October 10, 2021. We may be tempted to see grace as a free pass to mess up forever, but it is so much more than that. The eyes of grace see and love us exactly as we are, and as we can be. The eyes of grace see us with love first, and know and understand our humanity.  Readings: Hebrews 4:12-16, Mark 10:17-31  *** Transcript ***  Imagine that you're talking to two friends about a new movie. “The trailers are really great!” one of them says. “It’s funny, it's set in New Zealand, and Nicole Kidman is in it.” The other one replies, “Well, I saw it yesterday, and it is funny, Nicole is awesome as usual, and the videography really captures New Zealand. There are some scenes that get really intense, though. It might not a good movie for kids. And be ready for a serious cry and have some Kleenex handy!” Which is most helpful, as you decide if this movie might be for you, or who you might want to see it with? It is much easier to trust someone who has actually seen the movie. They have actually experienced what you are about to experience, and you know that they know what you’ll be getting into.  Our passage from Hebrews today has one of my favorite scripture verses in it: “We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one [Jesus] who in every respect has been tested as we have, yet without sin.” Like someone who has actually seen the movie, and cried the tears, and gripped the arm on the movie theater seat (or their companion’s hand), Jesus isn’t just guessing what our human life is like from a teaser. Jesus has been here, lived life as a human being on this earth, and because of that he knows exactly what being human is all about.  This, I think, is one of the most profound things for me about knowing God in Jesus. No matter what happens to us in this life, no matter what griefs, or joys, or surprises, or frustrations, or betrayals, or redemptions we face, Jesus hasn’t simply read or heard about it. He has been through it. As a foundation for trust, you really can’t beat that.  As if that isn’t enough, there is another line in our Hebrews text that might easily slip past, but is no less profound: “Let us approach the throne of grace with boldness...“ For anyone who grew up hearing about God’s seat on the throne being the vantage point from which he judges who is worthy and who isn’t, who’s getting to heaven and who isn’t, this is a completely different image, isn’t it?  We approach the throne of grace. We approach Jesus, who knows what our human life is like because he has experienced it for himself. Not only that, but the God who the author of Hebrews tells us knows us, not just on the surface, but right to the very marrow of our bones. In our time of need, in our greatest woundedness and vulnerability, God is waiting to offer us mercy, not judgment. And when we are genuinely seeking to follow God’s call for us, and are stumbling on selfishness or fear or the illusion that there isn’t enough to share, Jesus looks on us just like he did that rich young man. He looks on us first with eyes of love. He understands that we get stuck sometimes, and still calls us to be our better selves. He calls us to give all that we are in spite of the fear.  I think sometimes we see grace as a magic eraser, a free pass to mess up forever. But grace is so much more than that. The eyes of grace see and love us exactly as we are, with all the stumbles and mistakes and resistance, and all the fears and selfishness and confusion. The eyes of grace see us exactly as we are, and as we can be. The eyes of grace see us with love first, know and understand our humanity — and because of and not in spite of that, never give up on us.  On an occasion when I showed up badly at work, my boss rightfully called me out for the attitude I had brought with me. I made my amends and I did what I could to show up better, but I still was absolutely mortified and I felt that I had broke

September 12, 2021. Where are you called to use your hands to participate in God’s creativity and love? How can you find the courage to speak the gospel’s radical truth in the face of resistance, and hold your tongue when needed so other prophetic voices can be heard?  Readings: Isaiah 50:4-9a, James 3:1-12, Mark 8:27-38  *** Transcript ***  After five weeks of Jesus’ bread of life discourse, about God giving God’s self to us in very profound, real, and sometimes mystical ways, we are now on our second week of Mark showing us Jesus in all his humanity. Last week Jesus tries (unsuccessfully) to hide from the demands of the ministry he is embodying, and in the process he shows us how not to respond, and how to respond, to someone different from us. Today, as Jesus is trying to explain to his disciples just how hard the road ahead of them all is, Peter tells Jesus (in not-so-polite language) to be quiet. And Jesus in turn tells Peter (in not-so-polite language) to be quiet.  In all fairness, I can sympathize with Peter, who doesn’t want to hear about what will happen to Jesus in Jerusalem, and what will happen to Jesus’ followers later. And I can sympathize with Jesus, who just wants one of his closest companions to get it, so he doesn’t have to carry this load alone. Anyone who has had hard truths to share can probably understand how Jesus was feeling, and just how disheartening it would have been to have Peter discount what he was saying to them. After all, Jesus didn’t want the cross to become a reality, any more than any of us would, or do. And yet, he knew the truth of it, and Peter trying to shut down that truth was just too much.  All through our scriptures today, we see this reality: trust in God does not make things easy. In fact, sometimes the radical, unapologetic, unlimited love of God, fully embraced, can make us a target for the evil in this world, whose only mission is to close into a box that which will not be contained.  Isaiah tells the Israelites that as people of faith they are called to proclaim the good news of God right into the midst of their enemies. We often read this passage in which Isaiah speaks of giving the back to those who beat it, and the face to those who pluck the beard, as being about Jesus. The hard truth here is that Isaiah is actually speaking to the Israelites living in exile among foreigners, and to all followers of God, to us, who are called to claim God’s promise exactly where it is needed the most. To call out radical love and justice for those most vulnerable, even when others are trying their hardest to shut it down.  This is no small thing. Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated in an attempt to shut down his leadership in the movements for racial and economic justice and peace, not so long ago. Water Protectors standing for the protection of sacred lands, environmental justice, and clean water have faced violent resistance and even death in our own country in the last few years. Many seeking racial justice have found themselves targeted by private citizens, right-wing militia, and even government — and Heather Heyer, who was murdered by a white supremacist during the Unite the Right Rally in Charlottesville in 2017, is not the only one to have lost her life.  This week, the ELCA officially welcomes Bishop Megan Rohrer (they/he), newly installed to the Sierra Pacific Synod, the first openly transgender bishop in the ELCA. Since they have served as an openly trans pastor, boldly proclaiming radical love and inclusion for all regardless of gender identity, Bishop Rohrer has received messages of hate and even death threats.  This is not easy truth, family of faith. It would be so much easier, wouldn’t it, if we could just skip the cross, skip the challenge, skip the suffering, and go straight to resurrection. But Jesus tells Peter, in no uncertain terms, in not-so-polite language, that it doesn’t work that way. God has always come

September 19, 2021. How can we use our imagination, caring curiosity, abundant generosity, and vulnerability to welcome more intentionally?  Readings: James 3: 13-4:3, 7-8a, Mark 9: 30-37  *** Transcript ***  The hard conversations continue again this week. Jesus reminds his disciples that there are difficult times ahead — rejection and even death, and not glory, are in store for the one who they hope will free them from oppressive Roman rule. And the disciples still don’t get it. Perhaps they don’t really want to understand. And who can blame them? This time, rather than arguing with Jesus about this as we heard last week, the disciples get into a conversation of their own, trying to work out among them who will have the biggest share of the glory that they are sure still is going to come, when Jesus seizes power.  They are embarrassed to tell Jesus that this is what they’d been talking about. But Jesus knows anyway, and he calls them to focus on what is more important: welcoming those who are commonly overlooked and rejected to the table. Making sure that those usually left behind get the seats closest to Jesus. He shifts the conversation to radical welcome. And this got me thinking about welcome, what it means and how we live it out, and one of the places where I have experienced profound welcome.  When we arrived in Tanzania, on one hand everything felt different. Mostly dirt roads, food that was unfamiliar to me, unknown language, and most of all, the monkeys that were playing in the trees where we were used to seeing squirrels. It didn’t take long, however, before we knew that we were thoroughly welcomed there.  Our hosts met us, with face-splitting smiles and bear hugs, even though, we found out later, one of them had malaria when we arrived. They walked us to the hotel, where our rooms were ready for us. Everywhere we went, there was food and drink offered. Even those who seemed to have nothing had what they could give to us, and they gave it freely — whether that be peanuts, or little cakes or tea. And there was always the opportunity to wash our hands… echoing the tradition in Jesus’s time of washing the dust and dirt of long travel off the feet of every visitor who entered your house.  We went to worship, and every word of Swahili was translated for us by one of our hosts, who intently wrote a couple of sentences at a time on small sheets of paper that she sent down our row so we could all read what was being said. And behind, around, and through it all, our first and most frequent Swahili words, as I mentioned earlier: Karibu sana! Not simply welcome, but close. And not just close, but very close.  “All are welcome” is something that we say a lot, isn’t it? And yet, it's so easy to get caught in our own “stuff” and fail to welcome well. Sometimes we're stuck in the feeling that there isn’t enough to share with someone else. Like the disciples, we may find ourselves arguing over where we sit, rather than looking to make sure everyone has a place.  We may be stuck in “old ways” of doing things, thinking that the way we have always done things is the only way. As James points out today, the desires or cravings in our hearts can distract us, and get us lost in what’s in it for us. Soon we are arguing, as the disciples did, over who gets recognition, the best seat, the most power, and we have completely forgotten the God of abundance who has made sure there is enough for everyone.  Jesus understands where the disciples have gotten lost, and shifts the conversation to radical welcome. And as so often happens, Jesus lifts up those who are overlooked as he describes how to live out the call of God in our lives. This time, it’s not a Samaritan, or a woman, but a child. “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” Whoever welcomes the forgotten one, the last one, welcomes God.  Debie Thomas, i

May 30, 2021. What does the Trinity mean for us? Why does it matter? And perhaps most important, what do the readings for today reveal about all the ways that God shows up in our world?  Readings: Isaiah 6:1-8, Psalm 29, Romans 8:12-17, John 3:1-17  *** Transcript ***  Today is Trinity Sunday, so I kinda feel like I should probably be standing up here in front of you who are in your pews, in front of you who are in your homes, and eloquently explain the doctrine of the Trinity, perhaps even using a three-leafed clover metaphor, they way St. Patrick did centuries ago. On the surface, the idea of the Trinity seems pretty straightforward — three persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. One God. Simple enough, right?  The reality is that life is not that simple, and as Mr. Jesse was saying, so much change happens naturally — and then on top of that, in the last year all of the “change to the change.” (I love that phrase.) And the reality is around the Trinity, wars have been fought, and people have died, because of differences in understanding the Trinity. And yet the Trinity stands, and we confess it here at Christ Lutheran every week. In the creeds we claim the Father, the Son, and the Spirit as three persons in this Triune God. And it's one of the greatest mysteries of our faith.  I'm sure you will be relieved to hear that I will not attempt to sort out two millennia of conversations, battles, arguments, and council doctrines on the Trinity today. Far more important for us, I believe, is what does the Trinity mean for us? Why does it matter? And perhaps most important, what do our readings for Trinity Sunday reveal about all the ways that God shows up in our world?  Psalm 29 paints this picture of God in waves crashing on the ocean, in the flashes and booms of powerful storms, and in the silent and formidable presence of enormous trees that are centuries old. God’s majesty surrounds us, overwhelms us, and although it touches us, we can’t quite bear to touch it. This is God, creator of the universe, deserving of glory, before whom none of us, truth be told, are quite ready to stand. The full majesty of God makes us quake in our boots, at least a little bit.  In Isaiah, we enter a vision of God called Yahweh, seated on a throne, surrounded by seraphs singing “Holy, holy, holy!” Isaiah is called into a swirl of turmoil and anxiety of a community that has just lost their king of 30 years. Talk about change! Isaiah feels completely inadequate, and it's no surprise that his first response is, “Woe is me! I am unclean, and yet I have seen the Lord!” In a miracle of grace, God prepares Isaiah, so that he can cry, “Here am I. Send me!” And God prepares not just Isaiah, but us, you and me, to go out as witnesses to this grace.  Jesus, God-in-flesh, tells Nicodemus about the intimate connection between Christ in his humanity, and us in our humanity. God came to us in Christ to bring life and redemption, to embody the love and promise, and to be in relationship with us, on our terms. And in that relationship, because of the death and resurrection of Jesus, our brokenness is redeemed, and our joy is made complete.  In Christ, God enters fully into our suffering, as well as our joy. God goes through all these changes that we've been talking about with us. God is with us in that. God-in-flesh embraces our grief, and shows us through the resurrection that death and loss will not be the final word. God enters our joy, and revels with us in the beauty of creation around us. Jesus-God sits with us, eats with us, laughs with us, cries with us. Because God revealed God's self to us in Jesus, we know that God is not only majesty and splendor and power, but intimately involved in our everyday life. Because God became fully human, we know that we are never alone. We have a God who understands what it means to be human.  And interwoven in all of this is the Spirit, perhaps the most mysterious aspect of t

May 16, 2021. Today's sermon is on the prayer Jesus offers in John 17 for his disciples before his arrest, and how it is remarkably vulnerable and intimate. Readings: John 17:6-19  *** Transcript ***  As we are coming to the end of the Easter Season this year, I've been thinking back to February of last year, when we were hearing only whispers of what was to come. March 22nd, we held our first Zoom worship, thinking it would be a few weeks, a couple of months at most. We had no idea at that time the losses this year would bring, the trauma we might experience, and we certainly had no idea how long it would last.  Easter, Pentecost, Advent, Christmas, and Lent and Easter again have passed since we last worshipped in person. And here we are on the 7th Sunday of Easter, and our gospel for today comes from John 17, before Jesus died. In fact, the prayer we hear Jesus pray today are the last words Jesus had for his disciples in the Gospel of John prior to his arrest. Although they don’t realize it, as Jesus is praying this prayer, the disciples are about to have their whole world turned upside down. They don’t know that Jesus, who they have been following for three years, who they believed would free them all from Roman occupation, is going to be arrested and die a horrific death. They don’t know that the next 24 hours will bring an abrupt change to everything they thought they understood about how things were going to be and what they thought Jesus was going to do.  The disciples, not knowing that this would be the last meal they would eat with their friend and mentor, had no context for Jesus’s words, and I can imagine them listening, turning to one another, and whispering to each other, “What on earth is Jesus talking about? What does he mean, he’s no longer in the world? He’s sitting right here. Of course he belongs here. We have work to do. We have plans.”  We listen to these words some 2,000 years later, and knowing what was going to happen, we can see what Jesus is trying to do here — offer comfort, reassurance, and hope for the days to come, turning his beloveds over to God for the journey ahead. As Mr. Jesse pointed out, that is something that never changes. John’s gospel doesn’t often reveal Jesus’ human vulnerability the way the other gospels do. John passes over the agony in the garden, and does everything he can to describe Jesus as fully in control, subject to no one, even choosing for himself the moment of his death.  The prayer Jesus offers for his disciples before his arrest, however, is remarkably vulnerable, and intimate. Jesus tells God as he prays that he can’t be with his disciples anymore. And as often as we see God’s expansiveness, in this moment Jesus is praying not for everyone, but for his beloveds. His apostles. Jesus knows the horror, grief, and danger that his death will bring for those closest to him. And Jesus asks God to be with them, to protect them, knowing that he is called to move on, and trusting that ultimately, God is our source. Debie Thomas writes in her blog this week, “ 'I am asking,' Jesus says. How surprising is it that God incarnate spends his final moments with his friends in humble supplication on their behalf? Knowing full well the trials and terrors that lie ahead, he prays into uncertainty. He hopes into doubt. He trusts into danger.”  When we think of Jesus teaching us to pray, we of course think first of the Lord’s Prayer, that clear, beautiful, profession of praise, confession, thanksgiving, and request that we and Christians around the world pray every week. In these final moments of Jesus’s life on earth, Jesus is once more teaching us to pray — all of his beloveds, but in this moment, especially us. You. You and I are invited to receive Jesus’ prayer for us. To know that God is with us. And as Mr. Jesse pointed out, that that's one thing that never changes. To claim the promise of joy and unity and trust in the midst of thin

May 9, 2021. Today's sermon is on how we humans are formed, shaped, and breathed into being by the hands and breath of God, and how we abide in God and God abides in us.  Readings: Acts 10:44-48, Psalm 98, John 15:9-17  *** Transcript ***  So many things from today’s readings jump out at me. Abiding in love, like Mr. Jesse just talked about. Giving of one’s life. The Spirit anointing Gentiles. But today, I have to start with the psalm: “Sing to the Lord a new song!” This simple phrase has me almost in tears even this morning, knowing that our choir gathered together on Wednesday evening, wearing masks and keeping a safe distance, to do just that — sing to the Lord a new song, or perhaps old songs, for the first time since March 15, 2020, over a year ago! And for just a moment, before we go any further, it is worth celebrating the truth and promise that even 14 months of pandemic life have not, and cannot, erase the connections between us, and that the Spirit will not be contained. Sing to the Lord, indeed!  The circumcised believers who were with Peter at Cornelius’ household were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles. They were astounded that people who differed from them in religious practice and ethnicity could be chosen by God. Have you ever been astounded by who God chose? Surprised by who showed up at just the right time, with just the right gifts for the situation at hand? Shocked by who spoke the words you needed to hear, to the point where you knew God had led you right to them? It has happened to me on more than one occasion, I will admit.  This sense of astounded-ness in the case of the “circumcised believers” was compounded by the fact that those clearly beloved and chosen by God were absolutely, undeniably, other. There were people meant to be part of the promise, worthy of the love that was talked so much about in the Gospel of John, and there were those who just weren’t. And the Gentiles? They weren’t.  It doesn’t help that Hollywood has conditioned us to believe that love is simply an emotion. Either someone is attractive, or they aren’t. Either someone is lovable, or they aren’t. Either we have an emotional response to them, or we don’t. And I am quite sure that all of us can think of people, ones we know and ones we know of, that are difficult for us to love. People that even seem to be unworthy of love. We all know this challenge.  We all know just how hard it is sometimes to make the choice to love, to put love into action as Jesus does. We all know that love, contrary to Hollywood’s illusion, requires intention, sacrifice, and commitment that perseveres even through the hardest of times. Jesus even tells us that love means laying your life down for others, and Jesus certainly did that for us, all the way to death on the cross. And we all know that truthfully, we humans simple aren’t capable of loving this way.  And that brings me to the phrase John uses several times at the beginning of today’s gospel: abiding in love. Abide is not a word we use often, and when we do, it usually means “obey,” as in “abide by my rules” or “abide by the guidelines we've agreed on.” The Greek word used in this passage, however, has a very different connotation: to remain, to be present, to be held, continually. Different, right? Jesus is not inviting us to strive, to exhaust ourselves, only to ultimately fail at loving our neighbors. Jesus is inviting us to abide in God’s love.  Debie Thomas writes this week in her blog, “Journey with Jesus,” ”My problem is that I often treat Jesus as a role model, and then despair when I can’t live up to his high standards. But abiding in something is not the same as emulating it. In the vine-and-branches metaphor, Jesus’ love is not our example; it’s our  source. It’s where our love originates and deepens. Where it replenishes itself. In other words, if we don’t abide, we can’t love. Jesus’ comm

May 2, 2021. In today's sermon we learn more about the story from Acts chapter 8 of Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch — the foreign, dark-skinned person who does not conform to gender norms — and ask what is to prevent us or anyone from being baptized.  Readings: Acts 8:26-40, John 15:1-8  *** Transcript ***  In the relatively new, but definitely classic Disney movie “Zootopia,” bunny Judy Hopps has always been… different. In a world that claims to be inclusive — where anyone can be anything — Zootopia is still largely divided into predator and prey, and you are expected to fit in to whichever group you are born into. So it is assumed that Judy the bunny will do what her entire bunny family has always done — farm carrots. But Judy knows she was born to be a police officer. Her passion for making the world a better place gets her into trouble with bullies, who want to knock her down, and her parents, who wish she would settle for the easy road and not make things so hard for herself and them.  In spite of the challenges, Judy does become a police officer, but finds that her colleagues don’t take her seriously, and her chief relegates her to parking duty. As the story unfolds, Judy stumbles onto an unsolved case, and in trying to solve it, she becomes friends with Nick Wilde, a fox. Judy unwittingly hurts Nick deeply when her own tendency to see all predators as dangerous “others” gets the best of her. She realizes that while she has struggled to claim her place as a bunny police officer, Nick has been rejected his whole life because people didn’t believe a predator like him could ever belong anywhere — and Judy herself wasn’t as ready to embrace Nick the fox as she had thought.  In the gospels, Jesus often calls people to recognize the walls they have put up between them and others. He shocks by making an outsider, the Good Samaritan, the hero of a parable, and eats with all kinds of people seen as “other.” Jesus is always reaching to the margins and once, Jesus himself gets called out when he refuses to help the Syrophoenician woman whose daughter is ill, and she tells him: even the dogs get to eat the scraps from the table. Of course, Jesus then heals the girl. And I have often wondered, was Jesus trying to teach us a lesson in what not to do, or did he in his humanity also need to be taught?  In the early days of what would become the Christian church, chronicled in the Book of Acts that provides our first readings in the Easter season, the followers of Jesus debated about who could belong and who couldn’t belong, and what they had to do to belong. The Spirit kept showing them that all people are children of God and welcome into God’s promises.  After the initial coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, the Spirit anointed a group of gentiles, and that led to their baptism, if only because the Apostles could hardly deny baptism to people God had so clearly chosen. In the heat of debate about whether or not following Judaic dietary laws should be required, Peter had a dream in which God revealed to him that no one should be excluded from the fellowship for what they eat. Over and over, the gospel expands the circle, continually challenging us to welcome those who seem outside. The promises of baptism are for all people, but especially for those on the margins.  Today’s story is no different. The Ethiopian Eunuch, although he was a Jew and he carried some power and authority in the court in which he served, was an outsider on many counts. He was a foreigner, he was viewed as “exotic” because of his dark skin, and he'd been surgically altered — possibly by force — so that he was outside of gender norms. None of that prevents the Spirit from guiding Philip to head to the south, follow a deserted road, find a random chariot, and join the Eunuch as he studied Isaiah.  Philip shares the gospel with him, and it never occurs to the Eunuch that it might not be for him. They pass by water, and

April 25, 2021. Scripture is filled with images of nature, and one thing evident in all of the stories, and all of our own experiences in God’s creation, is the theme of connection of God to nature, and connection to God through nature.  Readings: 1 John 3:16-24, Psalm 23, John 10:11-18  *** Transcript ***  One of my favorite places in Minnesota is Gooseberry Falls, on the North Shore. From the parking lot, you pass by the Visitor’s Center and make your way toward the water, the splashing of the water against the rocks growing louder with every step, along with the sounds of voices and laughter on warm, sunny days. I've always loved water, especially running water, and one of the best parts of Gooseberry is that it is really three waterfalls in one, with the water pouring down each rocky cliff, one after the other, on its way down the river.  The river is surrounded by rock — all colors, all shapes, all sizes, some set like stairs to climb as you make your way to the Upper Falls, some smooth and flat and perfect for sitting on, some rising out of the river itself like stepping stones allowing the courageous to cross from one side to the other in search of new paths. And edging the stone are thousands of trees, with paths running through them, like so many veins, carrying air, light, animals, and people deeper into the woods, and back again.  And then, of course, there is the water itself. I recall one year sitting by the edge of the Upper Falls, listening to the water colliding with the rocks and then rushing over and around them, when I noticed something I hadn’t before. As Gooseberry River makes its way down the Upper Falls, it doesn’t go down all in one rush, but divides and flows around the rocks in the cliff, forming hundreds of mini waterfalls as it goes. I became fascinated with how different they all were, in size, shape, direction, even speed, and I could have spent hours watching them.  I took pictures of course, but that hardly does justice to the beauty that can be experienced when you are sitting there, so close you have to raise your voice to be heard over the roar of the water, and can feel the mist off the rocks a few feet away.  Moments like this connect me with the presence of God in profound ways, because with stone, dirt, water, trees, sunlight, and air all around, I feel grounded in the Spirit of the one who created it all.  Scripture has so many images of nature, starting with the story of creation where God spoke and breathed all things into being, as Miss Alena talked about. The psalms described the created world singing and praising the creator, bringing solace, healing, strength, and rest to all of creation, like we heard in Psalm 23 today. Moses finds sacred space in a burning bush, and removes his sandals so that he can touch the holy ground with his feet. Elijah, when he is exhausted, afraid, and completely empty, is nourished, rested, renewed, and reassured by God in a hidden cave on a hill, far from the city he'd fled. And so many stories tell of God speaking to creation and even controlling it, as when he parts the Red Sea for the Israelites, and brings water from stone for them to drink.  And in the gospels, Jesus often teaches in fields, and mountains, and gardens, and even from boats, and uses images of grain, water, and trees, among other things, to explain the kin-dom of God to those who follow him. And he also reveals creation responding to the creator in stories like the calming of the storm. Today, Jesus describes God’s connection to God’s people using the image of a shepherd, guiding and caring for us, the sheep.  One thing evident in all of these stories, and all of our own experiences in God’s creation, is a theme of connection of God to nature, and connection to God through nature. In our gospel today, Jesus tells us that just as the shepherd knows the sheep, he knows us, and we know him. He knows our voice, and we know his voice, ju

April 18, 2021. What are we witness to? How has God shown up in your life, and how have you been changed? Who are you called to share the hope, love, and promise of the resurrection with? In today's sermon, Pastor Meagan asks these questions and talks about how we can know.  Readings: Luke 24: 36b-48  *** Transcript ***  The disciples were understandably a little bit skeptical when Jesus appeared to them. As Pastor Tina pointed out last week, they were exhausted, traumatized, afraid, confused, even despairing. Jesus showing up, in the middle of that, was the last thing that they expected. And yet, there he was. And there they were, caught up in a tangle of trauma, joy, disbelief, and wonderment.  The disciples didn’t know it was Jesus right away. That seems to be a theme of Jesus' appearances after the resurrection, like Mr. Jesse mentioned. Honestly, who can blame them? Trauma is real, and they had been through it. Clear thinking was impossible in the wake of the horror of Good Friday, and Jesus’s appearance was not enough to instantly erase that. On Easter Sunday, we heard that the women were afraid to tell anyone, at the beginning. Last week, Thomas doubts — and as Pastor Tina pointed out, Jesus understood that, and meets him where he is. And today, one more time, the disciples are struggling to make sense out of what is happening right in front of them, how to know what it all meant.  How do we know? When we're encountering something unexpected, traumatic, challenging, new, confusing, how do we discern where God is leading? How do we find God, when any sign of God seems completely absent?  I remember realizing, soon after starting seminary, that for many reasons it was time to seek out a new church. On the website of one of the ELCA churches in our Minneapolis neighborhood, the tagline read “Traditional Worship — Contemporary Message.” The church we had been attending claimed “Traditional Church with a Modern Message.” I got goosebumps and I thought, “I think I’ve found my people!” And I had.  When my Seminary Advisor returned from sabbatical I told her that I had joined the ELCA and was switching to an Mdiv degree, and she exclaimed, “Why not the UCC? Or the Episcopal? How do you know?” To her, the way I had made this decision made no sense. Later, I discovered that she had made a similar change many years before, becoming Presbyterian after months of studying church doctrine. This was my first realization that there are many ways of knowing God's will, and discerning where God is leading.  Looking back, I have always relied at least somewhat on instincts when making decisions. I chose St. Olaf for college largely because of a sense of at-homeness when I visited. And when we were looking at St. Louis houses last year, Karen was gratified to discover that our house had a new furnace and AC, but I knew we were at home when I discovered the sound of the rain on the tin roof of the sun porch — my squeal of joy brought our realtor running, sure that something was dreadfully wrong.  The disciples had heard the experience of the two who walked the road to Emmaus with Jesus, and knew who it was when they broke bread together. But hearing from their fellows didn’t prepare the rest of the disciples to see Jesus’ themselves. Jesus understands this, and he acknowledges how shocking it must be for them, how confusing for brains and spirits that are still shaken by what they'd been through — and he offers them peace, not as a command, but as a gift to beloveds he knows are confused and afraid. He invites them to enter into the truth that he is there — to see his hands, to touch his feet. He asks for something to eat — as Mr. Jesse mentioned — as if to say, I really am here. I still get hungry and I eat, just like you do. And then he teaches them, opening their minds to the scriptures, and all that he told them all those years along the way. My advisor would have loved that part!  And f

April 11, 2021. Today's sermon by guest Pastor Tina Reyes is on being more understanding, in this year of all years, of Thomas and the disciples for hiding out in a locked room and struggling with lack of faith and the need for more proof.  Readings: 1 John 1:1-2:2, John 20:19-31  *** Transcript ***  So as I said at the beginning of worship, I bring you greetings from LuMin St. Louis and all the students, and I also bring you greetings from the Central States Synod of the ELCA. It is indeed good to be here with you this morning as we hear the good news.  This past week, a man named Earl Simmons died. I can't say I was really aware of who he was or what his gifts were to the music world, or even his journey, until reports of him being in the hospital and being in a vegetative state hit my social media accounts — and not just the news reports, but the instances of friends and colleagues who listened to his music and who were lamenting about how young he was and how he had struggled with his life and his faith in God through those 50 years. But it was the Reverend Traci Blackmon, who is a UCC pastor in residence across the street at Eden, until she wrote this on her wall about DMX, which was his rap name:  “When I listen to DMX... I hear the lamentations and psalms lived out loud. And I wonder if we have sanitized the struggle out of human lives of faith. We’ve decided holiness is achievable instead of aspirational. We hear the stories of the text as victory instead of valiant. It's clear to me that DMX knows God. Not that it matters whether I know that or not. I’m glad I do. DMX’s God is not the God we meet at the finish line... this is the God who runs the race with us.”  And there it was. (Now mind you I was mostly done with my sermon and I'm like, “Oh! Quote! Cool!”) But there it was: the gift of Easter, of faith, of hope that appeared to me this year in the lesson from John’s gospel.  As Jesse told the kids, it's been a week since we proclaimed out loud, “Alleluia! Alleluia! Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed!” The alleluia banner is still on the altar here. Let me tilt down so you can see it. There it is. Alleluia! The Easter lilies are behind me, and I have forgotten how fragrant Easter lilies can be in small spaces, especially when you have almost 20 of them. The last church I served was a huge space, and we could have 20 and not really affect me. We’ve more or less gone back to our lives as they are right now. But in the text this morning, it is the same night. We begin on Easter night. I think it's important to remember that. It’s only been a matter of days since the disciples ran in fear, and their rabbi was killed and buried, and just hours, hours since Mary Magdalene came running to the upper room with the news of Jesus' resurrection.  And so I imagine that they're huddled together in this room with the doors locked because they're trying to process the trauma that they have witnessed. (They wouldn’t have used those words, but that's what they're doing — they're trying to process all of these things that have happened.) And so they're together in comfort and community in their grief and questions, because they're wondering: what’s next? And: can we believe Mary? And: I don’t know how much more of this I can take.  The text hits me in a way this year that it hasn’t before — which I believe is a gift in and of itself. You and I have been huddled more or less in small spaces within our immediate communities. I can tell you that that's not a great way to start campus ministry. When you can't actually be in relationship with students, it creates ways. And you have to be creative and you have to be open to different possibilities. And even though we've been huddled in small spaces in our immediate communities, it hasn’t stopped trauma and tragedy happening in the world around us. So I imagine the questions the disciples were uttering are probably familiar in our own lives,