light of all people. The word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen the glory, full of grace and truth. From the fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Oh, how we need these hopeful words right now! We’ve turned the last page of the calendar of 2020—Thank God! We’ve made it through that year of loss and fear and pandemic fatigue. We’ve watched from the quiet of our homes as the virus has overwhelmed hospitals, has taken lives, and has stirred a selfish independence in some. We’ve lived through one of the most contentious election cycles in memory, we’ve seen the rise of White Nationalism threaten our land. Finally hope is around the corner. The vaccines are rolling out. The light is returning.
These biblical songs of praise offer a promise: even when it seems otherwise the light will continue to shine and the darkness will not win, God will continue to save the people, over and over again. The fullness of God’s grace is lavished on us. God’s word fills all creation, lights the world, and we are emboldened both to live with hope as well as share with others the hope that is within us.
Christmas celebrates the incarnation, God made flesh. In mystery and wonder fit for music and poetry Christmas reminds us of God’s decision to become one of us, to take on our lot and our life that we might have hope, and to share our mortal life that we might enjoy God’s eternal life. This is so that we might live a life of praise to God’s glory.
This promise invites our active participation every day of the year. From God’s fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. Our lives matter to God. Our welfare is of tremendous importance to the Almighty. There is no worry too small, no challenge too great, that God is not eager to share it with us. Indeed, God is eager to equip and empower us to share our worries and challenges, as well as our joys and hopes, with each other. And because of God’s decision to come to us in a form we recognize, we are empowered to reach out to those around us.
As we move forward into this new year may we follow the Christ so that the grace, mercy and love of God might continue shining on in even the darkest of places.
Howard Thurman’s wonderful poem “The Work of Christmas”
might be a fit accompaniment to John’s Prologue:
When the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone, when the kings and princes are home, when the shepherds are back with their flocks, the work of Christmas begins: to find the lost, to heal the broken, to feed the hungry, to release the prisoner, to rebuild the nations, to bring peace among the people, to make music in the heart.
Let us begin the work of Christmas, to live the Christmas life. Blessed Christmas and a New Year of grace and praise.
For this fourth Sunday in Advent I’d like to direct your attention to the following essay. Click on the link and consider the words of one of my favorite bloggers, Debi Thomas. She asks some probing questions. May you find blessing in this week of Christmas, my friends. May the grace of God reach into your hearts and fill you with the joy of God’s presence.
December 13, 2020; One In Christ; Pastor Rebecca Ellenson; Yellow Lake Lutheran Church
Today, at Yellow Lake Lutheran Church we are doing one more thing in a crazy pandemic way. We’re welcoming new members via the internet, “gathering” as a congregation virtually, and affirming our oneness in Christ through baptism even as we are isolated.
So much of what it means to be the church involves community, caring for each other, working together on service projects, singing in harmony, worshipping as a body by standing and sitting and responding with one voice. Our primary symbols of faith involve physical elements, water, bread, wine, fire. We don’t just believe doctrines we experience faith, in person. We need each other. Creation is interdependent. We are made to be social. What does it say in Genesis? It is not good for us to be alone.
It feels strange for me to preach through a camera to people I haven’t met, and I know it feels strange to tune in to church on the computer, to prepare your own elements for Holy Communion at home, and to speak the words of welcome to Keith and Karla, even though they can’t hear you. But these strange times compel us to find new ways to be the Body.
Last Sunday as I walked my dog, Mikko, I listened to an amazing episode of The Daily, a podcast from the New York Times. Its title was “The Social Life of Forests.” Scientist Suzanne Simard’s research has revolutionized the traditional understanding of trees. Instead of seeing the individual specimens of shrubs, plants, and trees as competing with each other for resources, crowding out other species, she discovered that the various trees in a forest are in fact connected and communicate through a subterranean network of fungi. The trees cooperate by sharing resources of soil nutrients and water, the strong and healthy supporting the weak and struggling individuals so that the whole forest thrives.
She used radioactive carbon to measure the flow and sharing of carbon between individual trees and across species and prove that birch and Douglas fir share carbon. Birch trees receive extra carbon from strong, well established Douglas firs that she sometimes calls Mother Trees because of their nurturing properties. Then when the birch trees lose their leaves, they supply carbon to the smaller, weaker Douglas fir trees that are in the shade. Evidently, it is not even good for trees to be alone.
In this year of separation, I’ve gained a new appreciation for Paul’s writings. He started many churches in his travels as a missionary, spreading the news about Jesus to non-Jews and broadening the reach of the gospel. Then he wrote letters to those baby churches that he had started, addressing the issues they faced in a personal and pastoral way. I can relate to his longing to be connected to the people he has been separated from. He longed to see people face to face again. We do too!
The lesson for today is from the first letter Paul wrote was to the church in Thessalonica. Chronologically speaking, 1st Thessalonians is the earliest part of the New Testament, written about 51 AD, just 18 years or so after Jesus’ death. The early church was in its infancy and was just figuring out how to form themselves, how to live as followers of Jesus, how to relate to and support one another.
In the book of Acts, we learn that Paul and Silas had preached in the Jewish synagogue there for only about 3 weeks. It must have been an intense time to generate such a strong response both from the new followers of Jesus Christ and from the establishment who fiercely opposed the missionary work they were doing. A riot occurred in the market. Paul was fled for safety to the home of a man named Jason, one of the believers. But Paul was dragged from there and brought before the Roman magistrates. Paul and Silas had to flee the city in the night.
The newly formed community needed encouragement. Paul was like a Mother Tree providing support to the new sapling congregation, commending them on their work, praying for them, and offering advice. He writes: (I’m reading this version from the paraphrase called The Message, by Eugene Peterson which expresses the text in current language.)
2-5 Every time we think of you, we thank God for you. Day and night you’re in our prayers as we call to mind your work of faith, your labor of love, and your patience of hope in following our Master, Jesus Christ, before God our Father. It is clear to us, friends, that God not only loves you very much but also has put his hand on you for something special. When the Message we preached came to you, it wasn’t just words. Something happened in you. The Holy Spirit put steel in your convictions.
5-6 You paid careful attention to the way we lived among you, and determined to live that way yourselves. In imitating us, you imitated the Master. Although great trouble accompanied the Word, you were able to take great joy from the Holy Spirit!—taking the trouble with the joy, the joy with the trouble.
7-10 Do you know that all over the provinces of both Macedonia and Achaia believers look up to you? The word has gotten around. Your lives are echoing the Master’s Word, not only in the provinces but all over the place. The news of your faith in God is out. We don’t even have to say anything anymore—you’re the message! People come up and tell us how you received us with open arms, how you deserted the dead idols of your old life so you could embrace and serve God, the true God. They marvel at how expectantly you await the arrival of his Son, whom he raised from the dead—Jesus, who rescued us from certain doom.
Paul applauds them for the way this newly sprouted group of believers was able to share its resources with others too. Paul sent Timothy to be with them and to continue teaching and leading them. The letter describes the tender care with which the ministry was undertaken, first by Paul and Silas, and then by Timothy. It is evident that there is a strong and loving relationship within the new Christian community there. There is also a great longing to be reunited and eager hope for the quick arrival of that time when they can be together again.
The model of the church we see in the New Testament times reveals an interdependence. In some cases, they pooled their resources, taking care of each other and living together or at least gathering each week for a meal to tell stories and share thoughts and prayers and concerns. Out of this weekly communal meal arose the tradition of Holy Communion.
These days, when we are refraining from gathering in person out of love and concern for each other, I have become intensely aware of how meaningful this communal aspect of faith is. Why is it that we are part of a church anyway? It’s not just hearing the Word. If it was as simple as learning the right doctrines then we wouldn’t need the church at all, we could get what we need in a class or a book. The social aspect of the faith is crucial.
Our reading for today is part of the closing chapter of Paul’s letter. He’s giving them specific advice about how to carry on. Evidently, they are tired of waiting for the return of Christ. Perhaps our context is similar right now. We’re longing for restoration too. We’re longing for community and a better day. He writes: (again this is from version called The Message.}
9-11 God didn’t set us up for an angry rejection but for salvation by our Master, Jesus Christ. He died for us, a death that triggered life. Whether we’re awake with the living or asleep with the dead, we’re alive with him! So speak encouraging words to one another. Build up hope so you’ll all be together in this, no one left out, no one left behind. I know you’re already doing this; just keep on doing it.
… He tells them to get along and do their part, be patient and when they get on each other’s nerves not to snap at each other. They should look for the best in each and rejoice and pray and thank God no matter what happens. And he tops it all off with this blessing:
23-24 May God himself, the God who makes everything holy and whole, make you holy and whole, put you together—spirit, soul, and body—and keep you fit for the coming of our Master, Jesus Christ. The One who called you is completely dependable. If he said it, he’ll do it!
At the time that Paul wrote, the followers of Jesus were both spreading over the whole known world and like trees in a forest they were united, not through a subterranean network of fungi, but through prayer, through sharing their resources with those in need, and through a joint purpose of following the example of Jesus Christ. Christian faith has always been about uniting people to become brothers and sisters in faith. The Greek word for church is ekklesia and it simply means gathering or assembly. The church gathers around a meal with one cup and one loaf, a chorus of voices that raises its praise and prayers out loud, a pooling of resources to meet common goals, a mutual support offered in hugs and handshakes, smiles and tears. Christian faith is not just about believing the right things. The experience of God’s love in Christ goes beyond knowing into doing and being and sharing.
Today we recited the basic tenets of our faith, affirming our baptism together with our new members. That’s one thing that unites us, our shared belief. But knowing isn’t enough.
The doing part of faith is harder now, with distance restrictions. It is a challenge to find ways of serving others now. It’s so much easier to care for others when we are able to see them and hug them on Sundays when we gather. Those of us who are able to help distribute food have the reinforcement of doing good, seeing and feeling what it means to support others, to share like the early church did from our bounty for those in need. We can write checks and send them to organizations that serve others, donate to Christmas for Kids, and to our own congregation to support the many ways we support others. The spirit of this season is about giving, loving, and serving. It’s more important than ever to write our own letters of encouragement now, to make phone calls of caring concern. Why not find a way to reach out on the phone, in writing, in prayer. Be the light that shines in someone else’s day!
What hasn’t changed in this pandemic is the being part of faith. We are the Body of Christ. We are members one of a another. We are the communion of saints. Even now, when we cannot gather in the same place for worship, or physically eat from one loaf we are one body, joined with past, present and future disciples of Christ. To use a modern image: we are the forest, interconnected by a web of faith and prayer and the God’s ever-flowing supply of love.
Let us pray. Knit us together, Lord, even in our isolation. Teach us to use these quiet days to reach out in love, to pray for one another, to find ways to connect, to serve, to be your Body. Amen.
Some things are best expressed in art, poetry, music, or through lived experience. Explanation and analysis fall short when it comes to mystery and divinity. I believe this is especially true at this time of year, as we prepare for the celebration of Christ’s coming.
When the second Sunday in Advent in year B of the lectionary rolls around and we read the lessons, Isaiah 40: 1-11 and Mark 1: 1-8, I don’t hear just words. I hear music. I hear the first vocal movement of Handel’s Messiah resounding:
Comfort ye, Comfort ye my people, Saith your God
Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, And cry unto her, That her warfare Her warfare is accomplished, That her iniquity is pardoned
The voice of Him, That crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord Make straight in the desert, A highway for our God
What a gift the composer gave the world, to set this masterful piece of prophetic poetry to such grand music! Part of my preparation for Christmas each year involves playing Handel’s Messiah as I decorate my home with an Advent wreath, lights, and manger scenes.
Advent means choral music and art for me. You see, I grew up in Moorhead, Minnesota, where my father worked at a Lutheran college, Concordia. Eventually, I went on to study there and one of my children did too. On the first weekend in December, for my first 21 years of life, I attended the Concordia College Christmas Concert. During November each year, the college’s art department would create canvas panels stretching the entire height and width of the gymnasium which served as a backdrop for the risers where all of the members of the many choirs would stand. The concert is a grand production combining art, music, and narration of the biblical message of God’s grace.
The concert was a magical time for me as a young child. When it was time for the concert to start, the lights would be darkened. The rich deep voice of the narrator would boom over the loudspeakers to open the event, “In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep…” I believed that I was hearing the voice of God. Then the orchestra would play an overture as the choirs came streaming into the gymnasium from every entrance, their voices growing as they came together on the risers. The art, music and message worked together each year, varying by theme. But key elements remained constant, the audience participation in singing Christmas carols, the reading of the Christmas story from Luke’s gospel and the swelling strains of music.
In recent years for me, Advent’s music has been simpler. The Salvation Army Children’s Home residents’ joyful voices have marked the beginning of the season when they have visited the English Speaking Congregation’s worship service. A few blocks from our apartment in Mazatlan, just below Icebox Hill, on the street called Jose Maria Morelos y Pavon, the chapel of Guadalupe is decorated by the residents of the neighborhood. Flowers, manger scenes and tinny recorded Christmas music proclaim the season. And the repetitive song of the posada echoes in neighborhoods across the city. The song is a dialogue between “Fuera” (Outside, sung by the Pilgrims) and “Dentro” (Inside, sung by the Innkeepers). The final section, “Entren, Santos Peregrinos” (“Enter, Enter, Holy Pilgrims”) can be sung by everyone as the pilgrims are finally invited in.
I invite you to reminisce about what Advent and Christmas mean to you. What traditions, experiences and memories make your heart full? This year, when we are prevented from gathering with loved ones, when social gatherings are curtailed, when we won’t be standing in the dark, holding a candle and singing silent night, how will you celebrate the birth of Jesus? Wherever you are, may your season be filled with the mystery of divine love.
November 29, 2020; 1st Sunday in Advent; Pastor Rebecca Ellenson
Here we are, still waiting, watching and wondering. This whole year has been filled with watching and waiting and wondering. Watching the movement of the pandemic, waiting for a vaccine or a cure or a semblance of “normal,” wondering what more can happen in this year.
Now it’s Advent, a season before Christmas whose themes are watching and waiting and wondering, whose biblical readings begin with words of lament:
Tear open the heavens and come down, so the mountains would quake at your presence—as when fire kindles brushwood and fire causes water to boil. Isaiah 64: 1-2
O Lord God of hosts, how long will your anger fume when your people pray? Ps. 80: 4
The sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Mark 13: 24
These texts give us permission to tell the truth in this time of expectation and preparation. We may decorate our homes with bright lights even as we long for social gatherings. As winter closes our doors and windows in the North we may tire of isolation. We fear for those exposed to risks, and we are sick of waiting. How long indeed!?!
Our prayers may be as big and bold as those of Isaiah who wants a Big Thing to happen by a Big God who does Awesome Deeds. Let’s be honest: aren’t our prayers similarly big? Bring an end to this pandemic, that lives may be saved. Protect the poor and vulnerable, the unemployed and hungry. Uphold and strengthen health care workers. Save us all! In fact, our prayers may be even bigger than that. End hunger. Eradicate racism. Thwart greed. Restore the health of our planet. Stir up the Heavens O God and Come Down!! Advent’s themes of watching, waiting, and wondering have never seemed more fitting. Oh yes, we long for a mighty show of divine power to fix this broken world of ours.
Yet, when God comes, it is not with shaking mountains and devouring flame. Our God comes to us in a baby, born in a poor place. The salvation that comes is not the salvation we might hope for. The Christ child comes humbly, emptied of all worldly might and glory.
Even when we are tired of waiting, even when we lament the sorry state of things, even as we wonder what more can go wrong this year, even when we long for the heavens to open and the mighty power of God to save us all—the message of Advent may be just what we need to hear. Watch, wait, wonder, and prepare to receive the One who Comes.
Here we are. Just where we are meant to be. Welcome the watching and waiting. Pray to be open to the Spirit’s leading. Light a candle and patiently pray in the stillness. Let your hopes rise and watch for salvation that is waiting to be born. Amen.
You Did it to Me; November 22, 2020; Yellow Lake Lutheran Church; Pastor Rebecca Ellenson
Three years ago, my husband, Steve, took part in a workshop at our church in Mazatlan about legacy writing. It is a process for distilling the lessons learned and the values held into letters for loved ones. The self-examination and reflection on one’s own life experiences can result in spiritual growth and healing in addition to offering a blessing to one’s children or friends.
My mom did something like that for several years. Each Christmas, when our kids were still at home, they would receive a compilation of my mom’s memories. She put herself and her values into those collections of stories. I’m not sure our kids fully appreciated them at the time. After all, my mom is still going strong and she loves to tell stories. But, in the years to come, in that inevitable time when we can no longer listen to her tell us stories in her living voice, I’m sure those Christmas Memories will take on even deeper meaning.
For the past several weeks our gospel readings have been from the section of Matthew’s gospel that covers Passion Week. We can think of this whole section as a sort of legacy letter from Jesus to his disciples. He is preparing them for his death. In chapter 21 Jesus enters Jerusalem, humbly, on a colt, the foal of a donkey. He goes straight to the temple and turns over the money changers’ tables. The next day he curses a fig tree. The religious leaders confront and challenge him.
Then he launches into the telling of three parables, the one about the two sons who were sent to the field but only one of them went, the parable of the wicked tenants who kill the landowner’s son, and the parable of the wedding banquet where the invited guests refuse to come. In this parting message to his closest followers he it telling them to be ready for his return, even though they won’t know when or how that will happen. He’s telling them that it’s not their words that matter but their actions. It is after the parable about the landowner’s son being killed that the scribes and the pharisees figure out that he’s talking about them and they begin to make plans to arrest him.
That leads into a section where they challenge him. Jesus and the leaders debate heatedly after which Jesus predicts drastic and dangerous things to come. Finally we come to the final three parables, the 10 bridesmaids and their lamps, the parable of the talents, and today’s lesson about the sheep and the goats. Jesus is undeterred by the threats and challenges. In this second set of parables Jesus tells them again to be ready to greet the bridegroom when he arrives, to watch for him. He makes it clear that they are to be busy while they wait, using their gifts and talents to multiply the impact of their resources. Today’s lesson is the culmination of this neatly organized section. Each of these 6 parables builds on the others and the meanings are found below the surface level. Just like any other legacy letter or parting message, the disciples would have understood their meaning better after Jesus was gone.
Today’s gospel is often called the Last Judgment, or the Judgment of the Nations. The scene is grand with the Son of Man seated on the throne in glory, surrounded by angels, with all the nations at his feet. The Italian renaissance painter, Michelangelo, painted his vision of this text on the alter wall of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican. The famous triptych by Hieronymus Bosch in the 1400s is an equally vivid depiction of Judgment Day on the middle panel with heaven and hell on either side. Our minds have been filled with stark and severe images throughout Christian history. It is no wonder that the church has preached a message of fear at times.
Sometimes today’s gospel is boiled down so far that it becomes like a sticky, bitter goo in the bottom of a pan, with all the grace and compassion burned away leaving only a residue of moral superiority over others deemed as sinners. We can slip into a reward and punishment attitude, thinking of judgment day involving some kind of tally sheet with sins on one side of the ledger and good deeds on the other side. Even those of us with the message of “Saved by Grace through Faith” engrained in our minds can be swayed by the cultural idea that “God’ll getcha for that!”
As spectacular and artistic as Michelangelo’s painting may be let’s remember that this text is a parable, the culmination of 6 parables given by Jesus to prepare his disciples for his death, and his return and the show them how to watch for and see his coming. It isn’t supposed to be a literal description of a specific day. Nor is it a threat to frighten us into doing good deeds, or else.
In 2013 a Canadian sculptor, Timothy Schmalz, unveiled his new work titled, “Homeless Jesus.” It is a life size bronze of Jesus as a homeless man. He lies curled up in a blanket on a park bench. The blanket is wrapped around his whole body, covering most of his head. Only his crucifixion-wounded feet are exposed to identify him. The artist says the sculpture is a visual translation of our parable today. As you can imagine, reactions have been mixed. He intended the work to be provocative. He offered the first casts to Cathedrals in Toronto and New York but both churches declined because appreciation “was not unanimous” and due to ongoing renovations.
Eventually the first cast was installed at the St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Davidson, North Carolina. According to the Rev. David Buck, rector of St. Alban’s, “It gives authenticity to our church. This is a relatively affluent church, to be honest, and we need to be reminded ourselves that our faith expresses itself in active concern for the marginalized of society”. Buck welcomed discussion about the sculpture and considers it a “Bible lesson for those used to seeing Jesus depicted in traditional religious art as the Christ of glory, enthroned in finery.” Furthermore, he said in an interview, “We believe that that’s the kind of life Jesus had. He was, in essence, a homeless person.” Some Davidson residents felt it was an “insulting depiction” of Jesus that “demeaned” the neighborhood. One resident called police the first time she saw it, mistaking the statue for a real homeless person. Another neighbor wrote a letter, saying it “[creeped] him out”. However, other residents are often seen sitting on the bench alongside the statue, resting their hands on Jesus and praying. By 2016 there were over 100 copies of the sculpture around the world, perhaps the most famous one outside the papal office of charities in Rome. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homeless_Jesus#Copies
Today is the last day of the church year and was designated as Christ the King Sunday in 1925 by Pope Pius the 11th. It was during the aftermath of World War I and he intended to lift up the dominion of Christ over the destructive forces and totalitarian claims of the modern world: secularism in the West, the rise of communism in Russia, fascism in Italy and Spain, and harbingers of Nazism soon to seize Germany. It was a good idea, but I don’t think it has worked very well. Nearly a hundred years later we oppose the same ideologies. And, the image of Christ as King can obscure Jesus’ own words. When he was asked point blank by Pilate, “Are you a King?” Jesus tersely answered, “You say so.” After that he did not respond.
Our Lord emptied himself of all privilege. Born in a stable, naked and squalling like every other infant. He traveled and taught and had “nowhere to lay his head.” He entered Jerusalem not as king, but humbly. He washed feet and died on a cross.
In this parable, I believe Jesus is answering the questions about his return left hanging in the other 5 parables and in chapter 24 when his disciples asked him “When will this be? What will be the sign of your coming?” He comes in the least of these: the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick and the imprisoned. Our faith calls us to ben our knee to Jesus, not the king on the throne in some otherworldly scene surrounded by angels, but to Jesus who can be seen in the lost and broken, the wounded and suffering.
Amy Frykholm reviewed for the Christian Century magazine a strange book called The Spiritual Meadow, written by sixth-century wandering monk John Moschos. One of the last stories in the book seems to be a perfect way to end this sermon;
In the ancient city of Antioch, the church had various kinds of social services. “A man who was a friend of Christ” used to gather supplies and give them out to people in need.
Once he bought some linen undergarments from Egypt and was handing them out “in accordance with Matthew 25:36.” One particularly poor man came, stood in line and received his linen undergarments. Then he came a second time and got another set. He came a third time and, finally, on the fourth time, the man who was distributing the undergarments singled him out and said, “Look, you have received a garment a third and a fourth time and heard nothing from me. Do not do this again in the future, for there are others afflicted like you and in need of good works.” The poor man went away ashamed.
That night, the man distributing the garments had a dream. He saw Jesus descend from an icon. Jesus came toward him and took off the robe that he was wearing. Under it, he had on four pairs of linen undergarments that the man recognized. “Forgive me my faintheartedness,” the man said to Jesus. “For I reckoned this matter in human terms.” From then on, the story says, “he gave to all who asked with simplicity and joy.”
In her article, Frykholm reflects, “Recently, people at my church’s community meal complained because a certain person took two packages of donuts from the boxes of baked goods in the hallway. This is a common refrain. I wanted to make them feel like I was doing something about it, so I said, “Hey, Janelle, do you mind just taking one box of donuts and leaving one for someone else?”
Our lives don’t tally up like some accounting balance. What would be so amazing about that? But when we encounter the grace and mercy of God, when we see Jesus’ radical extravagant love for all and the way he tore down systems that oppress, divide and diminish we are meant to follow him. We are to look for him in the unpretty places, the places we’d like to speed through our ignore. As we follow, as we watch, equipped with oil in our lamps and talents at the ready we can see the suffering and needs of others and respond with compassion. It’s in the doing that the eyes of our heart become enlightened and we know what is the hope to which we have been called. That is our inheritance among the saints, the immeasurable greatness of God’s power for us.
