"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. 

"Cows and Resurrection Life" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Good evening, friends - 

I hope you're well! It's been awhile since I've written - I've been busy at the church with home visits, leading devotionals, sermon writing, and office work - but I also found a few days to sneak back to Cannon Falls - how good it was to see dear friends, family, and reconnect for a bit. I adopted a dog while I was down that way, too - I brought Spike, a 5 year old Golden Retriever, back with me to Pelican Rapids. I figure I put on 700 miles plus between Pelican Rapids, Cannon Falls, Iowa, and back. It was a quick and dirty trip, going everywhere and seeing everyone, but it was a blast! 

This morning I preached the last sermon in our series on the book of Hebrews. Next Sunday is a big Sunday at Zion - we begin the Narrative Lectionary year, beginning with Creation, it's Rally Sunday (the kids are singing songs and we have a blessing of the backpacks), and Sunday School kicks off, along with our 1st Sunday of the month community potluck. 

Here's my sermon text from this morning. Words about faith, resurrection life, and finding Christ in all of this. 

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

I remember it well. I had just come home from a high school band trip to Chicago and my mom was sitting on the couch in our farmhouse living room. It was dark and beginning to rain outside and I knew something was up. Soon she told me, “Dad decided, we decided, that the cows are going to go. We’re going to sell them. We told your brothers, and grandparents.” When she started to cry I started to cry, and we sat in that moment together for a long while. Later on, I asked why – why our lives were shifting under our feet, why what had long been considered as a possibility “far out there” had finally come to be a very real reality, why this had to happen. What would be changed? Everything, we thought – dad would no longer be at home with us kids, he would have to find a job somewhere else, us boys wouldn’t be able to help with the feeding and milking and sending the cows to pasture each night as the sun set, among other concerns this change brought. My mother, ever so wise, was quick to remind us that there was good news in this, too. Whatever came next, we would have a more livable income. Dad would be free to come to more of our events at school and in the community. They wouldn’t have to worry as much about putting equipment back together on a quick weld and a prayer that it holds together. They’d maybe be able to take a step back and breathe.

We went to Marcell, Minnesota, where my grandparents have a lake home, the day after the cows left the farm. We didn’t want to come home that time – that was the longest family vacation I feel like we ever took together. When we got back, school was soon around the corner, and my father would be walking into a new job in a turkey factory in Cannon Falls. When we got home, there was no more mooing or bellering from the cows. The pasture stood still, untrodden, only the grasses waving about. It was oddly, eerily, silent. When 7 o’clock came that night, for the first time in dad’s 23 years of milking we didn’t go out and gather the cows. Dad started his new job the same day we began school. That morning, we all walked out the door, anxious already to see him at the end of the day and ask how his day had gone. Classes began for us kids, in high school and elementary school, and we found ourselves very soon wrapped in a new reality.

This is our last sermon on our series of the book of Hebrews. Next week we transition back to the beginning of it all – starting on Creation. In the book of Hebrews, we know that the congregation is faltering – in their faith and life circumstances. The words at the beginning of chapter 11 are an explanation of what faith looks like, and what it calls us to believe – “by faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible.” The author goes on to share the story of our ancestors in faith, of Abel, Enoch, Noah, and Abraham – of how by their faith, they were received as righteous in God’s sight. In using ancestral lineage and story, the author is showing that faith was lived out for many, many years by people who trusted in God even when they couldn’t see God – why should the Hebrews way of operating be any different? In building an ark long before there was any sign of rain, Noah and his family was protected from the flood. By picking up and moving to a foreign land in complete trust of what God had told him, Abraham looked forward to the fulfillment of God’s promise – Sarah giving birth to a son named Isaac. In continuing to live out their faith and profess belief in Christ, the Hebrews congregation is indeed stranger and foreigner to the Roman people, who aren’t afraid to execute and martyr Christians. Professing their faith is difficult, and comes with sometimes the threat of death, but the promises of God will always withstand.

It’s easy to look at the texts and think, well, of course, these people were Bible superstars – they were chosen by God to be a part of this divine drama, of this story of salvation played out in history. Of course, these people of faith were model examples. I know even personally it’s hard for me to follow – it’s hard at times to have faith in God’s promises when I want to see things happening immediately. It’s hard to have faith in the face of violence, destruction, and injustice. It’s hard to have faith in times of uncertainty. When I look around at what’s going on in our world, it becomes hard at times to notice Jesus, or the Spirit, or God in the day to day. At times, their movements in the world in and among us as people of God can seem to be barely audible whispers. It would be so much easier if God spoke to us in loud, clear ways that told exactly what to do in the midst of confusion, despair, or loss. I imagine the Hebrews congregation felt the same way – so much so that they wanted to revert back to how things had always been done – sacrifices, etc. They had a hard time imagining that Jesus might ever be up to something when they couldn’t see him in the flesh. I find myself there, too, some days – how much easier it would be to do things on my own, without prayer, without listening to the true call of God.

But, my friends – I can tell you today that we do have Jesus. We have the promises of God in Christ that faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. We are uplifted in our faith by our own clouds of witnesses – think of the people in your life who love, support, and care for you throughout your seasons in life – and it is easier then to live out our faith because of their encouragement. It is because the love that we show each other is indeed love that is of God. It is all because of Jesus, brothers and sisters – the pioneer and finisher of our faith – that we can be thankful for this gift, freely given by his death on the cross. By Christ’s death, death itself was silenced and faith was given freely to us, even when we struggle to believe. Even when we wonder what is going on in the world, or we wonder where our own lives are headed – it is then out of those moments that Jesus intersects our very own realities and shows us the world as it will be when the kingdom of God is made real here and now. Think of when we see good stories on the news – of a child found safely, when people donate for a refugee’s child’s education, and so on – those stories illustrate what faith embodies – compassion and care and justice for the neighbor. The new reign of God will be that plus more one hundred times over. Even though we cannot see Christ in our midst, there is still evidence, bountifully so, of faith being lived out in the midst of so many things that worry and concern us. Faith shows us, my brothers and sisters, that the resurrection life will always, always, have the final say. God indeed does have the final word.

My family eventually lived into what resurrection life looks like for them. My dad was digging a grave in the rain for our church when he got off his last shift at work, he told us later that “It was pouring and I was soaked but I was the happiest man in the world. I was free.” He used his cloud of witnesses – family and friends who gathered around him and gave him encouragement and time to talk as he decided to open up his own tree service. From word of mouth, he began building up a list of customers and soon was self-sustaining. Now, 8 years have passed and he employs two of my younger brothers and has a host of other equipment and doesn’t have to worry about living paycheck to paycheck as was our reality for so many years prior. He’s able to do a lot more with us as a family and above all he’s happy.

We here at Zion are knitted into a story of faith and a story of salvation that is thousands of years old. We hear stories of Abraham and Abel and Noah who followed God believing in God’s promises. I don’t think we need to go build an ark or offer our sons, but I think it’s important that we listen to what God is calling us to in our faith – no matter how small our actions might seem – we are all called to be a part of the bringing about of God’s kingdom here and now. We can begin by living in the assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of things unseen, for there, my friends, we find resurrection life, the risen Christ, and the living God who set this mystery into motion. Let’s go – we have work to do. Thanks be to God. Amen.

God's deep peace this night, friends - 

Dean 

"The Way in Between" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Hello friends,

Good morning! It's been a whirlwind of a week at Zion - complete with a funeral, home visits, sermon preparation, a Twins game, a Barbary Coast Dixieland Band concert & pie social, and preaching for Sunday worship. My parents and littlest brother came for a visit this weekend - they just left for home - and it was great to spend time with them - they came to Sunday church, then we went and ate in Detroit Lakes, found a flea market, and cooked dinner and hung around the parsonage. Now it's back to the office today, Monday morning. I'm enjoying the rhythms of weekly life here at the church, and am finding myself remembering more names day by day - there's lots of them! 

At Zion we preach using the Narrative Lectionary, which is a new way of operating that I've gotten accustomed to - it's not the Revised Common Lectionary, which is generally in more wide-spread use across the Church. The Narrative Lectionary preaches through the Bible chronologically from September to May, starting with Creation in Genesis and ending in Revelation. During the summer months, the Narrative Lectionary devotes itself to mini-series - short 3-4-5 week series on a particular epistle, Psalm, or Creed. This sermon I preached was the second sermon in our series on the book of Hebrews. 

Here's the text of the day and my sermon manuscript! I was inspired by my grandmother Shirley's life, and told bits of her story here. 

Hebrews 2:10-18 - "It was fitting that God, for whom and through whom all things exist, in bringing many children to glory, should make the pioneer of their salvation perfect through sufferings. For the one who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one Father. For this reason Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters, saying, 

“I will proclaim your name to my brothers and sisters, in the midst of the congregation I will praise you.” 

And again, 

“I will put my trust in him.” 

And again, 

“Here am I and the children whom God has given me.”

Since, therefore, the children share flesh and blood, he himself likewise shared the same things, so that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death. For it is clear that he did not come to help angels, but the descendants of Abraham. Therefore he had to become like his brothers and sisters in every respect, so that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make a sacrifice of atonement for the sins of the people. Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested."

"The Way in Between - Suffering, Hope, & the Cross"

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

Good morning, brother and sisters. I want to tell you a story about my grandmother. My mom’s mom. She’s 83 years old, has gray-white hair, and loves to cross-stitch and is really good at it, too. She makes patterns and designs for her grandchildren’s weddings, and made each of us Christmas stockings when we were younger. She’s fiercely independent but loves each moment she gets to spend with her daughters – my mom, 3 aunts, and her son. She’s the true definition of a “salt of the earth” soul, who raised her children on the homesteaded farm north of Cannon Falls and loved to cuss when the cows got out when my grandpa was away flying and she had young children in tow. My grandmother worked as a secretary for the Cannon Falls Schools and lost her mother, father, and only sibling by the time she was in her thirties. My grandfather was a pilot for Northwest Airlines and was dedicated to his career, leaving her alone on the farm with the children at times. She stayed married largely for my mother, aunts, and uncle’s sake, and they have, in recent years, divorced. Suffering is a part of this story, as is in many family’s backgrounds and histories, but thanks be to God that it is not the last chapter. It has indeed been blessing upon blessing to watch and be in relationship with my grandmother since then – she has an apartment that she loves – no more lawn mowing or cow chasing, she bounces between Lutheran and Baptist churches depending on the week, and we as family have circled around her in support, love, and encouragement. Our dwelling with and for each other has deepened – we’ve never been closer – and for the sadness that was endured it’s so easy now to see that my grandmother is a living expression and testament to Christ’s work in us as children and beloved of God – she is, and always has been, graceful, kind, and lives each day in the light of Christ’s love for her.

            I’ll be honest – when I found out that I was preaching on this text, and after I had read through it a time or two, I got pretty dang excited. There’s much to say here about good news and God’s promises and hope in the midst of brokenness. The author of this text continually points to the pioneer, or perfection, of our faith as Jesus Christ. Jesus is both here the beginning and the end of our calling to faith – beginning at our baptism and ending when we are reconciled to God at our deaths. However, just because we live in faith doesn’t mean everything is always going to be peachy. We know this all too well. The way in between – this life we live each and every day – isn’t promised to be easy. There will be difficulties. We will be indeed be afflicted. We see it in our everyday – in the death of a loved one, in the loss of relationships, in health and medical concerns, in financial worries, and in many other ways in which brokenness and sin persists in our society and culture, sometimes at our own hands, intentionally or unintentionally – racism, classism, sexism, and the list goes on. Some days, most days, it seems overwhelming, what we are faced with, and I often find myself wondering, “Where is the good news?”

            Part of the good news is that we are, by far, not the first people to experience the everyday “stuff” that life brings. Today, in our second sermon in our series on the book of Hebrews, the author, likely a pastor to a specific congregation, is writing to his people about their own crisis as a community of faith. The church here in Hebrews was suffering from a faith crisis. They had expected Jesus to return soon, and now it had been a number of years, with no Jesus in sight. What did this mean for the faith? People in that congregation weren’t sure what to believe in any more – was the story, the person of Christ, who they had heard taught and healed and fed all these people – to be believed in, or trusted? In the meantime, while professing their faith, the church was being persecuted by Romans – people were being actively sought out, killed and martyred for what they believed. These times were not easy – I imagine facing the prospect of death is downright terrifying. So there were those things, alongside the day by day. No small order for people to face, right?

There is relief, though, in this – for both the faithful Hebrews congregation and for us at Zion Lutheran – that in our brokenness we are brought into communion with the One who is indeed perfect – Jesus Christ. The pioneer language that I referenced above is important here – Jesus has experienced suffering, and has been consistently with humanity with all of our “stuff” since the very beginning. In Jesus, we are welcomed into the communion of the saints who have joined the church triumphant while we are still here on earth. We are molded into the community of the faithful who have experienced the same earthly blood, sweat, and tears moments as Christ did on the cross – different sufferings, but same ultimate ending and intention. As Christ died for our salvation, so we are made closer and closer into God’s image.

            I must be clear about something. I don’t mean this to intend that the more suffering we undergo the more God favors us. Suffering should not be something that we think about as testing us, or as something we seek out to win a greater reward – as there are some Christian denominations who do believe that. I don’t think that that is how God operates or what God intends in the way God works. Verse 18, which I think is the ultimate point of this text, reads something beautiful, referencing Christ – “Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.” In our earthly suffering, in whatever form that takes, we are helped and indeed cherished by Christ who died for our sake, who brings us into communion with the faithful in all ages, times, and spaces. We live with Christ as our High Priest – a role that would have been familiar to the faithful congregation in the early church, as someone who made sacrifices on the behalf of God’s people. So too, Jesus sacrificed himself for the sake of the whole world. It is in that sacrifice made that we are named free – to live freely in this world as children of God, to live freely into our callings to tend to the sick in mind, body, and spirit, to visit the prisoner, to feed the hungry, and to work for justice in a world riddled with injustice in so many forms.

            It is good to know that in the midst of suffering we are proclaimed and loved as children of God. It is good to know that we can trust in Christ as he fulfilled his promise and that we can live in community – this congregation and in the world – as we work for the sake of the Gospel, this gift we have been entrusted to that is sometimes hard to understand, totally free, and with our hands, can turn the world upside down and with any amount of grace make things right.

            Friends, we have been called in to an unfathomable, exciting mystery of faith. We have been given each other – our church community – and our friends and family to be in relationship with, and we strive to see God’s kingdom brought near even in the midst of the troubles this world brings – both personally and societally. It is then that we remember the work of the cross, and remember the sacrifice of God’s only Son Jesus the Christ, who is our helper, our advocate, and the pioneer and finisher of our faith. It is then, knowing this, that joy meets suffering, reconciliation covers brokenness, peace conquers fear, and faith comes alive. It is then that we can say, thanks be to God. Amen. 

God's Joy, 

Dean

"and I am with you always" - a sermon for the community of Zion Lutheran Church

Hello from Pelican Rapids, Minnesota, friends!

What a whirlwind past few days. Uffda. I found myself just a week ago in denial that the move to internship was coming so quickly - I packed up on Tuesday with the help of my family, drove up to Pelican Rapids on Wednesday, and immediately jumped into internship on Thursday morning - men's devotionals at the Cornfield Cafe (a local diner that I'm going to take all of my visitors to - a great mom and pop place!), a hospital visit, and church tour. Friday and Saturday were largely devoted to getting settled, meeting my parishioners, and figuring out the lay of the land in northwestern Minnesota. Saturday night I went with a husband and wife and friend of theirs (all parishioners at Zion) to a pig roast dinner at Central Lutheran Church in Pelican Rapids, and then went back and played dominoes until 10pm - they taught me how to play - and then had really great rhubarb pie and coffee. Sunday brought my first two worship services, where I preached this sermon as a sort of way of introduction. In between services they had a pantry shower - complete with a quilt, cards, kitchen goodies, and a potluck to boot! In just a few days...I have been surprised again and again and again at the kindness, generosity, and goodness of the people here. How freely I'm welcomed into their homes and lives. I'm hoping throughout the year that I am able to repay that in some way - a seemingly insurmountable task! They are good to me, and I intend to respond in kind.

I've gotten cards from parishioners that are titled "Intern Pastor Dean" and "Pastor Dean" - and what a joy it has been in just these past few days to already grow into that title. Here's to a year of pastoral formation - of growth, figuring things out, seeing how this whole "pastor" business works, and being faithful to the Gospel which God has entrusted us with. I'm excited. I'm thankful, so thankful, that God has called me to be here in this time and place.

Here's the text from this Sunday!

Grace to you and peace from God our Creator and God’s Son Jesus the Christ. Amen.

Hello, friends. I preface my first sermon with thanksgiving; that it is so very good to be here. My name is Dean Safe, and I’m pleased to be the 20th intern in the long history that this congregation has of raising up future pastors. It is a joy to be among you, and I am looking forward to our year of ministry together. There’s much for me to learn, and much of your wisdom and advice to impart as I continue in my formation as a pastor. I’m excited to get to know you all and live life among and with you in the months to come.

It begins here, though. I come to you from Luther Seminary in St. Paul, but before that I lived the majority of my life in Cannon Falls, Minnesota; a small agrarian rural community an hour southeast of the Twin Cities. I was born three and a half months early, to a young farming mom and dad. I wasn’t expected to survive the night, so I was baptized just a few hours after birth. I spent the first three months of my life surrounded by teams of doctors and nurses who fought every day for my survival. These people, this “cloud of witnesses” to the beginning of my life would impact and shape not only my parent’s lives but also my own. Lifelong friendships were formed, especially with my primary nurse, and I learned the importance of being surrounded in communities that uplift and sustain life in all of its facets. I grew up a dairy farmer’s son, where we raised and milked on average about 25 Holstein cattle. I grew up with three generations working together – when we would do chores at night, my grandfather, my dad, and my brothers and I would all pitch in with milking and feeding. I grew up on strong coffee and Hank Williams Sr. playing in the barn. Things weren’t always easy, by any means – finances became tight, and my parents had to choose between either medicine or food at times. Trucks and farm equipment often weren’t fixed because parts were too expensive. Both teamwork on the farm and pulling together as a family was learned from an early age. Today, that is instilled deeply in who I am. I went to high school in Cannon Falls and it was there that I began to sense the call to some form of ministry. I had grown up in the church, attending rural Spring Garden Lutheran Church, and my pastors had always been encouraging me to explore that calling as I connected with others in youth group, servant leadership opportunities, and continued that mentorship into my college years at Waldorf College in Forest City, Iowa. I graduated there in 2012 with a degree in English and Creative Writing before taking a year to work at Holden Village – a Lutheran retreat center in the Cascade Mountains of Washington State. It was being at Holden – working in the kitchen, gathering for nightly worship, and being in the community of people who found themselves there – that confirmed my call to ministry. I began seminary in the fall of 2013 as a Master of Arts student. I wasn’t going to be a pastor, but instead felt deeply called to work in the intersections of bread baking, social justice, and community work. Later that year, after many conversations with pastors and friends, I realized that the work I wanted to do would easily translate into ordained ministry. I began the path to ordination – changing degree programs, class registration, and the rest – and what a journey it has been from there – from saying, “Yes, God, I will be your servant in the way you have called me”, to being here with you all at Zion. I have found myself continually amazed at the people who surround me on the journey in the Christian faith – those who have come before me guiding the way, those who walk alongside, and those who will come after.

The creeds in response to our Christian life function much in the same way. I’ve lived my life supported and guided by people who have shaped and influenced me and my ideals, and I will hopefully leave something of myself here when my time is finished. So it is when we read the creeds – typically the Nicene and Apostles, most commonly – that we as individual people are brought into the same experience that the Church has over and over again through the ages – we join the countless faithful people who have come before us, and we boldly declare the tenants of faith for those who will come after us. The concept of belief – belief in God, belief in something radically beyond ourselves – is beautiful, here. We recite it together in worship to remember that as gathered Christians we hold fast to the promises of God – that through Christ, there will be indeed the communion of saints, forgiveness of sins, and resurrection of all people. We realize that we’re not going this journey alone – we do indeed have one another to rely upon – again, the saints have come before us and will indeed come after us – and I think that that is one of the most important things to remember along our discoveries and hopes in our faith.

Our Gospel text for today affirms what we learn in the creeds. In the Gospel of Matthew, in this passage, there’s room for all people, and it’s that idea that makes Christianity and belief flourish. In the text from Matthew, it is apparent that some worship, and some don’t. All walks of people are included in this text, because we have all been assigned a task – to go and make disciples of all, from all, nations. This task is not exclusive only to the rich, wealthy, or privileged – no, each and every one of us, no matter what our backgrounds, no matter where we find our station in life, no matter how poor or lonely or desolate we find ourselves some days, each of us are invited into this commission that continues today. We are to share the good news of Christ especially with those who seem to be other, or who are different, from ourselves, until God reconciles the world to how it should be – perfect, no longer broken, and living in God’s perpetual light. By responding to Jesus’ words, we are invited into community – to gather for the sake of those who come before us, to be faithful with the ones who are here and now, and to pass the promises of faith to future generations. In this work, in this calling to faith that we believe in, Jesus promises to be with us always – and what a promise that is.

So, my friends – where do we find ourselves in this? We find ourselves saying the creeds every Sunday – maybe sometimes mindlessly, maybe most times intentionally – and there is Gospel there. In confessing our faith with the creeds, we are led into deeper invitation to what being a Christian is all about – sharing the good news, the hope, and joy of Christ that is indeed for the whole world. It begins with the Great Commission to the disciples and continues on to us, and will continue to be infectious to those who come after us in the faith. We here at Zion Lutheran are indeed blessed to participate in all that God has called us to be and do in the name of Christ. Our Christian life is enriched and blossoms each time we say, “I believe in the Father, Son, Holy Spirit…” because it is in those words that we come back to the root of it all – to the God who has called us to be together in this time and place, to the Son who loves us beyond our wildest imagination, and to the Spirit who moves among us and calls us to service.

Again – I am thrilled to be here. I’m looking forward immensely to living life with you – of being part of this community, in the present. I give thanks for those who have come before me, and am anticipating our work together. We confess that we believe in the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit and the forgiveness of sins – now, friends, let’s go live it out – the world is indeed waiting. Thanks be to God. Amen.

God's Peace, my friends -
Intern Pastor Dean Safe