Keeping the Season

"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.”

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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.

"wilderness" by Martin Howard, on Flickr

Luke 3:1-6
In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,

“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.
Every valley shall be filled,
and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
and the rough ways made smooth;
and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’ ”

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."

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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.

Comfort, Comfort Now My People
Music by Latifah Phillips and David Wilton
Lyrics by Johann Olearius, arr. Latifah Phillips and David Wilton

Comfort, comfort now my people Tell of his peace with no end
Comfort, comfort those in darkness Tell them that God's pardon waits for them

The Glory of the Lord now on earth is shed In deserts far and near he will raise what's dead
His peace has been spoken His word is never broken The Kingdom of God is now here

Straight shall, straight shall be what's crooked Making all the rougher places plain
Let your, let your hearts be humble befitting our god's glory and his reign

Let the valleys rise to meet him the hills all will bow down in praise
Let the valleys rise to greet him the hills bow down in praise
Let the valleys rise to greet him the hills bow down in praise

The Glory of the Lord now on earth is shed In deserts far and near he will raise what's dead
The Glory of the Lord now on earth is shed In deserts far and near he will raise what's dead
His peace has been spoken His word is never broken The Kingdom of God is now here

Comfort, comfort now my people Comfort, comfort now my people

CHNA-YUN-LANC-WINE-GUSH-dA42w© by Janis Miglavs, on Flickr

Matthew 21:33-46
"Listen to another parable. There was a landowner who planted a vineyard, put a fence around it, dug a wine press in it, and built a watchtower. Then he leased it to tenants and went to another country. When the harvest time had come, he sent his slaves to the tenants to collect his produce. But the tenants seized his slaves and beat one, killed another, and stoned another. Again he sent other slaves, more than the first; and they treated them in the same way. Finally he sent his son to them, saying, 'They will respect my son.' But when the tenants saw the son, they said to themselves, 'This is the heir; come, let us kill him and get his inheritance.' So they seized him, threw him out of the vineyard, and killed him. Now when the owner of the vineyard comes, what will he do to those tenants?" They said to him, "He will put those wretches to a miserable death, and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the harvest time."

Jesus said to them, "Have you never read in the scriptures:
'The stone that the builders rejected
has become the cornerstone;
this was the Lord's doing,
and it is amazing in our eyes'?

Therefore I tell you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom. The one who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces; and it will crush anyone on whom it falls."

When the chief priests and the Pharisees heard his parables, they realized that he was speaking about them. They wanted to arrest him, but they feared the crowds, because they regarded him as a prophet.

"StackingToy" by fullcrimp, on Flickr

Ezekiel 18:25-32
Yet you say, "The way of the LORD is unfair." Hear now, O house of Israel: Is my way unfair? Is it not your ways that are unfair? When the righteous turn away from their righteousness and commit iniquity, they shall die for it; for the iniquity that they have committed they shall die. Again, when the wicked turn away from the wickedness they have committed and do what is lawful and right, they shall save their life. Because they considered and turned away from all the transgressions that they had committed, they shall surely live; they shall not die. Yet the house of Israel says, "The way of the LORD is unfair." O house of Israel, are my ways unfair? Is it not your ways that are unfair?

Therefore I will judge you, O house of Israel, all of you according to your ways, says the Lord GOD. Repent and turn from all your transgressions; otherwise iniquity will be your ruin. Cast away from you all the transgressions that you have committed against me, and get yourselves a new heart and a new spirit! Why will you die, O house of Israel? For I have no pleasure in the death of anyone, says the Lord GOD. Turn, then, and live.

Philippians 2:12-13
Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more now in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure.

Matthew 21:28-32
[Jesus said], "What do you think? A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, 'Son, go and work in the vineyard today.' He answered, 'I will not'; but later he changed his mind and went. The father went to the second and said the same; and he answered, 'I go, sir'; but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of his father?" They said, "The first." Jesus said to them, "Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him."

--
We are two months away from Sam's first birthday, and he is blessed with loving and doting grandparents and aunts...who are already asking about gift ideas.

In my attempts to put together a birthday list for him, I find myself drawn to things like colorful nesting bowls, stacking rings and stacking towers, and shape sorters, where you have to fit the right shape block through the corresponding hole in the box. Maybe it's my type-A personality coming through, but I have definitely gravitated toward toys that involve putting things in order and getting things in the right place.

Now, Sam will probably take a set of stacking rings and chew on half of them, throw a few of them at the cats, and maybe fit one or two rings back on the base, but with no regard for anything but getting them on there. And I'll be that mom who, when tidying up before bed, will collect all the rings, and put them back on the base in the correct order, from biggest to smallest, in rainbow order.

In last week's gospel, we heard Jesus say that "the first will be last and the last will be first," which, if we are comparing the kingdom of God to a set of stacking rings, might mean that the rings get stacked from smallest to largest, from violet back to red.

In today's gospel, we get yet another picture of the order of things in God's kingdom, and it's even messier. It's the difference between leaving the rings scattered around the room or putting the rings back on the base, in whatever order.

Jesus tells a parable about two sons. The first, when asked by his father to go work in the vineyard, says "no, I don't think so," but later changes his mind and goes out to work. The second, when asked by his father to go, says "sure thing, Dad!" but then didn't go after all. And Jesus asks the religious leaders, "Which is the picture of faithfulness?"

We know the answer that Jesus is fishing for here. The "winner" of the parable (if we put it so bluntly) is the son who changed his mind and went out to work.

In the same way, Jesus says, the faithful are all those who hear God's message of mercy and call to repentance and change their ways from sinfulness toward seeking God's will.

If this means that prostitutes and tax collectors and adulterers and drug addicts and bullies and crooks who repent end up first in line, ahead of religious leaders and "good" people and regular worship attenders who don't see their need for repentance, so be it.

It's not the usual order of things. We're used to being sorted by our accomplishments and by our work ethic and even by our morals and values. We're used to being stacked up from best to worst. We probably also function believing that not all rings are worth adding to the stack in the first place. But in the kingdom of God, we are stacked up not in order of relative sinfulness, but by our willingness to heed the Spirit's call to repentance, by our willingness to see ourselves as sinners in need of forgiveness.

I'm not sure which is the more uncomfortable thought - that even tax collectors and dirtbags will be gathered up from the floor and stacked back up, or that we ourselves might be stacked up right next to them on the post, big rings smushed together next to small rings, yellow rings next to purple rings next to red rings, big sins and little sins on top of each other, all out of order.

It's not quite fair. And as it turns out, God doesn't really care so much about fairness, at least not fairness as we would understand it.

From our first reading from Ezekiel:

You say, “The way of the Lord is unfair.” Hear now, O house of Israel: Is my way unfair? Is it not your ways that are unfair? When the righteous turn away from their righteousness and commit iniquity, they shall die for it; when the wicked turn away from the wickedness they have committed and do what is lawful and right, they shall save their life. Yet you say, “The way of the Lord is unfair.” O house of Israel, are my ways unfair? Is it not your ways that are unfair?

Oh my friends, I know that I struggle with God's definition of "fairness."

I know that I'm not that guy who, disgruntled, set fire to the basement of an air traffic control center outside Chicago, effectively shutting down two major airports for the weekend. And I know that I am not the target of a manhunt in Pennsylvania after shooting to state troopers. I know that I have not punched out my girlfriend in an elevator. I know that I am not a violent religious fanatic and terrorist in Syria.

Like Jonah in last week's readings, like the house of Israel in today's reading from Ezekiel, I balk at the knowledge that God is gracious, and that he will show mercy to all who repent.

I really want only the "right" rings to fit back onto that base, and I want them on there in the "right" order. I want to believe that I am a better version of a sinner than other worse sinners, and even if I can make peace with the idea that God will forgive all who repent, I still wish that I'd get a little extra credit, a better place in line.

In our Lutheran liturgy, our worship has the option of opening with either Confession & Forgiveness or Thanksgiving for Baptism. Liturgically, they serve the same function. They are both rites that remind us of God's mercy in Christ. Baptism, as a dying to sin and a rising to Christ, is the same sort of reminder of our sinfulness and God's forgiveness as praying our confession and hearing absolution.

But I think there is a reason that I gravitate toward using the Thanksgiving for Baptism. I'm much more comfortable being assured of God's mercy swirling in the baptismal waters than I am standing up and having to take stock of my own brokenness when we read the prayer of Confession together.

I don't like having to admit that I'm captive to sin. I don't like admitting that my whole person is capable of straying from God's will - thought, word, and deed. I don't like admitting that I'm just as broken in the things that I have left undone as in the wayward things that I've actively done.

But this time of confession and reflection is a great equalizer, isn't it? When we speak it, we come to grips with our own need for grace, and are reminded that our neighbors, both in these pews and outside thee walls, are also in need of grace.

And if it's unfair that Christ on the cross might have died for the sinfulness of big-time, super-bad sinners, then it's just as unfair that Christ on the cross might have died for me and my own sins and strayings.

Paul writes to the Philippians, "work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure."

Working out our salvation with fear and trembling means allowing ourselves to face our shortcomings in order that we might be humble enough to give God credit for whatever good fruit we bear in faith.

Working out our salvation with fear and trembling means letting ourselves be shattered, each week (and each day, even!), by the truth that we are broken, and then letting God put all of our pieces back together with the assurance of our forgiveness in Christ.

Working out our salvation with fear and trembling means trusting God's hands to pick us up and stack us in his kingdom alongside all whom God loves.

Because at the end of the day, God doesn't care about whatever lip-service we might pay to him. He doesn't care how many religious books we've read or how many worship notes we've turned in.

He only cares about the Spirit moving in us to spark faith, seeing ourselves as sinners in need of Christ's redeeming. And whether we feel this call to repentance early in the game or late in the game, whether we have big, momentous sins in our past or whether we are suffering the sin version of "death by a thousand paper cuts," God is quick to redeem all who seek forgiveness. God does not withhold grace from those who feel broken.

May you hear anew today the good news that there is forgiveness and mercy waiting for you. May you continue to feel God's Spirit moving in your heart, the power of God at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure.

For God in Christ says to you and to me, "Don't fall into despair. I will give you a new heart and a new spirit! I will stack you back up and put you back in order. Turn to me and live."

"vineyard" by laur3nw00ds, on Flickr

Matthew 21:23-32
When [Jesus] entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him as he was teaching, and said, "By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?" Jesus said to them, "I will also ask you one question; if you tell me the answer, then I will also tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?" And they argued with one another, "If we say, 'From heaven,' he will say to us, 'Why then did you not believe him?' But if we say, 'Of human origin,' we are afraid of the crowd; for all regard John as a prophet." So they answered Jesus, "We do not know." And he said to them, "Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.

What do you think? A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, 'Son, go and work in the vineyard today.' He answered, 'I will not'; but later he changed his mind and went. The father went to the second and said the same; and he answered, 'I go, sir'; but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of his father?" They said, "The first." Jesus said to them, "Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him.

In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near." This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, "The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.'"

Now John wore clothing of camel's hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, 6and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. -Matthew 3:1-5

"Peace" by CaliforniaNat, on Flickr

Isaiah 2:1–5
The word that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem. In days to come the mountain of the LORD's house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it. Many peoples shall come and say, "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths." For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem. He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. O house of Jacob, come, let us walk
in the light of the LORD!

"Mulberry Tree" by kamcollam, on Flickr

Jesus said to his disciples, "Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to anyone by whom they come! It would be better for you if a millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea than for you to cause one of these little ones to stumble. Be on your guard! If another disciple sins, you must rebuke the offender, and if there is repentance, you must forgive. And if the same person sins against you seven times a day, and turns back to you seven times and says, 'I repent,' you must forgive."

The apostles said to the Lord, "Increase our faith!" The Lord replied, "If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it would obey you.

Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, 'Come here at once and take your place at the table'? Would you not rather say to him, 'Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink'? Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, 'We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!'" (Luke 17:1-10)

"Sheep-man in blue skirt" by Bergius, on Flickr

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."
(Luke 15:1-10)

Translator's note: The poem recasts the biblical story as a baseball game. The fates of the runner who is dashing for home and of the batter who is running away from home depend on whether the fielder can catch the ball flying high in the air.

The Return of the Prodigal Son
by Heiichi Sugiyama

The voices of a huge mob
explode all at once

Something small and white rides the wind
flying high into the sky

On earth three men are running
one has seized the moment to run away from home
one loses himself in pursuit of the thing flying in the sky
one dashes straight ahead, aiming to go home
will the prodigal son be allowed to return home?

In the blue of the blue sky a bird is
slowly walking

from Ao wo Mezashite (HenshukoboNOA, Osaka, 2004) translated by Takako Lento
http://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poem/item/20868

Don't go far off, not even for a day,
because I don't know how to say it - a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in
an empty station when the trains are
parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then
the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve
on the beach, may your eyelids never flutter
into the empty distance. Don't leave me for
a second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll
have gone so far I'll wander mazily
over all the earth, asking, will you
come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

― Pablo Neruda

"Welcome home" by sherihall, on Flickr

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:

“There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.’ So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.”’ So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.

Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

“Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’” (Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32)

"Summer is near" by Jeanne.Belle, on Flickr

Ho, everyone who thirsts,
come to the waters;
and you that have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without price.
Incline your ear, and come to me;
listen, so that you may live. (Isaiah 55:1, 3a)

At that very time there were some present who told [Jesus] about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, "Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them — do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did." Then he told this parable: "A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, 'See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'" (Luke 13:1-9)
---

This past Ash Wednesday was the first Ash Wednesday in four years where I have had no pastoral responsibilities. It felt weird.

One year ago, I began my Ash Wednesday before dawn, standing on a crowded train platform in the snow, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a small bowl of ashes in my other, offering ashes to commuters as they rushed by me, many of whom weren’t going to be able to attend any other moment of worship during their busy days and nights.

I was thrilled to be there, and nervous. When someone approached me, I felt like I was doing something important. But when I stood awkwardly by myself each time a train left and the platform was silent, I wondered if I was doing something silly. Because it’s one thing to offer people a sign of mortality when they are inside the safe confines of a church sanctuary. And it’s quite another thing to stand out in a public place, disrupting the routine motions of a morning commute with the sober words, “remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

I mean, how many of us, in the bustle of daily life, really expect or want to be confronted with our own mortality? How many of us look around and say, “You know what would make this bright sunny morning even better? A reminder that I’m going to die!”

No…not so much. Facing our mortality generally troubles us. Unsettles us. Makes us uncomfortable.

Today’s gospel begins with mortality. The crowds hanging around Jesus ask him if he’s heard the latest news of these Galileans who died at the hands of the Romans. They bring up the question because they want Jesus to give them insight into God’s divine plan for life and death.

It was a common cultural understanding in Jesus’ time that tragedies and misfortunes were God’s way of punishing sin. Remember the story in John’s gospel of the man born blind? The disciples ask Jesus, “who sinned, this man or his parents?” So the crowds want to hear Jesus say that these Galileans who died were somehow sinners who deserved it. And they want Jesus to affirm that those poor souls who died in that unfortunate tower-building accident had somehow offended God.

We do the same thing, don’t we? When bad things happen, we search for reasons, and we try to ascribe motives to God, and we really want to believe that good things happen to good people, and bad things happen to bad people who make bad choices. And at the root of this sort of thinking is our own fear of death, because we want to believe that some way, some how, we can avoid pain and death if we are just good enough people, and if we make the right decisions, and if we eat the right food and avoid trouble and keep our noses clean.

And so we, with the crowds, want Jesus to assure us that we’re all hunky-dory, and that even if other people are sinners who deserve death, maybe we are the righteous ones, and maybe we are the ones who will escape. But Jesus responds to us pretty bluntly: “Unless you repent, you will all perish just like they did.”

Bummer.

I mean, we know it’s true, even if we don’t like to hear it. We are mortal. We are human and we sin and we break. We get selfish and impatient and unkind sometimes, and we don’t perfectly love God and we don’t perfectly love our neighbors. Darkness and grief and pain show up in our lives despite our attempts to fend them off, and we see very bad things happen even to very good people. We are inescapably mortal, each and every one of us. Jesus’s “repent or perish” message brings us face to face with sobering truth of our mortality.

But today’s gospel doesn’t stop there. Jesus doesn’t end with a message of death. He goes on to proclaim a message of life, through a strange little parable of a fig tree.

There was a man who owned a vineyard. On his land stood a fig tree that was barren. Since this tree was bearing no fruit for his profit, and was taking up valuable land that he could use for other more fruitful ventures, the man called his gardener to come and chop the tree down. The gardener arrived, and looked at the tree, but refused to cut it down. “Please sir,” the gardener said, “give this tree one more chance. Let me water it and feed it, and pour everything that I have into it, and let us see if there isn’t life and fruit yet to be found from these withered branches. If there is no fruit at this time next year, then you may cut it down. But for now, let me give this tree its life back.”

By all counts, the withered, dead, worthless fig tree deserves to be cut down. It is both dead and condemned. But the compassionate, patient gardener steps in to liberate it from both condemnation and death. He gives this tree a chance at life where there was none to be found, and gives it hope, and gives it a chance to flower and bear fruit even from its withered branches.

We are that fig tree. And God-in-Christ is that gardener. He says, “Here. I will to pour into you water and milk and wine and bread; I will pour into you my very self to nourish your body and soul and spirit. And I’ll do this freely and without price. I will give you the grace to live another year, and water you with love and forgiveness. I will give you resurrection.”

See, what I love about this parable is that it isn’t a story of immortality. It’s a story of resurrection. A story of immortality would imply that we have a God who helps us cheat death. But a story of resurrection tells us that we have a God who defeats death.

We are working our way, week by week, to the empty tomb hanging wide open as a sign to all the world that death has no more power over us, and that sin and brokenness hold us captive no longer.

Resurrection means that we don’t have to keep working for food that doesn’t satisfy in some sort of quest to preserve our lives or our worth or our legacy; it means that we are free from all of those voices that say our health or our wealth or our success or our ambition will save us. Resurrection means that we don’t need to get hung up on our mortality, because God has a better, fuller, eternal life to offer us. Resurrection assures us that we have a second chance at life; that we’ve been given grace to live and not to be cut down.

“Incline your ear and come to me,” God says. “Listen to me, for in me you will have life.” This is what repentance is all about - returning to God’s promises of life and reorienting our lives around resurrection. Repentance means accepting the limitations of our mortality and clinging instead to the life that God pours into us at our very roots.

And to what end? That we might once again bear fruit. That our worried and withered souls might blossom. That we might live lives of service to others, and be gracious and generous, people of love and peace and joy and hope and compassion.

So today, my brothers and sisters, you have an invitation before you. It is invitation to God’s holy table, and an invitation to God’s new and resurrected life for you. God says, “All you who thirst, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come and eat, without money and without price. Incline your ear, and come to me; listen to me, for in me you will have life. Turn to me. Bear good fruit. For I am the good gardener. And I have given you the grace to live.”

"Parable of the Fruitless Fig Tree" by Alexey Pismenny

At that very time there were some present who told [Jesus] about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, "Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them — do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did."

Then he told this parable: "A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, 'See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'" (Luke 13:1-9)

The Lamentation (Jeremiah)
by Edward Bairstow

How doth the city sit solitary that was full of people: how is she be-come as a widow. She that was great among the nations, and princess among the provinces; how is she become tributary. She weepeth sore in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks: among all her lovers she hath none to comfort her. The ways of Zion do mourn: because none come to the solemn assembly. All her gates are desolate: and she her-self is in bitterness. The Lord hath afflicted her for the multitude of her transgressions: her children are gone into captivity before the enemy. All they that go by clap their hands at her: they hiss and wag their head at the daughter of Jerusalem saying: Is this the city that men called the perfection of beauty: the joy of the whole earth? Jerusalem, Jerusalem, return unto the Lord thy God.

For these things I weep: mine eye, mine eye runneth down with water. From on high hath the Lord sent fire into my bones and it prevaileth against them: he hath made me desolate and faint all the day. My flesh and my skin hath he made old: he hath broken my bones. He hath builded against me: and compassd me with gall and travail. He hath made me to dwell in dark places: as those that have been long dead. I am become a derision to all my people: and their song all the day. Let him give his cheek to him that smiteth him: Let him be filled full with reproach. Is it nothing to you all ye that pass by: behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow. Re-member mine affliction and my misery: the worm-wood and the gall. Jerusalem, Jerusalem, return unto the Lord thy God.

Remember O Lord what is come upon us: behold and see our re-proach. The joy of our heart is ceasd; our dance is turnd into mourn-ing. The crown is fallen from our head: woe unto us for we have sinnd. For this our heart is faint: for these things our eyes are dim. Let us search and try our ways: and turn again unto the Lord. Turn thou us unto thee O Lord and we shall be turnd: renew our days as of old. It is of the Lords mercies that we are not consumd: because his compass-ions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness. The Lord is my portion saith my soul: therefore will I hope in him. O Lord thou hast pleaded the causes of my soul: thou hast redeemed my life. Jerusalem, Jerusalem, return unto the Lord thy God.

"Hen with chickens" by Tambako the Jaguar, on Flickr

At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to [Jesus], "Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you." He said to them, "Go and tell that fox for me, 'Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.' Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, 'Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.'" (Luke 13:31-35)

"Baptism of Christ (Detail)" by Art History Images (Holly Hayes), on Flickr

As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, John answered all of them by saying, "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." (Luke 13:15-17,21-22)