SERMONS
It's About Time
Every day you’re presented with hundreds of choices about what to do with that day. You can give it to family. Friends. Bosses. Causes. You can succumb to the distractions of the pings and pops on your wrist. In your pocket. And because time is what you’re made of, and all you really have is time…it’s prudent to pay attention to where and how you spend it.
Come and See
You are called to a lifelong relationship with God. In the waters of baptism, you were called to see that the Holy One is with you and loves you more than you could ever imagine. You are called in all the places you work, study, and play to stand up for justice. To stand up for truth. To trust that the Holy One is with you.
Little Epiphanies Everywhere
What made the perils of my adventure bearable was knowing that I was not alone. I was journeying alongside my family and friends, many of whom were also immigrants and people of color. We affirmed each other and stood together even when we were told that our experiences of racism in the US were not real. We named our experiences and found healing in community. I learned that journeying together is always better than journeying alone.
Hodie. Today.
We were in Bethlehem about a month before the attacks of October 7. Tucked away in a large church, we joined other pilgrims in entering a small space in which it is believed to be the cave where Jesus was born. Kneeling and kissing or touching the birthplace. We went to other holy sites where Jesus was born, walked, lived, and died. On each site a church was built.
What moved me wasn’t necessarily that “Jesus was here” two thousand years ago. Rather, it was observing the present-day pilgrims that moved me. Many of them were with groups, often Roman Catholic or Orthodox, and at each site they celebrated a eucharist in a small chapel designated for this purpose.
O' Little Town of Bethlehem
O’ little town of Bethelem, how still we see thee lie above thy deep and dreamless sleep, the silent stars go by. Yet in thy dark streets shineth, the ever-lasting light, the hopes and fear of all the years are met in thee tonight.
For many of us, this beloved carol has framed our image of Jesus' birth—a quiet, still night. The sky filled with holy darkness, but a beam of everlasting light shines a spotlight on the scene with Mary cradling Jesus at her breast and Joseph standing lovingly by her side. In the little town of Bethlehem, all hopes and fears come together and are met in the Christ Child.
Out of the blue
The angel appeared out of the blue. And it changed everything. Natural disasters, violent attacks, accidents. Unplanned pregnancies or pregnancy complications. Resignations or terminations. Announcements of divorces or closings or moves. These can occur out of the blue.
Think of your life. What kinds of big changes came out of the blue for you? Something you could have never planned or expected? Something that changed everything?
The Darkness is Holy Too
So in this season of Advent when there is so much focus on the light of Christ and the love of God breaking into our darkened world, I wonder how we can honor both, light and dark, as gifts of the Holy One. Light and dark are both good, valuable, and holy even though we often speak of light, Christ’s light, banishing our darkness.
Comfort, comfort ye, my people.
Coming out of Covid into multiple wars around the world, climate instability, and political realities that would have seemed incomprehensible decades ago, we seek comfort from community, from music, from scripture, from sacrament, from the presence of Christ, from the faithfulness of God.
Christ, ever-stranger, ever-near
It takes all of us to create a world where the hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, imprisoned strangers are treated like our Gospel envisions. Like we see Christ - who is ever stranger, ever near - in them. Like they are made in the image and likeness of God. Like they are part of the body of Christ. Like they are beloved members of our communities. Like they are us. It takes all of us to answer the Christ who says, "Welcome me."
Risk Tolerance
As people of faith we do not do this alone, we are called to take risks together and not dig holes. As a community of faith, Holy Trinity Lutheran Church is working together to boldly proclaim that the kingdom of God is drawing near. We invest our lives in service to one another and in assisting those who are more vulnerable than we are. We lean into reparations work and invest in repairing the damage done by generations past. We’re drawn to call out racism and demand an end to violence. We are called not to dig holes and bury ourselves and our gifts, but to take some risks and boldly proclaim, not only with our words and our prayers but also with our actions, that Christ is not only coming again but is here with us now.
It's more than the light that's fading
I relate to the drowsy bridesmaids, weary from the bridegroom’s delay. I, too, am weary waiting for justice, for kindness, for peace, for a better future to dawn.
Someone the light shines through
A Sunday school teacher once asked a question to her young students, “Do you know what a saint is?” One of the little girls thinking about the big stained glass windows in the church that depicted saints throughout the centuries, said “A saint is someone the light shines through.”
It's unlikely that the little one understood metaphor and theology in such a profound way. But she gave an eight-word sermon that morning without even realizing it.
Trick Question
For when life is complicated and anything but simple, with so many unanswered questions and with so much uncertainty, it is not only what we give to God, but what God showers upon us: mercy. What we need more than anything: mercy. The hope for our wounded world: mercy.
Plenty to Worry About
Do not worry. That’s Paul’s advice today.
Oh, if it were that simple. Many are on anti-anxiety medication. We worry about the future. We worry about the effects of climate change. We worry about dysfunction in the nation’s capital. And especially after this week, we worry about violence in the world, especially the Middle East.
Beyond Measure
Like a loving parent, God continually calls us to be our best selves, and at the same time generously forgives us when we fall short. This generosity itself is a call for us to do the same with one another. We are made to be merciful. We forgive because God forgives. The forgiveness that we are to pass on to others is the forgiveness we have in union with Christ. Not because we are moral heroes or because we seek our own well-being, but because we are forgiven people.
This brief, singular, God-breathed life
Taking up the cross means recognizing Christ crucified in every suffering soul and body that surrounds us, and pouring our energies and our lives into alleviating their pain — no matter what it costs. It means accepting — against all the lies of our culture — that we will die. It means following up that courageous acceptance with the most important question we can ask: Given my inevitable death, how shall I spend this brief, singular, God-breathed life?
Who do you say that I am?
If we’re honest, we are probably more like Peter in his misunderstandings and foibles, than we are like Peter in his proudest moment in today’s gospel. Yet Jesus embraces us just as he does Peter. He continues to call his church together to proclaim God’s love, to forgive and be forgiven, to gather week after week around this holy meal. And as his followers, we continue to baptize and teach, feed the hungry and welcome the stranger, and call forth and encourage the gifts of one another. So that our whole lives are rooted in the identity given to us in baptism, “Beloved Child of the Living God.”
It's Personal
There is healing for you. There is healing in the word of grace that sets you free. There is healing as you eat and drink at this table. There are more than crumbs. There is enough for all. There is healing as you gather in this house of prayer for all people.
Famous Women: Barbie and Mary
Greta Gerwig, the director of Barbie, wanted people watching the movie to feel like she did at Shabbat dinners. Gerwig didn’t grow up Jewish, but would often be present for Shabbat dinners of close family and friends.
A Lot of Nothing
You see, so many of us know how to be afraid. We know how to say, well, we better keep what we have, because you never know. And God invites us, over and over, to imagine a world that is so radically different from the one that we know that it can only be described as divine.