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Sermons

Sermon: Sunday, February 22, 2015: First Sunday in Lent

Texts: Genesis 9:8-17  +  Psalm 25:1-10  +  1 Peter 3:18-22  +  Mark 1:9-15

allthelight-209x300I’m leading a discussion of “All the Light We Cannot See” this afternoon for the book club Kerry and I belong to.  The novel, by Anthony Doerr, was a finalist for the National Book Award in the fiction category last year and was on the top of a bunch of “Best of” lists. It tells the story of two young people whose lives are connected in ways they cannot fully know during the Second World War: Werner Pfennig, a brilliant young orphan from Germany and Marie-Laure, a blind girl from Paris forced to navigate a world she has never known when she and her father are forced to flee the city as the Germans invade France.

One of the things I appreciate about the novel is the complexity and humanity that the author affords his characters. We come to love Werner, a self-taught engineer, as he cares for his sister in the orphanage before we see him recruited into a Nazi youth program for exceptional children. We know that he is an intelligent and compassionate human being before we see him slowly conformed to a culture of violence and death. When he arrives at what is essentially boot camp he is told by the bunk master,

You will become like a waterfall, a volley of bullets — you will all surge in the same direction at the same pace toward the same cause. You will forgo comforts; you will live by duty alone. You will eat country and breathe nation.

I was struck by the sacramentality of that passage. “You will become like a waterfall … You will eat country and breathe nation.” It was as if Werner was being baptized into a national ideology of merciless strength and unquestioning obedience.

After he’s been at the camp for a while he and his best friend, Frederick, are forced to take part in the torture of a prisoner of war by water-boarding. As he stands in line with the bucket of water he is expected to toss at their victim, Werner is aware of his deep desire to flee the situation but “when his turn arrives, [he] throws the water like all the others.” When it comes time for his friend Frederick to do the same, he pours the water out on the ground and refuses to take his part in the game of violence. As a consequence he is repeatedly targeted by the other boys who begin to bully him with increasing severity.

The readiness with which the German people were able to accept horrific violence against their own countrymen, and to participate in it, has been explored over and over again in literature and drama. Nazi Germany has become an archetype of socialized violence so large that it sometimes seems to obscure the ongoing inurement to violence with which we all struggle. At one point in the novel a gem appraiser marvels at the rare treasures pouring into the Third Reich, although “where the police confiscated these treasures and from whom, he does not ask.” We, of course, know that these treasures are being stolen from the Jewish families being evicted from their homes and sent to concentration camps.

The gemologist is too easy to hate, but what about me? What treasures flow too easily into my and Kerry’s home at the expense of people whose names we will never know? Who pays the price for our food to be so inexpensive, our gasoline to be so abundant, and our clothing to be so cheap? Have we been conditioned to look the other way so often that we no longer even know when we’re doing it?

The Gospel of Mark doesn’t bother with stories about Jesus’ birth or childhood. Instead it launches immediately into a scene of people from the city of Jerusalem and all across the Judean countryside leaving the world they’ve known and coming to John to repent and be baptized. For the gospel of Mark, the story of Jesus begins with his baptism into a movement that was calling people away from their participation in a culture of state-sponsored violence, away from the occupation by empire, in remembrance of their identity as people saved by the God who led them out of slavery and into the wilderness.

As soon as Jesus is baptized the Spirit drives him further into the wilderness where he is tempted by Satan.  Mark’s gospel doesn’t describe the scene with the detail found in Matthew and Luke, but it does name Satan as the agent of temptation.

hymnalI’m going to ask you to open the hymnal in the back of your pew to page 232 where you’ll find a rite titled “Welcome to Baptism.”  As you scan these pages they should look familiar to you, since it is a form of the rite we’ve been using this morning as we welcome our friend Ryan into a period of preparation for his baptism later this spring at Eastertide.

Now flip back a couple of pages to page 229, about midway through the actual rite of Holy Baptism, which should also look familiar since just last week we used it as we welcomed Alexander Burch into the household of faith through his baptism. There, at the top of the page, you’ll find a section of the rite of baptism that’s known as “the renunciations.” Three times we ask those being presented for baptism to renounce the world in which we live and the patterns of being that separate us from God and one another. The renunciations begin by describing the choice between the world as it is and the world as God would have it be in the most cosmic of terms, as a choice between God and the devil as the church asks, “do you renounce the devil and all the forces that defy God?”

For some, that question barely makes sense. For all the ambivalence we may have about the images of God on which we were raised, we’ve been given even less to work with when it comes to the devil. Red face paint and plastic pitchforks at Halloween. Scarlet cherubs sitting on Fred Flintstone’s shoulder tempting him toward what is wrong. Fire wielding demons on the CW. Are any of these what we mean when we speak of Satan?

Rather than conceive of Satan as some mysterious evil tempting us away from the straight and narrow path, I’d like to encourage us to think of Satan as almost the opposite. As the voice that keep us in line, going along to get along, holding our own bucket of water as we approach the prisoner whose life is being poured out before us. Satan as the voice that prompts you to change the channel when the news is just too uncomfortable to bear. Satan as the lie that numbs us to the everyday violence of life by shaking its head and lamenting, “that’s just how it is.”

The renunciations that follow suggest as much, taking the choice between God and the devil out of the cosmological and into more intimate and recognizable language. “Do you renounce the powers of this world that rebel against God?” and “Do you renounce the ways of sin that draw you from God?”  Our baptisms are not a public commitment to stay the course. We don’t promise not to veer off the path. We aren’t endorsing the status quo. Rather, in baptism we join the crowds that left Jerusalem and the surrounding countryside, who could not accommodate themselves to the violence of empire going at that time by the name “Rome,” who lamented of their participation in its ongoing dehumanization of life, theirs and their neighbor’s, who wanted to return to the God of the wilderness, the God of liberation from slavery. They were ready to revolt from the world as it is, not endorse it. And this is how Jesus’ own ministry began as well.

Ryan, we’re so happy that you’ve chosen to be baptized and we look forward to preparing with you for that day when you will make these renunciations in public, for all the world to see, and by so doing you will join the ranks of the saints and martyrs over every time and place who have seen with open eyes the cruelty of the world and have claimed their citizenship not on this earth but in a divine commonwealth of radical equality where all are welcome and there is always enough.

On the day of your baptism you will not speak these renunciations alone, you will be surrounded and supported by the members of this congregation who will speak for the whole church as we affirm our baptisms with you. Your witness will strengthen ours, and vice versa, because baptism is not something we undertake alone, but together, strengthening and encouraging each other as our eyes are opened to all the ways the world is killing us and embracing the alternative life God is offering, a life we see clearly in Jesus who pours out his life in a public testimony to the God of peace and justice and love. Together we will become like a waterfall, each life a drop in the torrent of time, carving a new path forward through the wilderness where we will feast on the reign of God and breathe the new life made possible by the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

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Sermons

Sermon: Sunday, March 9, 2014: First Sunday in Lent

Texts:  Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7  +  Psalm 32  +  Romans 5:12-19  +  Matthew 4:1-11

Serpents in the garden and devils in the wilderness.  No matter which year or which gospel, the first Sunday in Lent always feeds us stories of temptation and confrontation between Jesus and that figure who has been named “the devil,” about whom there is much confusion — which, I assume, suits the devil quite well.

The devil is a staple figure in more conservative expressions of our Christian faith, in ways that often embarrass or anger more progressive Christians.  We’ve seen the devil’s name used to cover up a multitude of human sins, as anyone who looks different, prays different, lives different, or loves different gets lumped in with the devil. Satan, to too many, is just another name we use for anyone or anything unfamiliar or agitating. In the classic case of the pendulum swinging too far in the other direction, we who deplore this kind of scapegoating distance ourselves from anything that reminds us of it, making “the devil” a laughable stereotype of backward religion and denying our own daily struggles with temptation.

4424c060ada007cc036f1210.LC.S. Lewis, the Christian author and apologist remembered perhaps best for his Chronicles of Narnia, described this dynamic well in his satirical novel The Screwtape Letters.  First published during World War II in 1942, The Screwtape Letters takes the form of a series of letters from an elder devil, Screwtape, to his younger nephew, Wormwood.  They are both bureaucrats in Satan’s service, and Screwtape is advising his nephew in the devilish arts, how to win souls away from God.

In his preface to the book, Lewis states,

“There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them. They themselves are equally pleased by both errors and hail a materialist or a magician with the same delight.”

Lewis calls the phenomenon I have observed in too many conservative Christian communities, whose “excessive and unhealthy interest” with the devil gives Satan too much power and credit, a kind of magical thinking and hails these sorts of people as “magicians” whose distraction with the devil borders on devotion.

But Lewis has a name for people like me, and maybe communities like ours, as well. People and parties committed to objective reality, cold hard facts, and psycho-social explanations for every variety of human experience he calls “materialists” — not in the sense of “materialism,” the word we use for an unhealthy love of consumer goods, but in the sense of a slavish devotion to what can be seen and known and studied and mastered: the material world. Our condescension toward anything we do not believe or understand makes us susceptible to all kinds of attacks that we never see coming, even while we are in their grip.

About a third of the way into the book, Screwtape addresses this issue in one of his letters to his nephew.

I wonder you should ask me whether it is essential to keep the patient in ignorance of your own existence. That question, at least for the present phase of the struggle, has been answered for us by the High Command. Our policy, for the moment, is to conceal ourselves. Of course this has not always been so. We are faced with a cruel dilemma. When the humans disbelieve in our existence we lose all the pleasing results of direct terrorism and we make no magicians. On the other hand, when they believe in us, we cannot make them materialists and skeptics. At least, not yet. I have great hopes that we shall learn in due time how to emotionalize and mythologize their science to such an extent that what is, in effect, belief in us (though not under that name) will creep in while the human mind remains closed to belief in [God] … If once we can produce our perfect work — the Materialist Magician, the man, not using, but veritably worshipping, what he calls “Forces” while denying the existence of “spirits” — then the end of the war will be in sight. But in the meantime we must obey our orders. I do not think you will have much difficulty in keeping the patient in the dark. The fact that “devils” are predominantly comic figures in the modern imagination will help you. If any faint suspicion of your existence begins to arise in his mind, suggest to him a picture of something in red tights, and persuade him that since he cannot believe in that (it is an old textbook method of confusing them) he therefore cannot believe in you.”

It is with all these misgivings and misunderstandings about the devil that we approach the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, and Jesus in the wilderness, on the First Sunday in Lent.

In the garden we get the story of a serpent and a tree, or a wyrm in the woods, and the perversion of knowledge into shame. The stories from Genesis are so rich with symbolism and inexhaustible meaning that we’ll be returning to them for most of this coming summer. There are many ways to make sense of this story, and one of them is that in the garden God marks the boundaries that distinguish between humanity and God.

adam-and-eve-in-the-garden-of-eden-giclee-print-c12267346“You may freely eat of every tree of the garden; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die” (Gen. 2:16-17).  Fruit, or food, is equated with knowledge — both being necessary for life.  God affirms humanity’s need to be sustained, not only by food but also by intellectual engagement with the world. We are meaning-making creatures, who long to understand our experience.  Perhaps alone among God’s creatures, we reflect upon the meaning of our own existence. And that, God does not prohibit. But God issues a strong warning about our desire to claim mastery over what is good and what is evil. Those categories of thought lead almost inevitably to forms of judgment that are reserved to God alone, and once humanity sets out to know and to name good and evil all kinds of insidious harm occurs. We see this illustrated in the story as the woman and man eat the forbidden fruit and know themselves in a new way, in their nakedness, which they immediately move to cover.

This isn’t the only way to interpret this story, but if we do read in this way we are led to reflect not only on the origins of human suffering, but on our own individual and communal suffering as well. In what ways does our strong desire to be able to label people and circumstances “good” or “evil” lead us into relationships that leave us vulnerable to shame, and anger, and violence? Can you think of a time when you followed the voice inside your head, or your gut, or your heart that seemed so sure it knew the truth about another person’s life — only to discover that you were tragically wrong? If so, then you know what it’s like to be tempted by wormwood, the serpent in the garden, an all-too-real experience that makes the question of the “reality” of the devil practically irrelevant.

Following his baptism, the event at which Jesus saw the Spirit of God descend and rest on him and heard God’s voice name him as God’s own Beloved, Jesus is led out into the wilderness where he was also tempted by the devil.  This time, instead of fruit from a tree, the devil acknowledges Jesus’ hunger, the result of his fasting. “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” But Jesus answers, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’” (Matt. 4:3-4)  Food and knowledge are once equated with each other, but unlike the man and woman in the garden, Jesus does not take the bait to rely on his own knowledge, but on the wisdom of God.

Can you remember a time in your life when poverty, or isolation, or deprivation took you to a place where you were ready to give up on all that you know to be true? When you were ready to trade in your trust that God will provide with a lower faith in the reliability of the world’s wisdom, in which there is only so much bread to go around and you should feel entitled to get yours before it’s all gone?  If so, then you’ve met the devil.

Next Jesus is taken to the holy city and set on top of the temple, where the devil goads him to demonstrate his divinity by throwing himself from the heights and forcing God to rush in and save him from his own death.  Here the devil betrays a woeful lack of knowledge about how and where God chooses to work in the world. Rather than choosing a handful of people to love, and sparing them from death and suffering, God chooses to to love all of creation and to join us in the fullness of our experience, including and especially death.

Have you ever found yourself at the crossroads of a difficult decision, trying to talk yourself out of a necessary task by reassuring yourself that God would never want you to suffer so much?  If so, then you’ve met the devil.

Christ's_temptation_(Monreale)Finally, Jesus is taken up to a very high mountain and shown all the nations of the world.  Satan, that liar, makes a ridiculous offer, that Jesus will be given the world if only he will bend the knee and worship him.  This is the very baldest of lies, because we know that the devil is offering something that is not his in the first place. But, it’s not so ridiculous a scenario, as the world is always trying to convince us that realists, pragmatists, materialists even, need to be prepared to deal with the cold hard fact that the world is a tough place, with no room for the ethics of love, forgiveness, justice and compassion that God in Christ Jesus is offering.

Have you ever found yourself in a position of authority, where you had the responsibility of making significant decisions that would affect the lives of many others, perhaps your entire family, or your workplace, or the neighborhood, or the world?  Have you heard within yourself the inner struggle between the voice that calls you to do what is right, and the voice that calls you to do what is expected? If so, then you’ve met the devil.

Jesus, unsurprisingly, sidesteps all of the devil’s lures and sends him scuttling off.  We are not always as sure in our responses. Perhaps that is why we fear talk of the devil to some degree, because we suspect we’ve lost a match or two to his wiles.

C.S. Lewis dedicated The Screwtape Letters to his good friend J.R.R. Tolkein, author of The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy.  If you’ve read those books, then you know that evil is personified in horrible and almost majestic terms.  In his epigraph to The Screwtape Letters Lewis shares two quotes that seem to suggest a more modest approach to dealing with the devil.  He first quotes Luther, who said, “The best way to drive out the devil, if he will not yield to texts of Scripture, is to jeer and flout him, for he cannot bear scorn.” Then Luther’s opponent, Thomas More, who also said, “The devil … the prowde spirit … cannot endure to be mocked.”

That, I think, is the very best way to deal with the devil.  Not to dwell obsessively on him like the magicians, or to deny him like the materialists, but ultimately to put him in his place, like the apostle Paul who declared with full confidence to the Romans,

“Therefore just as one man’s trespass led to condemnation for all, so one man’s act of righteousness leads to justification and life for all. For just as by the one man’s disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man’s obedience the many will be made righteous.” (Rom. 5:18-19)

In other words, the biggest lie of all is that it is somehow we who are locked in combat with the devil and all the powers of death, when in reality it is God who has already decided the outcome of that conflict. God is for us, and for all the world, and against that unshakeable fact all the devil’s lures and lies are powerless. So we will jeer and flout and mock the devil, who has already lost the war.

Amen.

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Sermons

Sermon: Sunday, February 17, 2013: First Sunday of Lent

Texts:  Deuteronomy 26: 1-11  +  Psalm 91:1-2,9-16  +  Romans 10:8b-13  +  Luke 4:1-13

Good morning students, and welcome to your Lenten study hall.  My name is Erik Christensen and I will be your instructor for the next five weeks as we explore the ministry of Jesus in preparation for the great Three Days leading up to the festival of Easter.  The required reading for this class is the gospel of Luke, though there are select passages from the gospel of John that are recommended as well.  You can find these texts in most any bookstore, or in the bibles in the pew-back in front of you.  You can also find them online and in a variety of translations for both print and eReader formats.  There are no quizzes or papers in this class.  There will be one final, administered with water, and you will all pass.  Although there is no such thing as extra credit, you will earn brownie points if you can name the theological doctrine by which we all pass this course on the strength of another’s merits.

There really is a part of me that would still love to teach college or grad school.  Mostly so I could use that tone of voice (“Good morning students…”).  Looking for a season of the church year best suited to the living out of my professorial fantasies, Lent was the obvious choice.  Throughout its long and storied history, the season of Lent has been used as a time for the education and formation of people preparing to be baptized at the Easter Vigil.  As the church moved out of the first century and into a period of persecution, many found it difficult to remain true to the promises they’d made at the time of their baptisms — promises that we ourselves have made, or that were made on our behalf by parents and sponsors when we were children.  Christians facing political persecution in the form of imprisonment or even death would sometimes turn their back on the community of the baptized.  Lent was a time when those who had left the church could return, using these forty days as a period of repentance for sin and renewal in faith.

In the modern era, we recall and observe both meanings of this ancient season:

baptized_we_live_coverThis is a time of preparation for baptism. In fact, this year we are celebrating with Jessica Castro and her children Jessie, Angel and Lilly their decision to be baptized at the Easter Vigil.  In preparation for that event, Jessica Palys and I are meeting with the family for an hour each week before worship and studying together, using Dan Erlander’s short, wonderful, illustrated text “Baptized We Live: Lutheranism as a Way of Life.”  

And this is a time for each of us who are already baptized to be reflecting on the ways that we may have capitulated to the pressures of the world that tempt us to turn away from the promises made at baptism. Individually and collectively we use this season of Lent to repent for the ways we have broken or betrayed the solidarity with all God’s people that is the gift of baptism, and we renew our faith and our promises to be co-workers with all of creation in God’s in-breaking reign.

The stories we hear this morning, on this first Sunday of Lent, fit the theme of identity and temptation quite perfectly.  We are, perhaps, most familiar with the story of Jesus being tempted in the wilderness — first with bread, then with political power, and finally with the promise of divinity, even immortality.

These temptations come at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, and they remind me of the three renunciations we make at the beginning of the baptismal rite before we are washed in these waters and initiated into the mission and ministry of Christ.  We ask,

  • Do you renounce the devil and all the forces that defy God?
  • Do you renounce the powers of this world that rebel against God?
  • Do you renounce the ways of sin that draw you from God?

To each of these questions the candidate responds, “I renounce them,” mirroring Jesus’ own renunciation of Satan’s tempting offers.

Last month I spent the better part of a week down in Atlanta, Georgia.  I was there by invitation from the Worship staff from the Churchwide offices of the ELCA to be part of a team of clergy who worked together on crafting new language for contemporary Christian worship.  In that process one of my assignments was actually to find new words for these ancient baptismal renunciations.

south_park_satanRecognizing that many of us are unfamiliar, even uncomfortable, with the use of the name “Satan” — surrounded by depictions of a red-fleshed bully wielding a pitchfork on South Park or various horror movie renditions of “the Devil,” I had to try and find new words that more accurately reflected ancient views of what we are called to renounce in our baptism.

In the gospel of Luke, the devil tempts Jesus with offers that expand in their scope. The first temptation is bread.  We may not think too much of bread, but if that’s true, then it’s probably a sign that we have enough of it, or enough money to never have to worry about where our next meal is coming from.  Of the world’s 6.7 billion people, almost 1 billion go hungry each day — that’s about 14% of the world’s community that prays “give us this day our daily bread” with an urgency we may simply never understand.

For these people, a person who could have made bread out of rocks would have been a magician — but a person who became bread for the whole world would have been a savior.

The second temptation is political power.  The devils tells Jesus, “to you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please.”  There’s some sly humor in Luke’s gospel at this point, I think.  The devil is asserting that politics are the devil’s playground, and who among us hasn’t thought the same at some point in our lives, or even in the last week? In a world of back-room deals, the devil is offering Jesus the sweetest deal of them all.  But Jesus renounces the devil’s claim over politics, and in doing so I think he ennobles the political work of the church, our calling to use all the tools available to us to shape the world so that it more fully reflects God’s peace, mercy, justice and love.  In a world where politics too quickly becomes a synonym for division, the baptized people of God recall Paul’s words to the Romans, “there is no distinction between Jew and Greek, the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him.”

In a world in which political leaders living nations away controlled the lives of millions of people, a person who ruled the nations would have been a hero — but a person who prioritized people over power would have been a savior.

The final temptation is cosmic in scope.  The devil tempts Jesus with the promise of divine protection.  He says, “if you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here for it is written, ‘God will command the angels concerning you, to protect you.’”  It is the promise of eternal life.  If you are the child of God, then nothing can hurt you, nothing can kill you.  That is the devil’s tempting lie.  But Jesus will be the one who shows us the breadth and the depth of God’s solidarity with all the suffering world.  A love so deep that it will not pass over death, but will enter it just as fully as each of us someday must.

In a world dominated by death, a person who escaped death would have been a legend — but a person who embraced death so that each of us could live more fully, less fearfully, would have been a savior.

So we, when we are baptized, follow in the footsteps of our savior, renouncing the devil’s empty offers in favor of a new life lived in solidarity with all the world’s people: the hungry, the oppressed, the weak and the dying.

As I looked for new words to communicate these ancient ideas, I tried to think about the range of situations in which people are baptized and how I would speak to each.  In one case, I imagined a worship service where those being baptized were old enough to answer for themselves, but still young enough that the traditional language would be far beyond their daily vocabulary.  I tried to find words that children could say with honesty and integrity.  This is what I came up with, and as we close this first lesson in our Lenten study hall I’m going to ask you to respond to these questions — if you feel comfortable doing so — with the words “I say no to them.”  As we finish, I’ll ask you to join me in reciting the Apostle’s Creed — remembering those words by which we were each baptized.  To make that easier, how about we each open our hymnals to page 229 in the front.

Friends, as you get ready to be baptized, I’m going to ask you to say no to the things that hurt you and to say yes to God.  Some of our words will be short and simple, and some will be long and complicated, but all will tell the story of God’s love for you and for the whole world.

Do you say no to hate, no to violence, no to greed and no to everything else that is the opposite of God’s peace, mercy, justice and love?

Response: I say no to them.

Do you say no to rules, no to habits, no to traditions, no to prejudices that go against God’s hopes and dreams for the world?

Response: I say no to them.

Do you say no to the things you do but shouldn’t, no to the temptation to do nothing when action is needed, no to everything that pulls you away from God?

Response: I say no to them.

Saying no to sin, and all that hurts us and God’s creation, I ask you now to say yes to God with the words used by Christians at their baptisms since the very earliest days of the Church.

Do you believe in God the Father?

I believe in God, the Father almighty,

creator of heaven and earth.

Do you believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God?

I believe in Jesus Christ, God’s only Son, our Lord,

who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,

born of the Virgin Mary,

suffered under Pontius Pilate,

was crucified, died, and was buried;

he descended to the dead.

On the third day he rose again;

he ascended into heaven,

and is seated at the right hand of the Father,

and he will come again to judge the living and the dead.

Do you believe in God the Holy Spirit?

I believe in the Holy Spirit,

the holy catholic church,

the communion of saints,

the forgiveness of sins,

the resurrection of the body,

and the life everlasting.

Amen.

 

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