Sermon for Seventh Sunday after Epiphany – Genesis 45:1-11, 15 & Luke 6:27-38

This week I almost had to serve on a jury for a criminal case, involving domestic violence. Now, when I watch TV shows with a court scene, I have a pretty strong opinion about whether I think folks are guilty, and what I think they deserve. I think most folks have the same thought, even though we may not want to admit it. But as the defense attorney questioned us in order to figure out who he wanted to keep or dismiss, it struck me that all of his questions seemed to revolve around a central strategy. In the absence of any other evidence, based on witness testimony, could you convict? Now, I’m not sure if he was aiming to go for a he said/she said strategy, because after a few hours we were dismissed because there weren’t enough jurors. But it drove home the seriousness of making such a decision, and I found myself wondering how exposed it would feel like to be talked about in the third person in front of a court of strangers. Even if the perpetrator is guilty beyond reasonable doubt, when you’re face-to-face with someone, assigning a sentence is a solemn task. And, what makes a victim believable? So, I was glad to be dismissed.

It got me thinking about the story of Joseph and his brothers. Joseph makes a lot of claims about God’s will, but how believable are they?

Now, there’s a lot to like about Joseph. Every time folks push him down, he rises. His brothers are jealous that he’s the favorite son. They’ve got to get rid of him, so they sell him to traders. Then he’s bought by Potiphar, the captain of the Egyptian army. But just as he earns Potiphar’s trust, Potiphar’s wife tries to seduce him. He resists, so she frames him for adultery and they throw him in prison. Then Joseph starts interpreting dreams for other prisoners. Word spreads. Pharaoh hears. So when Pharaoh has a nightmare, he asks for Joseph. Joseph warns about a coming famine, so Egypt needs to stockpile food. Pharaoh’s grateful. He puts Joseph in charge. Joseph prepares so well that when the famine hits, the whole world comes to buy grain, including his brothers.

And lo and behold, Joseph actually forgives them. He gives them land to move nearby. He pledges to take care of them through the famine. And he says, “Don’t be distressed for selling me into slavery. It was all God’s plan to put me in Egypt, so when famine comes I could take care of you.” That’s super-human virtue right there.

But what if Joseph’s too good to be true?

Sermon for Fourth Sunday after Epiphany – Luke 4:21-30

Have you heard of “cancel culture”? Where someone famous says or does something offensive and folks campaign to get them dropped from TV or the internet. It’s pretty controversial. Some folks argue that this is like a mob mentality or an attack on free speech. Others argue that it’s a way to hold powerful people accountable. Now, I know free speech is crucial, but when folks spread misinformation, I confess I don’t mind it when their Facebook and Twitter accounts get suspended. Though it can be tiring to hear story after story of celebrities being canceled, especially when it’s folks I don’t know. Here’s a funny story. This week, the musician Neil Young just demanded that the online music streaming service Spotify remove all his music, to protest that they promote Joe Rogan’s podcast, where he tries to turn folks against vaccines. So millennials are like, “who’s Neil Young?” And some older folks are like, “what’s Spotify?”

Sermon for 3rd Sunday after Pentecost – Mark 4:26-34

Ever notice how Jesus tells a lot of stories about farming? Fig trees. Wheat. Weeds. Vineyards. Now, Jesus always draws a crowd whenever he speaks. A lot of these folks are probably farmers, so Jesus wants to be relevant. He wants to paint a picture that these folks can relate to. Except sometimes he says some pretty weird things. Like in the parable of the sower. A farmer walks along the path scattering seeds. Some fall on good soil, but seems like most fall on bad soil or the rocky path. That’s not efficient, is it? Unless you have seeds to burn or don’t need to eat. I guess we’ve all got different goals. But it’s weird to tell that story to a bunch of farmers. They’re desperate for good crops. They’re not rich and they’ve got mouths to feed. So it’s easy to imagine them getting hung up on what a weird farmer this is.

Then again, what was Jesus’ job before he started his ministry? A carpenter. (Mk 6:3) Not a farmer. So maybe that explains why Jesus says some odd things about mustard seeds in today’s Gospel reading. Like that the mustard seed is the world’s smallest seed. It’s not true. Back in the day, farmers had smaller seeds. They knew better. Here’s another thing. Jesus talks about sowing mustard seeds. No one did that. The seeds rapidly germinate and start growing almost immediately. And the plants are notorious spreaders. Ancient botanists wrote that once sown you really couldn’t get rid of them, like an infestation. Like kudzu. Messing with THESE seeds is like opening Pandora’s box. So do you think the farmers in the crowd are giving Jesus a little side eye by this point?

Sermon for Pentecost – Acts 2:1-21

FYI – I recommend listening to the recording because I improvised the opening paragraph below….

What’s your secret power? What’s something that you know or can do that no one would ever expect? SHOW CROSS STITCH. EXPLAIN WHY I ENJOY THAT HOBBY. Folks are always surprised when they find out about my hobby. Isn’t it weird how folks pigeonhole us? Why do they do that? Make all sorts of assumptions about what we can or can’t do. Folks thought I was an art major in undergrad. Folks thought I was a restaurant server in the pride band. On the one hand, it can be fun to surprise people. But other times being pigeonholed is hard. You get left out of things, or dismissed.

Jesus’ disciples knew all about being pigeonholed. A lot of them were from the region of Galilee. Which wasn’t a spectacular place. A few cities, but mainly a bunch of little country towns. Kind of like Indiana outside of Indianapolis. But it’s diverse. You can find Jews, Samaritans, and even Gentiles. They’ve got plenty of synagogues. They’ve even got Pharisees. So Galilee isn’t some backwater place with full of rednecks. They know a thing or two about religion and culture. But down south in the big city of Jerusalem, folks don’t care for their Galilean cousins from up north. They think Galileans are backwards. They don’t know Torah. They’re superstitious. They’re bad Jews. Basically, they’re trash because they’re not from Jerusalem. Folks from Galilee are all pigeonholed like this. Like someone said, can anything good come out of Nazareth? Because you know how they are.

Sermon for 7th Sunday of Easter – John 17:6-19

In the world but not of the world. Have you ever heard that phrase? What does it mean? Like holding ourselves to a high standard. Being disciplined. Abstaining from worldly influences. It is a good way to be popular? Probably not. I remember when I was in high school. My family was Catholic, but we never went to church. But then a classmate down the street invited me to her Baptist youth group. So I went, and I had a great time. I really got sucked into the group. It gave me a real awakening of faith. Now, a big part of the culture was to be strong for the Lord. No drinking or smoking or sex. You could only listen to Christian music or watch Christian TV. You had to be careful who you hung out with so you wouldn’t be led astray. I was ok with that because I felt like I was being a true disciple. Except then I graduated and went to a Lutheran university, and it was all depravity from there…. (just kidding!)

In the world but not of the world. For a lot of Christians, this means that you’re trying to follow Jesus. To be pure and holy. But you’ve got a problem. You’re stuck in this broken world that keeps derailing you from your mission. The world’s full of strife. Politics. Racism. Mask-wearers versus anti-maskers. What we think about the police. So many issues, which may not seem religious, but a lot of folks believe this is supposed to be a Christian nation, so everything starts to feel religious. You pick the “right” side and avoid folks on the other side because they’re a bad influence.

But something seems off about that kind of avoidance. We don’t remember Jesus avoiding anyone. He was drawn to sinners and called them friends. So “in the world but not of the world” becomes more of an internal thing. Where it’s ok to have friends we disagree with, as long as we stand up for truth. Because maybe it’ll rub off on them. Or so we hope. Except, I don’t know about you, but friendship seems a lot harder these days. Or even getting along with co-workers or family members. Folks seem a lot less guarded about what comes out of their mouths. We’ve really got to watch what we say, so we don’t trigger those folks who disagree with us. We want to avoid arguments. We want to avoid risking our relationships. So, “in the world but not of the world” feels like it’s still about avoidance, but now we just avoid rocking the boat.

Sermon for 4th Sunday of Easter – John 10:11-18

In case you didn’t get the memo, this is Good Shepherd Sunday. Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.” Good news up front! Now, it’s a parable, so what do we always do? We try to figure out which character we are. So by faith we hear Jesus telling us that he’s our shepherd and we’re his sheep. So naturally we compare our life of faith to sheep. Sheep are smelly and dumb, so let’s be humble. Sheep make bad decisions, so let’s admit we need a shepherd. Sheep recognize their shepherd’s voice, so we listen for Jesus’ voice in the tumult. I could keep going, but you get the point. We could talk about shepherds in the same way, but we’ll save that for another sermon. That just leaves the hired hand and the wolf, but we’ll get to them soon enough.

Now, whenever Jesus tells a parable, it matters who Jesus is telling it to. If he’s talking to his disciples, then we figure Jesus is teaching with love and compassion. Except what’s interesting here is that Jesus isn’t talking to his followers. He’s talking to a bunch of raging Pharisees. And Jesus is pretty angry too. Here’s what happened. Jesus gave sight to a blind man. And of all the miracle stories, this one stands out because there’s all kinds of interrogation afterwards. Neighbors drag the man to the Pharisees for questioning. The Pharisees don’t like his answers. So they summon his parents and question them. Now, his parents are painfully aware that if they don’t watch their mouths they’ll be kicked out of synagogue. You can’t afford that kind of social death in a small village. So they say “we don’t know. Ask him.” Then the Pharisees haul in the man for another round of interrogation. It’s a real Gestapo situation. Finally they get so outraged that they drive out the man. Jesus hears about it. He seeks out the man like a good shepherd. And he says these words. “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” Naturally the Pharisees hear, because they’ve got ears everywhere. They say, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus answers, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains. Then he tells this parable.

See, this is a parable of comdemnation. It may have good news in it, but not for these folks. Jesus is judging them. Not just because they refuse to acknowledge who Jesus is, or because they refuse to believe that such a miracle could happen. It’s that they’ve already written off the man as condemned by God. To them, blindness only means one thing. This man has sinned, and it’s unforgiveable. So for him to dare suggest that his blindness wasn’t his own fault? They’re outraged and tell him so. “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” So Jesus lays everything out. I am the good shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not she shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and abandons the sheep. And the wolf snatches them. Jesus is calling the Pharisees hired hands. These folks who God has called to tend the congregation. What do they do? They establish doctrine and judgment. I mean, you’ve got to have rules and categories, so that it’s abundantly clear who’s liable for everything that’s wrong. Because what would it mean if you couldn’t explain why bad things happen? That everything’s arbitrary? That we’re stuck in the hands of an angry God with no hope?