Sermon for First Sunday of Advent – Luke 21:25-36

Today is the first Sunday of Advent. It’s the beginning of a new year for the church. So, it’s worth reminding ourselves what Advent means, because if you go by stores and radio stations and Black Friday and the Hallmark Channel, you’d think it was just a 4-week tailgater to get ready for Christmas. And this year’s really special, because the global supply chain is messed up. There are a lot of folks out there weeping and gnashing their teeth because some things are out of stock. Now, here’s what’s funny. That’s kind of what Advent is about. Not the capitalism part, but the anxiety. Advent is about the coming of the Lord, for desperate folks dying for a sign.

Our Gospels were written decades AFTER Jesus was crucified, risen, and ascended. That’s decades of tensions rising between Jews and Romans. Finally things explode. Roman armies attack. They build a wall around Jerusalem to starve the Jewish people to death. They go in and massacre folks. And they destroy the Temple. So, try to imagine the thunder of hoofbeats and armies. The sounds of people trying to flee for their lives. The flash of swords. The cries of pregnant and nursing mothers whose children will be no more. It’s savage and tragic.

This is when our gospel was written. To remember Jesus. To remember the stories and words that you’re dying to hear when your world was ending. This is why we hear Jesus talking about the end of the world. “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.” Where was their help going to come from? From the Lord? Even now? It’s always the same story. They forget God. Their sins overwhelm them with death and destruction. They’re swept into exile. They repent in tears and ashes, and long for the Messiah. So our gospel remembers Jesus giving signs, by the sun, moon, and stars. By the distress of the nations and the roaring of the sea. The Messiah is coming. Not in prosperity, but in crisis, because God hears the cry of the afflicted. But this is a hard sign to hold, because it doesn’t look like promise. It looks like wrath.

How do our lives compare to that? For American Christians in 2021?

Sermon for Reign of Christ Sunday – John 18:28-37

Today we celebrate the Reign of Christ. Traditionally this is what we used to call “Christ the King Sunday”. A lot of churches still call it that. You can even find a lot of Christ the King Lutheran Churches out there. Why the name change? Well, there are some folks out there who are a little uncomfortable with “King Jesus”. It doesn’t bother me so much, but it does seem a little weird to picture Jesus sitting on some kind of throne barking orders. Because that’s what kings do. Now, I don’t know about you – I don’t think of Jesus in that way, but I do know some Christians who do. Folks with bumper stickers like this (“If Jesus has a gun, he’d still be alive today”)…… But here’s another thing. Have any of you ever lived under an actual king? So it’s worth going back to what Jesus has to say about what king means. Especially because it’s part of what got Jesus killed….

Sermon for 25th Sunday after Pentecost – Hebrews 10:11-25

Have you ever felt like you’re fighting a losing battle? Maybe you’ve heard of “The Great Resignation”? There’s an epidemic of folks who are quitting their jobs for a bunch of reasons, and a lot of companies who seem desperate to fill openings, but somehow things aren’t coming together. I’m not an economist, so I’m not qualified to speculate why, but I seem to know a lot of folks with strong opinions about what the problem is, and most of the time I hear them blame people for not wanting work. Somehow, I suspect the situation is way more complicated than this. But the other side of the story concerns folks like me who are still working. My company just had a bunch of really valuable folks leave, and that leaves it to me to pick up the slack. Customers don’t stop demanding new features, and bugs don’t magically stop happening, just because we don’t have enough folks for all the work. I love to cross off my to-do list as much as anyone, but after a while, I just feel like I’m fighting a losing battle. And it can be really demoralizing. So, do you keep fighting or do you give up? How do you decide?

Sermon for All Saints Sunday – John 11:32-44

I began with a conversation about procrastination, check out the recording to hear.

You know who else is a procrastinator? Jesus. Except when Jesus procrastinates, it raises a lot of questions.

So, Jesus is out by the River Jordan, and he gets an urgent message from his friends Mary and Martha. Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus are some of Jesus’ best friends. He loves them dearly. And this message should devastate him. “He whom you love is ill.” So you’d expect him to drop everything and go. That’s what we do for the people we love, right? But he doesn’t. Instead, he says something strange. “This illness doesn’t lead to death. It’s for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” What does he mean? Because we know Lazarus dies. What Jesus means is that he’s going to use Lazarus’ suffering as a way to reveal who he is. Because Jesus has a PR problem. Folks aren’t getting that he’s the Son of God. What better way to prove it than to raise someone from the dead? Now, that’s quite a demonstration! But there’s a big hitch. Someone’s got to be dead. This really should bother us a lot. The gospel even says – though he loved Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, he stayed two days longer. That doesn’t feel like love. Every shred of compassion in us should be screaming that this is NOT ok.

But he deliberately waits until Lazarus is good and dead. Then he goes to Mary and Martha. Martha hears he’s on the way, she runs to find him, and says, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know God will give you whatever you ask.” But she has no idea what Jesus has planned. What Martha’s saying is that Lazarus was the one who provided for us. He gave us a home and kept us fed. You let him die. You’re going to take care of us now, right? Because we know Martha. She’s practical. Back then, for a Jewish woman, marriage meant security. If you didn’t have a husband or family to take care of you, things were precarious. There’s a reason Torah talks so much about widows and orphans. Then Martha goes and tells Mary. Mary comes and says the same thing. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Jesus sees her grieving and wailing. He sees their neighbors grieving and wailing. It’s too much. Jesus weeps. He’s greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. But you wonder if he’s just weeping for them, or because maybe he pushed the envelope too far this time?