Notes From Seminary

 There's a pastor all over the news this week, getting a lot of publicity for planning to desecrate the holy book of another faith. I feel like this guy is terrorizing Muslims, and as a mainstream Christian, he's also co-opting my faith and terrorizing me. No, not in the same way or degree as the victims of the attacks in 2001, but it's a sort of terrorism nonetheless. American Muslims must be afraid of being themselves publicly when this sort of prejudice is being acted upon. And I--an almost-pastor--feel ashamed of and afraid to proclaim my own faith, lest I be lumped in the same category as this evil.

Frankly, I'm tired of so-called Christian leaders behaving in ways that work against God's all-encompassing love. And I'm tired of my faith being given a bad name by people who really should know better. And I'm really tired of being powerless to do anything about it.

Am I, though? I plan on purchasing and donating two Qur'ans to the closest mosque to my home, to make up for some of those being burned. I can't afford more than that at the moment. And I'd like to ask my friends who are also leaders of the Christian faith to do the same, if they feel compelled to do so.

I'm including a brief note below which I will send with these books. Please feel free to copy it.

Grace and Peace,
Aaron

--------------------------------
Salaam,

On September 11, a pastor in Florida is planning to burn copies of the Qur'an. As a Christian leader, I deplore this act. Jesus left his disciples with His peace, and it is the responsibility of Christians to sow peace. The desecration of this book is an act of violence that has no meaning, and which can only sow more hatred.

For Christians, God's Word was made incarnate in Jesus Christ. For Muslims, that Holy Word is present in the Glorious Qur'an. I, for one, wish to glorify and praise that Word, and would help others do so, however they may encounter it.

I have no power to stop this man's actions. But I can work good, however small, where others have done evil. Please accept these English translation copies of the Qur'an to replace those which have been destroyed, and use them however your community sees fit. May they bless someone, and reveal to them the God who is Almighty, who is Merciful, who is Compassionate.

Grace and Peace,
Rev. (Sem.) Aaron Decker, ELCA

Sorry for the interminable delay in posting sermons here.  I want to do it, really I do, but I've forgotten the tech specs for the sound recordings, and haven't been able to stumble upon them since.  I also haven't been writing them out, so no help there either.

In the meantime, note that I'm going to try and post some short thoughts or reflections every couple of days during Lent.  No promises, but I'll give it a shot.

Tonight, I went to the adoration of the Eucharist at the local Catholic university.  It was nice, quiet, reflective.  The reading was from chapter 1 of the apocryphal book of Sirach, part of the Catholic Bible but not the Protestant canon.  Among other things, it says, "All wisdom comes from the Lord and with Him it remains forever, and is before all time.  The sand of the seashore, the drops of rain, the days of eternity:  Who can number these?"

It got me to thinking.  There are a lot of questions in me right now, questions to which I can't quite approach the answer.  The Internet is not the appropriate place to share them, but I'm betting you have some of your own.  But if God can number the sand and the rain and the days of eternity, surely God knows the smaller things that weigh on my mind.  If wisdom comes from God, then the only reason I do not know these things is that God has not chosen to reveal them to me.  And that is okay.  I don't need to know, however much I may want to.  I can trust that God knows, and that God will always guide me well.

Blessings to you as we prepare for Lent.

Sisters and Brothers in Christ,

Yesterday, I had the privilege to sit at the Quest Center for the Interdenominational Ministerial Association of Omaha’s luncheon celebrating Martin Luther King, Jr. day.  Excitement was in the air over the large attendance numbers and the upcoming presidential inauguration.  The message I heard there was one sharing a real sense of accomplishment.  Strange, as the feeling I always have on this day each year is a reminder that there is so much left to do.

This should be no surprise to those who get to hear my sermons regularly.  I’m often naming all the “isms”--racism, sexism, classism, heterosexism, and ageism, just to name a few.  We’ve come a long, long way, yes, but we have a long way yet to go.  Injustices abound in our world, and all of us are guilty of them.  I, for one, was taught to value diversity from a very young age.  I abhor racism, and even recognize and condemn the unfair advantages I enjoy just by virtue of my skin color.  But aside from speaking against it in the small ways I can, I don’t often actively work to end racism, and am therefore guilty of perpetuating it.  I, and we all, have a long way to go.

It’s an old, old pattern.  The Egyptians enslaved the Israelites, and then the Israelites went to the promised land and killed and enslaved the Canaanites.  We need not look that far; when Adam looked at the wife he loved and blamed her for their Eden disobedience, injustice was born.  Injustice doesn’t have to come in such large doses.  Any time we treat one another unfairly--be it our neighbors, our friends, our families, or even ourselves--we gently tear away at relationships and extend injustice.  I, myself, have committed several injustices this morning, and I have yet to leave the house!

It is the responsibility of every Christian to stand in solidarity with those whom injustices harm.  Christ is the best example of this.  He ate with sinners, healed the poor, and condemned the oppressive twisting of God’s Law espoused by the religious powers of the day.  And more than this, he aimed to reconcile relationships in his own life.  After all, on that last night, he looked at Judas who had betrayed him, and shared with him his own body and blood.

We need to speak truth to power.  We need to speak truth to injustice.  We need to do this most when the unjust power is us, unthinkingly harming others and forgetting to love even ourselves.  Because we cannot, with Pilate, wonder what truth is.  We know that the Truth, ultimately, is the love that God has for each of us, revealed to all nations in the epiphany of Christ Jesus.

Grace and Peace,
Vicar Aaron

This is just the start of my sermon from Sunday; the rest was not written out, and did not record well.  Sorry!  The occasion was Christmas 1.  The link to the text is here:  Galatians 4:4-7.

"Darn it, Joshua!  How many times do I have to tell you?  You need to learn to take better care of your things!"

He looked up at the three-year old child.  From the place on the floor where he was sitting, the boy was about at eye level, maybe a little lower.  He didn't like for him to come in here, into the workshop.  It wasn't good for him, breathing this air, choked with sawdust and the bitter smell of varnish.  And he might get hurt with one of the many tools scattered about the room, or a sharp bit of scrap wood that had been neglected.

"We don't have a lot as it is, and I can hardly afford to get you new toys.  I've told you before not to throw your things so hard, or they're going to get broken.  You need to be more responsible!"  But there was hardly any point in lecturing a three-year old on responsibility.  "Oh, all right, I'll try to fix it.  You go play; I'll come find you when it's fixed."

The man reached out his hand, tough and stained from years of work, and took the child's plaything, broken in two, from his young son.  As the child walked away, he examined it.  The break was uneven, and severe.  Glue alone wouldn't do it.  He'd have to make sure that the nails didn't poke through, that there were no sharp ends to catch on little fingers.  And the way the wood splintered, it would be a wonder if he could sand it down enough to make it safe while still keeping the object intact.  Better to make a new one.  So much for finishing work on this chair today.

Joe stood up and went to the barrel of scrap wood over in the corner.  He found a piece that was about the right size, and set to work with his saw, cutting away the excess to make out the shape of the toy that Joshua had brought.  "I didn't even want a child," he thought.  What a hassle.

Well, not a hassle, exactly.  But certainly a surprise.  The boy wasn’t his, and so it wasn’t really so much that they didn’t want a child as it was that they weren’t even trying to have a child.  And yet the kid was here anyway.  His wife’s child, from before their marriage.  He had thought about getting out of the engagement when he found out about Joshua, but he couldn’t help it.  He loved that woman, and so he married her anyway.  And there were other reasons.

But anyway, Josh wasn’t supposed to have been part of the deal.  And yet here he was, not even his own child, but become his responsibility.  It was a lot of work, taking care of a child.  It would have been nice to have just focused on his business, without the added burden of a son.

The pieces of the cart were made now, and just had to be assembled.  The big, blocky back piece where imaginary vegetables would sit for transportation and sale had to be affixed to the large, flat base, and then the wheels put on either side.  Before coating them with wood glue, Joe had a thought.  He grabbed his carpenter’s pencil and scrawled on the underside, where the pieces would be joined--where, once the toy was finished, nobody would see.  He wrote, “I love you, Josh.”

Because he couldn’t help it.  He loved the kid.  Joshua maybe wasn’t born his own child, but Joe had adopted him when he married his mother.  And that wasn’t just for pretend.  No, Josh was his real son now, and he loved him with all of his being.  He’d do anything for the kid, even stop his work day, and an order for an expensive set of furniture which could bring in quite a bit of money, in order to fix up a toy.  He laughed a little to himself, and then, after making sure the glue was set and the wheels turned smoothly in their places, he went off to look for his own, dear son.

Of course, we don’t really know much about Joseph, though we do know have a great deal of information about his son, named Joshua in Hebrew, and Jesus in Greek.  Joseph is present for Jesus’ birth, but shortly thereafter, he disappears from the Gospels altogether.  I think we can guess that he was a good father, though.  After all, Jesus talks at length about his “good Father in heaven,” and in order to use such a metaphor for God the Father, he must have had a good example of an earthly father to compare Him to.  Joseph’s de facto adoption of Jesus was complete, whole, and loving.

It is this same kind of way in which God adopts us as children.

The occasion was Christmas Day.  It was a bilingual service, in English and Spanish, so the sermon is in both languages.  Please pardon the very bad Spanish grammar, if you can read it.  The link to the text is here:  John 1:1-14.  Also, note that there's a Christmas Eve sermon just below this, which I posted at the same time.  And also, there will be a sermon for the second Sunday in Advent, just as soon as I can get my hands on a CD of it.

Can you see the light?  No?  It is so hard to see it.  Sometimes, it seems like darkness shines into every corner of this world.  There are so many problems in our land.  Racism, classism, sexism, and all the other “isms” keep us bound in our places, unable to reach across the great divide to meet our neighbor.  Even if we wanted to connect with other people around us, we have our own problems.  We fear for the money we already have, in this unstable economy, and for our jobs as well.  We cannot worry about our children’s futures, as we are too uncertain about our own.  Will social security--if we qualify for it--last for our retirement?  Will the violence on our streets allow us, ourselves, to last until retirement?  Is the worry that far off?  Do we need to be concerned about next month, or next week, or the next meal?  Is our neighbor on the brink of poverty or homelessness?  Are we?

¿Puede Ud. ver la luz?  ¿No?  Es muy difícil verlo.  A veces, siente que la tinieblas resplandecen en todo parte del mundo.  Hay demasiadas problemas en nuestra tierra.  Racismo, clasismo, sexismo, y todos los otros «ismos» dejanos encuadernado en nuestros lugares, incapáz para alargar o tender la mano de nuestro vecino.  Si quisiéramos conectar con las otras personas entre nosotros, no podemos, porque tenemos nuestras problemas propias.  Tenemos miedo sobre el dinero que ya tenemos,  en esta economía, y sobre nuestros trabajos también.  No podemos preocuparnos de los futuros de nuestros hijos, porque estamos inciertos de nuestros propios.  ¿Va la programa de seguridad social--si calificamos--estar aquí para nuestra jubilación del trabajo?  ¿Va la violencia en las calles dejanos, nosotros mismos, estar aquí para nuestra jubilación?  ¿Está la ansiedad tan lejos como esto?  ¿Necesitamos preocuparnos de la mes entrante, o la semana entrante, o la cena entrante?  ¿Vive nuestro vecino con pobreza or destitución?  ¿Vivimos nosotros?

Life was much the same 2,000 years ago.  In the Roman world, many people lived in poverty.  The Romans were hard rulers, making laws and creating systems to keep the poor in their place, to keep those who were not Roman citizens powerless, and to live a life of extravagance while the rest of the world was practically, or actually, enslaved.  The world cried out to God for help, as it had so many times before.

La vida fue casi la misma hace dos mil años.  El el mundo romano, muchas personas vivieron con probreza.  Los romanos fueron gobernantes duros, haciendo leyes y creyando sistemas para encuadernar los probres en sus lugares, para dejar los que no fueron ciudadanos romanos sin poder, y para vivir una vida de despilfarro cuando los demás fueron practicamente, or de verdad, esclavizado.  El mundo pidió socorro a Dios, como muchas veces pasadas.

And God sent a man, named John.  John’s message was a simple one.  He asked, “Can you see the light?  It is coming,” he promised.  The light was coming into the world, and the darkness could not overpower it.

This is a big message!  In a world where the darkness seems so pervasive, the promise is that the light shines everywhere.  It can be a hard truth to believe, but it is the truth.  Because Jesus is that light.  A tiny infant, the Word made flesh centuries ago, the real God who continues to exist today, to live in the world, to walk among us.

Y Dios envió un hombre llamado Juan.  El mensaje de Juan fue simple.  Preguntó, «¿Puede Ud. ver la luz?  Él viene,» prometó.  La luz venía a este mundo, y las tinieblas no han podido extinguirla.

¡Qué un mensaje grande!  En un mundo donde las tinieblas sienten tan penetrando, la promesa es que la luz resplandece a todos partes.  Es una cosa en cual es muy difícil para creer, pero es la verdad.  Porque Jesús es esta luz.  Un infante pequeñito, el Verbo hizo hombre hace muchas siglas, el Dios real que existe de verdad hoy, que vive en el mundo, que camina entre nosotros.

Because that is the mystery and miracle of Christmas.  That God, the creator of all that is, poured God’s self into the being of a tiny infant, a child who grew and lived in this world.  A man who lived first in the economic bracket of a laboring carpenter, and later took on the abject poverty of a traveling rabbi.  Jesus’ worries were the same as ours.  God himself knows what we are going through, not because of His omnipotence, constantly looking over our shoulder like some horrible version of Santa Claus, taking notes about whether we are naughty or nice.  But God knows because God lived a life like ours.  And despite that life, perhaps because of that life, the light still shines in the darkness.

Porque esto es el misterio y el milagro de Navidad.  Dios, el creador de todo que existe, puso su existencia en un infante pequeñito, un niño que crezcó y vivó en ese mundo.  Un hombre que vivó primero en la stación de un carpintero y jornalero, y más tarde en la pobreza abatida de un rabí vagando.  Las ansiedades de Jesús fueron los mismos de los de nosotros.  Dios conoce como vivimos, no porque es todopoderoso, siempre mirando lo que hacemos como un versión horrible de Santa Claus, apuntando si estamos malos or buenos.  No, Dios conoce porque Dios vivó una vida como nosotros.  Y a despecho de esta vida, o quizás por medio de esta vida, la luz todavía resplandece en las tinieblas.

The light shines because God invites us all to gather around the Word and the Table.  This is the place where we can find healing and wholeness.  Here, we can be renewed to go back into the world, a world of darkness, with the light shining on in our hearts.  In it, we can see the truth that the world tries to obscure.  We can hear God’s promises of love and peace and joy whenever the world tries to divide us and conquer us.  And God offers this healing and reconciliation freely, with no strings attached, to all who seek to find it.

La luz resplandece porque Dios nos invita a congregarse al Verbo y a la Mesa.  Esto es el lugar donde podemos encontrar curación y cambiar en íntegro.  Aquí, podemos ser restaurado para volver al mundo, un mundo de oscuridad, con la luz resplandeciendo en nuestros corazones.  En ese, podemos ver la verdad que el mundo trate de ocultar.  Podemos escuchar los promesas de Dios, promesas de amor y paz y alegría, cada vez que el mundo trate de dividirnos y conquistarnos.  Y Dios ofrece esta curación y reconciliación gratis, sin calificación, a todos que quieren encontrarlo.

And so, we can see the light.  It’s because Jesus Christ truly is God’s Word made flesh.  And that Word is full of grace and truth, a sign of God’s love for us all.

Así que, podemos ver la luz.  Es porque Jesucristo de verdad es el Verbo de Dios se hizo hombre.  Y este Verbo es lleno de gracia y de verdad, un símbolo del amor de Dios por nosotros todos.

The occasion was Christmas Eve, an 11:00 service. Link to text: Luke 2:1-20.  There are some wisps of Isaiah 9:2-7 there too.

It was a quiet night, pretty ordinary. Nothing really special about their situation. After all, it wasn’t just Mary and Joseph who’d had to travel back to their ancestral home. Caesar Augustus, Emperor of the entire known world, had called for a census, and so everyone’s lives had been turned upside-down, trying to make it back home, even if their families hadn’t lived there in generations, just so they could be registered and counted. It was a long journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem--some fifty miles, which was no small trip 2,000 years ago. A camel could make it in a few hours, but it’s not likely that an ordinary carpenter like Joseph could have afforded such a luxury. Rather, there would have been days of walking, made longer by Mary’s pregnancy.

Unexpected pregnancy. Not that a child wasn’t welcome. Children were like life insurance in those days, a necessity for survival to old age. But they hadn’t been planning on it. Heck, they hadn’t even been married when it first happened. And on this trip, it was a nuisance, the worst timing possible. But there was little that could be done, except to close down the carpentry shop for some days, and go where the Emperor said. A perfectly ordinary problem, and this Holy Family was hardly alone in it.

Were the inns really all full? It could be. With so many people temporarily displaced from their homes because of the census, it would be no surprise. Such an ordinary problem could happen today, as indeed it did this summer--the flooding in western Iowa meant that hotels for more than a hundred miles in every direction were booked, to the consternation of a certain seminary student headed toward his new internship site late one July evening. No, the inns could have been truly full that first Christmas eve, or they might have intentionally shut out that couple and the problems they brought with them. After all, who wants to deal with a teenager, so obviously full with child. Were the contractions already starting as they searched for a place to stay? What innkeeper would want to deal with a family with a child so quickly on the way?

But the child came anyway. An ordinary birth, miraculous in that way that all births are miraculous, a tiny human being, alive and healthy, and the mother too. Not all births go so smoothly, and the couple’s relief must have been great. The birth had been announced by heavenly messengers, sure, but now they held proof in their arms. The God who created all things had created yet again, and promised that this infant would be the salvation of all things, that he was “God with us.” It seemed so unlikely that such an ordinary baby was the culmination of the universe’s yearning for God’s presence. A miracle amidst the ordinary.

* * *

It was a quiet night. The stars shone in the clear sky with all their brilliance, just like most nights on the Palestinian plains. It was the kind of sky that could get a shepherd to daydreaming, as he lay on the ground, head propped up on a wooden headrest, watching the sheep nibble on the scanty green shoots and scanning the horizon for wolves.

Bethlehem, the town of David, just south of Jerusalem, the great city King David built. David grew up here, a simple shepherd, much like these tenders of sheep. Dirty and smelly, because of their life in the fields, with the animals under their care. Could David have sat on this very hill with his own herds? Perhaps under this exact tree, some 600 years earlier? This great cedar must have been a sapling, then.

And God must have seemed so real then, too. Back in David’s time, prophets like Samuel and Isaiah abounded. And Amos! He was a shepherd, too. Can you imagine, God speaking to someone as ordinary as a shepherd? God spoke all the time, back then. But the exile in Babylon had changed all that. And then the Persians, and the Greeks, and now the Romans. Unjust rulers, great oppressors, and now they were living in a land of deep darkness. No, better to be just a shepherd, with only the sheep to worry about, and the occasional predator on the horizon.

When suddenly, the sky was filled with great light! And an angel came, bringing good news. The sight must have really been something; I don’t know if I would have been stirred from my relaxed pose on the Judean hillside quite so easily. They went, and saw the Christ child, which must have looked like a perfectly ordinary baby, sleeping in a manger, next to his exhausted mother and father. Yet something had opened their eyes to a joy and wonder that lies far beyond human comprehension. They knew this was the promised Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace. God was present in this tiny child, present in a way that couldn’t be imagined, in a way that broke the rod of the oppressor, that shook the very foundations of the earth, that rocked the heavens in their courses.

The shepherds were changed that night. Transformed into something bigger than themselves. And no wonder. They saw God in the flesh, there, right before their eyes. Did they hold him in their arms, swaddling clothes concealing a tiny face? After encountering Jesus, even as a tiny baby, how could they stay silent? It seemed so unlikely that these shepherds would be the first to hear and tell the good news. A miracle amidst the ordinary.

* * *

It is a quiet night. The snow and ice lays thick on the ground, out beyond the doors of our church and our homes. At 11:30 at night, the only folks still out and about are a handful of midnight churchgoers and those with no other place to go, to belong. At home, gifts sit nestled under our trees, along with the credit card debt and financial worry that goes with them. The future is uncertain, and our troubles, while significant to us, are perfectly ordinary.

And in the midst of whatever our worries are, we gather here, around the Lord’s table, to celebrate the birth of a baby, thousands of years ago. A miracle amidst the ordinary, one important to our faith, but seemingly unconnected with our lives. A moment of ancient history.

We easily forget that the angels’ message is for us, too. Glad tidings of great joy came to ordinary people like Mary and Joseph, to ordinary people like the shepherds, and to ordinary people like you and me, too. We’re not talking about an infant who was born so very long ago. We’re talking about an event of cosmic proportions, something that would fundamentally change the world, no the universe, at it’s very core! We’re talking about God, coming to live here with us. Were talking about God coming to become an ordinary person too, God becoming an ordinary part of the ordinary world that God made. And why? So that we might become extraordinary!

This is how very much God loves us. God, out of all of the great possibilities that a omnipotent creator might have, decided to become like you and me, so that we might be changed forever. Into that tiny infant, infinite love was poured, and it has never left. God continues to be present in the world around us, reaching out with human hands to heal the sick, to comfort the lonely, to care for the poor, to tear apart barriers and to bring together the whole human family, and all of creation.

All that in a baby, two thousand years ago, one who is still alive today, working in each of our hearts and lives. It’s pretty far-fetched, an unlikely story, and yet it is true, every word of it. The greatest miracle ever, standing amidst the ordinary.

Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth, peace to all of God’s creation, this night, and always.

The occasion was Thanksgiving Eve. Here is the link to the text: Deuteronomy 8:7-20. Worth noting is that the service was a joint service between three Lutheran, one Roman Catholic, and one Presbyterian church in our area, as well as that during the service, canned food was collected for the local food pantry.

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How quickly we forget.

Do you remember? Do you remember when our people were in Egypt? Our oppression was terrible. The Egyptians worked us to death, literally. There was no rest, and the people cried out in anguish. And yet even in that time, we prospered and grew. God gave us children, and cattle, and we flourished.

Do you remember remember when the Pharaoh instructed our midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, to kill all our firstborn children. The Egyptians were afraid of us, and they lashed out against us, tried to destroy us from within. Yet God strengthened and fortified those blessed women! God helped them to defy the power of the Pharoah. What courage they had!

Do you remember when Moses was run out of town, ran away from Egypt for fear of being caught after he killed that Egyptian slave driver? Yet God spoke to this man—a murderer, even if on our side. God spoke to him, and shaped him into a prophet. God gave him new life, and used him to give our people new life, to lead them away from their oppressors. God spoke against Egypt's racism, and God's words had power.

Do you remember standing in the wilderness, alone and afraid, wondering how we would survive? There was no food, there was no water, there was no protection from the elements or attacking bandits or armies. Yet God came down to us, in a cloud, and rested among us in the tabernacle, and we were not alone anymore! God gave us manna in the morning, and quails at night, so much that we were sick of manna and quails, but well-fed and healthy. God commanded Moses to strike the rock with his staff, and the waters flowed out from it, quenching our thirst, we, a stubborn and complaining people yes, but God’s people. And Moses lifted his arms, and God was with us, protecting us from our enemies.

It was so easy to follow God's commands then. We knew God was with us. We depended on God so completely. There was nothing we could do for ourselves in the desert. God provided us with our food and water, and shelter. The clothing we wore did not wear out, because God made it last. And God is the one who bound us together, twelve tribes, into one great community of Israelites. And God gave us the promised land, a home to look forward to, a place that would be our own. We did not choose God; God chose us!

But the opposite is also true. God chose us, and we did not choose God. Moses warned us that this would be true, he told us to guard against it, but we did not remember his warning, and look at what we have gotten ourselves into. When we look at this promised land in which we live, a land that even in the midst of this economic crisis, continues to flow with milk and honey and every other kind of abundance imaginable more than any other place in the history of humankind. When we look at this place, we feel pride in our accomplishments. We look at the homes that we have built, whether literally or emotionally, the money that we have earned through our own hard work, the possessions that we have purchased. They are our accomplishments which we both take pride in, and protect at the cost of our lives. And because this is where our joy is, because we have become self-reliant, we have forgotten the Lord our God. We have forgotten that even in the midst of our affluence, everything that we have comes from God.

And so we have neglected God's commandments and customs and laws. God tells us that when we glean our fields, we are to leave a portion on the stalk so that the poor can come and glean behind us, and eat their fill. But what portion of our gains do we use to provide for the poor? So little, that today, Omaha food pantries are yearning for contributions. God tells us that abundant joy in extreme poverty can overflow in a wealth of generosity. But the most wealthy among us often hoard their riches for themselves, reaching always for more, plunging everyone else into poverty and creating a land in which greed and its cousin violence seem to reign. God tells us to welcome the stranger, and the widow, and the orphan, and every marginalized person. Yet women are still battered. Blacks and Hispanics are still forced into economic substrata. Gays and lesbians still have no marriage rights. Disabled people still do not have full access to many facilities and services. And the people who were in this land before us are still relegated to tiny reservations and dead-end opportunities unless they give up much of their culture and heritage. God tells us to love our neighbor. But we only love ourselves. In our society, we have forgotten God.

How strange, then, that God should still remain faithful to us. But God does. Though we seem to be headed into exile, God is still here among us. Though our selfishness seems to reign, Christ is still king of this world. And though we put up divisions among ourselves, God consistently brings us back together.

And look around! Look at the fruits of God's work among us! Can you imagine? Presbyterians and Catholics and Lutherans worshiping together! At the same service! Who could have guessed such a thing could happen, say, 30 years ago. And look at the offerings of our bounty—of God's bounty to us—that we have brought tonight. No, we won't cure world hunger tonight, but we will certainly feed many in need. The families with whom we will share this holiday; the friends, new and old, who are part of our lives. These are the incredible gifts that God has given us, and continues to give.

But most of all, we have the gift of the Christ. He is the one who takes communities in grief and brings them new life. He is the one who lived in poverty and so gives hope to the poverty among us. He is the one who takes the terror of violence and brings healing and hope and renewal. He is the one who died to free us from the power of our sins, and who brings us together again and again around the [Lord’s] table for a family meal far greater than the ones we will enjoy tomorrow.

And so we give thanks. For though we may forget God, God will always remember us. In our life, in our death, and in the life to come, in Christ, we will never be forgotten.

The occasion was Christ the King Sunday.  Link to text:  Matthew 25:31-46.

You can find an audio (MP3) file of the sermon by clicking here.  This will take you to a website called "Just Up It."  Click on the "Download file now" link.  Apologies for the ads, and do notice the "Skip this ad" button that may appear in the upper right hand corner of the page.

The occasion was Reformation Day.  Link to text:  Jeremiah 31:31-34.  You may also want to see Jeremiah 17:1 for reference.

This sermon was not written out.  You can find an audio (MP3) file of the sermon by clicking here.  This will take you to a website called "Just Up It."  Click on the "Download file now" link.  Apologies for the ads, and do notice the "Skip this ad" button that may appear in the upper right hand corner of the page.  I don't know another way to get sound here for the time being...

Hope it works!

Sisters and Brothers in Christ,

The word "hope" is being tossed around in the news a lot lately, especially in the upcoming presidential elections.  For example, the website for the McCain/Palin campaign currently features a video which begins with Senator McCain explaining that, "The last eight years haven't worked very well, have they?  I'll make the next four better."  The Obama/Biden campaign promises the same kind of hope, with the Senator's platform described on a "Blueprint for Change."  These candidates recognize that there is a need for hope in our world.

The need is there because there is a pervading sense of hopelessness.  41 states have reported job losses in the month of September.  The stock market, along with many people's retirement savings, is drooping.  At the same time, crime rates are skyrocketing all over the country.  Environmental experts are shouting gloom and doom from the latest studies, but how can we worry about global warming when it's too expensive to put food on the table, or buy heating oil for the cold winter ahead?

The book of Revelation was written at a time when things were looking pretty hopeless for the Jewish nation.  The Romans were hard sovereigns, and the situation was becoming progressively worse by the day.  Some felt they should submit to Rome completely, allowing poverty and foreign rule to slowly destroy them.  Others wanted to fight back--and they did, in the year 70; their destruction came much more quickly.  But the author of Revelation had a third alternative.  Behind the cryptic symbolism of the book, God's message clearly stands out.  The Romans seem powerful, but one day, their empire will end.  All human kingdoms eventually do.  But the Kingdom of God lasts forever.

What a hopeful message!  We have learned to trust in mutual funds, in presidential candidates, in the institutions and dreams and promises of our country that have gotten us this far.  And a great country it is!  But if we place all of our hope and trust there, we will one day find the floor has fallen out below us.  Our candidate will lose the election, the stock market will crash, and the American dream will prove only a dream.  Yet even the money that we hold on to so tightly can point us in the right direction.  On each bill and coin it proclaims loudly:  "In God we trust."

So as the election approaches, and a myriad of candidates try to sell you their particular brand of hope in exchange for your vote, I encourage you, do go vote!  Do it faithfully, for whomever you believe will be best for our future and God's plan.  But remember that the hope they offer is failing at best.  For it is only through God in Christ and the Holy Spirit, as Romans 5 says, that hope does not disappoint.

Faith, Hope, and Love,
Vicar Aaron