Ready for God

Written for St. Andrew Lutheran Church, Franklin, TN + 12th Sunday After Pentecost + August 7, 2016

Readings: Genesis 15:1-6; Psalm 33:12-22; Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16; Luke 12:32-40


Almost every movie about teenagers at some point includes the line, “His parents are  out of town this weekend, and he’s having a huge party!” And then inevitably the party gets out of hand, the house gets trashed, and suddenly the parents pull up in the driveway, home a day early, and everyone is rushing to escape or clean up or hide all evidence of the party. (I expect some of you have more experience with these things in real life than others: as a parent or as a teenager.)

That stereotype has been popping up in my entertainment more than usual this week: in one tv show, the kids’ mad-scientist grandpa froze time so they could clean up the party mess before their parents got to the front door. (They left time frozen for six months, so they could take their time).1 In a book I read, the parents returned from vacation to find their house trashed and zombie-teenagers still slumped at their kitchen table.2

Anyway, those stories got into my head enough that as I was trying to interpret Jesus’s parable about the wedding banquet — a parable about slaves and masters and situations that don’t directly relate to our experiences — my imagination started re-writing it as a parable about one of those legendary teenage parties:

Be like those who are waiting for their parents to return from their weekend trip, so that they may open the door for them as soon as they knock. Blessed are those children whom the parents find alert when they come; truly I tell you, the parents will put on their aprons and serve their children snacks. If they come during the middle of the night, or near dawn, and find their children so, blessed are those children. […] You must also be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.

I may not be so off-the-beaten-path in this interpretation, since a few verses later Jesus talked about one of the slaves taking advantage of his master’s absence to eat and get drunk and beat up the other slaves (Luke 12:42-48).

But, of course, there is one major difference between teenagers being ready for their parents to come home and us being ready for God. Being prepared for parents to return — or the boss to come back — requires some common sense, some responsibility, and maybe some impulse control. But what does it take for us to be ready for God? First and foremost: it takes a whole lot of faith and a whole lot of hope.

When I still lived at home, I saw my parents come and go all the time: sometimes for 20 minutes, sometimes for a couple of days. Plans might change and accidents can always happen, but I basically knew my parents would return. When I worked at Panera, I knew that if my boss said she was going on a ten-minute break, she’d be back in nine. It didn’t take faith or hope to make me prepare for her return (and to keep me from eating all the chicken salad on the sandwich line) — it was just…obvious that I should expect her.

But expecting God to show up is not obvious. Even those of us who have had very strong experiences of God speaking to us or guiding us or taking action in our own lives can probably also explain those moments away: maybe it was just a coincidence; maybe I was just taught to see God in moments like that. God tends to be invisible and intangible and — most frustrating of all — unpredictable. God is much easier to doubt — and therefore much harder to trust with anything as precious to us as our present and our future.

Consider today’s Old Testament reading: the story of God promising Abraham, an old man with no biological children, that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars. Imagine yourself as Abraham. Imagine having no idea how the story turns out. Imagine that the one thing you want most in the world — something that you had long ago given up hope every happening, something you were powerless to control, something that seems impossible —imagine that thing had been promised to come to you. Even if you had the direct connection to God that Abraham had: how difficult would it be to really trust all that depth of emotion and longing to something that sounds so impossible?

Abraham trusted enough in God’s power and faithfulness that Abraham made himself vulnerable to hope and expect and plan for this promised future. And maybe it would be worth the risk of being disappointed and brokenhearted to put that kind of faith and hope in God’s promise — even for those of us who don’t hear from God so directly as Abraham — just to have hope and joyful expectation for our futures. Isn’t living that way more pleasant than living in despair, anyway — even if in the end we don’t get what we want?

But as Jesus reminds us in today’s reading, being ready for God and God’s promises demands more of us than that kind of feel-good faith and hope. In fact faith and hope themselves demand that we not only feel differently, but also see and live differently. As Jesus said: we are to be “dressed for action and have [our] lanterns lit.” Through our faith God asks us to shift our priorities and take action and make sacrifices. God asked Abraham to leave his land and his family to travel to a new land — when Abraham was 75 (Gen. 12:1-6)! Faith and hope in God are serious commitments that change not only our outlook, but also the way we live our lives every day. We are called to live with confidence that God’s promises will come to be. We are called to be ready for God.

So what does that look like? What did Jesus ask of his disciples? We could make a long list of examples, but in today’s gospel reading we hear: “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return.”

This is a very different set of priorities than that which comes easily to most of us. American culture encourages us to be more like the rich man from the story Jesus told just a few verses before today’s reading, the story we read in worship last week: the rich man grows crops and accumulates and accumulates stuff and builds bigger barns to store it in, all so that he can feel safe and secure and rest easy (Luke 12:13-21). Sound like a familiar message? It even sounds reasonable.

But Jesus says that all the rich man’s work is meaningless; it comes to nothing when he dies. Instead of being rich toward himself, Jesus said, the man should have been “rich toward God.” He should have had a different set of priorities. He should not have placed his hope and faith in material wealth, but in God: and then his life would have been different, more meaningful.

In today’s gospel Jesus told his disciples to redefine what it meant to be doing well in life: what matters is not how big our barns are or how much we have stored up or even by how much safety and security we can build up. What matters is trusting that God will fulfill God’s promises to love and care for all people and living out of that trust. Not to accumulate for our own security, but to help meet the needs of others. To treasure God’s mission above treasure. When our heavenly parent pulls up in the driveway, we should be found living as if the promised kingdom of God were already here among us, prepared for God’s grace and mercy and justice to come in full. Faith and hope call us to live in God’s promises even now; to change our lives and take risks for those promises even now.

Today’s parable reminds us to be ready and waiting: to live prepared for God’s promises to arrive. We should be on the lookout for signs of God already present, already at work around us and among us. See the world through faith and hope. See where God is already bringing promises to life, and be ready to jump in and share those promises with the world.

Caspar David Friedrich

Woman Before the Rising Sun (Woman Before the Setting Sun). Caspar David Friedrich, 1774-1840. From Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library.


1. [Rick and Morty. “A Rickle in Time.” Season 2, episode 1. Directed by Wes Archer. Written by Matt Roller. Adult Swim (Cartoon Network). Aired July 26, 2015. (Not recommended for children or most people.)]

2. [Charles Burns. Black Hole. (New York: Pantheon Books, 2005). (Also not recommended for children or most people.)]

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Close Encounters

Written for St. Andrew Lutheran Church, Franklin, TN + 2nd Sunday of Easter + April 3, 2016

Readings: Acts 5:27-32; Revelation 1:4-8; John 20:19-31


For the last month or so my guilty pleasure has been watching Fargo, the TV series, inspired by the Coen brothers film from the 1990s. In Season 2 there are constant — but not really connected or explained — references to alien life: What were those weird lights in the sky? Why is the young kid drawing flying saucers? Did the narrator just quote War of the Worlds?

(**mild spoiler alert for those who haven’t finished season 2 and care about the alien subplot line**)

In the last episodes there is a huge shoot-out at a motel: two warring Midwestern crime mobs face off in their last battle, and the police are caught in the middle. Suddenly, it appears: a giant flying saucer, hovering just a couple of hundred feet above the ground, shining beams of light down on the gunfire and fistfights. Everything comes to a halt as everyone stares up at this unbelievable sight. Then, just as suddenly, the spaceship disappears.

fargo

Photo Credit: Entertainment Weekly website

What I enjoyed most about this crazy scene was watching the characters react to their U.F.O. sighting. Peggy, a young woman who has never been fully hooked into reality, seems totally unfazed. She and her husband are making a run for it, and when he stops to stare at this thing in the sky, she just says: “It’s just a flying saucer, Ed. We gotta go!” When the saucer flies away, everyone goes back to the fight as if nothing had happened.[1]

A few days later, two of the most level-headed and competent characters in the show — a pair of police officers — talk about the UFO sighting. They’d both been eyewitnesses. Sheriff Larsson asks, “So…you gonna put that in your report, then?”

“What?” asks Officer Solverson, “‘Gunfight interrupted by spacecraft’?”

“Yeah…maybe leave that [as] subtext…”

Even though they both saw this giant flying saucer, neither of them finds the story believable…at least not believable enough for a police report.[2]

Jesus’s disciples witnessed something even more unbelievable than a flying saucer appearing in Sioux Falls, South Dakota; they saw a living man appear after they had seen him die.

Of course there are many ways we can attempt to prove that Christ’s resurrection really happened: the authors of the gospels did it themselves, writing about how Roman soldiers had been guarding the tomb, so the disciples couldn’t have stolen the body (Matt. 27:62-66); how the stone had already been rolled away when the first of the Jesus-followers showed up at the tomb (Luke 24:1-12; in Matt. 28, they see an angel roll the stone); how the resurrected Christ ate fish with the disciples, so he couldn’t have been just a ghost (Luke 24:36-42). Christian apologists from today add that those people who saw the resurrected Christ probably weren’t hallucinating or lying, because the whole lot of them chose to face persecution and even martyrdom rather than renege on their story about the resurrected Jesus of Nazareth.

But even with all those arguments, the resurrection is still unbelievable.

Officer Solverson could have written about the U.F.O. sighting in his report. He could have quoted multiple eyewitnesses. But still, I think he was wise to leave it out. No matter the proof, no one would have believed the report, because everybody knows flying saucers are a bunch of hooey.

And if “everybody knows” that, how much more does everybody know that dead bodies don’t come back to life. Even if we could prove it happened, it would still be unbelievable. We would find a way to doubt, because resurrection is just not how the world works.

So maybe we can understand why Thomas didn’t believe his friends’ report about receiving a visit from the resurrected Jesus. Sure, a whole group of his closest companions shared their eyewitness testimony. Sure, he had heard Jesus talk about dying and rising. Sure, he’d seen Lazarus raised from the dead with his own eyes (John 11). But still the resurrection was unbelievable. Maybe Thomas reasoned his way out of all the proof. Maybe his doubt was just a gut reaction. But in any case he was responding based on what he knew to be true of the world: death is death. People don’t come back.

Thomas didn’t believe otherwise until he’d experienced Jesus for himself, until he’d had a real close encounter, touched Jesus’s crucified body, heard Jesus speak to him. And then Thomas did more than admit that Jesus had been brought back to life. In that very moment Thomas made the most basic and yet most life-changing confession of the Christian faith. He looked at this man, crucified-and-resurrected, and exclaimed: “My Lord and my God!”

So how do we react to the unbelievable story of Christ’s resurrection?

I would wager a guess that few — if any — of us react with faith because we heard a convincing argument. Even C. S. Lewis, that great logical mind, who did spend much time debating the reasonability of Christian belief, who heard arguments and argued back, who studied the faith so carefully before becoming a Christian, and who, as a Christian, wrote many a logical defense of the faith…even C.S. Lewis, in the end, described his coming to faith as an experience of encountering God; and his confession almost echoes that of Doubting Thomas. In his autobiography he wrote:

You must picture me in [my room], night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In…1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.[3]

It reminds me of a conversation I had with some friends from Vanderbilt Divinity School shortly after we’d all graduated. We were all about to embark on very different religious careers: one pastor, one hospital chaplain, two prison ministers, one director of religious life at a college, one scholar. Some of us had grown up in mainline traditions; some Southern Baptist; some, secular households; I’m sure at least one of us had been raised by hippies. What we had in common — besides being a bunch of white women — was that we were all very intellectual and rather skeptical, and we’d come to divinity school ready to doubt and question and challenge, and not entirely sure whether we were going to hold on to our faith through that process — or whether we even wanted to. My friend Sarah asked us: So, do you still believe in God?

I expected a variety of answers, but we all shared one. And it wasn’t what you might expect from a bunch of Vanderbilt eggheads, e.g. “Well, I had my doubts, but that paper by Kathryn Tanner really convinced me.” No. The answer we all shared was: “I can’t explain why. I have a lot of doubts, and I’ve even tried to stop believing…but I just feel like God won’t let me go.” It was not a well-reasoned argument; it was the reluctant confession of a bunch of doubters who’d had an encounter with the holy.

The main message of Martin Luther’s reforms was that it is faith alone that saves us: faith that God loves us and forgives us through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Yet even for Luther this faith was more than believing that message to be a fact; it was primarily the result of an encounter with God. In the Small Catechism, in the section on the Apostle’s Creed, Luther wrote:

I believe that by my own understanding or strength I cannot believe in Jesus Christ my Lord or come to him, but instead the Holy Spirit has called me through the gospel, enlightened me with his gifts, made me holy and kept me in the true faith…[4]

For Doubting Thomas, for C. S. Lewis, for Martin Luther, for many people I know personally, and for myself: believing in the God revealed in Jesus Christ is less about agreeing with certain statements, and more about encountering a God who won’t let us go — an encounter that drives us to exclaim “My Lord and my God!” sometimes even despite our doubt.

Jesus wouldn’t let Thomas get away with his doubt; instead, he appeared and said “Here I am. Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt, but believe.”

How does God encounter you? Maybe you have had a “mountaintop experience” that changed your heart in an instant. Maybe there is something going on in worship or in the stories of the Bible that moves you. Maybe you look back on a life spent going to church on Sunday mornings, and you just feel like that’s where you belong. Maybe you found something in the life of faith that had been missing: peace, joy, forgiveness, acceptance. Maybe you simply find yourself here this morning, or praying by yourself, or thinking about God, and can’t put your finger on why.

Another question is: how can we, as the Church, help others to encounter God? Surely God can and does work on God’s own to reach out to people. But the Church is referred to as “the Body of Christ” frequently enough in scripture that I have come to see it as more than a description or a metaphor, but as a calling, as a mission. As Jesus says in today’s gospel reading: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

Living out our mission as the Church is less about convincing people of the things we believe, and more about offering an encounter with the Body of Christ. Doubting Thomas came to believe because he encountered the Body of Christ.  In that moment Christ’s body bore the marks of crucifixion and death: it was vulnerable; it had known suffering; it had sacrificed. Yet it was also invigorated with new life: a life that didn’t survive, but triumphed over death.

How can we — the Church — be that Body of Christ for those around us? How do we best offer what Jesus offered to Thomas: Touch Christ’s hands, see Christ’s body, experience both the sacrifice, and the new life?

Let us pray: Open our hearts to your presence moving around us and between us and within us, until your glory and compassion are revealed not only to us, but in us. In the name of Jesus, crucified and risen, we pray. Amen.[5]


Sources of Inspiration:

Jacobson, Rolf, Karoline Lewis, and Matt Skinner, “#477 – Second Sunday of Easter,” Sermon Brainwave podcast, March 27, 2016. Available online.

[1] Fargo: Year 2, “The Castle,” Ep. 9, directed by Adam Arkin, written by Noah Hawley and Steve Blackman, FX, originally aired Dec. 7, 2015.

[2] Fargo: Year 2, “Palindrome,” Ep. 10, directed by Adam Arkin, written by Noah Hawley, FX, originally aired Dec. 15, 2015.

[3] C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life, (London: Harvest Books, 1966) pp. 228-229.

[4] Martin Luther, “Small Catechism,” The Book of Concord: The Confessions of the Evangelical Lutheran Church. ed. Robert Kolb and Timothy J. Wengert, (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000), Third Article to the Creed, 355-356.

[5] Adapted from an intercessory prayer provided by Vanderbilt Divinity Library’s Revised Common Lectionary resources for April 3, 2016 (2nd Sunday of Easter, Year C), available online at http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/prayers.php?id=134