Tag Archives: cross

John 14:8-17, 25-27; Acts 2:1-21; Romans 8:14-17 A Sermon for Pentecost

John 14:8-17, 25-27; Acts 2:1-21; Romans 8:14-17  – A Sermon for Pentecost

 

John 14:8-17, 25-27  Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” 9 Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father’? 10 Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. 11 Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. 12 Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. 13 I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. 14 If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it. 15 “If you love me, you will keep my commandments. 16 And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. 17 This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.

25 “I have said these things to you while I am still with you. 26 But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you. 27 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.

 

Acts 2:1-21 When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2 And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3 Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. 5 Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6 And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7 Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9 Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10 Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11 Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” 12 All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” 13 But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.” 14 But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. 15 Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. 16 No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel: 17 “In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. 18 Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy. 19 And I will show portents in the heaven above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and smoky mist. 20 The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day. 21 Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’

 

Pentecost is today!  We get together for worship, some of us remembering to wear red to symbolize the Holy Spirit while others of us are trying to piece together exactly why, and away we go!  Pentecost is a church holiday that ratchets up our intensity just a bit – making the joyous a little more joyful and the reverent a little more respectful.  We in the church sing and celebrate and worship God the Holy Spirit on this day and, for the most part, we have a pretty good time at the party.

 

What I want to ask is, “Why?”  Why do we do this strange celebration of Pentecost?  The first reading from the book of Acts takes us back to remembering the earliest days of the church.  The roaring sound of a violent wind, the flames that settle over the heads of the faithful, God the Holy Spirit pouring out and over those gathered people, creating church from those gathered people, a grand spectacle to be sure – amazing to behold by those who received a spirit of adoption on that day.  But thinking about that day, so far back in time, can feel a little slippery to some of us.  What was that sound of wind; was it actual wind?  What about those tongues of flame; did they shimmer like personal, red northern lights?  Or were the flames more like real fire but not actual fire that would have burned the people?  Was the writer indulging in poetic metaphor?  If so, in which direction does the metaphor point?  All great questions that are utterly and frustratingly unanswerable.

 

Celebrating Pentecost year after year does indeed take us back to that noisy, flaming day in the church when the church was instigated and inspired to get moving by God the Holy Spirit.  Pentecost helps us remember those earliest believers in that mysterious event and reminds us of our connection through time to those earliest believers.  Perhaps more importantly, remembering the first Pentecost helps us remember God’s presence in the midst of the church.  So remembering is good.  And it is right.  And it is…tame.  Remembering implies that what happened is in the past and stays in the past.  It is easy to remember; it is much harder to see and to claim that very same Spirit of God here, now, today.  So let’s see what might be revealed if we poke around and through the symbols of the day.

 

The Rocky Mountain Synod Assembly happened a few weeks ago.  Church goers, Pastors, Diaconal Ministers, Youth Ministers, and Associates in Ministry from 176 churches in Wyoming, Utah, Texas, New Mexico and Colorado, met together along with the ministers and bishop from the Bishop’s office.  There were highs, lows, snoozes and surprises as there was God to be worshipped, business to be done, friends to be greeted, and gleanings to be learned.  And then there was this thing, this moment that simply stole my breath away.

 

Saturday morning the Assembly was in its 37th hour.  We were seated around our tables, with tables next to tables throughout the large hotel ballroom.  Bishop Gonia was up front at a podium with two huge, wall-mounted, projection screens on either side of the speaker’s platform.  He told us that very shortly we would be connected via Skype to the Malagasy Lutheran Church in Madagascar, Africa, with whom our synod has shared a long and thriving history of accompaniment as some people from our synod have been there and some of their people have spent time here.  The technological process – which I’ve been told stops just this side of being a minor miracle – progressed in fits and starts.  Bishop Gonia exchanged lengthy, formal greetings with his Malagasy counterpart in the Malagasy language as he translated it for the rest of us so that we could understand what was being said.  During the breaks in the connection, other people would give their reports from the podium.  A disjointed flow that came to another pause just after their choir sang us a beautiful song in their language and our clapping for them.

 

What was supposed to happen next was a download of previously taped singing from our very own Rocky Mountain Synod people who will be headed to Madagascar together in a few months.   Something happened to that download and suddenly the bishop was inviting us all to stand and sing Amazing Grace, via Skype, for the people representing the Malagasy Lutheran Church.  We sang two verses from memory while their faces watched us from the two large projection screens.  As we were singing, a couple of things hit me.  There we were, an eclectic mix of people to be sure but predominantly white Americans, singing Amazing Grace, a song written in the 18th century by a former slave trader turned Christian minister, to a predominantly black group of Malagasy people.[1]  The magnitude of it hit me like a ton of bricks during their clapping for us.  While it did not feel surprising that the Malagasy people sang to us, our impromptu singing and its levels of meaning felt full of surprise to me.

 

Perhaps this surprising moment is a small taste of what Paul means in verse 16 of the Romans letter that was read a few minutes ago when he says, “It is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God.”[2]  This is not to say that every surprising moment with the element of ironic cool thrown in is of the Spirit – although the Spirit can be ironic and is definitely cool.  It is to say that the Spirit who moves in us reverses even our most sincere efforts to do a good thing and often ends up doing something else entirely.

 

The reading from John may help us out here.  Jesus says, “The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works… the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these.”[3]  These works that Jesus is talking about are as intricately connected to the dwelling of the Father in the person of Jesus as they are to the Holy Spirit dwelling in us.  And, as such, these works take us beyond the ironic and the cool.  God the Holy Spirit participates in the movement of the whole Trinity – Father, Son and Spirit – abiding as One with each other even as the Holy Spirit abides in us.

 

The Holy Spirit, abiding in us, brings us into that same participation with the Trinity.  This participation is so tempting to tame down into soft light and warm feelings without drawing out any particular specificity.  But there are specifics to our participation in the Trinity – the power of God the Holy Spirit hands us over to Christ who renders us to a loving God.[4]  Again, this is to say that the Spirit who moves in us reverses even our most sincere efforts to do a good thing and often ends up doing something else entirely.

 

The Holy Spirit, handing us over to Christ makes us, as Paul says, “…heirs of Christ.”  Or, more simply put, makes us the church, making us One with Christ our Lord while allowing for the differences of language, voice, and gifts as it did that first moments of Pentecost.

 

The Holy Spirit, handing us over to Christ, means that we, the church, stand under the cross of Christ which reveals our need for Jesus even as that same Spirit picks us up, dusts us off and sends us out of our sheltered comfort for Kingdom work of which we may never see the import or outcome.

 

The Holy Spirit, handing us over to Christ, means that we, the church, participate in the power of God – this very same power that stood on the side of truth for you and the side of love for you even to death on the cross so that you might know the depth and magnitude of God’s love, and be drawn to faith, so that on this day, as on your last day, you are handed by the Holy Spirit over to Christ who renders you to a loving God.



[2] Romans 8:10

[3] John 14:10b, 12

[4] Justin Nickel, Pastor of Centenniel Lutheran Church, personal conversation, May 16, 2013.

 

John 18:1-19:42 “Think Again” [a sermon for Good Friday]

John 18:1-19:42 “Think Again”

March 29, 2013 – Caitlin Trussell

Augustana Lutheran Church, Denver, CO

 

Pick a spot, any spot, in Jesus’ crucifixion.  There are many places to sit, stand or lie down.  We can betray, deny, judge, rant, abandon or despair.  Go ahead, pick a spot, because those characters are us.  Those characters who run amok and rail against Jesus, ridicule him, or despair in his death are us.  The irony of being a part of this cast of characters is that the person who hangs on the cross is the precisely the one who saves us.  Jesus was tried, crucified, dead and buried.  In every way that the cross could be offensive, it does indeed offend.

 

It offends the sophisticated thought of modern people to think that the cross, and Jesus hanging there, was necessary or effective in any way.  That we even need saving offends our enlightened sensibilities.  That this appalling execution can change anything about real life seems at worst a massive deception and at best an utter folly.  And yet, alarmingly, and quite surprisingly, it does.  Jesus death on the cross changes everything.  Jesus insists, time and again in the gospel, that God and Jesus are one.  Jesus is in God and God is in Jesus.

 

Think on this for a moment.  How might God go about getting our attention?  What are all the ways in which that may have been possible?  God, at some point, needs to grab us in ways that we might have some shot at understanding.  God needs to speak in human terms.  When we hear of someone who dives into a raging river to save someone from drowning, saves that person but succumbs and dies in the flood waters, what are our first thoughts?  What kinds of things do we say to honor the soldier who returns again and again to the firefight to save fallen friends?  Wow!  Spectacular save!  How selfless!  And on and on goes the praise and adoration.  Earlier in the Gospel of John, Jesus says, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”  After all, how much more can be given?[1]

 

In the Gospel of John as a whole, and in this reading from John on this Good Friday, Jesus is aware and focused on the goal of bringing people back into relationship with God.  Somewhere along the way, as human creatures we lost our way.  Rather than living into the image of God we became much more interested in placing ourselves in the center of things and holding God to the outskirts, leaving us free to make God into whatever image we choose – distorting God.[2]  It is in that re-creation of God that we are separate from God, powerless to repair what has happened.  This separateness, this breach, this distance between us and God is called sin.  Out of that separateness, that breach, that distance, that sin, comes all the ways in which we hurt each other and ourselves; inflicting sins against each other, ourselves, and God.

 

The cross is God’s answer to all of that re-imagining of God that we are so wont to do. That re-imagining that leaves us separate from God.  Oh, so you think you know who God is?  Well, what about a God who hangs dead on a cross and needs to be buried in a tomb rather than use divine power over and against the very creatures whom God loves.  Jesus said, “When I am lifted up, I will draw all people to myself.”  Jesus on the cross simultaneously reveals the scope of divine power poured out to reveal the depth of divine love as we are drawn toward the God who saves us.  When the self-sacrificing love of God, given fully, is made known to you, when this message of divine love gets through to you, you are drawn by God back into relationship. [3]

 

With great intention, Jesus hangs on the cross.  And, in one of his final acts while still breathing, does something radical.  Jesus turns to his own mother and then to the beloved disciple and redefines their relationship with the cross in between them.  “‘Woman, here is your son…then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’”

 

Not only does Jesus draw us into relationship with God through the cross but Jesus redefines our relationship with each other at the foot of the cross – standing with the cross between us, Jesus intercedes for us on each other’s behalf.  Drawn back into the relationship with God our Father, Jesus the Christ turns us towards each other in new ways.  Here, at the cross, love is freely taken up for us and for the sake of the people standing next to us.  In the same moment we have everything to do with what happened at the cross and we have nothing to do with it.

 

We are, first and foremost, passive spectators who are being handed a radical realization of our powerlessness.  As people in and around the story of the crucifixion, we think we know what’s happening and that the power is ours to create the story.  It is our turn on this day to hear God say, “Think again.”

 


[1] Craig Koester, class notes, Luther Seminary: Gospel of John class: John’s Theology of the Cross.  December 1, 2010.  I am sincerely grateful for Dr. Koester’s faithful witness as a master of holding aspects of Jesus Christ’s life and work in formative tension.  His work is beautiful, articulate, and draws me more deeply into faith and love of Jesus.

[2] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Creation and Fall, (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2004), 113.  This is a great text for deepening into the theological reflection on the “The Fall” that breached God’s intention for the creature as imago dei, in the image of God.

[3] Koester, course notes, 12/1/2010.  For further study see: Craig R. Koester, The Word of Life: A Theology of John’s Gospel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008).

 

Luke 9:28-43a “Collapsing Time into Promise”

Luke 9:28-43a “Collapsing Time into Promise”

February 10, 2013 – Caitlin Trussell

Augustana Lutheran Church, Denver, CO

 

Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. 29 And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. 30 Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. 31 They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. 32 Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. 33 Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah”– not knowing what he said. 34 While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. 35 Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” 36 When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen. 37 On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. 38 Just then a man from the crowd shouted, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. 39 Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. 40 I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.” 41 Jesus answered, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here.” 42 While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. 43 And all were astounded at the greatness of God.

 

We tell time in all kinds of ways.  Some of us take that slightly sideways-downward glance at our wrists to check the watch that has been in the family for years – perhaps to see how much longer the preacher might go (while you think the preacher doesn’t notice).  Others of us whip out the latest cell-phone and touch a screen for the time to light up along with text messages clamoring for a response.  For others of us, time registers more physically – our eyes open, it’s time to get up; our stomachs growl, it’s time to eat.  Regardless of how we do it, we are creatures that tell time and respond to it.

We are also creatures who know how our time is to be spent.  Time is prioritized and reorganized, lost and found.  It is so a part of who we are and how we move through the world that there is very little challenging our assumptions about it.  And this is why I love church-time, otherwise known as liturgical time.   Churchy, liturgical time comes up against and pushes through the way we spend our days – pointing us in a different direction than the one that ordinarily grabs our focus.

The church year begins in advent with the paradox of apocalyptic prophecy and soft candlelight as we wait for the Christmas birth and revel in the 12 days post-partum.  Epiphany comes in on a star as the Christ-child is revealed to the magi and then Sunday after Sunday we bathe in Epiphany’s light, light and more light until we arrive here, this day, this Transfiguration-of-our-Lord day.  This day when the light becomes so bright that time bends around it, collapsing in on itself and bringing Moses, Elijah, and Jesus together on the mountaintop in a wild, Judeo-Christian Hall of Fame line-up.

This time-bending light show bends Peter’s brain.  He tries to think of the appropriate response, comes up with one, puts it out there and gets shut down.  His faithful exuberance doesn’t get him very far.  In fact he is silenced for the rest of the story.  Silenced like the chastised, mid-wave, Mile High super-fans of Peyton Manning.  Because what else can be meant by God’s emphatic command to, “Listen to Him,” other than a resounding, “Be Quiet!”  Although most likely the message here is stronger, something more a bit more emphatic than a blue and orange arm-flapping gesture!

This time-bending light show bends Peter’s brain – and perhaps in a similar way bends our minds as we are confronted by this text.  What was he, and what are we, to make of this shiny Jesus and his shiny friends?  The light show and the big three of Moses, Elijah and Jesus seem to say something about the Law and the Prophets and Jesus being the fulfillment of both of them.  They connect Jesus, and therefore us, through God’s work in the world before this moment and into the moment of now.  But if we simply stay in the time-bending moment on the mountaintop, we risk being disconnected from the point.

My Uncle Larry came out from Massachusetts for my ordination.  We talked a lot about a lot things, including my new call here at Augustana.  We had time for one more chat over a cup of coffee before he left Tuesday morning.  My uncle is wonderful at delivering meaningful messages.  And as he was encouraging me about my work here he remembered hearing President Lyndon Johnson once say, “You aren’t learning anything when you’re talking.”  Oh, sure, we could have fun challenging the statement, but in general there is some truth here.  If I want to increase the odds of learning about who you are and what you are about then some silence on my part would be a good place to start.

Peter could have used this lesson from my Uncle Larry before filling the air with this reaction and being silenced by God.  But he gets a lesson nonetheless.  This one is from Jesus.  God’s command to silence allows Peter to look and listen in a new way without being burdened by the content of his response to the time-bending on the mountaintop that bends his mind along with it.  After all, he is not left behind on the mountaintop in all of its dazzle and terror.

“On the next day,” Jesus and his disciples came down from the mountain.  They are met by a crowd and confronted by a desperate father who asks Jesus to heal his demon-possessed son.  And Jesus does.  Jesus looks evil in the eye and overwhelms it.  And I imagine his disciples standing in a circle around this scene saying, “Huh.”  Or maybe even a few of them, including Peter, James, and John, saying, “Ohhhhh…”

What the disciples don’t get to see at this point in the story is how Jesus does for us, for all of us, what he did for the boy with the demon.  This coming week, we’ll get together again on Ash Wednesday which drops us into six weeks of Lent reorienting us much the same way that the disciples were reoriented coming off of that mountain.  More churchy, time-keeping that comes up against and pushes through the way we spend our days – pointing us in a different direction than the one that ordinarily grabs our focus.

This past Wednesday, Pastor John and Malise de Bree, our Senior Ministry Evangelist, guided us through the funeral and interment of Bob Safe, a long-time friend and member of Augustana – a poignant moment of remembering his life and commending him to God, a time-bending moment where time stands still as we witness his ashes being placed into the ground right in front of us, just outside of this sanctuary, on the breath of our prayers and under the weight of God’s promise.

We stood together, forming a circle alongside his wife and children who miss him the most.  We stood there with the stunning bronze cross completing the circle on its north end and the burnished statue of Jesus in the middle of our circle looking at the cross.  And as we stood in vigil, time collapsed in on itself.

Time collapses because this is where the shiny Jesus and the cross meet in the fullness of the story – the dazzle of Jesus on the mountaintop shines it light toward the darkness of another hilltop where the truth of death is simultaneously revealed and overcome.

To stay in the dazzle of the mountaintop until the resurrection glory of Easter is tempting but doing so robs us of the fullness of Christ’s work in us and for us; Christ’s work in Bob Safe and for Bob Safe; and Christ’s work in you and for you.

So, today we dance in the dazzle as it illuminates the cross.

Today Christ’s shining light illuminates his promise in you and for you.

Thanks be to God!

 

 

Mark 9:30-37 “Money, Skepticism and Questions”

Mark 9:30-37 “Money, Skepticism and Questions”

September 23, 2012 – Caitlin Trussell

Lutheran Church of the Master, Lakewood, CO

Mark 9:30-37 30 They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; 31 for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” 32 But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. 33 Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” 34 But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. 35 He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” 36 Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, 37 “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

 

 

How many of us have ever had the experience of saying something that we wished we hadn’t?  That moment where your whole inside goes, “Ugh…”  So much so, that you can feel it in the pit of your stomach.  Yup, I’m pretty sure that this is an almost universal experience.  For me, because I tend toward the chatty side, it happens with frustrating regularity.  And it’s just here in our text today that the disciples do the opposite – they stay silent; not once, but twice!  First they are silent because they were afraid to ask Jesus to clear up their lack of understanding and then they stay silent because Jesus names their humanity when he calls them on their arguing.  Their “Ugh” moment doesn’t even get to include speaking.  It just sits there in the pit of their stomach probably getting heavier as they walk along – falling back a bit to begin that arguing with one another.

They begin their arguing right after Jesus makes this big speech about what’s going to happen to him.  He talks about being betrayed, his murder and resurrection.  I picture the disciples listening attentively, perhaps even giving a nod or two to show they are paying attention and following along.  And then, they drop back a bit, and what do they do as they follow Jesus?  Argue.  They don’t even argue about what Jesus might have meant by his predication.  They argue about being the greatest.  Maybe they really don’t get it, perhaps arguing about the greatest as they wonder who will take over the leadership when Jesus goes down.  And Jesus, well, because he’s Jesus, knows exactly what they are doing.

I like to think Jesus knows what they are doing because it is simply what we, as people, do.  We follow along behind Jesus, not really sure what to make of these big faith claims in Jesus’ predication and very often afraid or uncomfortable to ask about what Jesus’ death and resurrection might mean in our own lives.  So we turn to each other and we argue.  We argue about all kinds of things but often the subtext, the argument beneath the argument, is about who is the greatest.

One of the ways in which we argue about being the greatest has to do with money.  There are obvious ways we do this in American culture, especially in a political year when we argue about taxes and government spending.  But there are more subtle ways we argue about being the greatest when it comes to money.  This can be so subtle for us we don’t tend to think about it as part of the argument we’re having.  It takes shape in whispers as we move through the world in our designated social class based on our income.  But it includes all the ways in which we look to money to tell us who we are and what we’re about.  Not as a conscious thought, but we look nonetheless.

And, suddenly, like the disciples in Mark, we are following behind Jesus but not looking at Jesus.  We begin looking to each other as we come up with our arguments.  One of the classic arguments begins with a deep suspicion of the connection between money and the church.  You hear this in comments all the time, maybe even in your own comments, that sound like, “All the church wants in my money.”  And this suspicion has real roots.

We were joking the other night at this congregation’s church Council meeting abut how fun it might be to hold a tongue-in-cheek ‘Indulgence’ sale.  Indulgences, you may recall, were a 16th century church innovation that cashed in on people’s fear for their loved ones’ eternal doom so that church buildings could be completed.  Indulgences were sold with the marketing line, “When a coin in the coffer sings, a soul from purgatory springs.”  Indulgences were a key fuel in the fury of Martin Luther’s 95 Theses, his arguments against the corruption in the church.  So, even as we had fun with the idea, someone made the comment about taking extreme care with such an attempt.  Because even, and maybe especially, we as the church can just as easily as anyone else find ourselves following behind Jesus, confessing him Lord, while arguing amongst ourselves about the greatest.

This gets me back to thinking about the disciples’ silence when they don’t understand.  To my mind, the silence when people want to ask a question but don’t becomes a pregnant silence.  So, because we’d be here all day if people started shooting out questions, I’m asking that everyone take a slip of paper out of the seatback of the chair in front of you.  And for about a minute, think about what you would ask Jesus about money if you could ask absolutely anything, and write it down on the piece of paper.  This question is purely for you – no group sharing or hand raising will be requested.  This means you can send that editor that lives in your head out for a coffee break.  Okay, ready, set, think and write… … … … …

 

I invite you to consider your question to Jesus that you just wrote down as a prayer this week.  You can simply add it to your prayers.  Or you may discuss it with people.  Or think of the question from time-to-time during the week.  See what comes up for you either as possible answers or perhaps yet another question.

I invite you into this time of asking questions because Jesus has made all of us free to ‘fire away.”  Sitting here, with the whole Bible at our fingertips, we know how the story plays out.  And it is in his death and resurrection that we are made free from the fear that would stop our questions from pouring out.  So that when there are incomprehensible ideas and tension, such as disciples experience, we turn to following Jesus only to find that, with scarcely a glace from us, Jesus is already there.

 

 

 

Mark 13:24-37 “The Cross Echoes in Advent”

Mark 13:24-37 “The Cross Echoes in Advent”

November 27, 2011 – Caitlin Trussell

New Beginnings Church at Denver Women’s Correctional Facility

 

Mark 13:24-37 “But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, 25 and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. 26 Then they will see “the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. 27 Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. 28 “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. 29 So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. 30 Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. 31 Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away. 32 “But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. 33 Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. 34 It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. 35 Therefore, keep awake–for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, 36 or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. 37 And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

 

Tonight opens the season of advent.  Advent is the beginning of how we tell time in the church, it is the beginning of what we call the church year.  Advent is the four weeks before Christmas of waiting for the celebration of Christ’s birth – of the moment when God takes human form in a baby, in a person, who by word and action draws us into God.  And advent is waiting Christ to come again – looking ahead to God doing something, anything.[1]  In the act of waiting, space is created to pay attention to the here and now.  So the theme of advent is both good news and not such good news.[2]  When I say that I am waiting for the God to show up, I’m saying that, in this moment, I feel abandoned.  Our texts from Isaiah 64 and Psalm 80 are both cries for God’s presence during terrifying and anxious times.

Think for a moment about being a child – about having a wild imagination that swims in the wonder, mystery and fear of really scary things.  We hear our parents talking about things we have no hope of understanding.  Frightening things seem like they can happen to us at any time, any place.  And often do happen at any time, any place.  As kids we keep ourselves safe with good luck charms that ward off the threat of the imaginary boogie man as well as real threats of dark and scary places.  Think for a minute about how you did this as a child or how you even do this now.  What shape does the charm of hope and protection take…?

In our text today, Jesus is speaking about a really scary thing – an apocalyptic time that is volatile and tragic and terrifying.  So much so that when the text is read and the reading is closed by saying, “The Gospel of the Lord,” and the congregation replies, “Praise to you, O Christ,” that some of us might want to challenge each other and say “Really…this is gospel, this is the good news we need today? This is the message that inspires our praise as we head toward Christmas?!”  And, to that, I say, “YES!”  Jesus, through this good Word, gives us hope in the middle our hopelessness and points us in just the direction we should be looking and onto that which we should cling in our most troubled and anxious times.

Jesus says, “…you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn.”  As we begin telling time at the beginning of the church year, Jesus’ words are telling time for us.  What kind of time is he keeping?  What is he saying?  Evening…in a garden maybe, praying desperately, betrayed by a friend, arrested, hopeless. “…you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn.”  Midnight…cross-examined by the high priest, in the cross fire of false testimony, accused as a blasphemer, hopeless. “…you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn.”  Cockcrow, denied three times by a friend, hopeless. “…you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn.”  And dawn, condemned by Pontius Pilate, convicted by the crowed, a dead man walking, hopeless. “…you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn.”

Jesus says, “…the sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light.”  This sunless time that Jesus links with suffering, where does this echo in scripture for us… just two chapters past our text, Jesus hangs on the cross, hopelessness personified in the light of day and then suddenly, “When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon.”  Jesus, the Word made flesh, the son of God, God from God, light from light, hung in darkness, nakedness, hopelessness…dead.  The sun was darkened…and the moon gave no light.

As part of my seminary education to become a pastor I had to spend long blocks of time away from my husband and kids.  Last fall I moved up to Saint Paul, Minnesota to complete the last of those courses and I lived away from home for months.  Before I left, my husband was anxious, my son was anxious and my daughter was anxious.  I was doing my best to be a non-anxious presence but it wasn’t working out so well…well…because I was anxious!

We could argue all the reasons for my having to be away from my family – God’s call, necessity, church rules, costs/ benefits and maternal ego-trip.  We could argue a lot of things and believe me when I say that I argued them all.  Regardless, as it came closer to the time of having to go, I was determined to bless my children before I left.  I gave them each a journal to write down their thoughts to me, an inspirational bookmark to mark their page, candy to sweeten their days, handmade soap from our Colorado summer vacation to perfume their shower and treats for their brown-bag lunches.  All so that they could be assured that their mother loves them and remembers them daily.

At the bottom of their gift bag was the BIG GIFT.  It is called a Clinging Cross.  It is gnarled in shape so that it is cradled in the palm of the hand with the bars sticking out through the fingers.  I asked them to keep it under their pillows.  My daughter told me before I left that her big worry was that she would be lonely.

I gave it to them so that when they miss me, or feel sad, or feel angry, or feel lonely, they cling to the cross.  I told them both that God knows what sad and lonely are all about because the God that we believe in knows darkness and loneliness in the biggest way.  My son told me he fell asleep with the cross every night.  That’s a vision – my then 13-year-old clinging to the cross.

The cross is darkness, fear, loneliness, pain, betrayal, abusive power, oppression, hopelessness…and it is also apocalyptic revelation.  The cross tormented and violated Jesus’ humanity and Jesus’ words point us to that very cross as he shoulders the crosses in our lives too – we all hang or have hung on crosses or watch and suffer with others as they hang on their crosses.  Our crosses torment us.  They hurt us and they leave us feeling walled off from each other and from God.  But God says, “Not so fast…I’ve been there too …I who came in the form of a baby, who lived and walked the earth, who was put to death and who conquered death in rising again…I am God and I have the last word.”

God’s last word meets our hopelessness with hope.  “Our hope rests not in what we have done, nor can do, but in all that God is”, has done and is doing.[3] The cross of Christ names our fear for what it is.[4]  The cross also, at the same time, reveals the One who came under a star in skin and solidarity.  The One who holds our fear so that we might cling to him even as he is holds onto us.

The cross of Jesus Christ is the “meeting of darkness and light and the final victory of light.”[5]  As we cling to the humanity of Jesus on the cross, we cling also to the promise of Christ’s hope – the hope of all that God is yesterday in a living babe, today in a living Christ and tomorrow in an eternal God – the eternal God who turns a cross into resurrection and a baby in a manger into salvation for the world.  And so on the breath of the Spirit, as we cling to the cross waiting in the hope and light of Advent, we confess the mystery of our faith that Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again…. [6]

[sing to close] Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come, come again…

 



[1] Rolf Jacobson, WorkingPreacher.com, “Sermon Brainwave 206.” Lectionary Texts for November 27, 2011.  http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx

[2] Karoline Lewis, WorkingPreacher.com, “Sermon Brainwave 206.” Lectionary Texts for November 27, 2011.  http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx

[3] W. Dennis Tucher Jr., “Lectionary for November 27, 2011: Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19.”  http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx

[4] Frederick Buechner.  Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale (New York: Harper & Row, 1977), 17.

[5] Ibid., 90.

[6] Ibid., 91

[7] http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx

[8] The Living Pulpit magazine, check ATLA.

[9] Frederick Buechner.  Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale (New York: Harper & Row, 1977), 17.

Mark 9:9-13; Ezekiel 2:8-3:11; Ephesians 2:4-10 “Crossing the Beams”

Mark 9:9-13; Ezekiel 2:8-3:11; Ephesians 2:4-10 “Crossing the Beams”

September 21, 2011 (The Feast Day of St. Matthew) – Caitlin Trussell

Bishop’s Retreat for Metro South Conference, Rocky Mountain Synod

 

Mark 9:9-13 As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him. 10 And as he sat at dinner in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting with him and his disciples. 11 When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” 12 But when he heard this, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. 13 Go and learn what this means, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.”

 

The life that has taken shape for me out of seminary and not yet ordained has filled with unexpected and random connections with clergy types of various denominational and confessional stripes.  Not too long ago I had a meeting scheduled with one such person that I thought had a pretty clear and tame agenda.  When we met together, not one of those agenda items made it into the conversation.  This pastor was in such despair over the pastoral call, over the reason for it, for any of it.  The clear and repeated question was, “How is it that I am still called when I no longer feel confident about what I’m doing?”  And, of course, internship was all that was needed for me to respond perfectly…

Regardless of the qualifications of the listener, the pain and doubt about call spilling out of this pastor to a yet untried one speaks to how muffled the voice of God, the voice of call, can become in the static and blur of congregational life and in the wider life of the culture in which we sit.  So, it is fitting that we gather as colleagues and holy friends late in evening on the feast day of St. Matthew.  And listen in as a tax collector at a table was called by Jesus.

We can read between the lines here too.  Of course Matthew, being called from his current field of tax work, also spoke fluently in 5 languages, had his double-major undergrad in philosophy and comparative literature, an MBA, a Masters in Marriage and Family Counseling, doctorates in hermeneutics, leadership, political science and international studies and an MDiv just to round it all out and be super ready to work for Jesus.  This sounds as ridiculous as it felt to write it.  But how much of the wild expectations that are placed on pastors and that pastors place on themselves emerge from more subtle, but just as ridiculous, expectations.  Expectations that are disembodied from the cross of Christ, disconnected from the call of the gospel, that wear away the sense of call like water on stone until the heart of the stone is washed away.

I’d like to do dangerous thing here and cross the beams of Ezekiel and Matthew.  (You can chew me out later.)  Ezekiel was called by God into the social-political chaos of Babylonian invasion and relocation.  Matthew was called by Jesus into the social-political dust kicked up by Roman occupation.  Ezekiel eats a scroll from the Lord that is as sweet as honey and then speaks a word from the Lord.  Matthew sits and eats in his own house with Jesus and then follows Jesus.  Ezekiel is called to speak a word.  Matthew is called to follow and eat.

These calls from the Lord to our ancestors in the faith echo into this room, into this time and place, into the socio-political chaos of our changing world and emerge out of socio-political dust kicked up by both people and nature from small to grand scale.  The calls leave us with questions like, “Why us?  Why are these barriers in the call seem so great, so painful?  Why me?  Why now?”  While the calls may be different, they are also not so much different.  God still calls for some to speak and God still calls for some to set the table.  Calling with a word and sending with the Word – placing us in sacred space with holy friends who can hold our despair and our joy, our deaths and our lives, our crosses into new life.

And through all these, what remains at the end of the day, at the end of today, is this…the call of the Gospel revealed in Jesus Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit, the call that releases you from death into life, through which all other calls to vocation are revealed, nurtured and strengthened… “But God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us 5 even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ– by grace you have been saved– 6 and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, 7 so that in the ages to come he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. 8 For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.”

 

 

 

 

 

John 20:19-31 “Locked by Fear; Sent in Peace”

John 20:19-31 “Locked by Fear; Sent in Peace”

April 29, 2011 – Caitlin Trussell

New Beginnings Church at Denver Women’s Correctional Facility

 

John 20:19-31  When 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.” 20 After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. 21 Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” 22 When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. 23 If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” 24 But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. 25 So 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.” 26 A 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.” 27 Then 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.” 28 Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” 29 Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” 30 Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. 31 But 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.

 

 

Think for a second about fear.  Fear as you’ve experienced it in your own life.  What does it feel like to be afraid?  What does it smell like to be afraid?   What does it taste like?

Let’s recap the last three days of the disciples’ lives to this point.  One of their own, their friend and fellow disciple Judas, sold out Jesus to the religious leaders and then to the Roman police.  Peter lies about knowing Jesus, betrays him three times, to save his own skin.  The rest of them are nowhere to be found as Jesus dies by execution on a cross.  The air is so thick with the smell of fear for their own lives over the last three days that their stomachs are tight and turning over with nausea, leaving a sour taste in their mouths and no appetite for food.  Their shame over their desertion of their friend and leader keeps them up at night, leaving them totally wiped out and with hands that constantly have the shakes.  They are in bad shape.  And now, afraid that their deaths are next, they are locked in a room – locked in a room in fear, locked up tight in shame.

Fear rules this whole story of Jesus ending up on the cross.  The religious leaders were afraid of all that wild life-giving that Jesus was doing – giving sight to the man born blind, raising Lazarus from the dead.  The Roman government was afraid of all that wild freedom that Jesus was going on and on about.  Everyone so afraid of what Jesus was doing that they thought killing him would solve the problem of Jesus.

And fear lands the followers of Jesus in a locked room.  “…and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear.”

And Jesus shows up.  After all that’s happened, after the weakness of the disciples and the torture on the cross, Jesus shows up.  Take note, it is NOT their faithfulness that lures Jesus to them.  And not only does he show up, he shows up with the wounds inflicted by the fear, anger and fragile egos of everyone else.

Jesus doesn’t criticize their fear and doubt but he meets it with himself.  He gets it.  He just died through it.  And death did not have the last word.  Jesus shows up in his wounded, resurrected body offering words of peace – “Peace be with you” he says.  And he doesn’t say this in a touchy-feely, stars and flowers kind of way.  He says this after the ordeal of the cross.  He knows what’s possible in the face of fear.  And he brings this peace to the disciples who are sent from that room to enter the same reality that they were hiding from.  The world around them has not magically changed since Jesus visited.  So what did?

Jesus is not blind.  Jesus sees who we are, the fear that controls our being, and Jesus moves to where we are just as Jesus went into that locked room with the disciples.  We do not surprise Jesus with our actions and, more importantly, our actions, with or without faith, do not determine Jesus’ love for us.

The wounds from cross are where Jesus connects into our own lives – in the fearful, hurt and dark places where crosses stab us, cause pain and bring death.  And then, in the midst of all that, Jesus says, “Not so fast – death and pain do not have the last word…by my life-giving life, by my death on the cross and by the Spirit’s power that raised me to life again, God connects you back into God.”

Today, here and now, that is the promise that is for you.  God’s love and God’s amazing grace are unleashed through the Spirit of the risen and wounded Jesus and God’s love, God’s amazing grace, meets you where you are, forgives you of all your sins and sends you out in peace.