Reformation Day Sermon: Sunday, October 27, 2013

Reformation Day Sermon: October 27, 2013

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Romans 3:19-28; John 8:31-36

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

Yesterday, I was in Chicago for the wedding of a dear friend. At the reception, I mentioned that I would be going home soon to finish my sermon for Reformation Sunday. There were a few blank stares from the non-clergy in the room. “You know, Reformation Day,” I said, “It’s kind of a big deal.”

One friend-- an Episcopal priest—responded: “Preaching on Reformation Day shouldn’t be too hard! I mean, isn’t it just “Grace, Luther, Bible, Beer, and repeat?” Another clergy friend helpfully offered, “The best sermon ever is ‘God loves you—pay attention—Amen.’”

To which Luther might respond: “This is most certainly true!”

But this is indeed Reformation Sunday, and it is kind of a big deal for Christians in the Lutheran tradition. This is the day we remember how, on October 31, 1517, a priest named Martin Luther posted 95 talking points (we call them the 95 Theses) on the church door in Wittenberg, Germany. He posted them to start a conversation, and instead started a movement. Luther’s ideas, combined with the invention of the printing press and the advent of general unease with the excesses of the church across Europe, resulted in what is known as the Reformation. We, who call ourselves Lutherans, are Christians whose ways of worshipping, reading the Bible, and structuring ourselves as a church, spring directly from this period in history. We are a Reformation church, still proclaiming 500 years later “ecclesia semper reformanda est”—the church is always to be reformed. Amen!

I love Reformation Day, and not just because we get to sing “A Mighty Fortress” and hang the Luther Rose banner and witness fifteen of our young people affirming their baptisms at this afternoon’s Confirmation service. I love Reformation Day because it’s an opportunity to preach, loud and proud, about God’s gift of grace. This is the day when I get to stand here and say, along with the author of Romans: “There is no distinction, since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God; they are now justified by his grace as a gift”; and again, “We hold that a person is justified by faith apart from works prescribed by the law”; and, with John’s Gospel, I get to proclaim to all my brothers and sisters in Christ, ““If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free!”

Sisters and brothers, say it with me: Grace alone, Faith alone, Word alone.

As a church of the Reformation we proclaim that we are saved by grace alone, faith alone, and Word alone. This is the saving truth that changed Martin Luther’s life and began a reforming movement within the Christian church: that no human being is made right with God by being good or following the rules, but that we are good and acceptable and worthy of being loved because God said so. In fact, God’s opinion on the subject of you and your worthiness is made clear on the cross, where our brother Jesus, Son of God, willingly gave his life for the sake of the world. This is grace, given as a gift, and revealed to us again and again through the Word. Jesus said, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” Amen!

But the truth revealed to us through the Holy Scriptures is just so good we can hardly believe it! The gift of grace is so beautiful, so bountiful, and so boundless that we spend our lives making up rules, laws, excuses and exceptions to explain it away.

It’s like this: Do you know that annoying commercial that comes on every year (In fact, starting in about a week…) where the husband goes out to get the morning paper and finds a luxury car sitting in the driveway with a giant bow on top? Or maybe you know the one where the wife goes to get an ornament off the Christmas tree and finds a diamond ring? Or, most annoying of all, the one where the kids come downstairs to find a perfectly adorable puppy under the tree with a set of tickets to Disneyland in its mouth? 

Are you with me? Well, I hate those commercials. I hate what they do to our brains and hearts, how they change our expectations of Christmas and gift-giving. I hate them because then, on Christmas or a birthday, when we present our friends and family a lovingly knitted scarf or a carefully chosen sweater or whatever other gift we can truly afford to give, somewhere in the back of our minds we are thinking “It should have been a puppy. Or a car. Or a car with a puppy in it.”

These commercials are crazy, and especially crazy is the way they undermine our appreciation of every reasonable, thoughtful, and true gift given or received in love.

But here’s the thing: what we do with God’s grace is the exact opposite. God has already given us the gift to beat all gifts. God has given us the luxury car with the bow, complete with the puppy in the front seat and carrying the tickets to Disneyland, and what we say is “Dear God, thank you SO much for the new car floor mats. They’re just what I wanted.”

Can’t you just hear God saying, “Wait, what? Didn’t you see the car? And the puppy? And the Disney tickets?”

And we just respond, “Well, I saw all that, but I didn’t think that was for ME.”

Friends, God has given the world this amazing gift of grace for all through the cross of Jesus Christ, and we look right at it and say “Thanks for loving all the good people, God.” We even read it in Scripture and don’t believe it. We think “Yeah, it says that, but that can’t be for ME.” 

So we make up our own rules:

“God loves everyone: but I can’t kick that addiction, so I’m the exception. Jesus is present in the bread and wine: but I’m not sure how that works, so he must not be there for me. Jesus died to save the world: except for my neighbor, because he’s a real jerk. I know grace is free: but I’m gonna earn it, gosh darn it.”

But friends, on this day of all days we can remember that Martin Luther (along with so many others) has already been down that road. He struggled with those same questions and tried to follow those same rules and even made up a few of his own. But it was through diligent prayer and study of Scripture that he was convinced of the magnitude of God’s gift of grace. He was so convinced that he stood in front of princes and church authorities to say, “Here I stand!” I cannot and will not take it back! For this Good News is just too good to ignore. It’s too good to hide. It’s too good not to share.

Theologian and food writer Robert Farrar Capon, who passed away just a few weeks ago, said this about the Reformation:

“The Reformation was a time when men went blind, staggering drunk because they had discovered, in the dusty basement of late medievalism, a whole cellar full of fifteen-hundred-year-old, two-hundred proof Grace–bottle after bottle of pure distillate of Scripture, one sip of which would convince anyone that God saves us single-handedly. The word of the Gospel–after all those centuries of trying to lift yourself into heaven by worrying about the perfection of your bootstraps–suddenly turned out to be a flat announcement that the saved were home before they started…Grace has to be drunk straight: no water, no ice, and certainly no ginger ale; neither goodness, nor badness, not the flowers that bloom in the spring of super spirituality could be allowed to enter into the case.”

 (― Robert Farrar Capon, Between Noon & Three: Romance, Law & the Outrage of Grace)

Sisters and brothers, my message to you this morning is that being Lutheran has nothing to do with Jello or casseroles or upper-midwestern culture. It actually has nothing to do with beer, either! Our understanding of God’s grace is the true gift and heritage of the reformation. We are Lutherans when we live into that grace. We are evangelical Lutherans when we share it with others! And we are truly free when we can look at ourselves and say “I’m not perfect, but I’m enough, because I am loved by God. Jesus has it covered. And this truth sets me free! I am free to love, free to live, free to appreciate each day I am given. I am free to drink deeply from the never-ending well of grace, and to bring others who are thirsty to the same waters. For if the Son sets me free, I am free indeed!

Today, on this Reformation Day, we gather to receive again God’s gift of grace through Jesus Christ. Together, we sing God’s praise, and pray that the gift of grace would continue to be a reforming presence in our lives, in the church, and in the world. This is what it means to be a Reformation people. This is what it is to be a Lutheran. This is most certainly true. Amen.

Sermon for June 5, 2013: Worth It

Sermon for June 2, 2013

Second Sunday after Pentecost

Luke 7:1-10

Preacher: Pastor Carrie Smith

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

Ask any of our neighbors, and they’re likely to tell you they’re just waiting for us to put up a yard sign that says “Smith Family Bed and Breakfast”. Our kids don’t bat an eye when I tell them “Better clean up the basement today” but instead come right back with “Who’s staying with us this time, and what country are they from?” Just in the last year we’ve hosted a group of Palestinian teenagers, three girls from a Ugandan children’s choir, a priest from Bethlehem, a professional singer, a random British stranger on a bicycle tour across the U.S. (I preached about that experience last year!), an old seminary friend and her entire family, and of course a constant stream of Chicago friends seeking a respite from the city. 

We love hosting guests in our home, and consider it our Christian responsibility to show hospitality. Most of the time, we clean up a bit first. Last week we even bought a new mattress before Chicago friends came to stay. We noticed they hadn’t been out to visit for awhile, and then we remembered how much they hated our blow-up air bed. We put two and two together…and headed to the mattress store.

We’ve received many guests at our home, but there was one scheduled visitor who made me question if we were even worthy of his presence.

His name was Calvin Morris, and he was to be the speaker at the FaithBridge Interfaith MLK breakfast. As an eager new member of the MLK breakfast committee, I of course raised my hand and said, “Sure! I have room to host him at my house!” 

It wasn’t until I Googled the invited speaker that I started to question my eagerness to volunteer. I learned that the Rev. Dr. Calvin Morris was the national coordinator of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference's Operation Breadbasket from 1967 to 1971. After leaving there, he was the executive director of Atlanta's Martin Luther King, Jr. Center for Non-Violent Social Change, working directly with Coretta Scott King. As I read more of his impressive resume, I realized Dr. Morris was truly a history-maker—someone we might read about in a textbook on the Civil Rights movement. 

Suddenly, I wondered if it had been wise to offer to put this man in my basement. What would he think of that patch of carpet the dog chewed up? Did he even like dogs—or teenagers? Will our house meet his standards? Then, another panicked thought: This man is a community activist and an urban dweller—maybe he’ll be offended by my suburban existence! Maybe my house is too big!

In other words: I suddenly saw my home and my life with new eyes, and I judged myself completely unworthy. I wanted to forget the whole thing, and book the Rev. Dr. Morris a room at the Country Inn & Suites.  

Have you felt unworthy lately?

Feeling unworthy was apparently a new emotion for the Roman centurion in today’s Gospel reading. Here was a man who was accustomed to getting what he needed, when he needed it. He had a fair amount of power and privilege: servants working for him, soldiers under his authority, and an esteemed reputation within the community, cultivated after building a synagogue for his Jewish neighbors.

So when his beloved servant was ill, the centurion’s instinct was to use that power, privilege and accumulated respect to bring Jesus, a healer, to his home. He of course called upon the Jewish elders who had benefitted from his good deeds to visit Jesus, a Jewish man. 

Sure enough, when the elders reached Jesus they had only good things to say about the centurion. “He is worthy of having you do this for him, for he loves our people, and it is he who built our synagogue for us.” Having received this good recommendation, Jesus set out to see the centurion and, apparently, to heal the slave, when something surprising happened.

It’s not clear from the text what exactly occurred, but it seems that sometime after sending the messengers out, the centurion had second thoughts. Maybe, like me, he looked around his house and saw the chewed-up carpet. Maybe, as some scholars suggest, he was making a political move, expressing false humility to gain an even better reputation.

Or—maybe this Roman leader recognized that this Jesus, who was about to arrive at his house, possessed a different kind of authority; was working under a different system of values; would perhaps be unimpressed by a centurion’s status, privilege, or military might. This Jesus, after all, was said to be a miracle-worker, a healer, a prophet, and even more: the Son of God.

So the centurion sent out some friends with a different message: “Lord, do not trouble yourself, for I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; therefore I did not presume to come to you. But only speak the word, and let my servant be healed.” 

These words stopped Jesus in his tracks—literally. He stopped in the road and turned, telling the crowd that was always following him, “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.” Jesus never made it to the centurion’s home, but when the centurion’s friends returned, they found the slave had been healed.

This centurion, because of his humility and surprising recognition of Jesus’ authority, has been lifted up as an example of great faith. But I must say that I struggle with this text, because what I don’t want you to hear today is one more reason to say to yourself “I’m not worthy.” I think we do enough of that already:

I’m not worthy of God’s love.

I’m not worthy of having a healthy relationship—this is the best I deserve.

I’m not worth being treated right at school or having friends.

I don’t have anything to contribute to the discussion.

Why would God listen to my prayers, after all the mistakes I’ve made?

I cringe when I think of teenagers, or a spouse in an abusive relationship, or someone who has never known God’s forgiving and redeeming love, hearing this story and thinking: “See? I’m right in thinking of myself as unworthy. Jesus even blessed this way of thinking.” 

But I don’t believe this is a story about Jesus blessing the kind of self-hate we are so good at cultivating. This is not a case study on how to beat yourself down so you are worthy of God’s attention. Humility is a virtue, but self-loathing is not. 

Instead, I believe the story of the faithful centurion is about authority. It’s about recognizing who has authority in our lives, and therefore who judges your worthiness.

When the centurion first called for Jesus, it was not “What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear”, but more like “What a solution I have in Jesus, all my problems to solve.” He sought an answer to his problem—a sick slave—using the authority he had at hand: power, privilege, money, position, reputation. According to this system, he judged himself worthy of having his request honored, his needs met, and his slave healed.  

The centurion was therefore not a person of faith at the moment he called upon Jesus—but it didn’t matter, because the religious leaders also seemed to agree with his judgment. “He’s a good guy!” they said. “You should totally do this for him, Jesus.”  

And you know what? The faith of the centurion didn’t seem to matter to Jesus, either. In the telling of this story, we often forget that Jesus was already on his way to visit the centurion when he received that message: “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof.” Jesus was already on the road to the centurion, well before the centurion was on the road to faith. 

But the faith of the centurion is amazing, and surprising, and worthy of note, because it was he, an outsider, who was able to proclaim the truth. When even the religious leaders believed the lie that “If I am a good person and work hard, God will hear my prayers”, the centurion was the one who proclaimed: “Lord, nothing that I have and nothing that I have done has made me worthy of your visit. No matter what I bring to the table, Lord—you alone say who is worthy and not worthy. Your judgment matters, and no one else’s.” 

Sisters and brothers, I hope you are hearing today that the story of the faithful centurion is about just how worthy you are in the eyes of God. Here we encounter a Jesus who places no value on power or privilege, who doesn’t care how many soldiers we command or how big our house is, who never sees the chewed up carpet or the size of our credit card debt or the number on the scale. This is about a God who, through Jesus Christ, sees instead our faith alone and deems us worthy. And in fact, in this story we meet the Jesus who starts the journey toward you before you have any faith at all—because you are worth it.

In the book “Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion”, Father Gregory Boyle tells of ministering to a 15 year old gang member in a county detention facility. Father Greg asked about his family. 

“That’s my mom over there.” the boy said. “There’s no one like her. I’ve been locked up for more than a year and half. She comes to see me every Sunday. You know how many buses she takes every Sunday—to see my sorry self?”

He paused for moment, and then gasping through tears, he said, “Seven buses. She takes…seven…buses. Imagine.” 

What better way is there to explain the expansive love of God? How better to describe how God sees us, through the eyes of Jesus: You, Child of God, are worth a seven bus journey for a 15 minute visit. You are worthy of love, worthy of respect, worthy of hope and a future—not because of anything you have, or anything you have done—but because of Jesus and the cross. And Jesus says: you are worth even that. 

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.

Sunday, January 13, 2013: Baptism of Our Lord

Sermon for Sunday, January 13, 2013: Baptism of Our Lord

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

 PREACHER: Pastor Paul Cannon

Good morning!  I don’t know if any of you have yet caught on to the irony that today is Baptism Sunday, but that we do not – in fact – have a baptism today. Now, the pastor side of me was looking forward to today because if there had been one scheduled, it would have been my very first baptism.  So that side of me wants to look out at all of you and say, “Come on people, you need to start making more babies! I need some dunking practice!!!” 

But then I think about the 28-year-old-married-without-children-who-has-parents-that-are-getting-a-little-anxious-for-grandchildren side of me that is simultaneously screaming “Noooooo thank you!  I am not ready for that kind of commitment.  I can barely keep my dog alive, let alone a human baby! Plus, there is only so much poop that I can bare cleaning up after in one day!”  Which is all to say that “No, you will not find me admonishing anybody here to have more children, less I become the object of scrutiny amongst you.”

But it is my duty and honor as a pastor to talk with you all about what Baptism is all about.  Now, I’m sure that there are some of you who have been raised in the faith, and perhaps know more about Baptism than I could possibly explain.  But my guess, is that more than we would like to admit, there are a lot of us here that have really only a vague notion of what Baptism is and why we do it. So today, is going to be primarily a day about teaching what us ELCA Lutherans think about this ancient rite, and why we do things the way that we do them.

Now, there are many, many things that we could say about Baptism.  In the readings today, there are images of water and fire, there’s a dove coming down from the sky, John the Baptist talks about repentance and fruit, there’s some allusions to hell-fire and salvation, etc etc – and this is all just a small cross-section of what the Bible has to say about Baptism. 

But today, I want to break it down into three things that as Lutherans, we think are the important – and the first one is grace.  If there is one thing, and one thing only that I hope you remember today about baptism, it’s that it is first and foremost God’s grace being poured out onto all of us.  The Lutheran Church confesses that baptism is entirely God’s work. And that means, it is not about how much we believe and it is not about us making a decision to follow Christ, it is about God bestowing on us the gift of grace.  And that’s the reason that, unlike many Christian churches, the Lutheran church baptizes infants: we think that baptism is about God making a decision for us, not us making a decision for God.

Some people might ask, “Why on earth would a little tiny baby need grace?” Aren’t they perfectly innocent little creatures whose only job it is to love us and make cute cooing sounds?  Now, this might sound a little bit harsh to some of you, but here me out before you get angry: Babies are selfish.  In fact, they might be the most selfish creatures on the planet.  And I don’t have to be a parent myself to know that this is true.  All I have to do is to see the haunted look in my mother’s eyes when I ask her what my twin brother and I were like as babies. 

Now, my mother loves my brother and I about as much as a parent can love a child.  And even though she would never say a bad word about either of us, she can’t help but let a few details slip.  Things like “You and your brother used to take turns waking up in the middle of the night.”  Or “you were both over eight pounds at birth.”  Or even “I stopped being able to sleep in after you two were born.”  From these little details, I know for a fact, that my brother and I were pretty darn selfish as babies.  We caused my parents many a sleepless night, we made messes in quite a few pairs of diapers, and we never cleaned up after ourselves.

All of that is simply to say this: that from the very beginning – even as babies – we need grace.  And like my parents who loved us unconditionally – despite us being the headaches that we were slash are – in Baptism God declares his own unconditional love and grace for all of us.

The second Lutheran understanding of Baptism might be a little startling if you aren’t used to this kind of language, but I’ll just go ahead and say it in the most straightforward way that I can: in baptism, what we receive … is death.

Now, this is confusing and hard to hear for a lot of reasons, but one thing that Martin Luther stressed was that we ought to “call a thing what it is” or in other words, we strive to be as straightforward and honest as we can be.  We live in a broken world.  All around us every day we are witnesses to people hurting each other.  On the news we see image after image of unimaginable violence.  We experience brokenness in our own communities when we see people experiencing homelessness.  We experience brokenness in our own families when we can’t even speak to each other during the holidays.  We experience brokenness in our friendships when we bury our hurts for the sake of keeping the peace.

And God’s response to all of this is to say that this needs to change.  And the kind of change that is required isn’t about tweaking who we are like in self-help books.  It’s not about sweeping the bad parts of ourselves under the rug and saying everything is “okay.” The kind of change that God requires is total and complete change.  The kind of change that comes first from death – more specifically, the death of Jesus on the cross.  That’s why the apostle Paul asks in his letter to the Romans, “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” “Therefore…” He writes, “just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.” 
And that is exactly what the last part of baptism is all about: resurrection.  The great mystery isn’t that we die in the waters of baptism, but that God creates new life. I want to be clear though that this doesn’t happen in some mystical sense, but it happens in a way that we can feel and see and even touch.  God is actually making something happen in baptism.

Most importantly, when God raises a baptizee up from the waters, that person becomes a part of God’s family – God’s church.  In my experience, this has been particularly true.  A lot of you know by now that I was actually baptized right here at Bethany in 1984. We moved when I was only five, so I have very few memories of Bethany or Crystal Lake. It was 23 years before we came back.  We moved to Ohio for my grade school years, and then out to Utah for Jr. and Sr. High.  Afterwards, I went to college up in Minnesota and finally to Seminary in the Twin Cities. 

And in all my travels, I never dreamed that I would be back in Crystal Lake, much less Bethany Lutheran church.  I certainly didn’t think that anybody would remember me.  Yet when I was called here, I was welcomed back like an old member of the family. You invited me into your homes, some of you brought out old pictures of me as a kid, and you swamped my wife and me with baskets full of food!

And that’s exactly the kind of tangible baptismal experience that I’m talking about.  Even if you are the kind of person that has strayed away from your baptismal roots; even if you haven’t seen the inside of a church building for the past 23 years because you’ve been addicted to alcohol and too ashamed to come; even if you have depression and feel like you are unworthy and that nobody could possibly remember you – in God’s family, you are always known and loved and remembered.

After Jesus himself was baptized in the Jordan River, the Holy Spirit comes down and God announces from heaven “You are my son, the beloved; with you I am will pleased.”  Or in another translation from The Message “You are my Son, chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life.”

And those are the very same words that God utters at every baptism. And at your own baptism, when you came up out of the waters as a completely new person, God said to you “You are my Son or daughter, chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life.”  And no matter how far you stray or what you might do, that can’t be taken away from you.  God will always love and remember you. 

Amen.