What Pastor Jon Preached on Sunday, September 26, 2010

Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 26C)
Amos 6:1a, 4-7 • Psalm 146 • 1 Timothy 6:6-19 • Luke 16:19-31

[Jesus said:] "There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, 'Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames. But Abraham said, 'Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.' He said, 'Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father's house--for I have five brothers--that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.' Abraham replied, 'They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.' He said, 'No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.' He said to him, 'If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.'"

With the Cubs and White Sox seasons nearly over, this year’s interest in Chicago baseball seems to be fading away quickly. But I can’t help see a scene from a story about baseball as I hear Jesus’ parable about a rich man and poor man named Lazarus and the divide that separates them. It’s a scene near the end of the film Field of Dreams, where Ray Kinsella, who builds a baseball field on his farm in Iowa, does not get invited out to the corn beyond the field where the old ballplayers who have come back to life have been emerging from and returning back to at the end of each day. Ray hears one of the ballplayers ask. “Hey, do you want to come out with us?” “Me?” Ray says. “No, not you, him,” the ballplayer says as he points to someone else. Ray’s furious. “What do you mean him? That’s my corn out there! You guys are guests in my corn! No, I want to see it. I’ve done what I’ve been told! I built this field. I deserve it! I haven’t once asked what’s in it for me. That’s all I’m asking is…what’s in it for me?” The ballplayer responds, “Is that why you built this field Ray, for you?”

Ray’s selfish question is a question we all ask: “What’s in it for me?” It’s a question I can hear the rich man in today’s parable saying to himself as he looks out at poor Lazarus from inside the walls of his home. “What’s in it for me to go out there and help him? He should be gone—he’s such an eyesore right at front gate of my property. I’m not going to get anything by helping him.” Both his eyes and his heart are blind to the opportunity for compassion that lies in front of him with Lazarus, just as Ray’s eyes and heart cannot see the gift that building his baseball field has given to so many.

Ray does not go out into the corn that seems something like “heaven”, so where does that leave him? With his ballfield, Ray builds a bridge that brings to life the man with whom Ray most needs to reconcile with in his life—and I won’t give away who that is for those who haven’t seen it. This man asks Ray at the end of the film about his field: “It’s so beautiful here. Can I ask you a question. Is this heaven?” Ray says, “No. It’s Iowa.” The man doesn’t believe Ray: “I could have sworn it was heaven.” But then Ray looks around and sees his field, his family, his home…seeing all that he needs and more…and he says, “Well, maybe this is heaven.” Ray sees his field is not about “what’s in it for him”, but about the people the field has allowed him to build relationship with, and what he’s been able to share because of it—treasured gifts that otherwise would have never made his life full of…community.

Jesus’ story also shows a scene from heaven—but this isn’t a scene of reconciliation and community. It’s a scene of the exact opposite: of separation and isolation. When Lazarus dies, he as the poor one, the unexpected one, gets brought to heaven; but when the rich man dies he is kept far, far away from Lazarus. The rich man sees Lazarus way off in the distance, but Lazarus is in comfort, while the rich man is in agony. The rich man still cannot see that his wealth is what has isolated him so much that a great divide now separates the two of them that is too late to be crossed.

How did this rich man become so isolated? What is Jesus trying to tell us by showing this man’s predicament? It could be easy to say that Jesus is condemning the wealthy here, but it was not being rich that caused such a chasm to surround this man. Jesus exposes the dangers that wealth—and even the yearning for greater wealth—can have on our lives. The more we have, the more challenging it becomes to see the needs of those sitting right at our doorstep. The rich man’s sin was not that he was dressed in purple and fine linen, and ate sumptuously every day. (Lk 16:19) It was that he allowed these things to take ownership of him, and insulate him from seeing his own life as linked with the well-being of even those who didn’t seem have a direct impact on his own life. The gulf in front of him separating himself from his neighbors did not just begin in his afterlife; this chasm had been building during his Earthly life.

So how do we not end up with the rich man’s fate? Or does our life somehow unavoidably take the tragic bend that this man’s life took? It appears in Jesus’ story that it is too late for him to be turned around. Is it too late for us? No, it is not, because Jesus will not let such a gulf come between him and us. No matter how isolated, or lonely, or walled off from the world we may become, Jesus finds a way to tear down that which keeps our hearts from joining with his own heart. And when we are joined to the heart of Christ, we are joined to a heart that cares for the world—a world where God is on a mission to bring down the mighty and lift up the lowly. No wall, no matter what shape it may take, is too big for Jesus to break down in order to reach us: not money, not prestige, not pride. When Jesus closes the chasm between him and us, he builds a bridge that doesn’t just lead his saving love to us, but also leads us to connect in relationship with others—with what is the most real, valuable and treasured thing in life. It’s what Paul calls “the life that really is life.” (1 Tim 6:19) It’s a life where Jesus’ bridge connects us with those waiting at our gate: who aren’t attractive, who seem to perhaps lower our reputation, who may disgust us—but whom Jesus is lowering the drawbridge for our hearts to cross and share in his communion among living sinners and living saints.

It’s not just riches that can isolate us; the life of faith itself can so easily become an individual project that turns in on ourselves. People often talk of going “church shopping”, as if faith were a product to consume rather than something discovered in community. Thomas Merton, a twentieth century Christian mystic, shares this truth about what happens when Christ builds a bridge to free us from our isolation: “The ultimate perfection of the [life of faith] is not a heaven of separate individuals, each one viewing [their] own private intuition of God; it is a sea of Love which flows through the One Body [of Christ]…and [the faith of that Body] would be incomplete if it were not shared, or if it were shared with fewer souls, or with spirits capable of less vision and less joy.” (New Seeds of Contemplation, 65)

When Jesus brings us out of our isolation, we discover that the faith Jesus works in us does not happen individually, but becomes formed and shared and set on fire in community. In Christ, none of us is an island. So who is Christ joining us into relationship with? What chasms exist in our lives that Jesus is lowering down a drawbridge over, waiting for us to walk across and begin building relationship with the Lazaruses and rich men among us? It’s not too late for us.

Today we cross over the chasm between us and the refugees of the world with the blessing of health kits and layettes that will be sent around the world through Lutheran World Relief’s Project Comfort Program. Today the mother and her newborn who receive these items, and the family in exile who receives these basic hygiene kits are brought into a fuller communion of the love of Christ with us.

We might look around in the presence of this community this morning, and we could ask, “What’s in it for me here?” Or, we could ask, “Is this heaven?” and discover Jesus places us today in communion with himself through these neighbors. “Is this heaven?” Well, maybe it’s just what happens when Jesus builds bridges between rich and poor, between old and young, between each of us gathered here. “Is this heaven?” No, it’s just church, or anyplace where the bridges Jesus builds between us are walked across , and the “life that really is life” begins. Amen.

What Pastor Jon Preached on Sunday, September 19, 2010

Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 25C)
Amos 8:4-7 • Psalm 113 • 1 Timothy 2:1-7 • Luke 16:1-13

Now instead of delving into the intricacies of an incredibly tricky and contradictory parable about a shrewd manager, I’m going to leave that aside for now and entice you to come to the Lectionary Bible Study…that had a great discussion today about this strange story of Jesus. Hope you can come to that discussion next week. Let us turn to listen to the prophet Amos’ testimony, beginning a few verses before our lectionary snippet we receive today:

Then the Lord said to me, “The end has come upon my people Israel; I will never again pass them by. The songs of the temple shall become wailings in that day,” says the Lord God; “the dead bodies shall be many, cast out in every place. Be silent!” Hear this, you that trample on the needy, and bring to ruin the poor of the land, saying, “When will the new moon be over so that we may sell grain; and the Sabbath, so that we may offer wheat for sale? We will make the ephah small and the sheckel great, and practice deceit with false balances, buying the poor for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals, and selling the sweepings of the wheat.” The Lord has sworn by the pride of Jacob; Surely I will never forget any of their deeds. Shall not the land tremble on this account, and everyone mourn who lives in it, and all of it rise like the Nile, and be tossed about and sink again, like the Nile of Egypt?” (8:1-8)

For those waiting in the long, dark night of injustice, the new dawn cannot come soon enough. For those at the bottom, tired of receiving handouts, wanting a hand up, that hand cannot come soon enough. For the orphan, the widow and the poor, Amos’ speaking up on their behalf could not come soon enough. Amos, a dresser of sycamore trees, a shepherd, a nobody from a few miles south of Bethlehem, prophesied God’s judgment against the powerful for some time. The poor had a man on their side, finally. The milk and honey of Israel were flowing wildly …but only a few could take part in it. This nobody had heard God’s call to proclaim God’s judgment of social justice for the rich and for the poor.

But nothing was happening. The rich were still getting richer. The poor were still getting poorer. And all the while, a façade of religiosity was pervading everyone’s keeping of the Sabbath, of going through the motions of empty ritual. As soon as the wealthy left the synagogue, the pursuit of profit by any means necessary continued. Was God looking the other way? Was anyone hearing this call to repent that Amos was so forcefully giving? Did they not hear God saying, “I will not revoke the punishment; because they sell the righteous for silver… they push the afflicted out of the way…” (2:6) When would God follow through?

The words we hear from the book of Amos today speak of a God not speaking to the masses, but intimately drawing near with an address directly to Amos. And God is fed up. God’s patience has run out. God is done declaring judgment. God now promises that the time has come to bring an end to evil powers, an end to the greed and self-serving that has been taking control of God’s people. God wants to show the people that God has indeed been paying attention, and that in the face of excessive guilt, God’s patience has limits: “The end has come upon my people Israel,” God says, “I will never again pass them by.” (8:1)

God is not just fed up with the individual choices of a few select individuals. God is fed up with the whole economic system that supports the excessive profit of the rich, and of business based on greed and accumulation at the expense of the poor. This is a kind of system all too much like our own. We contribute to economic injustice by more than just our not giving $5 to the poor person at the exit ramp or not spending enough time helping at the local shelter. We are caught up in a whole system that fails to get at the roots of “why” the poor exist, and that fails to address the root causes of poverty. God is fed up with this system, and declares the institutions and powers that hypocritically prop up exploitation will have their power taken away.

God takes exploiting power away not through fear, domination or destruction. God takes coercive power away by giving up God’s own power. God begins our liberation and our self-empowerment by giving us some of God’s own power. As theologian Dorothy Soelle has put it, “There is only one legitimation of power, and that is to share it with others. Power which isn’t shared—which, in other words, isn’t transformed into love—is pure domination and oppression.” God enters into this sharing of power through our baptism which baby Annika will take part in just a few minutes, when God bestows upon us the gift of the power of the Holy Spirit. God ends the paralysis and apathy of those caught in the undertow of greed—and empowers us to once again shape the future that God hopes for us. God’s power is not forceful, but it’s dynamic, it’s alive, it’s interactive, and it is what grants us the power to be free to act—that is what the Greek word dynamis, used to describe Jesus’ power, means. It’s the ability to act, to shape an our lives and our communities not to serve money but to serve relationships between people, and the flourishing of life for all. When we have lost that power at the hands of sin, God promises Amos—and us—that God will get fed up, call a halt, and bring an end.

God reminds us today that powerlessness does not get the final word. Paralyzation finally has no power over us. No matter how much weight we may feel weighing down our lives, and no matter how much we are kept from flourishing, God is not a God who keeps power to God’s self or to a limited few. God’s power is stronger than our schemes, our exposed guilt, than our sinfulness. God’s power is always a self-emptying power that serves the purpose of bringing about not just individual liberation but communal liberation.

This is precisely what God does in Jesus’ death and resurrection. Jesus got in the way of the our systemic exploitation of the poor, and challenged humanity’s desire to control the world through power and unending riches. And we nailed him to a cross. Throughout the Three Days, God was silent. Finally on the third day God raised Jesus from the dead, eliminating our plan for destruction with God’s plan for new life.

God’s plan for new life is what we come together to be fed by and shaped by here at United Lutheran. And while some may feel that the church no longer has power to influence an unjust world; and some may feel the church no longer has power to offer anything of meaning to our community; and some may feel this church no longer has power left in it, never doubt that when we gather in the name of the dynamic Jesus, God gives the power of the Holy Spirit to change our lives and our communities.

This past summer at a June retreat our church council agreed that it is time for United Lutheran to take ownership of a new chapter in the history of our congregation. It is time to take the power back and shape the future we hope for this church. The method for renewing our vision for ministry that got the council most excited was a model based on having a series of one on one interviews with members of this faith community and the wider community. It’s a model that thrives on the power of the stories of individuals to uncover both the needs and concerns present outside the church walls, and what gifts exist in the congregation to address those needs. The first of what we hope will be several trainings to learn the skill of the one on one interviewing will take place on Sunday, October 17^th following 10:30am worship, and anyone is welcome. Through people coming together to share their stories, God always grants us power, because in hearing and sharing our stories, we see that our stories are part of a larger story—God’s story—of transforming our powerlessness into new life. God’s story is not just for a few, but for all, and for us. We get to be a part of that here in this place.

God reminds Amos that an end to our participation in injustice will come. It comes in the giving of power by God to us to act together as a voice for the needs of the common good. This is what justice is about: being stewards of the power given to us, so that it is not given only to some, but is given sufficiently, sustainably, and for all. God will never tire of putting an end to unjust distribution of power. Even as we may wait for that new dawn to come, that is a promise that God in Christ impatiently wants to keep with us. Amen.

What Pastor Jon Preached on Sunday, September 12th, 2010

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 24C)
Exodus 32:7-14 • Psalm 51:1-10 • 1 Timothy 1:12-17 • Luke 15:1-10

Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to [Jesus]. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them." So he told them this parable: "Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.' Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance. "Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.' Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

Some people just plain truly make us uncomfortable. Can we imagine someone we would least expect, least hope for, and least desire sitting at our dining room table. How would we feel? What would our reaction be? What if it was the homeless women we see begging every time we walk to work; or the very same credit card billing person who has been calling for weeks asking for our overdue payment; or, the disabled relative who requires our full attention whenever they visit? Could we tolerate these guests at our table, even as uncomfortable as they might make us?

The unwanted, uncomfortable ones are precisely who Jesus sits to eat with. He eats with the “wrong” people: tax collectors—who were always on the lookout for squeezing whatever extra Roman taxes they could out of people—and sinners—the lowest of the lowest of the bottom of society. And the Pharisees don’t like it one bit. Jesus is not supposed to be able to do this!

Jesus notices the hostile stares coming from the Pharisees, so he speaks up and tells them a parable about a lost sheep being found by a shepherd and the ensuing celebration. He says, “which one of you, having a hundred sheep, and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?” (Lk 15:4) And what is our response?

Too often, we don’t want to admit that we’re more like the Pharisees in this scenario than we care to be. Jesus tells us this story not because we so readily want to answer him “yes, Lord, I would go after that one lost sheep”—really, who in our right mind would? It’s simple “bottom line” math: 99 sheep means more food on the table, more warm wool for the winter, more family income than just 1 sheep. Who would want to waste that? Jesus exposes us to be the bystanders, grumbling about the attention given for the marginalized when the needs of the many are so great.

But no matter how unworthy we may consider Jesus for going after the one who is lost, rather than to stay with the ninety-nine, that does not stop Jesus from restlessly searching to shepherd all who are lost back into the embrace of God. That is why Jesus-mercy rests on Jesus, and not on us. Jesus-mercy goes beyond our notions of who can eat at our tables and who cannot—beyond who is worthy of being sought out and who is not—because God in Christ is desperately passionate about redeeming all of us, no matter how foolish or risky or un-rational that may be. Jesus will not stop looking for the lost until they are found, no matter who “they” are. For God the 99 will not be complete and whole without the 1 who is not there, so that Jesus can not only feed and nourish all at his table, but can join the lost and found together under a celebration that unites all of us at his table.

The sense of longing for a place at the table, of truly being lost, is captured brilliantly in a 2007 film I recently watched called Into the Wild. It’s based on the true story of Christopher McCandless, a young man who after graduating from Emory University in the early 90’s, gave away his life savings and left home in search of an escape into the wilderness, away from his family where he didn’t feel he had fit in. Christopher thought he was running away from a family where he didn’t share his parents’ excitement at affording the newest, biggest car, and a family where he had learned only recently that his parents had never legally been married. In truth, Christopher was running away from feeling lost, and his itinerant journey of hitchhiking and backpacking only led him further and further away from what he was truly seeking. Near the end of the film, Christopher is alone in the Alaska wild, trapped, living in an abandoned school bus, and having poisoned himself by eating a plant he learned too late was toxic. Isolated, and nowhere near help, we see him write in the margins of his journal with big bold letters: “Happiness only real when shared.” Finally, Christopher saw that he would not find what he was looking for in nature, or in running away, but in community with others. Although it was too late for him to experience such community, Christopher saw that the restlessness with which he had pursued his journey of hitchhiking and living on little was ultimately the kind of restless passion with which God had always been seeking to find and embrace him, and join him to an accepting community.

So when someone like Christopher returns, when someone who is not like us, someone who is not worthy of God’s mercy by our standards, can we celebrate their return? Jesus concludes his shepherd parable with an invitation to rejoice with the shepherd who found the one lost sheep. Our celebration is not that someone has come back, but that God’s mercy has brought them back, and given them a place at the table. Each week God shows God’s determination, in the table we set, to welcome and feed all who are lost, all who are found, all who stand under the care of the one shepherd who is our Christ. That celebration does not flourish until we too can celebrate the grace not just given to us, but also to the one out of ninety-nine who has been found—the grace not just given to us but to others.

As school is getting started back up again, I’m reminded of one particular lunch table where a lot of choices are made about who sits with who—where who one chooses to eat with—and hang out with—makes a very big deal. And that’s at the high school cafeteria. Who we sit with in those years is so crucial to our social life, and whether we’ll have one, is it not, dear youth? Are we going to sit with the geeks, the popular kids, the sports jocks or the group of friends we’ve known since forever—these are life and death questions at this age, as they are at any age. At this early time of the school year, many of these groups are still forming, and it can be challenging both to be welcomed to a table, or to be the one to pull up an extra chair for someone else. Jesus-mercy rejoices at the tables in these cafeterias where both those already found and those looking for a place can eat and celebrate together. It may not make sense, we may lose social points for it, there may be grumbling from others, but we are invited to be a part of such tables, where God’s desperate shepherd love becomes real.

We are reminded today that for all of us, when Jesus finds us, it changes our place in the story…from grumbling bystander, to humble and thankful participant. The shepherd, Christ, is determined to show mercy to all people…all who are both 100% fully sinner, and 100% fully saint—all who are both 100% fully lost, and 100% fully found by God. That shepherd won’t stop until he finds his way to our hearts, where we can not only be grateful he finds and welcomes us, but that in his finding and welcoming others, we find that joyful mercy truly does become real when it is shared. Amen.

What Pastor Jon Preached on Sunday, September 5th, 2010

Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 23C)
Deuteronomy 30:15-20 • Psalm 1 • Philemon 1-21 • Luke 14:25-33

Now large crowds were traveling with [Jesus]; and he turned and said to them, "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, 'This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.' Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? If he cannot, then, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace. So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.

Jesus and Moses both are at similar points in the stories we hear about them today. They have both undergone a long journey, a journey they had never ever dreamed of taking, but a journey to which God had called them. Both stand on the cusp of the next big thing that God is about to do. Moses stands with the Israelites on the cusp of their entrance into Israel, the promised land, but he finds it important to stop and preach these final words after they have traveled 40 years in the wilderness, and before they enter this new land: “See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity…I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses.” (Deut. 30:15, 19) It’s as if Moses is saying, “Do you realize what is in front of you, what an opportunity is here for you? Do you know what God has done for you, and the responsibility you have been entrusted with, as you enter into the promised land?”

Jesus also has a crowd following him, and he also finds it necessary to stop, turn around, look back, and preach these words that ask his followers to take seriously the road that lies before them: “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple…None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions…” (Lk. 14:27, 33)

We hear these words today as we also stand at a moment of transition, as we stand on the cusp of the next big thing God is up to. Summer is quickly giving way to fall, and the days of vacation, of rest, and of leisure, are quickly fading way as we now face choices about what our commitments will be as we enter this fall. We stand at the cusp of the new beginning of the church’s programming year starting next Sunday, with Sunday School and Adult Bible study and Faith & Film nights all on the horizon. As we hear these stories of Moses and Jesus, God is also asking us to take seriously the path that lies ahead. What do we want this season of our lives to mean? What priorities will shape the kind of people we will be? What kind of disciples will we become?

As we stand at on the cusp of this new season, as we hear Moses’ call to choose life rather than death, and, as we wonder how can we possibly answer Jesus’ call to give up everything to follow him, where can we look to for guidance? One thing we can do is look back, and see what God has done to bring us to where we. This can give us some sense of what God will be up to as we look at our intentions for our discipleship on the cusp of this new season. Moses does this very thing of looking back, as he preaches to the Israelites while they stand at the river Jordan, ready to cross over into the promised land. Moses reminds the Israelites, God’s faithfulness is what got them to where they are. God brought them out of slavery; God led them through the wilderness; God provided them with food to eat and clothes on their back and sandals that did not wear out. (Deut. 29:2-6) For Moses’ tribe and for our tribe, God’s faithfulness in the past gives us testimony to the God who will continue opening a way in front of us that leads in paths of liberation, paths of righteousness, paths of reliance upon God for all the means necessary to “choose life.” (Deut. 30:19) From Moses we learn that although we don’t know what the future looks like, God will be faithful, as God has always been, as we step forward in faith into the future.

So as we look back, where has God been at work in our lives, and in our world? How have we been transformed in ways that give us clues as to what God will be like as we consider what paths our discipleship will take? Well, as part of this body of Christ, we have been chosen and blessed with a community, a home, where God changes us from wanderers, going from one experience to the next, seeking thrill after thrill, to becoming a part of something bigger than ourselves—a part of this body of pilgrim disciples, who may not know where we are going, but who together have a thirst for the goodness of a merciful Lord and for putting that goodness into action. As part of this body of Christ, God has also changed us from being people defined by what we buy, to being defined by the character of our lives, and by the care with which we tend to our relationships. Looking back, we also see a God who has restored us to people who are not forgotten, who are not fragmented by the quickness of the pace of modern life, or by the transitoriness of a world that’s always on the move. In this room, God places us into a story that goes back way before we were born, and in here, God connects us with an ancient tradition called Christian Lutheranism that still breathes life into our faith a real, relevant way.

So looking back, dear people, God has been so faithful, in so many ways! God has done all this in ways we have not deserved. But God in God’s graciousness has continued to choose life through us. That faithfulness is what will lead us into the future, and that faithfulness is what summons us.

Jesus stands ready to lead us into that future. As Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, larger and larger crowds are following him. Luke says that Jesus “turned and said to them”, meaning that he was out in front, and he literally had to turn around in order to address them. With his words, Jesus himself turns towards us first, so that we can turn today not to the crowd of popularity, or to the crowd that’s following Christ because everyone else is. As Jesus turns towards us today, we are reminded of the faithfulness of a God who has always continued to choose us, and turn towards us. And so we can truly turn today back towards Jesus himself, even as it may thin the crowds, and even pull us from what others may tell us is more important.

When Jesus turns towards us, it changes us. We are unconditionally accepted. We belong. We are no longer alone. But is that it? Is that all that it’s about—what we receive from God? God also expects a lot of us! God expects that acceptance to make a change in our lives. And that’s what being a disciple is about. First, being a disciple is about Jesus faith in us; and second it is about Jesus calling us beyond who we are to be more than we ever thought we could be. That order cannot be changed; and neither of those two can be separated from one another.

One of the heresies in our Lutheran tradition that can sometimes get in the way of our discipleship is how often we forget about the second of these two interrelated aspects of discipleship. We can so easily fall into expecting quite little of ourselves. Do we realize how little we expect of people to be an active member of United Lutheran? Constitutionally, all that is required to be an active member in good standing here is to commune at least once every two years. This is also true at most Lutheran congregations. Now that’s not a bad place to start. But there is so much more we are called to be—because when Christ when turns us around, he re-turns us again and again to his love that joins with our hearts and that sets us on fire again and again to share in what he is up to in the world, which is bringing new life out of what was dead.

So as we stand at this cusp of all that lies before us as summer turns towards the activities of this fall, Jesus turns to us again to renew both God’s faithful promises that accept us and also that also expect us to give our all as disciples. May we take space in these days as we prepare to cross over into the places Jesus is calling us to, to discern intentionally where our discipleship is leading us. Picking up the cross, and shaping a life that reflects Christ will look different for every one of us. May we say “yes” to those commitments that may challenge us to grow in ways that may be unfamiliar or unforeseen for us; and may we also have the courage to discern when to say “no” to those opportunities that will take away from growth in the areas we have chosen. Whatever future lies in front of us, God’s faithfulness will continue placing us in the long reaching arc of an ancient story where Christ turns to us unconditionally, and invites us to turn towards him, letting go of all that lies behind, so we can continue our journey, and find our way to the home God has prepared for us. Amen.