Sunday, July 21, 2013

Sermon for Sunday, July 21, 2013

Luke 10:38-42 

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

 

Hanging on my refrigerator, next to the school phone numbers and my “Don’t Mess with Texas” magnet, is a photo of my grandfather. It’s black and white, from around 1953, and in it my grandpa is wearing a ruffled apron and holding a spatula. It must be a Sunday morning, because he’s wearing the apron over a shirt and a tie. He’s standing by the stove, apparently cooking breakfast, and grinning from ear to ear. 

Every time my mom comes to visit she comments on this photo, because, as she puts it, this was surely the one and only time my grandpa was ever in the kitchen, much less in an apron. You see, in spite of this photographic evidence, he was neither a chef nor even an amateur cook. My Grandpa Bill started his career pumping gas as a service station attendant, and then he moved up to car mechanic at Lindstrom Oil. The year I was born, he bought the town hardware store. For the next 15 years or so, my grandma ran the cash register up front while Grandpa remained quietly in the back, fixing chain saws and lawnmowers, and cutting glass for windows. 

There were no aprons involved in this kind of work. And no one would mistake my grandpa for a feminist or someone interested in challenging traditional gender roles! In fact, he is rumored to have once said that he didn’t need to buy one of those automatic dishwashers, because he already had three of them in the house: a wife, a mother-in-law, and a daughter. 

So why do I keep this photo of my grandpa in a ruffled apron on my fridge? Because that image is so out of character, so unexpected, and so far from the role my grandpa played in my family, that seeing it makes me stop and smile every time. It grabs my attention. 

In this way, seeing my grandpa in a ruffled apron is a lot like seeing Mary of Bethany--a woman—sitting at the feet of Jesus. It’s an image that is so out of place, so unexpected, and so far from the role that women played in Jesus’ time—it demands one’s attention.

Now, the story of Mary and Martha is one that, like the Parable of the Good Samaritan, is so familiar I’m afraid it may have lost some of its punch. This brief but powerful scene has become domesticated (pardon the pun) through a long line of women’s Bible studies which ask “Are you a Mary or a Martha?”, and by sermons which proclaim “Blessed are the balanced” and encourage us to be both Mary and Martha, in just the right amounts.

Don’t get me wrong: these are good and timely messages. Who doesn’t need more balance in her life? Who doesn’t need to be reminded at times to stop all the running around and just sit in the presence of Our Lord? But it is precisely because we’re so accustomed to interpreting this story as an epic struggle of Martha vs. Mary; of service vs. contemplation; or of doing vs. hearing the Word, that we may miss out on the absurdity of the whole scene. 

What’s so absurd about this story? Let’s take a look again: 

Jesus stops at a certain village, and lodges with two sisters. While he is at their home, perhaps after dinner, he begins to teach the folks that always seem to gather when Jesus is in town. Martha remains busy with the chores, while Mary sits at Jesus’ feet. Mary, a woman, sits at his feet. Mary, a woman, who should be busy caring for the household, sits at his feet. Mary, a woman, who should be busy caring for the household, sits at the feet of Jesus like a man. 

Are you with me? This wasn’t just absurd. It was downright shocking! Sitting at the feet of a teacher or a rabbi was a role reserved exclusively for men. Seeing a woman in that position was, well—a little like seeing my grandpa in a ruffled apron, standing over a stove. It demands our attention. 

Mary is clearly out of place, by the standards of her context. But even more shocking in this scene is the fact that Jesus doesn’t tell her to get up, to get busy, to get back to work, or to get in her place. Instead, he actually affirms her choice, telling Martha: “Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” 

And what a choice it was! Be assured: this was one heck of a bold and risky move. Martha was likely not the only one in the household that day who looked down her nose at Mary, seated like a man, on the floor at Jesus’ feet. Martha just happened to be her sister, and therefore felt free to say it!  

I’m not necessarily saying that Jesus was some kind of gender-bending trendsetter in 1^st Century Palestine. But what if, instead of being a lesson about balancing prayer and service, the story of Mary and Martha is about Jesus praising Mary for being completely unbalanced? What if Mary’s choice to sit at his feet, going against all norms of hospitality and breaking with the traditional gender roles of her day, is an example of the kind of all-in, shoot-the-moon, audacious devotion Jesus wants from his disciples? 

Remember, this entire chapter of the Gospel of Luke has been about how hearing the Word and then doing it is bound to tick some people off. At the beginning of chapter 10, Jesus sent out the seventy on a mission like “lambs in the midst of wolves”, asking them to take nothing with them—no purse, no bag, and no sandals. And if, on their journey, any town should turn them away? Jesus said, “Go out into the streets and say: ‘Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you.” Go, says Jesus—and never mind what other people say. 

Then, in the Parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus tells a very earnest lawyer the story of a priest and another holy man who, concerned about appearances and cultural expectations, refused to help a man in need. But a Samaritan—an outcast, who had no reputation to lose anyway—ends up helping the wounded man in the ditch. “Go, and do likewise!” says Jesus.

Both of these scenes, which immediately precede the story of Mary and Martha, make the point abundantly clear: if you want to follow Jesus, you will have to go...go out of your comfort zone. Go outside the box. At times, you may have to go beyond the boundaries of your family’s or your culture’s expectations of you.

And then, when Jesus gets to the sisters’ house, we see Martha ticked off because Mary did just that: she left. She left Martha to do the work. She probably even left the dishes in the sink! She left the traditional woman’s role in the household and took a new place. In her time and place, Mary risked much in order to boldly sit at the feet of Jesus and become his disciple. 

Some scholars believe that this scene, as absurd as it is, remained in the Gospels because early Christians were struggling with the role of women in the church. Were they to be helpful accessories, or vital parts of the mission? Hmmm….not much has changed in 2,000 years, eh? 

As a woman in ministry, the story of Mary and Martha demands my attention. It makes me consider all the faithful women who have served Jesus before me, who risked much to follow God’s call, redefining roles, defying expectations, and paving the way for me to be standing here today.

I give thanks for the many women who attended seminary, earning divinity degrees with no chance of actually being ordained. 

I give thanks for my home pastor, Emlyn Ott, who was called as an unmarried woman to be the first “lady pastor” in Stillwater, Oklahoma, and who I’m told for years endured parishioners parking at the end of her street at night to be sure she wasn’t having wild parties or dating any of the church members.

I give thanks for deaconesses and lay preachers, for pastor’s wives, altar guilds, WELCA circles, Sunday school teachers, Bible study leaders, and all the other women whose faithful service and bold witness slowly changed the church’s attitudes about women.

I give thanks for my Grandma Goldie, who worked in a hatchery by day and as a switchboard operator by night; who ran the cash register and the rest of the business at the family hardware store (and probably tied that ruffled apron around my grandpa’s waist to teach him a lesson!) Her tremendous devotion to Jesus planted the first seeds of faith in my heart, and I’m pretty sure she would be thrilled to see that her grand-daughter is now a “lady pastor.”

I give thanks for all of these women—and the many others—who challenged expectations, crossed boundaries and redefined roles, risking ridicule and persecution, all for the sake of serving Jesus Christ. But most of all, I give thanks for the privilege of serving Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, my comforter and my teacher, the prince of peace and true bread from heaven, the alpha and the omega. A place at his feet is the best seat in the house! Amen!

Sisters and brothers in Christ, fellow disciples: Jesus said there is need of only one thing: to hear the Word of God, and to do what the Lord requires. The call is not the same for everyone! But God is still speaking. And where the Lord calls, the Spirit equips—in spite of protests or the expectations of others, and in spite of the world’s worries and distractions, Jesus invites you to sit at his feet. This is truly the better part—and it will not be taken away from us. Amen.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

SERMON FOR SUNDAY, JULY 14, 2013

Luke 10:25-37 

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

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

Today’s Gospel lesson, commonly referred to as the Story of the Good Samaritan, is probably the most frequently used bible reference in our culture. While many may not remember the details (why did Jesus tell the story? where was the man going? how many passed by first?) the basics are well-known, and the phrase “Good Samaritan” itself is used liberally. News reporters especially love to throw the phrase around. A few days ago, a quick search of Google News produced these headlines: 

From Kentucky: “Video catches Good Samaritan coming to the rescue” (this about a man who chased down and tackled a purse-snatcher!)

In Texas: “Good Samaritan puts up 500K to free Texas teen facing prison time”

In New York: “Good Samaritan helps toddler who fell on Metro tracks”

In China: “Good Samaritans pay the price for rescue gone wrong” – this about two teenage boys who must pay a cash settlement after failing to rescue their friends. 

And then there was an article entitled “The Traffic Jam and the Good Samaritan”, which outlined the merits and drawbacks of letting other cars merge into your lane when you are in heavy traffic.

Judging from these few headlines, we can determine that in everyday usage, the term “Good Samaritan” means something like “anyone who does anything helpful for anyone else”, but may be especially appropriate if it’s something dramatic or life-threatening. Or, apparently, if you’re in Chicago traffic…

This simplistic interpretation of Jesus’ parable leaves a few things out, of course. In recent years, preachers have been anxious to emphasize how Christians today cannot truly understand what a joke it was to call someone a “Good Samaritan”. Pairing these words together was a bit like saying “The Honest Illinois Governor”. Samaritans were neither good nor ritually clean nor in any way a neighbor to Jews of good standing. In other words, when Jesus told this parable, he made sure the person who stopped to help was not only the last person you would expect to see doing such a thing—he was also the last person from whom you would want to receive such help. 

While I agree that the oddness of the “Good Samaritan” moniker should probably be more often emphasized (especially to those who write the news headlines), it seems to me we face a much greater challenge in understanding this parable today. To make my point, let’s try a little experiment.

Please take out the scrap paper that was handed to you with your bulletin this morning, and then find something to write with. First, I want you to draw a large tic tac toe board. In the middle square, write your name. And now, in the other squares, as quickly as you can, list the names of your neighbors—the people who live on all sides in your neighborhood. Go!

 OK…now raise your hand if you were able to fill in every square. Keep your hands up if you know all their last names, too! 

Now, a further challenge: Put your hands down and circle the neighbors you have actually talked to in the last week. 

Now, put a star by those neighbors you would feel comfortable asking for help—and by help, I mean more than a cup of sugar. Let’s say a ride to the airport, or watching your kids at the last minute, or helping out when you have a medical emergency.

…

So, how did you do? Are you surprised with the results? Is there room for improvement?

…

My hope is that you are seeing, as I do, that our challenge in understanding the Parable of the Good Samaritan today has less to do with who the Samaritan was, or even who our neighbor is, and more about what it means to be a neighbor.  

What does it mean to be a neighbor today? We may not pass by on the other side if we see our neighbor lying in the ditch—but how many neighbors do we actually talk to before we drive into the garage and close the door? You may know your neighbors’ names and even their kids’ names—but do you know their struggles? Their joys? Their dreams? Do they know yours?

In the last few years of our dismal economy, I’m sure some of you may have had the experience of a neighbor being suddenly gone, with only a “foreclosed” sign left in the yard. Did you know they were struggling? How long had they been carrying that burden alone, hiding it from the neighborhood?

When the lawyer in today’s Gospel lesson asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” he expected a legal interpretation about who could be considered a neighbor—and, more importantly, who could be left out. But Jesus, in his usual way, turned the original question on its head and instead told a story about how to be a neighbor. Who was the neighbor to the man in the ditch? “The one who showed him mercy” answered the lawyer. And Jesus said, “Go, and do likewise.” 

Go, and do likewise. These were challenging and confusing words for the lawyer, and they are the same for us today. You see, I think we are so much more like the lawyer than we’d like to admit. We, like the lawyer, want Jesus’ lesson to be about how to identify our neighbors. And, because we’ve heard the story before, we think we already know the answer—Jesus says, “Everyone is your neighbor! Even the person in the ditch. And even the Samaritan.”

So we nod and say enthusiastically, “That’s right, Jesus—and that’s why we would never pass by someone lying in a ditch, no matter who they are. We will be Good Samaritans, if we ever have the opportunity!”

And then we drive home, and into the garage, and push the button for the garage door that separates us from the pain, and grief, and sorrow of our actual neighbors. Being a “Good Samaritan” is reserved for the dramatic or extraordinary moments; but being a “neighbor”—even to people we don’t like—is no more challenging than a quick wave and a card at Christmas. So, Jesus says everyone is a neighbor? No problem! We got this.

This morning, on a day when our country is reeling from a court verdict which makes us all question what it means to be a neighbor, it is right for us to ask: What does Jesus mean when he tells us to “Go and do likewise?” 

Remember, the lawyer’s original question was “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Said in a different way, we might understand his question as “I know there’s something beyond this rat race. I know there’s a different way to be in the here and now, as well as in the hereafter. Tell me how to do it!”

When Jesus’ first answer—that the lawyer should do what he has already been taught (love God and love your neighbor)—wasn’t satisfying, he gets specific:

Let me tell you a story, says Jesus.

Let me tell you about what it can be like when people stop seeing each other as either Jew or Samaritan, insider or outsider, gay or straight, black or white; as either neighborhood watch or a threat to the neighborhood. You may find that love casts out your fear.

Let me tell you about what it can be like when you stop judging people from a far, and instead get close enough to hear their stories. You may find that they share your pain. 

Let me tell you what it can be like when you let others close enough to show you mercy and love. You may find out the neighborhood is bigger than you imagined.

Let me tell you what it can be like when you get in the ditch—or open the garage door, or better yet, the front door—and love your neighbor as you would love yourself. 

Sisters, brothers, neighbors in Christ: Jesus sends us outside of our tiny little boxes, all in a row, and into the messy ditch of life with others. Is this kind of Good Samaritan, “all-in” love a scary thing? Absolutely! But we know that “perfect love casts out fear”. And as followers of Jesus, we believe this is the kind of God we serve, after all—a God who did not keep us at arm’s length, and who did not pass us by, but who came near to us in Jesus Christ, our savior, our healer, our comforter, our brother, and our neighbor. 

So when we “go and do likewise”, we go boldly and with confidence, knowing that Jesus is already there. He’s already been down this road. He’s already been to the ditch, and to the courtroom, and to the hospital, and to the funeral home, and to the cross with us. Thanks be to God!

Now, to end this sermon today, I will leave you with one more challenge. Turn that scrap paper over, and make another tic tac toe board. Put yourself in the middle again. 

And now, this time, please fill in the squares with the names of the people sitting around you in the pews. To your left and right, but also in front and behind you! Don’t worry, I’ll give you a moment.

If there are any empty spaces, I would ask you to take a moment during the passing of the peace to fill them in. Talk to your neighbors. Find out their names. And if you already know their names—take it one step further. How are they doing? How can you pray for them? How can they pray for you? People of God—go, and do likewise. Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, July 7, 2013: You are not Alone

Sermon Sunday July 7^th, 2013

Gospel: You are not alone.

Pr. Paul Cannon

Good Morning Bethany Lutheran!

As many of you know, I grew up out in the wild west known as Utah.  And if Utah is famous for any one thing, it’s famous for being the central hub of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints – known as the LDS church aka, the Mormon church.

And I have to tell ya, that being a Lutheran in Utah gets kind of lonely.  There was like 3 or 4 kids in my confirmation class and two of them were me and my brother. So my parents, being the wise, and gentle people that they are (and I’m not just saying that because they are here this morning…wink wink) sent me off to college in MN to learn my Lutheran roots, or as my mother secretly wished, to marry a Lutheran girl!  Mission accomplished.

It was a good move on my parent’s part, not just because I married a Pastor’s daughter, but because up in Minnesota Lutherans are like ants – they were everywhere.  You couldn’t look under a rock without finding a Lutheran eating a hot-dish (dontcha know).

The opposite is true in Utah.  The state is well over 50% Mormon, so though I’m not an expert on Mormonism, I have learned a lot about them just by living there. About half the kids in my school were Mormon, we had Mormon neighbors and Mormon teachers.  Most of our politicians and even the newscasters were all Mormon. 

A lot people in this part of the world don’t know much about the LDS church.  Maybe you have a neighbor who is Mormon, or maybe your doorbell has been rung once or twice by a couple of goofy-looking teenagers on bikes.  You know the ones I’m talking about.  They wear white button-downs, black ties, black pants and they have those name tags that have the ironic title “elder” printed on them.

Well, one thing I can say from my experience is that the LDS community in Utah is that on the one hand they really take care and look after one another.  But on the other hand, they can also be very closed off.  Often the Mormon kids would only hang out with each other, so living there sometimes felt very isolated and lonely as a Christian.  Our family wasn’t ever invited to a Mormon neighbor’s house and I never really hung out with LDS kids because they were only supposed to hang out with each other.

I bring all this up because today we are talking about community & mission.  And those are two things that the LDS church simultaneously really good at, and really bad at.

And it starts today with our Gospel. Mormons take the Bible passage we read today about as seriously – and if I’m being blantantly honest, more seriously – than most Christians take it.

The story comes from the Gospel of Luke.  Jesus had been traveling across the countryside, visiting towns and acquiring more and more disciples. In our story today, he gathers a group of seventy of his followers and then sends them out in pairs ahead of him to proclaim the good news to all the villages they come across.

And this is the model the Mormon church has picked up on. They send their young 19-20 year old male missionaries out in pairs.  And that’s why whenever you see LDS Missionaries there are two of them – because Jesus sent out the seventy in pairs.

There’s a lot of good reasons to go out in pairs and perhaps most significantly, going out in pairs sends the message, “You’re not alone.” You’re not alone. Those missionaries always know that they don’t have to go knocking on doors by themselves.  They have a partner – somebody who has their back. 

Time and time again, our scripture tells us the same thing: that we were never meant to do it all by ourselves.  In the Garden of Eden, God looked at Adam and said, “It is not good that man should be alone.”  Then what did he do? God made Adam a partner. 

In the first chapter of Matthew, an Angel appears to Joseph and tells him “’Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,’ And what does Emmanuel mean? … ‘God with us.’”

It’s interesting because on the one hand, the LDS church models this really well. They send all their missionaries in pairs so they aren’t alone. Their tight-knit communities look after one another.  And those are great traits to have in a church.  But our family’s experience (and I know the experience of many Utah Christians is similar) was that they often did it to the exclusion of outsiders – to the exclusion of their neighbors.

That’s not a reflection of God’s Kingdom.  God reaches out to the lonely.  He speaks through the outcasts.  Jesus didn’t exclude people he deemed unworthy.  He built his church on them.

It’s not just the LDS church that does this.  Lutherans can be guilty of it as well.  Too often we reflect the world we live in, rather than God’s Kingdom. Our world is one that asks “Why should I care?” “It’s not my problem if my neighbor can’t afford health insurance.” “It’s not my problem if people are dying of Malaria in Africa.” “It’s not my problem if the new kid at school doesn’t have somebody to talk to.”  It’s just not my problem.

As a church, we need to be counter-cultural to this.  We are called to go out in pairs supporting one another in God’s mission.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, breathe easy, I have no plans to send you out door to door with cheesy pamphlets explaining how to be Lutheran. I’m not even sure what would be on a pamphlet like that. How to be a Lutheran: Step one: Receive God’s grace.  Step Two: Receive God’s grace.  Step three (optional): Eat hotdish.  No.  Not all of us are called to be evangelical missionaries.

(Hotdish is the Midwest term for a casserole that contains basically everything you can find in your pantry/freezer.  mmmm...hotdish).

However everybody has a calling.  Let me say that again.  Everybody has a calling.  Sometimes we have this faulty assumption that it’s only the Pastors who are quote “called” to things.  But that’s not how Martin Luther saw it.  He believed that all people are called into their stations in life. So whether your calling is as an accountant, a teacher, a stay-at-home parent, a student, a retired grandparent or a customer service rep, God has called you to be where you are.

And all of us are called in whatever we do to stand with others against injustice.  We are all called to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. We are all called to be God’s hands and feet in the world. And that can be a daunting task!  There are a lot of hungry people!  There is a lot of injustice in the world!

But the grace in all of this is that God doesn’t leave you alone to do these things by yourself. Isn’t that what we heard Paul write to the community in Galatia this morning?  He begs them to “bear one another’s burdens.”  Bear one another’s burdens. It’s both a calling and a blessing.  

We are called to bear our neighbor’s struggles.  So it is our problem if our neighbor’s can’t afford to send their sick kid to the doctor.  It is our problem every time a person dies of a preventable disease in Africa.  It is our problem when the new kid in school doesn’t have anybody to talk to.

The blessing is that you are not alone. You have a community here at Bethany that wants to support you. You have a God that has promised in Baptism to be Emmanuel – God with you. So when your burdens get heavy – when you lose your job or are fighting depression or trying to kick an addiction – you have a community that will help you bear those heavy loads.

This community exists to support one another and God’s entire creation. It’s what God calls us to do.  God’s mission for this church is not only that we can support you in your struggles, but that we look outside of ourselves as well. 

So, people of God, I say to you,

“Go in peace, and know that you do not go alone.”

Amen