Indoor/Outdoor Worship: August 26, 2012

August 26, 2012

Outdoor (Indoor!) Worship

Ephesians 6:10-20

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie B. Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Hear again Ephesians, chapter 6:10-20:

10Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power. 11Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. 12For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. 13Therefore take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. 14Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. 15As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. 16With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. 17Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. 18Pray in the Spirit at all times in every prayer and supplication. To that end keep alert and always persevere in supplication for all the saints.
19Pray also for me, so that when I speak, a message may be given to me to make known with boldness the mystery of the gospel, 20for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it boldly, as I must speak.

***

Today, I’d like to speak not on the Gospel passage for the day but instead on this wonderful second reading from Ephesians, chapter six. There are so many familiar phrases in this passage, phrases which have found their way into literature and even into our everyday language:

“Be strong in the Lord”, “Put on the whole armor of God”, “the wiles of the devil”, “This present darkness”—(which was the title of a Christian doomsday novel I read in high school), “breastplate of righteousness”, “Ambassador in chains”  and, of course: “Stand firm”, which for Lutherans calls to mind the famous scene when Martin Luther stood before the church Council in Worms and exclaimed:  “Here I stand, I can do no other!”

All in all, this passage makes Christianity sound incredibly cool. One of my first children’s sermons ever was on this Ephesians passage. I brought along my kids’ play clothes, including armor and swords. It was a great hit—the first time, and every time I did it after that!

We all, children and adults alike, find it at least somewhat appealing to know we are in a fight of good versus evil or light versus darkness. It feels exciting to imagine ourselves in an epic battle. And these days, as we approach the Republican political convention and an election in November, everyone is eager to tell us who our enemies are.

Who is it this week?

Depending on who you listen to, it might be:

The liberals. The Republicans.  The blacks. The Mexicans, the gays, the hidden socialist agenda, the gun control advocates, the NRA, Missouri senators, anyone from Lubbock county, Texas, the guys in Washington, the political pundits, banks, Wall Street big wigs, large corporations, teachers’ unions, the Cubs, the Sox, Arab fundamentalists,  Muslims, Christian evangelicals, secularists, atheists, feminists, meat-eaters, breeders, SUV drivers.  In short: whoever you are, the enemy is always “The Other Guys”.  We humans feel most comfortable when we have an opponent, and we’re dangerously quick in assigning a target on whoever is in our line of sight.

I experienced a great example of this phenomenon this Friday, as I sat in my favorite chair knitting a hat on my day off.  I had meant to watch “True Stories of Amish Weddings” or “Ancient Aliens” or some other quality television, but instead I found myself watching umpteen hours of news coverage of the shooting that took place in front of the Empire State building.

One lone shooter, apparently in pain after being laid off from work a year ago, shot his co-worker on the street. The courageous efforts and watchful eyes of a construction worker, a security guard, and the NYPD, stopped the man from continuing his rampage.

This was a tragic story. Innocent people were shot in the crossfire, a 41 year old man lost his life at the hands of a man he knew, and the shooter gave in to the darkness of despair and chose the path of destruction.
It is tragic, but also a tragically simple story.

However, if you listened to the news for the next 4 hours (which I did), you would have heard a different story.

This, said the news anchors, was a story about the need for gun control.
This was a story about 9/11 and the fear New Yorkers feel ever since.
This was a story about the upcoming election.
This was a story about crime, about the economy, about crazy people, about the pressures of living in New York, and about the NYPD and whether they were the ones who shot the 9 bystanders.

Over and over, hour after hour, what I heard is that this was a story about the enemy. Who is he, or she? Who can we blame? Where’s the fight? Who can we hate?

But there’s an interesting thing about the New York story that was dominating the news. Just a few hours before, as I awoke and poured my first cup of coffee, the news story I read first took place in Chicago (on the south and west sides, specifically.)

New York was not the only city that had an outbreak of gun violence this week. On Thursday night alone, 19 people were shot in Chicago, 18 of them in incidents that involved more than one victim. Of course, aside from the first mention early that morning, nothing else was said on national news about that terrible evening of violence. Nothing more was said about people being shot in the Second City, once one desperate white man had killed another in the Big Apple.

Friday night the violence in Chicago continued, with 4 people killed and 13 others shot and wounded. Last night the count was lower—just one killed and 7 shot. Sad, isn’t it, that we would consider three teenage boys shot in one night as a good day?

Friends, we are indeed in a battle. But in spite of what others want to tell you, we are not in a battle against flesh and blood. God, the creator of wind and rain, sunshine and thunderstorms, divine artist of the human body in all its diversity and the foundation of all our thought and especially our ability to think (whether we get it right or wrong) did not put us here to fight an epic battle against our sisters and brothers.

Our battle is not Republican vs. Democrat, conservative vs. Liberal, suburban vs. urban or Christian vs. Muslim. Our battle, our struggle, our ongoing war is against the rulers, authorities and cosmic powers of this present darkness. This present darkness that covers us today is a heavy blanket of separation, division, hate, disinterest, apathy, poison-tongued speech, greed, and the powerful rip-current that drags us down, turning us always in toward ourselves. This present darkness is the spiritual force of evil that causes us to ignore the 19 people shot in Chicago on one night alone. Our enemy is the numbness we feel when we hear about one more story of poor people killing each other. Once again, hear me when I say our battle is not against opponents of flesh and blood, but against despair, sin, greed, and the allure of living a life protecting our own interests.

Stand, therefore, Lutherans!
“3Therefore take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. 14Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. 15As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. 16With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. 17Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”

Someone once said that Lutherans are the only Christians who can sing “stand up, stand up for Jesus” while sitting down (but you proved me wrong today!)

But perhaps it is more appropriate to mention the one who said, “Stand for something or you’ll fall for anything.”

I’d like to tell you who said it, but it seems this phrase has been attributed to Alexander Hamilton, Malcom X, Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks and even Ginger Rogers. As Abraham Lincoln once said, the problem with quotes found on the internet is it’s hard to verify their authenticity.

 But, whoever said it, it’s a worthy idea. If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything. Today, we too often fall for the lie that our enemy is the other guy. We fall for the lie that God wants us to hate.

So what do you stand for? Perhaps, is the point of Christian discipleship not to choose our battles or our enemies, but to stand up and choose our armor? For if our enemies are not flesh and blood, but are rather forces that work within us and within our institutions, forces which find their way even into our media, our culture, and our comfort zones, then don’t we need something more than righteous anger and a big target?

The Apostle Paul tells us in Ephesians chapter 6 that there are indeed powers and principalities at work in the world. But the Gospel of Jesus Christ, God’s Good News for our terrible situation, means that our salvation is not dependent on knowing who the enemy is. Our walk with Jesus isn’t any easier if we have an opponent. Discipleship is not a competitive sport.

And so we stand firm, brothers and sisters, and we clothe ourselves with the whole armor of God.

We put on the belt of truth: Not so we can proclaim that we have the truth over and above anyone else, or so we can wield the truth like a weapon to beat others down, but so we can be girded with the truth of who we really are. The truth is, you are a baptized child of God. You are part of God’s beloved creation, known to God before you were in your mother’s womb. The truth is that because of Jesus Christ, you are valuable not because of what you’ve done, how much you earn, or who you are, but because of whose you are. Put on the belt of this truth, and the truth will set you free.

And we wear the breastplate of righteousness: But let’s be clear, our own righteousness is shot through with holes. Because we have all sinned and fallen short of the grace of God, our own righteousness will do us no good in a battle against this present darkness. But clothed in Christ’s own righteousness, living in the shadow of the cross, washed clean in the waters of baptism, nothing can remove God’s love from us.

And then there are the shoes: I must say, listening to the loudest voices around us these days, I wonder if all they really need is a new pair of shoes! I’m tired of hearing the gospel turned into a source of division. I’m tired of hearing loudmouths turn the Good News into Good News only for my side, not yours; for my people, not yours; for my church, not yours; for my country, not yours; for my political party, not yours. Maybe their feet hurt. Maybe they just need a good shoe-fitting. Let’s send them down to Heisler’s Bootery and get them fitted with whatever will make them ready to proclaim the Gospel of peace.

And we’ll take along with us the shield of faith to quench all the evil one’s flaming arrows. The helmet of salvation protects our God-given gift of reason, and the sword of the Spirit is the word of God. We take along the bible not to use as a weapon, but to give us the confidence that Jesus Christ, Word of God incarnate, is always by our side.

Outfitted in this way, we either look fierce, like Iron Man and the Green Lantern, Spiderman and the Bionic Woman all rolled into one, or else we look like fools for Christ!

But no matter how we look, clothed in the whole armor of God we can withstand all the wiles of the devil. We can stand firm, convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Stand firm! Be bold! Proclaim the Gospel of peace! Amen!

12th Sunday after Pentecost: August 19, 2012: "This Changes Everything"

August 19, 2012

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie B. Smith

John 6:51-58

This changes everything.

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

I have really great neighbors.

Our little block is populated by two policemen, one fireman, a judge, an addiction counselor, a retired professor, several teachers, and (of course), two pastors. We like to claim it as the safest block in all of Crystal Lake!

But one of our neighbors, in particular, became a fast friend when he moved next door to us this spring. Chris is from Texas, and we were extremely excited to discover that he’s a master meat griller and smoker. Our neighbor Chris owns a state of the art barbeque grill with multiple levels, a burner on the side for sauces, a bottle opener, and quite possibly the ability to achieve a Mars landing, if you know how to work it. Chris…is awesome.

His wife and son are pretty nice, too.

At some point this summer, Chris mentioned to us how he really missed using Texas mesquite for smoking and grilling meat. Robert and I recalled this conversation when we were visiting family down south this July—and you can bet we found a way to smuggle three huge bags of mesquite wood from Lubbock to Crystal Lake, with visions of brisket and chops making our mouths water all the way home.

A day or so after returning home, we saw Chris and Kellie out on their back porch, so we proudly marched over toting the three bags of mesquite to present as a gift. Chris came down off the porch to meet us.

In retrospect, we did notice a funny look on his face when he saw what we were hauling. Robert announced loudly, “Check it out! We brought you some mesquite!”

 To which Chris replied, “Oh, man, you’re not going to believe it, but we went vegan last week.”
Without even blinking, my dear spouse kept on walking toward the grill, saying, “Yeah, right. That’s a funny one! When’s the next party? We’ll provide the pool, you provide the beef!”

It was when I looked at Chris’s wife’s face that I knew this vegan thing was no joke. Our neighbors--our meat-loving, backyard grilling, Texas foodie friends--had decided to become vegans while we were away on vacation.

No more chops! No more brisket! No more burgers or ribs! I’m sure our growling stomachs spoke as loudly as our disappointed faces.

But then, it’s not all about us, is it? So Robert and I exclaimed, “Oh, that’s great! Wow! What prompted this change?” And Chris and Kellie outlined for us the radical shift they were making, in response to a change in values and priorities, transforming their entire relationship to food and to the dinner table. As good neighbors and friends, we offered our wholehearted support for their new lifestyle choice and promised to hold a backyard pool party soon.

Chris and Kellie promised to bring some grilled veggies.

Walking back home, it struck me how sometimes food is more than food. Sometimes eating is more than just dinner. Sometimes, the dinner table itself becomes a place of transformation, changing the way we relate to our neighbors and to the world.

For several weeks now, our Gospel lessons have been focused on the table as a place of transformation.  The Gospel writer, John, has been taking us in circles, expounding on Jesus as the bread of life, Jesus as the bread from heaven, Jesus as the true bread, Jesus as the bread that removes our hunger forever.

But in today’s Gospel lesson there’s one word in particular that stands out, and that is: “eat.”

• Whoever eats of this bread will live forever
• “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?”
•  Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.
• Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life
• Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.
• Whoever eats me will live because of me
• Your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever

Eight times, in just eight verses, Jesus tells us that eating changes everything. Other food is just food, but there is bread we can eat which gives eternal life. There is bread that means life is worth living here and now. There is bread that has the power to transform the world, and that bread is Jesus’ own body.

Communion is such a part of what Christians do on Sunday morning that perhaps its transformative, counter-cultural, subversive nature is lost to us. And yet, when we hear the words, “This is my body, given for you” and place the bread in our mouths, this isn’t a symbol or a reenactment. Instead, as Lutherans we proclaim that Jesus, beyond all understanding and in spite of our unbelief, is present in, with, and under this bread and wine.

And that means that in eating and drinking we become one with a body that touched lepers, consorted with prostitutes, ate with tax collectors, challenged authorities, preached truth to power, suffered next to criminals in a public execution, and defeated the power of death. When we eat the bread and drink the cup, we are ingesting, digesting, and confessing the body of Jesus, who gave his life for the sake of the world.

This is much more than dinner! This is so much more than food. This is transformative eating. this changes everything. Jesus Christ, present for us at this table, in bread and wine, transforms the way we relate to our neighbors and the world by giving us his own body.

On a regular day, dinner is hardly ever transformative.

Martin Luther King, Jr., once said, “It is appalling that the most segregated hour of Christian America is 11 o’clock on Sunday morning.” Sadly, this remains largely true. But coming in at a close second today must be the dinner hour.

Without even discussing the demise of the home-cooked family dinner, it’s easy to see how we are divided by race, age, economics, class, and even politics at the dinner hour.

Children sit at the kids’ table or are left at home with the sitter. The over 65 crowd eats at the buffet or at a completely different hour than the rest of us. Foodies and locavores choose the hippest new local dive. Suburbanites flock to Applebee’s and Chili’s while city dwellers avoid them like the plague. Urban Spoon helps us choose a spot with two dollar signs or four, and offers reviews to help us avoid “sketchy” neighborhoods. Even fast food separates us. Do you buy your coffee at Starbucks or Conscious Cup? Do you go to Chick-Fil-A or Wendy’s? And what will your choice say about you?

And that’s just it: above all else, the dinner hour is segregated by choice. Look around the restaurant or even your dining table and you’re likely to see someone who looks just like you, spends money like you, votes like you. Dinner companions are chosen for maximum comfort and compatibility. On a typical day, we eat the bread of segregation and drink the wine of convenience. There’s nothing transformative about this menu.

But then, on Sunday, we come to the Lord’s table, where Jesus has invited everybody. All y’all come, as my Texas family would say!

While it’s true that our churches still don’t reflect the full beauty and diversity of the kingdom, look around you today and you’ll see that you’re probably sitting next to someone in a different age bracket. When you come to the table, you will likely be standing next to someone with much more—or much less—education than you possess. When you reach out, open-handed, you will receive the same bread as that one church member you need to forgive—and will drink the same wine as the one you hope will forgive you.

This is Jesus’ body, given for you…and for you…and for you…and for you. No matter who you are. No matter how you vote. No matter what you can pay. No matter what you did before you showed up here.

This is the radical, subversive nature of eating the bread that is Jesus. The bread we eat is the flesh Jesus gave for the life of the world—the whole world!—and with this bread and this cup we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

Eating this bread changes everything. Eating this bread means we become a body that unites, not divides. Eating this bread means we become a body that lives for others, not for ourselves. Eating this bread means we go out from this place transformed into a people that sees the world with new eyes.

At this table, for this one moment, we catch a glimpse of what it will be like to dine in the kingdom of heaven. How then, can we ever be the same? How will Jesus, true food and true drink, transform you this week?

Let’s sing together:
Be present at our table Lord. Be here and everywhere adored. These mercies bless and grant that we, may strengthened for your service be. Amen.

11th Sunday after Pentecost: August 12, 2012

John 6:35, 41-51

Sermon – We are starving

PREACHER: Pastor Paul Cannon

First, I should introduce myself.  I am Pastor Paul and this congregation – Bethany Lutheran – has called me to be the Pastor of Children, Youth and Family.  And I have to say…you all have no idea what you are getting.  During my whole application process I had to track down some people to give me recommendations (harder than you think), and I was fond of telling these people that I chose them specifically because they had the unique distinction of being the best … liars that I knew!  And they really must have tricked the call committee because here I am today.  So I say all this to let you know that if you have any complaints about me, you can take them directly to Brian Bromley was the chair of the committee or even Jack Heisler who was also part of the vetting process.

And before I start, I just want to say briefly that we very intentionally included the “family” portion of my title to let you know that my role here is not simply going to be the “Youth” guy.  We are all a part of a family – whether it’s our home family, this church family, and of course, God’s family.  While my primary duties here will be to oversee the programs for our young people, I am also here to bring Christ to all the generations that are here under this roof.  So know that my door is open to all people in the congregation.

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ.

I think that there is a sense in this country – maybe even in this very congregation – that people are becoming less and less religious.  That people are starting to care less and less about God.  Have any of you ever felt that way?  I’m just curious, by show of hands, who thinks that people today are less religious than they used to be?  Is there anybody who thinks that people today are more religious? 

Well the truth is that in some ways both answers are right.  Researchers look into this question all the time.  And if you go around and ask a bunch of people if they consider themselves to be “religious,”  it’s actually true that fewer people would tell you “yes” than would have told you 20 years ago.
And so maybe you know some folks who would tell you that they are not “religious” per se, but will still tell you that they are “spiritual.” Have you ever heard that before?  Or maybe you’ve heard people tell you that they believe in God, but they just don’t like organized religion.  Or…maybe you’ve even heard people quote Mahatma Gandhi who famously said, “I like your Christ, but I do not like your Christians.  Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”  

Those are hard words for me to hear, but to my ears they ring very true.  The truth is, that even in the church – maybe especially in the church – we have been very unlike Christ. Where Christ broke bread with prostitutes and tax collectors – the most notorious sinners – we have made such people feel unwelcome.  Where Jesus would listen to people’s sins and forgive them, it seems to me that too often Church has become a place where we hide our sins from each other and pretend like everything is perfect. 

But I think that there is good news embedded in the words of Gandhi as well.  “I don’t like your Christians” he says, “But I like your Christ.”  To me it says what we’ve known all along – that the God we worship is worthy, even when we are not.  It says that people are hungry – they are spiritually starving – for a God that comes to them free of prejudice and sin that all of us Christians bring to the table.  I think that people are hungry for a God that looks less like the millionaire preachers on TV and more like the poor carpenter’s son who walked with them, listened to them and loved them.

To me it says that there is something magnetic and powerful about Jesus – that even a hindu leader feels drawn to. “I like your Jesus,” Gandhi said.  Even in the face of all the bad things that have been done in the name of Chirstianity -- wars, hate crimes, oppression – people are still drawn to Jesus.
And isn’t that what we read in our gospel today?  That it is God – not ourselves, not fancy church programs, not a dynamic Pastor --- that draws people in.  “No one comes to me” Jesus tells the crowd, “unless drawn by the father.” 

There is tremendous hope in that. It’s not about how great we are, it’s about how great our God is. And I think that’s why people haven’t given up on Christianity entirely.  Now don’t get me wrong – Bethany has done some great things.  From what I’ve seen so far, this church is very welcoming and friendly; We’re sending people on mission trips abroad; we have a great team of dedicated and faithful staff and volunteers; but nothing that we do on our own could bring people together like sharing the bread of Christ does.  Because no matter what we do, people will still hunger for a God that is greater than us Christians.

I’ve been working with kids for a long time now and I can tell you that they are not any different.  They too are hungry to hear about Jesus even if they are not all that excited about coming to church.
When I was teaching Confirmation back in 2006-2007, I had a kid in my class named Mitch, who made a big impression on me.  Mitch was a really interesting 6th grader because he was a self-proclaimed atheist.  Thinking about that just drove me crazy because I couldn’t wrap my mind around how this kid—whose parents were faithfully bringing him to church every week—decided that he was an atheist. 

And of course he never took it easy on me either. In class every week, Mitch would inevitably interrupt what we were doing by asking a really pointed question about God.  “If God exists, then why is there evil in the world?” he would ask. Or “If God were real why wouldn’t he just come down and show himself to us?” or “If God is good, then why is there suffering?”

I wish I could say that I had really clever answers to tell him.  Words that could wrap up those questions in a neat bow that would make him understand everything magically.  But I didn’t have any answers and I certainly didn’t have a bow to put on it. I don’t know why there is suffering.  I don’t know why there are parents out there who abuse their children.  I’m not really sure why a good man might die of a heart attack too young and an evil man might live to be 100.  Those are the kinds of questions that there aren’t any answers too.

But what I could tell Mitch was that our God knows our suffering – and not just that he understands it – but that he suffered it himself.  I could tell him that we have a God who was flogged and beaten, then nailed to a cross to die a traitors death – and that he did that for our own sakes. I could tell him that he broke bread with sinners and scorned the self-righteous hypocrites. I could tell him that our God is a God of grace, forgiveness and love regardless of what evil exists in the world.

Well, towards the end of that year there was one confirmation night where Mitch put his hand up in the air, and I thought to myself, “oh no, here we go again” and though he preceeded to make one of his usual objections to Christianity, he started it differently.  He said… “I believe in God, but…”  and I don’t even remember what exactly he said next, because all I remember is those first four words:  “I believe in God…”

I was blown away.  Here was this trouble-making atheist 6th grader telling me now that he believed in God.  And I had to wonder “How did that happen?”  And the only answer that I can come up with was that perhaps Mitch was hungry for God all along.  But maybe he just couldn’t believe in a God who had fake answers to questions we don’t understand.  Maybe all along he was starving for a God that was worth believing in – a God who knew suffering the same way we know suffering.

And I can’t help but reflect on Mitch when I hear our Gospel story today.  “I am the bread of life” Jesus tells the crowd.  “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” The bread of life is the man who gives himself on the cross.  “The bread that I will give for the life of the world” He tells the crowd, “Is my flesh.”  I know that Mitch was drawn to that sort of bread – even Gandhi was drawn to that sort of bread – and my guess is that you are too.

We are all starving for a God who is worth following.  We are hungry for a God who calls us to take up the cross and follow him wherever that may be.  We need a God who calls into hard places that are out of our comfort zones. Instead of a God who gives us easy answers to hard questions, we yearn for a God who walks with us in our suffering.  This is the God that we are all hungry for.  And this is the God that Jesus is. 

So come, find the bread of life here at the table.  Find the bread of life, here in Jesus.  Amen

August 5, 2012: 10th Sunday after Pentecost

Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15; John 6:24-35

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

On Tuesday afternoon, a rather unusual traveler arrived in the church office.

I was at home wolfing down a late lunch when our faithful office manager Kelly called to say: “There’s a young man here from England who’s looking for a place to stay. Any ideas?”

Aside from the fact that he was from England, this didn’t seem too unusual. People come to the church all the time looking for help. I always try to do what I can—but in this case, I knew PADS was closed until October, Good Samaritan wasn’t open on Tuesdays, and our church had just hosted a group of Palestinian teenagers the week before. I, myself, have had a steady stream of visitors in our basement since summer began. So I said to Kelly, “Tell him to go to the fire department” and I hung up the phone.

An hour later, sitting at my desk back at the church, I saw a young man walk into the office. I immediately knew this was the same character. I went out to greet him, and discovered that his story truly was more unusual than I first thought. Matthew, age 20, is indeed from England, and he was traveling from Seattle to New York—by bicycle—on just $10 per day. He had biked 60 miles that morning and just needed a place to sleep before going to his next stop in Oak Park.

I hemmed and hawed. I flipped aimlessly through the church directory, trying to think of who I could call. I looked nervously at the church member sitting in the office waiting for a meeting. What should I do? The last thing I wanted was a guest in my home that night, much less a complete stranger. I was sure my husband—in country for once—would be even less excited about this prospect.

“You can stay at my place,” I said, finally.

We could have an entire conversation about the safety and wisdom of this decision at another time, but the point to be made this morning is that Matthew turned out to be a blessing--first and foremost to the teenage girls on my block. Several young neighbors gathered to swim in our pool and observe our exotic guest, and were delighted to announce to me, “He sounds like Harry Potter!”

I expected to feel pretty good about doing a good deed, but it was the opportunity to hear Matthew’s stories that was truly a gift from God I didn’t expect.

Biking from Seattle to New York on ten dollars per day means Matthew relies daily on the kindness of strangers for shelter and food. He told of the varied reception he’s received at churches. At one large inner city church he stopped to ask for help, but before he even got the sentence out, and without a hint of eye contact, the answer was “no.” He saw another person sitting in a neighboring office and asked to talk to her, but was told “She’ll tell you no, too.”

Another pastor happily took him home but then quizzed him over dinner, “Are you going to heaven?” When Matthew answered “Yes”, the pastor followed up with, “But are you SURE?!”

Fire stations have been pretty hospitable places, but one time he shared his situation and was told “Sorry, we can’t help an able-bodied male in good weather.” Another time, a woman agreed to let him stay at her home, but just as he was getting ready for bed, she said to him, “If you steal from me, I’ll kill you.”

Another host showed off his very large arsenal of weapons. Matthew commented to me, “We just don’t have guns like that in the UK. What possible use do Americans have for an assault rifle at home, anyway?” A very good question, indeed.

But the best story is of Matthew’s experience staying at a monastery in North Dakota. I found Matt to be a chatty, outgoing guy (which certainly helps him survive an adventure that requires asking for help multiple times a day) but this was a contemplative monastery. In other words, no talking. Matt struggled with the concept of eating dinner in silence.

But the dinner was delicious—plates and plates of food. And then, out came one of the monks with the largest barrel of Rocky Road ice cream he had ever seen. The monks didn’t take dainty little tastes, either. Matthew described them heaping scoop after scoop into their bowls: A heavenly banquet! Manna from heaven!

The Israelites, on their Exodus journey, never received Rocky Road ice cream from the Lord. But they did receive just enough for the day. Each day, the Lord said, I will rain bread from heaven for you. And that is what the Lord did: “In the evening quails came up and covered the camp; and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, “It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat.” (Exodus 16)

But whatever it was, Scripture tells us the Lord kept his promise, and provided just what the Israelites needed each day.

In the same way, Matt has been fed with just enough for the day on his journey. It’s hardly ever Rocky Road, though. He eats a lot of baked beans and canned pears. Great protein, he says, and definitely within budget! In the beginning, even that menu posed a challenge, because in the interest of traveling light he didn’t carry a can opener. He stopped at homes, diners, and gas stations to ask help with that, too.

Matthew also related that at first, some people wanted to give him food to take on his journey. Soon, however, his bicycle was so loaded down with granola bars and energy drinks that he finally had to say no. Burdened by that extra weight, he could never have traveled the 35 miles a day required to reach his destination. Like the Israelites in the wilderness, he would just have to go out and gather enough for that day. Each day, he would have to trust others to give him his daily bread—people like me.

Before you start to think this is a sermon about how generous, loving, and saintly your pastor is, now would be a good time to confess that I was beyond crabby about welcoming Matthew into my home. I was not thinking Christian thoughts when I first considered this option. But then I remembered a few things:

“Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.” (Hebrews 13)

“Lord, when did we ever see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?” (Matthew 25)

“Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you. Jesus said, ‘Feed my sheep.’” (John 21)

“By this time it was late in the day, so the disciples came to him and said: ‘Send the people away so that they can go…buy themselves something to eat.’ But Jesus answered, ‘You give them something to eat.’” (Mark 6)

I can’t help thinking of the testing of the Israelites in the wilderness. The Lord said to Moses, “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day. In that way I will test them, whether they will follow my instruction or not.” Matthew may have been the one on a voluntary Exodus, but it seemed that perhaps it was I who was being tested. In fact, the truth is, perhaps I was the hungry one.

I could have fed myself with a quiet evening at home. I could have fed myself with lying around in my comfy pants, watching the Olympics and keeping things as familiar as possible.

But, instead, even though I was reluctant; even though I, like the Israelites, grumbled about what the Lord was doing; even though I might have preferred Rocky Road to the manna being provided for me—the Lord fed me with exactly what I needed.

I made Matthew homemade pizza, but through the goodness of God I was the one nourished, filled with stories I never would have heard otherwise. Robert and I provided Matthew a place to sleep for a night, but we also got a chance to live vicariously a journey we will likely never experience ourselves. Matthew had been rejected, turned away, and judged by plenty of Christians already—but in showing him kindness (even reluctantly) we were the ones who learned something about the radical welcome of Jesus Christ. Robert and I even had the opportunity to share our faith in God with Matt, even as we marveled at his own faith in the goodness of people. These memories will last much longer than a quiet evening at home ever could, and we went to bed with full bellies and full hearts.

Jesus tells the hungry crowd in John chapter 6, “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.”

Sisters and brothers in Christ, we all spend our days laboring for the food that perishes. It’s easy to be consumed by daily tasks, trying to fill our hungry bellies and starving hearts with empty calories and meals that will never satisfy: accomplishments, comforts, power, beauty, financial security, or certainty about the world and the people around us.

Then, out of the blue, walking through the front door—perhaps even dropped from heaven—comes a stranger, a neighbor in need, or an unexpected guest. And there, in the most unlikely of places, we just might come face to face with the “bread of God which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world”. That bread is our Savior Jesus Christ: healer, teacher, prophet, and stranger, despised and rejected, crucified and risen. Jesus said, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” Through the grace of God, and by Christ’s radical welcome, we meet him every week here at this table, in the bread and wine.

Let us go now to the banquet! Amen!

July 29, 2012: 9th Sunday after Pentecost (Christmas in July)

John 6:1-21

Grace and peace to you from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Merry Christmas! In case you missed it, we have an unusual theme for this morning’s worship service: This is Christmas in July! Joy to the World, the Lord is come!...Let earth receive her King!

Now the reason for today’s festivities is to lift up the fact that all month long Bethany members have been gathering gifts for local social service agencies. We’re accustomed to Christmas being the “season for giving”, but the truth is that our neighbors struggle for food, toiletries, rent, and other assistance the whole year long, not just at the holidays. In recognition of this need, Bethany’s Social Action ministry team has encouraged us to celebrate "Christmas in July”, bringing offerings that will fill the shelves at P.A.D.S., the Food Pantry, Home of the Sparrow, the Veteran’s Home in Hebron, and the Salvation Army this summer. The fruits of your efforts are seen behind me. Great work, saints! These gifts will make the lives of your neighbors a bit merrier.

It’s also true that when we see these items displayed, we feel good. It certainly feels good to sing Christmas carols, no matter what month it is. And it feels good to give. Seeing these gifts artfully arranged behind us makes it feel we’ve really done something. Maybe, just maybe, the world is a better place because of our small effort. Maybe, just maybe, this Christianity thing can really turn the world around.

But then—we turn on the news. We hear reports of the famine in Illinois and other states, with crops destroyed and a future of increased food prices for us all. The murder rate in Chicago has gone up 39 percent over last year—two 16 year olds were killed Thursday alone. We see grisly images of women and children massacred in Syria. And on Tuesday night this week, we heard the startlingly true stories of six Palestinian teenagers who have grown up under occupation and who face an uncertain future.

In the face of such huge challenges, it’s easy for the glow of Christmas—whether in December or July—to wear off. It can be tempting to see the problems looming before us and respond, just like Phillip, who stood with Jesus, watching the large hungry crowd coming toward them, and said: “Six months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little!” Like Phillip, we might feel like throwing our hands up in the air to say, “What can we possibly do, Jesus? It’s hopeless. Let them figure it out. We have to take care of our own.” 

One way of interpreting this morning’s reading about the loaves and fishes is that this was a stupendous miracle performed by Jesus in order to prove that Philip was right: he can’t fix it, but Jesus can. Jesus Christ, born in a stable, visited by wise men, and followed by fishermen, waved his hands and multiplied bread and fish, thereby fixing the problem and solidifying his status as a superhero.

If we accept this interpretation today, then in the face of the world’s problems, we might just say, “Yep, it looks pretty bad, but no worries: Jesus multiplied the loaves and the fishes, so we can just go home now and trust that Jesus will perform a miracle to fix this, too.” 

If this interpretation sounds familiar, you’re not alone. I’m certain most of us have heard this version in Sunday school and countless sermons.

But more recently, another interpretation has arisen. In this telling of the story, Jesus didn’t perform a miracle at all. Instead, we hear that the crowd, under peer pressure, finally opened their lunchboxes and backpacks and passed around the food they were hiding from their neighbors. All were satisfied, and there was even food leftover, because people finally decided to share. 

I must admit, I rather like this interpretation, because it makes me feel like I can do something. It definitely inspires Christians to do things like—well, like Christmas in July! This modern interpretation definitely serves as a corrective to the older, passive, “It’s ok, Jesus will take care of it” mindset.

But then, I’m not sure this “miracle-free” interpretation entirely works for me, either.

 Because when I read the story of the feeding of the five thousand, I do see a miracle. After all, 5 loaves plus 2 fish does not equal dinner for 5,000 people, no matter how you figure it!

The question is: Where did the miracle take place?

Were these miraculous loaves, baked with magic yeast by the boy’s mother? 

Did Jesus possess a hocus pocus prayer, capable of multiplying food on the spot?

Did the miracle waft through the crowd, where the people suddenly felt compelled to share? 

Or, perhaps, did the miracle take place in the hearts of the disciples?

Consider that in both stories we heard this morning—Jesus feeding the 5,000 and Jesus walking on the water—the disciples were in seemingly hopeless situations. And in both stories, they greatly underestimated this Jesus. 

They had followed him, they had heard him preach, they had even witnessed other miracles, but in the face of a hungry crowd and a dark and stormy night, the disciples believed that this problem was just too great. This time, there was nothing he could do. This was a hopeless situation.

How could 5 loaves and 2 fish possibly feed this crowd?

How could Jesus possibly get to us, when we’re so far from the shore?

How could our cans of cat food, rolls of toilet paper and packs of mac and cheese possibly help poverty in our community?

How can swatting down paper mosquitos possibly end deaths from malaria?

How could there ever be a church that would welcome me?

How could God possibly forgive me, after what I’ve done?

How could a crucified man walk out of a tomb and appear to his friends, alive and well?

The disciples despaired because they didn’t understand who this Jesus was.

And then, in the face of seemingly hopeless circumstances, a miracle occurs when the hearts of disciples are transformed from hopelessness and apathy to trust and action. Instead of sitting on their hands, they sat the crowds down on the grass, as Jesus instructed. They passed around the 5 loaves and the 2 fish. And when all were satisfied, they gathered up the fragments. Dinner, itself, was no doubt miraculous for the hungry crowd. But the heart of this story is when both the crowd and the disciples recognize Jesus for who he is: the son of God, the prophet the world’s been waiting for, our Savior, the light of the world.

“It is I,” says Jesus. “Do not be afraid.” 

Now, one could criticize a pastor for quoting the same saint too often. But then, perhaps you will forgive me this time, in light of the fact that my beloved Dorothy Day’s autobiography is entitled “Loaves and Fishes”! 

And indeed, Dorothy’s words strike a chord with the Gospel reading for today. The famous co-founder of the Catholic Worker writes: 

"The sense of futility is one of the greatest evils of the day...People say, "What can one person do? What is the sense of our small effort?" They cannot see that we can only lay one brick at a time, take one step at a time; we can be responsible only for the one action of the present moment. But we can beg for an increase of love in our hearts that will vitalize and transform all our individual actions, and know that God will take them and multiply them, as Jesus multiplied the loaves and fishes." 

When we give in to hopelessness or retreat into apathy in the face of our own problems or the world’s sorrows, then we, too, underestimate Jesus. We, like Phillip and Andrew, might be missing who this Jesus is, and what he can do: in the world, in our community, in our lives, and especially in our hearts.

In the face of systemic poverty in our community, we might say “what is the sense of our small effort? What good can our little Christmas in July do?” And it’s true: these food offerings have not yet multiplied. I haven’t, as yet, seen an avalanche of pasta flowing from behind the altar.

And yet…what miracles are happening in this place today? Who has been reminded of a time when he, himself, was hungry? Whose heart is being opened to consider giving to others? Who might receive these gifts of food this week and know that all hope is not lost? Might the story of Christmas in July—and the miracle of the loaves and fish—forever become a part of the baptism stories of Alexis and Joseph, told and retold? And if so, what miracles could occur in their lives? 

And so we offer up our loaves and fish—not because it’s enough to solve the world’s problems (because it’s not.)

We offer up our loaves and fish—not because it will earn us salvation (because it can’t).

We offer up our meager loaves and fish—all that we have—because we know this Jesus is truly the son of God, and we trust the love of Christ to transform and multiply our gifts for the sake of the world. 

In the face of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict threatening the Land of Jesus’ birth, this week three Bethany families hosted Lutheran Palestinian teenagers in their homes. More than 70 people, representing 5 churches, heard the stories the teens shared in Luther Hall. We can’t solve this conflict ourselves, but by hearing these stories and sharing them with others, we hope to someday, somehow, truly be able to sing:

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!

In response to the problems of AIDs, malaria, and deep poverty in Africa, the Northern Illinois Synod sent a delegation this week to Tanzania to accompany Lutheran churches there in their work, and to learn what they have to teach us about being a follower of Jesus. Together, as sisters and brothers in Christ, we join our efforts as well as our voices to sing: 

O come let us adore him, O come let us adore him, O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord!

While on vacation in Panama one year, the Burseth family came face to face with the reality of children suffering from the lack of dental care. The Burseths didn’t throw up their hands in despair at a problem so great, but instead offered to God what they had: their passion, their skills, and their vacation time, and started a dental mission among the indigenous people there. Now, because of Mission Save a Smile, there are children who are free of tooth pain, with bright smiles, who can more joyfully sing:

Joy to the world, the Lord is come! Let earth receive her king!

Sisters and brothers, today we celebrate the way Jesus is born again in our hearts, transforming our meager offerings into miracles for others. Thanks be to God. And Merry Christmas!