I am convinced.

I preached this sermon at a Lenten mid-week gathering of the two Lutheran congregations in Davis. The scripture for this evening was Romans 8:38-39. I also had the opportunity to cantor Holden Evening Prayer, which you may know is an all-time fave.

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It is a joy to be together with other Lutherans in this season of Lent. We don’t always talk about joy during Lent, as we are very dedicated to our dour faces of fasting. Couple that with finals week, and this rain interrupting our first day of spring...it’s a good thing we’re here together because otherwise, our joy would be far off.

I don’t normally preach during finals week, as our students are buried in books or already on their way home for spring break. The opportunity to gather with our wider community is a delight, and I am particularly delighted by the scripture that was chosen for this week. It is a small slice of a long letter, but it is, perhaps, the best part.

Let’s take a step back. This letter, written by the Apostle Paul—one of the undisputed letters, even—is one of the densest books of the New Testament. That’s part of why we could grab this two-sentence pericope and have so much to say! This book is full of “church words” like justification, salvation, obedience, apostleship, righteousness...Paul did not have the spiritual gift of concision.

Reading this letter can be stressful, because it seems impossible for us to maintain the level of perfection that Paul is describing. There are paragraphs on paragraphs about whether we’re following the law or not, whether we’re practicing what we preach, whether we’re wicked or righteous.

I am grateful, in times like these, to be a Lutheran, and know that while our conduct is crucial—no cheap grace around here—we are not wicked OR righteous, but always both/and. We are simultaneously saints AND sinners. So as we read this letter, with its condemnations and proscriptions, we can also read its assurances and blessings. Thanks be to God!

Our snippet of this letter for tonight is verses 38 and 39, but it helps me understand a bit better if we start a few verses sooner. In verse 35, it is written: “Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?” This is important, because the people Paul is writing to are experiencing these things. These are real concerns, not hypothetical wonderings about future potentialities.

These communities in Rome were Jewish and Gentile Christians, and a few years before the writing of this letter, Jews and some Jewish Christians had been expelled from Rome.

The recipients of this letter would be nodding along, remembering their own friends and family members who had been or were currently experiencing hardship, distress, and persecution.

They were, perhaps, being separated from their families. They were, perhaps, being imprisoned. They were, perhaps, being tortured. They were, certainly, afraid. They knew that these things could separate them from their loved ones, from their livelihoods, from the safety of their communities. And Paul senses that they have likely begun to wonder if these things are also separating them from God.

Is God still with them? Is God still with them, as they are separated from one another? Is God still with them, as they suffer? Is their suffering proof that God is absent?

When we look at our own suffering, we may also feel this way. We may not be in “peril” in this same way, but we may be. Those of us who are part of marginalized and minoritized groups live under threat of violence. Christians, in this country, are not being persecuted for our faith—despite what some Christians may claim—and are, in fact, more likely to be doing the persecuting.

Our siblings—like the Muslim community in New Zealand and right here in Davis; like the LGBTQIA+ communities around the world and in our community; like the refugees and migrants being detained at our borders; like the black and brown Americans being killed unjustly; like people with disabilities or chronic illnesses who cannot access the healthcare they need to survive—our siblings are in peril.

I do not know each and every one of you, so I do not know to which of these groups you, yourself, may belong. These instances of hardship and distress, sometimes intersecting and compounding, may be just the tip of the iceberg of our suffering. We may suffer at the hands of others, and we may suffer internally.

Are you anxious about your final exams or your work deadlines?

Are you going through a breakup, divorce, or other tumultuous relationship?

Are you grieving the death or the impending death of a loved one?

Are you struggling to care for your children, or struggling to be pregnant?

Are you sick, or lonely, or depressed?

Are you unsure about what’s next in this season of your life?

Dear friends in Christ, I have good news for you: God is with you.

This is one of the very few things I know to be capital-t-True. God is with you. The God who created you, fearfully and wonderfully, perfectly and preciously, loves you deeply. God loves you as you are, here in this room right now. God is with you. God is with you in your joy and in your sorrow and in everything in between. There is nowhere that you go that God does not. There is nothing that you have done, are doing, or will do in your life that will send God away from you. God seeks your repentance, your turning toward God and toward wholeness. God is with you.

And so I am convinced, just as the Apostle Paul was “convinced, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39).

Anything! (I can list more things, if you want.)

I said earlier that this was the best part of this letter. I have loved these verses for a very long time. I have recited these verses over the phone and in person to friends, family members, colleagues, students, and probably strangers. I recited this list to a sibling who was convinced that their queerness separated them from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord; I recited this list to a congregation who was convinced that my femaleness separated me from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord; I recited this list to a student who was convinced that their uncertainty separated them from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord; this list was recited to me by a dear colleague and friend when I was convinced that something could separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

You may feel that I am belaboring the point, now, but I am not sure that you are convinced. You may be looking at this list of things that do not separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord, and you may think you’ve got the exception. These things, sure, but your thing? That’s the thing that separates you from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. It is my duty and my joy to tell you that you’re wrong. You might not be convinced today—or maybe you’re convinced today, but perhaps tomorrow you won’t be—and that’s okay.

The beauty of life in Christian community is that one of the ways that God is with us is in one another. When our burden is too much, our community can share it. When we are feeling light, we can help to bear someone else’s weight. And when we are not convinced, we can seek assurance in one another’s faith.

You may not be convinced of every word of this passage, but if you’re convinced of some of the words, and the person next to you is convinced of some of the other words, and the person next to them is convinced of some of the other words, we’re covered.  We’re in this together, friends. And so we’re going to do a little audience participation. We’re going to say this together, out loud. Ready?

(Dear online reader: please read this out loud to yourself, now.)

“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Amen!

You Will Die, Beloved—A Sermon on Ash Wednesday

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.

Here we are again, Ash Wednesday. For several hundred years now, Christians have been marking this season with fasting, sackcloth, and ashes, practices our Jewish siblings undertook for thousands of years before. This first of 40 holy days, leading to Easter, is a time for reflection, renewal, and repentance. You’re invited, as you feel moved, to mark this season on a daily basis or a weekly basis with something old or new. With prayer, learning, and listening. But first, we’re going to talk about death.

As you’ve noticed already from the words we’ve said together, and as you’ll notice as we continue, Ash Wednesday is a day of remembering our mortality. We live in a death-denying world full of death. If you access news on any given day, you will hear about death somewhere in the world, or impending doom somewhere in the world. It’s a big world. Ash Wednesday does not exist to rain down more horror on your already harried soul. It’s an attempt to reframe our relationship to our own guaranteed deaths.

If you’ve participated in Ash Wednesday before, you know that you will soon have the opportunity to receive ashes mixed with oil in the shape of a cross on your forehead.

As each person receives these ashes, I will say “remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Your baptism, perhaps many years ago now, also included a cross on your forehead, made with oil, without ashes. A pastor or priest probably said that you were “sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.” In your baptism, you were ceremonially introduced to the Christian life, welcomed into the family of God. Today, we bring your life’s beginning and your life’s eventual ending full circle into one sacred moment.

You were born beloved, you will die beloved.

You may not hear that as good news, because you may be young and you may be healthy, but it is one of best things I know to be true. God loves you. God created you just as you are, perfect and holy and full of life. And God created you mortal; you will, like all of God’s beloved creatures, die.

On this holy day, we are simply going to notice that. We are not going to lament our eventual deaths, we are not going to prevent our eventual deaths, and we are not going to lie about our eventual deaths. We are simply going to sit.

This, dear ones, is a radical act. Our world is full of more people now than have ever lived and died—can you even conceive of such a number?—and we are caught up, constantly, in trying to evade death. We have anti-aging face creams, and we have cosmetic surgery, and we have vitamins and supplements and crash diets and all manner of strategies for lying to ourselves.

But not tonight. Tonight, we have ashes and oil, and we have bread and wine. Tonight, we will remember that we are dust, and remember that Jesus lived and died.

Tomorrow, we will begin our season of presence and practice. Throughout the season of Lent, we have the opportunity to notice the presence of God in our lives more acutely—not because God is more present but because we are more present.

Starting next Tuesday, you can try a new thing for this season by saying Morning Prayer with Emily at 8:30am. It’s not a thing you usually do, I know, and that’s part of why you’re invited to do it. How might your day be shaped if you started it with 20 minutes of praying, reading, and listening? If you have class or work at that time, or really just cannot bear to be here that early in the morning—which I do not hold against you for even one minute—what other way might you mark these six weeks? If you joined us for rosary-making on Monday, you can practice using that. If you didn’t, we have extras and you can borrow one any time; we can teach you how it works.

Maybe, for the next 40 days, you’ll start your day with reading or journaling or music, instead of scrolling on Instagram before dragging yourself out of bed. Maybe you’ll end your day with reading or journaling or music instead of scrolling on Instagram until you fall asleep.

Maybe you’ll go for some walks in the arboretum, if it’s not raining. Maybe you’ll learn to cook some new recipes at home. Maybe you’ll notice the time you spend each day doing things you don’t want to be doing—whatever those are—and you’ll try replacing those things with things that make you feel whole, and peaceful, and good.

You may have grown up in a church community that focused heavily on Lenten fasting, or perhaps not. If you did, and if this season calls to mind shame and scarcity, I hope you will enter this season this year with a clean slate. The practice of sacrifice, of “giving up” something for this season, has perhaps done more harm than good to us, in our modern American culture, in particular.

These 40 days are not an exercise in perfectionism. These 40 days are not a do-over on a new year’s resolution diet. These 40 days can be an exercise in shedding that which causes us pain and harm, and putting on that which brings us hope and peace and freedom. Because the God who loves you, dear ones, desires your devotion, not your depletion.

Whatever practices you might add, whatever activities you might drop, the goal is closeness to God. The goal is to get rid of all the stuff that gets in the way. It is important, as we routinely confess, to “repent of the evil that enslaves us, the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf.”

Lent is a time for recognizing where we have sinned, and committing ourselves to knowing better and doing better. The goal is a change of heart, perhaps visible only to you. Our scripture tonight is somewhat ironic, as it chides us, “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them,” on the day where we are literally wearing our piety on our faces.

Please do not worry about creating Lenten content for your Facebook friends to consume; “But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your [God] who is in secret; and your [God] who sees in secret will reward you.” These 40 days are yours, dear ones. Repent when you have caused harm to others, and turn and face your God, who loves you.

You were born beloved, you will die beloved. Thanks be to God.

We Can Do Hard Things—A Sermon on Loving Your Enemies

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.

We’re going to do a quick church history lesson. Have you noticed, throughout your life, that the date of Easter moves every year? In 2018, it was on April 1st. This year, it’s on April 21st. Next year, it will be on April 12th. Do you know how the date of Easter is calculated? It’s the first Sunday after the first full moon occuring on or after the vernal equinox. Got that? This was decided by the council of Nicea, a group of men who gathered in 325CE to make a lot of important decisions.

Do you also remember that the lectionary—the set of texts that we read each week—is on a three-year cycle? The goal being that, over time, we’ll tell all the stories, without getting too bored of the same exact thing.

Today, we’re marking the seventh week after the Epiphany, in year C, the third year of that three-year cycle. The most weeks between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday that we could celebrate is nine; the fewest is two or three, depending on how you count. Most of the time, we have around five.

Why am I telling you this? Well, because we haven’t had a seventh week after the Epiphany in a year C since 2004, which means that no one (who uses the Revised Common Lectionary) has preached on this Gospel since 2004, which means that, since you were perhaps a child in 2004, this might be the first sermon you’ve ever heard on Luke 6:27-38. Now, there may have been other circumstances in which you’ve encountered these verses—like a bible study you were part of.

But isn’t that interesting? These end-of-season stories are rarer, and depend on the trick of the calendar. Maybe that’s not interesting to you, but it was interesting to me, and made me think differently about how I approached this sermon. It might be another 15 years before you hear it again! I want to be sure we’re doing it justice—and learning a little bit about how the historical church decided what we get to learn about, together.

So, to this rare text we go! Do you remember last week, how Jesus was preaching a sermon, and preached about blessings and woes? This is the second part of that sermon. He’s still talking to his gathered disciples and followers and friends, and he’s still trying to impress upon them the capital-t-Truths of the kingdom of God.

These statements are less matter-of-fact and more suggestions, it seems. Rather than “blessed are you when…” each sentence is an instruction: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt” (Luke 6:27b-29).

This is the basis of a significant amount of Christian non-violence. Jesus did not respond to violence with violence, and so neither did the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King or other participants in his branch of the Civil Rights Movement. There are many pacifist Christian traditions that cite these same words from Jesus. In a world full of violence, it is counter-cultural to respond to that violence with its opposite—justice, peace, love, kindness, mercy, forgiveness. Once again, Jesus invites us into an alternative way of being in the world.

This may seem sort of par for the course, right? Like, Jesus is always telling us to do hard things, and we just sort of lump them all into “be a good person” and leave it there. But let’s do something kind of uncomfortable for a minute. No need to say anything out loud, but please think for a moment about your enemies.

Who are your enemies?

Who hates you?

Who do you reluctantly admit that you hate?

I told you it was going to be uncomfortable. It doesn’t have to be a single human person, because perhaps you don’t have an arch-nemesis because you are not a superhero. It could be a genre of people. An institution. A system.

When Jesus was preaching this sermon, the people he was with had a lot of enemies. This is hard for us, as 21st century Christians, to really grasp what it is like to be a hated religious minority. These people were living in an occupied territory where everything about them was under someone else’s control, and they were choosing to join Jesus and openly defy the powers that be. These people did not have to think very hard to come up with a list of people who hated them, cursed them, and abused them.

All the more controversial, then, for Jesus to say “love your enemies” to these people, right!? If you are routinely marginalized, oppressed, and otherwise harmed by the society you live in, how would it feel to hear “love your enemies” and “pray for those who abuse you” coming out of the mouth of your teacher and leader? Following Jesus is rarely easy.

Before we go any further, I have to clarify. I do not mean to insinuate that everyone who is different from you is your “enemy.” Our diversity is our strength. I also do not mean that you should maintain an abusive relationship.

Historically, many people have been counseled by their religious leaders to stay in abusive relationships and work them out. Many women have been told to pray for their husband and help him not harm them by loving him better. This is very dangerous, and that is not what this scripture should invite us to do. Sometimes, the best way we love ourselves and our neighbors is by ending relationships that are harmful.

So, when we hear these words from Jesus, what are we supposed to do? Scholars and religious leaders throughout Christian history have disagreed. I’m sure we’re all shocked. But Karoline Lewis, a preaching professor at Luther Seminary in Minnesota, thinks it’s likely to be the more difficult of the answers we come up with.

“What if we took Jesus’ words to heart and actually lived them?” She asks. “What if we did not relegate Jesus’ sayings in this passage to just aspirations of what’s possible but believed them to be activities that might indeed make God’s Kingdom palpable?”

Maybe, because we have been created by the God who loves us, and saved by grace through faith, the truth is that we have no other option. Maybe, when we understand that we are beloved children of God—not just nod our heads, unconvinced, but truly believe in our own belovedness and in our own freedom—there is no alternative but to regard everyone as equally beloved and equally free.

And this isn’t the discipleship olympics. We’re not here to suss out who is the best at loving their enemies or the best at turning the other cheek. We’re here to marvel at this good news—that though we have struggled, we are perfect in the eyes of God, who has been merciful to us even in the depth of our sin. We are free to be merciful because our God is merciful.

Yesterday, delegates to the General Conference of the United Methodist Church voted to restrict participation in their denomination. They tightened restrictions on LGBTQ+ people, disallowing same-sex weddings and openly queer clergy.

This is a devastating turn of events for our UMC siblings, and we will do well to pray for them and support them as they discern what to do. Some of them will leave the denomination to join a different one; some of them will leave the denomination to start a new Methodist denomination; some of them will stay where they are, and keep fighting.

The ELCA and the Episcopal Church, the two denominations we’re made of, have policies of inclusion for LGBTQ folks, but we are far from perfect at living into them. Queer folks are still turned away from some of our congregations, and queer clergy are still treated as second-class in some of our synods and dioceses. We lament this.

It seems, perhaps, that we could use this reminder about how to live together in love. We know, from our own lived experiences and from the stories of our beloved siblings that we hear, that it is hard. That’s why there’s a poster in my office that says WE CAN DO HARD THINGS. We can. You can.

The instructions for beloved community that Jesus lays out throughout his ministry were not easily agreed upon or simple to follow. Remember, even his disciples were always asking questions and doing it wrong. The people Jesus encounters in his community struggled to understand him, and often, when they did, became angry. Jesus’ message is complicated, and counter-cultural, and subversive, and revolutionary. And it’s also very, very simple. Luke 6:36 says “be merciful, just as your God is merciful.”

When we even begin to try to follow along with the teachings of Jesus, we dare to imagine a world in which love reigns supreme; in which life conquers death; in which justice and peace prevail over violence and oppression.

When we act on these principles, we show the world who we believe God is. We show the world that our God is a God of love, not hate or fear. That our God is merciful, not judgmental. That our God delights in each and every one of us. Bringing about the reign of God will be our life’s work, dear ones. But we can do hard things, with God’s help. Amen.