Salem Sermon Archive
Holy Trinity Sermon
May 29-30, 2010
Holy Trinity C
Romans 5:1-5
Salem Lutheran Church
Sycamore, Illinois
I have to say, I've always loved this piece of Romans. The part where it speaks of suffering producing endurance and endurance producing character and character producing hope. It's poetic. It rolls off the tongue. It's easy to memorize. I carry it with me, I even cling to it sometimes, for it seeks to make sense of what might otherwise be entirely senseless. Things like pain and suffering and loss. But I can't say I've always found this to be true, can you? That suffering always ends in hope?
I was young when I first became aware of it… the kind of suffering that Paul points to in our second lesson for today. My cousin, Michael, had been killed in Viet Nam. He was twenty years old. I didn't know him really, as I was only four when he first went to fight. To me and my sisters, he's only an image in old family photographs. A framed portrait of him in his dress uniform that sits on a shelf at my aunt's house. So I went on line this week to see what I could learn about him on a site devoted to the Viet Nam War Memorial in Washington, D.C. The brief listing of information about him is this:
Lance Corporal E3 Marine Corps Regular
Length of service 2 years
Casualty was on May 2, 1967
In QUANG NAM, SOUTH VIETNAM
HOSTILE, GROUND CASUALTY
GUN, SMALL ARMS FIRE
Body was recovered
And then a word about where his name could be found on the wall:
Panel 19E - Line 9
This is what I do remember. The phone call came. And my mother went right away to be at her sister's side. I was six years old and I didn't want to stay at home with the baby sitter who would be watching over us while my dad was at work and so I rode along. I have to say that I probably only remember that trip for the bad weather we drove through that day in May… for the sudden stop my mom had to make and for the fact that I wasn't wearing a seatbelt, for you may remember most people didn't back then. I got my first and last black eye that day… my mom had me pull an undershirt out of my little suitcase to hold against my bleeding mouth. I was mortified… thinking the stain would never come out, not yet knowing the wonders of cold water and bleach. After a quick trip to her childhood doctor to make sure my injuries were as superficial as they first appeared, my mom left me with her aunt who tended my wounds and loved me well. Suffering? To be sure, it hurt. But those wounds would heal … nothing near to the larger loss that was weighing heavy on my family in those heart-wrenching days and in the years that would follow. Like I said, I remember little about the actual time… I don't, for instance, remember the funeral. I do remember my dad saying later that afterwards he had driven downtown and walked into a local bar. And that when asked who he was, he told those gathered there that his nephew had been killed in Viet Nam and he was there for the funeral. And those there had never heard of my cousin Mike, … back in that time when we were failing to honor and keep those who sacrificed so much. Years later my dad said how this made no sense at all to him. As though the suffering were not enough, but that it wasn't even acknowledged by fellow townspeople who had helped send him into harm's way just knocked him over. They did later, thankfully. This summer my family will gather for a family reunion at a park in a shelter named in his memory in that small town in Wisconsin.
No, I don't remember much about the one in our family in my generation who was lost to war. But I do remember the days we set aside to remember him and all the rest. I do remember Memorial Days. Much like the one we celebrate this week-end. The parade in Rochelle would alternate. One year it would end at the Protestant cemetery on the north side of Rochelle. And the next, the festivities would culminate on the south side at the Catholic Cemetery just back of our house. So we would pull up our lawn chairs to the curb and watch the bands go by. And then we'd go into our own back yard where we could listen over the fence as speeches were made and wreaths were laid and taps were played. Again, I was young when one of those year I found myself surprised to turn to look at my mother who stood with tears streaming down her face. Remembering, she told me later, the tearing grief of loved ones who had buried ones so dear lost in war.
And so I wonder now. Does that kind of suffering produce endurance produce character and finally return us to hope that does not disappoint? Sometimes, yes, and I am ever so grateful when the promise is kept in all of its fullness. But sometimes not, too. Sometimes it seems suffering threatens to just break us down and leaves us grasping and empty, leaving wounds that won't heal, stains that will never come out. So it is so very good, it seems to me then, that the resounding promise we hear today doesn't really rest in what happens within us, but rather in the one whose suffering and death resulted for us in the ultimate hope. In Jesus. And it is in those times when we can't make sense of it. It is in those times when suffering have no good end in sight that you and I find we must rest only and always on God's love… that wonderful love that Paul promises will be poured into our empty, hurting hearts. And no doubt it's true that you and I can only fully experience God's amazing love when nothing else makes sense. And not of course, only the pain from losses we remember this holiday week-end. But all those losses that come in life. All that suffering and pain which in so many ways threaten to break us and break us down. Then and always then we rest in that love that's poured into us through Jesus that promises never to let us go.
So this Memorial Day we remember those who suffered and died for something larger than themselves. For larger ideals like freedom. And for smaller, but no less important ones like the one fighting next to them on the field of battle. We trust and hope that their sacrifice and the ongoing ache their families carry in their hearts is not in vain. And that God will somehow bring hope out of heartbreak. And that they will know God's own love poured into their hearts in amazing ways.
So even while I wonder, even when at times I struggle with this, I have to say, that I do still love Paul's words. For sometimes I have known them to be so. At other times I can only trust that God will somehow make it so. And in those in-between times when the suffering seems to be moving in slow motion and it's hard to see our way to hope, we just pour it all into Jesus' out-stretched arms, trusting that God's own love will be poured into our hearts even now. Amen.
Ascension Day Sermon
May 15-16, 2010
Ascension Day
Acts 1:1-11
Psalm 47
Ephesians 1:15-23
Luke 24:44-53
Salem Lutheran Church
Sycamore, Illinois
By tomorrow afternoon, I will have officiated at four funerals in the last week, with another one coming up next week. I must say, this hardly ever happens. Usually these spread themselves out a little more evenly, but sometimes it just goes like this. So it's filled my week… my usual practice of sitting down with the families in the days before we gathered to formally commend these loved ones into God's care… I sat down with children or spouses and urged them to tell me about the one who had died. And in so doing, they spoke each one, about what they had left behind. Not about things nor in what would come to be once wills are read. Rather they spoke of the qualities the person held and they told stories. They shared things like laughter and love. Like the sizes of growing children marked on a door jam. Like his habit of writing letters --- when he was happy or not so happy alike. Or of her love of color and the ability to duplicate portraits. Or a gift for gardening. Or of special memories of holidays shared. Or the witness of having cared for a handicapped child for 20 years. They spoke of what is left behind that is imprinted on their hearts and they laughed and they cried as they did so. And it occurred to me as I listened that the greatest legacy left by anyone is in the sharing of our gifts in the shaping of other lives. Children, stepchildren, grandchildren, spouses, friends. In that way, the legacy lives.
And if that is so for all of us, how much more true is that for those whom Jesus leaves behind today. Indeed, like with all of us, the greatest inheritance is the one that lives in and through those left behind. In his case, in and through all of God's people on earth. In how we show our love for all the saints, as our 2nd lesson reads today. In how we live a life in the shape of the sacrificial love of Jesus. And not just here. But wherever and however and whenever the opportunities present themselves.
On this day as we mark Jesus' ascension, we could well find ourselves staring up into space ---- wondering just how Jesus did that… thinking that if the clouds just parted we might get a better view. For just like with any family left behind it sometimes takes a while to move away from the loss and back into our lives. Even so eventually we all must do well to listen to the advice of those who came upon those disciples and urged them to quit looking for Jesus up there. Rather, it is ours to look for signs of God's work down here on the ground. And so we do and as we do today, we give thanks for all those who volunteer their gifts in this place (which our puppets named a few moments ago.) All of these amazing legacies of kindness and compassion and love which you all are shaping and sharing and which will live on long after us. For in all these ways and a thousand more, the very legacy of Jesus lives on the ground right here.
This past spring, you will recall that our young people took on a project of collecting shoes. I am ever so glad to invite you to see their work, our work together, from beginning to end in the following presentation. It is but one example of how things happen in this place among God's people here. It surely speaks of the power of God among us. And not just for us, as you'll see. And not only for those who drive by or who find their way through the doors of this place. But for un-named thousands of God's children who today have shoes. This is Jesus' legacy: that he would raise up people who would live their faith in concrete ways… and who would even love people they'll never meet. Because Jesus loves them. Because Jesus lived and died for them, too, we do what we can to show that love. So join me now in seeing and celebrating God's gifts, Jesus legacy, living here among the people of this place. And now, as you will see, it also lives all around the world. Amen.
Sermon Text for May 8-9, 2010
John 14:23-29
Salem Lutheran Church
Sycamore, Illinois
Jesus says today, "Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them." (John 14:23)
In this season as all of our schools are making the final countdown to the end and as our seniors stand on the threshold of something new, especially as we honor our own graduates this week-end, I find myself remembering my own high school graduation. As I recall, it was a beautiful spring night and the festivities were held outdoors on the football field. After the speeches, the handing out of diplomas, the hand shaking with the dignitaries. After singing the school song and throwing our caps in the air in a tradition that doesn't ever seem to die, I found myself alone standing on the corner waiting for my ride. Hoping I wouldn't be forgotten in that time before cell phones and when many families got by with just one car. It was a good night, as I remember it, but in some ways, felt long over due. For you see, I had known for some time where college would be for me, and I think I had already started to move on. They called it Senioritis back then. I don't know if that's what they still call it today, but I think it's something young people still experience. That sense of still being in one place, but itching to be somewhere else. That restlessness which is a mixed up combination of hope and fear for what is to come next. I had been feeling that for months, but it was that night alone on a corner by the football field in Rochelle when I sensed something new: a flash of understanding that it wouldn't be the same after this. That what had been home, wouldn't still be home, at least not in the ways I had experienced it for the last 18 years.
Parents and children both can attest to the truth of this. Whether they stay nearby or try their wings in new places right away, it all changes somehow. And we find ourselves hopeful and fearful all at the same time. It may all be very good, but it may leave you feeling a little wistful, too. For the passing of time and all the changes that come somehow do have us yearning for home --- sometimes even before we've fully left it.
Jesus and his disciples are in the midst of a conversation about that right now. This time it's not the disciples who are about to leave. Rather, Jesus is on the verge of leaving them. And like any teacher, perhaps like most any parent, he's telling those closest to him to remember what they've been taught. And then he makes promises about the protection that will still be theirs. About he and the Father somehow making a home with them. About the Holy Spirit who will always be with them, with us, to comfort, to teach, to guide…
It happens all the time here as well, although in ways quite a bit less remarkable than what Jesus points to today. Still, even now in this life among us, home tends to get redefined. It moves, we move, or it follows us. Or we make it in new ways. For me? That 'home', that connection, that protection came in this way. My folks arranged for the one night each week when we would agree to talk on the phone. And then my mom proceeded to write to me every day. In those days before e-mail, she sat down every single day of my freshman year of college and wrote me a letter.
Now I have to say, those letters weren't all that exciting. Still they kept me connected. They held everyday tidbits of information about what was going on at home. They might offer some bit of encouragement for a paper or big test that was coming up. And once a week or so, she would tuck in a check so I'd have some extra spending money. She said she remembered her mother writing to her brothers every day when they were in the service. Only I wasn't on some far distant battlefield. I was on a college campus in Iowa. Still, she was going to make sure that home made its way to me.
A few years ago, I read in my college magazine that those old mailboxes were for sale. I still remembered the number and as you can see, I bought it. I keep it nearby as a reminder that home may not look like home always did. But home can still make its way to you.
In even more amazing ways, this is also true in Jesus' promises today. Only its not letters from home he promises those disciples, it is the Holy Spirit: whose presence assures them that no matter how far away they get, they will never be alone. Whose presence promises them that no matter how lonely or frightening or uncertain it may feel sometimes, God will be right there with them in it. Whose presence assures them and us, that we can't go any where, we can't do anything, that will put us out of reach of God's love.
That is a word for all graduates this spring…. For all of us as we move from one season of life to the next… Whether you are donning cap and gown or not. Whether we feel 'at home' in the world where we are right now or not, the promise is that God is yearning to make a home with you. To make you safe when you feel afraid. To wipe away your tears when sadness overflows. To fill you up when you are empty. To remind you that you do belong even when you feel out of place. God is yearning to make a home with you and to see that reflected in how you make a home for others in this world.
This is a word for all graduates this spring… for each and every one of us, to be sure, but my hope today is that it will be heard most especially by those who do put on cap and gown, whose moms and dads and grandmas and grandpas and neighbors and friends are bursting with pride and hope and maybe a little sadness and fear, too. This is a word for all of you. God will make a home with you. God will always make a home with you. And you will be given all that you need as you seek to be the person God has made you to be. And as you seek to show and share with others these gifts of God that you've already known. Amen.
5th Sunday of Easter May 2, 2010
Easter 5C
John 13:31-35
Salem Lutheran Church
Sycamore, Illinois
"By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another."
I realized a few weeks back how quickly a good reputation can go south. I was pulling into the parking lot at Menard's, looking for a parking place not too far from the door. I was not driving quickly, I know this for sure. As I got out of the car, I heard a shout in my direction and looked up to see one of the workers on break sitting on the picnic table out front. He called out to me, "I was about to make a run for it in case your throttle stuck!" I waved and kept walking --- for it took a moment for it to register just what he said. And then I realized he was talking about my Prius and the endless news stories lately about these fuel efficient cars that simply won't stop. I shook my head remembering just a few years ago when I drove off the lot in my bright shiny new hybrid… how all the world was interested in it, curious about it, impressed by the mileage. And now I was a joke to a guy on break at Menard's.
Good reputations are hard to earn and oh, so easy to lose. Jesus must know this even as he is speaking to his disciples today about who and what they are to be and do as they seek to follow him. He is surely saying here that actions speak louder than words, and we know this to be true. He is also raising our awareness that while it is ours to live that love everywhere in the world wherever we may be called, it is particularly important to do so as the fellow people of God. For the world is watching, expecting, even hoping, that you and I will be true to who we were meant and made to be.
A while back I was working with a congregation which had been going through a rough time. The details don't much matter, but whatever they had been through had caused individual members to tear away at each other. And then to speak of their pain in the larger community. A new pastor came to them and the first thing he did was to walk the neighborhood, knocking on doors and introducing himself. When he told those answering who he was, person after person shuddered and said, "Oh, that's the place where they're always fighting." As I said, good reputations are hard to earn and oh, so easy to lose.
It might seem to be something we're naturally good at, but we are not. For what Jesus asks of us today really isn't natural at all. Our human tendency is to look out for ourselves first. It is to see to the needs of me and mine. It is to seek revenge when we've been hurt, or at least to protect ourselves from being hurt again. It's how we're made, it seems. But if, in fact, we act that way here? Well then, just what is to distinguish us from every other place in town? What will make us stand out as followers of Jesus?
So that's why Jesus had to show us what it looks like, how to be, how to love in this way before he spoke these challenging words to his followers. That's why Jesus knelt at the feet of his disciples and washed away the dust, the weariness, the pain, before standing and speaking a word that was meant to shape them and us for all of time. This is what this kind of love looks like, he says. This is how you are to do it.
Now perhaps you have been here at Salem in recent years to watch our diaconal minister, Judy Bergeson do the foot-washing when we gather for worship on Maundy Thursday. I know she considers it a privilege and it is always a wonder to watch. But I have to say I can't witness this without being taken back to a camp experience I had with a bunch of 8th graders some 20 years ago. We don't do this at Confirmation Camp any more, and for the most part I'm grateful.
But back then, as part of the lesson for the day, we were washing feet. As I remember it, it was a particularly warm day in July. And unlike those who come to church on Maundy Thursday, knowing their feet will soon be washed so they come already having washed them ahead of time? The teenage boys in my group didn't know we'd be washing feet and I don't think they would have much cared if they did. They took off their shoes and their soiled socks and you knew it. The water was brown with strange objects floating on it before we were done. It was almost as though it had an oil slick on the top. As I recall, we emptied the pan and started over fresh at least once before we were through washing the feet of our group of twelve kids.
I'm afraid that's closer to what Jesus is telling us what we are to do than the more sanitized version of foot-washing we share together in every Holy Week. This foot-washing, this loving one another actually means walking into the muck together, wiping away the heart-wrenching tears of one another, carrying the burdens that we all carry with and for each other. It means kneeling before this altar and being bound up together alongside people with whom you whole-heartedly disagree about politics, or with whom you can't see eye to eye on how we do things in this place. It means extending a hand of greeting and peace and forgiveness --- even before you feel like it. Not because we're going to get anything out of it. But because it's who and what we are called to be and do. Because Jesus did, so do we. If you've been on the receiving end of that kind of love? You know you'll never be the same. And if you've been on the giving end of that kind of love? Well, then, you won't ever be the same either.
Now this is not a call to be a doormat. It's not to allow yourself to be walked on or walked over. No one can wash an 8th grader's feet and not be strong, it seems to me… It is, however, to place that strength in service of others and not in domination of them.
And no, it doesn't come naturally. But it can be done, it surely can and as we do it in small ways and large, both inside and outside this place, the world will know that we are shaped by something amazing. And powerful. And life changing. And world altering. By the very love of Jesus. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples if you love one another. It is who we are, by God's grace and with God's help, it is who we are. And when it is so, what a wonder it is. Amen.