On Poetry and Music and One Life

Luke 1:1-4; 24:44-53

[Luke writes:] ¹Since many have undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, ²just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word, ³I too decided, after investigating everything carefully from the very first, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, ⁴so that you may know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed.
^24:44[Before he ascended, Jesus said to the disciples and their companions:] “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.”⁴⁵Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, ⁴⁶and he said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, ⁴⁷and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. ⁴⁸You are witnesses of these things. ⁴⁹And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.”
⁵⁰Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them. ⁵¹While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven. ⁵²And they worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; ⁵³and they were continually in the temple blessing God.

On Music and Poetry and One Life

I have songs in my heart this morning.

And poetry.

Afterall, what is a song but poetry set to music?

You know, there are a couple of distinctive features of the Gospel written by this Apostle we know as Luke, the Feast the church in both the East and the West honors today.

The Feast of Saint Luke, Evangelist has historically been a day when the faithful donated to healthcare organizations in honor of Saint Luke. If Jesus is The Great Physician, Saint Luke is at least remembered as a good one, and it does not go unnoticed in my heart today that this feast day where many will donate to a hospital comes on the heels of the bombing of a hospital in Gaza where hundreds of people were killed, including many good physicians.

Including the Great Physician who, if we take the incarnation seriously, was certainly huddled with those innocents there, once again crucified on the cross of human cruelty.

In iconography Saint Luke is often depicted holding a drawing of Saint Mary, Mother of Our Lord because lore has it he was the first to paint a picture of her. Perhaps he’s more of a Renaissance man than just a physician. A writer, an artist, a doctor, a historian…he seemed to be able to do it all.

His symbol, though, is what really draws me to this ancient architect of the faith. Perhaps around your altar at your parish, or perhaps in the stained glass window, you’ve seen the human face symbolizing Saint Matthew, the cerebral one, the lion symbolizing Saint Mark, the wild and quick one, the eagle symbolizing Saint John, the writer of high spiritual flight, and then Saint Luke, the seated ox, who patiently, step by step, plod by plod tells the story of Jesus and the first church for a people who aren’t great at remembering things and sometimes need the cadence to be simple, slow, and pure.

That’s Saint Luke.

His Gospel also has the distinction of including many of the great songs of the church. His ancient poetry is woven into our liturgy in such a way that when we sing the faith we sing the scriptures.

The Magnificat, Mary’s song of defiance in the face of Empire, is found in Luke.

And, Beloved, we could use some throne toppling and lifting up the lowly of heart in these days…

The Benedictus, or Song of Zechariah, where the elder of the temple praises God for deliverance…may it be sung today.

The Gloria, sung by the angels to the shepherds on that hill in ancient Palestine, the gloria sung in so many of our houses of worship every. single. week. is snatched from Luke’s gospel…

“Glory to God in the highest, and peace to God’s people on earth…”

Peace to God’s people on earth. If that refrain could be put on repeat, by God…echoing in the ancient hills of Palestine, and not only there, but in the streets of Chicago and the halls of Congress and the grain fields of Ukraine and in the hearts of all of us…

The Nunc Dimitus, or Song of Simeon, where the patient prophet give thanks for having finally seen Jesus, knowing that God had kept God’s promises…

Oh Lord, keep your promises.

Luke patiently sings these songs of defiance, these songs of promises kept, these songs of peace, and remember that all of these songs come in the first few chapters of Luke’s Gospel, almost as a prelude to the Jesus story, almost as if these songs of defiance and peace and promise are the musical score behind the rest of the Gospel, bleeding into his sequel, the Book of Acts.

Because Luke’s Gospel is not only the one with the most poetry, the most music, but also the one that lifts up those on the margins on the regular. Luke’s Gospel has the most healing stories, centering the focus of the work of Christ on those the world would rather not see. Luke’s Gospel lifts up women, centering the focus of the early Jesus movement on the shoulders of the matriarchs of faith amidst a sea of patriarchy. Luke’s Gospel lifts up economy and empire as being stumbling blocks to human flourishing,

It is in Luke where Jesus gives his beatitudes sermon not high above the people, on a mountain, but on a plain, standing as equals with a humanity who often wants to play status and hierarchy games.

The poor. The marginalized. The outcast. The taboo.

Luke has Jesus weaving in and out of the lives of those the world would rather ignore, all the while undergirding the story with this poetry, this musical score of defiance and peace and promises filled…

Beloved, on the Feast of Saint Luke, I’m reminded that we need to amp up that musical score a bit in these days. We need to lean back on that prelude a bit and sing the words loudly to one another, and to the whole world, and adopt the approach of Saint Luke, the Ox, patiently but loudly singing with Mary, “From East to West may the name be blessed, cause the world is about to turn…” Singing with Gabriel, “Glory to God in the highest, and peace to God’s people on earth…” Singing with Zechariah and Simeon and Anna that our eyes have seen the salvation of God and guess what?

It is not in bombs.

It is not in bullets.

It is not in occupation.

It is not in revenge.

It is in not in war cries, but in a baby’s cry…a baby’s cry…and every cry of every baby…and we need to remember that the majority of those living in Gaza right now are under 15, and the first targets of Hamas were the young, dancing away at a peace festival…

Every cry of every baby is a reminder of the point that Luke centered on over and over again: God’s salvation work, God’s divine character, God’s human-likeness is found not in the muscles of the powerful but in the powerful love of those on the margins, the powerful love of a God who would rather die, even die on a cross, than have us kill one another in these hunger games of hate we wage…

A song is poetry put to music, and though I don’t know of any music that undergirds this last poem, for some reason it’s on my heart today. Written by the poet and theologian Padraig O’Tuama, an Irish-born prophet who knows a bit about war and conflict in his own land, wrote this about “The Troubles” as we who come from those lands know it, the conflict over that small island of the north. Entitled, “The Pedagogy of Conflict,” the third stanza of this poem sings to me this morning…

When I was a child,
I learnt to count to five
one, two, three, four, five.
but these days, I’ve been counting lives, so I count

one life
one life
one life
one life
one life

because each time
is the first time
that that life
has been taken.

Legitimate Target
has sixteen letters
and one
long
abominable
space
between
two
dehumanising
words.

One life. Luke’s Gospel patiently, pleadingly, ploddingly tells the story of Jesus centered on one marginalized life at a time. The hemorrhaging woman. The man born blind. The leper. The widow. The unwed teenage mother. The outcast shepherd. The confused and sad saints on the road to Emmaus.

The frightened baby in Tel Aviv. The fearful one in Jerusalem. The desperate mother with nowhere to flee in Gaza, clutching her baby’s hand. The family of the kidnapped not knowing who to ask for help. The kidnapped, not knowing what tomorrow brings.

You. Me. Our stories interwoven with the songs of the witnesses of these things. Each life seen through the one life of a God who Saint Luke reminds us sings of peace and defiance and promises kept in the face of everything…everything…anything…all things.

May we join the song in these days as both witnesses of the resurrection, and ones who continually need redeeming, by God.

Amen.

October 18, 2023 1

On The Keys

Matthew 16:13-20

¹³Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” ¹⁴And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” ¹⁵He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” ¹⁶Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” ¹⁷And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. ¹⁸And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. ¹⁹I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” ²⁰Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

On The Keys

So great to be with you last week.

My family sends their greetings. We are in the throes of travel soccer starting, a place of turmoil in my heart because, well, when you promise a boy that if they make the team they can play, and then you learn that games are on Sunday afternoons and also, please buy these three uniforms and bags and soccer equipment and field fees and…

Beloved, let us learn not to make promises we won’t keep. But also, let us learn to vet the potential implications of said promises before we make them, yes?

But as with last week, this week is a short sermon, not because I want it to be, but because like my endearing poet mentor, Mary Oliver, the older I get, the more concise I am with words because, well, there’s just too little time in this world, so if we can say what we feel needs to be said in fewer words, do it, yes?

Yes.

You may not know this, but the Gospel writer for today, our friend Matthew, left us a little clue in this text that imparts a very special detail that we should take grasp of. The text says that he entered Caesarea Philippi, a location named for, you guessed it, a Ceasar who had an inflated ego. In fact, it was so important, that it was one of the capitals of the ancient world at least until 33 AD.

My point is, Jesus was not just passing by Oxford, NC, or some little town of no importance, he was passing by a town with multiple temples, multiple places of worship, huge commerce where people bowed down to the god of money, fame, fortune, and power, and it is there where he asks the disciples, “What’s my name?”

“Who am I?”

“Who do you think I am?”

And not only this, Beloved, but it is on the outskirts of this important town where an important spring of living water flowed out of the ground to feed, you guessed it, the Jordan River, the essential river playing a key role in the Jesus story; the river where he was baptized, the river we say we carry our dead over when they have passed…

Deeeep River, as our friends in the black church community say.

So, it is at this moment, in this time, at this place, where power and life-giving water converge where Jesus says to those gathered, ‘Who do you say that I am? Am I a person of commerce, bowing down to capitalism? Am I a person of power, creating a city in my own name? Or am I a river of life? Which one is it?”

Which one, Beloved?

This last week our nanny, our sweet nanny who has helped raise our boys since our youngest was 1, admitted that she had finally lost the key to our house. She said it with chagrin, and honestly, she hadn’t had to use it much because I usually was either home when she brought the boys home or had left the door unlocked for those brief moments between our comings and goings, but she said, “I can’t find it.”

“It’s ok,” I said, “we’ll make another one.”

After all, we have lots of keys to our house floating around, unfortunately. Many folks have lived with us over the years: fraternity brothers, colleagues, friends, all who needed a place to stay, each of them having a key…many of them losing it, but many of them tucking it away somewhere in case they needed it.

Which is ok. Sometimes it happens.

But here’s the thing, Beloved: I wonder if sometimes we’ve lost the key that Christ handed to St. Peter that day, ya know?

In this grand moment, at the pinnacle of both commerce, power, and life-giving water, Jesus asks the disciples who they think he is.

And they give various answers: a prophet from the past, a prophet of the present…

But Peter says, “You’re the promised one of old.”

The promised one of old.

The promised one who would shed light on the shadows, who would bring comfort to the grieving, who would convince the wealthy that the coins in their pocket belonged to the poor, and remind the poor that they are somebody, by God.

The promised of old who forgives sins, has a short memory of wrongs, loves the unloveable, and who would die to have us think or believe otherwise. Even die on a cross.

The Messiah.

And I don’t know if Peter knew what he was saying or, perhaps like me in most of my moments, stumbled onto a truth he couldn’t quite grasp, but in that moment Jesus hands him the keys to the car and says, “Carry on my wayward son…” as the band Kansas would say.

And carry on he did. And he would be a wayward son, as it were. In one breath calling him the Messiah, and in another denying he knew him. In one breath receiving the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, and in another being wishy-washy over who could be called a Christian as the early church began.

Peter held the keys to the kingdom, but sometimes lost them.

Beloved: we hold the keys to the kingdom, but sometimes lose them.

We lose them when we fret so much about money that we lose sight of mission.

We lose them when we worry so much about who is not here than we do about who has shown up.

We lose them when we worry too much about who shouldn’t be let in to the graceful kingdom of God than we worry about who we excluding who is loved, by God.

By God.

We lose the keys to the kingdom all the time. And in this post pandemic world, as you’re waiting for your next pastor, I want to say to you: the keys of the kingdom of God are yours! Do not lose them!

It’s about mission, not budgets.

It’s about whose here, not who isn’t.

It’s about all-encompassing love, not gate-keeping.

The keys are here…and even if sometimes we lose them, you know?!

Well, let me tell you.

Our nanny said, “I’ve lost the key.” And I said, “No worries, I can go and make a copy.”

And you know where the copy is made? Well, for our home key, it’s probably made at Ace Hardware or Lowes, you know?

But for us, for the faithful, for the Beloved community of which you’re a part of, the copy of the key of the kingdom is made here: at this table.

This table where everyone is invited forward, and no one leaves without something: some bread, some wine, the body and blood of Christ, or at least a blessing.

Everyone comes, and no one leaves empty.

That’s the kingdom, Beloved.

So, here we are, in the shadow of North Carolina’s Capitol, the hub of commerce (arguably), and the seat of power (for sure), and in this place there is a spring called Lord of Life Lutheran Church and I ask you, Beloved, who do you say Jesus is? Who do you say you are?

The keys of the kingdom are yours. And if you’ve lost them, well, I have good news: we’re just about to have communion.

I bet you’ll find the keys there.

August 25, 2023 0

On The Keys

Matthew 16:13-20

On The Keys

So great to be with you last week.

Beloved, let us learn not to make promises we won’t keep. But also, let us learn to vet the potential implications of said promises before we make them, yes?

Yes.

“Who am I?”

“Who do you think I am?”

Deeeep River, as our friends in the black church community say.

Which one, Beloved?

“It’s ok,” I said, “we’ll make another one.”

Which is ok. Sometimes it happens.

But here’s the thing, Beloved: I wonder if sometimes we’ve lost the key that Christ handed to St. Peter that day, ya know?

In this grand moment, at the pinnacle of both commerce, power, and life-giving water, Jesus asks the disciples who they think he is.

And they give various answers: a prophet from the past, a prophet of the present…

But Peter says, “You’re the promised one of old.”

The promised one of old.

The promised of old who forgives sins, has a short memory of wrongs, loves the unloveable, and who would die to have us think or believe otherwise. Even die on a cross.

The Messiah.

Peter held the keys to the kingdom, but sometimes lost them.

Beloved: we hold the keys to the kingdom, but sometimes lose them.

We lose them when we fret so much about money that we lose sight of mission.

We lose them when we worry so much about who is not here than we do about who has shown up.

We lose them when we worry too much about who shouldn’t be let in to the graceful kingdom of God than we worry about who we excluding who is loved, by God.

By God.

It’s about mission, not budgets.

It’s about whose here, not who isn’t.

It’s about all-encompassing love, not gate-keeping.

The keys are here…and even if sometimes we lose them, you know?!

Well, let me tell you.

Our nanny said, “I’ve lost the key.” And I said, “No worries, I can go and make a copy.”

And you know where the copy is made? Well, for our home key, it’s probably made at Ace Hardware or Lowes, you know?

But for us, for the faithful, for the Beloved community of which you’re a part of, the copy of the key of the kingdom is made here: at this table.

This table where everyone is invited forward, and no one leaves without something: some bread, some wine, the body and blood of Christ, or at least a blessing.

Everyone comes, and no one leaves empty.

That’s the kingdom, Beloved.

The keys of the kingdom are yours. And if you’ve lost them, well, I have good news: we’re just about to have communion.

I bet you’ll find the keys there.

August 25, 2023 1

Do You Know…?

Matthew 15:10-28

Jesus] called the crowd to him and said to them, “Listen and understand:¹¹it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.” ¹²Then the disciples approached and said to him, “Do you know that the Pharisees took offense when they heard what you said?” ¹³He answered, “Every plant that my heavenly Father has not planted will be uprooted. ¹⁴Let them alone; they are blind guides of the blind. And if one blind person guides another, both will fall into a pit.” ¹⁵But Peter said to him, “Explain this parable to us.” ¹⁶Then he said, “Are you also still without understanding? ¹⁷Do you not see that whatever goes into the mouth enters the stomach, and goes out into the sewer? ¹⁸But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles. ¹⁹For out of the heart come evil intentions, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander. ²⁰These are what defile a person, but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile.”]

²¹Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. ²²Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” ²³But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” ²⁴He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” ²⁵But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” ²⁶He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” ²⁷She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” ²⁸Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

Do You Know…?

Greetings, Beloved!

My name is Tim Brown, I’m a pastor in the ELCA having served churches in both Chicago and next door here in Raleigh. Currently I now work for the Presiding Bishop as the Director of Congregational Stewardship for the ELCA, but still live in Raleigh with my wife, Rhonda, and my two sons Findley and Alistair who are wonderfully holy terrors in their own right…

Thanks for inviting me today.

“Do you know…” is the phrase that sticks out to me today, that phrase that the disciples say to Jesus after he tells those gathered around him that what comes out of their mouths is sharper than most any sword. “Do you know…” rings in my head and it may partly be because it’s so often repeated in my house.

My son Finn, all of 10 years old, loves facts. Random facts. Facts that take up mighty precious space in my brain the minute he says them to me, and get lodged in there, displacing other, more important things that I continually forget.

Facts like most people cannot lick their elbow.

Facts like alligators can’t stick out their tongues.

Facts like horses sleep while standing, though they can also sleep laying down, so never assume a horse is dead.

Facts like sloths can hold their breath longer than dolphins, and that ladybugs normally have seven spots, and that mosquitos are attracted to the color blue…

After this morning, should you take nothing from the sermon, most of you will remember that last one I bet.

“Do you know…” is a forceful way to start a sentence because it’s less of a question and more of a statement that says, well, I’m about to impart some knowledge on you whether you like it or not, knowledge that will likely take up space in your brain rent free.

And maybe that’s the other reason why this small, short line sticks out to me in this very generous reading from Matthew’s Gospel, maybe it’s because people have sometimes said this to me much the same way that the disciples are saying it to Jesus.

“Do you know you made people angry today with what you said?” I heard that one after a good number of sermons, Beloved. Might even hear it today. Who knows.

“Do you know so-and-so is saying such-and-such about you?”

“Do you know how disappointed I am in you?”

My gut response to these kinds of “Do you know…” statements is something like, “And do you know that I don’t care?!”

But I do care.

I do care, and I know I care because these kind of “Do you know…” statements, much like those useless facts, also takes up precious space in my crowded brain and I hear them more loudly than I do other statements like, “Do you know how nice you are? Do you know how loved you are? Do you know you’re a precious child of God above all the other things people call you?”

Do you know?

The other “do you know” in today’s Gospel happens at the end where the woman asks for mercy and Jesus says, “Do you know we are not like one another?” and she rightly responds, “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you can’t help me. Do you know I am also a beloved of God?”

I have no idea if Jesus had a twinkle in his eye or really was taught a lesson by this woman, my gut tells me he may have learned something, but regardless the mercy of God was extended that day in new ways.

The virtue of our love, Beloved, outweighs the virtue of any dogma, any rule, any social norm or barrier in this world.

Do you know that?

I have to be reminded of it all the time.

I wonder, Beloved, what takes up space in your brain, in your heart, rent free today?

Is it some “do you know…” statement intended to bring you hurt or harm? Is it some random useless thing that you’ve taken as fact for years like that your not worthy of love?

not worthy of God’s affection or attention?

or that some people are worthy of love and respect, and some aren’t?

Is it that you’re no good without your partner and now that you’re divorced you’ve got nothing to live for?

Is it that you’ve wrecked your life? Your relationships?

What lives rent free in your brain?

Is it that there’s no future here?

Is it that one political party is always right and the other one is always wrong?

What “do you know” statements have taken up space in your brain, in your heart, displacing the important ones?

What comes out of mouths can ruin things, Beloved, especially corners of our brains reserved for life-giving things. Like spoiled milk those life-giving “do you knows” can be soured by others.

But from the mouth of God we hear something different.

Do you know that this is my child, in whom I’m well pleased?

Do you know that you are called Beloved?

Do you know that you are forgiven?

Do you know that I love you for Christ’s sake, and will not let you go?

I don’t know, Beloved, maybe it’s just me, but I’d like to offer those “do you know” statements a chance to live in my head, my heart, rent free.

Because we are loved, by God, and like the woman today are worthy of mercy, imperfect as we are. And God’s tent is bigger than we can ever imagine, and God’s grace is deeper than any cavern or well we’ve discovered, and though I may not a lot of useless facts, that’s one that is useful and not intended to hurt and comes from the very Divine heart of God and is one that I need to cling to more, right?

I mean, do you know?

August 19, 2023 1

There’s Something About Mary…

Luke 1:46-55

⁴⁶Mary said,
“My soul magnifies the Lord,
⁴⁷and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
⁴⁸for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.
Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
⁴⁹for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.
⁵⁰His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
⁵¹He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
⁵²He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
⁵³he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.
⁵⁴He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,
⁵⁵according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”

There’s Just Something About Mary

Reverse our worlds

Holy One

Turn us around

Topple the thrones of our hearts

Send our egos away empty

And seat us at your humble table

To feast on your lasting grace

Amen

Mary…there’s just something about Mary…

When I was a little boy I wondered a lot about my Roman Catholic friends and why they had statues of a young woman in their church. In our right and proper Lutheran parish we were generally allergic to statues, even statues of Jesus, though there was a nice life-sized bust of Martin Luther that met you when you entered the Narthex, keeping his watchful Reformer’s eye over every passerby…

“Why,” I asked my father, “do they talk about Mary so much?”

“Well,” I remember him saying after a minute, “I guess if you want to get in good with someone, perhaps you appeal to their mom, right?”

He wasn’t being facetious, and he wasn’t being sarcastic, he was trying to explain to this young elementary brain that, well, there’s just something about Mary…

As I’ve grown older, though not necessarily wiser, I’ve come to see Mary differently, though. In a world where Oppenheimer and Barbie come out at the same time encapsulating two polar opposite events in tension-the ability to destroy ourselves and the ability to play-Mary, too, holds this polar-opposite tension inside her own being.

We all hold this tension in some way, right?

The ability to harm and the ability to help.

The ability to love and the ability to not give a care.

The ability for faith and the ability for abandoning all hope.

In the wombs of our souls we carry all sorts of things, birthing them into the world…with mixed results. And in my most honest moments I must face the deep truth that despite how I pray for thrones being toppled and the rich sent away empty, that means hard things for me perched on my throne of privilege with my full belly…

I hold within myself the ability to long for great change but the inability to fully realize what that would mean for me…

If Mary reminds me of anything, she reminds me that even God’s entrance into the world started with fear and doubt and trembling and humility and uncertainty.

The one who would cast the mighty down from their thrones first sat in a highchair. The one who would lift up the humble of heart was birthed by a visionary young woman the world only saw as humble, but who knew in her being that she was called.

There’s just something about Mary…

She is the unwed teen mother who holds in her womb unimaginable and unending possibility. All at once.

She is the Oppenheimer-Barbie, Barbenheimer if you will, paradox long before we knew about either, Beloved. And I’m not being facetious, and I’m not being sarcastic, I’m trying to explain to my ever-young heart why I’m so endeared to and yet perplexed by Mary. There’s just something about Mary…she is so relatable to me, not because I am her, but because I identify so strongly with all of the mixed up paradox she is.

She is a revolutionary, singing the Magnificat in the face of world powers destined to conspire against her and her family.

She is an immigrant parent, willing to do what it takes to keep her family alive, fleeing in the night to Egypt when Bethlehem was unsafe.

She is a proud parent, standing with her son through his peaks and valleys of life, urging people to listen to him when they are reluctant.

She is a worried parent, sometimes urging her boy to stay quiet in the face of opposition because she didn’t want to find him dead on the streets.

She is a grieving mother, not turning away even as her son was wrongly put on death row, dying in the hands of fearful power brokers.

While many revere Mary because she was Jesus’ mother, I revere her because she is me. She is my mother. She is the radical I aspire to emulate, and the parent I long to be.

And she is imperfect and yet perfectly redeemed by the one she would call her son.

She reminds me in all my paradox, all my imperfection, with all the good and the bad I birth in the world, that I, too, am perfectly redeemed by the one called the Son.

There’s just something about Mary.

August 16, 2023 1

What Do You Count (On)?

Matthew 28:16-20

Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. ¹⁷When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. ¹⁸And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. ¹⁹Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, ²⁰and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

What Do You Count (On)?

One, two, three

We love to count things, Lord

Time. Treasure. Likes on social media.

And yet you teach us to count differently

One child loved

One mouth fed

One hand held

One heart opened

One tear shed and wiped

One love, one resurrection

One God in three persons.

Teach us to count like you do.

Amen.

Good morning, Beloved!

I’m so grateful to be here with you today. My name is Pr. Tim Brown. I was a parish pastor for over a decade serving parishes in Chicago and in Raleigh, North Carolina. And right now I serve as the Director of Congregational Stewardship for the ELCA, still living in North Carolina.

On behalf of Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton, I thank you for your ministry here in Great Falls and your devotion to the faith that we all share.

And this is my first time in Montana! It’s been a wet adventure, which I hear is not exactly typical but is welcome. Good to have the cattle on grass instead of grain so early. Having roots myself in rural Carolina, I get some of the lingo still…Chicago didn’t totally ruin me.

Speaking of rain, how many of you have checked out your rain gauges this week?

How many inches? 1? 2? 3?

It’s interesting what we count in this world, isn’t it? As a child I never thought I’d count inches of rain…but here we are.

What do you count?

I remember being taught to count by the Count on Sesame Street, “One, two, three, four…”

When I was a middle school teacher, we’d have the kids all assigned a number before field trips and we’d have them sound off before getting back on the bus. Bus buddies. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

When I was a child I used to count the presents under the Christmas tree with my name on them. Being the middle child, another piece of counting, I was just sure I would get fewer than my brothers, being the forgotten child, you know…

Here’s our son Ben. And here’s our second son, Ben’s brother…

What do you count?

Perhaps you count the zeroes at the end of your bank account, hoping they, like rabbits, will somehow multiply.

Perhaps you count down the days until vacation every year. Or retirement. Or until you’re an empty-nester. Or perhaps you count the days between your children’s phone calls.

I remember waiting for my sons to be born, counting the minutes between contractions. Counting the breaths. Counting the stoplights between our home and the hospital.

I remember holding the hand of a dear saint, Ilene, as she was waiting in the last moments, counting the breaths with her until that final one…

What do you count, Beloved?

On Holy Trinity Sunday counting is obviously on my mind because it’s a peculiar Sunday where pastors across the church think they are tasked with making sense of the nonsensical.

The Holy Trinity is not a problem to be solved, Beloved, but a mystery to be held, and pondered, and wondered about.

And the Holy Trinity, this idea of describing God as three-in-one and one-in-three is a reminder for me that when I think I have God figured out, I don’t have anything figured out because God cannot be figured out!

And that you can count on, Beloved.

Afterall, if God dislikes the people I dislike votes the way I do and amazingly has the same opinions I have, well, then I’m probably my own god…

There’s a lot of that in the world.

The Holy Trinity is a corrective for that way of thinking because as uncomfortable as it makes me, I have to embrace the thought that I glimpse the Divine through a mirror darkly as the Apostle Paul says, through a fuzzy haze, through a mishmash of a dance of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit twirling like a whirlwind that won’t be pinned down to hold and collect and categorize and count like you do a trophy or a prize or some sort of possession.

The Holy Trinity can’t be pinned down, by God.

Which means that any time we really talk about God we’re missing the mark just a little bit, which honestly I don’t like because I like to be correct about things, ya know? In fact, it’s one of the things I count! I love counting the number of times I’ve been correct about something, especially when it comes to arguments with my spouse.

Which means I’m probably missing the mark when it comes to knowing what love is, what forgiveness is, what grace is…

If I’m very honest with you, and with myself, I can’t count the number of times I’ve missed the mark in my life.

I can’t count that high…

I’m about to say something really kind of radical, and this is a short sermon for those of you counting the minutes, so if you’re going to write something down this is probably it, ready?

I think it takes a little atheism to believe in God.

I think it takes a little atheism to believe in the Holy Trinity, this thing that we can’t really pin down.

I think it takes a little atheism because to believe the God who loves the outcast and the marginalize, I have to give up believing that being perfect is godly. I have to give up believing that doing all the right things in life is going to gain me eternal love and favor.

In so many parts of the world being perfect and riding the moral high-horse in this life is what folks bow down to, and to believe in the God who “saves a wretch like me,” I have to let go of that God and cling to the cross.

I think it takes a little atheism to believe in the Holy Trinity because this world tells me that the number of zeroes at the end of my bank account will save me from disaster and that I need to continually be counting them to make sure they grow, and today Jesus says I just have to lean on the number three: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

I have to give up believing a full bank account is God.

A little atheism is necessary because this world tells me to live for the number of likes on my social media, that influence is God, or the number of votes my favorite politician gets as if politics is God, and I need to stop believing those things and start trusting that the God of the scriptures who doesn’t hang on every social media interaction and instead hangs on a cross with the lost and forsaken who couldn’t get a vote in this world to save his life is God.

A little atheism is necessary in this world because a lot of times I secretly, or not so secretly, believe I am God and I get to judge who is worthy in this world and who is not, totally missing the mark when it comes to loving my neighbor as myself, and I need to give up believing I am God and start trusting that I don’t need to be God for things to be alright…I don’t need to just count on myself, but I can lean on others God has given me to get me through…

A little atheism is necessary in this life because too often I think counting is God, as if more of anything means better everything, when the God of scripture reminds us that the only counting that happens by God is the number of hairs on our heads that is so precious in God’s sight (and for my head it doesn’t take God very long to count)…

Counting money. Counting votes. Counting the number of times we’re right, the number of friends we have, the number of promotions, the number of wins in life…what do you count, Beloved, because I think I too often count all the wrong things and totally miss the mark.

So instead of counting on this Holy Trinity Sunday, maybe we should adopt a little atheism, maybe we should give up believing that counting things in this life will get us somewhere and instead start to think about what we can count on in this life.

Because even though I don’t know everything about God, and neither do you, one thing I do know is that a God who would rather die than let us think that God doesn’t love us to death, a God who would empower us with a Spirit rather than leave us alone, a God who creates life after death again and again rather than let death have the final say, well…

That’s a God worth trusting. That’s a God worth believing.

And that’s something you can count on.

Amen.

June 3, 2023 0

One Life

When I was a child I used to count: one, two, three, four, five.

But now that I’m an adult I just count,

One life,

Because each new life injured or killed is that one, precious, new life lost. New each time.

I am beyond frustrated with mass shootings in this country.

(adapted from a poem “When I Was a Child” by Padraig O’Tauma)

May 7, 2023 1

It Happens

Saint Paul and The Reformation
April 16^th, 2023
John 20:19-31

⁹When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” ²⁰After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. ²¹Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” ²²When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. ²³If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

²⁴But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. ²⁵So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
²⁶A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” ²⁷Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” ²⁸Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” ²⁹Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

³⁰Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. ³¹But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

It Happens

Pray with me:

Holy One,
Come into the locked doors of our hearts today
Come bearing your scars
Come breathing your resurrection
That we may be made new.
Amen.

Greetings, Beloveds!

My name is Pastor Tim Brown, and I’m the Director for Congregational Stewardship for the ELCA. On behalf of Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton I bring you greetings of peace and joy, and am grateful to be here at Saint Paul and the Reformation.

I live just down the road from you all in Raleigh, North Carolina, with my wife and two young boys. I thank Pr. Shebeck for the invitation this morning, as Patrick and I are longtime friends from when we were young and full of dreams back in seminary, and because I happened to be in Minneapolis on business he was like, “Hey, the Sunday after Easter would be a nice time to not preach…”

So here I am. Really delighted to be here with you…

Not to bore you with my hobbies or the details of my life, but I’m a little bit quirky in that I have a real interest and affinity for the saints of the church, both official and unofficial. You no doubt know some of the most popular: Saint Francis of Assisi, Saint Julian of Norwich, Saint Catherine, Saint Paul.

The Roman and Orthodox branches have lots of hoops you have to jump through posthumously to be canonized as a saint, but Lutherans? We’re a little more “go with the flow” on it all. Everyone who dies in the church can be known as a saint for us, quirks and all.

Which means that we end up with our own Blessed Martin Luther as Saint Martin (remembered on February 18^th), and his wife Saint Kadi (remembered on December 20^th), and in my estimation we can include Saint Marsha P. Johnson, a trans activist and practicing Catholic who is remembered on March 31st, and even Saint Freddie of the Mercuries (September 5^th)…though that last one is certainly controversial as it’s unclear if he was Christian, though any choir would certainly be enhanced by his vocals. The man was born to sing.

This last Thursday, though, April 14^th the Roman, Lutheran, and Anglican churches remember a saint who died too young, Saint Kateri Tekakwitha, the first First Nations Saint canonized by Pope John Paul II back in 1980. Saint Kateri, or as she’s more widely known, Lily of the Mohawks, had a rough childhood and due to a smallpox epidemic brought by the settlers in her land, had severe scarring all over her face. She died at age 24, far too young, and she was wise and faithful and kind and bore the violence of the land on her body.

Scars.

My eldest son, Finn, has this nice scar right on his back. He got it while playing on a playground in the small town of Woden, Iowa, population around 93 souls (it swells when my family comes to visit). It’s one of those old playgrounds that no longer would pass safety codes, with a merry-go-round that you can twirl so fast you’ll lose your lunch, a wooden bridge that is termites holding hands, a metal slide that at the right angle will cut your thigh and at the right temperature will burn your bottom and at the right trajectory will fling you into the corn fields.

He got the scar climbing through a cement tunnel, trying to emerge too early and slicing his back.

A few years ago I saw him at the beach and ran my finger over the scar on his spine. “You still have a scar here, buddy!” I said, kind of surprised.

“It happens,” was his reply.

It happens. Scars happen as life happens.

I remember first scarring my body intentionally, coming home with a tattoo from college. My grandmother, Saint Ladye of the Browns (literally, her first name was Ladye) was sitting at our kitchen table with a cigarette in one hand a bourbon in the other. A double bourbon, mind you. She had to make them doubles, she said, because she could no longer taste the bourbon if it was just a single. “The doctor,” she said, “he prescribed me Claritin and it destroyed my taste buds.” “It’s not because you’ve been smoking since you were 16, is it grandma?” I asked.

She took a drag.

“No,” she said blowing the smoke in my face. “It’s not.”

But anyway, there she was sitting at the table, double bourbon in one hand and cigarette in another and I say, “Grandma! I got a tattoo. Want to see it?”

And she takes a drag and says, “I don’t know why anyone would do that to their body…”

The height of irony. We scar our bodies. It happens.

It happened to my childhood friend, as she looked in the mirror and hated her existence and made little cuts on her legs to take away the pain…

We don’t like to think that it does, but it happens.

Or like, when I was at the doctor last year and he’s doing his routine assessment and I hear him go, “Uhoh…” an utterance you never want to hear, right?

“Better get this checked out,” he said as he thumbed a mark on my side.

Consultations and surgeries later, and now I have a scar from where cancer used to be. I showed the scar to a friend and he thumbed it, asking, “How deep did they cut?”

They hadn’t cut very deep, of course. But I was only 40 with two small kids and so though the surgery wasn’t deep or long and didn’t require more than a few hours, the scare of it all was a lot.

“It cut to my core,” I said.

Cancer scars. It happens.

Scars are all around us. Some are even known by their scars. If you wonder if that’s true, ask Harry Potter. Ask Captain Hook. For heaven’s sake the villain in The Lion King is literally named Scar!

Scars happen in this life. It happens.

Minneapolis, your neighbor next door, is scarred from events recent and long ago, events on the street and in the hearts of humans and on the knees on the necks of humans and though I’m aware that the fence between here and there is long and tall, let’s not pretend that Saint Paul doesn’t also bear scars.

All cities. All towns. Scars happen. It happens.

Our court system is scarred and inflicts scars on those unjustly convicted.

Our political system is scarred. Or perhaps that’s a gaping wound.

The church is scarred in more places than we can count, and no amount of long robes can cover it, Beloved, it’s just true, and as a branch manager of the church I have to be honest about that fact…

The disciples in today’s Gospel reading are reeling from scars. Scars upon their reputations, as they look like fools for following that fool, that 165lb Jewish guy who ended up hanging on a cross like every other criminal scarred by an oppressive system. Scars upon their hearts as they mourn their friend. Scars upon their sensibilities as they’ve heard he might be alive, but don’t know what to think about it.

And into that scene enters Jesus, the crucified and risen one, not hiding his scars but bearing them. Bearing them because, well Beloved, God stands in solidarity with those of us scarred by as Saint Prince, a patron saint of these parts, said, “This thing called life.”

And in spying these scars, I don’t so much think Saint Thomas (commemorated on December 21^st), I don’t so much think he says a statement of awe in spying the scars, but I rather think he utters a statement of shock and horror. “My Lord…my God…”

We know how the scars of Jesus happened, Beloved, even if we’re still trying to figure out why it all happened, and it’s shocking and difficult, much like many of the scars we bear.

You bear. We all have scars. It happens.

But here’s the thing, Beloved.

The scars of the crucified and risen one are not scars that need to be emulated, as some have suggested. We don’t need to hurt ourselves to be like Jesus. Live long enough and hurt will find you. There’s plenty to go around, unfortunately. If you want to emulate something about Jesus, emulate the grace, the love, the unconditional acceptance…that’s worth emulating.

And we don’t need to fascinate on them, either. I’ve had quite enough with bloody depictions of Jesus attempting to get me to feel sad or bad. I watch the news. I see Jesus shot up in schools weekly. So do you. I see Jesus gunned down in the streets. I see Jesus turned away at the border. That’s enough and, frankly, more real.

The scars of the crucified one are not to be emulated, and not to be fascinated, instead they are indicative, my friends. Indicative.

And not indicative that scars will happen in this life. We know that. We live that. We hide that truth from our children, and we often bury our scars deep inside ourselves, but they remain all the same…

The scars of Christ are not indicative that scars will happen. When Jesus bursts through the locked doors of that upper room and the locked hearts of the disciples bearing his scars he does so to indicate to them, to us, that resurrection happens, by God.

And not just that resurrection happened, like that truth can be contained in some historical event or fact.

But no, the scars of Christ indicate for us today and every day that resurrection happens.

It happens.

And that, to answer my grandmother’s question of “why would someone do that to a body…” is why Jesus shows up with scars on his body, to show that resurrection happens to we who inhabit bodies, saints and sinners though we be.

It happens now, and happens then, and happens in cities, and happens in hearts and homes and everywhere we find the scars of sin and hate and death and fear holding space.

If you leave with anything today, Beloveds, leave with this, know this to your core: the scars of crucified and risen one, the scars of Jesus, testify to the fact that resurrection happens. It takes at least three days, usually longer…

But, well, it happens, by God.

Amen.

April 17, 2023 2

I Wish I Knew Anna’s Song

Luke 2:22-40

22When the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, Mary and Joseph brought Jesus up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord 23(as it is written in the law of the Lord, “Every firstborn male shall be designated as holy to the Lord”), 24and they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, “a pair of turtle-doves or two young pigeons.”

25Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit rested on him. 26It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. 27Guided by the Spirit, Simeon came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him what was customary under the law, 28Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying,

29“Lord, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; 30for my eyes have seen your salvation, 31which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, 32a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.”

33And the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him.

34Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed 35so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed— and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

36There was also a prophet, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was of a great age, having lived with her husband for seven years after her marriage, 37then as a widow to the age of eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshipped there with fasting and prayer night and day. 38At that moment she came, and began to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.

39 When the parents had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth.

The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.”

I Wish Anna I Knew Anna’s Song

I wish I knew Anna’s song.

Saint John of the Denver’s gave it a go when he penned “Annie’s Song”…

You fill up my senses
like a night in the forest
like the mountains in springtime
like a walk in the rain…

But that’s not the same thing, mind you. Annie’s song is a tribute to someone named Annie. Anna’s song is the tribute of her heart that we hear in today’s Gospel lesson.

I wish I knew Anna’s song.

You know, when I was a college student, young and full of dreams at Valparaiso University they had a call out wanting people to be DJ’s for the campus radio station. In that first year at Valpo I basically made it a habit to say “yes” to everything, and so I got in line at the activities fair to give it a go. Chatting with the upperclassman behind the table signing people up he cheerfully asked, “So, what’s your show theme going to be?”

“Theme?” I said, puzzled. “Can’t I just play music?”

“Sure,” he said, “but shows that have a theme get listeners and get prime spots in the line-up.”

“Oh…OK. My show’s name will be ‘CD’s That I Own.’”

He stared at me, and then wrote it on the paper. I got the much coveted Tuesday night slot from 11pm-1am. Let’s just say that the phone was not ringing off the hook for requests and the line-up didn’t’ really change that much in those days, mostly because I didn’t have a vast CD collection.

But what I did have I knew very well. I knew it by heart. I could sing every lyric, A-side and B-side, and every other side there was. And when it came to presentation well, here’s the thing Beloved: it’s easy to present something that you know by heart.

At Jesus’ Presentation, Simeon and Anna knew him by heart. They sing his song.

Simeon’s song is the Nunc Dimitus, a well-worn track that has been sung by the church for over a thousand years now. It’s sung usually at the end of a church service or, as I have done sometimes, at the hospital bed at the end of life.

It’s poetically beautiful, actually, that the song sung to Jesus in his childhood is the song we sing at the end of things. Perhaps that’s what happens when the song of the Alpha and the Omega is sung.

And Anna, too, sings praises to God in holding this young one. In my mind’s eye I imagine all the elderly who cradled my babies in that first year, rocking while I preached, cooing while I distributed communion. I took my firstborn on a visit with me just a few months after he was born to see the oldest member of our community, nearing her centennial. She couldn’t hear very well, and she could barely see, but when she spied the baby with her stunted vision she asked to touch him. I guided her aged hand to his fresh skin and marveled at how similarly their touches felt: so soft and fragile. The oldest person I knew meeting the youngest person I knew.

It was a sign of infinity in front of me.

I don’t know Anna’s song in full…I wish I did.

You know, my ancestors the ancient Celts called this season that we’re in right now Imbolc. In Gaelic it means, “In the belly” because we’re in the belly of winter and about to emerge into spring.

But right now, in this season of our lives, I wonder if it’s not more like we’re Jonah in the belly of a whale. A whale where we’re swallowed by mass shootings happen far too much, where we’re choked on the reality that black and brown bodies still aren’t safe on the streets, where books are banned over prejudice, where the church feels like it’s shrinking, where pastors are tired, recessions are looming, war continues in far flung places, and with all our vast technology we still can’t get potable drinking water in some of our cities.

And in the face of all this, in the belly of this winter, this whale, I ask you: what Gospel song will we sing to combat the shadows and speak truth to the encroaching powers of chaos?

I wonder, Beloved, if we don’t hear Anna’s song in the scriptures because we are all Anna in some ways. We are all tasked with singing the song of this Jesus one presented to us in word and bread and wine and water.

You are Anna. I am Anna. Her song is our song.

Her song is,

“Lift every voice and sing, till Earth and Heaven ring…”

Her song is,

“Lift high the cross, the love of Christ proclaim…”

Her song is the Psalm Jesus uttered from the cross. Her song is the cries of anger and desperation and pain on the streets of Memphis, of Minneapolis, of St. Louis, of the girls in Iran, of children in our schools, of the teenage Mary predicting that the world was about to turn.

Is about to turn. About to turn, turn, turn, to every season turn, turn, turn…

Justice is not the Gospel, but the Gospel calls for justice, forgiveness, and a powerless love triumphing over loveless power.

We are all empowered to sing the Gospel song of powerless love triumphing over loveless power that we hear and know and have written on our heads, our tender hands, our hearts as this Jesus is presented to us over and over again in the face of the stranger, in the face in the mirror, in the face of those the world refuses to look in the face…

In Christ we are given the power, the opportunity, to sing the Gospel song for the world, and I guess my question today is: what’s the song you’ll sing, Beloved? What’s the song the ELCA will sing? What’s the song on our hearts, on our lips, at receiving the Christ God continually offers to us?

Whatever the answer to that may be, in these days as we move out of this pandemic we all, I hope, have a renewed appreciation for the wonder of singing. And so may that song, whatever it may be, grow within us, become strong, wise, full of God’s favor and, like this young Jesus, may it be unleashed upon the world to turn hearts and minds to God’s liberating love.

Amen.

February 1, 2023 1

Wild Things

Matthew 3:1-12

In those days John the Baptizer appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, “Turn around, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’” Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then the people of Jerusalem and all of Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, “you brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not presume to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our ancestor;” for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. “I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

Where the Wild Things Are

Let us pray:

Stir up your power, Holy One.

You call to us from the desert of our souls

Those arid places that need your baptismal water

Again and again.

But we are like snakes: without ears, and we don’t hear well

What with all our distractions.

Send us the baptizer again.

We’ll take John

But who we really need is Jesus

Immanuel

He’s the one we’re waiting for in these Advent days.

Amen.

Greetings, Beloved!

My name is Pastor Tim Brown, and I serve the ELCA as the Director of Congregational Stewardship, though I live just up the road from you all in Raleigh, North Carolina with my wife and two crazy boys. It’s my honor to bring you blessings and greetings from Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton, and all the churchwide staff. In my work in congregations, Lutheran Disaster Relief, Lutheran World Hunger, and the many missions that you all support here with your good work I have seen lives changed.

You’d helped make that happen. You make that happen. Thank you. As one of our most generous congregations in the ELCA to the life-changing work of the Gospel, I truly greet you with wonderful thanks.

Before I was the Director of Congregational Stewardship, though, I was a parish pastor both in Raleigh and before that in downtown Chicago, and I’m really grateful to have been invited to be with you on this second Sunday in Advent because out of all the seasons of the church year, Advent is by far my favorite. And some of you may remember me, as I did preach here once before, when I was young and full of dreams, during the pandemic.

Wonderful to be with you in person, and not on a screen.

What’s your favorite children’s book? Anyone?

Mine is _Where the Wild Things Are_ by Maurice Sendak.

I know it by heart. “The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind/and another. His mother called him ‘wild thing’ and said, ‘I’ll eat you up!’ So, he was sent to bed without eating anything at all.”

The imagine of Max in his wolf suit captivated the young me, and still today the not-so-young me. Wild things, wild beasts, wild dreams: these are the things of excitement and urgency and danger.

John the Baptizer falls into that category, the family and genus of the wild things. His manner of dress and his diet give clues to us of what stock he is from. Sure, he’s son of Elizabeth and Zechariah, but his PETA-offending clothes, his long, wild hair, and his food of bugs and honey put him in the lineage of the desert-roaming prophets: Elijah, Elisha, Amos. He calls to people from the outskirts of the city, down by the river, reminding the nice town-folk that God cares little for their attractive floor coverings, their polite language, their proper technique when it comes to exterior illumination. God doesn’t even care if they sing Christmas songs in Advent.

“You sneaky snakes,” John says. “You distract yourselves with your rules, in competition to get life right. But God is more like a farmer than a judge in a competition. In competition you get points for style and effort, but the farmer’s attention is on the heart of the fruit.”

The words of this wild John the Baptizer thing do eat us up. And the urgency is real, not manufactured like all the fake urgency manufactured by all the fake news flying around our world today. The urgency is real because, as John the Baptizer rightly says, the time is now.

It is always now. So why, Beloved, are you still living in the past or anxious about the future? The urgency doesn’t lie there; it is now.

Our ancient mothers and fathers conceived of God as being a bit wild. Why do you think the angels always open with the words, “Fear not!”? We’ve domesticated God, equating God with Santa Clause, the giver of gifts and tally-taker of who is on the nice and naughty list. But God’s encounter with Moses was not the red of a flannel suit and rosy cheeks, but a bush on wild-fire, defying physics and tantalizing the imagination.

We’ve domesticated Jesus, pretending he votes our values (or we vote his), putting him in stark white robes so that he looks like the pastor we’ve always dreamed of (with considerably more hair). But perhaps Jesus is more John the Baptist than John Smith.

We’ve domesticated the Holy Spirit, relegating her to a peaceful dove who gently alights upon shoulders and inspires beautiful paintings. But maybe the Holy Spirit is more gadfly than dove, aggravating more often than alighting. For this example, I appreciate my Celtic ancestry. They referred to the Holy Spirit as “Ah Gaedh-Glas” or “The Wild Goose,” sending the Celts on a wild goose chase, literally, as they sought out the Spirit to inform their lives.

And if God is wild, then the kingdom of God is wild.

The kingdom of God, the one John claims is near, does not look like an earthly kingdom. It looks more like, well, a wilderness: where you can’t tell who is good and who is bad because those categories don’t exist when everyone is loved. Where you can’t tell who is servant and who is ruler because everyone is servant, and therefore, everyone is ruler, and the first is last and the last is first, and who could figure out the rules of living in such a confusing world?

It’s like a strange wilderness where all rules are broken. It’s supposed to be what the church looks like.

Perhaps we’ve been domesticated by the world.

Because this world expects us to live for money, power, fame, and fortune. It expects us to reinforce the idea of who is in and who is out. Those are the rules. It expects us to love our own, take care of our own, and be with our own, and survive on our own. Those are the rules.

But in Advent we remind ourselves of this story of a lonely couple, on their own, who are trying to follow the rules even though the rules oppress them, who in their time of need become surrounded by the strangest crew, brought from the rule-breaking wild margins of society: dirty shepherds, elusive angels, and pagan sorcerers that we’ve domesticated by calling them “magi” or “kings.”

The wild one, John the Baptizer, calls to us in Advent to remind us of just who we’re waiting for: a wild one from the margins who will minister to those on the margins and who invites the church to move from the center to the wilderness of the margins.

Into the wilderness of walking with those with mental illness. Into the wilderness of walking with those who are oppressed because of their skin color, their ethnic heritage, their family ancestry. “Do not think that your family is better,” John the Baptizer tells us. “God can create families from stones to rival yours.”

Called even into the wilderness of your soul, where you will search for certainty your whole life only to have those tables overturned numerous times throughout your life. I’ve seen it, Beloved. At age 12. At age 33. At age 40 (we’ve domesticated it by calling it mid-life crisis, but it’s really a table-flipping feeling, as if everything is upended). At the empty-nest stage. At the death of a partner, parent, lover, child.

In these wilderness places we hear the voice of God speak, cutting through all this fake news we watch on TV and post on our social media, that fake news that creates a fake urgency.

And in the wilderness place we hear the voice of one, crying out for us saying: I love you; you are mine. Crying out with us: my God my God, why have you forsaken me? Crying out on behalf of us to God: Forgive them, they know not what they do.

And only a wild goose of a God who loves with such wild abandon, who is willing to break the rules to love and forgive those broken open on the so-called rules of the world, can swallow our lives, sinliness and saintliness…all of it…into the waters of baptism, into the heart of grace.

Look, I know. I know some of you feel like you’re in a wilderness time. The bed at night is empty. The job is mindless, or non-existent. The marriage is empty. The chemo leaves you empty. The pantry is empty. For some democracy seems empty. For others civility seems empty. In these post-pandemic days the pews feel emptier. The emptiness seeks to devour us, or at least it feels that way. I know it because I at times feel all that, too.

But, Beloved, even as we wait for Christ in the manger, perhaps the real truth is that the Wild Goose is on the loose even now, always now, chasing us down in our wilderness spaces, seeking to infuse those empty places of our lives with the wholeness that comes only from a God who is wild and more powerful than any other wild thing seeking to devour us.

At Christmas we are reminded that God always invites us to dine at this table of continual grace in the wilderness of our lives, and that God sends those other things that try to devour us to bed, to the grave.

Without eating anything at all.

December 5, 2022 1

An Endless Falling

On Poetry and Music and One Life

On The Keys

On The Keys

Do You Know…?

There’s Something About Mary…

What Do You Count (On)?

One Life

It Happens

I Wish I Knew Anna’s Song

Wild Things

Follow Blog via Email

Search for past posts.