"God Started Doing Something New" - a Christmas Eve sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Good morning, friends - 

I hope you all had fantastic Christmases and are looking forward to 2016 right around the corner! On internship I was able to preach Christmas Eve at all three of our candlelight services - it was a beautiful afternoon and evening. Here's the sermon! :) The text was Luke 1:1-20. 

Sisters and Brothers, grace to you and peace from God our Creator and the Savior of the World Jesus the Christ. Amen.

Let me begin by saying that I absolutely love this story. The way that the Gospel of Luke records the birth story of the Christ child is probably among my favorite passages of Scripture. This account has so much to offer to us as hearers and listeners. We begin by meeting people on the road who are traveling back to their cities of origin to be registered and accounted for due to a decree from Emperor Augustus. On the scene are indeed Mary and Joseph, who are going back from Nazareth to Bethlehem. We have Mary, carrying the son of God, an impoverished young woman with a common name, and Joseph, a carpenter. Neither of them have much, and neither of them hail from the upper classes of Nazarene and Galilean society. They make the 90-some-mile trip into Bethlehem and upon arrival, are ultimately unable to find a place to stay – there are no relatives in town or Jewish families with an open room or home – so they seek refuge elsewhere. The story tells us in an inn. While there, during the time the couple was in Bethlehem being registered, Mary gives birth to her first born son, wraps him in bands of cloth, and lays him in an animal’s feeding trough.

When I read through the text, the only thing I can think of is, “Wow. What a beginning.” What a totally opposite experience from what was expected of the Savior of the world. The Jewish culture at the time was expecting a savior king coming in splendor with a mighty arm to save the world and redeem it to God’s reign. Someone that acted like and resembled a Messiah; a leader for their cause. Instead, a baby is born.

A baby is born to Mary, a poor teenaged mother. A baby is born to a couple who cannot find a place to stay, who seek refuge in an inn and lay their newborn in a manger. A baby is born to Joseph, who questioned whether or not to leave Mary after finding out she was with child. A baby was born in the darkness, in the still quiet of a Bethlehem night. At this moment, as his cry pierced through the silence, the world was all but turned over. God, who for thousands of years had been active in human history and narrative through chosen and individual prophets, who set the Spirit ablaze in called and claimed communities and cast judgments and fulfilled promises, has now come down from heaven to earth – when we hear the words, “the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us”, and “a little child shall lead them”, it explicitly means Christ incarnate. In this baby, in the Christ child, we have God drawing near to us – God chooses to dwell among us, be with us, and be for us in the body and mission of Jesus Christ. The very magnitude of this event cannot be kept silent, and it isn’t kept silent.

The second part of this narrative continues – we look out beyond Mary and Joseph and travel to the fields where the shepherds, who were akin in that culture to prostitutes, tax collectors, and others as dirty and scummy and sinful, were watching their flocks. Angels appear before them and the shepherds are terrified. Who are these beings coming to speak with us? I can imagine them asking. The angels tell them of the birth of the baby boy, and give the shepherds signs of what to look for. The angels tell them that through this God is glorified and there will be peace bestowed upon the earth.

It’s no coincidence that the first people chosen to hear about this miraculous news are those on the outskirts of society, those who are marginalized, and those on the fringe. We have a baby born to take away the sins of the world, and the first to hear of it are those who God chooses to dwell among. God, in this story, doesn’t come to the rich and wealthy and powerful who were expecting a savior to be someone else. God tells shepherds who are keeping their sheep on the hills that to them this night a baby has been born for them who will be the cause of joy for all people – and what better news is there than this? The shepherds go, the wise men appear, and soon the world ‘round begins to hear of this miraculous event that has taken place. The Christ child has been born, God has become flesh, and the world is turned upside down. Here, we hear the story of a God who deliberately chooses to be with those who are ultimately other – with those who we so often regard as different or unworthy or bad. The same rings true today – we hear and see of God moving for the marginalized and outcast. We as hearers and listeners of this story now suddenly have a great responsibility. Because God has come to dwell with all of humanity beginning with the birth of Christ, we now need to go and proclaim it to the people who need to hear these words of hope and promise. We need to proclaim this to people who have lost hope, who doubt, who question, who wonder. How many of us in the pews tonight have had seasons in our lives where we have been lonely, felt oppressed, lost hope, and questioned the mystery of this faith we have been called to? I know I have!

This is why this story is so important. This is the turning moment when God breaks in to human history in the form of a little baby boy, who came to give faith and saving grace to you and to me and to your neighbor. Like the shepherds, we cannot keep silent, we cannot be still – we must go and see this for ourselves, and even today we have the responsibility of bearing this word to the whole of the cosmos. We, as participants in this community of faith where the ancient meets the future, have been brought into the everlasting love of God and into the communion of the saints in light. And to think – it all began with a baby boy born to the least expected people.

Friends, go this night in the hope, promise, and light of the Christ child. Many years ago, a newborn’s cry first pierced the darkness, and as Mary and Joseph gazed over their child God started doing something new for all people in all times and spaces. Go this night, knowing that Christ is for us, with us, and among us. There is no better news than this. Thanks be to God. Amen.

God's Peace -

Dean

"Histories and Futures" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Hello friends -

I hope this post finds you well! Life has been full in Pelican Rapids as of late - duties as usual in the parish, continually baking bread, cooking up a storm in my free time, etc. I wanted to share with you my sermon from this past Sunday, where I talked about God's hope and grace found in times of transplant and transition.

Sisters and brothers, grace to you and peace from God our Creator and the One who is to come, Jesus the Christ. Amen.

            At Holden, I worked in the kitchen with one of the most ambitious, talented, and down-to-earth 74-year-old women I’d ever met. Her name is Nancy Raymond, and throughout our winter and spring sojourn together as kitchen staff in town, we got to know each other well. As the days got shorter and the mountains cast their shadows deeper through the valley, we talked about life in Grand Rapids, her family, and her story. She shared new beginnings – about how she moved to Grand Rapids for a job at age fifty-five, came alone and dared to find her way in a new community. She shared her love of traveling, hoping to see as much of this world as possible – trips to Italy, South America, and Scandinavia. She shared her thoughts on her spiritual practices, and what worship meant to her.

We talked bread and bakeries and dreams for ministry as we chopped five gallons of carrots, and she gave her quiet smile as I declared hands down that her garlic breadsticks were “world famous” as we served them up alongside lasagna. We shared together that year, very much so, an idea of what transformation was – coming from one place, home – Grand Rapids for her and Cannon Falls for me – to finding new community together in this remote mountain village. How we were being transplanted, and finding sorrows and joys within that. We talked about how God found us, came to us, and dwelled with us as we gathered for Vespers worship every evening. We missed what we knew, but loved in equal measure what we were finding in turn – chances for new relationships with new people and opportunities to learn their stories, histories, and futures.

            This tension between exile and promise, of casting-out and finding a future, of remembering what is forgotten and left behind and finding something new, is exactly what our text today from the book of Ezra pronounces. The book of Ezra talks about a promise fulfilled by God through the prophecy of Jeremiah in the words of King Cyrus of Persia: “Any of those among you who are of his people—may their God be with them!—are now permitted to go up to Jerusalem in Judah, and rebuild the house of the Lord, the God of Israel—he is the God who is in Jerusalem.” This is one of God’s promises held up and against many judgments in the Old Testament. The people of God in this text were exiled because of sin, a definite judgment, and they are brought back to the land because of God’s promise – they can return to Jerusalem in Judah and build a temple. Like Nancy and I – we found new community out in the mountains as the people of God did in Jerusalem.

            This doesn’t mean that everything is going to be smooth sailing, however. The Israelites return and there are people there who have since inhabited the land. The text writes of “being in dread of neighboring peoples” – the Israelites can indeed worship, but the landscape has changed – there are new people there. A festival is put on as the builder’s lay the foundation for their space – priests wear their vestments and there are cymbals and praising but there is also lament. Specifically, there is lament from the people who remember the first temple. There is lament for what used to be, for what home and worship once was. The text says, “old people who had seen the first house on its foundations wept with a loud voice when they saw this house, though many shouted aloud for joy, so that the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people's weeping, for the people shouted so loudly that the sound was heard far away.”

            One of the takeaways here is that the community of people in Jerusalem allowed for that – they welcomed weeping alongside praise, to the point that they could not distinguish joyful shout from distressed cries – from those who had remembered the temple as it once was. This text ultimately proves the point that God’s people are attempting to live into what God has in store for them – returning to Jerusalem, building the foundations for a new temple, setting the stage for a life renewed out of exile, living into God’s promises – but all of that is proving to be messy and showing only mixed results so far.

            Just like our community here. Just like Nancy at Holden. We find ourselves in new situations, living out God’s intentions for our beings, but at the same time we remember how things once were – we remember where we come from, what we left behind, the brokenness and sin we have been delivered from. We feel both joy and sadness, grief and praise, but we know that God is always faithful. When we get things wrong, God points us towards new life and resurrection and brings us out of exile and our old ways.

            How applicable to today – we see fear and hatred in political spheres, we read and watch about concern and demands placed over people because of their religion. We as human beings like to divide and separate ourselves according to what makes us different from each other. We constantly exile ourselves from one another on the basis of our differences, not wondering what the world might be like if we worked for new life. This text shows us that, yes, striving to do that is messy – there is wailing and weeping over what was, but God always brings new life out of death. There is hope for resurrection in our world today, and it is here and it is now. Let us praise God for that. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Grace and peace, friends - 

Dean

             

"You Take God's Breath Away" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Hello friends -

I hope you're having a great Tuesday morning! It's been a busy past few days, tracking all over the state in my '04 Oldsmobile Alero - first to Cannon Falls for Thanksgiving, then up to Grand Rapids for my cousin's wedding, then to Marcell for a day, and finally back to Pelican Rapids where I can stay for awhile. While away, I had the opportunity to worship again at my first year teaching parish, St. Andrew's Lutheran, and got to connect with a good friend from that community, who I had also served with at Holden Village. I had the privilege to preach at my community's Thanksgiving Eve service before taking off for home. This is my sermon from that service.

Sisters and brothers, grace to you and peace from God our Creator and the Giver of Life, Jesus the Christ. Amen.

             This past weekend, three adult leaders had the chance to take five of our youth from Zion to a Northwestern Minnesota Synod youth gathering in Bemidji, Minnesota, where they joined in with 300 other middle schoolers and participated in worship, assemblies, and breakout sessions talking about homelessness, how God works in our lives, and other important pieces that matter to our lives of faith. It was an extraordinarily formative weekend, both for the kids, and, dare I say, the leaders, too. The theme of the gathering was “You Take God’s Breath Away”, and conversation centered around that – what does it look like, exactly, to make God stop and go, “Wow! I created him or her in my image, and that takes my breath away.”

            We talked about our gifts in one session – some identified gifts of kindness, others had gifts of listening, others gifts of curiosity, others were great athletes, musicians, and the list went on and on and on. We talked about how God gives us those gifts to lean in to the world. We shared devotionals together where we called each youth by name and reminded them of how they take God’s breath away. About, how, through simply believing in the faith that they have been called to, God is amazed by them. Through no work of their own.

            This seems odd, though, right? How, with all the stuff going on in the world today, with all of the sin and lawlessness and chaos, could God be amazed at who we are? In the midst of the stuff of our lives, in our brokenness, it can be hard to see how God could be well pleased with how we’re turned out. How could God give us such abundance freely? There’s so much law. Surely we need to do something, you may be thinking. This is the perfect time to ask – where is the Gospel?

            This is exactly what the disciples wanted to know from Jesus in our text from the Gospel of John. They wanted to know, exactly, what they needed to do – “What must we do to perform the works of God?” they asked. What do they need to do, in order to live as God commanded, to obtain eternal life? Jesus, as always, answers so simply, so succinctly, “This is the work of God that you believe in him whom he has sent.” – essentially, that you believe in Jesus as the One sent by God. This was really weird for the disciples to hear – they wanted signs from Jesus, they felt like they needed to do something, anything, to follow God. Jesus tells them to just believe? To eat of the true bread from heaven that sustains? What’s that? What does that mean, I’m sure they were thinking.

            Instead, friends, we remember that our faith is totally a gift. Something that is freely bestowed from the Spirit at our baptism. We take God’s breath away to the point that God gives us the true bread of life – faith and eternal life – so that we will never be spiritually hungry. We receive this through no work of our own. It’s hard to hear, especially looking at today’s earthly realities. That’s why it’s so amazing. Our kids took that away this weekend – that faith is a gift given to them – and it was such an inspiring, amazing thing to see.

            Sisters and brothers, Thanksgiving is tomorrow. We will gather around turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce and pie. We will gather with family, friends, and loved ones, and celebrate the abundance found in our lives. We will probably watch football and fall asleep in the sofa or armchair after our meals. I would ask, too, that you give thanks for the gifts found in your own life – for the gift of faith freely bestowed, and for the quiet gifts of your being – kindness, love, listening – whatever they may be. Give thanks for the promises of eternal life. Give thanks for each other, and notice how you take God’s breath away. At times it may not seem like we our worthy, but know that indeed, we are loved and cherished by God beyond our wildest imagining. God has already had God’s breath taken away by the person you were, the person you are, and the person that you will grow to become. God has given us the Bread of Life, Jesus the Christ. Let us celebrate. Amen. 

Dean

Christ is coming, the Messiah is near!

Hello friends -

Just thought I would share this reflection - a piece I wrote for my community's December newsletter - as we begin to celebrate the holiday seasons and prepare for Advent and the announcement and birth of Christ.

Sisters and brothers, grace to you and peace from God our Creator and the Savior of Humanity Jesus the Christ. Amen. 

When I was little, I never really paid all that much attention to Advent. My brothers and I were only concerned about Christmas Eve – about getting our 4pm church service over with so we could return home, rush through dinner, and tear open our presents. My grandparents and parents wanted us to slow down, enjoy our food, and maybe even have us sit through dessert first, but the excitement in our young selves was almost too much to contain.

Now grown up and being an intern pastor en route to ordination, my perspective on this whole season – the beginning of our Church year – has changed. Advent, for me, has become a time of waiting and expectation about what is to come – Advent means literally “to come” – and what is to come is nothing less than the birth and announcement of the Savior of the whole world, Jesus Christ. It’s our human nature, I think, to have a hard time waiting for something to happen. It’s hard to live with anticipation or expectation. We want things now; we don’t wait to wait for things to come. Advent, for me, has become a way and practice to resist that way of thinking. The four weeks of Advent have become a time simply to dwell in the mystery of all that this is – the mystery of Jesus born to Mary, the mystery of Jesus’ work in our world, and how the world often wishes and wants for someone to come and set things right – and, guess what? We have that already fulfilled in Jesus.

As we begin to prepare for Advent, for the season of waiting, expectation, and promise of what is to come, I invite you to take a few moments to simply dwell. Come in early to the sanctuary on Sunday mornings during Advent. Have an extra cup of coffee before beginning your morning routine. Slow down just a bit. Pray, or not. Maybe just sit. Reflect on what the promise of Christ’s birth means for you. Where does the announcement of the Messiah show up and surprise you in your life? What does it mean for you to wait for what is to come? What does this mean for the world around us?

Friends, Advent is an exciting time. I’m overjoyed to be walking through Advent with you and alongside you – in the expectation, promise, and hope of Christ’s birth and announcement as Savior. In waiting for what is to come, we have received the One who forgives us all of our sins, reconciles us to God, and shows us the way of life everlasting. This is set into motion when we hear the words of Gabriel spoken to Mary in the Gospel of Luke, “He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” In the birth of Christ, our sin and death are ultimately defeated. The birth of Christ becomes the start of everything – of our new lives reborn in Jesus, of our relationships with each other, and the full promises of God for life eternal. Christ in God does indeed reign forever.

I’m looking forward to seeing you in worship this month. This is the beginning of it all. Let’s celebrate. I look forward to joining you in waiting and in hope as we see and join in what Christ is doing.

Let us wait in expectation – Christ is coming; the Messiah is near!

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Intern Pastor Dean

"For the Love of God" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Hello friends -

It's gray and windy out today, this Monday morning. For some reason I've had to make twice the normal amount of coffee this morning to feel adequately awake.

I hope this post finds you well. It's been a full past few weeks here in Pelican Rapids. I returned home to Cannon Falls for a few days, had a life-giving candidacy retreat at Good Earth Village, and had a second bread ministry gathering at Zion - with 15 bakers, 10 loaves made, and all given away to the Pelican Rapids Area Food Shelf. The Pelican Press is planning a piece on our work, and we're in the midst of planning a December gathering - probably ordering a pizza and baking some holiday quick breads! If you're in the Pelican Rapids area, please consider joining us - Monday, December 7th, at 4pm. Shameless plug! :)

Our community also held Zion Lutheran's 3rd Annual Christmas Closet event on Saturday morning - something that we prepare for, it seems like, all year. Throughout the year we take donations of leftover or unused Christmas decorations - lights, stuffed bears, knick-knacks, etc. and then people bake caramel rolls and make coffee and bring baked goods and we host a morning with a bake sale and silent auction and invite people to come for rolls and coffee. This year we raised over $2,300 dollars to be sent to organizations worldwide.

This Sunday I preached on Hosea 11:1-9. As Hosea speaks of God as a parent to a child, God to Israel, and how God loves us even in the midst of our turning away, ingratitude, and missteps, I was able to tie in Paris, Beirut, and other things we do as humans that makes God angry.

Here's the text!

Sisters and brothers, grace to you and peace from God our Creator and God’s Son Jesus the Christ. Amen. 

I bet I can get the kids in the room to answer this in unanimous agreement – are you excited when school’s closed for the day? I remember those days well – the elation of waking up, looking out the window from my second floor bedroom, and seeing piles of snow that I hoped just had to be feet deep. The excitement of running downstairs and hearing those words from mom – school’s closed – and then either running back to bed or getting up and having breakfast. The world seemed slower those days, life a little more still.

I recall one of those such snow days when I was in fifth grade. I was young, and my dad and I wanted to go out sledding. This wasn’t going to be just racing down the hill sledding, though. Oh, no. This was the type of sledding where my dad told me to get on the four wheeler and tie the sled behind and then race around the yard and down the front hill. You know, so you can go faster. And maybe potentially hurt yourself. I was young, and I wasn’t thinking about those things. Anyway – we took off, my dad and I, with my young fifth grade self behind the wheel, my dad tied on behind.

You probably know where this is going. We went around the yard just fine, until we came to the hill. An icy patch was at the bottom, and it was too late. I slammed on the breaks and came to a fast stop. My dad crashed into the back of the four wheeler. Scared more than anything, he jumped up, grabbed me, yelled a few choice words, and walked away. I remember plainly that we avoided each other for almost the rest of the day, and how I was so afraid of his anger. However, at the end of the day, as it begin to get dark out, I apologized, and everything was made well.

This illustration of love – then anger – then love – that a mother or father feels for a child, even when they do something wrong, is exactly what Hosea in our text today is talking about. God uses the illustration of Israel, God’s chosen people, as God's child, saying, “When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son.” Continuing on, we see God’s steadfast care towards his people – even though they don’t understand God’s healing ways, when the people continue to sacrifice to Baal, when they offer incense to idols and not to God – God leads them out of their ways with cords of human kindness, with bands of love, as the text says. God here acts as a parent to a child, and it resounds even today – for what deeper love is there than that of a parent to their children?

Quite suddenly, though, God’s anger appears – just like my dad when we were sledding that snowy day. God’s love, so it seems in this text, can only be drawn out so far. Instead of continuing to nurture the people in the midst of their turning away, God hands them over to the very things they desire – kings, cities, power, and war – but this time, it appears to bring destruction. This is the beauty of God’s orientation towards God’s creation, however – that divine anger only lasts so long. Sooner rather than later, the people are brought back, and God’s own heart recoils – we hear that compassion grows and wrath ceases.

This text just goes to show that love, anger, mercy, divine suffering, and grace are ultimately themes of God’s behavior repeated towards God’s people, and it shows the very humanity, the very realness of God towards those who are claimed on his behalf. We see these themes fulfilled later in Jesus Christ as the ultimate sacrifice, who is 100% human and 100% God – who weeps with people and sits with sinners around the table but also heals and teaches us the ways of God. It is clear that throughout the Bible these are things that are called to be embodied, and that extends to us today – we don’t get to escape it, because God has already called us, and God already loves us without condition, like a parent to a child. Like my father to me.

It’s the truth to say that we as sinners and saints do things that make God weep, without a doubt. I’m not attempting to gloss over that. In Beirut, Lebanon on Thursday 43 people were killed in twin bombings in a Shia-majority area of the capital. In Paris, France, on Friday over 120 were killed and over 300 injured in a string of bombings and shootings on stadiums, restaurants, and concert halls. We do things against other humans that makes God angry – we murder, we show ingratitude for each other’s lives and each other’s bodies, and sometimes don’t think twice about displaying violence because in our anger it seems like the only proper course of action. We do things and say things that go against God’s design and intentions for the world. I’m sure this has happened even here at Zion Lutheran – we are a community living out God’s mission yet we know that at times we don’t get things right. But know this – when we screw up, when we do something wrong, when we wonder if God might be angry or wrathful or quick to execute justice – know that God has already welcomed us into God's kingdom, both those who have joined the saints above and us ourselves. We are welcomed as God’s people, and we are God’s church, flaws and sins and brokenness and all of it. God’s mercy, grace, and love are more than enough to cover the sins of humanity and more as well. As we wonder about the violence of this world, as we wonder about when did the state of things in God’s creation become seemingly so dire, we hear these words: “I will not execute my fierce anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim; for I am God and no mortal, the Holy One in your midst, and I will not come in wrath.” – we hear those words for Israel and also those words for us – God is indeed the Holy One in our midst – God is dwelling among us here and now, as a parent to a child, and God’s wrath will never be quickened.

My friends, I am thankful for our journey together. I am thankful for the ways in which we live out our mission as called by God – to be lovers of this world in the ways that Christ loved. Our journey in common mission is something that we all hold space for, and it gives us everything to be united by. We can indeed go and peace and love the Lord because we are free – we are free in that we know that the Holy One is in our midst; we know that God’s compassion is warm and tender; we know that God’s wrath has ceased and that despite our sin God still loves us, parent to child. We go knowing we are forgiven and we are made new thanks to our baptism in the Spirit and Christ’s sacrifice upon the cross. We go knowing that we live our lives for the sake of the other and our neighbors. For the love of the Holy One in our lives and for the love of God for the whole world I say, “Thanks be to God”. Amen.

God's Peace, friends!
Dean

"Who will you serve?" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Good afternoon, friends -

Spike on our morning hike in Maplewood State Park!

It is cool and gray here in northwestern Minnesota. I'm working on my second Holy Spirit paper for class, and preparing to leave Pelican Rapids to return to Cannon Falls for a few days coming up. Parents and littlest brother were here this last weekend, and what a blast that ways - days filled with hiking, pumpkin carving, some bourbon, lots of laughing, cooking, and quiet moments. I'll be back in Cannon Falls, as I said, Wednesday through Saturday to attend a Southeastern Minnesota seminary candidacy retreat, and I'm looking forward to reconnecting with classmates away on internship as well as checking in with the bishop and my committee.

Some changes have been cropping up around my seminary timeline, too - I'm up for graduation next December, which bumps up the approval and assignment process to next summer and next fall, respectively, instead of over the course of a normal academic year. I've made some connections and had good conversation with the Bishop of the Alaska Synod, about interest in and assignment to Alaska. So, good things on those fronts.

I had the privilege and joy of leading worship and preaching solo for the first time at Zion on All Saints Sunday. We lit candles in remembrance of those who passed in 2015 from our congregation, and I preached on 1 Kings 12:1-17; 25-29.

Without further ado, here's the sermon from this past Sunday, November 1st.

Sisters and brothers, grace to you and peace from God our Creator and God’s Son Jesus the Christ. Amen.

 It was one of the most horrific eras to ever darken the doorstep of our human history – a time of oppression, murder, and deeply held beliefs that clashed. Most of you by now probably know what I’m taking about – the advent and carrying out of what is the Holocaust, which took place from 1939-1945 throughout countries occupied by the Nazi party led by Hitler. Determined to wipe the world of Jewish people and hail the Aryan race. Jewish people were not particularly well liked in Europe, so they were easy scapegoats. Aside from the gas chambers, ovens, mass executions, forced labor, and malnutrition that ran rampant in the concentration camps of Dachau, Auschwitz, and many others, there was another piece of the torturous era in history – the work of Dr. Josef Mengele, a German physician at Auschwitz who did awful, sickening experiments on the people in the camp. He would introduce himself to his children patients as “Uncle Mengele” and offer them candy before beginning his work, with no care for the health or life of the prisoners. He was interested in identical twins, dwarfs, and people with physical abnormalities. Mengele unnecessarily amputated limbs, infected people with typhus, and transfused blood. He injected chemicals into eyes of living patients to change eye colors. After about two weeks, many patients were sent to the gas chambers, regardless. This type of power over others – and the extreme abuse of it – shows the darkest, most evil, most sinful, side of humanity that I think any of us can conjure. Abuse of power, however, is, sadly, nothing unusual. Our text in the Bible speaks to the same abuse of power, the same oppression.

Today we find ourselves landing in the book of 1st Kings, which begins the narrative after the kingdoms split – Israel to the north and Judah to the south, divided over conflicts, wars, and revolts for power. In the midst of this, our text today is concerned with the leadership of Rehoboam, son of Solomon and grandson of King David, and his welding of power over the Israelite people – just like the Nazis over the Jewish people. When the people from the northern kingdom gather at the beginning of Rehoboam’s leadership, they have a simple request: “lighten the hard service of your father and his heavy yoke that he placed on us, and we will serve you.” Flashbacks of not only Solomon’s forced labor but also service in Egypt by their ancestors are running parallel through the Israelite’s minds. Rehoboam consults with both older and younger advisors in determining his answer to their request. The older men think that the workload should be lightened, while the younger men think they need to be treated more harshly. Rehoboam acts harshly and swiftly upon the Israelite people as they gather to hear his verdict: “My father made your yoke heavy, but I will add to your yoke; my father disciplined you with whips, but I will discipline you with scorpions.”, an assertion of power over the Israelites. After hearing these words of condemnation, the people are ultimately distrustful of the heritage and lineage of the kingship placed into motion by God – and sadly, this is nothing new. History is repeating itself – we see this same narrative of aggression and oppression in Solomon – and Rehoboam doesn’t realize his mistake. The Israelite people leave to their tents, and Rehoboam reigns.

We can bring this into our light today. The Holocaust is merely one example. We see this same story lived out today in our society – of people who abuse power to abuse groups of people, and it’s not right. It follows that abuse and discord brings division, not unity, in relationship. Ultimately, I think this story of absolute power asks the question, “Who are we going to serve?” Will we serve God, who intends for the Gospel to be lived out in our lives, or will we serve human ends, which is concerned with power and material and gain for our own means? Will we serve and live in a way that unifies, or divides? Rehoboam, so concerned with his own assumption of power and kingship over the people didn’t stop to consider what would have happened if he had lightened the workload for his people: they would have obeyed and lived peaceably together. They would have been more unified. Selfish interest triumphed over good news for the Israelites; so instead, they were divided – more so than they already were.

The story of Rehoboam and his treatment of the Israelite people is just one example of many in the Bible that show just how messy our very human life is. As always, though, there’s another side of the story, especially when God’s concerned. We can give thanks to God that we can rely on and have hope in God’s promises – that God, despite our human divisions and want for power, will unify us when all things are reconciled – every person and all of creation itself – unto God. When we are made whole, when brokenness and sin persists no more, there will be perfect unity. Today is All Saint’s Sunday, when we remember those who have joined the saints triumphant; when we remember those who have been unified in God’s perfect design. When we celebrate communion in a short while here, we are united with the saints as the whole Body of Christ. Yes, there is division and injustice in this world; plenty of it and more as well; but we can embody unity and justice precisely when we gather here and when we live our lives in the world in response to the Gospel that we are called to. In our world today, it’s hard to see it when people want to rule, when people want to serve the idol of power over nations – but that’s what makes our work, our service, in the Gospel so worth it – to simply be with others despite our differences; to love one another without conditions or demands or submission. To be the hands and feet of Christ in this world with each other and with all the saints above. It’s holy work, my friends, and God has called us. To working through divisions, to breaking down walls, and for serving together in unity and for loving one another for who you are, I say “Thanks be to God”. Amen.

God's peace, my friends -
Dean

"Who are you?" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Hello friends -

I hope this post finds you well. Life has been full in Pelican Rapids lately - home visits, meetings, sermon-writing, keeping up with Spirit class homework, and a host of other duties. I had the chance to get away to Marcell for a few days, where I helped my grandpa take out the dock from the lake - another summer is wrapped up and finished. They came over to Pelican Rapids yesterday afternoon where I preached this morning, and then did ditch clean-up with a bunch of our youth - it's been fun to get to know them one-on-one.

Here's the sermon text from this morning, taken from the book of Ruth:


Sisters and brothers, grace to you and peace from God our Creator and God’s Son Jesus the Christ. Amen. 

It was 5:30 in the morning at St. Andrew’s Lutheran Church, and the Saturday morning looked to be promising. Sun slow to rise streamed through the windows in the fellowship hall, reflecting off the pine trees in the distance, and the smell of coffee brewing wafted in from the kitchen. Suddenly, someone stirred and came out of their room. A young man, probably only a few years older than me, came to where I was sitting, and joined me in the early morning silence. For a long time, we both looked out the window. It was the oddest feeling, but I remember feeling the need to talk to this person, who I had never seen before. He soon struck up conversation, very openly and honestly – about his marital troubles, about wanting to be a good father, about living at the local homeless shelter, and he asked me how he could turn his life around. He invited me to share my story. He then told me that he had moved from Montana to Minnesota, chasing one job after another with no contentment. We shared things in common – a love of the Grand Rapids north woods, a desire to seek deeper faithfulness, and we wondered about these questions together. We talked for two and a half hours, about anything and everything. After getting a cup of coffee, we thanked each other for the conversation, and then the man, his name was Kenny, quietly got up and slipped out of the church where we were doing homeless shelter overflow. I never saw him again, yet in those early morning hours I had an experience I will never forget – of being in conversation, of being true with and for the sake of each other, and navigating times of difficulty. A man, who I had never met before then, showed up, embodied Christ in our midst, and modeled what compassion and relationship looks like. In those moments, who we were for each other and holding space for each other, mattered.

We arrive at this today in this beautiful little tale called the book of Ruth. We encounter a migrant, piecemealed family, who is in transition, who are in mourning at their loss of their husbands, who are calling into question their very futures. We encounter a mother-in-law encouraging her daughters-in-law to return to their homelands, we are meeting on the road women who are shedding tears at the prospect of leaving one another. One – Orpah, goes, while Ruth, the other, clings to Naomi. This scene is placed against the larger context of the time when the judges ruled Israel and famine in the country was commonplace.

These women, along their life’s journey, have been transient. Moving from Bethlehem to Moab and, now, alone, back to Bethlehem, to a country that is restless and an enemy to Ruth, a foreigner, a Moabite. Naomi, upon saying goodbye to Orpah, invites and encourages Ruth to do the same – to return to her people. Her life would be better that way. Ruth’s famous words show total devotion – not only to Naomi, but also to investing in the life that yet lay ahead of her: “Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” In the face of transition, in the face of life’s changes, Ruth claims Naomi’s life now as her own – she will adopt Naomi’s people and her God. It would have been an option for Ruth to turn back and to leave her mother-in-law, but her sense of accompaniment in Naomi’s life, in her profound, direct bitterness, outweighs her own wants. The text, I think, begs the question to be asked as we see Ruth’s answer unfold – the question of who are we, especially in times of transition, in periods of discernment, or in seasons of disquiet? In a truthful, profound and relational ways, this text asks us who we are to be for each other – who is Ruth for Naomi, and who are we for our neighbor in the pew? This text invites a deeper look into how we are made known by God even when we struggle with knowing our very selves. At the end of this text, Ruth and Naomi are about to walk into Bethlehem; are just staring at the edges of the barley fields far in the distance, and a lot remains unseen. They could be rejected, forgotten. In the face of that, though, God, in this book, in indirect ways, lays claim upon them and calls them as God’s own. The claim of this text is that we can always rely on God to intersect our very own realities in ways that we never expect, and to realize that that is where life flourishes. We know the ending for Ruth – she is eventually married and a son is born to her and promises are made to Naomi – that “he shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age.” Because of who Ruth and Naomi are for each other, God meets them and brings life out of death. Mara, bitter, has been renamed Naomi, pleasantness.

So it is with us – I invite you to consider, deeply and profoundly, who are you? Who are you as a child of God, claimed and beloved even though in times of transition and despair it’s really hard to see? Who are you, in relation to your neighbor, both down the road, in town, and across the globe? Who are we, as the family of Zion Lutheran and as the body of Christ? I can imagine that there would be a myriad of answers to those questions, but it helps us to see just a little bit clearer God’s intentions for God’s world. No matter what the answers, each of us are called to be examples of faith, hope, and love not only to the world but also for each other. Just as Kenny lived that out in our conversation together, so I see it in each of us as we live life together.

Today, and every single day of our lives, each and every one of us gets to embrace this story of faith, this story of witnessing to each other in times of difficulty. We get the privilege in this community to be real and honest with each other, for the sake of engaging in and responding to some world-changing, life-changing work, called the Gospel. Ruth says to Naomi, “May the Lord do thus and so to me, and more as well, if even death parts me from you.” In hearing those words, we have been given a strong commitment and responsibility to bear witness to each other. Hearing Ruth’s words gives us purpose and encouragement to continue living into God’s mission in the world knowing that the last thing we are is alone; we are very much working together. My friends, the barley fields are just down the road. Let’s walk into Bethlehem. For our life together, I say, thanks be to God. Amen.

Hope you all have a blessed Sunday!
Dean

"You're Just Who I'm Looking For" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Hello, friends - 

I hope you all have been having a great week! Life has been full at Pelican Rapids this past week - meetings, hospital visits, sermon preparation, confirmation, visiting Luther Crest Bible Camp, and more . This week my supervisor is going down to Luther Seminary for continuing education as he participates in the seminary's "Celebration of Biblical Preaching" event - he'll be coming back on Thursday, just as I'm headed down to Cannon Falls for a few days with family, and to drive to Iowa to participate in Waldorf College's 2015 Homecoming. Tomorrow through Thursday, I'll be in charge - but I'm looking forward to the experience of having everything on my plate. A foretaste of what is to come, no doubt! Here's my sermon manuscript from my sermon this morning, preaching on Exodus 1:8-14 and 3:1-15. I did weave in the Oregon community college shootings towards the end. 

Sisters and brothers, grace to you and peace from God our Creator and God’s Son Jesus the Christ. Amen.

A lot has happened since last week. Last week we found ourselves in Genesis 32, with the story of Jacob wrestling with God. Now today we find ourselves in Exodus 1, we have jumped several generations, descendants of Jacob are multiplying, and we are placed firmly in the story of Joseph’s people in Egypt. Joseph is Jacob’s son, the 11^th born, who rose to power in Egypt after being sold into slavery by his jealous brothers. In Exodus, this story we are brought to today is based in fear. The king who has risen over Egypt does not know the people, and did not know Joseph nor his legacy, and is worried. He is worried because Israelite people living in Egypt were prospering. He said to the Egyptians, “Look, the Israelite people are more numerous and more powerful than we. Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, or they will increase, and, in the event of war, join our enemies and fight against us and escape from the land.”

To keep them under his command, the king orders brutal, hard, manual labor. Working with bricks and mortar, building whole cities for Pharoah. The Israelites lives, the text says, were made bitter. The king of Egypt is fearful, so he turns to and wields the instrument of oppression. The king is scared of the masses, so he attempts to silence their potential influence. He’s fearful something might be up, that there could possibly be something in the air.

This fear enacts an onslaught of killing to counteract the Israelite’s continued growth as a people – the Pharaoh commands that every boy born to the Hebrews be thrown into the Nile, but to keep the girls alive. This sets the stage for Moses, who escapes death in a papyrus basket. We meet him here in Exodus 3 after he has grown up, and is living as a shepherd in exile. God appears to him in a bush set ablaze, but not burning. Moses answers God’s call simply with a “Here I am” and listens to God tell the story of Israel’s suffering. God then calls him to a pretty simple task – going to Pharaoh and demanding the release of the Israelite people. The same man who ordered the deaths of babies, who is determined to keep the Israelite people underfoot. God tells Moses that he is to go to Pharaoh and order that slavery be ended. God has plans, and they don’t include servitude in Egypt. Not anymore. To God, this is all part of the grand scheme – to bring his people to a broad place, flowing with milk and honey. To Moses, it seems like an insurmountable, terrifying task. “Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh?” he asks.

God, in that moment, makes a promise – “I will be with you; and this shall be the sign for you that it is I who sent you; when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall worship God on this mountain.” This dialogue between God and Moses, of being called and not feeling adequate for this task – continues on for another 27 verses, but the premise is the same. God called Moses even though he didn’t feel up to the task. Leading a people out of an oppressive situation is really hard work, and Moses is just an exiled shepherd who is afraid to return to the Pharaoh. That doesn’t matter to God, though. Dale talked last week about how God calls those who are ordinary, dirty, scummy, exiled people, and the same rings true here. Moses has already killed an Egyptian. His sense of justice for the Israelite people is evident, and God uses him all the same.

God establishes Moses’ role in this story by reminding him that God is not only his God, but also the God of all ancestors – Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. They faithfully followed God’s calling in their lives, so now God asks the same of Moses. There is a rich lineage here of promises and callings and faithfulness that has been fulfilled, so God just asks for a bit of faith. Leaving Egypt and facing Pharaoh and his people might seem like a monstrous undertaking, but Moses’ action is essential to the completion of God’s promise.

By and large, these texts leave us with the feeling that something – an uprising, a release from servitude, and a turning over of power – is just a few moments away. The air in Pithom and Rameses is shimmering with discontent and the drowned baby boys flowing down the Nile is nothing short of a warning that God will act justly and God will act swiftly and God will do it through human hands, through those least expected. Out of Egypt an exiled shepherd man will lead them.

            This text leaves us with many things to consider. How often are we playing the role of Pharaoh – when do we oppress others, when do we manipulate and control or wish harm? Do you see Moses, who stands up and stares injustice in the face? How often do you feel inadequate when faced with a life situation that seems impossible to navigate? How often do we see the sinfulness of this world and wish to be delivered from it, to see it cease? Too many times we forget that we have a God who says “I am who I am”, who is more powerful than we expect or believe some days. Too often we forget that we have the same God who lived among Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, and that God continues to work today as we see sin live among us – in racism, classism, in lies, in murder, in cheating, and in all other ways the brokenness of this world persists.

            Our answer, my friends, lies in Jesus. As God delivered Israel from Egypt through Moses, so God makes our world right through Christ. Moses was a shepherd, Jesus a carpenter’s son – nothing like the king or royal savior the people at large expected. We as ordinary people who feel like we only lead mediocre lives and don’t have it all together and feel that we might be a bit more sinner than saint live in a time where the kingdom of God is at hand, but it is not quite here in full. That is where we come in, as the Body of Christ. We’re an imperfect people gathered together by God through Christ to do his work – to see people brought out of their slavery to sin and into God’s new promised life. Like Moses, we’re called whether we want to be or not. We’re chosen by God to bring relief to this world by being the hands and feet of Christ. God comes to down to each of us and says, “Yes. You – broken and imperfect. You’re just who I’m looking for.” And to that I say, thanks be to God. Amen. 

Have a great week, friends! 

In God's Peace - 

Dean

"God has brought laughter for me" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Good afternoon, friends! 

I hope this post finds you well. Things have been in full swing in Pelican Rapids lately - attending a theological conference with the Northwest Minnesota Synod the past few days, and enjoying the cooler fall weather that has been in our area. Spike and I have been hanging out and having a good time! This past Sunday I preached on Genesis 18:1-15 and 21:1-7, the narrative of God's promise made to Sarah and Abraham, the promise of a son named laughter; Isaac. Here's the text! 

Sisters and brothers, grace to you and peace from God our Creator and God’s Son Jesus the Christ. Amen.

             Today I’d like to tell you the tale of five wayward kids who found their way to the mountains of Washington State, to a little mining town called Holden Village. Each on our respective journeys through life, all of us came to this place as we were in transition – having just graduated college, still in college, or stopping and working in town for a while to figure out what was coming next – to take some time to breathe. This village had no radio, no TV, and a very limited internet for staff, but abounded with prayer, Holden hugs, and scoops of ice cream so big that one scoop was more than enough.

            A large thread woven through Holden’s existence was hilarity and humor. Laughter was a big part of living life together on long term staff, as the five of us were. Sally, Andrew, Ruth, Colleen and I, all from different towns, states, life experiences, and hopes, were cut from the same cloth in that we enjoyed making cookie dough and subsequently eating it while drinking wine and playing cards.  We would joke that I used too much vanilla in my cookie dough and Andrew would be the vanilla police, a rule enforced by Colleen. The Village held a “First Day of School” day, where staff would get together and prevent the school bus from going up the hill to pick up students. The kitchen staff dressed up like 1950’s lunch ladies. The installment of our associate pastor included a dance routine to “Here’s What God Said: Ordain a Lady”, a parody of “Here’s My Number, So Call Me Maybe”, among many other Village events. The five of us friends, throughout our year there, found our own ways to engage in Village life in ways that were hilarious, life-giving, and healing in so many ways.

            This text today talks a lot about laughter. God comes to Sarah and Abraham in the form of three men, sent to tell the couple again of God’s promises – the promise of a son born to Sarah in their old age. This could easily be read as the Old Testament version of Jesus’ birth stories found in the Gospels. The men appear to Abraham, who serves them with great hospitality, giving them water, letting them rest, serving them bread and a choice calf, but they aren’t really interested in speaking with him, it appears – they want to know where Sarah is.

            Sarah, while in the tent, overhears the conversation – the promise of a son born to her and her husband. She knows she is old and past childbearing age, and laughs to herself – “After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?” Her laughter, I’m betting, is because she finds the idea uncannily funny at best, and she’s deeply disappointed at worst. After all, this is not the first time that a son has been promised. God has told her this again, and again, and again, and it’s never come to fruition. God responds in a way that seems to set things straight – “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? At the set time I will return to you, in due season, and Sarah shall have a son.” Again, the promise has been made. Now, Sarah and Abraham are left waiting, wondering, and hoping against hope that God might follow through. Sarah had been barren her whole life long. This indeed would be a miracle.

            In Genesis 21, the promise is fulfilled as God had told them. Isaac, whose very name means laughter, is born and Sarah rejoices – “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.” The idea of Sarah bearing a son – which seemed impossible to her – was made real. Sarah, at ninety years of age, was used by God as examples of God’s working through everyday people to bring about fulfillment of promises. God works through human obstacles in order to show grace, blessing, and compassion upon creation. The birth of Isaac puts into motion the larger sense of God’s design for the world. The birth of Isaac assumes that he is forerunner of a new covenant community, of a community that is rooted in God’s promises of peace and justice, rooted in promises of a Messiah to come. Through Sarah’s laughter, through Sarah’s distrust, through seemingly being “too old” by the world’s standards, God worked a miracle that will indeed set creation down the road that ultimately leads to Christ himself. It goes to show that whatever we think God can do, whatever we as humans think the limits of God are, that God will always, always, one-up us and surprise us in ways that make known God’s kingdom on earth. Throughout the Bible, He has a pretty good track record of doing exactly that.

            Sort of like how at Holden, laughter was used to express happiness, but there were also times when it was appropriate to laugh through tears, to question, or to doubt. Holden held space for that. It’s human nature. Sarah questioned and laughed at what God said, and I know I do too. I would place a bet that most of us in this room have. That’s where it gets exciting, though, my friends – because in the midst of our very doubt, in the moments when we think we’re not good enough to be used by God, in the moments when we wonder if any of this stuff matters, and when we’re just about to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, then that is precisely when God shows up and turns the world upside down. God gave Sarah and Abraham their son Isaac. God gave us Jesus Christ in the flesh who died for our sakes. God gives us now each other, our neighbors, and those who each of us has the hardest time loving to live life with – to live out the gift of faith, to live out the Gospel’s call to reconciliation, justice, and abiding love.

            That’s the scary part. We can doubt ourselves and our abilities, we can doubt God’s promises, but God still trusts us. Despite our brokenness, despite the sin that permeates this world, God still calls us out of our comfort zone, out of our routine ways of being and then shows us how to be the hands and feet of Jesus in the world. Just as God made promises to Sarah and Abraham, so God makes promises to us – of faith, of resurrection, of new life – as we live our day to day lives. In our ordinariness, in our doubt, we are used to bring the kingdom of God into our world. That, my friends, is nothing short of miraculous. And we get to live it. Thanks be to God. Amen.