Peace

This is my fourth sermon preached at Bemidji United Methodist Church.

Gospel: John 14:23-29

Bulletin Cover by me :)

Grace and Peace to you from God our Loving Creator, and the risen Messiah, Jesus the Christ, Amen.

Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen indeed! Happy Easter! (See? I told you I’d tell you that again.)

It’s Memorial Day weekend. It’s the (un)official start of Summer, the weekend to break out the grill if you haven’t yet, and the weekend to remember people you’ve lost, and as a country, the people who have served the country in the military. For small towns like Bemidji, it’s a time for the community to come together at the cemetery or community center for a service of remembering.

Remembering is a fickle thing, after all. You see, I wrote my senior undergrad thesis on the concept of remembering, and what it means to re-member, and while I was searching for the paper in the deep recesses of old computer files moved from one computer to another… I got lost in those memories. Because even when I wrote that paper about remembering? Sam was just a wee one, and we had just moved to seminary.

Cuz the funny thing about my seminary story… is that I hadn’t technically graduated from Saint Cloud State before I started seminary. I had a few classes left, one that Tiffany had to finish for me while I was in Canada on a mission trip, and my senior capstone project that involved writing this paper that I was searching for…

But anyway, I kept on getting lost in these memories. Memories of summer Greek… of living in the cities for the first time… of knowing we hadn’t a dime to our name, because living off of student loans only gets you so far… Maybe it’s my Millennial brain yearning for less threatening times, or just a reality for all human beings that yarn about “back in the day…” but remembering helps us to maintain our humanity. When we re-member, we make the past, present in our mind, and make that member of our past, re-membered in our present.

As Christians, we use certain symbols to remember aspects of our faith. Beyond the Cross remembering Jesus’ death,  there are the symbols that are on the pews that have been used as Confirmation tools in this congregation. They help us remember how our faith is important to us.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus starts giving his farewells. He tells the disciples that he won’t be in their presence for long. This is Jesus telling his disciples that the Advocate will be with them, even after Jesus leaves this world. Peace is what he leaves with them, and in doing so, gives them peace, but not peace like the world offers. Because the idea of world peace is always the beauty pageant answer, but never the goal of any elected official these days…

Divine peace is nothing that the world can offer, but Jesus offers it to the disciples freely, in order that the disciples in turn could offer that peace to each other. But what does the absence of divine peace look like? A pastor studying at the Lutheran School of Theology Chicago originally from Colombia being deported is a start. Being under the constant threat of war with any country that fits the fancy of the powers that be… A country willing to hang rights of human beings in the balance of outdated rhetoric and thoughts of religious superiority. Flint, Michigan still living without clean water. Threats of oil spilling in our backyards.

I think this idea of divine peace has a lot to do with divine love. For if we love one another, in the manner that God intended, seeing God in one another’s eyes… Then I think we can re-member one another and in that re-membering, have peace. Seeing one another in the light of God, in the wholeness of ourselves, in the wholeness of creation…

This is the last Sunday of Easter before the celebration of Jesus’ ascension. In two weeks is the celebration of Pentecost. The celebration of the Advocate in our daily lives.

Because just when you’re lost, when the disciples just lost their friend, got their friend back and their friend and Messiah said to them a farewell… The Advocate, or the Holy Spirit shows up in the cracks. In the spaces between the keys. In the spaces between friends and enemies. Between you, me, the trees, the rocks, everywhere, yes. Even between this church and the other churches. Peace was given to the disciples, and the Advocate guides us in that peace.

And yet, there’s also the reminder that peace is also eternal peace. Tomorrow is Memorial Day after all, and even if you don’t join in the community program in the cemetery tomorrow, perhaps it’s a day to visit a cemetery anyway.

When I was on my internship in rural Otter Tail County, my supervisor would point out all the little cemeteries on our journeys across the county. A Catholic cemetery here, a Missouri Synod cemetery there, and of course, the church I served had a cemetery down the road, where many of the former members were buried. One of the last pastoral acts I performed at my internship was a burial and committal in that cemetery. I'd take walks around the town, which included walking through the cemetery. My supervisor would talk about how there were some burial sites that were lost to history, stuck in a swamp or under farmland. And then there’s the reality that there are some churches in the county, and across the country, that serve to keep the cemetery marked. Churches that remain open, probably past when they should close their doors, in part to maintain the cemetery.

The reality of maintaining a functioning cemetery is something people don’t often think about, but recently, it made the Bemidji Pioneer. If and when you attend tomorrow’s service, or visit the cemetery, keep in mind that the cemetery is in need of financial help.

The modern realities of cheaper burials, more options, less people in the town, or previous deals going south… Greenwood cemetery and many cemeteries across the country are in similar states of financial need. I don’t know what solution there is to that problem, but I think it has something to do with the community taking care of the community. When the community comes together, the Advocate is there also. When community comes together to solve a communal problem, I believe that God compels us to act for the common good.

Because the people that we remember tomorrow, died protecting an ideal of peace, even if the means to the end weren’t exactly peaceful. This ideal of peace, for the common good, so we can come together and share God’s love and peace with one another.

This peace that was given to the disciples, and through them it flows to us, from a Messiah that lived advocating for the people. The same Messiah that fed, clothed, healed and blessed the outcasts. The Messiah that had dinner with his friends, washed their feet and blessed them with a meal, and died the next day, only to be raised again on that Sunday. This Messiah who blesses all of us with the undeniable and unwinnable Grace of God, that through his life and death and resurrection we can go out into the world and spread God’s divine peace and love in the name of Christ, the risen Messiah.
“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you,” says Jesus. Peace be with you. My friends.
Amen.

P.S - BUMC was kind to record the service again.
https://soundcloud.com/user-590479312/worship-05-26-19

Sermon begins at 21:40

Possibilities

This is the third sermon that I have preached for Bemidji United Methodist, preached 4/28/19. It was also about the third time I've preached on this text.

Gospel- John 20:19-31

Grace and Peace to you from God our Loving Creator, and from Jesus the Risen Christ, Amen.

Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen indeed! Happy Easter everybody.

That’s right, Easter is here for the next 40 some days and if I were your pastor I would be telling you Happy Easter all the way until Pentecost. Not sure if Pastor Rob will do that, but you can tell him that the practice comes highly recommended by a certain liturgical Lutheran.

It’s Easter, a time of celebration of new life, and of new possibilities. And, oh the possibilities that were in front of the disciples after that Easter morning. Their Messiah had just died, with strange news of a resurrection, and with unfounded fears of the people around them. With locked doors, a sense of fear and doubt, the resurrected Savior appeared before them. Jesus tells the disciples, “Peace be with you”. Except Thomas. Poor Thomas. Jesus leaves before Thomas arrives.

Thomas at this moment will forever get the metaphorical ‘short end of the stick’. Always discounted for being ‘Doubtful’. Forever known as ‘Doubting Thomas’. But confirming one’s belief is not a bad thing. Looking for proof in any belief is a natural human reaction. Thomas just watched his friend die a couple days earlier. This friend who performed miracles, healed and fed those outside the margins. To watch his Messiah die at the hands of the Romans? Like everyone else who died at the hands of the Romans at the end of a spear or cross… Dead was dead. So, Thomas probably had every right to question what the disciples saw.

So, a week later, Jesus came to the disciples again, complete with Thomas. Jesus comes in and gives all of them the same greeting he did before. “Peace be with you”. Jesus gives Thomas a chance to confirm his belief. He blesses them, and the author says one of my favorite phrases in the bible. “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.” (John 20:30-1 NRSV)

This phrase is very similar to the author’s last words in the Gospel, “But there are also many other things that Jesus did; if every one of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.” (John 21:25 NRSV)

I told Ben that I would make a Star Wars reference just for him. And I may yet, Mr. Frodo. I may yet. But at the moment, I’d like to interject that one cannot be a fan of Star Trek, Star Wars and Lord of the Rings without the possibility of noticing the Messianic Easter themes throughout.

At the end of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Capt. Kirk is lamenting the loss of his best friend, Spock. As the camera pans across the sun rising over the new Genesis planet, Kirk’s voiceover is heard saying, “All is well. And yet I can't help wondering about the friend I leave behind. There are always… possibilities, Spock said. And if Genesis is, indeed, life from death, I must return to this place again."

It’s not spoiling anything for a more than 30 year old movie, but one of the possibilities that comes out of launching Spock’s dead body to a regenerating planet is the resurrection of Spock in Star Trek III. Which leads Spock to appear in six more adventures with the crew of the USS Enterprise. There are always possibilities.

As Christians, we believe in the empty tomb, the risen Christ with holes in his hands and side. As the Gospel writer wrote, there are many more things that Jesus did in the presence of his disciples, and many more things for humanity after his ascension. But that’s a sermon for later.

What do we do when a friend of ours dies? Or a job ends, or our community is lost, or on the verge of something new… What do we do? Where does our hope lie?

As a Lutheran, the storied history of the modern Lutheran Church in the United States is one of disparate groups of ethnic churches originating from their home churches in Europe. In time, these smaller denominations united and divided over one thing or another, and with every combining, another denomination broke off. To the point that there are many Lutheran denominations across the country that exist solely because the originators of the denomination opposed one agreement or another.

Most recently, one of the denominations that make up the Lutheran CORE started because they opposed the mainline Lutheran body, the ELCA, and their decision to be in full communion with the Episcopalians. The other started because they opposed the agreement to allow queer folks like me the (limited) *possibility* of being ordained.

Division and unity is the story of the Lutheran church in the United States. It’s what you get when a rowdy monk gets angry at the pope and accidentally starts a war and accidentally a church and a help motivate a movement that would spread across Europe, and eventually across the English Channel and Scandinavia and eventually across the Atlantic to form the many Protestant churches including the Lutheran and Methodist Churches… in a very synthesized shrunken version of the last 500 years of Protestant Church History…

Death and resurrection is the reality of Easter. They are the truth that Thomas was seeking. They are recurring themes in Church histories and realities. Death and resurrection find themselves embedded in modern stories of galaxies far far away, or in space - that final frontier, or even in Middle-Earth. This reality of Easter that Thomas was seeking, is the truth we profess every time we gather for worship.

This truth that we profess, is of a risen Messiah that said “Peace, be with you” to his disciples a few days after he just died. The risen Messiah who spent his life preaching, teaching, feeding, and healing the people on the margins of society. The risen Messiah who gathered people together, had a dozen close friends who had simple trades, and he asked them to give it all up for him.

It’s a risk that we all take when we proclaim this truth. But everyone, Jewish, Muslim, Christian, whatever… everyone should have the sacred right to proclaim their truth in their place of worship without fear of violence. Our Christian truth of a radical Messiah that lived, died and rose again has spread throughout the world, because of the possibilities that were laid out for the disciples in that locked room. For after appearing to his disciples, the disciples went out into the world proclaiming their truth together.

Christ dying and rising again proves that death presents possibilities for the living. That even in death, there is new life.

My older brother is a pastor in southern Minnesota. Last weekend, on Easter Vigil, celebrating one of the oldest Christian traditions of baptizing on Easter Vigil, my niece was baptized. In water from a white, wooden coffin.

I was utterly shocked when he did this. I was blown away by the depth of the imagery inherent in using a coffin for a baptismal font. The traditional manner of burial being used for our traditional manner of welcoming new life into the family of God… There was the image of death and resurrection right there. Life from death. “There are always… possibilities, Spock said.”

All of that, is to say this: I don’t know what the future will bring for this congregation. I know that Lutherans have seen this before, as have the Methodists. I know that this congregation has been a bedrock of the community for a very long time, and taking the history of Bemidji United Methodist with the recent decisions of the General Conference, I have hope in what comes from the death of bad decisions. As a transgender pastor-to-be, I have hope and confidence that this congregation will weather this storm in the name of justice. Allow this time of new life, to maybe poke the holes of what has occured. Live in this time of grief, of wondering what is, and what will be. How you want to continue and who you want to be known as - all of these things are up to you.

Throughout my struggles with my path to being pastor the last few years, in the death of a dream that was ordination after graduation, I’ve had this final Star Wars quote running in my head ever since Rogue One came out. “Rebellions are built on hope”.

Going against the grain, declaring yourself a welcoming congregation in the face of continued denial of basic human rights from the General Conference? That’s nothing short of rebellion, in my eyes.

Poke the holes of your suspicions. Hold onto the truth of life after death. Together, I have confidence that Bemidji will be better for it.

Amen.

Bonus!
Audio clip of the sermon - https://soundcloud.com/user-590479312/worship-01-28-19#t=24:24

Fig Tree

This is my first sermon preached at Hope Lutheran in Saint Paul, Minnesota. Pastor Andrew Tengwall invited me to preach for his pulpit one day, and this was the day.

Gospel: Luke 13:1-9

Grace and Peace to you from God our Loving Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer, Amen

Fifty Muslim folks were killed in their houses of worship last week in New Zealand by a white supremacist. Do you think they committed sins worse than all other Muslims? Eleven Jewish folks in Pittsburgh were killed in their house of worship in October by another white supremacist. Do you think they committed sins worse than all other Jewish folks? Nine black folks in South Carolina were killed in their house of worship a few years ago by a third white supremacist. Do you think they committed sins worse than all other black folks?

Last week, Pastor Andrew lamented with you about this latest attack in New Zealand, and somehow, in the midst of all of this hatred, God’s promise to steward all God’s people through it, in the name of love for our neighbors. Because the people I mentioned just now, were all worshipping the same God of Abraham. All of these people were senselessly taken while they were in their respective houses of worship, the places of peace, solace, and they should quite honestly, be true sanctuaries.

My allusion to the Gospel lesson comes on the heels of horrific news. Pastor Andrew had to change his sermon at the last minute to bring some sense to senselessness. I preached on Reformation Sunday at the local Methodist Church, and had to change my sermon at the last minute due to a white supremacist. When I preached at my home church in Morris a few years back, I had to change my sermon at the last minute because of a white supremacist. News like these horrific examples disrupts life as we know it. Of course these events disrupt life as they know it for the victims and their families, and for preachers to not respond to these events would be a misuse of their office.

The allusion to today’s Gospel lesson is a way to bring home that the events that Jesus references to the crowd, would be events that they would have had on their mind. Jesus asks them if these victims committed sins more than every other person like them, and then tells the people to repent or they will suffer like they did.

I didn’t take it that far. But I think if we as (mostly) white people don’t actively fight against racism in our own lives, if we don’t actively condemn and enact measures that protect against such injustices, that we may foster such ideas in our own communities.

Now, I’m not from this community. I was born in Saint Cloud, where the town is occasionally known as “White Cloud”, where the state’s second largest Muslim population resides, and has recently seen an uptick of trucks driving around with Confederate flags waving in the back. Where a retired Jewish rabbi was called in by the state to teach at my alma mater, Saint Cloud State University, and to influence a community away from antisemitism. Where this retired Jewish rabbi convinced the local Catholic diocese to finally remove swastikas around the Cathedral that had been there for over 70 years. I was born there and attended undergrad there, but I grew up on the western prairies of Donnelly, about 30 miles from where your own pastor grew up.

I grew up in Donnelly, but went to school in Morris. Morris is a small college town with a long history of agriculture. The University of Minnesota Morris was founded on the foundation of the West Central School of Agriculture, which in turn was founded on the campus of an American Indian boarding school. Native American students to this day can attend UMM tuition-free because of this history. Because of Minnesota’s own history of white supremacy. Because of Minnesota’s own claim to white supremacy history with the largest mass execution in American history of 38 Dakota men in 1862.

The western prairies of Minnesota are home to mostly descendants of Scandinavian and German immigrants, with a more recent influx of Latina, Hmong and Somali immigrants to larger towns with industry. These more recent immigrants are, more often than not, met with fear and misunderstanding, as if the white folks forget that their ancestors were once immigrants as well. In the last few years, there have been helpful resources given out to some rural communities, like Lutheran Social Services’ “My Neighbor is Muslim” to help the local populations learn about their new neighbors. Of the recent immigrants to Minnesota, as in the last hundred years, immigrants from Mexico and Central America have been here the longest, since the 1940s when the young Scandi-Germanic men of Minnesota were drafted and farm help was still needed on the farms.

In the last 20 years or so, industrial farms have grown exponentially due to technological improvements and smaller family farm populations, so likewise family farms are less and less numerous these days, while huge corporate farms are importing laborers from Mexico and Central America, and in some cases, overworking and housing them in less-than-desirable living conditions.

Practices like these are more common than people know, across the country. Whether it’s livestock mega farms in the midwest or berry farms in California, or other produce across the south… Modern industrial farming is not as traditional as we think it should be, and racist and inhumane practices are prevalent around the country. And yet, how most of the country survives is based on such an economy.

All that is to say, is racism is prevalent throughout our daily lives, even if we may only interact in a homogenous culture most of our days. This is not to excuse it, but to remind ourselves, because in order to actively fight against an injustice, we must first know and acknowledge that it exists.

In our Gospel lesson for today, Jesus ‘throws around’ a story about a fig tree and how it hasn’t bore fruit in a couple years. The gardener tells the landowner that they should give it one more year to see if it bears fruit. If it bears fruit, then they have fruit. If it does not bear fruit, then the gardener gives the landowner permission to cut the tree down.

How long do we let the tree of our racism sit idly by, waiting for the fruit of repentance, before another tragedy cuts down the tree and another grows in its place? Because without talking about repentance, heck, even reparations, how long do we let the tree not give life to more seeds of justice? When we repent of our sins, when we acknowledge what we have done and work to repair the damage, new life can begin again, especially when we use our own metaphorical ‘manure’ as fertilizer to splay our own sins in repentance.

The stories of where I come from based on the racism and justice that proceeded me, is part of my own repentance in saying none of us are innocent in this fight. My family and I currently live in Bemidji, one of the homes of Paul and Babe, the first city on the mighty Mississippi, and the hub of three prominent Reservations of the Ojibwe people. Red Lake, Leech Lake and White Earth Indian Reservations are all within 60 miles of Bemidji. Besides the rampant poverty and racist policies that moved them there in the first place, one of the more recent issues plaguing the North Woods is the threat of more oil being moved through northern Minnesota. Home to abundant wildlife, wild rice, forest land and plenty of lakes and rivers - this land is under threat by an effort to replace an aging pipeline to export more oil through our state. Without listening to the voices that have lived in these lands for centuries, the North Woods could be under threat from this and also mining efforts in the Iron Range as well.

Without knowing our own history, our own engagement with injustices in our communities, we allow that fig tree to stay barren. Without repenting for our own participation in racism in our communities, new life cannot spring forth.

Because when communities acknowledge and work to bring voices together and build vibrant diverse communities, beautiful realities can happen. Bemidji still has rampant poverty and homelessness, but efforts for more affordable housing and available resources are being implemented. Community conversations about the pipeline projects are ongoing. Since I graduated high school, Morris has begun giving community and school resources in both English and Spanish, and the Catholic and Evangelical Free churches have Spanish-language worship services. Saint Cloud has developed an organization, UniteCloud to help bridge the divide of race and religion in the community.

None of these efforts are monolithic nor are they a cure-all, but every bit helps. The tragedies in New Zealand, Pittsburgh, and Charleston are examples of what happens when white supremacy breaks through our bonds of community. When the deranged idea of the superiority of whiteness gets weaponized.

We are called as Christians in this majority-white state to love our neighbors and go above and beyond to show our love to our neighbors of color, our neighbors of different faiths and backgrounds. We are called to love by a Savior that broke down barriers to preach, teach, love, serve, feed, clothe those for whom society cast out. We are called to extend out of our comfortability, to reach and listen to our neighbors. Last week, Pastor Andrew offered ideas and events to engage in this conversation, and I am sure there will continue to be further efforts to help in this community.

Jesus told the crowd that events have happened where if people don’t repent, bad things will continue to happen. He then threw around a story about how life will cease to exist if repentance and work on that repentance ceases as well. During this beautiful season of Lent, through this time of dark and shadow, we have been offered this time to reflect on whose we are and who we are called to be in this world. Stories of repentance and forgiveness are prevalent, and it all leads up to the cross.

Journey well, my friends.

Amen.

Children

This is the sermon I preached on December 30, 2018 at Faith Lutheran in Bagley. This was the fourth time preaching there.

(I forgot to upload it last week)

Gospel: Luke 2:41-52

Grace and Peace to you from God our Loving Creator, and from the Savior born in a manger, Jesus the Christ, Amen

Merry Christmas!

Yep. Of the 12 days of Christmas, we are currently on the day that involves geese laying eggs, or just laying around, I never can tell. How was your Christmas? Lots of food? Merriment? Presents? Christmas movies galore?

For the first year in a while, I didn’t have to travel very far. My in-laws’ place is just down the road, and the traffic was pretty easy on Christmas Eve in Bemidji. We had a lovely night at the in-laws with plenty of food to go around, my wife Tiffany made tons of cookies, and presents for all the grandkids were handed out to the awaiting eyes. Then we got home, went to bed, and waited for ol Saint Nick. Only to be spurred awake by a sick kid and then said sick kid had all the attention for the night. Until the other one woke up and we saw what Santa had brought and all was better in the Rundquist household.

Ah, kids. Love knows no bounds, even as they share their sickness with you throughout the night. And yet, all those sick sharing memories go out the window when you lose them, even momentarily. On Monday, Christians around the world gathered to hear the birth narrative of their Savior. How a young mother gave birth to the Savior of the World, in the humblest of places. Then we know the young family left their home for refuge in a foreign country. Twelve years later, the young family had been in the temple of Jerusalem for Passover. Mary and Joseph had left the temple at the end of the festival, but Jesus stayed behind, without his parents noticing.

A whole day had passed, and his parents could not find Jesus. A whole day, a few minutes, or a few hours… That love that you share for your sick kid is the same love that holds the bond between you and them when they’re missing. I’ve only misplaced either of my children for a few minutes at a time, I cannot imagine the heartbreak of a whole day or even much longer. I cannot imagine the heartbreak of a parent that loses their child forever.

Jesus was not where Mary and Joseph had thought he was. Where was Jesus? When they finally retraced their steps and three days later, found Jesus in the temple. Upon finally seeing her son, she asks him why he would just hang out there and not follow them. And twelve-year-old Jesus just plainly says to Mary and Joseph, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

But his parents did not understand. And he traveled to Nazareth with his parents and was obedient to them and he went on to grow in years and that is the only passage of Jesus we have in the bible between his infancy and his baptism by John. His parents misplace him for three days and Jesus shows little empathy for the pain of his parents by asking them why they would be worried about him in the first place. Of course he would be in his Father’s house. Of course they should have known that. Why would they worry?

Why would they worry? Because Mary knew exactly how important Jesus was. Mary knew exactly how much Jesus’s birth and life and future ministry meant to the entire world. She followed him the rest of his days, even through his death and resurrection. Mary knew Jesus. Of course she was worried for him. But what was he doing? Exactly what he would be doing the rest of his life. Learning and teaching. Spending time with the people. Because maybe somewhere deep inside, Jesus knew how important Jesus was.

“Did you not know that I must be in my father’s house?”

When I was first on my pastoral internship in rural Otter Tail County, Tiffany was pregnant with Bridget, and Samuel was a bold three-year-old who was experienced with adults. Zion Lutheran of Amor is a church about this size, with a bunch of doors to the outside, but surrounded by farm fields. We were used to small communities, and Sam was comfortable in the church, so as long as he stayed in the church and didn’t go outside, we weren’t too concerned about where he went. Beyond the nursery and my office, where else would a three year old want to go?

Where else indeed. One Sunday after church, Tiffany and I were talking with folks at coffee time, and noticed Sam hadn’t checked-in in a while. Looking around, we couldn’t find him. Again, a church about this size with a bunch of doors, surrounded by farm fields, he could be anywhere and nowhere at the same time. Not in the nursery, or my office, or any of the bathrooms or Sunday School rooms. Nowhere to be found. On a third or fourth walk-through of the church, we happened to walk through the kitchen, where it would be too busy and loud for a three-year-old to be… to find Sam, washing the dishes right next to the old folks. Tiffany asked him where he’d been the whole time we were looking for him. Sam said that he was of course helping out, in the best way he knew how.

Samuel isn’t Jesus. But I’m sure many of you can relate to misplacing a child at least once. The blood rushes to your head, you enter fight or flight mode, but it’s mostly fight AND flight mode. Flight to your child, fight for whoever took them from you. So when Mary showed up and Jesus was not the least bit concerned for any feelings of his mother, and Mary was very worried and mostly confused why Jesus was not… but… what if I’ve been looking at this from my own parenting view for too long…

What if we dared look at it from the 12-yr-old’s point of view. Jesus was living his own truth, doing what he felt called to do. From a parent’s point of view, yeah, he’s twelve and certainly not able to make the kinds of decisions like staying with a bunch of people away from his parents for days at a time without his parents knowing. Surely. But in his mind, perhaps he knew what he was doing, because that’s what he was called to do in that moment in time, as much as it would be the rest of his life, as we know it in the biblical narrative. Perhaps he knew that these people were wise and so he listened to them, but also taught them as well. A 12-yr-old. How bold and daring to knowingly teach these wise teachers, staying in his heavenly father’s house, because this was his calling. How strong a call that call must have been.

How strong a call that would take him through the rest of his life, teaching and preaching and healing and feeding when and where he wasn’t supposed to, for the good of the people. Jesus the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, born where a king wasn’t supposed to be born, brought to a country he wasn’t supposed to be raised in, raised by a young mother, who probably wasn’t supposed to be a mother yet.

Jesus the 12-yr-old who wasn’t supposed to be at the temple without his parents. Jesus the man who wasn’t supposed to be preaching and teaching and feeding and healing those that society deemed unworthy of attention, on days he wasn’t supposed to, in places he probably shouldn’t have been. To save humanity from ourselves. Because that is what our Savior was called to do. Through the unwinnable unshakable Loving Grace of God, we are saved from ourselves by the birth, life, death and resurrection of a Savior born in a manger to the unlikeliest parents in the most unlikeliest of places.

In this snowy Christmastide, with six more days to go, I invite you to think on the children of the world, especially those born in the most unwelcome places, and the parents that go to terrific lengths to keep them safe. One of the promises of Christmas is that such great potential lies in these children who wake us up with their sick, get lost in church, or stay away too long. Such great potential lies in children who deserve a better life than to be lost, thrown in cages or killed because of government mismanagement, racism, or classism. Remember the thousands of children in this state alone, or the hundreds in this area, who live without enough food on their plate, or clothes on their backs.

Mary knew how important Jesus was to the rest of the world. Jesus knew how important Jesus was to the rest of the world. We know how important our children are to the rest of the world. Remember that every child is important to the rest of the world. In them, we see the face of God.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Amen

TDoR Homilette

This is my homilette from my third Trans Day of Remembrance service, preached at First Lutheran in Bemidji on 11/18/18.

Hebrew Scripture Reading: Genesis 37:2-11, 19-24, 29-36
Psalm 139:1-16
New Testament Reading: Acts 8:26-40

Grace and Peace to you from God our Loving Creator, Savior and Breath, Amen

We will not be erased. All of us are here together, in this beautiful sanctuary, in a small town in rural Minnesota, to show the Bemidji community that we will not be erased. We are here to remember the 23 people who are known to have been killed because of their gender identity, in this country. In truth, there are probably more people in this country who were killed for their transness but were never recorded as such. The 23 people that we light candles for today are remembered by 23 candles we shouldn’t have to light.

People who come to know themselves as transgender have stories about their journey to tell. The 23 people we remember today had stories to tell. The hundreds of people around the world who were killed for their gender identity had stories to tell. But these stories shouldn’t end in the violent way as they do. Our stories shouldn’t end in a higher suicide rate. But transphobia is real, folks.

It’s real now as it was in biblical times. We read the passage of Joseph and their coat of many colors. Or technicolor dreamcoat, or more likely a dress. Joseph was beaten for their wearing of this garment, made by their mother, given by their father. Beaten for jealousy, fear, or the beginnings of anti-trans violence, Joseph loved their garment and was beaten and thrown in a hole because of it.

We’re here to remember, and to acknowledge that Trans people die and are killed in violent ways, and to make our community aware of these truths. We are also here to turn that remembrance outward, and say that transphobia has no place in our community. Anti-trans violence has no place in this community.

We read both the passage of Joseph, because it could be read as the first example of anti-trans violence, and that of the Ethiopian Eunuch. Philip the Apostle was walking along the road when he was compelled by the Spirit to join the chariot on which the Eunuch was driving. When Philip joined the eunuch, Philip told them about Jesus, and they asked Philip what it would take to be baptized. Philip and the eunuch stopped, and Philip baptized them, no questions asked.

Eunuchs were sexual minorities of Philip’s day, but were revered in high esteem. We read about Joseph and their dress to read about the people’s violent resistance to expressing one’s gender differently. We read about the Ethiopian Eunuch to hear passionate acceptance of one’s different expression of gender or sexual identity.

As a nation, we’re in between these two realities, outright violence and passionate acceptance. Minnesota was the first state to offer legal protections based on gender identity, but recent federal policies have called those protections into question.

Most of the 23 people who were killed were trans people of color, specifically transwomen of color. Every year, this has been the case. Transwomen of color have a higher likelihood of being killed for their gender identity than any other demographic, and we have to acknowledge that reality.

Today, we will light 23 candles and ring the bell 23 times. Together, we remember the lives that have been lost in this country, and hold their names in our hearts as we pray for courage to fight transphobia in our own lives, in our own community.

We cannot and will not be erased. We gather together today to shout into the darkness, bring the light of these 23 candles and the sound of the bells into the darkness of the world and the silence of our hearts. God is with us in this space, in our hearts, calling us to action.
Amen.

Reformation

This is my sermon from Reformation Sunday, 10/28/18, preached at Bemidji United Methodist Church, the second time I've preached there.

Hebrew Scripture: Job 42:1-6, 10-17
Gospel: Mark 10:46-52

Grace and Peace to you from God our Creator, who formed the universe and continues to create and reform, and from Jesus the Christ, Amen

Many scolded him, telling him to be quiet, but he shouted even louder, “Son of David, show me mercy!”

Show me mercy… Show me mercy, as a Lutheran who lives for such a day as this. Today is Reformation Sunday, for Lutherans and all children of the Reformation. Most of us in the Lutheran Church celebrate this Sunday as a kind of homecoming, a reminder of why we’re here, who we are as Lutherans and what those 95 theses on the door of the church mean for us, now 501 years later.
And, in a state of humility and honesty, I was surprised to see that Methodists such as yourselves remember such a day. Some of us Lutherans tend to forget that you folks are children of the Reformation yourselves.

Because being a Lutheran in a state like Minnesota is relatively easy. With towns throughout the state with more Lutheran churches than bars, with many public officials claiming Lutheran heritage… It’s easy to assume everyone’s Lutheran on a day like today. Last year was the biggest homecoming yet. It was the 500th anniversary of Martin Luther’s 95 theses, the dawn of the Reformation. So much emphasis was placed on what happened when, and why… that some folks neglected to look forward to the 501st, and beyond.

Once your Church is 500 years old… well, then what? Then you start bringing your truth to the Methodists that’s what… Well, okay, maybe that’s not everybody’s plan, but here I am anyway.
Nah, you folks have your own reformers, John and Samuel Wesley, and many others. With a similar story to Luther, by leaving the Church of his upbringing and claiming ownership of a different set of beliefs, John Wesley helped lead a movement that would eventually become the United Methodist Church. By standing up for what they thought was right, they stood apart from the powers that be, and persecuted for that. They shouted out into the crowd, calling for their Savior, the Son of David, and the crowds rebuked them.

Therefore, I relent and find comfort on dust and ashes.

So God and Satan made a wager about Job, to see how much horror Job could manage. Throughout the book of Job, he loses all his stuff, piece by piece, and he spends the next chapters dialoguing with God about this and that, then God tells him what’s what, and Job finally tells God, that he’s had enough.

After losing practically everything, Job considers all that he had, and the power of God, and decides that no matter what, God’s got this. God’s got whatever is in store for Job, and Job still finds comfort in the dust and ashes.

Seeing this, God replaces everything for Job, doubles his possessions, and Job’s friends come to celebrate with everyone and everything that Job had received back. God re-formed all that Job had lost, because God might have been reformed herself.

But for the Jewish people, there was no second half to that story, metaphorically. In undergrad, I had a retired Jewish rabbi as my professor of religious studies, and he always said that he was alive because of an accident. That he wasn’t meant to be there, because if weaponized anti-semitism hadn’t almost succeeded, he wouldn’t have been there. As much as people can believe that racism died with the Civil Rights Act, people can believe that anti-semitism died with the Holocaust. Neither of which is true, as we saw this week with the attacks in Georgia and Pittsburgh.

With the realities of an increased surge of racism and anti-semitism over the last couple years, we cannot glaze over conversations about Luther and Wesley without acknowledging that their feelings about Jewish people were horrifically misplaced, and if you need examples, you have google searches at your fingertips when you get home. Let’s just say that one of those reformers had a treatise called “On the Jews and their Lies” and it wasn’t Wesley.

The Jewish people have had to live with the realities of dust and ashes since the beginning of the diaspora in the first century, but in a post-Holocaust world, they still live with the realities of anti-semitism. With the wide range of examples such as yesterday’s horrific attacks in Pittsburgh and Christian well-meaning conversations about Jesus’s disagreements with the Pharisees. Anti-semitism is still prolific and we need to acknowledge our part in that as Christians and children of the Reformation.

As Christians and children of the Reformation, we can acknowledge and live into the truth that our Abrahamic siblings, our Jewish and Muslim neighbors, see Jesus of Nazareth differently than we do, but we can and should all live side by side for each other in God’s glory. Because the Jesus narrative is important for us Christians, and we know that and profess that daily. As much as Jewish and Muslim faith practices are important and lived out daily for Jewish and Muslim folks. Jesus and the disciples lived in a pluralistic world. Jesus was a descendant of the Davidic line, and was a reformer of his time, reframing some laws, bending and breaking others for the needs of the people. Like Bartimaeus.

Many scolded him, telling him to be quiet, but he shouted even louder, “Son of David, show me mercy!”

Bartimaeus was blind. Probably an outcast his whole life. Probably known for his outbursts. Probably a student of scripture, who had been awaiting the Messiah to pass through town. It’s curious how the blind beggar references David, who kicked out the blind and lame from the Jerusalem Temple in 2 Samuel. Yet Jesus arrives in town and hears Bartimaeus’ cries, despite the crowd’s best effort to squelch them. Jesus calls him forward. Suddenly, the crowd changes their tune. “Be encouraged! Get up! He’s calling you.” they say. Huh. Funny how the bullies become the wise ones when the teacher comes around.

The standard healing story continues with the eventual healing and the restoration of sight because of his faith, which is honestly a difficult path to go down, and another different sermon based on that - but what I wanted to focus on was not the healing because of faith - but the voice crying out for a savior. Because in truth, healing stories like these in the Gospels are difficult to mesh with progressive mainline 21st century thought. Again, a different sermon for a different time, but what the Spirit is calling out to me is the yearning in Bartimaeus.

This yearning of a societal outcast, which in truth is a much more common story throughout scripture than healing, but is quite apparent even in a modern era. How many examples of our current news are there, of voices crying out for a savior, only for the people in power to squelch them?

What about the thousands of children in cages at the border, or the unfairly incarcerated prisoners throughout the country? Or the hundreds of fleeing refugees seeking asylum from a government destroyed - by the same country that will soon likely deny them asylum?

And then, a document circulates with the intention to disregard the legal rights of all transgender folks such as myself… when all these voices are crying out for help, for salvation from their horrors, and the cries all fall on leaders unwilling to listen… When will the message of this Gospel, of a Messiah who declares that the two commandments that supersede all other the others are these - to love God and to love your neighbor - when will that message break through the crowd trying to silence the outcasts? As the Psalmist writes, How Long O Lord?

As Christians and children of the Reformation, we believe and profess that all are saved by God’s freely given Grace, through our faith in Christ. We believe and profess that Christ lived and died to save us all from our own broken humanity. Our Messiah, the Son of David who came into this world to save us from ourselves.

Anti-semitism, racism, homophobia, transphobia, and xenophobia are all evils that we are called to fight against in the name of the one who sent us. So that we may in turn go out into the world and hear the cries of the people who lose everything and yet cling to what they have left, and be the voices to the voiceless. Christ showed God’s love so that we may in turn show our love for our neighbors.

It’s a big world, and it’s going to take more than Lutherans and Methodists do something about it. Together, we can begin our own reformation in Bemidji, where we continue and build upon previous work, to make our own corner of the world better for our neighbors. Paul and Babe were said to clear forests for people to have homes. Together, we can begin our reformation and continue making Bemidji a better home for us all.

Amen.

Share

This is my second sermon preached at New Salem Lutheran in Turtle River, MN, preached on 8/12/18.

Epistle: Ephesians 4:25 - 5:2
Gospel: John 6:35, 41-51

Grace and Peace to you from God, our Loving Creator, and from the Bread of Life, Jesus the Christ, Amen

Two young 7th graders were sitting in the back of science class, when one says to the other, “I’m sorry for all the wrongs I’ve ever caused you.” The other 7th grader looks befuddled, but thanks the first one anyway.

Robert is the first one’s name, and that might not have been the exact words he said to me, but it was something similar. You see, Robert grew up in a conservative denomination of Christianity known as the Apostolic Christians, and in order to become a baptized member of his church, he was to atone for every one of his sins by repenting to everyone he had wronged. This meant calling up relatives far away in other states, and as it happened, also classmates sitting next to him in science class.
Maybe to another 7th grader this wouldn’t have piqued their curiosity. But maybe another 7th grader wasn’t raised in the church from day one, and maybe another 7th grader wasn’t in desperate need for a friend.

So, rather than just thanking him and going on my merry way, I asked the best question. “Why?”... I asked him “Why” because I was curious. I didn’t think many other people in my grade went to church as often as I did.

Asking that question, followed by many other questions about his faith, and in turn telling him about mine, sparked a friendship that is still strong to this day, nearly 20 years later. Sure, we had done projects together before, and we knew each other well enough, as I knew most of the other kids in my grade pretty well. But it was in sharing a piece of ourselves that we found common ground.
This piece was the Bread of Life. We broke bread when we discussed our faiths, for the founder of our differing faiths was the same, Jesus the Christ, our Bread of Life.

“Jesus said to them, "I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” (John 6:35 NRSV)

So this is week three of the infamous five week journey of bread. Remember last time I preached, and all I wanted to do was preach about Jesus feeding people with bread? Well, remember the week after, was when we actually talked about Jesus feeding people, and how we should all go out and help one another, and talk to one another, and be with one another. In this third week of the bread journey, the text focuses on the journey from Manna to Jesus, and Jesus gives the Jewish people context as to where he comes from. Jesus centers himself on the history of the Jewish people, his people, and says to them that when the Israelites were in the wilderness and they asked for Manna, they received it, but eventually died. Jesus offers the bread of life for all to have eternal life with God.

This passage is about hope and the freedom found in Christ, not for condemning non-believers. Because as the writer of our second lesson writes, “So then, putting away falsehood, let all of us speak the truth to our neighbors, for we are members of one another.” (Ephesians 4:25 NRSV) When the author was writing to the people of Ephesus, they were writing to a mixed audience of both Jewish and Greek people. A diverse crowd. So sensing the diversity, the author calls for unity in a few places, and reiterates in our lesson for today that this diversity does not have to be a point of contention, but rather a uniting factor. The author continues, “Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear.”

So what do we do when we hear a different thought than our own? How do we live in a plural existence like the people in Ephesus?

Because we all know that for some people, this time in our lives is the most politically divided time they’ve experienced. To the point that people can’t even bring up the word politics without people shuffling in their seats. I know this isn’t specific to our time right now, but isn’t the old axiom that one never brings up politics or religion at a social gathering?
Or in church?

The story I told about my friend Robert bringing up his religious beliefs is a safe story to tell, because Robert was coming from his Christian worldview. Albeit different than my Christian worldview… but either way, a story about a Christian sharing their beliefs with another Christian is a pretty safe story to tell in a sermon.

But I’ve had a few more faith conversations with other people from different religions and different religious worldviews. When I worked with Somali immigrant children in Saint Cloud, I’d ask my fellow Somali tutors about Islam, and I would in turn talk about my view on Christianity. Again, differing points of view, but we found surprising commonality. A friend of mine has gotten both local and national press because of the work she did on her pastoral internship, holding an interfaith dialogue between Christians and Muslim leaders in the small southern Minnesota town of Dawson. Pastor Mandy France invited her local doctor and the medical director of the hospital in Dawson, Dr. Aziz Virji to hold interfaith dialogue with members of the community.

She addressed the inflammatory rhetoric of rampant Islamophobia head on by holding peaceful conversations about Islam and Christianity. Sharing of one’s faith is important as Christians, and it is also equally important to listen and learn from our neighbors of different faiths.

“Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you.” (Ephesians 4:31-32 NRSV)

So when we share our beliefs, our faith stories, our political beliefs with one another - we share a piece of ourselves that tells us something deeper than skin-deep. Sometimes you can look at other people and take a reasonable guess at their religious affiliation due to outward symbols, whether it’s a cross around a neck, a hijab around a face, a turban around a head or a kippah on top - along with many other religious symbols - but other times our religious beliefs aren’t so public.

Similarly, our political beliefs may be publicly known, especially if one is a public official, but nothing is certain. But when we go the extra mile and share these bits of ourselves with one another, we are breaking bread and holding the sacred in common with one another.

And, in reality, that’s what we do every Sunday here. We each have differing political and maybe even religious beliefs, but we cast all those aside when we come to the table. The celebration of Holy Communion is one of the Christian Church’s great equalizers, where we take what is different about ourselves, and cast it aside for the common practice of confessing our sins in public confession, and coming to the table together, to share in the Blood of Christ and the Bread of Life. That together with other Christians, we share in the physical manifestation of God’s freely given Grace. Grace that is bestowed to all of us, to save us from ourselves, for the glory of God.

Give us today our daily bread, we pray together. Our daily Bread of Life that goes beyond the physical bread in communion, goes beyond the sharing of ourselves to one another - but to our daily needs that make us who we are as human beings and as beloved Children of God. We have been given our Bread of Life to not only have for ourselves, but to share with one another, whatever we can give - for the benefit of one another.

One last thought - in this country, we share our political beliefs when we take action and vote. As a person standing in this pulpit, I cannot legally or in good conscience tell you who to vote for, but I can encourage you to share your political voice by voting on Tuesday. This Tuesday, share the Bread of Life by doing your duty as an American, and especially as a Minnesotan - and vote.

When those two kids shared their faith with one another in the back of science class, it birthed a great friendship. Robert and I have been friends for nearly 20 years, and today Robert turns 30. He’s celebrating it by breaking bread with some of his friends.

Vote on Tuesday. Share the Bread of Life.

Amen.