Sermons: Recent Episodes
Redeemer Anglican Church, Annapolis MD
As a driver I’ve been involved, in one way or another, in four collisions I can recall. The first was near my parents’ house, driving at night through thick white snow, coming back home from Walmart. I was driving their Jeep Grand Cherokee, which, luckily, rode high and meant there was little damage to their car when I somehow missed that the car in front of me was slowing to turn left and we careened into its rear end. My brother’s girlfriend, who was pregnant at the time, had ridden along. Thankfully none of us were injured. As it happened I knew the person I hit, though not well. Their rear end was smashed, but I don’t think they filed for it. They said it was an old car and they were just glad everyone was okay, their son included. In the second I bumped into a car at a stoplight in broad daylight with no extenuating circumstances whatsoever. I was just plain distracted. The third was a little more interesting. It was about five years ago, maybe six. Elizabeth and I had some sort of tiff as I was heading out the door to the grocery store, and distracted by frustration I didn’t check my rear view mirror before zooming our CR-V out of its spot. If I had checked, I’d have seen the flank of our Ranger behind me, which asserted itself regardless. I found it instantly difficult to be frustrated about our argument as I walked back inside to tell Elizabeth I had hit our car with our other car. I was pretty embarrassed until, about a month later, my father-in-law hit the same car in the same spot. Misery loves company. In the last accident, almost a year ago, I was rear-ended in traffic by a driver taking his daughter to school who missed the ‘stop’ in ‘stop-and-go,’ smashing into my Camry’s trunk at about twenty or thirty. It was the first time I’d ever filed an insurance claim. But none of these were as instructive as what happened two weeks ago when Elizabeth was hit in the Target parking lot by a young and suddenly very nervous driver. There is some bumper damage, and the safety cameras need to be checked, but everyone was fine. Handling the matter was just another thing on my to-do list until I sat down with this week’s Scripture passages. I’ve felt a little awkward ever since.
See you Sunday.
Thomas Pfenson
As a driver I’ve been involved, in one way or another, in four collisions I can recall. The first was near my parents’ house, driving at night through thick white snow, coming back home from Walmart. I was driving their Jeep Grand Cherokee, which, luckily, rode high and meant there was little damage to their car when I somehow missed that the car in front of me was slowing to turn left and we careened into its rear end. My brother’s girlfriend, who was pregnant at the time, had ridden along. Thankfully none of us were injured. As it happened I knew the person I hit, though not well. Their rear end was smashed, but I don’t think they filed for it. They said it was an old car and they were just glad everyone was okay, their son included. In the second I bumped into a car at a stoplight in broad daylight with no extenuating circumstances whatsoever. I was just plain distracted. The third was a little more interesting. It was about five years ago, maybe six. Elizabeth and I had some sort of tiff as I was heading out the door to the grocery store, and distracted by frustration I didn’t check my rear view mirror before zooming our CR-V out of its spot. If I had checked, I’d have seen the flank of our Ranger behind me, which asserted itself regardless. I found it instantly difficult to be frustrated about our argument as I walked back inside to tell Elizabeth I had hit our car with our other car. I was pretty embarrassed until, about a month later, my father-in-law hit the same car in the same spot. Misery loves company. In the last accident, almost a year ago, I was rear-ended in traffic by a driver taking his daughter to school who missed the ‘stop’ in ‘stop-and-go,’ smashing into my Camry’s trunk at about twenty or thirty. It was the first time I’d ever filed an insurance claim. But none of these were as instructive as what happened two weeks ago when Elizabeth was hit in the Target parking lot by a young and suddenly very nervous driver. There is some bumper damage, and the safety cameras need to be checked, but everyone was fine. Handling the matter was just another thing on my to-do list until I sat down with this week’s Scripture passages. I’ve felt a little awkward ever since.
See you Sunday.
Thomas Pfenson
I own a pair of expensive prescription sunglasses (above) that aren’t quite right. I can’t tell you exactly how they’re wrong, but the lenses seem to ever so slightly distort my periphery, and, if I wear them long enough, give me headaches.
Conscience is a lens; the lens through which we perceive reality. We can see in Scripture three ways an otherwise healthy conscience can be distorted, or bent: inward, outward, and if far enough in either direction, shattered.
This week’s Gospel reading—a story of Mary, Martha, Messiah, and manipulation—is a case study in how a conscience slightly distorted reveals itself in the warp and woof of life.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
In our epistle reading last week, St Paul enumerated the fruit of the Spirit for us (Galatians 5:22-23): love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (for those of you who are also members of the Oxford Comma Club, you’re welcome).
It’s an amazing and aspirational list, but it’sjust a list if we leave it there. Paul doesn’t want that to happen, so he immediately gives us in chapter six several examples of what it might actually look like to live a life in which this list becomes practice. In doing so, he puts his finger directly on the root of an immense problem we experience in our culture today…why we don’t, and why we can’t, get along.
Sadly, more and more, even in the Church.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
As Jesus worked his way towards his ultimate goal in Jerusalem, those around him were caught up in the drama unprepared. Their enthusiasm exposed false motives, distractions, qualifications. They were not entirely aligned with Jesus' purpose; they were not heading in the same direction. Jesus was headed one way; they, another. Jesus says "No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God."
Jesus disrupted and disoriented the perceptions of even his closest followers at times. It is important for us to sit with this for a moment, to let ourselves acknowledge the tension that plays out between our wills and his, between our expectations and his, between our desires and his.
As we’ll see, the exchange that Jesus offers us isn't between what we want and what he wants; it's between an old life and a new life. Putting our hand to the plow without looking back is about what we see ahead of us, and that makes all the difference.
These are hard, good words from Jesus, and I look forward to hearing them together with you on Sunday.
Steve Engstrom+
Losing your self has never been easy.
The age hasn’t yet come, nor will it ever, when self-denial will be convenient, or taking up a cross comfortable.
In our culture of expressive individualism and the modern sacred self, Jesus’s call in this week’s Gospel stabs at the very heart at best…or at worst just sounds culturally incoherent and stupid. Who will we be, after all, if we hand our selves over to a Lord who demands all of us? Nice. Neat. Bland. A soul dressed in beige every day, for ever.*
But the triune God who made heaven and earth, the sea and everything in it—and created us in their own image—is absolutely not a God of beige, as any field of wildflowers will attest. He is the God of the orchestra and the dance who made a world shimmering with diversity yet held together in him. A God who can make anyone part of a grand whole, but never swallowed up; a member of a worldwide body, but with a distinct role; one among billions, but with your own beautiful part to sing in a colossal chorus.
Die to your self and you will find the true you, Jesus says.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
*“In heaven, all the interesting people are missing.”—Friedrich Nietzsche
Those of us of a certain age—and who also liked Led Zeppelin—will remember Larry Norman. He’s considered a pioneer of Christian rock music and released more than 100 albums during his career. A lyric from one of his songs I still remember almost five decades later goes like this, “The Beatles said all you need is love. Then they broke up.”
It’s true. Though it’s difficult to maintain—and we really struggle to get it right—love is the thing we all know we need. We’re literally made for love because we're created in the image of a God who is love.
But “God is love” only makes sense if God is Trinity.
A solitary God cannot be love. He may yearn for love. He may even learn to love. But he cannot himself be love, since love requires an object. It requires relationship. It requires community.And this has an implication or two for our lives together.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
A lot happened at Pentecost when the Holy Spirit was poured out upon the followers of Messiah Jesus. There were flames of fire, rushing winds, miraculous languages. The gift of the Holy Spirit was so important, in fact, that Jesus said that it was to our advantage that he ascended to heaven so that the "Helper" would come to us and "guide you to all truth...and declare to you the things that are to come." (John 16).
The Spirit unites us to Christ, makes Christ's presence known to us and in us. We are empowered to experience Jesus and to enjoy the fellowship that comes from participating in the love of our Triune God.
Pretty amazing stuff. But sometimes it can remain abstract or distant. Scripture gives us many examples of how God weaves together the threads of our lives into the fabric of His grand tapestry. It is important for us to understand how God is present to us, in particular...in our circumstances, in our histories, in our daily lives. It is important for us to grasp our own stories, remember the ways in which God revealed Himself to us, and learn to see Him and hear Him in the concreteness of our experiences.
God has graciously given us many ways to encounter His Spirit...through His word and table, through fellowship, through engagement with those in need. Many of us who participated in our Lenten small groups practiced sharing "gratitude memories." We are going to pick that theme up again on Sunday to dig a little deeper into how sharing our stories of gratitude with each other can help us strengthen our bonds of love with Christ and each other.
I look forward to being with you,
Steve Engstrom+
I’m writing a day early because today is Ascension Day—40 days after Easter and ten days before Pentecost.
After his resurrection, Jesus spent 40 days with his disciples, and then “while he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up to heaven.” (Luke 24:51)
On Ascension Day 2020—when we were all working from home—a friend quipped that Ascension marks the day that Jesus also started working from home. It was a funny thing to say at the time, but imagine the roller coaster ride for the disciples, from their despair at Jesus’ death, to their elation at his resurrection—only to have him leave.
If we attend to it, Ascension Day helps us live in that moment. Jesus really did leave. In an important and powerful sense, he is absent.
We know that he promised to send another Comforter, the Holy Spirit. We know he is spiritually present in the Eucharist, which we call his Real Presence. We know that the Church is the Body of Christ. We know that when two or three are gathered in his name he is in their midst. And we know that he promised never to leave us or forsake us. We are not alone, and he is manifesting his presence with us through the Holy Spirit, through the Sacraments, through his Word, and through each other.
But…he is absent as well. He hasn’t yet returned, and though his kingdom has been inaugurated, it has not yet fully come. We live in the tension of now and not yet. And tension is the right word, I think.
This feels especially real to me today, and I’m sure to you, on the heels of two mass shootings this month, in Buffalo, NY—ten black people dead and three others injured at Tops Friendly Market at the hands of a radicalized, conspiracy-believing white man; and in Uvalde, TX—at least twenty-one dead including 19 children and two adults at Robb Elementary School. Both attacks manifestations of what can only be called evil.
It’s not necessary to enumerate all the other cultural and political and sexual confusion and dysfunction and malevolence we’re experiencing in these days, because you already know it and feel it. In fact, everyone knows it and feels it: this is simply not as it ought to be.
Jesus knew that we would live in the tension of now and not yet. He knew that we would feel his absence. So, he gives us the gift of peace within that tension. We can bear the tension of the “now” knowing we are not alone even as we wait for the “not yet”. In fact, our task is to be at peace within the world while seeking to bring the transforming love of Jesus Christ to it.
The Ascension of Christ is the is a perfect blend of sadness and joy. The sadness is there, and we can’t deny it. We want to be with Christ, and we want him to be with us. And the joy is there, too, because he has not left us alone.
Christians can live in this tension with peace. Peace, because he is Lord. Peace, because he gave us a Comforter. Peace, because he will return to us. Peace, because he has grafted us in to his Body on earth and we can take his grace and presence wherever we go. We can bring the peace that passes all understanding to a world desperately in need of it.
The challenge of Ascension Day is to rest in the tension of the absence of Jesus and at the very same time receive his presence right now. This paradox of faith is often uncomfortable and difficult to describe, but it is real. The disciples understood this in some way, even with all their confusion. After Jesus ascended, they “worshipped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the Temple blessing God.” (Luke 24:52-53) They knew his ascension wasn’t an end, but a beginning. It was a call to worship and a call to serve—a call to make his presence known to the ends of the earth.
Steve+
At the celebration of a Roman military triumph, the public would have their eyes glued to the victorious general at the front of the ranks—one of the most coveted spots in that day. Only a few would be mindful of the aide just behind the commander, quietly, continuously, whispering into his ear, “memento mori”—“remember death,” a sobering (and wise) thing to hear at the height of glory and victory.
Try as we might to avoid it, we all need this reminder from time to time. As Anglicans we get it at least every Ash Wednesday as ashes are imposed on our foreheads with the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” There’s no avoiding it.
It’s a good reminder, but it’s not really the ultimate point, is it? Because those words—and the seasons of Lent and Easter—have a telos, an aim. They point us to an even deeper reality beyond death: resurrection. New bodies, new life, new desire for Jesus, new heavens, new earth…in fact, all things new (not all new things). An unimaginable continuity between now and not yet, but only just a hint of something unimaginable.
As we conclude our five-week time in the book of Revelation, we’ll look at why memento mori is just part of the story.
Steve+
Pretty sure you’ve heard the one about the airline pilot who comes on the PA about two hours into a flight and says, “Well, folks, I’ve got some bad news and some good news. The bad news is we’re lost. The good news is we’re making great time.” It doesn’t matter what great time you’re making if the supreme thing—the destination in this case—isn’t the supreme thing. You’re still lost.
This is a little like something St. Augustine wrote in The City of God where he called the “proper order of our loves” (order amoris) the “brief and true definition of virtue.” According to this order, we must love everything in creation only according to its proper relationship to God, which means loving God above all—as supreme—and not inordinately loving anything else as our ultimate end. Everything must be measured in relationship to God’s supremacy. No exceptions. Get this wrong and it doesn’t matter if you're ‘making great time’. You’re still lost.
In this week’s Epistle, the Apostle John, striving to encourage seven churches besieged by the abject evil of the Roman Empire—when it was looking like everything was lost—reminds them of this: everything must be measured in relationship to God’s supremacy.
He was writing to us in our day, too.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
One of my favorite poets, Wendell Berry, uses the metaphor of a couple dancing to describe twists and turns of life. In his poem, “The Dance,” he asks:
What is fidelity? To what
does it hold? The point
of departure, or the turning road
that is departure and absence
and the way home? What we are
and what we were once
are far estranged.
How would you answer the question? Are we grounded in the origins of our journeys or the destination—or something in the middle? Berry describes what we all experience in the ebb and flow of our relationships: departure, absence, return, change.
For Christians, the “point of fidelity” isn’t abstract: it’s grounded concretely in the promise of a New World that brings all of our journeys to their proper destination.
In the Book of Revelation, all of the threads that originate from the very beginning in Genesis 1 and that are woven throughout Scripture find their way into John’s vision. There, the story of God and people come to resolution.
That’s why the Book of Revelation has the unique statement that “blessed are those who hear it and take to heart what is written in it…” (Rev. 1:3). Jesus the Messiah is the Alpha and the Omega—the Beginning and the End, “the point of departure…and the way home.”
I look forward to seeing you on Sunday to discover more about the dance and the way home.
Steve Engstrom+
I got to spend most of Wednesday evening with someone dear to me who was in town on business. Not only do I love him as a friend, but I have come to experience him as a truly admirable and excellent person. I can’t tell you simply why this is because it’s not simple. He possesses very diverse qualities that stand, not in opposition, but in complement. He’s a career warrior, and shockingly tender-hearted. He’s financially frugal, and unflinchingly generous. He’s fiercely loyal, and uncompromisingly straightforward as regards accountability (but always kind). He makes me both relaxed and exhausted.
The balance—or maybe better, tension—of these qualities is complex, but over the last few decades I’ve come to realize that the highest and deepest and most admirable people in my life are simply not “simple”. They’re a coming together in one person of often seemingly opposed qualities. And that’s much of what makes them beautiful.
In this week’s Epistle, St. John, in an apocalyptic vision, is taken to heaven’s throne room where Jesus is announced as a Lion—an animal who makes prey of others, is strong, wild, majestic and dangerous. But when he's finally allowed to see him, is a Lamb—easy prey, weak, harmless, lowly, and killed for our food. Seemingly opposed qualities that make Jesus beautiful, and excellent, and truly admirable.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
In this increasingly relativistic cauldron we call “the world,” a lot of anxiety and insecurity is fueled by the notion that everyone is entitled (encouraged?) to form their own reality based primarily, if not solely, on their individual perceptions. It goes something like this: “The way I see the world is the world as it is.”
“Perception is reality” has become an almost universal cultural assumption, leaving little room for things that may be objectively and ultimately real but don’t match perceptions. C. S. Lewis had little patience for this idea, noting, “You cannot go against the grain of reality and not expect to get splinters.” Reality is reality regardless of how I see things.
In this week’s Epistle, St. John, seeking to encourage seven churches struggling in the cauldron of the Roman Empire, writes something that’s objectively and ultimately real, but may not have matched the perceptions of his original readers much more than it does ours today: “Jesus Christ…the ruler of kings on earth”.
Really?!? Putin? Xi? Kim? Assad? Those closer to home who shall remain nameless? (I’m not foolhardy.)
Hmmm…
See you Sunday.
Steve+
O God, who for our redemption gave your only begotten Son to die upon the cross, and by his glorious resurrection delivered us from the devil and the power of death: Grant us grace to die daily to sin, that we may live with him in the joy of his resurrection; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, now and for ever. Amen.
This Sunday is the day we commemorate Palm Sunday, a celebration of Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem at the beginning of what has come to be known as Holy Week: “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!”
But the week—and the service—turn quickly from celebration to passion (from the Latin “passio”, suffering), culminating in the crucifixion, a suffering so indescribable that a new word had to be coined to describe it: excruciation, literally meaning “from the cross”.
This is not to be pedantic (though I can be prone to that). It’s important to understand that “passion” doesn’t mean “really super excited”, and “excruciation” isn’t a word meant to describe an ingrown toenail, much as it might hurt. Because in this week’s Gospel reading, it’s at the height of passion, from the cross, that Jesus prays two of the most beautiful, comforting, and instructive prayers in Scripture.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
This week's Gospel reading is a hard one. Here, Jesus shares a parable with ominous affect upon a group of greedy tenants. The owner of the vineyard cleans house and installs new leadership. It is violent: the tenants kill the owner's son and they in turn are destroyed; stones crush people. It sounds more like The Godfather than God the Father.
But there is great risk to our faith if we turn away from these challenging stories. If we avoid them, they create ambivalence in our hearts and minds about whether God is as good as we thought.
God is as good as we thought...even better! And whenever and wherever Jesus acts, it is to bring about the Kingdom of God where justice, mercy, and love prevail. Jesus is not offering a contradictory picture of God, nor is he intending to confuse his followers. Rather, he is engaging in an epic struggle on their behalf and describing the cost of liberating them from oppression--a cost that he will bear himself.
Parables like these are especially important and it's good to explore them together. I look forward to being with you on Sunday to do that.
Steve Engstrom+
All of Luke 15—a Tale of Three Parties—is a response by Jesus to an accusation made by a bunch of Pharisees: “This man receives sinners and eats with them.” Three parables of God’s literal passion for the lost, and his joy at their finding. Found sheep? Party. Found coin? Party. Found son? You guessed it…party! You’d have thought it was 1999.
But the party in the third story was a huge problem for one person, the older brother (representing the Pharisees themselves), who hadn’t squandered half his father’s life savings, thank you very much.
The thing is, if you read with care the response of the father to his older son’s anger, you read Jesus’s tenderest words to the Pharisees recorded in the Gospels.
They strike me as poignant words for us, too.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
The 2007 memoir, Three Little Words, by Ashley Rhodes-Courter is a gripping story of her early life and ten-year journey through foster care to adoption. It chronicles a life of doubt, fear, and bewilderment that came down to three little words tenuously spoke in a courtroom at the age of twelve.
The book’s title was taken from an answer at Ashley’s adoption proceedings when she was asked by the judge for her consent to be adopted. “I guess so,” was her reply, indicating her tenuous faith not only in the system, but in people in general. Ultimately, that seed of faith took root and blossomed in her new home, where she was encouraged not only to tell her story, but also to act boldly on behalf of others.
She went on to become a powerhouse, championing radical reforms in our nation’s foster care system—literally freeing thousands of children from the bondage of a broken system.
Three little words made all the difference.
And though it’s obviously completely different in detail, the overall narrative of the book bears a striking resemblance to the story of Moses in Exodus 3, who would go on from the burning bush to become an Old Testament powerhouse. Years of doubt, fear, and bewilderment that came down to three little words spoken tenuously in the desert.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
In her delightful book, Partnering, Jean Oelwang—a remarkable business and philanthropic leader—asserts that every significant good thing that happens in the world, or nearly so—from the discovery and closing of the ozone hole in the 70s and 80s, to the dismantling of apartheid—happens as the result of robust partnering that gives birth to an ability to work at remarkable scale, do great good, and also find great fulfillment. She prefers the word partnering to partnership, by the way, because partnership is a noun whereas partnering is a verb.
In reading her book I’ve found incredible resonance, not just because of the inspiring case studies, but something deeper in my soul…and I think I understand why. We are made for partnering. Literally created by and for it. From the Holy Trinity in Creation, to the creation of humankind in the image of “Us”, to our mandate to steward the earth and make culture, to the solution to the Fall in Genesis 3:15 (and all the rest of the redemptive history, really), partnering is integral to it all.
Even this week’s Gospel reading in which the idea of partnering doesn’t at first seem obvious (or maybe even relevant), it is integral. And when you think about it, for the most obvious reason.
See you Sunday.
When my two sons were in highschool, they worked for a window-washing company. They often sprayed exterior windows and siding with cleaning solutions. I asked them how they protected the bushes and flowers surrounding the houses from harmful chemicals. They explained that prior to washing exteriors, they would first drench the surrounding foliage with water. The plants would soak up the water and would therefore not ingest the cleaning solutions that followed.
I was thinking about that while pondering Jesus' resilience to the temptations of the devil that we'll explore together in Luke 4. Jesus was full of something other than what the devil was offering. I think that says a lot about how God's people face trials.
I look forward to seeing you on Sunday to dig a little deeper together.
Steve Engstrom+
At some point—hopefully soon—MLB and the MLB Players Association will finalize a new collective bargaining agreement, Spring Training will commence, and baseball will return.
Spring Training and Lent—which begins Ash Wednesday—share an important thing in common beyond happening at the same time of year. It’s a time players ramp up their training so that when the heat is on they do exactly what needs to be done when it needs to be done as a matter of habit. For thousands of years disciples of Jesus have focused on the same thing at Lent.
Because whether it’s effortlessly and habitually turning a double play, or obeying everything Jesus commanded, it takes more than just trying…it requires training.
One has to try, of course, but we seriously overestimate what we can do solely by trying, and grossly underestimate what we can do by training. This is why MLB players don’t just show up on Opening Day with their bat and glove ready to try really, really hard. So, similar to the pre-season in baseball, Lent is a time when disciples of Jesus pay particular attention to training.
Trying versus training this Sunday. See you then.
Steve+
Many of you know I grew up in Southern California. My father died in March, 1993, but I still get out to CA for two or three days several times a year to visit my dear elderly mother. And I can almost guarantee two things will happen within the first hour or so of my arrival in San Diego: 1) I will eat an In-N-Out Burger Double Double, and; 2) she will hold my face in her hands and through tears tell me, “You’re so much like dad.”
And she’s right. Physical size notwithstanding (my father was 5’7” and before I started shrinking, I was 6’3”), I’m an awful lot like him. Same givenness to crying, same dry cough, same eye-roll-inducing sense of humor, same pathological tendency to peacemaking, same fungussy toenails (I know, gross)… I could go on because the list is long (and actually includes one or two admirable things, too).
The thing is, none of those characteristics remotely make me Bill Wishart’s son, but they do show to the world that I’m a chip off the old block.
Humor aside, that’s a bit of the backdrop for this week’s Gospel reading from Jesus’s “Sermon on the Plain” in Luke 6. Characteristics of living that don’t make us God’s daughters and sons, but do show to the world that we’re chips off the old block.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
Maybe the best schtick in the cult classic The Princess Bride, besides “Stop that rhyming now, I mean it!” “Does anybody want a peanut?” Oh yeah, and “Wuv. Twue wuv…”, has to be Inigo Montoya’s retort on about the forty-ninth time Vizzig exclaims, “Inconceivable!”
“You keep using that word,” he says, “but I do not think it means what you think it means.”
It’s unfortunate that the word “righteousness” has been flattened today to primarily, if not exclusively, connote some kind of (usually off-putting) personal piety. It’s a word we keep using, but I do not think it means what we think it means. Because the ancient biblical conception of righteousness is far more robust, expansive, and good for our neighbors. In fact, Proverbs 11:22 says, “When the righteous prosper, the city rejoices.” Why?
The Psalm appointed for Sunday talks about the vital importance of this kind of righteousness and suggests three accessible ways to reclaim it.
Oh, also, “As you wiiiiiiiiiiisssh.”
See you Sunday.
Steve+
We recently visited close family friends of ours with a four-year old son. As soon as we walked in the door, he could hardly wait to show us his room and his special toys which we brought out with great fanfare. "Look at this!" What a privilege to delight in his joy and be amazed at his treasures.
Little kids love to show their special people things that matter to them. So do adults. When our special people acknowledge the things that matter to us, we feel loved, we feel like we belong.
Imagine what it must have felt like for Mary and Joseph to present Jesus in the temple and have him taken into the arms of Simeon and Anna. I wonder if it's a taste of what we'll share with Jesus when he presents us "blameless before the presence" of his Father "with great joy" when we are welcomed into the New World (Jude 1:24).
I look forward to experiencing that joy together on Sunday morning!
In Messiah,
Steve Engstrom+
In this week’s Gospel reading when Jesus visited his hometown and attended synagogue on Sabbath day—yes, Jesus went to church—he was asked to read from the scroll of the Prophet Isaiah. After reading from chapter 61:1-2 and applying it to himself, the other members were thrilled because they saw themselves, under Roman rule, as the oppressed. Finally, some good news for us. Maybe now they’ll get their comeuppance.
Then the mood radically changed to the point that they tried to throw him off a cliff.
Why? He followed up with two stories that rocked their us/them paradigm.
God thinks “we”...and has since the beginning.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
In the 1991 comedy City Slickers, Mitch (Billy Crystal) asks Curly (Jack Palance), in a moment of vulnerability, about the secret…the secret of life. “One thing,” Curly says, “just one thing. You stick to that and everything don’t mean nothin’”
Well, Curly doesn’t say it exactly that way, but that’s the gist (for you church history buffs, he uses Martin Luther’s favorite scatalogical word).
That, however, is not the point. Just One Thing is.
Because, the confession and practice of ‘just one thing’ is exactly what St. Paul told the Corinthian church in 1 Corinthians 12 was the “secret” to a healthy and robust spiritual life and community.
See you Sunday,
Steve+
Psalm 96 is primarily a quotation from King David's song of triumph upon the return of the Ark to Jerusalem from Philistine captivity. The Psalmist, writing hundreds of years later, introduces the Psalm with an exhortation to "sing a new song!" Written most likely from exile, the Psalmist's call to sing a new song raises interesting questions. What's the old song that we aren't singing anymore? And what's new about the new song?
I wonder what happened in the Psalmist and his people to inspire such a passionate exhortation, such an urgent invitation to worship. Some of us will find a new song on the tips of our tongues; others will search in vain for a tune. Either way, God is inviting us to see things the way He does and discover how much we're a part of His plan.
I look forward to exploring this Psalm with you on Sunday!
And I also look forward to gathering with you in small groups during the 8 weeks of Lent where we can discover and sing a new song together. We're sending out a survey to ask whether you're interested in gathering together in a home-based small group. I encourage you to respond so that we can plan accordingly.
In Messiah,
+Steve Engstrom
In the George Bernard Shaw play, Man and Superman, one of the characters says something that can at first seem contradictory, “There are two great tragedies in life; one is to not get your heart’s desire, and the other is to get it.”
It requires some thought, but I think what he’s driving at is that when it comes to your heart’s deepest desires—what you really, really want—getting and not getting can bear identical fruit, leaving you disappointed, frustrated, and unfulfilled.
So, guard your heart.
This is why philosopher Jamie Smith calls “what do you want?” the “first, last, and most fundamental question of Christian discipleship.”
This week’s Psalm leans hard into that question, and this week, so will we.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
We love origin stories. Often called “prequels”, in literature and entertainment they look back, making the case for why a character is protagonist or antagonist. It changes our understanding of them, most often illuminating something we didn’t know before…something foundational and complex behind what made them who they are (my favorite, by far, is the musical “Wicked”). In many ways, you can never see them the same way again.
It strikes me that this Sunday’s Gospel reading—the same one we read every Sunday immediately following Christmas—is hands down the best, most compelling, and most important origin story ever written because it makes the case for why we take the life, teaching, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus so seriously every other Sunday of the year, and perfectly sets the stage for the year to come.
Steve+
Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and as we are sorely hindered by our sins from running the race that is set before us, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen.
O Lord Jesus Christ, you sent your messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation: Grant that the ministers and stewards of your mysteries may likewise make ready your way, by turning the hearts of the disobedient toward the wisdom of the just, that at your second coming to judge the world, we may be found a people acceptable in your sight; for with the Father and the Holy Spirit you live and reign, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
During the penitential season of Advent, historically Christians have exercised the spiritual disciplines of fasting, praying, repentance, and almsgiving. These are important because they help keep the main thing the main thing during a season that culturally can too often entice us to excess and indulgence.
I am asking that you join me today and on the following three Fridays in skipping one meal and devoting that time to prayer.
As I said in my sermon Sunday, in praying for the Thessalonians, St. Paul sets an excellent example of prayer that’s:
Audacious: the expression of profound longing for something beyond what can now be imagined;
Enthusiastic: it’s “in God” as the word literally means…en theos. It’s rooted in and inspired by the character of God revealed in Jesus (in this way, even biblical lament can be said to be “enthusiastic”); and,
Firmly Fixed on the Future: it believes confidently that God will one day bring heaven and earth together in a new way, with the personal presence of Jesus as the central feature and light of this new world. God’s will will be done.
And if nothing audacious comes immediately to mind, join me in praying that God would miraculously provide a suitable permanent home for Redeemer and all the resources it will require.
Dead Reckoning
Not that it’s of interest to anyone but me and a few other nerds, but in my pre-GPS flying days, before embarking on a long flight we had to draw a lot of lines on actual paper aeronautical charts (not maps) using a lot of calculations, between lots of identifiable landmarks or “fixes” to keep us on course. Nowadays it's just keep the little cartoon airplane on the big pink line on the iPad. No one can say exactly why, but the former is called “dead reckoning”. It’s thought that the “dead” in dead reckoning comes from either “deduced”…or that if you don’t do it that’s how you’ll wind up.
This is because being even just a little off course on a 300 nautical mile trip can leave you hopelessly lost and produce some potentially disastrous results (not that this has ever happened to me).
In the Epistle reading for this Sunday, The First Sunday of Advent, St. Paul carries this kind of urgency for not getting off course, even just a little.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
So, there’s this hysterical scene in the movie “Hitch” with Will Smith and Kevin James (easy to find on YouTube if you’re up for a laugh). I won’t go into all the details, but it involves James just bustin’ all the moves… “Start the fire. Make the pizza. Q-tip, Q-tip, Q-tip. Throw it away…throw it away.”
To all of which Smith replies, “Never. Do. That. Again. Never. From now on, this is where you live. Right here. You live right here. This is home. Elbows six inches from the waist, 90-degree angles. DON’T YOU BITE THAT LIP!”
St. Paul told the church at Colossae a similar kind of thing in the Epistle reading for The Feast of Christ the King, this Sunday: “From now on, this is where you live. Right here. You live right here. This is home.”
See you Sunday.
Steve+
A good friend and seminary professor from the 80s, now a successful executive coach, has a refrain: “Until you answer the Why question, the cost is always too high.”
Simply put, Why gives What meaning.
Nearly anyone who reads last week's Gospel reading (spoiler alert: The Widow’s Offering) can pretty quickly come up with the What: sacrificial giving. That’s easy.
But what’s the Why? Well, that’s the vital question, isn’t it?
See you Sunday.
Steve+
In this week's reading from I Kings, we are told that God "commanded a widow" to feed the prophet Eljiah during a drought. That's interesting because the widow was not expecting Elijah. From the widow's perspective, it was Elijah (not God) who commanded her to feed him. In fact, the poor widow was preparing her last meal and then expected that she and her son would starve to death thereafter. But Elijah declares in the name of the Lord that her source of food would not run out until God sent rain upon the earth. The widow prepared the meal for Elijah and her household had food "according to the word of the Lord."
In typical Old Testament storytelling fashion, we aren't given access to many details. The economy of the storytelling provokes questions and invites us to ponder. We don't know what the widow was thinking or feeling during this encounter with Elijah. It isn't hard to imagine that the woman was in distress, which makes her obedience all the more striking. The text does not use words to describe this, it just tells the story. To me, it portrays what trust looks like. It also causes me to ponder how God's commands and promises arrive within the concrete details of our lives and through the ministry of others.
The woman thought she was preparing her last meal. She did not realize that she would host a prophet and receive miraculous deliverance from the hand of God. Our lives are probably more like this than we realize.
Do you have a story of how God provided for you in a time of great need? Have you been a partner with God for answered prayer in the lives of others?
This Sunday, we'll be exploring some new ways of trusting God and each other to encounter His transforming presence together. I look forward to being with you!
Steve Engstrom+
Admit it, you don’t pay attention to those preflight safety announcements anymore. I don’t, either. Things we hear regularly—even important things THAT COULD SAVE OUR LIFE(!)—can become so familiar that we simply stop paying attention.
There’s a regular part of Christian liturgy—28 words so important that Jesus said every other word in the Bible hangs on them—the Church has repeated week after week almost without exception. Year after year. Century after century. For millennia.
Cue Charlie Brown adult sound.
This week, though, we’re gonna to pay attention.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
I once lived in a city where I often used public transportation. The city buses clearly marked the first row of seats for handicapped and elderly folks. One morning on the way to work, I boarded the bus and took my seat several rows back. It was crowded but there were still seats available here and there if you looked. An older man stepped aboard, paid his fare, and expected to sit in the front row. Instead, he saw a young, healthy-looking gentleman sitting there. He became irate by this obviously selfish transgression and castigated the young man in a loud voice for all to hear. After finishing with a prolonged look of disdain, he turned to find an empty seat just a few rows back. The young man shifted uncomfortably and remained quiet. Several minutes later, the bus lurched to a halt at the next step. And out from under the seat of the young man in the first row lept a guide dog, trained to help his blind master exit the bus while the bus driver waited patiently. The elderly man stared in disbelief at the guide dog and the young blind man as they exited, averting his eyes from others until he reached his destination and left quickly without a word.
There are different kinds of blindness, apparently.
I look forward to exploring this together on Sunday!
Steve Engstrom+
When Oliver Cromwell’s official portrait was unveiled to him in 1656, he angrily rejected it. Thinking it would please him, the court painter had omitted Cromwell’s unsightly facial warts.
“Take it away”, he reportedly demanded, “and paint me as I am, warts and all!”
In this week’s Gospel, Mark paints an unedited and unabashed portrait of Jesus’ disciples’, warts and all...corrupted by ambition and jealousy.
Why’d he do this? Mark had a very ancient (and biblical) way of understanding human design, which aligns seamlessly with what Jesus went on to unveil to his disciples about the nature of greatness.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
The practical definition of a blind spot is simply, “something you don’t see.”
It’s often quite painful when a blind spot is exposed to us. In fact, it can cause us grief. At least that’s been my experience. But once it’s been exposed and dealt with, the result can be life changing.
In this week’s Gospel reading, Jesus lovingly exposes a major blind spot in an exceptionally successful, powerful, and moral young man—just one thing that’s holding him back (though admittedly, its a pernicious one).
Sadly however, while its exposure does grieve him, it doesn’t change him.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
As I was reading through the lessons appointed for next Sunday (Steve Engstrom is preaching this Sunday), I was struck by the fact that in the Gospel reading (Mark 10:2- 16) Jesus is once again talking about children. Apparently, to Jesus, children and how we “receive” them are directly and intimately connected to how we perceive and receive the kingdom of God. In other words, they’re a really big deal.
One of the things Jesus adds in this particular encounter is that we not only passively let them come, but also that we actively do not hinder them. I suppose there are numerous ways we can hinder children, but one that springs immediately to my mind is to receive them into a community where they aren’t actively taught and formed by adults who love them in a way that’s meaningful to them. Maybe the sixth grade boy’s question, “Are we ever going to have Sunday school for kids my age?” was code for “I’m bored”, but even if so, it struck a much deeper and more theological chord with me. And really, it makes no difference because boredom is hindrance.
One thing I want to make clear is that I’m not saying we ought simply to entertain or amuse children—there’s way more than enough of that in the world—but as a seminary professor and friend of mine often said in class regarding the importance of practical
preaching, “You gotta take the hay down out of the loft so the cows can get at it.” I think that applies here.
Our shared vision is “To proclaim and promote the Gospel; giving ever more time talent and treasure to seeking the flourishing of our neighbors.” To pursue this vision effectively means we must grow more, but not simply for growth's sake. We need to grow more so that we can give more. Directly connected to that growth will be how we let the children come to Jesus and do not hinder them. Oh, and also, the children in our church are our neighbors.
For this sixth grade boy, for the young family that feels that they have no choice but to find a different church,* and for the future of Redeemer, this is a really big deal.
Karissa Simmons, Redeemer’s Children’s Formation Director sent an email last week laying out our plan for children’s formation and numerous opportunities to serve. Please take the time to look it over again and consider how you might commit your time and talent. You can access it here.
*In case you have no idea what I’m talking about, they were part of my sermon Sunday. You can find it here.
Steve+
There’s an old story, maybe apocryphal, of the legendary boxer Muhammad Ali once arguing with a flight attendant over having to wear a seatbelt. “Superman don’t need a seatbelt,” he reportedly said.
Her retort? “Superman don’t need an airplane. Buckle up.”
It sounds like it might be true based on his habit of telling anyone who would listen (and that was everyone at the time) that he was, in fact, “The Greatest.”
Interestingly, nowhere—not even in this week’s Gospel—does Jesus ever criticize a person for pursuing true greatness or true significance. I think that’s because he actually created us to be great and to be significant.
There’s only one way to achieve these, however, and it’s not necessarily what you’d think.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
A few days into my sabbatical a friend wrote the following, and I don’t like it: “The real places of spiritual transformation are solitude, loneliness, boredom, suffering, and fear. Things we want to avoid, but where the good stuff always hides.”
I know this to be true, and that’s why I don’t like it. Candidly, this is not the God I wanted.
But I’m not alone. This is revealed in the answer to a pointed question Jesus asked in this week’s Gospel reading. It’s not the God Peter wanted either…but it is the God that is.
And the God that is is so much better.
See you Sunday.
Steve+
The Prayer of Humble Access in our Eucharistic liturgy comes, in part, from a remarkable conversation recorded in this week’s Gospel reading: “Apart from your grace, we are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under your table…”
It’s thought to be a playful—though at first blush insulting—conversation in which a desperate mother responds to Jesus’ seemingly harsh comment to her with alacrity, wit, and charm. And Jesus, whose character is always to have mercy, honors her request.
Despite the outcome, this story is a sharp reminder to us that Jesus wasn’t simply called to go around being helpful to everyone. He had specific (and controversial) things to do and a limited time to do them.
Lauren and I are excited to see you Sunday. We’ve missed you.
Steve+
"Why do your disciples not walk according to the tradition of the elders?" Jesus was asked this question by his critics. It's not an easy question. What would you have said then and what would you say now if asked such a question? Jesus' response is harsh yet sophisticated and he strongly rebukes his interrogators. Was Jesus being cavalier and dismissive of tradition? Not exactly--but his answer to the question isn't what anyone expected. In fact, it would take his followers decades to grapple with his answer and work through its implications. The heart of the matter is the heart.
Steve Engstrom+
"Walk in love," Paul says in his letter to the church in Ephesus (chapter 5). And he wasn't being sentimental. He plows right into the most sensitive applications: sexual conduct, permissible speech, alcohol consumption, family relationships, and servitude. He wasn't simply laying down moral rules, though. There is something that holds all this together and it isn't simply an effort in moral rectitude. On the contrary, Paul says that in the center of all this is a profound mystery that will make us wonder whether we're walking on our own or being carried along.
Steve Engstrom+
“The Christian saint always has her eyes wide open.” This is G.K. Chesterton’s gloss on the primary difference between Christian and Buddhist iconography, or paintings and visual representations of the truths of faith. Self-denial means something different for each. The Buddhist denies their experience in order to clarify their inner identity, he says, but the Christian does the opposite: the Christian denies their inner identity in order to clarify their experience. Self-denial for the Christian is about putting our desires in order so that we can be tenaciously, gently and above all truly present to God and to the world outside ourselves. It’s about learning to accept a gift which comes from outside yourself. I don’t know enough about Buddhism or Eastern culture to know whether Chesterton’s contrast is accurate, but he has heard a true thing about the gift we receive as Christians: God works in, with, through and under us to accomplish the giving of the gift, but fundamentally it comes to us from the outside. So keep your eyes open, and your hands outstretched. You will know it in the breaking of the bread.
In his 1979 theological memoir Christianity Rediscovered, Fr. Vincent J. Donavan reflects on a conversation he once had with a Masai elder, to whom he had been witnessing as a missionary for some time. Donavan is a Roman Catholic, and the two work out together how the tribe, as a tribe, might do things like Eucharist, naming and baptism in a manner true to their context as a non-Westernized African tribe. In one of their conversations, the elder and Donavan take up and debate the word "faith." Donavan writes:
"[The Masai elder] said for a man really to believe is like a lion going after its prey. His nose and eyes and ears pick up the prey. His legs give him the speed to catch it. All the power of his body is involved in the terrible death leap and single blow to the neck with the front paw, the blow that actually kills. And as the animal goes down the lion envelops it in his arms [...] pulls it to himself, and makes it part of himself. This is the way a lion kills. This is the way a man believes. This is what faith is.
I looked at the elder in silence and amazement … But my wise old teacher was not finished yet. "We did not search you out, Padri," he said to me. "We did not even want you to come to us. You searched us out. You followed us away from your house into the bush, into the plains, into the steppes where our cattle are, into the hills where we take our cattle for water, into our villages, into our homes. You told us of the High God, how we must search for him, even leave our land and our people to find him. But we have not done this. We have not left our land. We have not searched for [God]. [God] has searched for us. [God] has searched us out and found us. All the time we think we are the lion. In the end, the lion is God."
This is where Jesus is in this week's Gospel reading - God on the prowl. God trailing the scent. God, ready to pounce.
One of the facts of adulthood that we all grapple with is that none of us get to decide who our parents were. For some of us this is a huge blessing, and for others it casts a pall and can determine whole chapters. In some sense, liberation from our families is what we all want, but then again none of us wants to be alienated or estranged. What is in the 'gap' between these possible experiences? Jesus and the crowd in this week's gospel are negotiating the family memory, looking to see how they can be determined by the God of the Exodus but not defined by the experience of their ancestors. It's a high-level and tense conversation, and the result is by no means obvious at the outset. Hint for the ending: love.
"Not enough evidence, God! Not enough evidence!" This is what the brilliant, atheist philosopher Bertrand Russell exclaimed a generation ago. But maybe the problem isn't really a lack of evidence. The disciples had plenty of evidence and so did a lot of other people when Jesus taught in the villages around the Sea of Galilee--and it wasn't enough. It wasn't evidence they lacked, but something else. What that might be is what we'll explore on Sunday together.
"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." Thorin says this to Bilbo Baggins in Tolkein's "The Hobbit," shortly before he dies. What is it about "food and cheer and song" that could be of more value that gold? We learn a lot about God and His "merrier world" through the metaphors and experiences of eating, culminating in this life around the table of Lord's Supper and in the life to come, around a lavish Messianic feast. This Sunday, we'll explore Jesus' feeding of the 5,000--no mere magic trick. On the contrary, he shows us not only the amazing things he can do, but the kind of person he is--and that is of more value than hoarded gold, indeed.
Has your faith ever been tested? Have you ever felt like you don’t have what it takes to accomplish what God is asking of you?
In our gospel passage for this Sunday, Mark 6:7-13, Jesus began to send out the twelve in pairs, and gave them authority over unclean spirits.
The Apostles had not yet proven themselves to be strong pillars of faith so far in Mark. The previous time Jesus spoke to them was in the boat when he calmed the storm, he was not complementary: "Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” (Mark 4:40). They were not even allowed anything for the journey, no bread, no bag, no money - just a staff. Jesus even promised them that they would experience rejection, just like he did in his own hometown.
This begs the question, "what was Jesus doing by sending out the twelve in this way, unprepared, un-provisioned, with a low expectation of success?" This sounds like a major test of faith to me. Yet in the end the twelve were successful, they cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and healed them.
The power to do the miraculous doesn't necessarily depend upon the faith of the messenger, but rather on the authority and power given by Jesus. Maybe we aren’t under-qualified either to do the work of the Lord.
Have you ever felt totally dismissed?
Maybe you were ignored, treated as an inconsequential member of the public by some big politician, or worse treated like a lowly servant... to be seen but never to be heard?
The people of Jesus’ hometown were dismissive of him when he came to minister in their midst. (Mark 6) Jesus had shown himself as a great prophet and healer in Capernaum, only twenty miles from Nazareth, but in his own hometown he was nothing but a carpenter's son, a lowly servant to be dismissed.
But it is through Christ's humiliation, it is through his weakness that God chooses to reveal his redemption and salvation to the world. Remarkable.
And what is equally remarkable is that God chooses to use us as the heralds of this good news of redemption to the world, the weakest of messengers. He calls us as well to rest in our weakness for the Kingdom of God. He says "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."
Are you content with being weak, or even being dismissed in your life for the Kingdom of God?
Steven Wright, a comedian known for his lethargic, deadpan delivery of ironic, philosophical, and sometimes nonsensical humor once said of fear, “A lot of people are afraid of heights. Not me. I’m afraid of widths.”
The definition of an irrational fear is, of course, “someone else’s.”
But fear—genuine fear—is a very real and potentially debilitating thing.
And have you ever noticed the vast difference between being told, “there’s nothing to be afraid of”, and being asked, “why are you afraid?” The former is condescending (and wrong), while the latter leaves open the possibility that there may, in fact, be something there.
It’s the latter Jesus asks some friends in a boat—and by extension, us—in this story from St. Mark.
See you Sunday.
It's not easy to see things as they truly are. The Apostle Paul says that there is a day coming when we'll see Jesus face to face and will "know fully" even as we are "fully known."
In the meantime, Paul says we "see in a mirror dimly." I wonder... if we did see things as they truly are, we might find it a bit unsettling! It sure was for the cast of characters in this week's lectionary readings...Job, the Corinthians, the disciples. Maybe knowing and being known is a bit more complicated than we think.
Thankfully, we're not left alone. Not by a longshot.
Which is why I'll be glad we're together this Sunday.
When I added the second “I” (Instrument) to my Certified Flight Instructor (CFI) certificate a few years ago, the process of learning to trust—literally with my life and that of a student—six little instruments when I couldn’t see even the propeller in front of me required unlearning to trust something I’d always relied on. Namely, my kinesthetic senses.
What felt like up, down, right, and left (input I’d always gotten from my eyes and inner-ears) had to be ignored, because when things got real they were unreliable. In fact, they lied.
In this week’s Epistle, St Paul uses six little monosyllabic words to describe something very similar.
Learning to walk by faith—even faith the size of a mustard seed—requires us to unlearn walking by sight.
FUTAB
FUTAB is Chat for, “Feet Up, Take A Break.” FUTAB might be what you imagine when you hear the word Sabbath: aimless rest. Mandatory aimless rest, actually.
But if that’s all you imagine, you’re falling way, way short.
Because Sabbath has a definite aim
This Sunday is Trinity, celebrated every year the Sunday between Pentecost and the beginning of Ordinary Time.
Christians have always understood the Trinity as a community of perfect love. Andrei Rublev’s 15th Century icon “The Hospitality of Abraham/The Holy Trinity” depicts this beautifully, seeing the three angels visitation to Abraham and Sarah in Genesis 18 as paralleling and foreshadowing the Trinity we see in the New Testament.
The most remarkable thing about the icon, though, isn’t what’s there. It’s what’s not there: an empty place among the Three.
Rublev saw it as evoking an invitation…a seat at the table; a drawing into that loving and unselfish community.
For Abraham and Sarah in its first sense, and for you and me in its second.
Out of one, many. Out of many, one. In this sermon, Pastor Ian Burgess contrasts the scattering of languages and people in ancient Babel with the unification of language and kinship in the miracle of tongues which descended on the disciples at the feast of Pentecost. Through love and faith, and through generations of faithful Christians before us, we are made one body in Christ our Lord.
This week’s gospel reading is sometimes called the High Priestly prayer, Jesus’ own prayer to the Father at the start of his Passion. It is the longest of his prayers, and comes at the height of his ministry. Hear Bishop Julian Dobbs draw out five points on which to meditate.
In the brief Gospel reading for this week, Jesus uses the words “love” and “friend” 12 times. So, one does not have to be particularly scholarly, or even attentive, to discern that he’s saying something about the nature of love and friendship.
And because this takes place during his farewell to those with whom he’s spent the last three years living and teaching and serving (and confronting and correcting), it’s probably something significant about what they are.
And at least one thing they’re not.
This Sunday we read the account of St. Philip sharing the Gospel with a Eunuch from Ethiopia. He had been in Jerusalem to worship God and was returning home, but his worship was from far off outside the temple for a multitude of reasons. Nevertheless he persists and desires to study the Scriptures for himself.
Philip meets him on the road, and tells him the best news he ever heard, the fulfillment of a promise which speaks to hopes of the hearts of all of us who stand far off, outside the Temple, longing to come inside.
In a culture that’s become increasingly driven by divergent ideologies, we’ve become more and more attuned and susceptible to “Either/Or” thinking. “Both/And is something you’re hearing less and less.
The church, because it’s full of humans, isn’t immune from an either/or way of seeing things…even in its orientation to worship. It’s often expressed as Word or Sacrament, one of them being by far dominant.
But Jesus, on the afternoon of the Resurrection sets a pattern for both/and that’s served his Church since.
In fact, it’s how he’s known.
When Redeemer was founded eleven years ago, its leadership laid out seven key characteristics we were hoping for in our stakeholders. Number seven was, “Is drawn more to patterns than particulars.”
That one’s especially important as we pursue our shared vision of the mission of God in the world. Because in order to really understand this, we’ve got to look at some of the bigger stories that reveal important patterns in the Scriptures.
When we get lost in particulars, we lose patterns. And so, we often can’t see the forest for the trees.
But it wasn’t always like this.
When Jesus Christ rose from the dead on Easter morning, he rose as the beginning of the new world God had always intended…and will result in the restoration of everything that is now corrupted, which is everything (Colossians 1:20).
That’s the first—and perhaps most important—thing to know about the meaning of Easter.
And it’s meaning that matters.
I believe that the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ from death is a fact. But facts can often be rendered meaningless without a frame to give them meaning.
This is especially relevant in a day in which an unrelenting shower of unframed facts inundates us every day.
God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit have purposed to save us from our sins and all evil.
When we celebrate Holy Communion, often the prayer of consecration concludes with the acclamation “Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us”, with the people responding “Therefore let us keep the feast”. Why does Jesus identify himself with the Passover? What does this tell us about his death?
As we enter Holy Week on Palm Sunday, a jarring pivot is about to take place in Jesus’ ministry. The acclamation “Hosanna” today will become an angry, bloodthirsty shout by Friday; “God, save us!” (the meaning of the word Hosanna), will become, “God, damn him!”; and within a week, palm branches will become the rough wood of a Roman cross.
The poignant and dramatic juxtaposition of triumphal entry and crucifixion in the lectionary readings seeks to prepare us to live out the Holy Week ahead—and hopefully the entirety of our lives—in the shadow of the cross of Christ.
In this week’s reading from the Gospel of John, Jesus get’s a visit from some Greeks in Jerusalem for Passover. It’s significant; a real turning point in John’s story.
We’re not told exactly what it was that they were seeking, but what they got was definitely not conventional wisdom.
In 559BC Cyrus becomes King of Babylon where the people of God had been carried off as exiles. In a single day he ends their captivity.
How does this king who is called “God’s anointed” foreshadow the King of Kings who was to come into the world?
The church where I grew up regularly hosted traveling music groups. They’d always have their LPs (yes, LPs) and other stuff—their “merch”—to sell, but at my church they weren’t allowed to do this. At least not in the target-rich environment of the foyer where everyone entered and exited.
The rationale came from this week’s Gospel reading. Jesus clearly didn’t like it when folks hawked their wares around the Temple, and therefore we shouldn’t sell stuff around the sanctuary.
To be sure, the place of worship in first-century Israel and the auditorium of a small independent church in Southern California don’t correspond exactly, but true to Jesus’s words, my church didn’t want the place of worship co-opted as a place of commerce. Which is good.
But is merch in church really the heart of the issue…or is it something more invisible and insidious?