Sunday, May 28, 2017
Sunday, May 21, 2017
Grace and graduation
Galatians 1:13-17, 2:11-21
I
really don’t like preaching on Paul’s writings. Paul’s words, in spite of being
the foundation of much of our theology, are tough to parse, so I’m stuck in the
role of Paul’s translator and I don’t much like it. For example, in Galatians
today Paul says, “I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who
live, but it is Christ who lives in me.” And Paul says, “If justification comes
through the law, then Christ died for nothing.” And we say, “Oh yes, Paul. Give
us another!” Something about grace and faith; something about the law serving a
purpose but salvation is through Christ, etc, etc. There is more Paul in the
Lutheran Confessions than anything short of the Gospels, but just because this
is what the church confesses doesn’t mean it’s easy. Instead, I find that it
leaves people asking: But now what?
That’s the problem. I basically have one
sermon in me and it centers of grace. I preach on grace pretty much every
Sunday and some of you buy half into it 99% of the time, others of you buy into
it fully about half of the time; still others have no idea why any of this matters
and you are waiting for me to reference some cultural marker you can relate to so
you can perk up. Nothing is more offensive than grace because feels like I
might be saying “None of this matters!” And that’s what we’re afraid of after
all—that none of this does matter. So when the pastor stands up and proclaims
not expensive grace, and not cheap grace, but free grace—grace that is yours
free of charge, no acceptance necessary—well, that sounds like a free pass to
meaninglessness paved on a road of anything-goes. Just the kind of thing we
want to be telling our graduates, right? Anything goes?
What do we do with this grace?
For
graduates it comes in the following questions I’m sure you have heard once or
twice recently. “So, what are you doing next year?” “So, where are you going to
school?” “So, what kind of work are you doing?”
Now what?
Sunday, May 14, 2017
Grace first, potluck second
Acts 15:1-18
What rules should stay and
which can be changed?
Isn’t
that a fantastic, 21st century question? Well, it was also a first
century question and a second century question… a third century question… a
fourth… a fifth. Actually, it’s an every time question, especially as it
pertains to faith. The church is, as the Reformation taught us, semper reformata—always reforming. The
question is, as always: Which parts?
Is it necessary that I preach from the pulpit? Most of
you maybe don’t care. But at what point in the aisle does it become a little
too Pentecostal? Where’s the point where I’ve taken it a little too far?
It’s
an interesting question.
Or
how about what we teach in the church? How about Confirmation? Most of our ideas
about what Confirmation should look like have their roots in what Confirmation
was for us. So, how do we take what Confirmation was for us and make it
something that works today?
We
can do this for everything we do as a church: Rules about communion… about who
can serve in leadership roles… who can get ordained. It goes on and on.
Whatever
your opinions about these things you have all seen these practices change in
the last twenty or thirty or fifty
years, and many other practices have followed in a similar vein.
The
early church had even more dramatic shifts. For the first time, in today’s
reading, they decide that Gentiles—uncircumcized, non-Jewish people—were able
to be part of the church. This is revolutionary because they are saying that
the thing that united the people—their Jewish faith, culture, and ethnicity—was
now not the only way to be part of a shared faith. If Greeks could be part of
the church then Lord only knows who else could be? Romans… Africans… people
from the east. This is crazy stuff; it’s a giant change in the practices of the
church. But Peter persists: Salvation is by grace, not ethnic heritage.
Ethnic
heritage questions have not gone away in the last two millennia. Our churches
still claim certain heritages. The real question is: At what point does our
celebrating of our heritage constitute exclusion of others who don’t share that
heritage? It might seem odd to you, but most people in the world don’t go out
of their way for lefse bakes… or know what lefse is, for that matter. I was reminded
of this when I typed “lefse” in Microsoft Word and it put that squiggly red
line underneath, telling me it wasn’t in the dictionary. People don’t know what
this stuff is. Now, I’m not saying it’s a problem to make lefse… or celebrate
St. Lucia Day… or whatever ethnic festival is important to you—not in
itself—but Peter, Paul, and Barnabus remind us to be aware of all the ways we subtly
exclude by suggesting that who we are ethnically is more important than the
faith we share.
A
few weeks ago I asked our Confirmation students to brainstorm and highlight the
things that make Lutherans Lutheran. Their answer? The one thing they could
agree on was church-defining for Lutherans: potluck.
Sunday, May 7, 2017
I'm probably not Philip (and you're probably not the eunuch)
Philip and Ethiopian eunuch
poses some interesting questions. For one, I think every pastor likes to
imagine that all of you are the eunuch, happily reading Isaiah, waiting for
someone like me to come along and help you interpret it. Then, undoubtedly, you
will be so moved by my interpretation that you will ask to be baptized, or
recommit to your faith, or go to Synod Assembly. I don’t know. Something like
that.
Real life is a little more complicated. You may or may
not share much in common at all with that eunuch. Pastors love to imagine that
every person in the pews is dying to hear our interpretations of scripture, but,
again shockingly, that’s not always the case. Then, there is this tendency of
pastors, like myself, to believe that since you aren’t as interested in certain
things as me you are probably lukewarm in your faith, apathetic—whatever you
want to call it—and we tend to think this even though faith is experienced and
practiced in many ways and some of you are on a very different road of faith
than others. Some of you just feel pulled to be part of something and you don’t
understand how or why, and if somebody asks you’ll assume your reasons aren’t
very good.
Pastors like to imagine—because we like to see ourselves
as Philip—that there’s something wrong with you if you are like this; that you
should be more like the eunuch; that it’s our job to make you more like the eunuch, and if we just deliver that perfect
sermon you’ll be roused to stand up and your life will be changed for the
better. If we do our mandatory visiting of you—because we all know the Spirit
works most effectively through spreadsheets that tell us who we need to see
these days—then, of course, you will be strengthened in your faith. Because I’m
Philip; you’re the eunuch. Obviously.
Or… maybe not.
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