Keeping the Season

"Dirty Garden Feet" by jana christy, on Flickr

Reading for the day: John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Washing Feet
by Robert Fawcett

Being thorough, I remove a holey sock
to view a diabetic man’s filthy feet.
I use the time to complete our talk
of what drove him to live on the street
as I wonder how any of this can help.

While he tells me more of his medical past,
I run warm water into a stainless bowl.
I immerse both his feet and begin to ask
myself what good it does for this poor soul
to allow himself to undergo this ablution.

Silently I sluice the water between his toes
and soap the crusty callous at his heel.
I marvel at his arch and notice how closely
it fits my palm. I know he can feel
this proximity too. He shuts his eyes.

Months of useless layers peel away,
revealing layers useless weeks ago.
Removing the tough brown hide of yesterday
yields clean pink skin, but we both know
this ritual will be useless days from now.

Still, this moment may withstand time’s test,
teaching us each lessons unknown before.
I learn the medicine of selflessness.
He learns what medicine is really for–
the hope that basin, soap and touch can bear.

"Palm" by brooklin, on Flickr

Luke 19:28-40
After he had said this, [Jesus] went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem.

When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’ ” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying,

“Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!”

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

--
Friends, here we are, again, at the beginning of the end. Palm Sunday, our entry into Holy Week, the first movement of a long and difficult story that leads to death, and then to resurrection.

Palm Sunday is the beginning, which makes it a bit of a challenge to preach, because every sermon seems unfinished. Jesus has come to the city, but for what? We don’t actually hear the most important parts of the story until later in the week.

This year, as I kept pouring over the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem, I found myself thinking most deeply about the disciples, and about how joyful and confident they are in their faith today, and I started thinking about how their faith will crumbles as Jesus gets closer and closer to the cross.

Did you notice, when we read from Luke’s gospel today, that unlike the other gospel writers, he doesn’t say anything about palm branches? And the word “hosanna” doesn’t show up? And there aren’t huge crowds of people and children. In Luke’s gospel, Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem is heralded only by the disciples (who are doing their best to make some noise) and the Pharisees (who are trying to hush them up).

Jesus comes down the path, and it is the disciples, the faithful ones, who can't hide their excitement about Christ their king, who is is Son of God, Ruler of the Universe, teacher, healer, redeemer. In this moment, they aren't ashamed of who they are or what they believe.

They "praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen" and they shout, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” It's a reprise of the song of the angels at Jesus' birth

Right now, on the hillside, with nobody but a few religious authorities to see them, they don't care that they are making a ruckus, they aren't worried that their shouting might offend the empire. When the authorities rebuke Jesus for this unsightly and unsanctioned demonstration, he says that if the disciples weren’t shouting, the very stones along the path would be crying out.

The stones and the disciples alike trust that Jesus is the one who brings cosmic love, forgiveness, redemption, salvation, peace, and grace to the deepest longings and groaning of the universe. I have no doubt that the disciples were sincere and earnest as they cheered alongside the road. They have noble and grand intentions.

But things are about to get unsafe. And difficult. And real.

There will be an awkward washing of feet and a last family meal. There will be an armed cohort rushing them in the garden, and a kiss of betrayal, and all of the sudden, the obnoxious but neutral Roman occupation will start to feel threatening, and Jesus will be treated as a common criminal, and all of the sudden, all of the beautiful, idealistic visions of Jesus's promised kingdom will seem less immediate and less important than keeping a low profile to save their own skins.

Do I think that the disciples intended to desert Jesus in the garden? Do I think that Judas, when he first started following Jesus, intended to become cynical and greedy and bent toward betrayal? Do I think that Peter intended to deny Jesus around the fire? Do I think that the disciples, looking post-resurrection, intended to be so afraid that they would lock themselves away in an upper room?

I don't think the disciples intended any of this.

They followed Jesus as far as they did because they believed in his vision of an upside-down kingdom. Every miracle that he did, every person he healed, every parable he taught revealed to them a beautiful world of hope and healing, running counter to politics and power as usual.

But maybe they hoped that Jesus was exaggerating when he said that this kingdom could only come through suffering and his death. And when things start to look dangerous and bleak for Jesus, and for the disciples by association, their fears start to overcome their faith. Giving into the anonymity off the masses starts to sound appealing. Staying silent seems more prudent than crying out.

As I've been preparing for Holy Week this year, I've started to latch on to the absurdity off this holy story at the very heart of our faith. That we need Jesus to be a servant, to give his body for us, to give up his pride and his life on the cross. That somehow death and resurrection bring salvation. It is a crazy-hard sell.

So I guess what I’m saying is that on days then the stakes aren’t so high, I’m right there with the cheering disciples who praise Jesus as king. And I am great at talking a big game about how Christ’s suffering redeems our suffering…when there is nothing in particular riding on those words. And sure, I can stand up here and preach inside the safety of the sanctuary that Jesus is Lord.

But ask me the last time I started a conversation about the saving grace of the suffering Christ with an acquaintance down at Java John's. Ask me if I always have the courage to believe that God really is suffering along side me when I am feeling lonely as I grieve for myself or for the world. Or ask me the last time that I shamelessly stood up for the plight of the poor, the oppressed, the hungry, the homeless, the immigrant, the refugee, the outcast or the outlaw...without either first putting a disclaimer on my words, or following up my words with an apology.

I totally understand the reluctance of the disciples to keep up their cheering as the pathway led closer and closer to the cross. Sometimes, when the stakes get high, it seems far more practical and neutral to stay quiet, lest you offend anybody, and to stay hidden, lest you accidentally admit to yourself or others that maybe you don't have your faith all figured out.

This is exactly why we can’t skip from Palm Sunday to Easter.

I mean, if life were all Palm Sundays and Easter mornings, then faith would be only confident hosannas and joyous alleluias. And we’d send out the message that being a person of faith means that you always get it right, and you always live up to your end of the baptismal covenant, and that nothing bad happens and nothing ever scares you and somehow faith means that death or despair aren’t real.

Except that today we laud a king who is marching into Jerusalem not to pretend that everything is perfect, but to take on every fear, every doubt, every frailty. Jesus did exactly what we could never do. He took the difficult, awkward, painful, shameful, weak stuff in our hearts and in our world, and instead of bringing shame or judgement, he brought redemption and resurrection.

It is how salvation is meant to work.

God shows up in fragile places: in a helpless baby, in a mortal human form, in an outcast, a suffering servant, one who washes feet and touches lepers and reinterprets himself as the Passover lamb, one who is mocked, tripped, unjustly accused, hungry, thirsty, bleeding, dying.

It is the cross that exposes God. It is the cross that exposes us. It leaves nothing hidden and, more importantly, it leaves nothing unredeemed.

What a crazy story our faith is. That the God of everything would be brought to nothing so that all of your own weak and worried parts would be brought to new life. So that all of the dark shadows of this world might not win the day. So that the hidden things might be uncovered, and all might be brought to light. Your fear and your shame, our brokenness and our ailing creation. All of it revealed. All of it redeemed. All of it saved.

So maybe….maybe we give a little grace to the disciples this week. And maybe we give a little grace to ourselves. It is okay if we don’t have it all together this week, because honestly, the whole story of our faith is about to come unhinged. It’s going to get scary and painful and confusing.

So if you get squicked out on Maundy Thursday at the thought of someone washing your feet, it’s ok.
If you get angry at Judas for betraying Jesus and if you get angry at Peter for denying Jesus, it’s okay.
If you cry on Good Friday when Jesus dies, it’s okay.
And if you spend Holy Saturday in a fog, because you really aren’t exactly sure what happens in the waiting space between death and resurrection, it’s okay.

If you have grand intentions in faith, but get scared, it’s okay.
If you love Jesus but don’t have it all together, it’s okay.

The disciples didn’t have it all together, either.

And yet…Jesus died to save them anyway.
And he died to save you too.

Amen.

"Kri Kri, on the shores of Lake Chad" by European Commission DG ECHO, on Flickr

Mark 6:30–34, 53–56
The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, "Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while." For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.

--
Last night, we had the pleasure of welcoming Bayo and Mary Beth to worship, where they shared with us the current news and notes from their missionary work in Nigeria. They shared good news of successfully arranging transport of shipping container, which was filled with children's books for their school library and with medical supplies to help furnish their clinic. They introduced to us, via powerpoint, some of the children under care at their mission, and to some of the school children who are flourishing in their studies. Mary Beth beamed with pride over pictures of the teachers that she has been training. Bayo beamed with price over pictures of his six hundred chickens that are a self-sustaining means of food and income. We met many of the core staff of the Meshiah Foundation, which is the name for the whole operation that Bayo and Mary Beth have planted in Jos, Nigeria.

But they were perhaps most pleased and excited to show us pictures of their now-completed medical clinic, a project that was in its last stages of construction two years ago when they were here last. A fully-functional clinic, with a doctor and nurses, lab technicians, exam rooms, a couple of overnight beds, and even some space for labor and delivery, stretched out across three different wings.

It was while showing us picture of the clinic that Bayo, who was running the powerpoint, stood up and stole the microphone from Mary Beth. He wanted to remind us of how this clinic came to be.

The clinic came about because there was first a need. Mary Beth and Bayo didn't head to Nigeria at the start of their mission journey saying to themselves, "So the plan, of course, is to build a medical clinic, and once we do that, we'll see if anybody will use it." No, they lived and loved and taught and proclaimed God's word in Jos, Nigeria, and as they did so, they started seeing the deep ways that HIV was affecting families. There were sick people in need of healing. Spurred on by their compassion for the needs of these HIV families, and other sick and suffering individuals, they teamed up with member churches - and First Lutheran, in particular - to start building a medical clinic.

The need came first. The need showed up on their doorstep. The needs of the community interrupted and interjected and stomped all over whatever other plans the Oyebades might have been making for their ministry, and it was by following the need that God revealed his ongoing plan for their work, a plan that now involves looking for donations of medical equipment to fill another shipping container sometime in 2016.

I think that sometimes, the work that God most calls us - and blesses us - to do, is to take care of the needs that show up on our doorstep, even or especially when those needs are nothing that we've planned or prepared for.

At the start of our gospel today, the disciples return from their mission to the villages. Two weeks ago, we heard Jesus send them out to heal, proclaim, and cast out demons. Today, they return, thrilled by all that God empowered them to do. Hurray!

And Jesus, himself knowing the energy it takes to love and serve others, encourages them to rest, and whisks them away to a quiet place.

Except that he doesn't whisk them quite quickly enough, it seems. While they are slipping off via boat, the crowds figure out where they're going, and rush their on foot, arriving before them.

Surely, in the name of keeping good boundaries, in the name of avoiding burnout or compassion fatigue, Jesus could have sent the crowds away, postponed them until he and the disciples had rested and eaten and were refreshed for ministry.

But that isn't what Jesus does. As he gets out of the boat and sees these crowds, he has compassion on them. He doesn't ignore their needs. He teaches them, and, in the verses that the lectionary cuts from today's gospel, he feeds them, and then he and the disciples get back in the boat, cross to the other side, and heal the crowds that meet them on the opposite bank.

I want us to consider, for a few moments, where we might find ourself in this gospel.

First, I think about all of those crowds. I wonder what it would be like if we felt as free as they did to admit our needs and to seek help for those needs. I wonder what it would be like for us if we trusted the power of Jesus enough to run directly to him with our burdens. I wonder what it would be like for us if we were so excited about the good news of Jesus that we literally ran to meet him with joy and eagerness.

And then I think about the disciples, tired from their work, who took Jesus at his word when offered them rest. I wonder what it would be like for us to let Christ be our rest. I wonder what it would be like for us to let Christ pull us off to a deserted place, away from our overflowing schedules and persistent news cycle.

And then I look at Jesus, and I also see the flip side of rest and rejuvination. Jesus tries to take a break, but the needs of the crowds follow him around. And he doesn’t use rest as an excuse not to help them. I wonder if we are as gracious with the needs that interrupt us. I wonder if we sometimes hold the cares of the world at arms’ length in the name of self-care or avoiding burnout.

Pastor Nadia Bolz Weber confesses,

I am really good at lying. And if I can go an extra step and make it look like I’m actually being good - if I can pawn off narcissism as a virtue, then I win. Like when I am just sick of [caring] about other people and want to be selfish so I call my two days of watching Netflix and getting mani-pedis ‘self-care.’ Or when I say I’m on ‘a cleanse’ so no one knows I’m really on a diet. The list goes on, and the last thing I want is for any light to be cast on the darkness that I’ve spent so much energy curating, protecting, enjoying. But it’s not a cleanse. It’s a diet. It’s not about my health, it’s about my vanity. (Pastrix, p. 71)

Oof. She speaks a hard truth.

Jesus challenges the disciples, and us, to be compassionate toward the needs that show up at the worst times, in the most inconvenient ways, those times when we most wish we could turn away, and take care of our own lives, when we feel like we have nothing left to give.

It's one thing to care for the needs of the world when we do it on our own terms. We plan service projects. We go on mission trips. We set scheduled hours for the food pantry and the free clinic and the community meal. LSI holds set office hours in the building. Joan is in the office at Community Action on a set schedule.

But what happens when the needs seek us out? Especially when we are feeling tired, or when we feel like we have already given our due? The discretionary fund request that shows up at my office door while I am working on a sermon. The food pantry client who shows up two minutes too late. The mission support and church budget needs that appear after we have already given our pledge for the week or month.

In our gospel, Jesus shows us a model of ministry that cares for the world on its terms, and not ours. A colleague of mine once remarked, "The distractions are the ministry," and there is some truth to that statement. Because doesn't it seem that the unscheduled needs and the spontaneous sharing of gifts and talents turn out to be the deepest moments of ministry and witness?

It is the needs that we don't plan for that challenge us to act on faith. It is the burdens that we don't have room for that challenge us to be more generous. It is the "distractions" to our regularly scheduled programming that humble us and remind us that our power to love and serve is not our own, but that of God working through us.

So what new ventures of compassion and care might God be calling us to do, if only we say “yes” to the distractions, to the interloping needs of our brothers and sisters in Christ?

For Bayo and Mary Beth, the needs of HIV-afflicted families showed up on their doorstep. From that need grew an incredible ministry of healing and generosity. Do we not trust that God can work just as powerfully through us, if only we allow the needs of the world to lead us?

Friends, week in and week out, we come to this place for rest. We hear the word of God, we linger over a holy meal, we recharge for the week ahead. It is here that we know Jesus as our rest and our respite. Today, we offer healing prayer during communion, and you are invited to be honest with your own needs and burdens, that you might hear a word of peace and healing.

But then know that even as you are refreshed, you are also sent back out at the end of worship, to live in love as Christ loved us. You are being sent out not just to seek out ways to serve and proclaim Christ, but also to open your hearts to the many and various needs that show up where we aren’t looking for them.

This week, may you find patience for the conversations that interrupt your schedule.

May you offer food or money to the hungry eyes that catch you at the most inconvenient moment.

May you lift up a heartfelt prayer precisely when you feel overwhelmed by the news of the day.

And may Christ, who is your rest, be also Christ your strength, to love and to serve with tenderness, as he as loved and served you.

"Kanakuk K-7 Trust Fall" by Kanakuk Kamps, on Flickr

Luke 24:44–53
Then [Jesus] said to them, "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you — that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled." Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and he said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things. And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high."

Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them. While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven. And they worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the temple blessing God.

---
I always hated trust fall night at youth group.

The youth room in the church I grew up in had four sets of gray-carpeted risers that you could roll around to move into any configuration you wanted. Basically, it was like a rolling, carpeted, giant staircase, with four levels for people to sit on.

Or, on trust fall night, these risers were there for you to climb to the top of, and then fall backwards into the waiting arms of your friends. No ground-level trust falls for us. Nope, crazy scary trust falls. Off of a riser five feet in the air.

We were trained well. You had at least ten people standing behind you, their arms outstretched and overlapping. You promised, on your part, to keep your arms tucked over your chest, and to fall straight back like a board, and not to bend at the waist. I watched friend after friend fall, successfully, into our waiting teenage arms. But when I was the one standing up there, glancing over my shoulder at the waiting arms below, I froze. Didn’t matter how many other people they had caught. What if they dropped me? It’s not that I didn’t trust them, per se, but I really didn’t trust that their skinny teenage arms would be strong enough. I didn’t trust that I wouldn’t mess up and fall to the side of them, missing their arms completely. I didn’t trust that some act of God wouldn’t happen behind my back and that they wouldn’t all run off to check it out and forget to tell me that they’d left.

I honestly don’t remember whether I actually did the trust fall or whether I crept back down the risers.

Isn’t that just how it is to be human? No matter how many proofs, now matter how much training, no matter how much evidence and precedent and learning we have, it still is so very hard to trust one another, especially when it feels like we are being asked to trust one another with our very lives or souls.

So here we are on Ascension. The disciples have watched Jesus rise up into the heavens, they are nudged down the mountain by two mysterious figures, and they are called and empowered to pick up where Jesus left off and share his good news with all the ends of the earth.

But before they can head down the mountain to do this work of faith, they have to do two things.

1. They have to realize - and believe - that Jesus trusts them to do this work.
2. They have to trust one another to do this work.

For all of the difficult things that Jesus asked the disciples to do - saying "Come follow me," or sending them out in ministry saying, "Take nothing for your journey," or telling them, "If you want to become my followers you must deny yourself, take up your cross and follow me," or saying to them in the garden, "Stay awake" - of all of the difficult things Jesus asked the disciples to do, maybe most difficult thing that Jesus ever asked the disciples to do was to trust one another to carry on his ministry without him.

This is a tall order. Is it any surprise that they just stood there, looking to heaven? Lowering their gaze would mean having to look each other in the eye instead. And it is one thing to trust God, but a far different thing to trust one another on God's behalf.

After a little nudge down the mountain, they bounded to flat ground, rejoicing, which is great and all, but as we read through Acts and through all the letters written to those first Christian communities, we know that the joy of the disciples soon turned into quibbling about what it really meant to follow Jesus and do his work in the world. Do we eat food sacrificed to idols? Do new believers have to be circumcised? In whose name should we be baptizing people? Who gets to talk in worship? Which is more important, faith or good works of the law? What of the Gentiles? What of the Jews? Was Jesus really a human or did he just appear human?

If Jesus had any idea that these mistrusts and arguments were going to happen, he didn’t let on. And it didn’t stop him from sending the disciples out in his name.

The disciples, the apostles, the early church, all of us who have come after: we take what we have learned from Jesus about service, witness, resurrection, and forgiveness, and try to live out his legacy; we chase after a Holy Spirit who likes to get places first and who is keen on the work of improvisation and surprise, and in all of this we are being called to trust that if we are doing the best we can, then so also are our brothers and sisters in faith doing the best they can, and so doing the work of God in the world means getting over ourselves and our anxieties and giving up a little bit of power and control, and giving one another the benefit of the doubt.

Where there are real abuses of power in the name of God, of course, we need to speak out about those things. Never should the name of Jesus be invoked to oppress or harm one another, to hurt or destroy. But when it comes to figuring out the best way to do the work of faith - prayer, devotion, service, witness, advocacy - Jesus empowers us not just to do these things, but to trust one another to do these things, even if we don't quite agree on how they should be done.

But let’s be honest. It’s hard.

I mean, when I walk by that guy with the portable sound system at the corner of Adams and State Street, in downtown Chicago when I'm visiting family after Christmas, and he holds a posterboard sign in one hand that says "Repent," and holds a microphone with the other hand into which he says things like "This is an evil age and you are children of corruption, repent of all your sins or be cast into the fires of hell"...I'm not too keen on trusting him as a fellow steward of God's mysteries.

And sometimes, when my Type A personality is feeling particularly ornery, I don't find it easy to trust that ministry projects will be successful unless all the i's are dotted and t's are crossed and paperwork filed in a timely and responsible manner.

A poll conduced a couple of years ago found that we, as a society, don't trust each other any more. Fewer than one-third of those polled expressed trust in clerks who swiped their credit cards, trust in other drivers on the road, or trust for people they meet while traveling. This lack of trust, according to the author of the report, "diverts energy to counting change, drawing up 100-page legal contracts and building gated communities."

We do the same thing in the church, diverting energy into checks and balances, setting up criteria for trustworthiness, whether it be church membership or being a part of the right denomination; by vetting ministry projects through multiple layers of taskforces, committees, councils, and congregational votes; by setting up expectations about how much Bible or theology one should know before they do ministry.

Except that Jesus gave the disciples about two and a half things - total - that made them worthy to do ministry. He gave them himself - his death, his resurrection, his word; he gave them the Holy Spirit (which will show up in full force next week!); and he gave them his blessing. Or maybe half a blessing, because he was snatched up into heaven while he was still blessing them.

But anyway. That’s what it takes to be a disciple and to do Jesus’ ministry in the world. It takes the word of Jesus, the gift of the Holy Spirit, and blessing. Things that we receive in baptism. Things that we receive at the table. Things that we receive each week in worship.

So this is our only criteria for trusting one another, inside these walls and outside, to carry out Christ’s work of forgiveness and salvation in the world.

And when we don’t trust each other, we have helpful things like confession and forgiveness, corporate or individual, to help us get over ourselves and our egos. We have the sharing of the peace, which isn’t just a greeting time, but is, historically, a chance to make amends with brothers and sisters in faith before approaching the holy mystery of communion.

Our challenge and our calling today is to look at one another and to say, “Jesus trusts you to do his work…and so do I.”

And when we start really believing that Jesus has empowered each and every one of us for his work, when we really start giving up a little control and trusting each other, crazy, beautiful, unexpectedly powerful things start happening.

I think about this last week’s Project Care graduation party, and the way that 80+ people celebrated the graduation of six youth, mostly unknown to them, and how this church and community donated thousands of dollars’ worth of gifts to help these students live independent lives after graduating high school and leaving the foster care system. I think about how grassroots ministries like these happen, and how nothing like this would ever get off the ground if we didn’t trust each other to do ministry.

I think about how there are so many pop-up ministries and charities in our world these days - people banding together for disaster relief, joining together in advocacy efforts, giving micro-loans to women across the world to empower them and improve their lives, feeding ministries, random acts of kindness: whether planned by the church or not, these are all ministries, these are all the work of God in our midst, and the kingdom is unfolding in our midst, if only we trust each other enough to open our eyes to these Spirit-driven acts of service.

Because this Spirit - that calls us together and sends us out - moves forward and backward and sideways, is pesky and unpredictable, and this Spirit is in each of us. But this Spirit is always moving along a trajectory toward God and toward the fulfillment of the kingdom. So if we are empowered by this Spirit, sometimes we are moving across each other and around each other and next to each other or in opposite directions, but we are all always moving toward the same end goal.

So today, remember that Jesus trusts you do to his work in the world. He has given you the Spirit to empower you and to bind us together. He has blessed you. And he has given all of these gifts to the people sitting next to you as well.

May you be blessed today by your faith in Christ. May you be blessed by Christ’s faith in you. And may you be blessed to have faith in one another, for the sake of the one who binds us together and sends us out. May nothing stand in the way of all of the things to which God is calling us, for the sake of his kingdom and for the sake of the world.

Amen.

"Ascension of Christ" by Matthew Garrett, on Flickr

Acts 1:1–11
In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus did and taught from the beginning until the day when he was taken up to heaven, after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen. After his suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God. While staying with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father. "This," he said, "is what you have heard from me; for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now."

So when they had come together, they asked him, "Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?" He replied, "It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth." When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, "Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven."

"Des pieds et des mains" by Benoit Courti, on Flickr

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

-Teresa of Avila (1515–1582)

"Jesus washing Peter's feet" by Jim Forest, on Flickr

"Sunset Fields" by Amanda, on Flickr

Kelly Renee Gissendaner with the theologian Jürgen Moltmann in 2011, when she completed a prison theology program. Credit Ann Borden/Emory University; photo from New York Times

Genesis 17:1–7, 15–16
When Abram was ninety-nine years old, the LORD appeared to Abram, and said to him, "I am God Almighty; walk before me, and be blameless. 2And I will make my covenant between me and you, and will make you exceedingly numerous." 3Then Abram fell on his face; and God said to him, 4"As for me, this is my covenant with you: You shall be the ancestor of a multitude of nations. 5No longer shall your name be Abram, but your name shall be Abraham; for I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations. 6I will make you exceedingly fruitful; and I will make nations of you, and kings shall come from you. 7I will establish my covenant between me and you, and your offspring after you throughout their generations, for an everlasting covenant, to be God to you and to your offspring after you. 15God said to Abraham, "As for Sarai your wife, you shall not call her Sarai, but Sarah shall be her name. 16I will bless her, and moreover I will give you a son by her. I will bless her, and she shall give rise to nations; kings of peoples shall come from her."

Romans 4:13–25
13For the promise that he would inherit the world did not come to Abraham or to his descendants through the law but through the righteousness of faith. 14If it is the adherents of the law who are to be the heirs, faith is null and the promise is void. 15For the law brings wrath; but where there is no law, neither is there violation. 16For this reason it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants, not only to the adherents of the law but also to those who share the faith of Abraham (for he is the father of all of us, 17as it is written, "I have made you the father of many nations") — in the presence of the God in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist. 18Hoping against hope, he believed that he would become "the father of many nations," according to what was said, "So numerous shall your descendants be." 19He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was already as good as dead (for he was about a hundred years old), or when he considered the barrenness of Sarah's womb. 20No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, 21being fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised. 22Therefore his faith "was reckoned to him as righteousness." 23Now the words, "it was reckoned to him," were written not for his sake alone, 24but for ours also. It will be reckoned to us who believe in him who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead, 25who was handed over to death for our trespasses and was raised for our justification.

Mark 8:31–38
31Then [Jesus] began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. 32He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. 33But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, "Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things." 34He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 35For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. 36For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? 37Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? 38Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels."

---
There are times that you sit down with the lectionary and can think of a million different directions to preach. And then there are times when you don't have any clear idea, and so you pray - beg, even - for the Holy Spirit to show up. The problem is that sometimes, when you beg, the Holy Spirit indeed shows up...and you sort of wish she hadn't.

Today is one of those days. I'm sure that if I hadn't begged for the Spirit's inspiration, I would have preached some bland but nice sermon about God's covenant promise with Abraham and about the covenant promise that God makes with us through the cross of Christ. But instead, I prayed for the Holy Spirit.

And in a five-minute span, two things happened.

First, I read anew today’s reading from Paul's letter to the Romans, where he contrasts the judgement of the law with the promise of faith: "The law brings wrath,” he writes, and “for this reason [our inheritance] depends on faith, in order that [God’s] promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants.”

Second, I did a quick check of the news, and tripped face-first over the story of Kelly Renee Gissendaner, someone for whom the wrath of the law and the promise of faith stand in dire opposition.

See, Ms. Gissendaner is a death row inmate in Georgia. She was sent to prison in 1998 for orchestrating the murder of her husband at the hands of her boyfriend. Earlier this week, her final petition for clemency was denied by the Georgia board of parole, and she is scheduled to be executed by lethal injection this Monday (tomorrow).

In 2010, Ms. Gissendaner joined some of her fellow inmates in a year-long theology course, run by Atlanta-area divinity schools and universities. She became a dedicated student of theology, passionately devouring works by the likes of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Rowan Williams, and Jurgen Moltmann. As it turned out, Ms. Gissendaner's theology professor was friends with Professor Moltmann. If you aren't quite up on your contemporary theologians, Jurgenn Moltmann is a biggie. He's eighty-something years old and his works are pretty much required reading at all seminaries and divinity schools. With nothing to lose, Ms. Gissendaner asked her teacher whether it might be okay for her to write to him, thanking him for his writings, which had so moved and inspired her. The two became unlikely pen pals, sharing their faith and their insights with one another. Professor Moltmann even offered a commencement address for Ms. Gissendaner and the ten other inmates who were graduating the year-long theology course.

Ms. Gissendaner continued her theology studies even after the program ended, and has kept up her friendship with Professor Moltmann. She has leaned on her ever-deepening faith to sustain her through these last years in prison, and now into these last few days of her life. She has served as spiritual advisor and counselor to other women in prison with her. She has admitted to the brutal and broken circumstances of her crime. She has prayed and confessed and become a sign of the mercy of God. She has turned to God with her moments of trust and moments of doubt and moments of anger. And now, she looks to God as the giver of resurrection and life as she stares her own mortality squarely in the face.

Jesus says, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life?"

Yes, Jesus says, the value of life is infinite, incomprehensible. So what does it profit any one of us to gain the whole world, and in the meantime, lose our lives? What is the cost of losing a life, either outside the law or at the hands of the law? What does it profit any one of us to be arbitrator of life and death? In the grand scheme of things, knowing that none of us will escape the cost of death, what is the true value of our lives, and where does that value come from?

Jesus, being no stranger to human life, human suffering, and human death, is also no stranger to being handed a life sentence. I have to believe that these words about the way of the cross are, at least in part, born out of the terror and grief of staring down his own untimely death at the hands of an empire, a law, and a people who will fail him.

We, as humans, routinely, spectacularly fail one another. Abraham and Sarah had failed one another in their childless old age. Peter had failed Jesus in a moment of weakness (and would continue to do so). Kelly Renee Gissendaner, by her actions, failed herself and her boyfriend and her husband and the social contract. And parole boards and prosecutors and judges and juries have now failed her. Someday, we, too, will be failed by our systems and structures, and ultimately, by our mortal bodies themselves.

The threat of death makes us honest, I think. Makes us see more clearly what really matters. Makes us more desperate to imagine a future with hope. Makes us more concerned with finding a word of promise to leave for those who will come after us.

This word of promise doesn't come from laws or institutions or human logic. Friends, our justice system will not save us. Neither will any attempts at vigilante justice. Neither capitalism nor Congress, banks nor universities, hospitals nor public servants will be able to guarantee us health, happiness, and life.

But Abraham and Sarah's story, the fervent and effective witness of Peter and Paul and all the apostles, and the very resurrection of Christ serve as reminders to us that the promise of God is an unbreakable promise for a future, and a future with hope, no matter how unlikely it seems. A future that is bigger than we are, a future that does not depend upon fallible human hands and hearts. A future of reconciliation and mercy and beautiful justice that God is ushering in despite all of our best attempts to mess it up.

My heart grieves, it breaks, for Kelly Renee Gissendaner. And for all criminals on death row. It breaks for their friends and peers and for their jailers. It breaks for lawyers and for parole boards and judges and juries. My heart breaks for the victims of violent crimes and their families and friends and supporters. I mean...my heart breaks for a lot of things. Basically, it breaks for all the ways that the laws of this world, written and unwritten, miss the mark in securing a hopeful future for all of our weary world.

The antidote to our grieving, breaking hearts? It is to lose ourselves in faith; to be absorbed by the divine light who gave us life; to put down the cross of anxiety or fear and to take up the cross of Christ; to be willing to lose everything that we might, at the mouth of the empty tomb, gain back everything we hoped for and more. Christ's resurrection is our unshakable assurance of God's promises fulfilled, of the perfect completion of the covenant that God makes with each of us.

When we set our minds on these divine things, rather than on human things, we will see that, though none of us is righteous by our own means, we yet receive righteousness reckoned to us by faith. And whenever and however our mortal lives are taken from us, it is by our faith in the gospel that we - and even Kelly - will yet receive life everlasting.

In the words of the aforementioned Jurgen Moltmann, from his work, Theology of Hope:

Faith…becomes itself a contradiction to the world of death. That is why faith, wherever it develops into hope, causes not rest but unrest, not patience but impatience. It does not calm the unquiet heart, but is itself this unquiet heart in man. Those who hope in Christ can no longer put up with reality as it is, but begin to suffer under it, to contradict it. Peace with God means conflict with the world, for the goad of the promised future stabs inexorably into the flesh of every unfulfilled present.

The promise of God for us and for all creation is permanently marked on each and every one of us, in that oil-drawn cross on our foreheads, given to us in baptism. The oil may have long faded away, but the cross marks us forever. It remains our assurance of hope, but is also stands as a testament to our calling.

May we bear God's hope into the world in many and various ways, but specifically as we, the baptized, take seriously our vocation: To live among God's faithful people; to hear the word of God and share in the Lord's supper; to proclaim the good news of God in Christ in word and deed; to serve all people, following the example of Jesus; and perhaps most importantly in our current world, to work for justice and peace in all the world; not peace as the world gives, but peace according to the compassion of Christ.

I pray today for you and for me, that God would raise up in our hearts a fire for justice and an tenderness toward all creation. I pray that we might not fear, but be bold in our proclamation that God's foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God's promise of hope is deeper than human ambition. I pray for Kelly and those who love her. I pray for her murdered husband and all who love him. I pray that we, as a society, continue to question and struggle and seek ways to protect and preserve life. I pray that each of us, driven by our faith, will anticipate God's risen and restored future, and work to bring about glimmers of that light-filled kingdom, however imperfectly.

We pray, come, Holy Spirit, come. Live in us. Move in us. Breathe in us. Challenge us. And send us out as signs of hope, symbols of peace, living witnesses to Christ, our savior, our redeemer, and the life of the world.

Amen.

"Glory of Christ" by Stephen B Whatley, on Flickr

2 Corinthians 4:3-6
And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. In their case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus' sake. For it is the God who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

Mark 9:2-9
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, "Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, "This is my Son, the Beloved listen to him!" Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.

As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.

---
On days when my dad was feeling too tired, too weak from chemo, and too loaded up on painkillers to concentrate on reading or talking, he would curl up on his end of the couch and turn on the Home and Garden network, watching hour after hour of home improvement and renovation shows.

My favorite part of home renovation shows is the end, when the homeowners get to see all the work that the designers have been doing. For each room, there is a “before” and an “after” shot that we, the viewers at home, get to see. The old room, with its mismatched furniture or its peeling linoleum floor, and the new room, filled with light and with the smell of freshly painted walls.

Whether the change is drastic or subtle, I grew to love watching these shows with my dad, because I loved how the designers always had an eye for a room’s potential. Even as they were looking at the “before,” they could see in their heads the “after. The purpose of their work was to uncover the inherent beauty in a house’s bones, to shine up the elements that were already there, to reveal beauty instead of building it from the ground up.

During this season of Epiphany, we have been revealing and uncovering the good news of who Jesus Christ is for the world. Transfiguration is sort of the ultimate Epiphany. This day in the church year, like those home renovation shows, is all about revealing beauty. It is about throwing off the veil and uncovering the brightness of Christ, which, incidentally, has been there all along. And transfiguration is about throwing off the veil and uncovering the beauty in ourselves and in the world, which, also, has actually been there all along.

Jesus is up there on the mountain with his disciples, and before their very eyes, he becomes bright as the sun, cloaked in dazzling white. He is revealed, with Moses on one side and Elijah on the other, as the fulfillment of all the law and the prophets, a savior who has all authority in heaven and on earth. And a voice from heaven on the mountain echoes the words of the voice from heaven at Jesus’ baptism: "This is my Son, the Beloved.”

A favorite hymn of mine is "Love Divine, all Loves Excelling." In the last stanza of that hymn, we sing "Finish then thy new creation, pure and spotless let us be. Let us see thy great salvation perfectly restored in thee. Changed from glory into glory, 'till in heaven we take our place; till we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love, and praise."

That phrase, "changed from glory into glory" is exactly what is happening to Jesus at his transfiguration, exactly what happened to him in his baptism. In both of these "before and after" events, all of the divine mystery that was already pumping through his veins was affirmed, intensified, identified, made more real. Realer than real, if you’ll pardon my making up of words.

At his baptism, God says of Jesus, “this is my Son.” Except that it’s not like Jesus wasn’t the Son of God before his baptism. Up on the mountaintop, the voice from heaven says “this is my Son - listen to him!” but it’s not like Jesus didn’t have authority before his transfiguration. I mean, for the last three weeks or so, Mark’s gospel has told us over and over again about Jesus having the authority to heal the sick and cast out demons.

No, in both of these epiphany moments, it’s like God had this plan to open up the heavens to remind Jesus of who he really was. To change him from glory into glory. To affirm the “before” and let that affirmation itself be the “after.” To give a name to the beauty that already existed in him, that the disciples and all the rest of us might see him for who he really is.

For those of us who are waiting to see ourselves and our creation renewed and reordered, Jesus’ transfiguration is a sign for us that the work of God in our lives is not to create beauty out of ugliness, but to uncover the beauty that has been in us all along.

Which is sometimes very hard to believe. Any number of magazines, self-help books, and makeover shows make it seem like we are beautiful only after some renovations, and not before.

Like…maybe we think that we will be more beloved after we get better at attending worship regularly. Or we think that we will be more valued after we get that degree or that promotion. Or we are told that we will be more lovable after we lose those last ten pounds. We get duped into thinking that our lives are incomplete until after we get married, or after we have children, or after we buy a house, or maybe we are in a place where we think that our lives are worth joy and peace only after we retire.

And as we look deeply into the world around us, we see racism and classism and poverty; we watch our fragile creation groan as we damage the tender ecology of our planet; we see nations at war and innocent lives taken by terror and violence. And we sometimes get numb and think that the kingdom of God will show up only after our world is back on track.

But Paul reminds us that God is the one who, at the birth of creation, said “let light shine out of darkness,” and that in all of creation, there has not been a time when light and beauty has not existed. God shoots beautiful beams of this light directly into our hearts, that we might be enlightened and empowered by knowing God’s glory as revealed to us in Christ, both up on the mountaintop and on the cross.

By Christ’s death and resurrection, we take heart knowing that God sees us as beautiful even while we are yet imperfect and incomplete. We have confidence that every day, God intends to change us not from rejection to glory, but from glory to glory.

And so all the times where we need help seeing God’s potential in our world, to all the places where we need help seeing beauty in both the “before” and in the “after, Jesus, dazzling on that transfiguration mountaintop stands for us as a symbol of the power of God to make beauty out of beauty, to draw light out of light.

Transfiguration pushes us to see belovedness in one another and in all creation, even while we are still waiting for the dazzling restoration of all things. Transfiguration empowers us to work for justice and peace in this world, right here and now, not waiting idly for God's "after," but treating our current world as the kingdom of God in our midst, doing what we can to uncover the goodness and beauty in all this created universe.

For God created the world and called it good and beautiful - alleluia!
We have put on the dazzling brightness of Christ, in whom we have been baptized - alleluia!
We are named "beloved" and "child of God." - alleluia!
We have been changed from glory into glory with all the communion of saints - alleluia!

May you know this day and always that you are beautiful, beloved, and filled with the light of Christ. May you shine with this light each and every day.

Amen.

"Together" by Sha Pat, on Flickr

Mark 1:29–39
As soon as they left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon's mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.

That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.

In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. And Simon and his companions hunted for him. When they found him, they said to him, "Everyone is searching for you." He answered, "Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do." And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

"Mint Green Calls" by JoyHey, on Flickr

Jonah 3:1–5, 10
The word of the LORD came to Jonah a second time, saying, Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you. So Jonah set out and went to Nineveh, according to the word of the LORD. Now Nineveh was an exceedingly large city, a three days' walk across. Jonah began to go into the city, going a day's walk. And he cried out, "Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!" And the people of Nineveh believed God; they proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth. When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it.

Mark 1:14–20
Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near, repent, and believe in the good news." As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea — for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, "Follow me and I will make you fish for people." And immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.

---

Tim sat across the table from me, sipping his coffee slowly as I talked in one, big, run-on sentence about this new opportunity that God had laid before me, to leave the familiarity of the Chicago suburbs, to leave my family, to leave a church that I had served for nearly four years, to pack up everything and move to Iowa and take a call at this pretty fabulous church called "First Lutheran."

Tim was my last hope. A fellow pastor, a dear friend, someone I trusted to speak truth into any situation. I'd made all of pro and con lists. I'd wrestled in prayer. I'd talked to Matt, my parents, my sisters...I'd even gone so far as to talk to friends who had lived in Iowa - and survived! And I was stuck. Ahead of me, the possibility of a REALLY. GREAT. THING. Behind me, the fear of saying goodbye and the guilt over leaving my family and the anxiety of having to pack and move and find a house and change my license plates.

My inner Jonah was winning the battle. "Ninevah is a big city, God, and there's good work to be done there, but I'm pretty sure that it's going to be a rough go of things for me, and so maybe I should think about doing something closer to home."

"I think it's a fantastic opportunity," I said to Tim, "and on paper, it's exactly what I think I am being called to. But saying 'yes' would mean giving up too much. It's too hard to actually do it."

I thought that my decision had been made.

Tim took another sip of his coffee and looked back at me. "Is this a church that you feel called to serve?" Yes. "And do you feel excited when you think about all of the new possibilities there?" Yes. "And you keep saying yes when they ask you for interviews, because you can't bring yourself to say no?" Yes... "But you don't want to accept the call because it would be...hard to leave?" Yes...

Jesus walked along the Sea of Galilee. He called out to Simon and Andrew and they dropped everything and followed him. James and John were in the boat with their father, and Jesus called out to them, too, and they jumped out of the boat and left their father and left behind everything and followed Jesus.

I looked at Tim. I wanted to say, “I hate you,” but instead I said, “I guess I know what I need to do.” And I walked out to my car and called my husband at work. “ I think we're moving to Iowa..."

(Sidenote, in case you hadn't figured it out: God knows what he's doing. And Tim knows what he's doing. And there is no question that my call here was a call from God. I love this place and am lucky to serve here.)

Today's gospel is one of a few different times that Jesus tells people that following him means giving up. Later, Jesus sends out the disciples into the villages, telling them to bring nothing for their journey. And in another episode, a few would-be disciples tell Jesus that they want to follow him, but only after they take care of various important tasks at home, and Jesus tells them that following him means being willing to give up mother and father and home and even life itself. And in another place, Jesus tells his disciples that "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow me.”

For the disciples, the call to follow Jesus meant keeping their eyes open for Christ's work in the world - healing, teaching, compassion, forgiveness. Following Jesus mean that they, too, were challenged to show forgiveness and to enact healing and to welcome children and widows and lepers and sinners and the unclean.

It might sound sort of obvious, but following Jesus means that we, too, are called to these same tasks.

For most of us, we are pretty okay with the idea that God loves us, and that Christ died for us, and that God's grace covers us and forgives us, and that we are lovely, beloved children of God. But our faith gets stretched in different directions when we remember that our relationship with God also comes with a calling. Many callings, actually.

Sometimes, he calls us to do something different - to change careers or to take up a new volunteer project, or to talk to different people or to take a risk on acting with justice or compassion when we otherwise might just have kept our mouths shut. Sometimes, he calls us to be something different - to be more patient or hospitable or gracious or generous, to turn our hearts away from our own desires and priorities in order to focus on the needs of others.

And whenever Jesus calls us to live out God’s hopes and dreams in the world, he calls us to say “yes” to God and “no” to something else. Saying “yes” to God’s values means saying “no” to our own pride. Saying “yes” to generosity means saying “no” to selfishness. Saying “yes” to God’s power working in us means saying “no” to our own illusions of control.

Sometimes we hear God's call and respond like Jonah, kicking and screaming and defiantly waiting until God throws us in the belly of a fish, just to prove that he’s serious. Sometimes we hear God's call and respond like Peter and Andrew and James and John, dropping everything and immediately taking up our new charge.

I love that word “immediately.” Not only does it evoke an image of James and John throwing themselves over the side of the boat and running in slow motion through the water to get to Jesus, but it also gives us a little shove forward in our own walk with Jesus. Because living out God’s call is an immediate thing. There are opportunities to live as Christ’s chosen ones right here, right now.

So that is the question before us right now - as individuals and as a congregation: Right here, right now, what is Christ calling us to do or to be?

Think about that for a moment. What is God calling you toward in this very moment in your life?

As you think about this calling, what is your gut reaction? To run away like Jonah? To jump at the opportunity like the disciples? Something in-between?

What is it that is standing in the way of you saying “yes” to this call? What do you have to give up?

Figuring out and answering God's calling is hard work. As you wrestle with God's call for you, by all means seek out friends and trusted advisors. Make lists of pros and cons. Write out your thoughts, crunch the numbers, drink some strong coffee, think deeply, and pray. All of this stuff is the work of discernment: the ongoing process of listening for Jesus' voice and then trying to answer and obey it.

Friends, I don't know what you're going through right now, and I don't know the exact ways in which Jesus is saying to you, "Drop everything and follow me." But I do know that I can pray for you as you work things through.

I invite you to pull out that yellow Connection Card from your bulletin, and in the prayer request box, to share a little or a lot about what God is calling you to, that we might lift you up in prayer. Maybe it's a word or two, keeping things cryptic. Maybe it's a paragraph. It's up to you.

Take a few minutes between now and the offering to think deeply about where God is leading you. Write down some areas that we can lift you up in prayer. By all means check the box for "I would like to talk to a pastor" if you want to talk some things through.

And remember, in everything that God is calling you to do and to be, that in Christ, God has already said “no” to death and “yes” to life. God has already said “no” to sin and “yes” to forgiveness. God has said “no” to all of your fears and insecurities, and has said “yes” to loving you. All of you. He has said “yes” to empowering you to live like Christ and to live for Christ.

I close with a prayer from the Sisters of Notre Dame, a pray for discernment and inspiration. May it be the prayer on your lips and mine, as we seek this day and always to hear and answer God’s callings in our lives.

Let us pray.

Walk with me, good and loving God, as I journey through life.
May I take Your hand and be led by Your Holy Spirit.
Fill me, inspire me, free me to respond generously to Your call.
For I believe You desire my deepest joy,
And it is only in Your company
That my soul will be satisfied
And my life will find its meaning and purpose.    
Amen.