4th Sunday in Lent: March 10, 2013

4^th Sunday in Lent: March 10, 2013

Luke 15: The Prodigal Son

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

“I don’t think our Lord would do something like that…”

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

About three days into my very first week as pastor of a church, I was invited to the Annual Women’s Luncheon. I was so nervous to be sitting with all those lifelong members. These were powerful women who, I knew, would be taking reports back to the others about just who this new “lady pastor” was.

Everything was going fine as we ate lunch and had some friendly small talk. Then one of the ladies asked me what I had been reading recently. I love to talk about books, so I launched into an explanation of the latest novel I was reading. It was a book called “Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal.” It’s a great book—if a bit off-color at times—about what it must have been like to grow up as the best friend of the Son of God. If Jesus was a real human kid, then he had to have real friends, right? I told them about one scene, in which a teenage Jesus is hanging out with his younger brother. The little brother takes a lizard and smashes his head with a rock. Jesus picks up the dead lizard and puts it in his mouth, and then pulls it out again, resurrected. This makes the little brother squeal with glee, so he smashes the lizard again, and Jesus resurrects it, again. And again. And again…

So I’m telling the ladies this story, and then I notice that they all have looks of horror on their faces. The woman who had asked what I was reading leaned toward me with much seriousness and said, “Well, I don’t think our Lord would do anything like that.”

That went well, don’t you think?

Apparently, we expect our saviors to be dignified and respectable. We certainly don’t expect the Savior of the world to be resurrecting lizards for the amusement of his little brother.

The Pharisees and scribes also had expectations of the one who would be savior. In fact, our Gospel lesson for today begins by reporting how the Pharisees and scribes were all grumbling about Jesus, saying “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”  How scandalous. How undignified! You can almost hear them grumbling, “I just don’t think our Lord would do anything like that.” 

It is in answer to these criticisms of his ministry that Jesus tells the story of the Prodigal Son. Now, we know this parable inside and out. Even folks who have never read the Bible, or who have rarely darkened the door of a church, know at least the bones of the story: There is a man who has two sons. The younger son asks for his inheritance early, and then squanders it while partying it up in the city. When he’s made a complete mess of his life, he comes crawling back home. But instead of being angry, or throwing him into the barn, the father runs to his wayward son, lavishing him with food and gifts. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now I see.” Amen?

We love that hymn, and we love this parable, chiefly because nearly all of us can identify with the wayward younger brother. All of us, at one time or another, have strayed far from home, far from God, far from our commitments, or from our own values, only to wake up in a pig barn, muttering to ourselves, “This place stinks!” It is Good News to hear Jesus tell of God’s amazing grace and radical welcome for those of us who, like sheep, have gone astray. The story of the Prodigal Son is, in so many ways, our own story of being welcomed into the arms of God through the cross of Jesus Christ.

But there’s one character in this parable we often forget—the elder brother. Where was the elder brother while everyone else was partying? He was outside the door, grumbling. He was standing there with arms crossed, complaining to anyone who would listen that he had been faithful. He was a rule-follower. In fact, he was doing double the fieldwork since the little brother took off and was presumed dead. And now, just because he came crawling back, his father is throwing a party? You can almost hear the older brother, leaning forward and saying with much seriousness: “I just don’t think Dad would do anything like that.”

It’s true that each of us is the younger brother, being welcomed home with open arms. But it’s also true that we often more closely resemble the elder brother, grumbling when we see God throwing a party for someone we deem unworthy. How many times have we judged someone as beyond saving or beyond forgiveness? How often do we find ourselves feeling righteous because we were here first, because we follow the rules, or because we think we’ve put in the hard work all these years? When have you found yourself saying, “I just don’t think our Lord would do something like that”?

When Robert was serving his first congregation in Texas, I remember a lengthy discussion among the ladies about whether the acolytes should be allowed to wear flip-flops under their robes. Undignified. The Lord certainly wouldn’t approve.

And not long ago, having a female preacher leading a Lutheran church fell into that category as well! I still remember the hushed tones my grandmother used when she called to tell me her church had hired “A lady pastor.”

What is considered undignified, unacceptable, or beyond the scope of what or who God will welcome into God’s house has certainly changed over the years. Consider the controversies over divorced and remarried pastors, or pastors who were also masons. And what about tattooed pastors? What about gay pastors?

What about children at communion? Or infant communion? How do we feel about the un-baptized receiving communion?

What if we extended an invitation to the PADS clients to show up early and worship with us on Sunday mornings?

What if we held services in Spanish once a month and invited our Head Start families?

Since I hear a lot about the parking problem at Bethany, what if we celebrate communion in the parking lot and just invite the whole neighborhood? We could even have a drive-through communion stations under the canopy!

Are you uncomfortable yet?

The truth is, our church sign might say “All are welcome,” but all of us have “elder brother” moments of grumbling about who shows up at the party.

Surely people should be required to dress up for church, like we used to.

Surely that guy won’t get into heaven.

Surely God wouldn’t forgive that sin.

It seems to me the most important thing Jesus teaches us through the parable of the Prodigal Son is how God’s love defies all our notions of formality, respectability, and dignity. When the younger son is crawling back home, what we expect is for the father to stay put and watch him come down the lane. We might imagine that any normal father—even a very loving father—would at least drag out those last few moments. Stand with his arms crossed. Grimace a little bit! We might expect him to convey in some small way that this behavior was simply unacceptable.

But that’s not what happens at all! Instead, the way Jesus tells it, as soon as the father sees his son in the distance, hikes up his robes and runs. He runs, kicking up dust, through the fields, past the servants and the animals. He runs, in a manner unsuited to a man of his status as a landowner and elder. The neighbors are talking, his robes are flapping in the wind, and still the father—our Heavenly Father—keeps on running, until finally he meets that beloved lost child on the road, and enfolds him in his arms.

Friends, this is God’s extravagant, undignified, over-the-top love for you and for all people. God’s embrace is freely given and ever-expanding.

We see the scandal of God’s love for us most clearly when we see Jesus on the cross.

And we experience God’s radical welcome for us here, each time we gather as a community in worship.

Here is where we celebrate that God’s love is beyond human love.

Here is where we sing of a Jesus whose grace is truly amazing.

And here is where we gather to banish the elder brother thoughts that creep in about who is coming to dinner.

Hear again the Good News: God is throwing a party, and it is for you--and you—and you—and especially for those who are not yet here. Amen.

3rd Sunday in Lent: March 3, 2013

3^rd Sunday in Lent: March 3, 2013

Isaiah 55:1-9

“Satisfied”

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

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

“Ho, everyone who thirsts,

come to the waters;

and you that have no money,

come, buy and eat!

Come, buy wine and milk

without money and without price.

Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,

and your labor for that which does not satisfy?

Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,

and delight yourselves in rich food.”

Earlier this week, when I was stuck in that freak blizzard in west Texas, my dear spouse sent me a news story he thought I shouldn’t miss. It seems Czech authorities have discovered that my beloved IKEA Swedish meatballs…are made of horsemeat.

Now, to be fair, the meatballs at our nearest store (the one we affectionately call “The Chicago Swedish Embassy”) are reported to be unaffected. But still, my main reaction to this story is just “EWWW!” Can I get an Amen? Or how about an “ewwww”? 

My secondary reaction to this story has been to reflect on how the things we eat, or buy, or spend time acquiring, often end up being mostly....horsemeat.

We could start with our food, which resembles less and less anything our ancestors would have recognized as dinner. But there’s also the other stuff that fills our homes, our garages, and the hours in our days. We labor to buy a piece of the American dream, and then we hunger for a bigger and better one. We complain about how technology drives us crazy, but salivate over the newest iPhone, the Playstation 4, and the promise of an affordable 3-D printer. 

If we’re not spending our time laboring for the next best thing, we’re certainly working toward the weekend. “Thank God it’s Friday!” we used to say. Now, it’s more like “Thank God it’s Saturday between the hours of 6 am and 8 am”, because all the other weekend hours are filled with playing catch-up. You know it’s bad when you start wishing for a sick day. Not the flu, of course, or anything serious, but just a good cough, or a sniffle—something that would justify staying home and finally getting some Sabbath rest. Since most of you are probably too tired for an “amen”, just nod if you know what I’m talking about…

And what if we do actually get a real weekend or a vacation, or finally reach retirement age? If we’ve worked so hard—and placed so many hopes and expectations on that precious time off—then when it arrives, it just doesn’t satisfy. Often, we discover that what we thought would be a banquet of relaxation, fun, and family togetherness, turns out to be—mostly horsemeat. 

“Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,

and your labor for that which does not satisfy?

Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,

and delight yourselves in rich food.”

These words were written to Israel when it was a community in exile. The people were lost, in more ways than one. After so many years in a foreign land, they had begun to hunger for the things Babylon had to offer. After all, Jerusalem was a distant memory and God’s promises seemed to be just so many words. But then the prophet Isaiah arrived, urging them to give up, once and for all, their fascination with Babylonian-style power and gods. Like a street vendor in a city market, the one true God Yahweh, called to them, saying, 

“Hey there! All who are thirsty, come to the water! Are you penniless? Come anyway—buy and eat! Come, buy your drinks, buy wine and milk. Buy without money—everything’s free! Why do you spend your money on junk food, your hard-earned cash on cotton candy (…or horsemeat?)
Listen to me, listen well: Eat only the best, fill yourself with only the finest. Pay attention, come close now, listen carefully to my life-giving, life-nourishing words.” (The Message version—with my addition)

Today, these words are on God’s lips again, and they are directed toward us. We, who are fascinated with the “little g gods” of progress, power, prestige, and popularity; we who have adopted the priorities of this foreign culture; are being called back home. Especially during this season of Lent, God calls us to turn back, to repent, and to listen carefully, that we may live. 

Listen carefully, for God’s Good News is we have been given free gifts of grace, forgiveness, acceptance, and love through the cross of Jesus Christ. He walked among us, making all ground holy ground. He suffered with us, that we would never suffer alone. He lived and died for his friends, saving the whole world with the power of love. And because he lives, life is worth living!

Amen! 

This is indeed God’s Good News for our bad situation. But in a world where Swedish meatballs turn out to be horsemeat, where foot-long sandwiches turn out to be 11 inches long, and where the words spoken by elected leaders rarely show regard for fact or truth, it can be difficult to trust that the Word of God will stand up to the test. Just how rich is this food? How good is the wine? How do we know these free gifts will really satisfy? 

Friends, if you are asking these questions this morning, you have come to the right place. For nowhere do we experience the richness of God’s love more perfectly, more tangibly, and more radically than in Holy Communion. It may seem like just one more thing to get done, one more line to stand in, or one more item to check off the list, but what happens here at the table each and every week is in fact a banquet of grace, forgiveness, and healing. Our taste buds may have become accustomed to the richness of this heavenly food—but for those who receive it for the first time, who are returning after a long absence, or who simply approach the table with great hunger, the miracle and mystery of this meal are transformative.

A number of years ago, a journalist named Sara Miles, raised an atheist, wandered into a church and found herself transformed. In her book, “Take This Bread”, she tells the story of her first communion:  

“Early one winter morning, when Katie was sleeping at her father’s house, I walked into St. Gregory’s Episcopal Church in San Francisco.  I had no earthly reason to be there. I’d never heard a Gospel reading, never said the Lord’s Prayer. I was certainly not interested in becoming a Christian—or, as I thought of it rather less politely, a religious nut. But on other long walks, I’d passed the beautiful wooden building, with its shingled steeples and plain windows, and this time I went in, on an impulse, with no more than a reporter’s habitual curiosity. 

The rotunda was flooded with slanted morning light. A table in the center of the open, empty space was ringed high above by a huge neo-Byzantine mural of unlikely saint figures with gold halos, dancing; outside, in the back, water trickled from a huge slab of rock set against the hillside. Past the rotunda, and a forest of standing silver crosses, there was a spare, spacious area with chairs instead of pews, where about twenty people were sitting.

I walked in, took a chair, and tried not to catch anyone’s attention. There were windows looking out on a hillside covered in geraniums, and I could hear birds squabbling outside. Then a man and a woman in long tie-dyed robes stood and began chanting in harmony. There was no organ, no choir, no pulpit: just the unadorned voices of the people, and long silences framed by the ringing of deep Tibetan bowls. I sang, too. It crossed my mind that this was ridiculous.

We sat down and stood up, sang and sat down, waited and listened and stood and sang, and it was all pretty peaceful and sort of interesting. “Jesus invites everyone to his table,” the woman announced, and we started moving up in a stately dance to the table in the rotunda. It had some dishes on it, and a pottery goblet.

And then we gathered around that table. And there was more singing and standing, and someone was putting a piece of fresh crumbly bread in my hands, saying “the body of Christ,” and handing me the goblet of sweet wine, saying “the blood of Christ,” and then something  outrageous and terrifying happened. Jesus happened to me.”  (“Take This Bread” by Sara Miles, pp. 57-58)

Sisters and brothers, what we receive at the Lord’s Table is so much more than bread and wine. What we hold in our hands, and taste on our lips, is the very life of Jesus Christ, freely given for us. Jesus happens to us when we come to the table, hungry for forgiveness. Jesus happens to us when we come to the water, thirsty for salvation. Jesus happens to us when we listen to the Word of God, aching for acceptance.  

And this love, this bread, this grace we have received through the cross of Christ? It fills the belly and nourishes the soul. It satisfies.

When I lived in Germany as a college student, I learned the hard way that you should not translate every phrase literally from one language to another.

Sitting at the table after a particularly good meal, I sat back, patted my belly, and said to my hosts, “Ich bin voll!” thinking I was saying, “I’m full.”

Apparently, what I actually announced to the table was, “I am pregnant!”

The hosts were gracious enough to teach me that in German, when you’ve had enough to eat, you should say “Ich bin satt” or “I am satisfied.” 

Satisfaction. Isn’t that what we all yearn for? Don’t we all come here hoping for release from the endless hunger for things, for power, for acceptance, and for love? 

My friends in Christ, return to the Lord your God. Incline your ear and listen, that you may live.  And come to the table, knowing that what you receive here, through the cross of Christ, is so much better than the horsemeat the world offers. Come…and be satisfied.

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!

2nd Sunday after Pentecost: June 10, 2012

2^nd Sunday after Pentecost: June 10, 2012

Mark 3:20-35

Preacher: Pastor Carrie B. Smith

*Many thanks to Anna Carter Florence and her book "Preaching as Testimony" (Westminster John Knox Press, 2007) for introducing me to the story of Jarena Lee. Thanks also to Dr. Craig Satterlee for his Logjam Appointment which provided the inspiration for this sermon.*

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

Jarena Lee was born in Cape May, New Jersey, on February 11, 1783. She was most likely born to free parents, but at the age of seven her family’s poverty meant she was hired out as a servant and would not see her family again for fourteen years. This was effectively a legal form of slavery, and an all-too common African-American story of the time.

As a result of these difficult beginnings, Jarena struggled with depression and feelings of abandonment her whole life, but in 1804, at the age of twenty-one, she moved to Philadelphia to gain a fresh start. Her first order of business was to find a place to worship, and that she did, at the African Methodist Episcopal Church headed by Pastor Richard Allen. Upon finding her church family, she wrote, “This is the people to whom my heart unites.” 

But just three weeks into her time at the A.M.E. church, Jarena experienced a strange thing. Just as the preacher was beginning his Sunday sermon, Jarena writes:

“That moment, though hundreds were present, I did leap to my feet and declare that God, for Christ’s sake, had pardoned the sins of my soul…For a few moments I had the power to exhort sinners, and to tell of the wonders and of the goodness of Him who had clothed me with His salvation. During this time the minister was silent, until my soul felt its duty had been performed, when he declared another witness of the power of Christ to forgive sins on earth, was manifest in my conversion.” 

Now a parishioner leaping to her feet in the middle of a sermon would certainly get our attention today here at Bethany, but in 1804 there were some very good reasons why this would be more than odd—most notably, the fact that Jarena Lee was a woman.

If a man had leaped to his feet in such a manner, one might have expected him to be called in to the pastor’s office, perhaps taken under his wing and nurtured into an assistant preacher. But women were not only forbidden from being preachers in the year 1804—they weren’t even allowed to speak in church. This event, therefore, was for Jarena and her church community nothing more than an exciting anomaly in an otherwise normal Sunday worship service. No one called Jarena into the pastor’s office. No one recommended seminary or suggested she call the candidacy committee. No one took her seriously, because Jarena was a woman, and of course, God doesn’t work that way.

A few years later, however, in 1811, it happened again. Jarena writes:

“On a certain time, an impressive silence fell upon me, and I stood as if some one was about to speak to me, yet I had no such thought in my heart.—But to my utter surprise there seemed to sound a voice which I thought I distinctly heard, and most certainly understand, which said to me, “Go preach the Gospel”! I immediately replied aloud, “No one will believe me.” Again I listened, and again the same voice seemed to say—“Preach the Gospel; I will put words in your mouth, and will turn your enemies to become your friends.”

This time, Jarena began to seriously doubt her sanity. Maybe this was Satan speaking, and not God! After all, there were exactly zero “lady pastors” in her life to act as role models or mentors. Women preachers were as unbelievable as unicorns or the Cubs winning a World Series. How could she be certain this was God calling her? Just to be sure, Jarena went in to visit her pastor, Richard Allen.

Pastor Allen listened carefully as Jarena explained that God had called her to preach. And then he coolly commented that “the Discipline knew nothing at all about it—that it did not call for women preachers.” Call it tradition, call it church authority, call it “good order”, but for Jarena Lee, the answer was, “God doesn’t work that way.” 

So Jarena went home and did what many a frustrated woman preacher has done: she married one instead. Sadly, just six years later her husband, the Reverend Joseph Lee, died, leaving her with two small children. And Jarena couldn’t ignore the call any longer.

So she went back to visit Pastor Allen, and this time he granted her permission to hold “prayer meetings” and to “exhort” but of course never to preach. Why? Because, of course, God doesn’t work that way.

But one Sunday in worship, the preacher stood up and read the text from Jonah and then—in Jarena’s words—he seemed to “lose the Spirit.” So Jarena leaped to her feet and interrupted the preacher. 

“I told them I was like Jonah; for it had been then nearly eight years since the Lord had called me to preach his gospel to the fallen sons and daughters of Adam’s race, but that I had lingered like him, and delayed to go at the bidding of the Lord…During the exhortation, God made manifest his power in a manner sufficient to show the world that I was called to labor according to my ability, and the grace given unto me.”

When she sat down, Jarena braced herself to be thrown out of the church or at least publicly reprimanded. Instead, Pastor Allen stood up and told the congregation that God had changed his mind. He now believed that Jarena was indeed called preach! And really, what choice did he have? There she was: a unicorn; a preaching woman right there in their midst. 

After that day, Jarena went on to become the first woman licensed to preach in the A.M.E. church (a full 150 years before the ELCA, by the way) and to have a thirty year preaching career. She was also only the second African-American woman to have a book published—a book in which she chronicles how she "travelled two thousand three hundred and twenty-five miles, and preached one hundred and seventy-eight sermons.” God does work that way, it turns out.

Jarena Lee’s story highlights the way we so often get caught up in our judgments about how God can and does work in the world. It wasn’t too long ago that our denomination said: “Women can’t preachers! God doesn’t work that way!” And yet here I stand—along with Angela and Mary Carol and a host of other female Lutheran preachers who came before us. 

Women’s ordination is generally a non-issue for us today, but there are certainly others we get hung up on. 

Gay people can’t get married! God doesn’t work that way.

You can’t just welcome everybody to communion! God doesn’t work that way.

You can’t just feed people, because they’ll keep coming back! God doesn’t work that way. 

You can’t heal people on the Sabbath, Jesus! God doesn’t work that way.

You can’t send fishermen to cast out demons, Jesus! God doesn’t work that way. 

You can’t forgive everyone, all their sins, Jesus, and in such a dramatic and public way! God doesn’t work that way.

Most often, of course, when we say “God doesn’t work that way” what we really mean is “the church doesn’t work that way” or “our culture doesn’t work that way” or “our government doesn’t work that way”…or, if we’re honest: “I don’t feel comfortable when God works that way.”

This is what is happening in the scene from Mark chapter 3 which we heard this morning. Jesus was surrounded by the crowds, who were so eager to see him he couldn’t even find time to eat. He was healing people right and left, even on the Sabbath, and even when they were unclean. He was eating with tax collectors and sinners. He was silencing demons and teaching with authority. But others were uncomfortable with Jesus working like this. In fact, his family heard the rumors that he was out of his mind, and they showed up to haul him home. 

And the scribes—well, the scribes were like the pastor and other church authorities who told Jarena Lee “our discipline doesn’t call for woman preachers”. The scribes took one look at what Jesus was doing and said “God doesn’t work that way. This must be Beelzebul. He’s obviously possessed by a demon!” In other words: “You’re making us uncomfortable, Jesus.”

And Jesus’ response is one that should make us sit up and take notice.

There are many sins which we humans might consider to be unforgivable. And yet Jesus has said that the one thing God cannot forgive is blaspheming against the Holy Spirit—which, contrary to what I thought when growing up, has nothing to do with spouting four-letter words. Blaspheming against the Holy Spirit, as seen in this Gospel passage, is denying the work of God. Blaspheming against the Holy Spirit is what happens when we take a look at who Jesus is healing, who God is forgiving, who God is calling to preach the Gospel, or how the Spirit is moving in a place and among a people and say: “Nope. God doesn’t work that way. That must be Satan.”

Jesus directed these strong words to a people who thought they knew everything.  This was very bad news for the scribes and authority figures who thought they had the power to decide how God works and when. For there he was, standing before them: Jesus, son of a carpenter and Son of God; Jesus, healer of our souls; Jesus, friend of the friendless; Jesus, our brother; Jesus Christ, our Savior, come to set the captives free. 

And this Jesus, crucified and risen, reveals to us the Good News that God does indeed work this way:

God forgives beyond our deepest hopes.

God heals against anyone’s rules. 

God creates family where we least expect it. 

God saves us from our own judgments.

God seeks out the lost.

God makes a way out of no way.

God is still speaking—and still shattering our expectations.

Wherever we see healing, wholeness, forgiveness and reconciliation rising out of judgment, fear, and brokenness, we see Jesus Christ and the work of the Holy Spirit, and we can say without a doubt, “Yes, indeed God does work that way!”