The Baptism of OCS—a BFD

I preached this sermon to Rick and all the other good people of Spirit of Joy Lutheran Church in Fort Collins, CO on the occasion of my bestie niece Olivia Clare's baptism.
---

Grace and peace from God our Creator, Hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

Good morning! It is such a privilege to be here with you. Full disclosure: I’m a brand new pastor. My ordination to the ministry of Word and Sacrament in the ELCA was just a couple months ago.

A thing I have learned very quickly is that most of my colleagues are introverts, but have to function as extroverts in the job—I am already an extrovert, so I usually come on pretty strong in the guest pulpit. My favorite task of my job is preaching—pretty related, my favorite task of being a human is talking—and so when Pastor Woody invited us to participate in the liturgy I replied to the email (first) saying “Sure! I’ll preach!”

Later, I looked at the texts.

In Ecclesiastes, King Solomon proclaims “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity!” In his letter to the Colossians we have a classic list from the Apostle Paul about everything that’s wrong with us. And in this morning’s gospel, God says, “You fool!” To the rich man. Perfect!

Our narrator in Ecclesiastes may seem like a downer. “I hated all my toil in which I had toiled under the sun,” he says, “so I turned and gave my heart up to despair.” Splendid!

And from Paul: “The wrath of God is coming on those who are disobedient.” Encouraging!

And in the parable from Jesus, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kind of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions...You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you.” No worries!

These texts are challenging. These are texts it’s really easy to shrug off as ancient and out-of-context and inapplicable to our communities and our realities. But, are they?

The parable from Jesus this morning is particularly interesting to me. A man has asked Jesus to convince the man’s brother to share their inheritance fairly. We don’t get a lot of clues as to what that family drama is about, but we have all probably prayed that Jesus would set right the person who disagrees with us.

But for some reason, Jesus does not arbitrate this, but instead tells a story. In it, a rich man has too much, he cannot even store it all. Rather than share in his abundance, he has his barns torn down and larger ones built. Self-satisfied, he relaxes, knowing he will always have more than enough for himself.

On one hand, this sounds like a very responsible and conservative retirement savings plan. But what Jesus is reminding the crowd--and us--is that old saying, “you can’t take it with you.” When this rich man dies, what good will his riches be? When he decided to build larger storehouses, did he first consider how he might share his abundance with his family? With his community?

How has his wealth affected those in his neighborhood?

Is he prosperous only on the backs of his laborers?

Who do you think harvested those crops and built those barns?

Does he pay a living wage?

Provide health insurance? Adequate vacation? Paid family leave?

Does he invest his profits in his community, ensuring a good quality of life for his neighbors?

No, it would seem. Instead, he has succumbed to the idolatry of comfort, the slippery slope of greed.

The rich fool in this parable is not alone. Here in the United States, the majority of our citizens live in greater luxury than any other country on earth. But that’s not saying a whole lot.

Our desire for more and more and more has made beloved children of God around the globe survive on less and less and less. Like this rich fool, we have come to assume that we alone have garnered our wealth and we alone are deserving of its use. And we can never be satisfied.

Ecclesiastes calls this same vanity into question. “What do mortals get from all the toil and strain with which they toil under the sun? For all their days are full of pain, and their work is a vexation; even at night their minds do not rest (2:22-23).” Theologian Grace Ji-Sun Kim comments: “The West has become so individualistic that many of us have forgotten about community and have lost a sense of social responsibility to one another. Instead, we work so diligently to fill the void of our one greed and lust that we fail to understand that what we do will affect others. We quest for money and status, which is meaningless at the end of life.” [1] And this greed is not just manifest in having the biggest barns.

We are embroiled in wars and armed conflicts around the globe. Climate change threatens the lives and livelihoods of billions of people. Politicians in this country and others are spreading fear, proposing policy based in racism, xenophobia, ableism, sexism, and heterosexism—not to mention “anger, wrath, malice, slander, abusive language, impurity, evil desire, and greed (which is idolatry)." I do not need to explain to a room full of Coloradans that gun violence is tearing our communities apart. It is easy to turn and give our hearts up to despair.

Thanks be to God, my dear friends, that there is another way.

This morning, like any given Sunday, we are gathered together to celebrate new life in Jesus the Christ. In this new life, Paul has written, “there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free.” Our divisions, borders, and exclusions fall away. Truth, justice, love, compassion, kindness, joy, freedom, hope, and peace abound in this new life. And today, we are blessed to bear witness to the newest kind of new life—baptism.

If you haven't already been told, I met Kelsey Sprowell in seminary, as well as Pastor Amanda and Pastor Eric over there. Spring semester of our first year, we took a class about the sacraments, and practiced standing up at an altar and saying the right words and knowing where to put our hands. Inasmuch as this was going to be pretty fun, it also had to happen on a Saturday morning, outside of our regularly scheduled class time, and so some of us whined. I made the mistake of whining about it to Kelsey, who shot back, wide-eyed, “You get to practice BAPTISM! That’s a REALLY BIG DEAL!” You were right, Kels. As usual.

Baptism is a really big deal. This morning, it is our duty and our joy to gather at the font with Olivia Clare Sprowell, fresh-faced member of the family of God. I learned on Friday night, around the dinner table, that Kelsey Lynn Schleusener Sprowell was the first baby baptized here at Spirit of Joy, in December of 1984! The family of God, indeed.

You, Spirit of Joy Lutheran Church; you, Schleuseners and Sprowells and such; you, body of Christ; you have the honor, privilege, and responsibility to welcome this and every child of God into your midst.

In the liturgy of baptism, you will promise to support Olivia and pray for her in her new life in Christ. Olivia’s presence in this room and in the world is a fulfillment of God’s promise to always make things new. In order to keep up your side of this covenant, you must make sure that Olivia knows what her role is in the community and in the coming kingdom of God. It is your honor, privilege, and responsibility to make the world a better place for her and alongside her.

Her baptism into the family of God is your chance to affirm yours. Believe me when I tell you that you are beloved, dear ones. There is nothing that separates you from the love of God, no matter what anyone may have every told you to the contrary.

The world we have made for ourselves can be scary, I know. It can be so easy to see only scarcity and terror instead of abundance and hope. It can be so easy to put up walls instead of opening doors. But for the sake of Olivia’s shining face, you mustn't.

As witnesses to Olivia’s baptism, it is your honor, privilege, and responsibility to teach her—and remind each other—that all are welcome in this place. That God loves each and every one of us, not in spite of but because of our genders, races, abilities, and beliefs. That she is and that everyone is an equal member of the body of Christ. You have the rest of her life to show her the love of God, and—if you haven't already—you get to start today.

Thanks be to God!

---

Lost and found and lost and...

This is me, fourish years ago, during my first year of seminary:

I'm at the Albatross--our walkable bar--with my friend and classmate Sara. I weighed 233 pounds the week this photograph was taken. Look at that face. If you can tear yourself away from the fact that my tank top will not contain that torso (those boobs). Did I say that out loud? Technically I typed it.

This is me, a yearish ago, about to start my fourth year of seminary:


We're at the wedding of our dear friends Gretchen and Jill. I weighed 171 pounds the week this photograph was taken. We're looking at adorable baby Gabe, but you're looking at my surprisingly small waist and great shoulders, am I right? 

This is me, a few months ago, just before graduating from seminary:


We're celebrating/lamenting everything that comes with graduating and moving and getting jobs (or not). I've weighed between 176 and 184 pounds in the weeks since this photograph was taken. A couple of weeks ago it was 177, this week it was 181. Most weeks I don't weigh in. The weight is going to go and come and go and come. That's life.

Why am I posting about this now? I hit the 50lb loss mark almost 18 months ago, and I've been hovering in the vicinity of that pretty much since then. Some weeks, I go to the gym every other day and I kick ass and take names and love myself and everyone else. Other weeks, I drink a lot of wine and bake more than one batch of cookies and think more about the blob (that's what I call my fat, because I'm hilarious and terrible). My mom made her world-famous (people who moved to other nations have eaten it, so, technically!) macaroni and cheese a few nights ago, at my request, because it is so freaking delicious. In the leftovers that I've had each day since then (that's what's up) I've cut up some kale and thrown it in there, so I can feel better about consuming it. 

It was tonight, as I was pouring a glass of wine and looking at the cookie jar, that I thought UGH Kloehn you haven't been to the gym enough this week what are you doing? Do you really think throwing some kale in that mac and cheese makes it okay? 

But then I though about Kelsey and Jocelyn. Kelsey and Jocelyn are two (out of three) women I'd identify as my best friends on the planet. When it comes to health and happiness, these two are bursting with both. They run marathons, bike centuries, verb triathlons, mix margaritas, bake cookies, inhale avocados, and love me to death. Their moral support was unmatched during my "I JUST WANT TO EAT ALL THE OREOS" phase(s). They also helped me tremendously when I needed stretches for my newly sore muscles and opinions on the new dresses I could fit in. They're the best.

Before them, before this whole adventure, I would have believed that you could lose weight by eating one salad, and gain weight by eating one cupcake. I would never have considered throwing a handful of kale into my mac and cheese--although living in Berkeley may have as much to do with that as being friends with Kels and Joce. I would have believed that it wasn't possible to feel beautiful and fun and full and healthy and energetic and thin and awesome all in one moment! There are many moments where I don't feel great. I'm writing this post because right now is one of those days, and I need this reminder. I need to look at those photographs to see where I've been and know where I am and see where I can still go. 

I have love and support from Kelsey and Jocelyn and all the other loves of my life. I have parents who schedule dinners around Zumba classes; and a boyfriend who loves to eat cookies for breakfast before a hike; and a brother who's a dietitian; and friends who walk to the gym with me, then meet up for a pitcher of beer after dinner; and you, all of you, who love me all the while. Thank you, for who you've been. Thank you, for who you've made me. 

Publicly Accountable Note-to-Self

Hi. A few stories, confessions, and revelations and stuff to put on "paper" for when I forget my commitments.

In high school, I was like "I want to be a youth director" because I loved BLCYM and Jonathan (our youth director) and so, naturally, wanted to keep that forever. It's where I met my best friend, and so obviously it was the best thing out there. Typical.

Then, sophomore year of college, I met the CLU Campus Ministry, and the CLU Religion Department, (and then the Secular Student Alliance the next year) and the world of interfaith dialogue swept me off my feet. Somehow, I forgot about the life of youth ministry I'd loved. Going to seminary for the express purpose of cruising on to a PhD and being a professor and activist and all-around brainiac took center-stage. With it, the idea of parish ministry and youth, in particular, got shunted to the back burner as "less than" my newfound academic pursuits. That kind of thing was for people without higher education, I'm sure I said.

The first two years of seminary kept this ball rolling pretty hard. School is basically my favorite place, y'all, and the idea of staying there forever, reading and writing about the world seemed like the ultimate life. Being in the Bay Area, the crossover between academia and activism is pretty easy. One week, for one class, our homework was to attend an Occupy protest and write a theological reflection about it. I mean, really. Hashtag Berkeley.

And every time a fourth-year said something about, "well, once you've done internship," I just rolled my eyes for hours about how out-of-touch with reality parish ministry had to be, compared to my awesome worldview and stuff. I am so ridiculous sometimes, you guys.

The first few months of internship, I fought tooth and nail to make it reinforce my ideas. I was like "yep this proves this life isn't for me" every time something wasn't the coolest or the most academic or the most liberal or whatever. I AM LITERALLY INSUFFERABLE.

I'm a week away from completing my internship, as I write this. My project (a required part of the intern year) was helping to articulate a budding ministry of advocacy. We met with a cool guy named Brad, the Rocky Mountain Synod's advocacy director for the state of Colorado, who helped us figure out how to be in relationship with our legislators. We met monthly to learn and plan; we attended a legislative prayer breakfast; we attended Faith Advocacy Day for Colorado; I attended Ecumenical Advocacy Days, a long-weekend event in DC; I preached about being advocates for justice; we watched documentaries; we wrote our legislators; we encouraged the congregation to have opinions about things like the death penalty and other issues of criminal justice reform. It RULED.

Simultaneously, in the last 11 months, I have gone on two weekend retreats and two week-long trips (one service, one camp) with the high school and middle school youth here at Holy Trinity. We also had a girls' overnight for Dia de los Muertos, and I taught confirmation once, and I often hung out with the high school kids during their Sunday morning education hour, and I'm the captain (lol) of our "HTLC Heroes" team that's hitting up the ColorVibe 5K this Saturday. They're so cool.

And not only are they so cool, but the camp staff that I met on our trip to Joplin and our week at confirmation camp were so cool. I forgot to mention how much eye rolling I did in college and up until a month ago with regards to camp. Sorry to those I love deeply (in particular Ben and Kelsey) who love camp deeply -- I don't know if you even knew I was such an ass.

And I read Eboo Patel's book Acts of Faith, and dove headlong back into thinking that the way to change the world is through young people. And, especially, by having important conversations and interfaith conversations and serving together and advocating together. That it's definitely important to foster advocacy among adults, but that the damage future generations could do to each other will be much more easily avoided if our young people don't grow up in a world of ignorance and misunderstanding and hate, in the first place. And somehow in the mix I encountered and entered the 99 Collective, a group of young adults who are committed to transforming the world through young people, through the church. Who'da thunk.

So, now, as I go forth into the world in peace, back to my academic Berkeley life for my final year of seminary classes, I'm making some out-loud commitments.

I'm registered for classes that I think will make me a better pastor, advocate, ecumenical and interfaith partner, and innovator in what I see as the future of the Church. And I'm hoping that by putting these words out to you, that, round-a-bout February, when you see me forget myself and roll my eyes about something someone says about youth ministry, that you slap me upside the head and make me read this whole post out loud.

And, after all of that, when I graduate in May, I'm moving to DC because that's where I think the action I want in on is taking place, right now. And I sure hope that the bishop of the Metro DC synod wants to call me--even though what I'm looking for in a call is a little more than the plug-and-play into and existing situation that we see throughout the ELCA. I'm hoping to be multi-vocational, and I'm hoping to help bridge the gap between the church and the rest of the world. I want to be an advocate, and I want to effect change in the lives of young people, and I want to do it from the pulpit, and the hospital room, and other houses of worship, and the steps of the capitol, and the university campus. And maybe even from summer camp.

Because writing a paper full of "the answers" is cool and all, but actually being with people is probably significantly more effective. And follows a lot better in the footsteps of our main man, Jesus. Which, after all, is kind of what I signed up to do three years ago.

Don't let me forget it.