Aug 8, 2021
We’ve Come Too Far to Turn Back Now
Series: (All)
August 8, 2021. When Elijah has hit the wall in 1 Kings, God shows up and provides exactly what he needs. No judgment, no expectations, no requirement that Elijah pretend to be energetic and strong when he is clearly not. Just understanding, bread and water, and permission to rest. We all know that feeling of exhaustion, and in her sermon today Pastor Meagan reminds us how encouraging it is to know that God understands it too.
 
Readings: 1 Kings 19:4-8, Ephesians 4:25–5:2, John 6:35, 41-51
 
*** Transcript ***
 
Elijah has been on a really long, hard journey — one that is far from over — and he is exhausted. He has been doing what he knows God is calling him to do, speaking truth to power in the form of the king. Elijah is one of the only faithful prophets left alive, and they want to kill him too. Worse, Elijah feels that he has failed God. He is, frankly, ready to die, and he has no qualms about letting God know that. Then Elijah does the only thing he can do: he lays down and takes a nap.
 
And God sends an angel to him there, bearing exactly what he needed. Not once but twice, the angel wakes Elijah so that he can eat bread so fresh it’s still warm, and drink water. And once he has eaten, and drank, and slept, he travels 40 days and 40 nights on the strength of that food, to Mount Horeb. The rest, water, and bread do not shorten the journey or eliminate the threat to Elijah’s life, but it is exactly what Elijah needs to give him the strength to make it through.
 
We all feel it sometimes: that feeling that, whatever our journey, whatever the struggle, it’s just too much to handle. We have tried to keep going, and finally we just can’t do it. Some years ago, when I was going through a really hard time on a really long journey, I got a call from my Aunt Kathie saying she was coming over because she had something for me. When she and her friend arrived, Kathie handed me a painting that she had painted herself for me. I looked at it, stunned that she had done this for me. And then she said, “Its name is Hope.” And her friend said, determinedly, “And its other name is Meagan.”
 
In that moment, I don’t think there is anything that could have meant more to me than that painting, and the sentiment behind it. When I was at the end of my proverbial rope, God gave me just what I needed, through the hands and hearts of these two women. The journey I was on was far from over and there were more struggles to come, but this gift was exactly what I needed to buoy my sagging spirit and rest my tired soul so I could keep going. Just when I had reached a point of feeling like it might be time to give up, I was quite literally given the gift of Hope.
 
In one of my favorite scenes in the movie “Selma,” Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., like Elijah, feels like he has failed, and is about ready to quit. During their first attempt to cross the Edmund Pettus Bridge, the marchers were brutally attacked, and more than one person lost their life. Dr. King is exhausted, feels responsible for what has happened, and can’t fathom asking people to make that sacrifice again.
 
He shares the struggle with John Lewis, at the time a young local leader, and in response John tells Dr. King about a time when he felt that way too, and on the darkest morning made his way to church to hear Dr. King preach. Dr. King doesn’t remember it, so John Lewis tells him what he said: “Fear not. We’ve come too far to turn back now.” Dr. King’s words were exactly what a young John Lewis needed to keep going, and some years later John Lewis returned the words to Dr. King, giving him the strength to continue the journey. Fear not. We’ve come too far to turn back now.
 
We all know that feeling of exhaustion, we all have those stories, and it is so encouraging to know that God understands it too. When Elijah has hit the wall, God shows up and provides exactly what he needs. No judgment, no expectation that Elijah will immediately leap up and keep going, no requirement that Elijah pretend to be energetic and strong when he is clearly not. Just understanding, bread and water, permission to rest — before continuing 40 days and 40 nights to Mount Horeb. Perhaps this is some of what Paul is talking about in his letter to the Ephesians. Be honest, be angry, but don’t sin, and let God work through you for the good of all.
 
And Jesus tells his followers today, one more time, on this third week of bread, that God provides everything we need. We are so intimately connected with God’s abundance, that in Christ we will never be hungry again. The journey is long and hard sometimes, and God is with us all the way. In turning to God, we find the bread we need to keep going, spiritually, physically, emotionally.
 
How is it with your soul today? What weariness and struggle are you living with that needs to be honestly shared? What do you need to rest and nourish your body and spirit so that you can continue the journey? What bread, water, and sleep can you offer to others who are too tired to keep going?
 
We have two more weeks of Jesus’ bread of life discourse left, and still the message remains the same. God provides what we need, sometimes in the ways we least expect. Fear not. We’ve come too far to turn back now. There is always enough, and more.
 
Thanks be to God.
 
*** Keywords ***
 
2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, 1 Kings 19:4-8, Ephesians 4:25–5:2, John 6:35, 41-51, Selma
WatchNotesDownloadDateTitle
  • Aug 8, 2021We’ve Come Too Far to Turn Back Now
    Aug 8, 2021
    We’ve Come Too Far to Turn Back Now
    Series: (All)
    August 8, 2021. When Elijah has hit the wall in 1 Kings, God shows up and provides exactly what he needs. No judgment, no expectations, no requirement that Elijah pretend to be energetic and strong when he is clearly not. Just understanding, bread and water, and permission to rest. We all know that feeling of exhaustion, and in her sermon today Pastor Meagan reminds us how encouraging it is to know that God understands it too.
     
    Readings: 1 Kings 19:4-8, Ephesians 4:25–5:2, John 6:35, 41-51
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    Elijah has been on a really long, hard journey — one that is far from over — and he is exhausted. He has been doing what he knows God is calling him to do, speaking truth to power in the form of the king. Elijah is one of the only faithful prophets left alive, and they want to kill him too. Worse, Elijah feels that he has failed God. He is, frankly, ready to die, and he has no qualms about letting God know that. Then Elijah does the only thing he can do: he lays down and takes a nap.
     
    And God sends an angel to him there, bearing exactly what he needed. Not once but twice, the angel wakes Elijah so that he can eat bread so fresh it’s still warm, and drink water. And once he has eaten, and drank, and slept, he travels 40 days and 40 nights on the strength of that food, to Mount Horeb. The rest, water, and bread do not shorten the journey or eliminate the threat to Elijah’s life, but it is exactly what Elijah needs to give him the strength to make it through.
     
    We all feel it sometimes: that feeling that, whatever our journey, whatever the struggle, it’s just too much to handle. We have tried to keep going, and finally we just can’t do it. Some years ago, when I was going through a really hard time on a really long journey, I got a call from my Aunt Kathie saying she was coming over because she had something for me. When she and her friend arrived, Kathie handed me a painting that she had painted herself for me. I looked at it, stunned that she had done this for me. And then she said, “Its name is Hope.” And her friend said, determinedly, “And its other name is Meagan.”
     
    In that moment, I don’t think there is anything that could have meant more to me than that painting, and the sentiment behind it. When I was at the end of my proverbial rope, God gave me just what I needed, through the hands and hearts of these two women. The journey I was on was far from over and there were more struggles to come, but this gift was exactly what I needed to buoy my sagging spirit and rest my tired soul so I could keep going. Just when I had reached a point of feeling like it might be time to give up, I was quite literally given the gift of Hope.
     
    In one of my favorite scenes in the movie “Selma,” Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., like Elijah, feels like he has failed, and is about ready to quit. During their first attempt to cross the Edmund Pettus Bridge, the marchers were brutally attacked, and more than one person lost their life. Dr. King is exhausted, feels responsible for what has happened, and can’t fathom asking people to make that sacrifice again.
     
    He shares the struggle with John Lewis, at the time a young local leader, and in response John tells Dr. King about a time when he felt that way too, and on the darkest morning made his way to church to hear Dr. King preach. Dr. King doesn’t remember it, so John Lewis tells him what he said: “Fear not. We’ve come too far to turn back now.” Dr. King’s words were exactly what a young John Lewis needed to keep going, and some years later John Lewis returned the words to Dr. King, giving him the strength to continue the journey. Fear not. We’ve come too far to turn back now.
     
    We all know that feeling of exhaustion, we all have those stories, and it is so encouraging to know that God understands it too. When Elijah has hit the wall, God shows up and provides exactly what he needs. No judgment, no expectation that Elijah will immediately leap up and keep going, no requirement that Elijah pretend to be energetic and strong when he is clearly not. Just understanding, bread and water, permission to rest — before continuing 40 days and 40 nights to Mount Horeb. Perhaps this is some of what Paul is talking about in his letter to the Ephesians. Be honest, be angry, but don’t sin, and let God work through you for the good of all.
     
    And Jesus tells his followers today, one more time, on this third week of bread, that God provides everything we need. We are so intimately connected with God’s abundance, that in Christ we will never be hungry again. The journey is long and hard sometimes, and God is with us all the way. In turning to God, we find the bread we need to keep going, spiritually, physically, emotionally.
     
    How is it with your soul today? What weariness and struggle are you living with that needs to be honestly shared? What do you need to rest and nourish your body and spirit so that you can continue the journey? What bread, water, and sleep can you offer to others who are too tired to keep going?
     
    We have two more weeks of Jesus’ bread of life discourse left, and still the message remains the same. God provides what we need, sometimes in the ways we least expect. Fear not. We’ve come too far to turn back now. There is always enough, and more.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, 1 Kings 19:4-8, Ephesians 4:25–5:2, John 6:35, 41-51, Selma
  • Aug 1, 2021Eat and Be Satisfied
    Aug 1, 2021
    Eat and Be Satisfied
    Series: (All)
    August 1, 2021. What are you hungry for today, physically, spiritually, emotionally? What abundance do you have, that can be shared with the community and the world around you? Ask for what you need. Eat until you are full.
     
    Readings: Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15, Ephesians 4:1-16, John 6:24-35
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    Several times a week, the church phone or the doorbell rings and a community member asks the question, “I am hungry. My kids are hungry. Can I get a food card?” I can’t imagine being that hungry, not having food for my next meal, and the level of desperation, shame, and even despair of finding myself in that situation, with no way out. “I am hungry. My kids are hungry.”
     
    The Israelites came to Moses and Aaron with that same request. Actually, it says in our reading from Exodus today that they complained, saying that they might have been slaves in Egypt, but at least they had enough to eat. At least they weren’t hungry. For the Israelites, as they sat in the desert, slavery looked preferable to hunger. And they let Moses and Aaron — and God — know it.
     
    We are halfway through five weeks of hearing from the Gospel of John about bread, hunger, life, eating, five weeks of reflecting on what is often referred to as the “bread of life discourse.” What stands out about this week is that Jesus doesn’t actually feed people in today’s gospel reading — although he certainly talks about bread, and hunger, a lot. This particular reading can seem to discount the significance of physical bread, to suggest that those who are hungry should rely on faith in God alone to ease their hunger, until we remember that the people Jesus was speaking to had just come from eating their fill of the loaves and fishes that Jesus offered to their crowd. Eating their fill, and then some. Their bellies were already full. Knowing that, Jesus invites them to think deeper.
     
    I have never not known how I would get food for my next meal. In fact, usually my biggest challenge around food is deciding from among the many options available to me, and whether to eat something on the healthy side, or indulge myself in some kind of treat. But I have at rare times looked up from what I was doing to see that it is 2pm and I haven’t had lunch yet, or gotten caught up in an activity or errands that carried me past regular meal time, and suddenly I’m hungry.
     
    You know the feeling — a little weak, a little irritable, a little less capable of thinking clearly or making decisions. My sister-in-law calls it “hangry,” hungry-angry. When have you been really hungry, or perhaps even “hangry?” What did that feel like? How did your body feel? What was your thinking like? How did it feel when you did get something to eat? We have among us people who have studied the connections between food insecurity, hunger, and family stress and even violence, naming the reality that not having necessary food can lead to tension and even abuse. And schools have long recognized that if kids haven’t eaten breakfast, they can’t learn.
     
    From these five weeks of readings about bread we know that God understands hunger. And God feeds God’s people — all of them. Last week, Jesus invited all of the over 5,000 people to sit down together, so they could eat and be satisfied, and Elijah did the same with the people of his community. Today, we hear how God provided manna and quail in the desert for the Israelites.
     
    And now, knowing they have had their fill, Jesus and the people talk about how they were hungry and were fed. “Moses fed the people manna,” they say. And Jesus reminds them that the manna came from God, not from Moses. The manna came from God.
     
    Luther highlights this in his Small Catechism explanation of the Lord’s Prayer when he begins by saying that we don’t ask God to give us our daily bread so that God will give it to us, like some kind of reward, but so that we know God has already given us everything we need for our lives, and receive it with thanksgiving. And it is not just bread, says Luther, but food, drink, clothing, shoes, house, home, land, animals, money, goods, and the like. Anyone remember that from the catechism?
     
    Everything we have — everything — comes from God. And when God provides the manna, and Jesus feeds the over 5,000, everyone has what they need. The Israelites are specifically told to gather and eat what they need for the day, no more, and the crowds gathered around Jesus give back the abundance once they are satisfied. No hoarding or holding back. Everyone has what they need and are satisfied.
     
    Your council has discerned two primary calls for our community of faith: welcome and serve. When the Christian Service Committee met a couple of months ago and reflected on these two calls, they decided that in order to live this out in Christian service, they will choose a few ministries that are doing this well, and build partnerships that will allow us to enter into their ministry in many different ways.
     
    And for 2022, they will be seeking to partner with ministries that focus on hunger in our community. Welcome and serve, and as God so often does, start by offering food to those who are hungry. God has provided all that we need so that everyone, not just a few, will be satisfied.
     
    Jesus tells the people, now that their bellies are full, that what God provides for us goes far beyond physical food. He knows their hunger, our hunger, is deeper than that. We hunger for belonging, with God and God’s people. We long for healing and forgiveness, for the ways in which we have been wounded, and for the ways in which we have wounded others. We crave connection with the earth and all that God has created. And we thirst for the peace of God that goes far beyond what this world, with all of its beauty and brokenness, can give.
     
    As Paul writes to the Ephesians, we all also have gifts to share that are given to us to help ensure that God’s abundance, meant for all, is shared with all of God’s people. It is in community that God’s grace, mercy, forgiveness, creativity, love, and bread are available for everyone, and all are fed and satisfied.
     
    We are so fortunate to have with us Charlie, who will be baptized at Bethany Lutheran Church later today, and her family. The water and the words of baptism remind us of the truth of Jesus’ words as we have heard them today: God feeds God’s people, providing us with the physical bread our bodies need, and all of the things our spirits need for abundant life. The celebration of baptism teaches us that we are deeply connected to these promises of God, and to the community of all of God’s beloved creation that shares in this abundance together.
     
    “I am hungry. My kids are hungry.” What are you hungry for today, physically, spiritually, emotionally? What abundance do you have, that can be shared with the community and the world around you? Ask for what you need. Eat until you are full. Welcome and serve joyfully, knowing that God provides enough for all to be satisfied, and then some.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15, Ephesians 4:1-16, John 6:24-35
  • Jul 4, 2021Shaking Off the Dust
    Jul 4, 2021
    Shaking Off the Dust
    Series: (All)
    July 4, 2021. On this Independence Day, as we celebrate the birth of this particular nation, Jesus models for us the truth that our identity and call as children of God always comes over and above the labels placed on us, even and perhaps especially the labels of nation and country.
     
    Readings: Ezekiel 2:1-5, 2 Corinthians 12:2-10, Mark 6:1-13
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    Recently I pulled out my yearbook from my senior year in high school and looked at the “Senior Poll” section. Remember that? “First married.” “Last married.” “Most respectful.” “Biggest flirt.” “Talkative.” “Biggest mess.” “Most likely to succeed.” And then there was my name, next to “most serious.” I hadn’t remembered that my classmates saw me that way, and in many ways it’s hard to imagine now. But looking back at how seriously I took things most of the time, it makes sense.
     
    My youngest brother, in contrast, wore his humor and lightness on the outside, and I realized somewhere along the way that that often made it hard to take him seriously — we so often expected a joke or a laugh from him, that I think his more earnest side was missed a lot of the time. These perceptions, or labels, or expectations can come out of how we show up in the world, and they can also come to define or constrict us as well. We become “the serious one.” We become “the funny one.”
     
    On this Independence Day, I'm reminded of Abraham Lincoln, one of our most well-known and respected presidents, who was for years seen as a failure. He lived with sometimes debilitating mental illness, and lost far more elections than he won on his way to becoming President of the United States. Albert Einstein, brilliant scientist famous for defining the theory of relativity, was a horrible student in his younger days, and in fact there was actually concern that he might have a learning disability that prevented him from learning in academic settings.
     
    The labels placed on them may have had some basis in truth — Lincoln did experience many failures, and Einstein did struggle in school — but ultimately, the labels placed on them did not fit the fullness of who they would become.
     
    Jesus, in today’s gospel, faces the reality of the labels attached to him by those who have known him longest and best. Hearing the powerful wisdom of his teaching and seeing the miracles he is capable of (Jesus, after all, has just returned from healing Jairus’s daughter and the woman with hemorrhaging), they can’t reconcile what they know of Jesus, their neighbor, with what they are seeing now. “This is Joseph and Mary’s son,” his family and neighbors say. “We know him, and his siblings.” They insist that he is the carpenter’s son, nothing more, nothing less. Who does he think he is, trying to be anything different?
     
    Defying all of their expectations, Jesus unapologetically claims his identity and call as the Son of God. Who he is as the son of a carpenter and a Nazarene comes after that, and this disturbs his family and neighbors, who expect him to claim his place in Nazareth first, above all else. They want him to be the carpenter’s son. As theologian Debie Thomas writes in her blog this week, Jesus refuses to stay in his lane, and persists in sharing the truth of God that he has come to proclaim. Mark tells us that his friends and neighbors, blinded by their perceptions and expectations of who Jesus is, are unable to see the amazing things he embodies about the love and mercy of God.
     
    This is such a human thing we do, isn’t it? We as humans have an unfortunate habit of placing our expectations and limits, on ourselves and on one another, and that can blind us to the truth of who God has created us to be. We all have expectations, conscious or not, of others, based on what we know about them — immigration situation, level of education, religion, socio-economic status, or even, assuming they are from St. Louis, what high school they went to. It’s more comfortable, isn’t it, when we know what to expect. Jesus refused to stay in the lane created for him and claimed his identity in God, much to the chagrin of those around him who knew exactly what to do with Jesus, Joseph and Mary’s son, but had no idea what to do with Jesus, Son of God.
     
    Jesus refused to stay in his lane, even knowing that there would be those who would reject him because of that. And he prepares his disciples for that reality, telling them that as they go out to carry the gospel that God has given them to embody in the world, there will be those who will refuse to hear the good news they have to share. Jesus advises his disciples to shake the dust off their feet, the dust of rejection, and claim the truth of God’s call and promise that remains even when others can’t see it. God shares the same wisdom with Ezekiel, saying that when he brings the word of God to the people of Israel there will be those who will refuse to hear, but that rejection will not make Ezekiel any less a prophet.
     
    Being our imperfect, vulnerable, unique selves does not stop us being a prophet either. Paul reminds the Corinthians of this as he shares about the “thorn in his side” that he can’t get rid of, no matter how hard he tries. We don’t know what the thorn is, but Paul does make it clear that being God’s beloved is not about being perfect, but about God’s claiming us and showing us who we are. When we see ourselves and those around us as God sees us — children of God — God frees us from the mistakes that we make and tells us that being human does not equal worthlessness. God frees us from those labels and expectations, and we can experience the surprising and amazing things that God is doing in and around us.
     
    That “most likely to succeed” or “fail,” that “most serious” label in the high school yearbook, doesn’t have the power to predict what use God will make of us and our lives. Just as our identities as children, parents, siblings, friends, abled or disabled, gender, ethnicity, St. Louis native or transplant, married or single, and all of the other identities that we carry are part of who we are, but they can never fully define us. On this Independence Day, as we celebrate the birth of this particular nation, Jesus models for us the truth that our identity and call as children of God always comes over and above the labels placed on us, even and perhaps especially the labels of nation and country.
     
    Shaking off the dust of expectations and rejection allows us, all of us, to live into the fullness of who God calls us to be, and opens our hearts to experience the miracles of God all around us, just when we least expect it. Whatever other labels we carry, we are first and foremost beloved of God.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Ezekiel 2:1-5, 2 Corinthians 12:2-10, Mark 6:1-13, Debie Thomas, Journey with Jesus
  • May 30, 2021The Dance of the Trinity
    May 30, 2021
    The Dance of the Trinity
    Series: (All)
    May 30, 2021. What does the Trinity mean for us? Why does it matter? And perhaps most important, what do the readings for today reveal about all the ways that God shows up in our world?
     
    Readings: Isaiah 6:1-8, Psalm 29, Romans 8:12-17, John 3:1-17
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    Today is Trinity Sunday, so I kinda feel like I should probably be standing up here in front of you who are in your pews, in front of you who are in your homes, and eloquently explain the doctrine of the Trinity, perhaps even using a three-leafed clover metaphor, they way St. Patrick did centuries ago. On the surface, the idea of the Trinity seems pretty straightforward — three persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. One God. Simple enough, right?
     
    The reality is that life is not that simple, and as Mr. Jesse was saying, so much change happens naturally — and then on top of that, in the last year all of the “change to the change.” (I love that phrase.) And the reality is around the Trinity, wars have been fought, and people have died, because of differences in understanding the Trinity. And yet the Trinity stands, and we confess it here at Christ Lutheran every week. In the creeds we claim the Father, the Son, and the Spirit as three persons in this Triune God. And it's one of the greatest mysteries of our faith.
     
    I'm sure you will be relieved to hear that I will not attempt to sort out two millennia of conversations, battles, arguments, and council doctrines on the Trinity today. Far more important for us, I believe, is what does the Trinity mean for us? Why does it matter? And perhaps most important, what do our readings for Trinity Sunday reveal about all the ways that God shows up in our world?
     
    Psalm 29 paints this picture of God in waves crashing on the ocean, in the flashes and booms of powerful storms, and in the silent and formidable presence of enormous trees that are centuries old. God’s majesty surrounds us, overwhelms us, and although it touches us, we can’t quite bear to touch it. This is God, creator of the universe, deserving of glory, before whom none of us, truth be told, are quite ready to stand. The full majesty of God makes us quake in our boots, at least a little bit.
     
    In Isaiah, we enter a vision of God called Yahweh, seated on a throne, surrounded by seraphs singing “Holy, holy, holy!” Isaiah is called into a swirl of turmoil and anxiety of a community that has just lost their king of 30 years. Talk about change! Isaiah feels completely inadequate, and it's no surprise that his first response is, “Woe is me! I am unclean, and yet I have seen the Lord!” In a miracle of grace, God prepares Isaiah, so that he can cry, “Here am I. Send me!” And God prepares not just Isaiah, but us, you and me, to go out as witnesses to this grace.
     
    Jesus, God-in-flesh, tells Nicodemus about the intimate connection between Christ in his humanity, and us in our humanity. God came to us in Christ to bring life and redemption, to embody the love and promise, and to be in relationship with us, on our terms. And in that relationship, because of the death and resurrection of Jesus, our brokenness is redeemed, and our joy is made complete.
     
    In Christ, God enters fully into our suffering, as well as our joy. God goes through all these changes that we've been talking about with us. God is with us in that. God-in-flesh embraces our grief, and shows us through the resurrection that death and loss will not be the final word. God enters our joy, and revels with us in the beauty of creation around us. Jesus-God sits with us, eats with us, laughs with us, cries with us. Because God revealed God's self to us in Jesus, we know that God is not only majesty and splendor and power, but intimately involved in our everyday life. Because God became fully human, we know that we are never alone. We have a God who understands what it means to be human.
     
    And interwoven in all of this is the Spirit, perhaps the most mysterious aspect of the Trinity. Jesus tries to explain this to Nicodemus, too. “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.” The Spirit empowers us to recognize who we are as children of God, and it is only through the Spirit that we call God Abba, Father. The Spirit breathes life to dry bones in the desert, anoints and calls the apostles in fire at Pentecost, calls Jews and Gentiles alike to baptism in the days of the early church. “The wind blows where it chooses...”
     
    And as we read this passage again 2000 years later, we can perhaps be comforted by knowing that even Nicodemus, teacher though he was, didn’t understand it fully. He badly wanted to understand, wanted in a way to touch Jesus, but then found that he just couldn’t get there. Just as Isaiah felt overwhelmed by his experience of God, so did Nicodemus.
     
    The Trinity is complex, and it's defied definition for millennia now. So, for today, it seems enough to trust that in the Trinity, our God is all things for us — majesty and power, a fellow traveler intimately acquainted with our human experience, and one who tells us who we are and empowers us to witness to the world.
     
    And when all of these things come together in the one God, something happens that goes far beyond division of labor, each person filling their appointed role. It cannot be adequately captured in any one metaphor, although I am sure you can imagine that doesn’t stop me from trying.
     
    In Quest for the Living God, Catholic feminist theologian Elizabeth Johnson describes the Trinity as three persons in a dance that never ends. She writes, “The three circling around in a mutual dynamic movement of love, God is not a static being, but a plentitude of self-giving love, a saving mystery that overflows into the world of sin and death to heal, redeem, and liberate.”
     
    Johnson presents an image of God in relationship with God's self, equal, fully grounded in love. This is the motivation for creation — God did not create the world to follow law or do God’s will, but to be in loving relationship with God, with us, and with the rest of creation. And the Trinity is one of the greatest mysteries of our faith. As hard as we may try to neatly define and understand the Trinity, we discover as Nicodemus did that God will not be contained.
     
    Paul tells us that we've been given the Spirit of adoption as children of the Triune God. We are adopted into that love that overflows into our broken world. We are intimately integrated into the mysterious, creative, moving, loving, healing, inspiring, transforming Trinity. We, along with all creation, are invited to the dance, which never stops evolving as creation continues, 2000 years after Nicodemus struggled to wrap his mind around the mysteries of God.
     
    Jesus tells Nicodemus, “The wind blows where it chooses... and so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” We are, Paul tells us, adopted into the Trinity, and we are called to follow the Spirit where it chooses. Not to understand, not to define, certainly not to limit — for ours is a God who will not be so easily contained. We as God’s beloveds are invited to enter the sacred dance, and empowered to join Isaiah in saying, “Here I am, send me!” We're children of the Triune God, and we follow the wind.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Isaiah 6:1-8, Psalm 29, Romans 8:12-17, John 3:1-17, Quest for the Living God, Elizabeth Johnson, Jesse Helton
  • May 16, 2021Lord, Teach Us to Pray…
    May 16, 2021
    Lord, Teach Us to Pray…
    Series: (All)
    May 16, 2021. Today's sermon is on the prayer Jesus offers in John 17 for his disciples before his arrest, and how it is remarkably vulnerable and intimate.
     
    Readings: John 17:6-19
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    As we are coming to the end of the Easter Season this year, I've been thinking back to February of last year, when we were hearing only whispers of what was to come. March 22nd, we held our first Zoom worship, thinking it would be a few weeks, a couple of months at most. We had no idea at that time the losses this year would bring, the trauma we might experience, and we certainly had no idea how long it would last.
     
    Easter, Pentecost, Advent, Christmas, and Lent and Easter again have passed since we last worshipped in person. And here we are on the 7th Sunday of Easter, and our gospel for today comes from John 17, before Jesus died. In fact, the prayer we hear Jesus pray today are the last words Jesus had for his disciples in the Gospel of John prior to his arrest. Although they don’t realize it, as Jesus is praying this prayer, the disciples are about to have their whole world turned upside down. They don’t know that Jesus, who they have been following for three years, who they believed would free them all from Roman occupation, is going to be arrested and die a horrific death. They don’t know that the next 24 hours will bring an abrupt change to everything they thought they understood about how things were going to be and what they thought Jesus was going to do.
     
    The disciples, not knowing that this would be the last meal they would eat with their friend and mentor, had no context for Jesus’s words, and I can imagine them listening, turning to one another, and whispering to each other, “What on earth is Jesus talking about? What does he mean, he’s no longer in the world? He’s sitting right here. Of course he belongs here. We have work to do. We have plans.”
     
    We listen to these words some 2,000 years later, and knowing what was going to happen, we can see what Jesus is trying to do here — offer comfort, reassurance, and hope for the days to come, turning his beloveds over to God for the journey ahead. As Mr. Jesse pointed out, that is something that never changes. John’s gospel doesn’t often reveal Jesus’ human vulnerability the way the other gospels do. John passes over the agony in the garden, and does everything he can to describe Jesus as fully in control, subject to no one, even choosing for himself the moment of his death.
     
    The prayer Jesus offers for his disciples before his arrest, however, is remarkably vulnerable, and intimate. Jesus tells God as he prays that he can’t be with his disciples anymore. And as often as we see God’s expansiveness, in this moment Jesus is praying not for everyone, but for his beloveds. His apostles. Jesus knows the horror, grief, and danger that his death will bring for those closest to him. And Jesus asks God to be with them, to protect them, knowing that he is called to move on, and trusting that ultimately, God is our source. Debie Thomas writes in her blog this week, “ 'I am asking,' Jesus says. How surprising is it that God incarnate spends his final moments with his friends in humble supplication on their behalf? Knowing full well the trials and terrors that lie ahead, he prays into uncertainty. He hopes into doubt. He trusts into danger.”
     
    When we think of Jesus teaching us to pray, we of course think first of the Lord’s Prayer, that clear, beautiful, profession of praise, confession, thanksgiving, and request that we and Christians around the world pray every week. In these final moments of Jesus’s life on earth, Jesus is once more teaching us to pray — all of his beloveds, but in this moment, especially us. You. You and I are invited to receive Jesus’ prayer for us. To know that God is with us. And as Mr. Jesse pointed out, that that's one thing that never changes. To claim the promise of joy and unity and trust in the midst of things we can’t begin to control or even understand.
     
    As hard as this last year has been, as unprepared as we were for all that has happened, God has been with us. What would have been unimaginable last February has become in many ways comfortable and familiar to us, as we have settled into rhythms of life in a pandemic.
     
    And now, things are changing again, as happens in life. We feel excitement, curiosity, and anxiety and fear as we make decisions for ourselves and our families about how and when to return to in-person activities. We are learning that even something we long deeply for, gathering together with people we love dearly and have missed this last year, is not easy, and can be stressful in ways we find surprising. New life is coming as families anticipate the birth of babies in the coming months. Grief circles back, as we who have grieved the deaths of loved ones on our own now have opportunities to gather together with others who share our losses.
     
    And today we celebrate and bless our graduates, who have navigated their final years of high school and college in the pandemic, and are prepared in unique ways for the joys and challenges to come. Graduates, Jesus’ prayer is for you especially today.
     
    As we step into the uncertainties, the new life, the grief, the joy, the anxiety, today we take time to let Jesus’s prayer settle on us like a blanket. Rest in the promise that God will be present even in the face of the challenges that come. Settle in the joy of knowing that God’s love cannot be erased, as Mr. Jese pointed out. Embrace the unity that comes from knowing that God has given us into a community that embodies this love, through all the challenges of life, even in the face of a pandemic. As Mr. Jesse pointed out, we are here for each other. We have been, and we continue to be. Let go in the face of uncertainty. Ask that God be with us. Trust that God will take care of us and those we love, no matter what happens. Today, we sit with Jesus, and say once again, “Teach us to pray.”
     
    Amen.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, John 17:6-19, Debie Thomas, Jesse Helton, COVID-19, pandemic, coronavirus
  • May 9, 2021Abiding in Love
    May 9, 2021
    Abiding in Love
    Series: (All)
    May 9, 2021. Today's sermon is on how we humans are formed, shaped, and breathed into being by the hands and breath of God, and how we abide in God and God abides in us.
     
    Readings: Acts 10:44-48, Psalm 98, John 15:9-17
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    So many things from today’s readings jump out at me. Abiding in love, like Mr. Jesse just talked about. Giving of one’s life. The Spirit anointing Gentiles. But today, I have to start with the psalm: “Sing to the Lord a new song!” This simple phrase has me almost in tears even this morning, knowing that our choir gathered together on Wednesday evening, wearing masks and keeping a safe distance, to do just that — sing to the Lord a new song, or perhaps old songs, for the first time since March 15, 2020, over a year ago! And for just a moment, before we go any further, it is worth celebrating the truth and promise that even 14 months of pandemic life have not, and cannot, erase the connections between us, and that the Spirit will not be contained. Sing to the Lord, indeed!
     
    The circumcised believers who were with Peter at Cornelius’ household were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles. They were astounded that people who differed from them in religious practice and ethnicity could be chosen by God. Have you ever been astounded by who God chose? Surprised by who showed up at just the right time, with just the right gifts for the situation at hand? Shocked by who spoke the words you needed to hear, to the point where you knew God had led you right to them? It has happened to me on more than one occasion, I will admit.
     
    This sense of astounded-ness in the case of the “circumcised believers” was compounded by the fact that those clearly beloved and chosen by God were absolutely, undeniably, other. There were people meant to be part of the promise, worthy of the love that was talked so much about in the Gospel of John, and there were those who just weren’t. And the Gentiles? They weren’t.
     
    It doesn’t help that Hollywood has conditioned us to believe that love is simply an emotion. Either someone is attractive, or they aren’t. Either someone is lovable, or they aren’t. Either we have an emotional response to them, or we don’t. And I am quite sure that all of us can think of people, ones we know and ones we know of, that are difficult for us to love. People that even seem to be unworthy of love. We all know this challenge.
     
    We all know just how hard it is sometimes to make the choice to love, to put love into action as Jesus does. We all know that love, contrary to Hollywood’s illusion, requires intention, sacrifice, and commitment that perseveres even through the hardest of times. Jesus even tells us that love means laying your life down for others, and Jesus certainly did that for us, all the way to death on the cross. And we all know that truthfully, we humans simple aren’t capable of loving this way.
     
    And that brings me to the phrase John uses several times at the beginning of today’s gospel: abiding in love. Abide is not a word we use often, and when we do, it usually means “obey,” as in “abide by my rules” or “abide by the guidelines we've agreed on.” The Greek word used in this passage, however, has a very different connotation: to remain, to be present, to be held, continually. Different, right? Jesus is not inviting us to strive, to exhaust ourselves, only to ultimately fail at loving our neighbors. Jesus is inviting us to abide in God’s love.
     
    Debie Thomas writes this week in her blog, “Journey with Jesus,” ”My problem is that I often treat Jesus as a role model, and then despair when I can’t live up to his high standards. But abiding in something is not the same as emulating it. In the vine-and-branches metaphor, Jesus’ love is not our example; it’s our  source. It’s where our love originates and deepens. Where it replenishes itself. In other words, if we don’t abide, we can’t love. Jesus’ commandment to us is not that we wear ourselves out, trying to conjure love from our own easily depleted resources. Rather, it’s that we abide in the holy place where divine love becomes possible. That we make our home in Jesus’s love — the most abundant and inexhaustible love in existence.”
     
    When I have struggled to love, one of the most powerful ways I have learned to invite God in is to pray the Prayer of St. Francis. You may be familiar with it — Make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me bring love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith.
     
    At a time when I had to frequently encounter people by whom I felt wounded, I would take time to pray this prayer, for them, and for myself, by name. Asking God to love me and love through me, because I felt empty. Asking God to bring healing for my woundedness, and in the process, seeing their woundedness as well. Claiming the faith of God, for them and for myself. I had long drives at that time, and sometimes I would find that it had taken me the entire drive — nearly two hours — just to get through the prayer.
     
    We humans, formed and shaped and breathed into being by the hands and breath of God, abide in God, and God abides in us. Because of that, there is nothing that can erase the Spirit’s presence in and among us, nothing that can contain the creative, expansive, extravagant love of God. It is this truth that makes it possible for us to embody the love of God in this beautiful, crazy, dynamic, sometimes broken world that God has made.
     
    So, sing to God, in whom we abide, a new song! Celebrate the Spirit that blows away all barriers, and connects us to one another, creation, and God who created it all. No matter the struggles, let us remind one another always to abide in God, who loves in us and through us when we just can’t. Sing to the Lord, indeed.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Acts 10:44-48, Psalm 98, John 15:9-17, Jesse Helton
  • May 2, 2021What is to Prevent Me from Being Baptized?
    May 2, 2021
    What is to Prevent Me from Being Baptized?
    Series: (All)
    May 2, 2021. In today's sermon we learn more about the story from Acts chapter 8 of Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch — the foreign, dark-skinned person who does not conform to gender norms — and ask what is to prevent us or anyone from being baptized.
     
    Readings: Acts 8:26-40, John 15:1-8
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    In the relatively new, but definitely classic Disney movie “Zootopia,” bunny Judy Hopps has always been… different. In a world that claims to be inclusive — where anyone can be anything — Zootopia is still largely divided into predator and prey, and you are expected to fit in to whichever group you are born into. So it is assumed that Judy the bunny will do what her entire bunny family has always done — farm carrots. But Judy knows she was born to be a police officer. Her passion for making the world a better place gets her into trouble with bullies, who want to knock her down, and her parents, who wish she would settle for the easy road and not make things so hard for herself and them.
     
    In spite of the challenges, Judy does become a police officer, but finds that her colleagues don’t take her seriously, and her chief relegates her to parking duty. As the story unfolds, Judy stumbles onto an unsolved case, and in trying to solve it, she becomes friends with Nick Wilde, a fox. Judy unwittingly hurts Nick deeply when her own tendency to see all predators as dangerous “others” gets the best of her. She realizes that while she has struggled to claim her place as a bunny police officer, Nick has been rejected his whole life because people didn’t believe a predator like him could ever belong anywhere — and Judy herself wasn’t as ready to embrace Nick the fox as she had thought.
     
    In the gospels, Jesus often calls people to recognize the walls they have put up between them and others. He shocks by making an outsider, the Good Samaritan, the hero of a parable, and eats with all kinds of people seen as “other.” Jesus is always reaching to the margins and once, Jesus himself gets called out when he refuses to help the Syrophoenician woman whose daughter is ill, and she tells him: even the dogs get to eat the scraps from the table. Of course, Jesus then heals the girl. And I have often wondered, was Jesus trying to teach us a lesson in what not to do, or did he in his humanity also need to be taught?
     
    In the early days of what would become the Christian church, chronicled in the Book of Acts that provides our first readings in the Easter season, the followers of Jesus debated about who could belong and who couldn’t belong, and what they had to do to belong. The Spirit kept showing them that all people are children of God and welcome into God’s promises.
     
    After the initial coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, the Spirit anointed a group of gentiles, and that led to their baptism, if only because the Apostles could hardly deny baptism to people God had so clearly chosen. In the heat of debate about whether or not following Judaic dietary laws should be required, Peter had a dream in which God revealed to him that no one should be excluded from the fellowship for what they eat. Over and over, the gospel expands the circle, continually challenging us to welcome those who seem outside. The promises of baptism are for all people, but especially for those on the margins.
     
    Today’s story is no different. The Ethiopian Eunuch, although he was a Jew and he carried some power and authority in the court in which he served, was an outsider on many counts. He was a foreigner, he was viewed as “exotic” because of his dark skin, and he'd been surgically altered — possibly by force — so that he was outside of gender norms. None of that prevents the Spirit from guiding Philip to head to the south, follow a deserted road, find a random chariot, and join the Eunuch as he studied Isaiah.
     
    Philip shares the gospel with him, and it never occurs to the Eunuch that it might not be for him. They pass by water, and the Eunuch speaks a profound statement of faith: “Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?” What indeed? There was water, and the Word of God. And then and there, the Eunuch and Philip claim that the promises of God have no limits.
     
    We don’t know anything else of the Ethiopian Eunuch, except that he goes on his way rejoicing. It strikes me that, as an Ethiopian, dark-skinned, high court official, he is in the perfect position to carry the good news to new lands. The Spirit, I believe, didn’t send Philip to the Eunuch in spite of who he was, but because he was uniquely equipped to embody the love, forgiveness, and faithfulness of a God who knows no boundaries.
     
    The Eunuch knew without question that God’s promises were for him, in all his uniqueness. Judy Hopps knew without question that she was uniquely equipped to make the world a better place as a bunny police officer, no matter what anyone else thought.
     
    As colleagues and I gathered this week to reflect on these texts, we wondered, what would it look like if we lived the truth that all people really are fully included in the gospel? We realized that we pray for this every week, in the Lord’s Prayer, asking that God’s kingdom and will be done on earth... not just for some, but for all creation. It means letting go of needing to understand, needing to gate-keep, needing to have some control over how things look and how they are done. It means letting go of our own vision and embracing God’s vision instead. We humans will never fully be able to grasp it in this life, but we do get glimpses, and it is the gospel nevertheless.
     
    My colleagues and I recognized the power of the gospel to heal and transform us and our communities, no matter how imperfectly we embody it. We shared from the witness of our own lives and those we care for that when God’s expansive love is embraced and embodied in people around us, it can actually reduce the depression, isolation, and even risk of suicide that comes from being systematically cast out.
     
    The challenge of all this is that, for those of us who “fit” easily in different ways, embracing the expansiveness of the gospel, allowing the Spirit to remove the walls and barriers that leave others outside, means being willing to be uncomfortable. Judy was really uncomfortable as she faced her own prejudices and saw the harm that she had done, and she and Nick had to have really hard conversations. In the end, the walls within them and between them that kept them from being who they were created to be fell apart as they claimed their truth.
     
    And as easy as it seems for Philip to seek out the Eunuch and baptize him, that was clearly the work of the Spirit, sending and snatching and sending again. And we know from all of the stories of the early church just how much conflict, confusion, and even anger had to be worked through as the Spirit revealed herself to them. Like Judy and Nick, and the people of the early church, we today continue to come up against our own walls and barriers, and the Spirit continues to blow through and take them down because she will not be contained.
     
    Today we celebrate the good news of a God so expansive that she embraces a foreign, dark-skinned person who does not conform to gender norms, and connects us all to one another and themselves as surely as branches connect to the vine to receive life and nourishment. Like Mr. Jesse pointed out, we are connected to God, and to each other, and all of creation. The gift of this is that we can help one another feel the expansiveness and connectedness of the love of God when we can’t sense it for ourselves. Beyond anything else, it is what we were created to do.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Acts 8:26-40, John 15:1-8
  • Apr 25, 2021A Leader We Can Trust
    Apr 25, 2021
    A Leader We Can Trust
    Series: (All)
    April 25, 2021. Scripture is filled with images of nature, and one thing evident in all of the stories, and all of our own experiences in God’s creation, is the theme of connection of God to nature, and connection to God through nature.
     
    Readings: 1 John 3:16-24, Psalm 23, John 10:11-18
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    One of my favorite places in Minnesota is Gooseberry Falls, on the North Shore. From the parking lot, you pass by the Visitor’s Center and make your way toward the water, the splashing of the water against the rocks growing louder with every step, along with the sounds of voices and laughter on warm, sunny days. I've always loved water, especially running water, and one of the best parts of Gooseberry is that it is really three waterfalls in one, with the water pouring down each rocky cliff, one after the other, on its way down the river.
     
    The river is surrounded by rock — all colors, all shapes, all sizes, some set like stairs to climb as you make your way to the Upper Falls, some smooth and flat and perfect for sitting on, some rising out of the river itself like stepping stones allowing the courageous to cross from one side to the other in search of new paths. And edging the stone are thousands of trees, with paths running through them, like so many veins, carrying air, light, animals, and people deeper into the woods, and back again.
     
    And then, of course, there is the water itself. I recall one year sitting by the edge of the Upper Falls, listening to the water colliding with the rocks and then rushing over and around them, when I noticed something I hadn’t before. As Gooseberry River makes its way down the Upper Falls, it doesn’t go down all in one rush, but divides and flows around the rocks in the cliff, forming hundreds of mini waterfalls as it goes. I became fascinated with how different they all were, in size, shape, direction, even speed, and I could have spent hours watching them.
     
    I took pictures of course, but that hardly does justice to the beauty that can be experienced when you are sitting there, so close you have to raise your voice to be heard over the roar of the water, and can feel the mist off the rocks a few feet away.
     
    Moments like this connect me with the presence of God in profound ways, because with stone, dirt, water, trees, sunlight, and air all around, I feel grounded in the Spirit of the one who created it all.
     
    Scripture has so many images of nature, starting with the story of creation where God spoke and breathed all things into being, as Miss Alena talked about. The psalms described the created world singing and praising the creator, bringing solace, healing, strength, and rest to all of creation, like we heard in Psalm 23 today. Moses finds sacred space in a burning bush, and removes his sandals so that he can touch the holy ground with his feet. Elijah, when he is exhausted, afraid, and completely empty, is nourished, rested, renewed, and reassured by God in a hidden cave on a hill, far from the city he'd fled. And so many stories tell of God speaking to creation and even controlling it, as when he parts the Red Sea for the Israelites, and brings water from stone for them to drink.
     
    And in the gospels, Jesus often teaches in fields, and mountains, and gardens, and even from boats, and uses images of grain, water, and trees, among other things, to explain the kin-dom of God to those who follow him. And he also reveals creation responding to the creator in stories like the calming of the storm. Today, Jesus describes God’s connection to God’s people using the image of a shepherd, guiding and caring for us, the sheep.
     
    One thing evident in all of these stories, and all of our own experiences in God’s creation, is a theme of connection of God to nature, and connection to God through nature. In our gospel today, Jesus tells us that just as the shepherd knows the sheep, he knows us, and we know him. He knows our voice, and we know his voice, just as Mary knew Jesus’ voice when he said her name in the garden outside the tomb. The truth of this knowing is revealed in the world around us. Anyone who has seen the documentary “March of the Penguins,” narrated by Morgan Freeman, may have been struck, as I was, by the description of young penguins hatched while their mothers are on a months-long journey to bring food to their families, who nevertheless know one another’s calls and can find each other out of hundreds of penguins despite never having heard each other’s voices before. Jesus knows us, and we know Jesus, out of all the millions of people on earth.
     
    This feels especially profound this week as the verdict for Derek Chauvin in the murder of George Floyd was rendered, and as I reflected afterwards that George’s cry to his mother was heard. This time, in this moment, justice was served.
     
    There is still so much evil and brokenness and sin in this world, so much healing to happen, as we wait for justice to roll down like waters. Reverend Dr. Kelly Brown Douglas, in her book Stand Your Ground, describes how black theology speaks to this lived reality: God is by nature free, transcendent of all the brokenness and sin of this world. And, God’s work in us and in the world is about freedom. Freedom to be who we are as children of God.
     
    This, Douglas says, is what gives people who are not yet truly free the courage and endurance to proclaim boldly that wherever people are in bondage, oppressed and marginalized, God is there, and hears their voices just as surely as God heard the cry of the Israelites in Egypt. God heard George Floyd’s cry, and the cries of all who suffer. Our second reading, from 1 John, speaks of this boldness, promising that in this beautiful and broken world of now-and-not-yet, God cannot help but be faithful to who God is. And we cannot help, being created by God, to continue the work of transformation, justice, and shalom.
     
    We don’t often think much about sheep and shepherds, but when we do, if you are like me you probably envision fluffy white cuteness, wandering beautiful countryside, with a shepherd dressed in pristine, flowing robes to follow them. Reality is much different from that — sheep are dirty and smelly, they get lost sometimes, and there are so many dangers that threaten that the shepherd must guard against, sometimes taking the brunt of the damage on themselves in the process. In Psalm 23, the shepherd leads us beside still waters, providing rest and renewal, but also guides the sheep through the inevitable valley of the shadow, walking with them no matter what is happening. In a world where finding leaders that we can truly count on, leaders that know us and hear our voice, can seem nearly impossible, Jesus the good shepherd is a leader we can trust.
     
    We who were created, shaped, and formed in the image of the God of freedom follow Jesus the shepherd, and we're reminded with every step that we are intimately connected with the created world around us. Grounded in the created world of earth, trees, animals, birds, air, sun and moon, we're renewed and reminded that no matter what happens, we always know God, and God always knows us. We can stand against evil, knowing that we can trust the shepherd, who has never failed us yet. Guided by the shepherd, we can face the valley of the shadow, the brokenness and evil of this world and even our own sin, and boldly claim that the God of freedom, creativity, and life means for all of creation to be free, even if we are not there yet.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Psalm 23, 1 John 3:16-24, John 10:11-18, Alena Horn
  • Apr 18, 2021How Do You Know?
    Apr 18, 2021
    How Do You Know?
    Series: (All)
    April 18, 2021. What are we witness to? How has God shown up in your life, and how have you been changed? Who are you called to share the hope, love, and promise of the resurrection with? In today's sermon, Pastor Meagan asks these questions and talks about how we can know.
     
    Readings: Luke 24: 36b-48
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    The disciples were understandably a little bit skeptical when Jesus appeared to them. As Pastor Tina pointed out last week, they were exhausted, traumatized, afraid, confused, even despairing. Jesus showing up, in the middle of that, was the last thing that they expected. And yet, there he was. And there they were, caught up in a tangle of trauma, joy, disbelief, and wonderment.
     
    The disciples didn’t know it was Jesus right away. That seems to be a theme of Jesus' appearances after the resurrection, like Mr. Jesse mentioned. Honestly, who can blame them? Trauma is real, and they had been through it. Clear thinking was impossible in the wake of the horror of Good Friday, and Jesus’s appearance was not enough to instantly erase that. On Easter Sunday, we heard that the women were afraid to tell anyone, at the beginning. Last week, Thomas doubts — and as Pastor Tina pointed out, Jesus understood that, and meets him where he is. And today, one more time, the disciples are struggling to make sense out of what is happening right in front of them, how to know what it all meant.
     
    How do we know? When we're encountering something unexpected, traumatic, challenging, new, confusing, how do we discern where God is leading? How do we find God, when any sign of God seems completely absent?
     
    I remember realizing, soon after starting seminary, that for many reasons it was time to seek out a new church. On the website of one of the ELCA churches in our Minneapolis neighborhood, the tagline read “Traditional Worship — Contemporary Message.” The church we had been attending claimed “Traditional Church with a Modern Message.” I got goosebumps and I thought, “I think I’ve found my people!” And I had.
     
    When my Seminary Advisor returned from sabbatical I told her that I had joined the ELCA and was switching to an Mdiv degree, and she exclaimed, “Why not the UCC? Or the Episcopal? How do you know?” To her, the way I had made this decision made no sense. Later, I discovered that she had made a similar change many years before, becoming Presbyterian after months of studying church doctrine. This was my first realization that there are many ways of knowing God's will, and discerning where God is leading.
     
    Looking back, I have always relied at least somewhat on instincts when making decisions. I chose St. Olaf for college largely because of a sense of at-homeness when I visited. And when we were looking at St. Louis houses last year, Karen was gratified to discover that our house had a new furnace and AC, but I knew we were at home when I discovered the sound of the rain on the tin roof of the sun porch — my squeal of joy brought our realtor running, sure that something was dreadfully wrong.
     
    The disciples had heard the experience of the two who walked the road to Emmaus with Jesus, and knew who it was when they broke bread together. But hearing from their fellows didn’t prepare the rest of the disciples to see Jesus’ themselves. Jesus understands this, and he acknowledges how shocking it must be for them, how confusing for brains and spirits that are still shaken by what they'd been through — and he offers them peace, not as a command, but as a gift to beloveds he knows are confused and afraid. He invites them to enter into the truth that he is there — to see his hands, to touch his feet. He asks for something to eat — as Mr. Jesse mentioned — as if to say, I really am here. I still get hungry and I eat, just like you do. And then he teaches them, opening their minds to the scriptures, and all that he told them all those years along the way. My advisor would have loved that part!
     
    And finally, whether because they saw, or felt, or touched, or learned — or maybe because of all of it — the disciples knew that it was Jesus. Connecting with their own embodied experience through their senses grounded them, and they knew. Perhaps not the kind of knowing that means they fully understood everything that was happening or what the future would hold, but a knowing that helped them to trust in something that they still couldn’t quite understand. Jesus embodied in humanity met the disciples in their humanity to share promise, life, and hope.
     
    And Jesus, having been fully human, meets us where we are. Whether through goosebumps or rain on the tin roof, or website taglines, church teachings or scripture studies, or seeing or touching or eating, God in Christ continues to reveal to us the good news: death is not the final word, we are not alone, the love of God for all creation cannot be contained, and we are, often despite ourselves, exactly where we need to be. How do you know?
     
    In all of the gospels, even in Mark that leaves us hanging with the women at the tomb afraid to speak, Jesus helps us know — and then, as Mr. Jesse talked about, calls us to be witnesses. This can feel impossible — we are overwhelmed by trauma, we're too frightened to speak, we think we don’t know or understand enough, or that we should leave it to the preachers or others better trained, or we feel like our doubts and questions disqualify us from carrying the gospel. But still, we are called. We are witnesses, as Mr. Jesse mentioned.
     
    We are sent out together. And today, with the rest of Central States Synod, we remember the witness of our partner in the gospel, the Kote District of Papua New Guinea. Like the disciples, and like us, they have experienced the struggle and despair. They have, like us, lived through the despair of the pandemic, and had limited resources to help their community. They're grieving the loss of beloved President Mutu, and they're seeking wisdom as they choose a new leader and make decisions about how to use their country’s rich natural resources for the good of all. We stand with them as we all seek to know God’s presence and share the good news of God’s abundant love.
     
    It's interesting to note that as Jesus reveals himself to the disciples, it is not miracles or perfect knowledge that help them know, but Jesus showing up in his humanity, asking for something to eat. The most powerful witnesses in my life in times of despair and woundedness have been those who have also known despair, and found hope in the presence of God who meets them there. When shame, trauma, and despair bound me and blinded me, others who understood embodied Christ for me, reminding me of the truth of my identity as a beloved child of God. Like Mr. Jesse had us sing, Jesus loves me. People were able to witness that, demonstrating by their presence that God of love and life was there.
     
    In the neighborhoods of Minneapolis, as the verdict in the trial surrounding George Floyd’s death looms, trauma, anger, and grief threaten to snuff life out — and guns and tanks and soldiers struggle to contain it. Community is embodying Christ there by bringing food, water, medical supplies, counseling, diapers, and connection, showing up with their presence and demonstrating that the God of life is there. It's like Mary, showing up after the horror of Good Friday and the silent despair of Holy Saturday, proclaiming simply and with great wonder, “I have seen the Lord!”
     
    And this is our call: to know, and to witness. What are we witness to? How has God shown up in your life, and how have you been changed? Who are you called to share the hope, love, and promise of the resurrection with? Feel the breath of Jesus as he proclaims peace. See the wounds in his hands, touch the holes in his feet, share your fish — and bread — with him and watch in wonder as he eats, and hear the promises that are revealed in scripture. And then, know that we too are witnesses to these things, and proclaim the good news: We have seen the Lord! Christ is alive! God is still here! Alleluia!
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Luke 24: 36b-48, Jesse Helton
  • Apr 11, 2021The Gift We All Need
    Apr 11, 2021
    The Gift We All Need
    Series: (All)
    April 11, 2021. Today's sermon by guest Pastor Tina Reyes is on being more understanding, in this year of all years, of Thomas and the disciples for hiding out in a locked room and struggling with lack of faith and the need for more proof.
     
    Readings: 1 John 1:1-2:2, John 20:19-31
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    So as I said at the beginning of worship, I bring you greetings from LuMin St. Louis and all the students, and I also bring you greetings from the Central States Synod of the ELCA. It is indeed good to be here with you this morning as we hear the good news.
     
    This past week, a man named Earl Simmons died. I can't say I was really aware of who he was or what his gifts were to the music world, or even his journey, until reports of him being in the hospital and being in a vegetative state hit my social media accounts — and not just the news reports, but the instances of friends and colleagues who listened to his music and who were lamenting about how young he was and how he had struggled with his life and his faith in God through those 50 years. But it was the Reverend Traci Blackmon, who is a UCC pastor in residence across the street at Eden, until she wrote this on her wall about DMX, which was his rap name:
     
    “When I listen to DMX... I hear the lamentations and psalms lived out loud. And I wonder if we have sanitized the struggle out of human lives of faith. We’ve decided holiness is achievable instead of aspirational. We hear the stories of the text as victory instead of valiant. It's clear to me that DMX knows God. Not that it matters whether I know that or not. I’m glad I do. DMX’s God is not the God we meet at the finish line... this is the God who runs the race with us.”
     
    And there it was. (Now mind you I was mostly done with my sermon and I'm like, “Oh! Quote! Cool!”) But there it was: the gift of Easter, of faith, of hope that appeared to me this year in the lesson from John’s gospel.
     
    As Jesse told the kids, it's been a week since we proclaimed out loud, “Alleluia! Alleluia! Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed!” The alleluia banner is still on the altar here. Let me tilt down so you can see it. There it is. Alleluia! The Easter lilies are behind me, and I have forgotten how fragrant Easter lilies can be in small spaces, especially when you have almost 20 of them. The last church I served was a huge space, and we could have 20 and not really affect me. We’ve more or less gone back to our lives as they are right now. But in the text this morning, it is the same night. We begin on Easter night. I think it's important to remember that. It’s only been a matter of days since the disciples ran in fear, and their rabbi was killed and buried, and just hours, hours since Mary Magdalene came running to the upper room with the news of Jesus' resurrection.
     
    And so I imagine that they're huddled together in this room with the doors locked because they're trying to process the trauma that they have witnessed. (They wouldn’t have used those words, but that's what they're doing — they're trying to process all of these things that have happened.) And so they're together in comfort and community in their grief and questions, because they're wondering: what’s next? And: can we believe Mary? And: I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
     
    The text hits me in a way this year that it hasn’t before — which I believe is a gift in and of itself. You and I have been huddled more or less in small spaces within our immediate communities. I can tell you that that's not a great way to start campus ministry. When you can't actually be in relationship with students, it creates ways. And you have to be creative and you have to be open to different possibilities. And even though we've been huddled in small spaces in our immediate communities, it hasn’t stopped trauma and tragedy happening in the world around us. So I imagine the questions the disciples were uttering are probably familiar in our own lives, like: I don't know if I can take much more of this (not really a question but more of a statement). Or: I can’t breathe — whether it's from COVID which decimates lungs, or physical restraints cutting off air flow. And there's always that, “What’s next?” What's going to happen next? I know I cried that watching angry folks storming the Capitol on January 6th. And I cry that every time I see that legislatures are trying to restrict a transgender person's right to live as God created them.
     
    No beloved, the irony that we’ve been locked in our own dark upper rooms in fear and anxiety for the last year is not lost on me — and I wonder how long we’ve really been waiting for the hurt to stop. And even more irony: out of caution and love for each other, here we are sharing worship together — and apart — at the same time, seeking comfort and joining in praise.
     
    And so I have to tell you that this year I’m not even mad at Thomas and the disciples for hiding out in a locked room, or Thomas not being there the first time and then joining them in that locked room. I get it! I get their behavior and their responses. I've pulled back the pointing finger at their lack of faith and the scapegoating of Thomas, his need for more proof. Somehow, this year, I’m with them — waiting with bated breath, wanting to see, to touch, to hear the good news of the risen Christ, just as they did.
     
    And I wonder: where are you, beloved?
     
    In the midst of their pain and their confusion, a wounded, risen Jesus meets them where they are. A wounded, risen Jesus gifts these siblings with exactly what they need in that moment. He breathes peace on them twice, and then he breathes the Holy Spirit in them. And they are comforted in their trauma and grief, and they know that it is indeed their beloved, that Mary was right. And somehow all those prophecies Jesus made, of his death and resurrection, were true.
     
    And it makes sense to me this year, more so than ever, that Thomas didn’t get it, isn’t comforted by their witness, and is still struggling with his own stuff. Thomas declares that he needs something for himself to begin his own healing, to make it make sense to him. It’s not that Thomas doubts. It's that Thomas has always needed something more, something different, to comprehend the love that Jesus offered. And that’s okay.
     
    It’s okay because there's not one single formula for healing or learning or believing. We live with an amazing diversity of abilities and understandings that were all created by same God. And here we are in this lesson, given a gift that uplifts that diversity. Before I went to seminary I was a middle school history teacher, and I worked with students of all different levels and abilities — from the brightest of the bright, to the students who were just trying to acquire English as a different language, to students who had emotional difficulties. Somehow they all ended up in my class. And in one of the wings in a teacher workroom, there was a quote put on the wall. And it said, “If the students don’t learn how you teach, then teach how they learn.” And my other favorite thing then is to tell Confirmation students, when we talk about our journey of faith it doesn't have a start and a stop, it's this long journey that lasts our lifetime. It's a journey, and we all take the same journey but differently, because we don’t have a socket in the back of our necks, like in the movie “Matrix” (showing my age a little bit) to hook up to the faith computer and to instantly have all the faith and power to comprehend what, in honesty, we just can’t.
     
    And so Jesus meets Thomas where Thomas is — still questioning, needing a different way of accessing and understanding the risen Christ. And so the wounded, risen Jesus enters the room a week later (and Thomas is with them) and he offers peace again to all of them, and then he doesn't put Thomas down, as we have done for a bajillion years. He invites Thomas in. He invites Thomas into a relationship, into that close space, and says, “Put your finger here. See? Go ahead, touch.” And that is exactly what Thomas needed for Thomas' journey of healing and living and ministry.
     
    And that is exactly what Jesus — risen, wounded, and healing — does with us in our times of grief, and confusion, and heartache. Jesus meets us where we are and journeys with us in our own needs. And sometimes we don't recognize it as Jesus. Sometimes it's just the person who sits with us. Sometimes it's the stranger a table away (a year ago) who would offer a ketchup bottle or a napkin. Maybe it's an adult offering a verse of encouragement to a young college student struggling with being on their own for the first time. But Jesus meets us where we are, and journeys with us in our own needs.
     
    In our rush to celebrate the risen Christ, I believe that we often forget the pain and suffering and confusion and hurt and heartache — of Jesus and of those who loved him. It's why I believe that every year, on every second Sunday of Easter in the Revised Common Lectionary, we have this lesson. Faith is never about one or the other. Faith is about both and. We get this lesson not as an exemplar of how to believe. We get this lesson as a reminder of God’s love for us in the wounded, risen Jesus in our own wounded selves. And we come to know that Jesus is with us wherever we may find ourselves on our journey of faith.
     
    Beloved Jesus died & rose —     the gift that eternal death is not the end. And Jesus died & rose & comes to us —     that there may be life in this place for all of God’s people... And Jesus meets us in his woundedness & his divinity     and gifts us with his never-ending presence. And Jesus meets us in our woundedness & divinity     and gifts us with peace and the Holy Spirit. And Jesus is with us     and gifts us with peace and hope to meet the suffering, and the pain,     and the hardest of the hard stuff.
     
    The gifts given in those upper rooms to the disciples and the gifts given continually to us — of peace and the Holy Spirit — are with us, now and always, as we work to bring death to the sins of racism and white supremacy, and as we learn to welcome and celebrate all folks as God created them in amazingly diverse ways, and as we hold on just a little longer to our quarantines and our safe spaces.
     
    It is indeed the second Sunday of Easter. Jesus is with us and among us. Alleluia. Christ is risen. Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia! (Yes, there's the fist pump action here.) Thanks be to God!
     
    Amen.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Tina Reyes, Traci Blackmon, Confession of a woman who preaches, 1 John 1:1-2:2, John 20:19-31, Jesse Helton, COVID-19, coronavirus