Moses’ Sight

This Sunday is the culmination of the season of Epiphany. And that culmination is always on the Mount of Transfiguration. My general meditation on the seasons is this. God does some major act in his creation. The start of Epiphany is the end of the Christmas story, the three gentile kings show up with their gifts.  Does anybody really know or understand what has taken place?  The answer is clearly no. Even Mary “gathers up all these things and ponders them in her heart.” And then across the season of Epiphany we “see” various miracles – the signs and wonders – of the life of Jesus.  It is a crawling toward understanding just what has come to us.  Then on that mount of Transfiguration you get the full revelation.  Of course that full revelation is too much in itself.  Peter doesn’t know what he is saying. James and John remain silent telling nobody what they had seen.  How do you explain the vision?

I think that is a common way of experiencing life for many of us.  Something happens.  We know it is something big because it changes things. But we don’t really understand it.  We haven’t incorporated the new event into our personal narrative yet. You only understand it when you can tell the story.  And the story changes. And by the time you can tell it, something else has come.  In the very midst of life surrounded by shadows of ourselves. Sometimes we become crippled, weighed down by how much we don’t understand even of ourselves.

But there is another story that crosses that mount of transfiguration – that of Moses. For as big a role as Moses seems to play in the Old Testament story, the reality is that he is an oddball side character. The story is that of the promise.  Father Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Joseph’s providence. Joshua’s conquest. David’s heart after God. The tabernacle and temple and throne often against the prophetic word.  All of Israel struggling to see and never seeing. But Moses “was 120 years old when he died.  His eye was undimmed, and his vigor unabated.” Being someone who has worn glasses since the third grade, that line has always stuck out.

Moses is the man through whom God performed his signs and wonders over Pharaoh and all Egypt. Moses is the transcriber of the law and the entire Torah, the first five books of the Scriptures.  Moses is the man who talks with God, goes to the mountaintop, delivers the law in cloud and majesty and awe. Moses shepherds the people in the wilderness for 40 years feeding them with the manna and providing the water from the rock.  Moses “was faithful in all God’s house as a servant, to testify to the things that were to be spoken later (Hebrews 3:5).” But Moses was not The Son. Moses knew.  His eyes were undimmed. But Moses is the law.  And the law does not save. Not even Moses.  God would tell Moses to preach to the rock to produce water the 2nd time, and Moses struck it again. And for this careless trespass would not enter the promised land.  With his undimmed vision he was given a sight of it, but in this life would not enter it.

The law is a faithful servant. It gives us eyes to see, probably better than we want to see.  But the servant does not inherit the house.  The Son inherits the house. And we can only receive the Son by faith. We enter the promised land by faith not by sight. The spies saw the inhabitants of the land and deemed it impossible. Joshua by faith crossed the Jordan. In the very midst of life we may not know ourselves but we are known. We may not see with undimmed eye, but we hear the voice of the Son inviting us into the house. Moses takes you as far as he can go. We cross the Jordan by faith.

Good Measure, Pressed Down…

Biblical Text: Luke 6:27-38

Luke’s sermon on the plain – this text is the 2nd part of that – is his version of Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount. And I know that it is the favorite part of the Bible of lots of preachers, but I think they like it for the wrong reasons. It gets used for all the wrong reasons. People quote it either thinking they are being encouraging, or to use it as a heat shield to keep on doing what they shouldn’t be doing. The first is preaching the law to the drowned man. The second is simply bad faith, or lack of faith. Luke’s version to me is turning the volume up to 11. And it does this for two reasons. The first should be as law applied against ourselves. Luke’s Jesus spells out how even sinners act. And we do. We also if we are being honest act worse. Jesus makes clear the meets minimum requirements of sinners. And we fall short. The second is the gospel reason. It makes clear the God we have. And the God we have does not act like us. The God we have is merciful. He loves his enemies, us.

“Rides Upon the Storm”

For some reason I, along with the church of this age, keep getting drawn into the book of Revelation.  That is a fine book. Unlike many who have gone rabid over the centuries wishing to deny its place in the canon, I find lots of comfort in the book.  Christ wins. His victory is given to the saints. It is not without struggle, but nothing worthwhile ever is. And the sight of the New Jerusalem coming down from heaven is worth it. But the older I get, and the more readings I have done in the Scriptures, the more I agree with another friend.  He’s a philosopher and was quipping off the old joke that all philosophy is a footnote to Plato.  At the bottom of the cups one day he said, “the entire scriptures are footnotes to Genesis.” Now the Gospels would be pretty significant footnotes, but in the Joseph story in Genesis it is all there. Joseph’s brothers reject him.  He descends into the pit. Is declared dead, but is alive. Suffers greatly at the hands of many. Longs for his father and to do his father’s will. And ultimately forgives his brothers while reigning.

Our Old Testament lesson for today (Genesis 45:3-15) captures a scene toward the end of that story where Joseph shares an amazing line.  Joseph has revealed himself to his brothers and asked after Jacob his father.  And understandably the brothers “were dismayed at his presence.” Having sold him into slavery and long considered him dead, here he stands before them as ruler and savior. Surely now they will get the judgement they deserve. Surely Joseph will turn the tables. At the very least deny them the food they need in the midst of famine.  Maybe just kill them directly after toying with them a bit.  And while some of that may have played on Joseph’s mind earlier.  Read the full story. Joseph has come to a different decision. “Do not be distressed…because you sold me here, for God sent me before you to preserve life. Genesis 45:5).”  He refines this a bit as the story of his entire life.  “It was not you who sent me here, but God. (Genesis 45:8).”

Saying something like that about our lives is easy for the good stuff.  Giving God credit for our victories is easy stuff. When we are winners feeling the love of God comes naturally.  Reference every athlete after winning the big game thanking God.  And this takes nothing away from that witness.  For God certainly provides the victory. Joseph is “lord of all Egypt”, the only one anywhere who has any food, the one who holds his brother’s lives in the palm of his hands. But giving God credit when we are down in the pit is a test of faith.  When we are battered and bruised, black and blued, can God be there? And can we extend the grace of God to those who placed us there?

This is the witness.  “If I make my bed in sheol, you are there. (Psalm 139:8).” He descended into hell. And when he returned it was not to exact vengeance against all who had thrown him there. Which would be all of us.  He descended into hell, into sheol, the pit, to start the triumph. “God sent me before you to preserve a remnant (Genesis 45:7).” The absolute worst that Satan, the World and even death can throw at us, it threw at Christ. And it wasn’t enough.  He descended to the pit, and set the captives free.

God leads us into all types of places. This is so that we might come to know that anywhere we are, he’s already been there, and he remains with us. This is so that we might learn to trust him for the victory. This is so that we might learn to live by grace. Do not be dismayed at his presence, for his presence is for our good.

Hold Fast

Biblical Text: 1 Corinthians 15:1-20

Our Congregation this past week had a shock. Two wonderful members were killed in a car accident. One immediately and the other on the way to the hospital. It happened Wednesday morning and word started getting around by the evening and the following morning. The Pastor’s corner from this week, just below, directly mentions that. But I couldn’t ask for a better text for a sermon at such a time. We believe in the resurrection. Set everything else aside. This is the defining belief that Christians Hold Fast. Jesus is risen. And you will arise. Paul and all apostolic preachers proclaim that fact. The text also examines what would make that faith in vain.

A Sudden and Evil Death…

We don’t use it all that often.  Ash Wednesday.  Maybe the odd Sunday in Lent or Advent. The Litany (LSB 288) is a highly stylized and formal call and response prayer.  Technically our “Prayers of the Church” are a litany. They are petitionary in that they ask God for something. There is a call and response form to them.  The difference is that the call, the petition, is usually changeable and specific week to week, while the congregational response is fixed in one of two forms: “Hear our prayer” or “In you mercy.”  The formal litany is contemplative in both call and response.  The petitions are general: “from all sin, error and evil…deliver us good Lord.” As a contemplative prayer, we individually supply our sin, error and evil.  And collectively we offer them up to Christ seeking deliverance.  A litany in English has just become a synonym for an overly long list. But if that word was still grounded in the world of contemplative prayer, it is a list of things important enough to bring to Almighty God. It is a list of things common enough that we all fear the things in it.  We don’t like to contemplate them, but we need to.  And turn them over to Christ who alone grants us peace.

The line that plays on my memory today is one that I don’t think we tend to share with most Christians of most times and places as a trouble.  “From sudden and evil death…good Lord deliver us.” Every time I intone that line, my contemplation is that I think most of us would prefer that, a sudden if not evil death.  Don’t let me suffer or linger or be a burden.  Let my death be fast and if not fast then easy. Our entire end of life system these days is built towards giving that.  Although I am not sure if that is for the comfort of those remaining or of those leaving. But that petition was important enough for most Christians to make it into the litany.  Sudden death for most of history was all around. Sudden death could be an evil death for multiple reasons, but primarily two.  A sudden death might “capture us unawares.” Like the 5 virgins who fell asleep without oil, the day came, and they were not ready.  The second thing a sudden death precluded was reconciliation. We tend to keep grudges, and if not grudges, there are all kinds of minor things, each a brick in a wall that builds up between us and our family or neighbor. And if not a full wall, a stumbling stone that makes interaction in anything but gentle pleasantries uncomfortable. The time before death was the time to clear away any of those hindrances. In our sufferings, to fill up the sufferings of Christ, and be reconciled to all. A sudden death would rob that.

Of course, I’m reflecting just on the fact of the sudden death of Dale and Marge. None of us knows our day, hour or minute. And neither of those two concerns were a problem with Dale or Marge. They were not caught unaware by the day.  They both had a solid and fervent faith in Jesus. And in living out that faith I saw no evidence of stumbling blocks placed or walls that needed to come down. Dale and Marge lived the faith day by day. And in that they are examples of the saints we are to hold up for our instruction.  We can pray that God would grant us the time to be in earnest, that sudden and evil death would not catch us, so that we might be reconciled at the last. Or we can recognize that now is that time. Today is the day of grace. Today is the day to strengthen our faith toward God and our fervent love toward one another. Today is the day to check the oil for our lamps.

Go Fish

Biblical Text: Luke 5:1-11

The text is Luke’s version of the call of the first disciples. And the emphasis of Luke’s version is unique in my reading. Matthew and Mark emphasize the immediate authority of the call. But as we’ve been reading Luke 4 and Luke 5 we have been experiencing Simon’s encounter with Jesus. The end of these encounters is the call. That call comes after Simon recognition that Jesus was not just a teacher or a guru but LORD. And when you’ve encountered the living God there are some things that need to be sorted out. We in the church call this entire process discipleship. This sermon thinks about that.

Vocation Nitty Gritty

Last week’s old testament reading was from Jeremiah 1, which was Jeremiah’s call.  This week we have Isaiah 6, which is Isaiah’s call. That is paired up with the gospel reading which is Luke’s telling of the call of Peter, which is slightly different than the Matthew and Mark versions.  Not different in any “that one has to be false’ way, Luke is just more expansive of what lead up to the call itself.  Matthew and Mark simple have, “Peter, follow me…and he dropped his nets.”  Which always makes you wonder at the immediacy. Luke tells you what happened before that.

I’m usually one who is arguing for leaving room for the mystical.  As Shakespeare wrote, “There are more things on earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” But if there is one place where I tend to think we don’t ground things enough it is when we are talking about calls.  The fancier and more expansive word is vocation.  And unlike the Roman Catholic tradition that reserves that word for specifically religious vocations, the Lutheran understanding of vocation covers both the kingdom of the law and of the gospel.

We all have vocations.  We probably have multiple overlapping vocations. In Luther’s Small Catechism he introduces this idea in a section that gets skipped in many of our catechism classes.  (Why? I don’t know.) That section is called the Table of Duties. The vocations that Luther works through in outline there are: Bishops, Pastors, Laity, Civil Magistrates, Citizens, Husbands, Wives, Parents, Children, Workers, Employers, Youth and Widows. He ends with “everyone” so that you can grasp the basic idea that the number of vocations is practically limitless. Everyone of us can apply the rule “love you neighbor as yourself” to our specific place in life.  And that is the Lutheran idea of vocation at its simplest.

As we move through life there are many roles in which we have the duty or responsibility of love. Vocation is primarily how God tends for his creation.  Adam and Eve were created to care for the Garden.  God could do lots of things directly.  He could speak and it would be done.  He could snap his fingers and things would happen.  But in his wisdom God typically does things like say to someone “follow me” or “take care of this one.” When you have a child that is God saying “take care of this one.” When you have a job that is God saying “take care of those who need this good or service.” These same vocations are how God takes care of us. None of us are completely self-reliant, as much as that might be the American ideal.  We are bound to each other by our vocations which should be and are bonds of love. 

Some of the complexity is that our vocations sometimes contradict each other. The most simple form of that contradiction is when we just don’t have the time/money/energy to meet everything those bonds of love demand from us. Take it to God in prayer. Part of his promise is providence.  That we shall have what we need for this body and life. If we don’t have it, there is someone who does.

The tougher complexities come from our sinful nature and a fallen world. Many of our vocations have turned inward on themselves.  Instead of being opportunities to love those given to us, those vocations become honors or means of extracting from others. We desire the trappings of the call, but not the duties. We might know we have a call but run from it.  We might also just neglect it growing weary in love. Because love is costly.

When Jesus called Peter to be a fisher of men, it was a call to the cross.  In Peter’s case a literal cross.  All vocations in this world, being calls to love, are calls to the cross. But it is through these that the love of God is made manifest in this world. It is through your vocations that God’s love is made known to call creation.

Rightly Ordered Love

Biblical Text: Luke 4:31-44

Having VP JD Vance quote the theological concept ordo amoris was at first just refreshing. But the more I looked at the texts for the week, which also included Paul’s song to love in 1 Corinthians 13:1-13, it became something that the texts themselves spoke about. So this sermon attempts to talk about “rightly ordered love” or “the order of caring.” It also attempts to preach it from a specifically Lutheran law and gospel understanding. I wish I could summarize it for this better, but all I can really do is ask for 15 mins of your time. Give it a listen or a read.

The Object of Love

Don Draper, the symbolic ad man from the TV series Mad Men, professionally hated using love. Across seven seasons his various underlings would pitch him an ad based on love and he would crinkle up his nose and dismiss the idea. His reasoning would alternate between “nobody knows what that word means” and “the product is SPAM, are you sure you want to use love.” The character Don Draper was an unreliable narrator making his story up on the fly.  But the Ad Man Don Draper was a genius.

Don’s first complaint was that the word “love” was too vague. The character, a charming womanizing drunk with flashes of deep humanity, was pulling from his life experience of a variety of things people called love, none of those things meaningful.  Maybe the one thing Don loved was the work. In the end he would give up everything for the work. Which when the work is advertising is a commentary in itself, but that might have been his epiphany – “Do the work.” Which at the time included being demoted and reporting to his protégé. But in the Apostle Paul’s list it was an interesting picture of “love is not arrogant (1 Corinthians 13:4).”  For as rich as the English language is in almost every area.  We have words for everything, English being this great sink of the world collecting peoples and words from millennia.  We only have one word called love. The biblical languages have a spectrum.  You might be familiar with C.S.Lewis’ “The Four Loves.” That is based on the Greek words (roughly transliterated): eros, philia, storge, and agape. Each of those Greek words gets translated as love in English. But you would not mistake eros – sexual desire – for philia – how you love your brother or a friend. It’s not an original insight, but maybe our problems with friendship today are because it always gets coded homoerotically. Even Hebrew, a word poor language, has at least two words: Ahavah and Chesed.  Ahavah is used first when Abraham gives Isaac as an offering. Love rooted in giving. Chesed is often translated “steadfast love.” It is rooted in enduring faithfulness. All of these concepts – sexuality, friendship, faithfulness, giving, graciousness, desire – in English get dumped into “love.” No wonder Don held “nobody knows what that word means.”

Don’s second complaint was about the object we attached “love” to. What are we doing attaching such a word meaning all those deep things to objects like SPAM. Can you really love donuts? Or cheap flights to New York? When we are profligate with our words, over time it is not the products or common things that get elevated. We lose the ability to label and recognize the true thing.

Paul’s song to Love – 1 Corinthians 13:1-13 our Epistle Reading – addresses both of Don’s complaints.  Paul makes clear what “love” is in his poetic way. He also would make clear the appropriate objects of love. But the first thing I think Paul addresses is the non-performative nature of love. In our day and age it seems that everything we do ends up on YouTube.  There is always a reflexive nature of our actions or emotions. We think we are doing something for someone else, but we secretly hope that it also rebounds for our fame, wealth, or other good. “If I speak in the tongues of men and angels” – things which would quickly get you millions of views – “but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.” Paul even addresses virtuous things.  “If I give away all that I have.”  Today we do all kinds of such virtuous acts, to record them and be known as being such a person.  The phrase used to be doing well by doing good.  If I do this, “but have not love, I gain nothing (1 Corinthians 13:3).” Love is not performative. It is not reflexive. You can’t do it and expect payback.  And if that is what you are doing, you have already received the reward, but it is not love.

Instead “love is patient and kind…”.  And you should know the rest.  If you don’t go read it. Meditate on it. Write those words on your heart. Memorize them. For what the Apostle is really talking about is you as the object of God’s love. “Love never ends (1 Corithians 13:8).” Love has a worthy object.  And you are a worthy object of God’s love. Today we only know that dimly, but tomorrow, face to face. And because we have been the object of the true love of Christ, we likewise are able to know love and to give love.  Give that love back to the Father as worship and adoration.  And give that love to our neighbor.  Because those are the only worthy objects of such a transcendent thing as love.

Jubilee

Biblical Text: Luke 4:16-30

The text is Jesus preaching to his hometown at the start of his ministry. His sermon ends with their attempt to toss him off the cliff, so it is safe to say Jesus offended them. It’s a really tough text, especially for Americans, because it goes after the cult of fairness. God isn’t fair. God is graceful. And his grace comes where and when he wills it. So you get the fact of Jesus declaring “the year of the Lord’s favor” a Jubilee. And you get the fact that it goes to everyone. And you get the fact that the miracles and apostles and all the shiny things might not be for you. Because the deep fact is that God owes us nothing. And the more we might claim standing the worse we get. The God is gracious. Blessed are the poor in spirit. Part of that is the call to celebrate the grace received by others. The sermon explores that space. The space between grace and anger that mine doesn’t seem a much.