"Welcome into the Temple" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Greetings, friends - 

I hope this post finds you well! Life has been full in Pelican Rapids lately - I'm busy working on my final evaluation for internship, preaching, as well as the regular weekly goings-on in our parish. We're having our last confirmation evening this Wednesday, where we'll wrap up the year with a discussion about what the students enjoyed, what could be changed, etc. A group of 15 parishioners got together this past Sunday to bake bread for our local food shelf, and we had some great conversation about the church and society - what can the older generations do to be more inclusive of our youth, what can we do that impresses the importance of faith to them - some really great questions were raised. 

What follows is my sermon manuscript from this past Sunday, the 10th - the text was Acts 3:1-10 where Peter and John encounter and heal a man crippled from birth and welcome him into the temple. I encouraged parishioners to notice resurrection life in their everyday lives - asking them what God is up to. 

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

            It was a surreal experience. For most of 2012, I had spent the year living in a remote mountain community – not privy, by and large, to what was happening “on the outside”, or in the real world. Going down the mountains and on the boat and into a town with stop signs and stoplights as I waited to get on the train for a three day’s trip home was disconcerting and unfamiliar. I remember getting off the train in Minneapolis, meeting my parents and going home to Cannon Falls – the first time I had been home in over 9 months. It was February. My grandfather was having heart surgery that day, a bypass and stints, and so I wasn’t home more than a few hours before we continued on to Mayo Clinic in Rochester. My dad, brothers, grandmother, and I were able to be there as he came out of surgery, and after months of living with shortness of breath and other complications, we had hopes that this would do the trick.

            I was home for a month, and during that month it was hard to watch my grandpa – knocked out from surgery and not at all himself. I took the train west where I went back into the mountains to cook and bake, and continued to receive updates on him from my family and other loved ones as the months sailed on – slowly but surely, he was getting better. It was, in a few words, resurrection brought into reality, into the tangible, into the here and now.

            We find ourselves facing the same narrative in our New Testament text for today – a story from the early church where a man crippled from birth is given new life in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth. The disciples have been tasked with doing what Jesus embodied while on earth – showing resurrection life in its various forms and declaring God’s intentions of salvation for the world. In doing so, the man is commanded to stand and walk as he enters the temple with Peter and John. This is an interesting switch in our story, and I believe an important implication in our life together. As the crippled man experiences one dynamic of the resurrection, the individual experience becomes communal. The man is invited from a solitary life to come into the temple leaping and jumping and praising God. A man on the margins has been brought into the center. Isolation has been turned into ecstatic joy.

            This invites us even deeper into the question of “What does resurrection life look like?”, especially now that we have celebrated Easter. As we celebrate Christ’s risen life and the implications that has for our world, how do you find the promises of new life and resurrection being lived out in your own life? Where do you see things being made new? Where do you notice yourselves and others being welcomed into life-giving community? In resurrection, where do you find healing and hope?

            What the crippled man experienced is only one form of resurrection. We also experience new life when we renew or rekindle relationships, when we become more fully ourselves, when we feed the hungry and clothe the naked and stand in solidarity with those who the world deems to be other. We experience God’s resurrection life in a myriad of ways every day, and it is important to note that not everyone’s identification of God’s work in their lives will be the same. One thing, however, is constant – that where we see God working in our lives is a sure sign of God’s hope and promise of what is to come. The good that we see in our lives, in whatever form that takes, reminds us that the kingdom of God is here but is also yet to be. We see partially now, we get glimpses. We see people healed, made joyful, and renewed, but we also experience death, loss, and grief. My grandpa experienced resurrection life in one way, and I would love to know what your stories are, in the totality of hope or despair, wherever God is meeting you now. Friends, go forth this day knowing that the promises of resurrection are for every single one of us – may we go forth beyond the Gate and into the temple, filled with wonder and amazement and awe. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Intern Pastor Dean 

Journeying to the Cross - a collection of sermons for Zion Lutheran Church

Greetings, friends -

I hope this post finds you well. I apologize that it's been almost a month since I've last put something in this space - Lent has taken up a lot of time and energy, Hebrew class is in full swing, and we've had a funeral as well. Life is always "full" in the parish! :)

I preached several times this past week - Wednesday night at our last midweek Lenten prayer and song service, Saturday morning at a beloved parishioner's funeral, and this Palm Sunday morning. For kicks and giggles, I'll post all three manuscripts!

Wednesday Night, Zion's Prayer Around the Cross: 

           When I was little, I remember some long summer days at my great-grandma’s lake home just west of Cannon Falls. She was in her eighties at the time, and would watch my mother and my brothers and I from the bay window in her living room. After a long day of swimming and cooling off from summer’s heat, we’d always go up to the house and my mom would visit with her grandmother. We had family gatherings there on the lake, until one year we didn’t – when she started getting ill and later left her home, moving in with one of her daughters. She died at the age of ninety-six, and all of us great-grandchildren sang at her funeral. I remember the days afterward – my mother’s tears, attempting to provide some sort of comfort, while knowing at the same time grief needed to take it’s own time. I realize, that in my short twenty-six year existence so far on this earth, that I have been extraordinarily fortunate. In my childhood years, I only lost two close family members that I can remember – both of my great-grandmothers – and, since then, my life has been relatively untouched by death, something that some families and members of our congregation know all too well. That being said, I’ve nonetheless experienced the price of having loved – grief and pain itself at the loss of a loved dear one. Having experienced suffering and death, it has taught me the importance of relying upon the promises of God’s grace and love.

            We’ve spent the past five weeks wandering and journeying together through Lent – a walk that ultimately arrives at the foot of Christ’s cross on Good Friday in anticipation of the Easter resurrection celebration. In our contemplation, remembrance, and prayers the past five weeks, we have given thanks for all that God does among us – while at the same time remembering the very reality of Christ’s sacrifice for our sakes. I hope this has done your soul well – as it has mine – to have time intentionally set aside to ponder God’s work in the midst of life and all that it entails – all of the joy, all of the grief, all of the exuberance, all of the suffering – and to know that even when we face times of death physically and otherwise, God is working for new life.

            This new life, however, can’t happen without death. We can’t celebrate Easter before sitting in the somber reality of Good Friday where we hear Jesus proclaim “It is finished”, and “Father, Father, why have you forsaken me?” – words of finality and finitude spoken against a world that had rejected Christ and his teachings to overthrow ecclesial and political understandings. On Good Friday until early Easter morning, we will experience what it is like to not have Christ in our midst – where he lays in a tomb, and when most people thought they had taken care of the root of the problem. Not so, however, as we know that God has other plans.

            That is what makes Easter so important – that in the face of death, we know that death ultimately doesn’t win. Rather, God shows us that God has the final word, the final say, on bringing about new life and resurrection. Because of God’s promises in our lives, on our own Good Fridays we get to look forward to our own Easters, living always as people of the cross and resurrection. On Easter, we see Christ risen and for each and every one of us, proclaiming our salvation for the sake of God’s reign brought about here and now. Take these words this night, my brothers and sisters – when we walk through our own journeys of suffering and death, know that you are not alone – that God is absolutely with you in your grieving and mourning and questions and shouting. Even though we face our Good Fridays, we always can look forward with expectant hope to the promises of the resurrection, given to you and given to me. Friends, we’ve been given a lot to contemplate over this season of Lent – may you continue this day and always to ponder God’s work anew, bringing resurrection out of death in God’s love for God’s creation. Thanks be to God. Amen.  

Saturday Morning, Funeral:

           Today we gather to celebrate the life of a truly amazing woman, a beloved child of God, Deloris Soland. Her life’s story is one of hard work, dedication, and faithfulness in everything she did. She adored her family, always making time to have coffee, watch her grandchildren, go fishing with them, play bocce ball or croquet, a round of cards, and always made a point to attend family reunions. Deloris was a woman of deep faith, and a longstanding member here at Zion Lutheran Church – confirmed here in 1944, and married at the parsonage of the church in 1948. Growing up she cut wood with her dad. She worked at the Pelican Rapids turkey plant for 16 years, and then also at a resort cleaning cabins and fixing up boats. She was a baker of bread, canned produce, and loved to garden. I believe her motto was something along the lines of “the dishes can wait” – Deloris would always rather be outside than be inside doing housework – she fished and hunted deer well into her 60s. She baked over 300 angel food cakes during the course of her life, for family birthdays and gatherings, oftentimes making two because if one didn’t turn out, she had to perfect it – that was just the kind of woman she was – always wanting the best for those around her.

            In sharing stories and in visiting with Deloris, it was made readily apparent that in living what most would consider an ordinary life, she turned it into something extraordinary. Everything she did was out of love for others, and I firmly believe that she embodied the love of God to all she met and cared for and cherished. Now, after 87 years of hard work, of giving love to others and seeing that love reciprocated and multiplied, her sojourn on this earth is completed. Deloris has fought the good fight and ran her race with perseverance and is now rejoicing in the love of God and the fulfillment of God’s promises to her.

            It is appropriate that the Soland family chose today to hold Deloris’ funeral – because tomorrow we begin Holy Week, a week-long journey as we follow Jesus to the cross on Good Friday and then ultimately to Easter, a day of celebrating resurrection and new life and the stomping of death underfoot, when Christ conquered the world for our very salvation. This is exactly what Deloris is living into in this very moment. It’s not excusing the fact, however, that there is grief. There are holy tears today in this sanctuary and there will be in the days, weeks, and months ahead as we mourn the acute loss of this amazing mother, grandmother, child of God. There are tears, but these tears are grief, which is the price of having loved deeply and truly and authentically – and what a treasure it is to have experienced such love. Deloris loved well, and I know that she was loved in return by all those she encountered.

            “Death has been swallowed up in victory – where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” – we hear these words from 1^st Corinthians and we are reminded that even as we mourn, we know that death is not the end. In Christ, God has conquered the world so that all will experience new life and God’s saving grace. One day, when the world is reconciled unto God, all will be as it should be. Deloris is living into that new life as we speak – free of pain, free of sickness, free of all of the things in this life that weighed upon her. Deloris has traded mortality for immortality, a perishable body for an imperishable one. She has been made whole, and is celebrating in Christ’s love for her. I firmly believe she heard the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant”, because that is what Deloris was – a loving and faithful servant to others in the ways she lived her life.

            Friends, today we give thanks and celebrate Deloris’ life, a life fully and richly lived. But we also mourn – and know that God is with us in that. As we mourn, so also does God grieve. In our times of sorrow, God is with us to meet us where we are, because the God who encounters us is one of extravagant love for each of us called and claimed and marked with the Spirit forever. Go this day knowing that the promises of God are ours forever, from now until we see Deloris again. As Deloris would say, “So be it.” Thanks be to God. Amen.

Sunday Morning, Palm Sunday: 

            But wait just a second. I thought just a few moments ago we gave thanks to God with a triumphal procession with palms as Jesus comes into Jerusalem – I thought he had been lauded and that shouts of hosanna had rang out in a city that was expecting him. In this scene in Jerusalem Jesus is greeted as the Davidic king, the fulfillment of God’s promises brought into hand. The arrival into Jerusalem is triumphant, jubilant, and joyful. Jesus comes into town, cleanses the temple, and continues to teach his disciples, followers, and crowds around him for the next week. Jesus started off in Jerusalem so well. And then it comes to this, what we just finished reading – his crucifixion. What is going on? In the span of a week, Jesus is welcomed and then killed. Rejoiced over and then buried in a tomb.

            Throughout the week, chief priests, leaders and officials have been looking for a way to stop Jesus, a role given to Judas Iscariot who betrays his teacher with a kiss in the garden. Finally, the time has come, and the Son of Man is delivered to be betrayed into the hands of sinners. Our passion narrative for today recounts the events after that moment of betrayal – Jesus mocked by soldiers in word and in dress, his crucifixion at nine o’clock in the morning, his death at three o’clock that afternoon as he cries out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”, and then his burial in the tomb by Joseph of Arimathea. The scene closes with Mary Magdalene and Mary mother of Joses finding out where the body is laid.

            This day we celebrate Palm Sunday, which in its totality is sort of a mixed bag, so to speak – we begin with a joyful triumphal entry and end with a burial. We experience all of the emotions present in these stories, in this last week of Christ’s earthly existence – and we see the fulfillment of Christ’s mission and work among us come into hand at his death when the curtain is torn in two and the barrier between man and God is removed. We are reminded that in the midst of suffering and death there come new life and renewal.

            How much of life is like that, though? A mixed bag, with hardships and good times, with joy and sorrow? I think it’s worth asking as we walk this last week, this Holy Week, with Christ from the entry into Jerusalem unto his death at the cross – how do our very lives mirror this movement from joy and elation to sorrow and grief? Where, in those experiences and moments and emotions, do we place our hope and trust? We see in Palm Sunday a God who is about to bring something to completion – the ministry of Christ – in order to make a world changing revolution happen – the possibility and realization of salvation won for each and every one of us – and that in our own lives, as we encounter the ups and downs of our own Holy Weeks, we can place our trust and faith in God’s promises that are never ending. The entry into Jerusalem on the colt was just the beginning. The cross, in all of its finality, was truly only the beginning. What we celebrate on Palm Sunday is an entry into new life – new life in Christ that was made complete in his death.

            My friends, as we enter into Holy Week, I invite you to continue your process of reflection, contemplation, and discernment. To what is God calling you in your time and your space? Where do you notice Christ in your midst – working in you, in loved ones, in your neighbors? How, as we move towards Good Friday and prepare to celebrate the resurrection of our Lord, might we continually find ways to live into our lives as Easter people together? Sisters and brothers, celebrating the triumphal entry with palms is really the invitation to a much greater call – to praise God for the work of God’s Son among us, and to live in his service. Let us sing hosanna in the highest. Amen.

I hope this Holy Week finds you well, friends. 

From Pelican Rapids - 

Dean 

"How Do You See?" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Hello friends -

I hope this post finds you well! It's been a busy few weeks here in Pelican Rapids - this past weekend my aunt, mom, cousin, and grandmother made the trek to PR to spend a few days in town - and it was a blast! We got to get out on a hike at a nearby state park, look around Pelican Rapids, eat at our beloved local Cornfield Cafe, and attend church Sunday morning at Zion. Here's the manuscript from this Sunday's sermon:

Sisters and brothers, grace to you and peace from God our Creator and the Son of David our Healer. Amen.

One summer day, after I had just finished my fifth grade year in elementary school, my dad decided that he wanted he, my brothers, and myself, to go to our local barber and get a flat top haircut – where the hair is simply buzzed flat at the top of your head. My dad thought it would be neat if we all looked the same.

Well, I tell you what. I came out of that barbershop that hot summer afternoon looking like a total fool. I had large glasses to boot and looked pretty ridiculous, while my dad stood beaming at his three sons whose haircuts all matched. “Isn’t this cool, guys?” he asked. “This is awesome.” Well, at least, he thought so. The way we saw things, the way we perceived things in this situation was a night and day difference.

We encounter this same dynamic in our gospel text for today – Jesus is working in a situation where different people have different opinions and they see things differently from person to person. Jesus is in his last days of public ministry, for soon he will be going to Jerusalem, participating in the Triumphal Entry into the city, and a week later be handed over to the Roman government at the call of the Jewish people to be flogged and hang on a cross and die. He has told his disciples two times already that this must come to pass, forewarning them of his death and resurrection. There’s an interesting response from the James and John, two of the disciples, here: “Teacher, we want for you to do for us whatever we ask of you” – and what they want is an increase in status, an increase in favor from the rest of his followers.

The disciples have a hard time understanding and seeing what Jesus has been trying to teach them – and this gets at the core of our text for today. While the disciples want to sit in glory and drink the same cup of suffering that Christ has been given, they don’t understand that Christ has a radically different message. The way of following Jesus is not looking for prestige or power, but rather living a life of servanthood, a life committed to mercy and grace. As Jesus instructs his disciples, “but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” – Jesus does this to remind his disciples, and even us today in the pews – that living a life of importance or status does not rest in claiming glory in religious terms or expectations, but in how you serve and live for others in a broken world yearning for wholeness.

This comes to fruition in the story at the end of our passage for today – the disciples perceptions of prestige and power are totally turned over by a blind man named Bartimaeus. This blind man, a beggar to boot, gets it. He understands, calling Jesus the Son of David and asks for mercy, for him to heal his blindness – “My teacher, let me see again.” The disciples – who want their status elevated, are face-to-face with Bartimaeus, who wants his status erased. There’s a disconnect here. The disciples cannot see in terms of faith, while Bartimaeus cannot physically see. Immediately Jesus heals him, and sends Bartimaeus into the world as a man who can see clearly.

In the story of Bartimaeus, we see the kingdom as it should be. The last, a blind man and a beggar, are made first. The disciples, who desire power, are left to question their motives and wants. This is just as true in our society today – different churches, class structures, and people of God have vastly different opinions on what it means to be a person of faith, and everyone interprets faith with a different understanding. Today, we baptize Lydia Andrienne Gilbert as a child of God, called by the Spirit, and welcomed into the faith journey that some days she will see clearly, while others there will be struggles and questions. It’s difficult wrestling, but extraordinarily meaningful, as we ponder what it means to see Jesus and his work among us.

This begs the question, then, my friends. Who are you? Do you see yourself in James or John, who desire power and glory for the sake of importance? Or are you more like a Bartimaeus, who sees clearly what a life of faith should be like? We are all disciples, yes, but the way that we look out into the world after hearing the Gospel is so incredibly important. How do you respond to what God is doing in your life? The Spirit is moving, each and every moment. How do you see? Amen. 

God's peace, friends - 

Dean

"What is the Price for Witnessing to the Reign of God?" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Hello friends -

I hope this finds you well! My supervisor is on vacation to sunny, warm, Arizona - so I've been solo pastoring for the past week and a half - and all's gone well, so far! Dale will return February 8th - we're awaiting his arrival back to northwest Minnesota. Here's the sermon from this past Sunday - talking about following the reign of God amidst disbelief, rejection, and death:

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

            Friends, I’ll be honest with you. I struggle with this text. I struggle with what to say – both this time around and the first time I preached on this passage from Mark back in July at another congregation I served in. The 6^th chapter of Mark is not the promise-filled message of reconciliation that we are most often used to hearing. Instead, there’s this. There’s rejection in a small hometown village. There’s people being sent out two by two with almost nothing to their name and relying on total strangers to provide complete hospitality and there’s wiping dust off of feet if the message isn’t heard. There’s a beheading in a musty prison and conniving behavior in the royal palace. There’s a lot going on in this passage, and I struggle often with locating where the Gospel is found in the face of rejection. What do we do when the communities we spend time in spreading the Gospel don’t respond as we’d hoped? What is the price for witnessing to the reign of God? They pay the price like this: Jesus leaves his hometown. The disciples clean off their sandals and carry on. John the Baptist ends up dead.

            The characters in our story for today were really only being human, as best they know how. When Jesus pulls into his hometown of Nazarath with his disciples and begins to teach in the synagogue and is expecting belief and adherence and instead what he gets is “You’re just a simple carpenter”, “You’re just the son of plain Mary”, “Where did you get this wisdom and power, Jesus?” The people know him, you see – they’ve watched him grow up, advancing in both wisdom and years – and he went off for a while to begin his ministry, but now he’s returned and all the old perceptions and understandings of this once-child are back again. They can’t get past his family; his occupation. To expect full belief in the fact that Jesus was the Son of God would be too much right now – so Jesus heals a few people and leaves town. The price of witnessing to the reign of God is disbelief.

Jesus soon sends his disciples on the way ahead of him, giving them power to do his work of casting out demons and healing the sick. The way Jesus does this, though, is limiting – they are to travel lightly, with almost nothing on their person, which requires the disciples to depend fully on the hospitality of others. Their message may or may not be received. This is “How to Be like Jesus 101” – just as Jesus depends on his word being spread through the Spirit’s help in acceptance of teaching and genuine hospitality, so he requires the disciples to do the same. Jesus’ life and ministry was always risky – there is always a chance of being caught, always a chance of not being welcomed – and he wants the disciples to experience this. In case you aren’t received, wipe the dust off your feet and carry on. The price of witnessing to the reign of God is rejection.

Then we turn to John the Baptist in the prison cell. Faithfully proclaiming Christ’s coming and work for years, baptizing people into the promises of God, here he sits – soon to be beheaded due to a scheming palace royalty who wants nothing more than the forerunner of Christ dead. King Herod tries to defend John – he likes the man, you see, but is perplexed by all his talk about the law and Christ and the Gospel – but ultimately, after promising Herodias anything she desires, has to follow through with the execution orders. The head of John the Baptist arrives in the banquet hall on a platter, and the scene ends with the disciples taking John’s body away to a tomb. The price of witnessing to the reign of God is death.

            The price of witnessing to the reign of God, of proclaiming the way life should be here and now, is disbelief, rejection, and death. It’s powerful, scary stuff, for you in the pews and for this guy up here in the pulpit. Jesus knew this – he prayed that his cup might be taken from him if it be God’s will. Yet, Jesus proclaimed the Gospel all the way to the cross where he bore all the sins of humanity for our sake so that we might not only life in abundance here and now but also life eternal in the new heaven and new earth when all things are made new. If we have Jesus as our model, if we have Jesus who we profess to follow, then too many times over in our churches and communities we’ve been afraid of rejection because of our faith. Because in the face of the world telling us that disbelief, rejection, and death are normative and the order of the day, we have a God who is working for belief – whether it comes in the form of Christianity, whether it takes beyond this lifetime. We have a God who is working for acceptance – of all people from all nations and all creeds, and above all, a God who is working for resurrection and new life that will once and for all silence sin and death. And God’s not doing it alone – God is using us – every one of you – to participate in this world-changing revolution. The Spirit is moving. How will you respond? Amen. 

Dean

Living as Resurrection People

Hello friends - 

I hope this finds you well! I wanted to share with you what Zion's community will be doing for midweek Lenten services. If you find yourselves in the Pelican Rapids area from February 17th - March 23rd, here's a shameless plug to join in our journey to the cross! What follows is my February newsletter article: 

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

           

It’s difficult to believe that Christmas was just a short while ago and now we’re looking on to Ash Wednesday, Lent, and Easter – the cycle and seasons of the church life and calendar are continuing on! I wanted to use this space this month to take some time to share with you what I’m hoping for midweek Lenten services, as they are just a few weeks away – Ash Wednesday is February 10^th!

This year, for the six weeks in between Ash Wednesday and Easter, together we will journey to the cross. We will be having Wednesday night services of prayer and song, contemplation and silence. We will be hearing from members of our community who will be sharing pieces of their faith story. We will light candles and gather in the darkness of winter’s nights as we hear about Christ’s good news lived among us, his death suffered on the cross, and as we await the joyful good news of the resurrection of Christ, defeating sin and silencing death forever.

To do this, we will be using music from the Taize community, an ecumenical faith community who utilizes short chants for their services. We will gather in darkness and silence. There will be some readings from Scripture and other sources to invoke prayer. The music we will be singing is easily and quickly learned, and you will be invited to join in as you feel comfortable. You will be welcomed to the cross to pray and to light a candle as a sign of your prayer. If you wish to have others join you in prayer, you are welcome to do that, as well. If you would rather sit in the darkness and pray from the pew, please do so. After our time of prayer has come to its conclusion, the lights will be drawn just a bit, and we will hear a short message from our faith community members.

I invite you to join us for Lenten services. I invite you to take these next few weeks to consider the journey to the cross – as Christ was ministering among the people and traveling and healing, he knew that ultimately the cross awaited him – but what he finished upon the cross perfected salvation for each and every one of us. It is this that we remember, it for this that we pray and wait in silence.

Brothers and sisters, I can’t wait to celebrate Lent with you. With you, Dale and I anticipate the journey to the cross. We anticipate Christ’s death, and we live as resurrection people – today and always.

Welcome to Lent.

In the love of Christ and for God’s sake –

Intern Pastor Dean

"Sipping Diet Pepsi and Pondering Eternal Life" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Hello everyone -

I hope this finds you well! Here's the text from my sermon two weekends ago (the 10th) at Zion.

Sisters and brothers, grace to you and peace from God our Creator and Jesus our Salvation. Amen.

It was early on in my chaplaincy experience at Unity Hospital in Fridley, Minnesota – I’d been there about a month, visiting with patients who had spiritual or religious concerns, or many times I went around doing cold-calls and knocking on doors. On the orthopedic/extra medical floor that took care of mostly knee replacements and other non-life-threatening concerns, the need for spiritual care wasn’t as prevalent as, say, the emergency room or the cardiovascular unit. That being said, many wonderful conversations about God and suffering and life were still to be had, there is no doubt about that. The people I talked to were curious; questioners.

I was still wet behind the ears as a chaplain when I met a woman named Bernice. She was in her mid-fifties, and had an evident Texan drawl. She was in for knee surgery, she said, but there was more going on with her. Cancer. She told me she had a year left to live, that the prognosis wasn’t good. She was a Minnesota transplant from Texas, with a son and a daughter of her own and two grandchildren, both boys, who were sometimes troublemakers she said but you know that really they love their parents. Bernice told me she would call her grandchildren often, and tell them to be good, “but it’s hard to be away from them. I try to teach them. Now I have to teach them how to be without me.”

She and her husband, who stopped in often, had just bought a farmhouse in the Texas countryside. She wanted to go to Texas this last year of her life and live in her farmhouse with her husband and be surrounded by her children and grandchildren. She wanted to plant a garden one last time and sip Diet Pepsi and watch one last summer’s sunsets. She wanted to cook some more and read some more all the while planning her funeral and thinking about eternal life. “I know God loves me,” she said, as tears formed around her eyes, “but sometimes it’s really difficult to see.”

We visited five more times together while she was at Unity. Bernice left the hospital after a week but three weeks later she came back, at the urging of the doctors, when managing pain became too much. “It was too much for my husband to take care of me”, she said, “So I’m back for a while. We’re still planning on Texas.”

This is, sadly, where our paths diverged. After she left for the second time, I don’t know what happened to Bernice. I pray she made it to Texas, and that she got to spend time with her family and plant her garden and teach her grandchildren a thing or two about kindness. Through Bernice, Christ was in our midst. A dying woman came into my life and taught me a thing or two about grace, about shattered expectations, about doing something new. A dying woman wanted to plant a garden and design her funeral, to love the people around her and also show them life without her. When I thought she would be so preoccupied with questions, with fear, with doubt – she shattered my expectations and proved the exact opposite. In the face of death, she was living.

This story illustrates today’s Gospel. Jesus comes to teach, heal, and eat – but to the Pharisees and scribes and people who think they know better, he’s doing these things with all of the wrong people. Jesus heals a paralytic, a man lowered through the roof, and shatters expectations. Jesus calls Levi, a tax collector and sinner in good company, and destroys convention. Jesus eats with sinners and is called out as going against the order of things. Jesus calls you and me and Bernice, and starts doing something new. Christ, through his life, death, and resurrection, is calling each of us to defy the expectations of this world and to lean into our Christian life as we have been claimed children of God. I was taught this by Bernice, and I have been taught this by you all. We have a whole world out there to surprise. Let’s start by walking out the door. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Dean

"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