February 17, 2019. Jim Bennett's sermon today is about the call to discipleship of Isaiah, Peter, and Paul, and how each of them responded. How have we heard that call? And how have we responded? *** Transcript *** Grace and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen. Well, today you're hearing a sermon that I intended to preach last Sunday. I'm getting the feeling that maybe Mother Nature never wanted me to deliver this sermon, but I hope none of you feel the same way after you hear it. But I have to admit, right from the start of this message, that I'm not a fisherman. I've never enjoyed fishing. I can remember as a little boy my father taking my older brothers and me to Lake Springfield, about a hundred miles north of here, and trying to teach us to catch fish. I never caught a thing. It was so boring. So I can relate to Peter in our gospel lesson today, when it says he and his fellow fishermen came in after a long night of fishing with empty nets. They didn't catch a thing either. And they were professionals. Now I realize, in sharing my lack of enthusiasm for fishing, I risk alienating some of our good church members who enjoy drowning worms and telling great fish stories, real or imagined, about the ones that got away. However, as much as I try, there is no way of escaping the topic today as our gospel reading is baiting us to engage the more contemporary significance of the story about how Peter became a disciple of Jesus. And the theme of responding to God's call is also echoed in our first lesson -- the call of the prophet Isaiah -- and in our epistle lesson where Paul recounts his conversion from being a persecutor of Jesus' followers to one who proclaimed the Gospel. So the lure is unmistakable. At our time in history, when researchers are telling us that fewer and fewer people are hearing and responding to the call to become disciples or followers of Jesus, perhaps a closer look at today's readings might help us better understand why that might be the case, and also be instructive as to how we might impact that trend. First I'd like to take a closer look at our lessons, and point out some of the similarities that are found in these three readings, and then secondly to talk about how they offer different perspectives about how one might respond to the call of discipleship. And thankfully, we have more options than just fishing. Most of you know that I was a hospital chaplain for 25 years. And one of the opportunities I had in that vocation was to encounter and learn about many different faith perspectives that allowed me to compare and contrast them with my own. Now educated as a Lutheran Christian and as a pastor, I was well-indoctrinated with an orthodox theology that helped me understand that I needed Jesus in my life, because of my human shortcomings. No matter how hard I try, my humanness gets in the way of being the kind of person God wants me to be. Now, the three characters in our lessons today -- Isaiah, Peter, and Paul -- when confronted with the call to follow, each responded similarly: with fear and a confession that they were less than perfect men. Isaiah responded to God's call by saying, "Woe is me. I am a man with unclean lips." Paul, in his letter to the Corinthian Church, recounted his place in the hierarchy of apostles saying, "I am the least of apostles, unfit to be called an apostle." And Peter, in our gospel when he realized he was in the presence of God and Jesus, called out, "Depart from me. I am a sinful man, O Lord." So the common theme in all of our lessons today points out that to be a follower of Jesus meant that I must acknowledge my sinfulness and humble myself before the Lord. That's why each Sunday, I take part in reciting the confession and receiving absolution, and taking part in the grace of God that comes to us through the sacrament of Holy Communion. Doing all of that doesn't make me better than anyone else. It just reminds me of my need for God in my life and makes me more grateful that God forgives my sins. Martin Luther reminds us that as Christians, we are both saint and sinner at the same time. In our current culture outside of our churches on Sunday mornings, it's hard to find good public examples of humility and gratefulness that inspire faith in God. That might be because we too often privatize our faith on one hand, or perhaps we elevate it as something special and put it on public display, when really humility and gratefulness and faith might otherwise inspire action. Maybe, to use another fishing analogy, we choose to stay on the dock or fish from the safety of shore, or maybe we pride ourselves with the most expensive bass boat with all the technology and then show off with the size of our catch. If we do that, rather than putting on our waders and getting out into deeper water and simply do the work of God, we are missing that opportunity. Now, we saw just a glimpse of these characteristics of humility and gratefulness and trust being put into action a few weeks ago, in the news cycle during our government shutdown, when restauranteurs and business owners and agencies and volunteers were moving to action to help those who were furloughed and not receiving paychecks. There were reports of great generosity and humility and gratitude. And now that the government has reopened and individuals are now receiving those paychecks, there's less reporting of that activity. And I'd like to think that that activity is continuing, but just not being recognized on national TV. God knows there are still plenty of people without work, without food, without homes. But you see, that is the thing. Recognizing my need for having God in my life, and knowing that my sins are forgiven, is really only half the story in our lessons today. Believe it or not, it was the easy half: acknowledging one's sinfulness and need for God in our lives is the easy half, because cheap grace would tell us that that's all we need to do, is acknowledge it and receive it. But if we're going to exercise that grace, we have to hear the more costly message in our gospel lesson. It's about how we respond, once we've recognized that need for God in our lives. And again, our lessons are illustrative of how we might learn from Isaiah and Peter, each responding differently after recognizing their call. Isaiah was already a court prophet. Now in Isaiah's days, there were many different kinds of prophets. And in his day the court prophets were the kinds of prophets who worked for the government, and simply told the king what the king wanted to hear. We probably still have some of those kinds of prophets in our day. But we hear that Isaiah was at risk, if he were trying to bring the king closer to God. He could have not only lost his job, but he could have lost his head. But Isaiah stayed true to his calling and remained a court prophet after receiving his call to discipleship. Now in the same way, I suppose when you or I respond to God's call to discipleship we might continue in our same profession. We might live in the same place. We might do many of the same things. But we also might do some things differently. Our motives and our values may change. We might witness to our call to discipleship by being better stewards of our environment, or our resources. Our gratitude or humility might lead to more acts of kindness, or lead to involvement in volunteerism or social justice issues. This kind of discipleship is epitomized, I believe, in the words of the good Roman Catholic St. Benedict, when he proclaimed to his hearers, "Preach the Gospel, and if necessary use words." What he was saying is that the way we live our lives can speak volumes. Today, St. Benedict might have been known as an environmentalist. Now in contrast to Isaiah's response to God's call, Peter's call to discipleship led him to respond differently. He left his former profession as a fisherman to become a fisher of people. Jesus later taught that Peter did that so well that he was going to choose Peter to be the rock on which he would build his church. In the generations of followers since Peter, we've had varying degrees of success in building the church. We struggled sometimes to understand what it means to be an evangelical church, charged with sharing the Good News of Christ as if it was more like a fishing derby, requiring a certain technique or a secret science around how or where to fish, and what bait or lure to use, to reel in the biggest catch. But perhaps this is where this analogy between discipleship and fishing needs to break down, because I don't believe that Christians, as followers of God, can be hooked like fish. The success or failure of building our church, or of witnessing to God's love, will not depend on gimmicks that lure people by using the right bait or catching them in nets. 21st Century Christians cannot be captured. Our confession today talked about how we instead have been captured by sin, but we cannot be captured into staying here at 8:00am or at 10:30am every Sunday morning. I haven't checked lately, but I don't think they lock the doors when you come in for church so that you can't leave. But we have, I think, need to adopt a newer philosophy. I call it "Catch and Release." The love of God can catch us, and then we are released to share that Good News with others. In scripture, the Apostle Paul tells us that faith comes from hearing. The church of Jesus Christ calls us to be disciples, and in some cases like Peter, to leave whatever we're doing to become followers, to share the Gospel in word and deed, or responding to God's call by changing our priorities or values. What we hear and experience is God loves us, and that our shortcomings are forgiven, and that there is a community of faith that cares about one another and about all of God's creation. So today, Isaiah, Paul, and Peter hear the call to discipleship and respond. How have you heard that call? How have you responded? Are we going to fish or cut bait? Amen. *** Keywords *** 2019, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Jim Bennett, Isaiah 6:1-8, A Vision of God in the Temple, Luke 5:1-11, Jesus Calls the First Disciples, 1 Corinthians 15:1-11, The Resurrection of Christ

January 20, 2019. The gospel story today is the Wedding at Cana, and Pastor Stephanie talks about chronos time versus kairos time in Jesus' response to his mother's request when the wine gave out. *** Transcript *** You know what they say: timing is everything. Whether you're telling a joke, making a dramatic entrance, or popping the question, timing is everything. When the timing is right, people erupt with laughter at your punchline. When the timing is off you might hear a deafening silence just when you get to that part. When timing is right, your entrance on the stage makes a statement. When your timing is off people barely notice. When timing is right, someone smiles radiantly in response to your proposal. But if your timing would be off you might get a laugh and a wave of the hand and a comment that says, "You must be joking." Ouch, that would hurt. Timing is everything, which is what makes this wedding story at Cana such a scene. Jesus, his mother, and his disciples are all guests, and are probably having a pretty good time. Weddings in that day were quite the occasion. Many times they lasted up to seven days in duration. But at this particular wedding, something happens three days in that could turn the tide from celebration to awkward embarrassment of the hosts. No, it's not the toasts that were given by the maid of honor or the best man that might be in bad taste. We've all experienced those awkward moments. And it's not that the wedding officiant mispronounced the names of the bride and groom or confused the vows, such as happens many times in a romantic comedy movie. It's just that the wine ran out too early. When wedding celebrations last seven days, running out of wine on day three signifies that something in the planning and the timing of the whole process went terribly wrong. Whatever the host had imagined would be needed for each of the days of celebration was off by a long shot. Now if it were us, we might whisper nervously to some friends and ask them to please make a run to the local wine shop and pick up some more. But in this time and place, that was obviously not an option. Running out of wine too early wasn't just a little embarrassing in this case, it was a social disaster. Those of you who especially enjoy a glass of fine wine will be happy to learn or be reminded that in the Bible, wine isn't just a social drink. It is much, much more than that. It's a sign of harvest. It's a sign of God's abundance. It's a sign of joy and celebration and gladness. So, to run short on wine meant experiencing a shortage of blessing. Worse than ruining a joke by messing up the punchline, poor planning on the quantity of wine needed would seem like awful timing. The wine has run out before the wedding has, and it's a potential catastrophe if it becomes widely known. Now, Jesus' mother doesn't seem to have much of a sense of timing either, at first glance. At least that's what Jesus seems to think by his comments. They have no wine, she says to her son. We don't know whether she was close to the families of the bride or groom and so eager to help, or whether she was just particularly sensitive and horrified at this kind of social faux pas. Because however much we appreciate hospitality today, the people of Jesus' time and culture practiced it as more than that. It was practiced as a survival skill, a way of looking after one another in a hostile and perilous environment, and an assurance of being looked after in return. No wonder it became a matter of honor as well. So, Mary expected Jesus to do something about this grave matter. But Jesus seems to think that this is another instance of bad timing. "Woman," he responds, taking an oddly formal tone with his mother. "Woman, what concern is that to you or to me? My hour, my time has not come." But Mary continues to act as though it is time for action. Rather than raise an eyebrow at his tone, or offer a counterpoint to his assertion, she turns to the servants and tells them simply "do whatever he tells you." Now it could be that, like a good Jewish mother, Mary knew her son would come around. Protest he might, but eventually he'll listen to his mother. Or, it could be that Mary knew how to tell time better than Jesus thought -- she was, after all, the one who brought him into the world. The one who heard the promises about him, who cared for him as a baby and watched him grow. The one who dried his tears as a child, and followed him herself when he became an adult. So perhaps we shouldn't be surprised if Mary recognized that wherever her son was on the scene, it was no ordinary time. Well, you know the rest of the story. Jesus instructs the servants to fill six large stone basins with water, to draw some of that water out, now turned to wine, and take it to the chief steward. Once again, timing is an issue. Most hosts, you see, serve the very best wine upfront (wanting to make a good impression) and save the cheap wine for later when the palates of the guests have been, shall we say, sufficiently dulled so as to not recognize the drop in quality. But this host, the steward assumes, has bucked that traditional timing and saved the best wine for last. And suddenly this wedding celebration has six huge basins, up to 180 gallons, of fantastic wine -- more than enough for the remaining days of the celebration. No one could now leave this wedding thirsty, for abundance and blessing overflowed. Timing is everything, and not just in this scene but across John's gospel. In fact, there are two kinds of time that animate John's imagination as he writes. One is the kind of time with which we count and track everyday events, the seconds and minutes, the hours and days of our lives. It's the time we spend standing in line, or clocking in at work, or waiting at the stop sign, or waiting for a birthday party to begin. Yes, the primary way that we think of keeping time this way is called "chronos," related to our word "chronology." But there is another kind of time at play, the kind of time that transcends chronos, or ordinary time. It is called "kairos" time, time of opportunity. In kairos time, all that is predictable fades, and what emerges in its place is sheer possibility. This is God's time, and it punctures through the ordinary canvas and clocks of our lives, at unexpected intervals, to reveal a glimpse of the divine. So, when Jesus speaks of "his hour," he isn't speaking of a particular date or time on his calendar. He's talking about the time when God will reveal his glory through his cross, resurrection, and ascension. The time when God will be accessible to all, once and for all. That time, that hour, Jesus says, has not yet come. Now in the coming months, our gospel readings will be coming from Luke. But, if we were to spend more time in the Gospel of John, you would see how frequently John records Jesus as saying something about whether the hour has come for him to do something, or whether it was not the hour. Something like seven or eight times he uses such phrases. Timing was everything for Jesus. And his apostle John took note. After all, even though he wrote this gospel many, many years after the death and resurrection of Jesus, he was still mindful, after all that time, of the significance of timing in Jesus' ministry. The gospel story begins by noting that what is about to be related occurred on the third day. That doesn't often occur in our gospel story, so it calls attention to itself. It makes you wonder whether John is wanting to grab our attention here in a particular way. Maybe he wants us to think, Hey wait a minute, did you just say the "third day" as in "on the third day he was raised from the dead?" Maybe it's his rhetorical way of reminding us what can happen whenever there is need and Jesus is on the scene. Could be he's setting us up for this story to see that in such cases, resurrection and abundance are right around the corner. He might even be inviting us to think of this story as a resurrection story. I wish I had thought of this, but here instead I need to give credit to a friend of mine who noted that maybe this is John's hint at what resurrection is like. What if the life that we live after this life is the most excellent improvement on every one of the best things that we experience in this life? What if what we've been experiencing in this life is like drinking acceptable enough table wine, but resurrection is something like being given the finest of the fine wines in abundance and in community and in fine quality? It makes some sense, since the "life to come" is described often as a table of great abundance and joy. You know, I have to admit: with all this emphasis on hospitality and joy, as I was working through the readings this week I realized that emphasizing the theme of abundance, joy, celebration at what God's presence brings to our lives wasn't completely sitting well with me. Maybe it's because of the nature of this weekend and what we observe with Martin Luther King weekend. I wasn't sure why though, until I read some articles and thought of others whose biblical work I admire, who express their own sense that it can be hard to dwell on the abundance and joy that we experience, when we feel burdened by knowing that life is so very difficult for so many people. Can we honestly celebrate when others are struggling so? I will get back to this. But first I want to acknowledge that this is of course the weekend that we especially honor the work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. -- and really so many others who have sacrificed and pressed on in the march toward a society of greater dignity and equality for all. One of those key civil rights leaders who continues to advocate for justice and mercy is Representative John Lewis. I was able to hear Congressman Lewis speak several years ago at a conference on Christian discipleship. If you know much about his life story, you know that he endured beatings on the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama on Bloody Sunday in 1965, and on several other occasions. He continues to serve to the best of his ability, even as the decades have passed. John Lewis knows the cost of discipleship, yet he presses on. I remember hearing him speak on the powerful influence of deep joy in his life. Apparently, he speaks of this quite often, because it was easy to find several quotes that he shared on many occasions. This joy, he says, comes directly from his faith in God who is still active, and who has not given up on any of us. Even when Congressman Lewis acknowledges that we as a nation still have much work to do in our quest for racial justice, he also exhorts us to in the meantime continue to celebrate God's abundance and goodness, and to regularly root ourselves in the joy that comes from our faith. "We serve a god of love, mercy, and grace," he preached. "So don't give up, don't give in, and don't give out. Keep the faith, and keep on continuing the story. Be hopeful. Be optimistic. Never become bitter. Do not give in to hate. Continue to look for and celebrate the signs of God's abundant kindness, which are everywhere." Congressman Lewis' tenacious joy mirrors the character, the joy we see bubble up in this text from John. It's the kind of joy we hear in Mary's voice when she expresses a deep trust that Jesus will do what needs to be done. Even if she has no idea how or what or when, she knows that Jesus will take care of it. That is the joy that comes from deep trust and an assurance that God is in the middle of circumstances of life with us. With Jesus' mother, his disciples, and his servants who were the only ones at the wedding who knew where this extraordinary wine had come from, we too can celebrate. Jesus is in the midst of us. He is with us always, whether or not it is the right time for him to do what we hope he would do right now. It is always the time to stop, notice his grace among us, and celebrate his abundant goodness. Just as we acknowledge in our prayers of intercession, we weep with those who weep, even as we rejoice with those who rejoice. And we remember the ancient wisdom of Ecclesiastes, that there is a time to weep, and a time to laugh, a time to mourn, and a time to dance. May our worship continue with an awareness of the god whose presence we celebrate. Timing is everything. And for us, worship is the time for thanks, for praise, for adoration, for recognition of God's great abundance in our lives. *** Keywords *** 2019, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Stephanie Doeschot, Marriage at Cana, Wedding at Cana, John 2:1-11, Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, MLK

December 24, 2018. Pastor Stephanie invites us to peer into the manger this Christmas Eve and be amazed by God's love made flesh. *** Transcript *** Well, here we are at Christmas Eve at last. Most likely, you've had at least 24 days of preparation for this night. Now, some of you started much earlier than that, when December 1 arrived and you turned that over in your calendar. Some other people here might be squirming even now and hoping some store is still open because you've just got one more person for whom you probably should get a gift. Or some of you are smiling smugly and saying, "I just started my shopping this morning and got everything I needed, so what's the big deal?" At any rate, I imagine each one of us is experiencing a mixture of feelings this night. There's the eagerness for the experience of sharing this time with loved ones and taking in the lights, the music, and the festivities of the season -- as well as more than a little bit of fatigue and the weariness of perhaps too many late nights and early mornings than usual to get everything ready. Whatever your routine has been of getting ready for celebrating Christmas, we are grateful to be able to welcome you here tonight. We're glad that you have come to celebrate this special night with us. Even as I say that, I'm wondering about the various motivations represented tonight for being here. Do you know why you are here? What has prompted you to come? We're not taking a poll. But I think it's safe to assume that some of you are here because this is your Christmas custom. You cannot imagine not being in a place where the carols are sung, where the familiar story of Jesus' birth is read, and the candles -- or in the case of this particular service, the glow sticks will be activated -- as we sing during a lovely, peaceful moment the beautiful strains of "Silent Night." Just as likely, some of you are here because you felt a little pressure to join a family member who wanted to be here. Or perhaps worship is no longer a part of your regular weekly life, but there is just something about this night that draws you in, filling you with good memories of Christmases past, and reminds you of what used to hold meaning in your life, what once gave you a frame of reference. Perhaps you are here because you are searching. You have a deep sense, or a deep hope, that there is more to life than merely what you see around you. And so you have come. And finally, I imagine some of you are in worship on this Christmas Eve because you were lonely or grieving. On this night of all nights, you need to be among people, any people, in a safe space, a holy space, a space where you can just breathe. Regardless whatever the motivation, whatever has summoned you into this time of worship, at some level it probably has to do with the baby who is the center of the Christmas story. At some level, your reason for being here is intertwined with a desire to peer into the manger, once again, to see who exactly is in that manger and try again to comprehend what that baby means for us, and for our lives. Deep down, perhaps that is the real reason you are here. It is one reason that I am here. I am here to peer into the manger once again. I am here to imagine that baby's face. I am here to listen for, to remember, to ponder the story of God becoming flesh. I am well aware that this is a concept that is not easily understood, and I've come to accept that this is just part of the mystery that holds me in its grip -- that the almighty God would become human flesh as an expression of love. It's a concept that has inspired all kinds of speculation about a conversation that just might have happened when God told the angels about this plan. In response to God announcing this plan in the Heavenly realm, one of my favorite authors, Barbara Brown Taylor, surmises: This could have happened. We don't know. But the angels might have asked God, "Could you at least create yourself as a magical baby with special powers? It wouldn't take much, just the power to become invisible. Maybe the power to hurl bolts of lightning as the need might arise." The angels all felt like God coming as a baby was a stroke of genius idea, but it lacked adequate safety measures. God thanked the angels for their concern but said no. God thought just becoming a regular baby would be best. How else could God gain the trust of God's creatures? There was a risk, a very high risk, but that was part of what God wanted us to know, that God was willing to risk everything to get as close to us in hopes that we might receive this gift as a love letter from God, for each and every one of us. That's why we need to peer into the manger to be reminded of this wonder. God has chosen to come near to us, to be with us even in our everyday, normal lives. That's why we need to look at the baby Jesus' face. We need to once again be drenched in the mystery of the Incarnation, the gift of God becoming Emmanuel, God with us. God with us forever. For when we peer into that manger, we believe, we trust that we don't only see the face of the baby Jesus. When we peer into that manger, we believe and trust we also see the face of God. The baby reminds us that God loves us in this world so much that God simply could not stay away. God had to come and be one of us, one with us, so that we would know once and for all that no matter how much darkness we see, and how heavy life can feel, it will not overcome us and it will not last forever. When we peer into that manger, we are reminded that we worship a god who decided to get down into the dirt with us, down into the messiness and complications of life with us. When we peer into that manger, we see that God knew we needed a god, a savior who had tasted the darkness and the tensions of human existence firsthand. The baby in the manger proclaims to us that, because God chose flesh and blood, and we now know that there is nothing we can live with that God has not already absorbed into God's own heart as a result. Because of Jesus, God knows what it's like to be born, to be pushed out into this world. Because of Jesus, God knows what it is like to be vulnerable, to be a child, to be weak in power and completely dependent on others. And because of Jesus, God knows what it's like to grow up, to hurt, to die, to lose a loved one, and to weep. Because of the face of the one we see when we peer into the manger, we believe and trust that God knows all of what it means to be human, to be a creature, to be you and me. What is it that we see when we peer into the manger? We see a god who is strong enough to become a baby. We see a god who is powerful enough to take on human weakness. As former Yale chaplain John Vannorsdall once proclaimed, "By coming to be with us as a baby, God was demonstrating unilateral disarmament with humanity. Any concept we might have formed that God relishes coming to us in judgment can just go away in the face of the baby Jesus. Any god who comes as a baby," he preached, "is a god who intends us absolutely no harm." No harm. Only life. Only loving relationship. The kind of god is the one we see when we peer into the manger on this night. So whether you are part of worship on this Christmas Eve out of curiosity, or guilt, whether you are part of worship out of a routine and a deep desire for meaning, whatever has called you to this set apart moment, I hope you'll take the time tonight to look again and see. Every Christmas Eve I want to do that, to peer into the manger, to imagine that baby's face. I hope we will all indeed pause and consider what it means that God did not decide to simply act from above to save us, that God did not decide to swoop in with all power and might to force us into some kind of redemptive relationship. Nor did God simply decide to create us and just walk away, leaving us to stew in our own brokenness and despair. Rather, the baby in the manger proclaims to us that in Mary's body and with her consent, God became one of us. Not in theory, but in truth, so that we might know forever how God embraces us and this world, the world that God created and continues to redeem, and is making new, bit by bit. In the baby Jesus, God became one of us, one for us, one with us, so that we could see that indeed Isaiah's promise has come true. The people who walked in darkness will see a great light. This light shines for all, and the darkness shall never overcome it. Indeed, one day the darkness will give way to everlasting light. That proclamation is what we see when we peer into the manger this evening. That proclamation is what we most earnestly longed for. That proclamation is the promise that's already on the way. That proclamation is Christmas. So come, look, and be amazed. It's God's love made flesh to show us love. Amen. *** Keywords *** 2018, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Stephanie Doeschot

December 2, 2018. Be prepared, for Jesus is coming. Jon Heerboth preaches on this first day of Advent about the preparations we Christians make for the Christmas celebration. *** Transcript *** Be prepared, for Jesus is coming. It's the first Sunday in Advent, as we've been hearing all morning. And for us it's the beginning of a new church year and the time when we prepare for Christmas, which is our celebration of the first coming of Jesus Christ. When I think about getting ready for Christmas, I think about the little baby Jesus in the manger, the stable, the peaceful quiet night, the choir of angels, the pretty things that make me want to go home and set up my tree and my humble decorations and get out my Christmas Lego. I don't think about things that are mentioned in the lesson today. So we have to be prepared because there are no gentle images in today's gospel lesson. In fact, those images are anything but gentle. They're pretty brutal, and they were pretty brutal in Luke's time as well, when he read them. The people who heard this story from Luke the first time were worried, because the city of Jerusalem had been destroyed and the temple had been sacked, and the walls were pulled down stone by stone. It was a complete disaster. But today, it's not the helpless infant, but more of that. Images of the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. In the Christmas story, we see almost a paradox. The humble baby Jesus and then in today's gospel, the coming in clouds. Power and might. Glory. Maybe the destruction of the earth. God keeping the rest of his promises. And so we have to be prepared, because as Jesus tells us in Luke, the signs are all around us. Signs in the sun, the moon, the stars. Signs in the news, in shootings, in tragedies. Earthquakes in Alaska. Fires in California. Mayhem everywhere. Corruption. Hunger. And if you look at today's Post Dispatch, homelessness. Signs in the distress in families. Signs in the tragedies caused by a warming planet. What in the world is going on? What's the world coming to, we ask? Well, what happens to you when you're frightened, when you're pressed down or dismayed? I know sometimes we can't even concentrate because of what Jesus called the "roaring of the sea and the waves," or to us, the many distractions and stresses of our lives in a sinful world. We even have trouble in the month of December just getting ready for the Christmas holiday, which should be a time of peace and joy and families thinking about the first coming of Jesus Christ. It seems like everything can be difficult. In verse 26 today, Jesus said that people will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaking. What is my life coming to? I ask when I'm weighed down by cares and worries. I might walk more slowly. My shoulders sag. I might be burdened by my own actions or behaviors that I wish I could set aside. Earlier in chapter 21, Luke warned that things will not be easy as the end times approach. They're not going to be easy for Christians, either. Our lives will fall apart, he said. We will face hostility from neighbors, legal problems even, or even conflict within our own families. But for us though -- and this is almost a paradox -- all of these signs, all of these troubles, all of these trials in our lives point to Christ. When these things happen, our redemption is drawing near. Now, redemption already came to us in the past once and for all, with the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Now that redemption is available to us, now and into the future. Even though the world around us may fall apart, that's not a sign of God's absence or lack of concern for us. We are still God's people. We have the promise of God's presence in our midst, even in the middle of all of our problems that we face from day to day. Now after Jesus listed all the depressing signs in his world, he stopped for a minute and spoke to his listeners in a very pastoral way. God's words, his reassuring promise of salvation, will last and will not fail. He said that while Heaven and Earth will pass away, his promises to us, his assurance that he is with us, God will remain with us always, and his promises will not fail. What the world sees as signs of despair, and heaven knows there are plenty of signs of despair out there, we see as signs of hope, because our redemption is here and now and will come again, Luke says, in power and majesty. Because everything points to Jesus Christ. Now we are all God's children, claimed and named in baptism. We are assured of eternal salvation by faith, in the death and resurrection of Jesus. By God's grace our sins are forgiven. We are redeemed and reconciled before Christ because of what Christ has done for us. This morning here in church we confessed our sins once again and received absolution, God's reassurance that our sins are forgiven. We are redeemed now before God so we can pray "Thy kingdom come" and mean it. In Advent, we remember God's coming in history, God's presence among us now, and we prepare for Jesus' return in majesty at the end of time. We pay attention to so much more than just the birth of Jesus. But how do we prepare for Christmas with the deep sense that God's work is still unfinished? There are still promises that we expect God to keep, so we have a sense of longing inside of us for the ultimate redemption and fulfillment of all God's promises that we encounter in the Bible. And we pray for him to come and fulfill those promises. We Christians prepare for Christmas in lots of ways. We go ahead and decorate our homes, light up the street even, go shopping for gifts, and we celebrate like everybody else. But we are also nonconformist. Our preparations, and you can see them here -- the blue paraments, the color of hope we say, we can come to church and see that. We can attend Advent services, the Holden Evening Prayer -- that beautiful, short reminder of God's promises to us. We can read daily Advent devotions. We come and practice for the cantata once a week, sometimes twice a week -- which I would recommend to anyone. (You know, the choir pays for advertising, so...) So we decorate the church, and we do what we have to do to remember God's promises to us. Our goal as Christians is to find God in our preparations for the Christmas celebration. We have to be able to see the coming of Christ, even though we have cares, burdens, fears, and sins -- even though it's often very hard to see God's work in the morning paper. We have to remember that for us, all of the signs point to Christ. In the reading from Thessalonians this morning, Paul explained to his readers what it means to be waiting for the Lord's return. Now, he wrote directly to the Christians at Thessalonica. He also speaks to his brothers and sisters at Christ Lutheran Church in Webster Groves. In verse 12 and 13 he hoped that the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all, just as we abound in love for you. And may he so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints. Here at Christ, we will prepare by being a distinctive and loving community while we await the Lord's return. We will pursue holiness by obedience to God's wishes, and through everyday discipleship within our community and out in our daily lives. So, we prepare for this upcoming event, the final turning point in Christians' experience: the second and final coming of Christ. So we may go shopping for Christmas gifts. Let us also find God this Advent season by attending church. We find God by hearing the word. We find God in the bread and in the wine. We find God in our prayers for one another and for the people of the world at large. We will surely find God in each other, in our sisters and brothers who wish us God's peace every Sunday. In verse 28 of our text today, Jesus says that when the signs of his second coming appear, we should stand up and raise our heads because redemption is drawing near. Here at Christ Lutheran Church, when we raise our heads and look up (you can do that now, raise your heads and look up) who do you see? You see the face of Christ over this incredibly beautiful altar. So we encounter Christ here the same way we should be encountering Christ everywhere, a constant reminder of God's promise of salvation and God's love for all people. Most important, we have to remember that Jesus, who died and rose, is still here with us and will return again at the end. Now before we end, I ran across something. My dad died about six-and-a-half years ago, and he was quite a scholar. He loved languages and spent a lot of his time studying. And he left a pile of books. Ordinarily you would just pass them on or get rid of them, but I don't think he wanted us to do that because in the books, he left notes. He left his old textbooks. He had cartoons of his professors that he drew. He left little notes here and there. Even in the pages of the book there would be little nuggets. But when I was preparing for this, I took his relatively new Greek New Testament and I opened the front cover, and as he would do there was a paragraph and so I ran into it. I hadn't seen it before, and it was in Latin. Of course. He knew that would drive me crazy. So I got his old lexicon out -- it's literally almost 200 years old -- and started trying to translate it. And then I realized my translation was no good, but I recognized what he had written. And it was the prayer for the first Sunday in Advent. And next to it, he wrote, "This prayer is the gateway to Eden for people who study the word of God." And I just thought we should end today by repeating this little prayer that we've already said. I like the little different translation of it better than what we said earlier. So let's pray together the words of the prayer for the day: Stir up your power, O Lord, and come. Rescue and protect us from the threatening perils of our sins by your might. For you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God now and forever. Amen. The hymn for the day is 246, "Hark! A Thrilling Voice is Sounding!" Take a look as you sing. Concentrate on verse 4, the words of comfort: When next he comes in glory
And the world is wrapped in fear,
He will shield us with his mercy
And with Words of Love draw near.
And so we rise, if we're able, for the hymn. *** Keywords *** 2018, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Jon Heerboth

November 11, 2018. Do we know God? Guest pastor Rachel Asen preaches on the story of the Widow's Mite and of her dying father's last request, and says that to know God is to serve others through our gifts, even in the midst of our deficit. *** Transcript *** Good morning, everyone. Thank you for having me here today. It's truly an honor to be here. I pray that the words of my mouth and meditations of my heart might reflect even a morsel of the everlasting love of Christ. So I watched a video not too long ago of a social experiment, in which someone pretended to unknowingly drop money from their pocket while walking down a busy street. Time after time, the hurried pedestrians watched the money fall, they picked it up, and they placed it in their own pocket. The only individual who returned the cash was homeless. All he had were the clothes on his back and a small duffel bag filled with treasures that many of us might simply view as trash. When asked why he did this he answered, "I might not have much, but I have more than nothing." When we hear the word "poverty" we often assume it's referring to economic lack. After all, we don't have to go far to witness the impact of its devastation. Every day on my way to school I'm met by faces of those without shelter, without food, without medical care. Our brothers and sisters stand in the midst of idle traffic, draped in cardboard signs and weathered smiles. May we remember that each of us is merely one tragedy, one choice away from laying our head alongside them on a concrete pillow in the chill of night. Economic poverty is real and it's crippling. Yet so too is poverty of the spirit. I spent the majority of my life running from my gifts. Some of us jog. I preferred to sprint. Nonetheless, I was desperately trying to find a way out of what I consider to be God's suffocating embrace. I was a wayward lamb, smothered by the gift of my woolen coat. Our society is ever seeking ways to escape spiritual poverty, through social media, entertainment, drugs, alcohol -- each an attempt to evade the discomfort of our reflection, a reflection often fractured by personal and societal expectations. Yet, in our brokenness, in that debilitating state of loneliness and self-doubt, there is hope. Leonard Cohen writes, "There are cracks in everything. That's how the light gets in." Though poverty restricts our movement in society, it is not an absence of strength. Let us consider for a moment the word "mite" from the Widow's Mite story, not merely as mite, M-I-T-E, a few meager coins, but rather might, M-I-G-H-T, as in courage and vitality. When we acknowledge that lack is in fact not weakness, we divest ourselves from the shame that hides in the shadows of our inadequacy. Through faith, we are offered freedom to transcend terrestrial boundaries, despite the narratives into which we were born, and even those we've written for ourselves from remnants of our wounds. In the words of Lebanese poet Kahlil Gibran, "Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother." Christ is the sacred salve that fills our cracks, turning rivers of our brokenness into gilded veins of grace undue. There was a time, not too long ago, when I felt my own gifts were greatly insufficient. During my father's illness, he suffered from frequent bouts of uncontrollable sorrow. I would visit him often, and there at his feet listen to the pain of his neglected wounds and do my best to reassure him that, despite his perceived failures, he was loved. "What happened to you?" he asked me one evening. "You weren't struck down like Paul on the road to Damascus. Something happened. Well, what was it?" I smiled softly, "I found peace." "How?" he pleaded tearfully. "I learned to love myself," I answered. My father began to cry. "Rachel, I don't know how to do that," he said. I leaned over, I gathered his hands into mine, and I seized his gaze. "We're going to do it together, Daddy. We'll build a bridge from your head to your heart." During my father's memorial service, I raised my eyes to the heavens and I asked God if I had been enough. Could I, amid the debris of my own poverty, have added even a mite to his eternal treasury? In the midst of my uncertainty, a family friend began to tell a story describing his final visit with my dad. My father shared with him that the longest and most challenging journey of his life was in fact, not his disease. He said, "Johnny, the longest journey is from here to here." In that moment, like a jewel interred in ice beneath the noonday sun, my inadequacy melted away. I began to weep. Yet my tears were not born of anguish, but a blessed joy, gratitude for the gift of reconciliation, and reverence for the miracle that lives within the power of selfless love. We have nothing to give but all of our self. Jewish Theologian Abraham Joshua Heschel writes, "The affection and care for the old, the incurable, the helpless, are the true gold mines of a culture." In many cultures around the world, both impoverished and otherwise, elders are revered. Their wisdom is prized. They are not cast aside, but embraced. They are not forgotten, but admired. To discount the value of our elders is to effectively devalue ourselves, our poverty magnified by our unwillingness to treasure that which is most valuable. Three days prior to my father's death, he requested a bath. My mother dipped a blue washcloth in a tub of warm, soapy water and she offered it to me. I paused and looked down at my dad. "Are you sure you want me to bathe you?" I asked. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable." He nodded and whispered softly, "Just don't forget the cologne." As I swept the cloth across his chest, my hands seemed to capture the gravity of his condition in a way my vision simply could not. Mapping the peaks and valleys of my father's frame with my fingers formed a land defined by ubiquitous shadows of the setting sun. I paused as I neared his hips. "Would you rather have Mom do this part?" I asked. He shook his head. "Are you sure?" He nodded. I continued to bathe him and with every stroke, I became increasingly aware of the blessing that lay before me. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "For what?" I asked. "That you have to do this." I turned to meet his gaze. "You did it for me," I said through silent tears, "And now it's my turn." The act of bathing my father was one of the most sacred moments of my life. It was an honor to prepare him for his eternal journey home. I inherited a few pretty amazing friends after my father's death, one of whom died in hospice just a few short weeks ago. Her name was Marie, and she was a beautiful soul. During one of my last visits with her, she asked a question which encompassed the crux of nearly every conversation we had ever had. Her eyes filled with heartfelt wonder as she asked, "Rachel, do you know God?" True to her nature, she embodied the essence of a curious child, hungry for the zest of knowledge. And true to mine, I grinned playfully. "Well, that would depend on one's definition of 'no.' " She flashed her beautifully crooked smile, shook her head in a gesture of joyful exasperation and chuckled. "I'm so glad we're friends," she said. Marie was a widow, and through her gifts she enriched the lives of many. Still, her question lingers. Do we know God? In our poverty, will we add to the treasury both earthly and divine? Will we care for, and seek to learn from the gold mine of which Rabbi Heschel speaks? In the classic Christmas song "The Little Drummer Boy" the child sings, "I am a poor boy. I have no gift to bring that's fit to give the king." So he plays his drum for him. He plays his best for him. And then Jesus smiles at him. The Little Drummer Boy had nothing to offer but his gift of music. He had nothing but everything to give. To know God is to serve others through our gifts, even in, and especially within, the midst of our deficit. Just as the widow gave out of her poverty, we too must give of our lack, knowing that we will never be empty in the arms of Christ. *** Keywords *** 2018, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Rachel Asen, Anthem, Mark 12:38-44, Widow's Offering