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Nov 3, 2024
Unbind Him!
By: Pastor Meagan
Series: (All)
 
November 3, 2024. On this All Saints’ Day, Pastor Meagan preaches on our gospel reading from John about Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life. We are reminded that Jesus wept, that grief is holy, and that death will never be the final word.
 
Readings: Isaiah 25:6-9, Revelation 21:1-6a, John 11:32-44
 
*** Transcript ***
 
Several years ago I sat with a couple whose young adult son had died after many years of severe mental illness. As we discussed what scriptures they would like to have for the funeral service, they said, “We want to have lament. We are Christian and we know he’s with God, but there will be a lot of people there who don’t believe, and they don’t know that. We don’t need the lament, but they do.” Lament, they felt, is for those who don’t believe. Jesus, I imagine, might disagree with that.
 
Today, as we remember our beloved who have died, our readings say a lot about grief. Isaiah describes the shroud that covers the people. In Revelation, John shares a vision of tears wept out of grief.
 
And the Gospel of John brings us one of many profound stories of grief that can be found in our scriptures. Martha meets Jesus when he arrives at Bethany, and the first words out of her mouth are words of longing, and blame, born of deep sadness. “If you had been here, Jesus, my brother would not have died.” Mary, coming out a few minutes later, says the same words. And the people gathered there echo this as well. “Couldn’t the one who gave the blind man sight have saved Lazarus too?” And I imagine that just maybe, Jesus had a few “if onlys” of his own. After all, in the verses just before our passage today, Jesus was told Lazarus was sick, and he delayed two days before going to Bethany. If only you have been here, Jesus. I’ve heard similar words from children, spouses, siblings, and parents: if only I hadn’t left the hospital, if only I had gone with them, if only I hadn’t said what I did, if only we had tried harder, if only... our loved ones would still be alive.
 
And in our story today there are tears. Not just Mary and Martha, but their whole community, weeping for Lazarus. And when Jesus goes to the place where Lazarus was laid, there’s the stone. Not a little rock, but an enormous stone, so large it requires several strong people to move it away. There is coldness, hardness, weight, permanence in that image. It’s no wonder Martha objects when Jesus asks to have the stone removed. The size of the stone alone is daunting, and then there is, as Martha warns Jesus, the stench. And finally, the shroud — strips of cloth, binding Lazarus’s hands and feet, according to the tradition of burials at that time and place. Blame. Tears. Stone. Stench. Shroud. Lazarus is dead.
 
Nothing about this situation seems to lend itself to hope, and Jesus doesn’t shy away from that. He sees the tears of the community, and he hears Mary’s grief, and he is greatly disturbed and deeply moved. And then, Jesus wept. The Greek word for Jesus’ weeping carries a sense not just of a tear or two coming from the corner of an eye, but of a deep, wrenching, burst of tears. With those words, those of us who have lost a loved one, or perhaps remembering them on All Saints’ Day for the first time this morning, know that Jesus understands. In Christ, we who are grieving today know we are not alone. Jesus wept. And a whisper of hope is born.
 
Lazarus’s tomb is not the only place Jesus wept. In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus stood looking over Jerusalem and wept, saying, “If only you had recognized the things that made for peace. If only you had recognized the presence of God.” As we finally reach election week, no matter what our views on politics and policies, we long for relief from the wondering and waiting. There is so much hatred and division, deceit and violence, so much at stake. It’s exhausting and even frightening, and it’s not hard to imagine Jesus saying these words over our country in this time. Jesus wept. And just as those gathered around Lazarus’s tomb felt when Jesus asked to roll back the stone, it can be challenging to see anything in this situation that can lend itself to hope. And Jesus doesn’t shy away from that.
 
Lazarus was dead, and we gathered today are remembering beloved people in our lives who have died. Jerusalem was broken, and as we watch what’s happening in the world today, we know there is so much brokenness there, too. But, we are not done with this story. That whisper of hope from over 2000 years ago hasn’t died out yet.
 
We are not alone. Jesus doesn’t shy away from death, or our brokenness and our grief. Jesus went to Bethany out of love for his friends, and though he knew the grief was there, he went. He felt the grief himself, in his soul. Jesus went to Bethany in spite of the disciples’ warnings that Jesus’s life would be at risk — they reminded Jesus, people had tried to kill him in that region before. The disciples chose to go with him to Bethany, knowing the risk. And indeed, when the story of Lazarus coming back to life had spread, John tells us this was the moment when the leaders decided definitively that Jesus had to die. Knowing all this, Jesus went to Bethany, facing the blame, the longing, and all that he found there.
 
Jesus felt his friends’ grief, he wept his own tears. Hope whispered. Jesus walked closer, to the tomb. He saw the stone, so cold, so heavy, solid and permanent, and he asked to have it rolled away. Hope spoke. Jesus commanded Lazarus, “Come out!” Hope shouted. And at Jesus’ words, Lazarus came back to life, and the stench blew away in the fresh air as Lazarus left the tomb. Lazarus was dead, and at Jesus’ bidding, is alive. Death is never the final word. Hope roared.
 
But there is one more thing left to do, when Lazarus, alive, walks out of the tomb. Lazarus’s feet and hands and body and head are still bound by the shroud he had been buried in. And Jesus speaks again, to the people who are gathered there: “Unbind him.” You thought death was permanent, Jesus was say, but it is not. You thought there was too much brokenness, no possibility of hope for our loved ones or for ourselves or our communities. But hope roars. Lazarus is alive. Unbind him.
 
We, along with the disciples and Lazarus’s community, hear this call today. We are called to the center of brokenness, pain, and longing in our communities. We are called to the center of our own grief as we remember our loved ones who have died. We too are called to Bethany.
 
We take the risk, we face the fear, and we go to Bethany — and we witness the miracle. As we grieve today for our beloveds who have died, Isaiah tells of God’s promise to swallow death up, remove the shroud, and wipe tears the from our eyes. As we see the turmoil and violence in our world, Revelation today tells us of a new heaven and a new earth that are coming where the old one is passing away. The God who removes the shroud in Isaiah and wipes the tears away in Revelation is the same God who wept at the loss of his friend. The same one who asked that stone to be moved from the tomb. Perhaps Jesus even helped to push it away. The same one who smelled the stench when the tomb was first opened. In Christ, we are not alone.
 
We are called to Bethany, in our own day, to face together brokenness, pain, death, and grief, as risky as it might be. Jesus didn’t shy away, and as we travel with him to Bethany, hope roars, and we will see what Jesus promised Martha and Mary. In Christ, life emerges, not in spite of death, but out of death itself. And we, beloveds, hear Jesus’ invitation: unbind them. Unravel the lies and the fear that hold us and others hostage. Roll away the barriers that keep us from seeing and loving one another. Unwrap the life and the beauty that is so bound so that the whisper of hope can touch it. Remind one another that Jesus wept, that grief is holy, and that death will never be the final word.
 
Today, we stand together at Bethany. We remember with joy and with grief those who have died, knowing that Jesus weeps with us. We hear that whisper of hope, and we know the promise that life is emerging out of the death we face today. We hear Jesus saying to us, unbind them, and hope roars.
 
Thanks be to God.
 
*** Keywords ***
 
2024, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Isaiah 25:6-9, Revelation 21:1-6a, John 11:32-44
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  • Nov 3, 2024Unbind Him!
    Nov 3, 2024
    Unbind Him!
    By: Pastor Meagan
    Series: (All)
     
    November 3, 2024. On this All Saints’ Day, Pastor Meagan preaches on our gospel reading from John about Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life. We are reminded that Jesus wept, that grief is holy, and that death will never be the final word.
     
    Readings: Isaiah 25:6-9, Revelation 21:1-6a, John 11:32-44
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    Several years ago I sat with a couple whose young adult son had died after many years of severe mental illness. As we discussed what scriptures they would like to have for the funeral service, they said, “We want to have lament. We are Christian and we know he’s with God, but there will be a lot of people there who don’t believe, and they don’t know that. We don’t need the lament, but they do.” Lament, they felt, is for those who don’t believe. Jesus, I imagine, might disagree with that.
     
    Today, as we remember our beloved who have died, our readings say a lot about grief. Isaiah describes the shroud that covers the people. In Revelation, John shares a vision of tears wept out of grief.
     
    And the Gospel of John brings us one of many profound stories of grief that can be found in our scriptures. Martha meets Jesus when he arrives at Bethany, and the first words out of her mouth are words of longing, and blame, born of deep sadness. “If you had been here, Jesus, my brother would not have died.” Mary, coming out a few minutes later, says the same words. And the people gathered there echo this as well. “Couldn’t the one who gave the blind man sight have saved Lazarus too?” And I imagine that just maybe, Jesus had a few “if onlys” of his own. After all, in the verses just before our passage today, Jesus was told Lazarus was sick, and he delayed two days before going to Bethany. If only you have been here, Jesus. I’ve heard similar words from children, spouses, siblings, and parents: if only I hadn’t left the hospital, if only I had gone with them, if only I hadn’t said what I did, if only we had tried harder, if only... our loved ones would still be alive.
     
    And in our story today there are tears. Not just Mary and Martha, but their whole community, weeping for Lazarus. And when Jesus goes to the place where Lazarus was laid, there’s the stone. Not a little rock, but an enormous stone, so large it requires several strong people to move it away. There is coldness, hardness, weight, permanence in that image. It’s no wonder Martha objects when Jesus asks to have the stone removed. The size of the stone alone is daunting, and then there is, as Martha warns Jesus, the stench. And finally, the shroud — strips of cloth, binding Lazarus’s hands and feet, according to the tradition of burials at that time and place. Blame. Tears. Stone. Stench. Shroud. Lazarus is dead.
     
    Nothing about this situation seems to lend itself to hope, and Jesus doesn’t shy away from that. He sees the tears of the community, and he hears Mary’s grief, and he is greatly disturbed and deeply moved. And then, Jesus wept. The Greek word for Jesus’ weeping carries a sense not just of a tear or two coming from the corner of an eye, but of a deep, wrenching, burst of tears. With those words, those of us who have lost a loved one, or perhaps remembering them on All Saints’ Day for the first time this morning, know that Jesus understands. In Christ, we who are grieving today know we are not alone. Jesus wept. And a whisper of hope is born.
     
    Lazarus’s tomb is not the only place Jesus wept. In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus stood looking over Jerusalem and wept, saying, “If only you had recognized the things that made for peace. If only you had recognized the presence of God.” As we finally reach election week, no matter what our views on politics and policies, we long for relief from the wondering and waiting. There is so much hatred and division, deceit and violence, so much at stake. It’s exhausting and even frightening, and it’s not hard to imagine Jesus saying these words over our country in this time. Jesus wept. And just as those gathered around Lazarus’s tomb felt when Jesus asked to roll back the stone, it can be challenging to see anything in this situation that can lend itself to hope. And Jesus doesn’t shy away from that.
     
    Lazarus was dead, and we gathered today are remembering beloved people in our lives who have died. Jerusalem was broken, and as we watch what’s happening in the world today, we know there is so much brokenness there, too. But, we are not done with this story. That whisper of hope from over 2000 years ago hasn’t died out yet.
     
    We are not alone. Jesus doesn’t shy away from death, or our brokenness and our grief. Jesus went to Bethany out of love for his friends, and though he knew the grief was there, he went. He felt the grief himself, in his soul. Jesus went to Bethany in spite of the disciples’ warnings that Jesus’s life would be at risk — they reminded Jesus, people had tried to kill him in that region before. The disciples chose to go with him to Bethany, knowing the risk. And indeed, when the story of Lazarus coming back to life had spread, John tells us this was the moment when the leaders decided definitively that Jesus had to die. Knowing all this, Jesus went to Bethany, facing the blame, the longing, and all that he found there.
     
    Jesus felt his friends’ grief, he wept his own tears. Hope whispered. Jesus walked closer, to the tomb. He saw the stone, so cold, so heavy, solid and permanent, and he asked to have it rolled away. Hope spoke. Jesus commanded Lazarus, “Come out!” Hope shouted. And at Jesus’ words, Lazarus came back to life, and the stench blew away in the fresh air as Lazarus left the tomb. Lazarus was dead, and at Jesus’ bidding, is alive. Death is never the final word. Hope roared.
     
    But there is one more thing left to do, when Lazarus, alive, walks out of the tomb. Lazarus’s feet and hands and body and head are still bound by the shroud he had been buried in. And Jesus speaks again, to the people who are gathered there: “Unbind him.” You thought death was permanent, Jesus was say, but it is not. You thought there was too much brokenness, no possibility of hope for our loved ones or for ourselves or our communities. But hope roars. Lazarus is alive. Unbind him.
     
    We, along with the disciples and Lazarus’s community, hear this call today. We are called to the center of brokenness, pain, and longing in our communities. We are called to the center of our own grief as we remember our loved ones who have died. We too are called to Bethany.
     
    We take the risk, we face the fear, and we go to Bethany — and we witness the miracle. As we grieve today for our beloveds who have died, Isaiah tells of God’s promise to swallow death up, remove the shroud, and wipe tears the from our eyes. As we see the turmoil and violence in our world, Revelation today tells us of a new heaven and a new earth that are coming where the old one is passing away. The God who removes the shroud in Isaiah and wipes the tears away in Revelation is the same God who wept at the loss of his friend. The same one who asked that stone to be moved from the tomb. Perhaps Jesus even helped to push it away. The same one who smelled the stench when the tomb was first opened. In Christ, we are not alone.
     
    We are called to Bethany, in our own day, to face together brokenness, pain, death, and grief, as risky as it might be. Jesus didn’t shy away, and as we travel with him to Bethany, hope roars, and we will see what Jesus promised Martha and Mary. In Christ, life emerges, not in spite of death, but out of death itself. And we, beloveds, hear Jesus’ invitation: unbind them. Unravel the lies and the fear that hold us and others hostage. Roll away the barriers that keep us from seeing and loving one another. Unwrap the life and the beauty that is so bound so that the whisper of hope can touch it. Remind one another that Jesus wept, that grief is holy, and that death will never be the final word.
     
    Today, we stand together at Bethany. We remember with joy and with grief those who have died, knowing that Jesus weeps with us. We hear that whisper of hope, and we know the promise that life is emerging out of the death we face today. We hear Jesus saying to us, unbind them, and hope roars.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2024, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Isaiah 25:6-9, Revelation 21:1-6a, John 11:32-44
  • Oct 27, 2024The Faith of Christ
    Oct 27, 2024
    The Faith of Christ
    By: Pastor Meagan
    Series: (All)
    October 27, 2024. By the faith of Christ, we are saved. Today we celebrate that faith with Isaac, Luke, and Luther as they are confirmed, taking the next step in their journeys and inviting the Spirit to come among them with peace like a river, joy like a fountain, and love like the ocean.
     
    Readings: Jeremiah 31:31-34, Psalm 46, Romans 3:19-28, John 8:31-36
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    As we celebrate Reformation Sunday, and we confirm Luke, Luther, and Isaac today, I’ve been finding myself thinking about our founder Martin Luther’s confidence that we are saved by faith and not by works. This is one of the hallmarks of the Lutheran tradition in which the three of you will be confirmed today: remembering the promises of our baptisms. And all of our readings today, especially the letter to the Romans, assure us of this promise. Often, we hear that we are saved by faith and think of faith as something we do — we have faith in Christ, and by our faith in Christ, we’re saved. This requires some learning and reflection. And after all, if we’re to have faith in Christ, we need to know something about him, don’t we? And for the last two years, Isaac, and Luther, and Luke, you have been doing that. You have been studying the scripture and the Creed and the commandments, the Our Father, the catechism, you’ve been participating in worship, you’ve been serving your community, and preparing yourselves to take this responsibility for your faith in a new way.
     
    Ironically, in this tradition that teaches us that we are saved by faith, this sounds kind of like work, doesn’t it? The idea that our being saved, being welcomed and loved by God, depends on our own understanding is kind of scary actually, a bit little overwhelming perhaps. It reminds me of my own Confirmation preparation. In a one-on-one meeting with my youth minister, with a very serious face, he handed me an enormous old Bible, and told he me that if I was going to be approved for Confirmation, I needed to find certain passage, pretty obscure, very quickly in a set time limit, and then he would tell me it was okay for me to be confirmed. All of the blood must have just drained from my face, because he immediately tried to assure me he was joking. But I still carried a whisper of fear that the Bishop would make us recite the answer to a catechism question before anointing us with the sacred oil. I won’t be doing that today, I promise.
     
    Way back, some 500 years ago, Martin Luther had something to say about this. He had something to say about a lot of things, actually. One of them shows up right in our catechism, where Luther provided an explanation of the third part of the Apostles’ Creed, the part where we profess belief in the Holy Spirit. Luther writes, “I believe that I cannot by my own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ, my Lord, or come to Him; but the Holy Spirit has called me by the Gospel, enlightened me with His gifts, sanctified and kept me in the true faith. In the same way He calls, gathers, enlightens, and sanctifies the whole Christian church on earth, and keeps it with Jesus Christ in the one true faith.” Were any of you kind of saying in your head as I said that? I see a few nods.
     
    In text study this week, and coincidentally at the Synod’s Theological Conference last week, we talked some about this. And in both places, we realized that the Greek language in Paul’s letter, where it talks about faith in Jesus Christ, is actually better translated faith of Jesus Christ. Paul goes on to remind us that we are all sinners, all broken, and all fall short of God’s call for us, and it is God’s grace that gathers us together and makes us whole.
     
    Isaac, Luther, and Luke, fourteen-ish years ago, at your baptisms, your parents and this faith community claimed that truth on your behalf, knowing that you were not perfect, sinless, or unerring in your belief, and yet that you are beloved, cherished children of God, breathed into life by the Spirit who never fails even when we do. Today we stand with you, alongside you, and claim that truth, as you by that same Spirit claim that truth for yourselves.
     
    People of Christ, today as we celebrate Confirmation with these youth, remember our own baptisms, and recall Martin Luther’s call to reform our church, we come together certain of one thing: the work of reformation, the work of confirmation, the work of faith, is not our work, but God’s.
     
    Jeremiah does not say that we write God’s word on our hearts, but that God writes the promises, call, and life of the law on our hearts. God makes a new covenant with us, each one of us, and all of us together, that is expansive and inclusive, not defining who’s in and who’s out, but claiming all people as beloved children of God.
     
    The psalmist sings that God is our refuge, in the midst of the challenges that inevitably come in life. We are reminded today in all of our scriptures, and by the witness of Martin Luther, and by the witnesses of these youth that you will hear from shortly, that in the midst of our joy and our brokenness, in the midst of the beauty and brokenness of creation, in the times where we feel our faith deeply and those times we are a bit distracted and yes, even those times when God could not seem further from us, God is present. By the faith of Christ, God has been with us since before we were born. In our first breaths, in every season of our lives from the most painful to the most joyful, right up until the moment of our deaths, God’s promise will never fail.
     
    By the faith of Christ, Jesus says in our gospel today, we are freed. We are freed to be the people God has created us to be, freed to make mistakes and make amends, freed to turn away and turn to back towards. By the faith of Christ, we are freed to embody the love, justice, and mercy of God in the world, in our words and in our actions, even when it seems impossible to us. We don’t do this because we have to do this in order to earn God’s love, to secure our seat at the right or left hand as we discussed last week, to deserve forgiveness. We do this because we see what God has done for us, and we can’t help ourselves.
     
    By the faith of Christ, we are saved. Isaac, Luke, and Luther, today we celebrate that faith with you. We lift you up in prayer as you take this step in your own journeys, inviting the Spirit to come among us with peace like a river, joy like a fountain, love like the ocean. Today with you, we remember and affirm the promises of our baptisms: from our first breath to our last, God is with us in Christ. Let us go out from here to share that good news with the world.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2024, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Jeremiah 31:31-34, Psalm 46, Romans 3:19-28, John 8:31-36, Luke Dopuch, Luther Ciorba, Isaac Helton, Confirmation, Reformation Sunday
  • Oct 20, 2024I Call Front Seat!
    Oct 20, 2024
    I Call Front Seat!
    By: Pastor Meagan
    Series: (All)
     
    October 20, 2024. In today’s gospel reading, James and John ask to sit at the right hand and left hand of Jesus in the glory to come. Pastor Meagan preaches on this text, and on how in the kin-dom of God there are plenty of seats, and no need to fight for a place.
     
    Readings: Hebrews 5:1-10, Mark 10:32-45
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    As we listen to this week’s gospel, with James and John asking to be assigned to the best seats in the glory to come, I can’t help but go back to being the oldest sister with two younger brothers heading out to the car. Inevitably one of them would call it out. “I call front seat!” Anyone else heard that phrase, or something similar? I don’t know if this way of claiming the front passenger seat was a Minnesota thing, or a ‘70s thing, or a McLaughlin thing, but I can tell you I rarely got the front seat unless my parents intervened. And if the whole family was in the car together, my spot as the oldest-but-shortest of the kids was in the middle of the back seat, with my feet rested on the “hump” and my brothers could take turns squishing me from either side as we went around the corners. Believe me, my position in the car was most often less about humbly taking the “last place” than it was about losing out on the best place.
     
    We hear this story today and we might imagine people, James and John among them perhaps, edging their way into chairs at the table — perhaps on this day when we get to celebrate communion with Katie we can imagine that it’s the communion table — everyone pushing, sometimes politely, sometimes kind of rudely, to get the best seat at the table, closest to their favorite food or their favorite person.
     
    And for weeks, Jesus has been trying to help the disciples understand what’s really coming — and it is a far cry from the image of honor that James and John are craving. Jesus tells them again in the first few verses of our gospel today that struggle, persecution, rejection, and death is in store for Jesus and his followers, before the liberation that they are longing for. And as so often happens in Mark’s gospel, the disciples just don’t get it. James and John are picturing glory and thrones and recognition, at Jesus’ right and Jesus’ left hand. What’s actually coming is the cross, one at his right, one at his left, hung not in glory but in death.
     
    It’s no wonder the disciples don’t understand this. They probably don’t want to understand. I know that often I don’t. They left families, friends, livelihood, everything to follow Jesus these last few years. And now Jesus is talking not about overthrowing Roman occupation, but of being arrested, tortured, and murdered by the state. I imagine they’re all wondering what is coming next, and what things will look like when it’s finally all over.
     
    It’s not surprising that James and John got stuck in their ego, envisioning a way that this could turn out well for them. With things seemingly falling apart and not together, James and John just want to have some sense that they are on the right path, and haven’t wasted their time, all these years. And yes, maybe they just want a little recognition for everything they’ve given up, to follow this man from Nazareth, who now seems to be showing signs of being maybe a bit lost. Where is that going to leave them, if they can’t establish their place?
     
    People of Christ, it seems in so many ways that we are at such a time and place. There is a lot of falling apart happening around us, isn’t there? No matter what your political, economic, and social views, we’re facing an election that has so much at stake — ­and just like James and John, so much striving for place and power.
     
    I call the front seat! We want to sit at your right and left side, Jesus. I and my group are deserving of a place, and you — they — are not. “We” know better than “they” what they need. “They” are not quite as human as “we” are. “They” are criminals, traitors, insane, rapists, doing things we consider unspeakable. It doesn’t matter if I lie, as long as I get what I need. So many lies. On everything. Promises or threats that violence and disenfranchisement of peoples is a valid means to an end. And that end is winning, power that cannot be questioned without the full weight of law and political and military might being waged against you. A power that feeds ego. I call the front seat.
     
    At the Synod’s Theological Conference this week, we talked about navigating difference, we talked about the truth and call of the gospel, we talked about how we as Christians are called to engage in this beautiful, messy, broken, and sometimes even scary world we live in. We named the drive to get the first seat or the most power, the validation of violence as valid, and the desire to draw the hardest line we can between us and them as heresies, things that distort the gospel we are called to share. We named our own sin.
     
    You notice that Jesus didn’t kick James and John or the rest of the disciples out when they wrestled with these things, but he called them in, together. He spoke hard truth, clearly and directly. He said rulers are tyrants over them, but it is not so among you; instead, whoever wishes to become great among you must become your servant. Jesus told the truth of what was happening in the world, and showed them a different way. We navigate complex things, name the gospel and heresy and disagreement, and at the end of the day we all come to the table. In Hebrews, we hear that Jesus himself did not seize power, but is given power, by the one who called him by name. And with that power, Jesus models being a servant, one who doesn’t avoid truth or fight for authority, but claims space for all as beloved children of God, and stands clearly against the heresies that distort our gospel.
     
    James and John were certainly caught up in their ego. It is such a human thing, isn’t it? Jesus, one more time, reminds them: it’s not about being first or last, or on the left or the right, or in the front seat of the car or in the middle with feet on the hump. At God’s table, all the seats have the best food, the best people, the best view.
     
    Katie, today we joyfully welcome you to that table. At the communion table, all are welcome, and there is enough for everyone. In the kin-dom of God there are plenty of seats, and no need to fight for a place to sit.
     
    As the Spirit moves on, today’s readings invite us to continue to seek the will of God, not in security and honor as our egos so easily lean into, but in the ways we can uniquely serve, giving of ourselves to God and the world. Katie, as we reminded each other in Communion class this week, we are called with God’s help to act, to live in such a way that we seek God’s truth and good for all of creation. The call to follow Jesus is, as it always has been, about going where the Spirit leads, embodying the love of God in the world, and serving those around us, trusting that wherever we go, we will not go alone.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2024, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Hebrews 5:1-10, Mark 10:32-45, Katie Mudd
  • Oct 13, 2024You’re Forgetting Something
    Oct 13, 2024
    You’re Forgetting Something
    By: Derek Bastian
    Series: (All)
     
    October 13, 2024. Today we have guest preacher Rev. Derek Bastian from Webster-Rock Hill Ministries, who examines our gospel reading from Mark 10 about what we must do to inherit eternal life, and asks us to consider: if you've done everything you've been asked to do, is there anything left that you could do for God?
     
    Reading: Mark 10:17-31
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    Good morning again, church. It is certainly a privilege and an honor to stand in the pulpit and present God's word to you. But if I could first sound like an executive director, and just thank you for the work that you're doing at Webster-Rock Hill Ministries. I truly believe that we are an extension of you, the arms and legs of your work in this community. Presently we're getting ready for the Adopt-A-Family season for Thanksgiving and Christmas. And that's always a wonderful thing, to see the many families, and namely the children, that we can adopt and we can help. And we've done that work in conjunction with you.
     
    Since I've last been here we've added several new things, such as the third Saturday food giveaway, where we're providing fresh fruits and vegetables. We actually go down to Produce Row, I think somewhere near downtown, and we buy the fresh fruits and products and distribute them every third Saturday of the month. The reason why we purchased them is, when we give away fresh fruits and vegetables it has to be fresh fruits and vegetables. We actually go and purchase it to make sure that people are getting quality fresh fruits and vegetables. And now we're seeing about 100 families, third Saturdays when we give out those fresh fruits and vegetables. And so that's all because of your support and your help. On a given week we average now about 10 to 12 families a day coming for various different items, and we're proud that we are able to support them, and through your gifts of giving that is sustainable. Thank you so much. There's always room for more.
     
    There's always room for more. There's always an event going on in the country, around the world, that requires us to respond. And it sounds like right now your church is in the midst of responding to the victims of the hurricane in North Carolina and Florida. And so as you know, over the last couple of years, almost every spring going into the summer there's been some event — a rain storm or tornado in this area or something — and you've helped us to respond to those families. So thank you.
     
    Now if I can sound like a preacher. To Pastor Meagan, thank you for this opportunity. And to all the leadership and membership of this great, great church: thank you. Thank you, thank you. I will not dare take the liberties of preaching as long as your pastor does, because I'm a guest. And hopefully I'll be invited back if I keep it short, right? And so I will just get to the text.
     
    I don't have to read the text over again, because I read it earlier for the scripture reading. But if I would just use for a subject today, it would be: you're forgetting something. I'm not going to go through the whole reading of the text, but from verse 17 to around about verse 22 we see where a man came to Jesus and says, really put a position in front of Jesus, saying that he did everything that he could possibly do, that the scripture asks to be done, since he was a child. Do you know anybody like that? I've not met anybody like that yet. He's done everything. And he went and said to Jesus, "Since I've done everything there is to do, what else do I need to do to inherit eternal life?" 
     
    You know, Jesus was delicate with the man. And a couple of observations out of the text that I gleaned was, first: when the man came to Jesus and said, "Good teacher." Whenever somebody comes to you and they start off with a compliment, often it's a setup. "Good teacher." Jesus seen right through it, and said to the man, "Why do you call me good? Only God alone is good." What the man was trying to do was validate Jesus' ministry. And I say to that observation, Jesus' ministry doesn't need any validation. When we look at Jesus' ministry — the feeding of the poor, and the miracles, and the healing, talking to whomever would listen — Jesus' ministry did not need any validation. Not to mention the walking on the water, turning water into wine. Jesus didn't need any validation. And here it was, this man here trying to validate Jesus' ministry. What that tells me is that sometimes when people give you a compliment, it is to say that your ministry would not be, until you got this accolade from me. Jesus, sensing that through this man, just continued the conversation because the lesson was to be taught. You see, what I like about Jesus is Jesus sees right through us. He sees when it's a setup. He sees that this man was reaching. He came in disguise as somebody seeking help and answers, but really he was trying to set Jesus up. And Jesus had something for him.
     
    You know something else I noticed in the text about this man? This man had spiritual hubris. Why do I say that? Well, because the man said that from the beginning, "From all that I can remember from my humble beginnings, I have done everything there was to do. So Lord, what must I do to inherit eternal life? I listened to my teachers. I did my ABCs. I paid my taxes. I did everything there was to do. What must I do to inherit eternal life?" Do you hear the spiritual arrogance in that? Do you hear that? The pride, the spiritual pride: "I've done everything."
     
    Can I offer this? I don't care what seminary, I don't care how many Bible studies, and how long you been in Sunday school. I don't care. Most of us have heard two thousand gazillion sermons by now, and still we're not saved enough. Still we're not holy enough. Still we don't know enough to stop sin. Every one of us are fighting sin every day. Every minute. And some of us, every second. And for this man to say, "I've done everything, there's no more for me to do." Jesus had a problem with that.
     
    You know how I define "church?" I defined church as: sinners in recovery. That's all church is. All of us come because we need to come. None of us come just to be coming. We come because we are all sinners in recovery. "Oh, if I don't come, I don't know how I'm going to deal with some folk on Monday." "If I don't come, I don't know how I'm going to stay strong my entire week." "If I don't come, I just don't know how to fight sin." But this man says, "I've done everything. I've done everything, and there's no more for me to do." I wish that was the case.
     
    But the Bible says Jesus looked at him. And when Jesus looked at him, the Bible says, Jesus looked at him and loved him. You know what that's telling me? That's telling me Jesus saw right through him. Jesus saw right through him, and loved him in spite of himself — in spite of his hubris, in spite of his arrogance, in spite of his pride, Jesus loved him. Everyone under the sound of my voice, Jesus loves you in spite of. Jesus loves you instead of. Jesus loves you just like he loved this man. He loves us in spite of ourselves. Isn't that good news today? Regardless of what I've done, regardless of my pride, regardless of my spiritual arrogance, regardless of my falls and slips and mishaps, Jesus still loves me.
     
    So, there's always something more to do. There's always something left undone towards my spiritual growth. That's why we keep coming. We keep coming because there's always something more I need. Something I need to hear. Something I didn't think of. I can tell you, I've looked through this Bible and read it back and forth a couple of times, and every time I read it there's something new jumping out at me about how I can be better. How I can be more. But, If you think you've done everything God has asked you to do, there's always one more thing. How about forgive? If you think you've done everything God has asked you to do, how about judge not? If you think you've done everything God has asked you to do, then keep resisting self-righteousness. If you've done everything God has asked you to do, here's a big one: omission.
     
    The man talked about everything he did. But he forgot about what he didn't do. And Jesus proved that when Jesus said to the man, "Okay, okay. You've done everything. You've done everything. Good to hear. I tell you what: since you've done everything, take everything you now have, sell it and give it to the poor. And then come follow me." That's a hard one. Jesus says well since you've done everything, I don't know what else you could do other than sell everything you have and come follow me. And I think it hit the man then. "Wait a minute, I guess I haven't done everything. Because this one is too hard for me to do. If it's too hard for me to do, that's when I know I need God to help me keep working on myself."
     
    When you've done everything there is to do, remember there's still something else that you could do for God. Jesus asked him to do this hard thing, because Jesus realized that it would be impossible for the man to do this. That's where that sin of omission comes in, when a man wasn't willing to give up what he had to follow God. "Sell everything you have. Give it to the poor and come follow me." Whoo, that's a tough one! Everything? You mean everything? Like all of it? Like every everything? Yes. And come follow me.
     
    Somebody in here today, Jesus isn't asking you to do that. But he is asking you to consider: if you've done everything that's been asked of you to do, is there anything left that you could do for God? What about your time? What about your gifts, your talents, your skills? What about writing? What about talking? What about sharing? There's something else that could be done for God.
     
    Listen, now it's past the time that your pastor would be up here, and so I will take my leave right now. But I will say this to you: to whom much is given, much is required.
     
    Amen?
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2024, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Rev. Derek Bastian, Mark 10:17-31, Webster-Rock Hill Ministries, WRHM
  • Oct 7, 2024Bone of My Bone
    Oct 7, 2024
    Bone of My Bone
    By: Pastor Meagan
    Series: (All)
    October 6, 2024. Pastor Meagan preaches on our intimate, often messy connections with one another. In all of our readings today, we're reminded that we are responsible to care for all that God created.
     
    Readings: Genesis 2:18-24, Psalm 8, Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12, Mark 10:2-16
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    In the Bible, our sacred text that has thousands of pages, it only takes until Chapter 2 of Genesis before some very significant things happen.
     
    Just before this passage, God breathed Spirit into Adam — in Hebrew it's actually pronounced /aːˈdaːm/, meaning earth-person, or human, still beyond gender — bringing them to life, like a mother gives life to her child. God formed Adam out of the earth with her hands, like a potter working with clay, and then breathed life into them. Think about that for a minute. Our life came to be out of God’s very breath.
     
    Right after that, still not out of Chapter 2 yet, God knew the human she'd given birth to needed community. It is, in fact, why God created us. And God invests creative energy — more Spirit unleashed — to bring about more life, all around that original human being.
     
    And already, here in Chapter 2, God invites us into that creative work. Naming is a profound thing, isn’t it? Think about your own name for a minute. My first name, Meagan, is unique in my family. My given middle name is Catherine, and that connects me to my mother’s mother, an Irish Catholic doctor’s wife with an epic sense of humor. And Anne, that name that I chose at Confirmation, connects me to my father’s mother, a tough-as-nails-yet-soft-as-cotton Croatian who grew up trading with her native neighbors in her father’s shop on the Iron Range in northern Minnesota, and whose gift for making friends out of strangers and feeding anything that moved was legendary. I carry their names, Catherine and Anne, given them by their parents when they were born.
     
    Parents have the joy of choosing a name for their children, and those with animal companions often listen closely for the perfect name. Our cat, Dewey, was named after a cat in a book we were reading when his older brother Elmo crossed the Rainbow Bridge. I had the privilege of being present for a dear friend’s court hearing when they chose a name that fit who they had come to understand themselves to be. I have known youth of our own congregation who have done the same.
     
    Names are powerful, and it is no wonder that attempts to harm others almost always begin by taking away their names, and replacing them with pejoratives, or stories designed to create otherness and fear. We've seen the incredible harm this has done to the Haitian immigrants and the whole community of Springfield, Ohio. Taking away someone’s name erases their very humanity. And God invites Adam in this creative venture to do the exact opposite, giving Adam responsibility for seeing, knowing, and naming all of the beloved beings that are created around them.
     
    And then, God created a partner for Adam, gave them to one another so that neither would ever be alone. Gave us all to each other, in all of the ways that we humans can be together — friends, siblings, ministry partners, spouses, neighbors, parents and caregivers, colleagues in learning — so that we would never have to be alone. And Adam exclaims, perhaps singing or even dancing with delight, that they and the one God created to be with them, are connected, from the flesh, right through to the very bone.
     
    And all of our readings today talk about our intimate connection with one another — from Genesis to our Psalm and Hebrews, where we're reminded that we are responsible to care for all that God created. Love, care, responsibility, mutuality, and commitment are upheld as ideals for our relationships with God, one another, and the world around us.
     
    In Mark, we are reminded that sometimes our human relationships fail. This passage in Mark about divorce has been used to do so much harm. My grandma Anne and my grandpa Philip, faithful Christians who attended worship every Sunday and raised my dad and his siblings to do the same, went decades without ever receiving communion. Philip had been married and divorced, and the church, guided by this passage, told them that they were living in sin, not worthy of the sacrament.
     
    We live in a beautiful and often messy world, and sometimes human brokenness leads to abuse and other harms that make it clear that remaining in relationship is not healthy or even safe for ourselves or our families. As in all things, we humans are not perfect, and the truth is there is brokenness in relationships that may not be healed in our lifetimes.
     
    And yet, the dream of God, the vision of the one who unleashes the Spirit and breathed life into us — breathes life into us — still prevails. In a culture that allowed men to wield divorce as a weapon over women, Jesus called his listeners back to the ideals of Genesis, where Adam claimed the companion God made for them not as a servant to be owned or controlled, but “bone of my bone,” an equal partner with the same rights and responsibilities. And then, with words that sound like judgement to our ears, Jesus gives women the agency to leave their husbands too, when it is necessary. Divorce, ending of relationships, is not to be taken lightly. Jesus makes this abundantly clear. And, even when our relationships with individuals in this world end, God wants for us to experience the mutual love and intimacy they meant for us to have — with God, our fellow humans, and with the creatures created in the world around us from the very beginning.
     
    Today, in this messy, complicated, broken, healing, renewing, creative world, we remember God’s vision for creation. In text study this week led by theologians Rev. Drs. Aimee Appell and Jia Starr Brown we reflected that when our hearts and minds and spirits are open, our visions of family, and relationships, and community, become so much more creative, and dynamic, and beautiful, and full of love than we can imagine on our own. God’s vision for us never fails.
     
    On this Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, we especially celebrate how this vision is revealed in the relationships we have with our beloved animal companions, with all their fur, scales, feathers, and fins. Sometimes, it seems, these relationships can be so much easier and smoother than our relationships with other humans, right? St. Francis is thought to have said, "Ask the beasts and they will tell you the beauty of this earth."
     
    We often in jest think of the creation of animals as failed attempts to find a partner for Adam. Nope, that's not it! Nope, that's wrong, that's wrong, that's wrong. But it occurs to me today that there may have been a beautiful wisdom in imagining God creating animal companions first for Adam, after all. And as a cat parent myself, I know the truth of another St. Francis of Assisi quote: “A cat purring on your lap is more healing than any drug in the world, as the vibrations you are receiving are of pure love and contentment.”
     
    Our human relationships are messy, and we get frustrated with ourselves for not being perfect, for not showing up as God called us to. But today, we're invited to celebrate all that we can be, all that God created us to be. All the creatures around us remind us that in the brokenness and sin of this world, the Spirit is alive, and there is also unconditional love, healing, joy, and peace. We learn from our pets especially that God’s vision for intimate connection is not only possible, but is embodied in the created world God gave us to live in and care for. Christ came to model this for us. We are flesh of one another’s flesh, bone of one another’s bone. We listen to the words of Genesis, and Hebrews, and even Mark, and we know that this promise of God, like all others, will never fail.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2024, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Genesis 2:18-24, Psalm 8, Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12, Mark 10:2-16
  • Sep 29, 2024Erasing the Line in the Sand
    Sep 29, 2024
    Erasing the Line in the Sand
    By: Pastor Meagan
    Series: (All)
    September 29, 2024. Today's sermon is about lines in the sand. Jesus' disciples tried to draw a line in the sand in our gospel reading. And today, humans are still drawing lines in the sand, leaving out those most vulnerable. But new things are emerging, here in our own lives, at Christ Lutheran, and in our synod. The Spirit of God moves in all of us. God is erasing the lines, and we are called to help with the work.
     
    Readings: Numbers 11:4-6,10-16,24-29, James 5:13-20, Mark 9:38-50
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    From childhood, since I was a young kid, my brain (perhaps like many of yours) has easily defaulted to “black and white” thinking. Something is right or wrong, this way or that way, in or out, backward or forward. It’s what I knew, what made me feel comfortable. Over the years I have mellowed considerably, but I can still slip into that either/or mindset pretty easily, especially when stress is high. It feels good to organize our thoughts, doesn't it? It feels good sometimes to draw that line in the sand and feel like we know what's happening, we know what's going in. It feels good to do that, because we know where we fit and we know where other people fit.
     
    It is such a human thing to draw those lines to protect ourselves, and often we do it without even noticing that we're doing it. The notorious Ruth Bader Ginsberg pointed out in her first famous case in front of the Supreme Court that when she started studying at Harvard Law, female law students were regularly accused of stealing spots from the men. And there wasn’t a women’s bathroom on the law school campus. How more clear could the message be that women didn’t belong in law school at that time? Women could own property starting in 1870, they could vote starting in 1920, but couldn't get a credit card in their own name until 1970. That was the year I was born, just 54 years ago. Black people were not guaranteed the right to vote until the Voting Rights Act of 1965 — within many of our lifetimes.
     
    And unfortunately, the church has not been immune to those lines in the sand. Some still feel today that only men should be ordained. LGBTQIA+ people aren’t welcome, unfortunately, in many churches — even those that use the phrase “All are welcome,” which is why our status as a Reconciling in Christ church is so important. Even fewer are willing to call an LGBTQIA pastor.
     
    But we hear in our scripture readings today that these lines that leave some in and some out of the world, and the church, and ministry, are far from new. The disciples, 2000 years ago, seeing people they didn’t know and hadn’t approved of casting out demons, feel the need to draw a line. And they try to stop them, and go to Jesus just to make sure that the trespassers don’t interfere.
     
    Progress has definitely been made since then. But still today, there is a lot of energy poured into marking lines and putting up barriers even to such essential rights as voting, out of fear that the lines may be crossed. And in the process, those most vulnerable are left to fight for the right to vote, to use a public restroom in peace, to access health care that they and their families and their doctors know is necessary and appropriate for them. Letting go of control, going outside of what's comfortable and familiar to us, can be terrifying. But the hard truth is that refusal to go outside of those comfortable lines can actually lead to death.
     
    Family of faith, in case you hadn’t noticed, we are moving again into a new thing. It's wonderful to see this renovation of our building, so long planned and anticipated, actually happening, isn't it? But it is a bit disruptive, to say the least. New things are emerging, here in our own lives and here at Christ Lutheran. And soon, our building will be accessible to anyone regardless of their physical capacity, and we will have a wonderful space for all of us to gather. Lines are being erased right in front of us, and isn’t it exciting??
     
    Our synod became Reconciling In Christ this summer by an overwhelming vote of the entire assembly. And I and a couple of others had the joy of attending the installation of an openly queer woman as bishop in the Minneapolis Synod this last weekend. This weekend, today, ELCA churches and many other denominations are showing up at Tower Grove Pride to proclaim that God’s love embraces all people and doesn’t recognize our human lines in the sand. Lines are being erased, here and in our larger church.
     
    The Spirit of God embraces all people, no matter who you are, or where you're from. In Numbers today, God makes it clear that Moses’ spirit was not just Moses’, but was shared with all the people. It was actually God's spirit working through Moses. And the best part of this is that we know we are in this together. James calls us not to bear our burdens alone, but to share them in community.
     
    And when the disciples complained about the interlopers who are stealing their thunder, Jesus proclaims in no uncertain terms that the disciples don’t own the Spirit. In rather harsh language to our ears, Jesus warns them not to get in the way of those that the Spirit is calling, telling them it would be better to die than block the movement of the Spirit. It is so easy for us to get stuck in our own ideas, and Jesus goes to an extreme today to show how important it is to allow the Spirit to open our minds, rather than trying to reign the Spirit in. We humans sometimes draw lines, but God always erases them.
     
    It can feel a little chaotic, letting go as the Spirit moves and leads us on unknown paths. The disciples certainly felt anxious about the impact of random people sharing Jesus’ ministry. But that is how the Spirit works. Jesus told Nicodemus 2000 years ago that the Spirit blows where it will, and today we celebrate that the Spirit is still blowing among us in new ways.
     
    God told Moses, and Jesus told the disciples, and we are discovering today, that the Spirit of God moves in all of us. And every one of us are invited to share, in little ways and in big ways, the love, grace, and justice God is bringing to this world. God is busy erasing lines, ensuring that all people freely share in the abundance of love, mercy, and justice in the world. And we are called to take a deep breath, courageously pick up our erasers, or our rakes, or our hands, and help with the work. So buckle up! With the Spirit in charge, it is bound to be quite a ride!
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2024, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Numbers 11:4-6,10-16,24-29, James 5:13-20, Mark 9:38-50
  • Sep 22, 2024It is Well With My Soul
    Sep 22, 2024
    It is Well With My Soul
    By: Pastor Meagan
    Series: (All)
    September 22, 2024. Today we focus on those moments when the world as we know it seems to change, as it did for Jesus’ disciples when he told them that he was going to have to suffer and die.
     
    Reading: Mark 9:30-37
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    I remember exactly where I was, and what I was doing, when the world as I knew it ended for the first time. Twenty-three years, eleven days, and somewhere around two hours ago, I was at my desk in Eden Prairie, MN, when my co-worker Jody called to tell me. Two planes had crashed into the tallest buildings in New York City, and over the course of that morning and well into the afternoon, we watched in disbelief as those buildings collapsed, and I willed the phone to ring again with news that my cousins, who lived and worked in New York City, were safe.
     
    The days that followed were full of horrific images of destruction. Many of us remember this. We remember stories of death and very near misses, and the strange silence in the absence of airplanes that we were used to hearing overhead. I found myself feeling lost. I had no idea what to do next, or even how to survive in a world that suddenly seemed so uncertain and so foreign to me. I shared with my dad what I was feeling, and he told me about the day his world seemed to end: November 22, 1963, when President John Fitzgerald Kennedy was assassinated.
     
    The world as I know it has ended since then, sometimes in very global ways, like what we all experienced living through the pandemic. And so much that is happening in our world today — the violent destruction, oppression, and death, in Gaza and in Jerusalem and Ukraine and so many other parts of the world, the gun violence and political upheaval and opportunistic hatred toward anyone different — can almost feel apocalyptic, leave us feeling powerless, and hopeless.
     
    And sometimes, our world ends in deeply personal ways, like the March day last year when my mom’s serious dementia erupted shockingly into full view. We’ve all had those moments: the phone call, or the letter, or the personal event, that shakes the very foundation of everything we know, rendering our world unrecognizable to us.
     
    This morning, just nine chapters into the Gospel of Mark, the disciples have one of those moments, one that is both global and deeply personal. The disciples thought Jesus was going to save them, expected the miracles Jesus had been performing to continue, but as we saw last week, we have a sudden shift in this narrative. And today, Jesus lays down the earth-shattering truth: he, their Messiah as Peter proclaimed, will be taken. He will suffer and he will die. And there’s nothing they can do to stop it.
     
    The disciples, if you notice, respond in one of the ways that we humans often respond to such news. It’s important to know, first, that although our translation makes it sound like this is going to happen sometime in the future, the Greek actually says this betrayal is happening. Now. Right in front of them.
     
    And the disciples have no idea what to do with this, and they don’t get the urgency of the situation. They’re so afraid of what Jesus is saying that they can’t even ask him what he means, or how they can help. Maybe they feel shamed at not knowing. Perhaps, they don’t want to understand. And who can blame them? Jesus is heading to death, and the disciples have, and take, the option to step away, out of their fear. It’s risky to stay connected, and how human it is, and how easy for us too, when the world out there falls apart, to separate ourselves from it, to be more concerned about ourselves and our own comfort and safety, than we are about those whose well-being and lives are in jeopardy.
     
    So, the disciples, as we sometimes do, find something completely different to talk about, something to distract themselves from the reality that is presenting itself to them. I recall trying to convince myself that my mom’s confusion and paranoia was a blip, a short and temporary aberration that would quickly resolve. In the case of the disciples, they delve into speculating about who is going to be first in the military kingdom they believe Jesus is going to establish. But the reality doesn’t go away. The world as they know it is ending in front of them.
     
    And in the middle of that reality, hope appears, like a tiny flicker of flame so small we might miss it. The disciples certainly did. Jesus will be betrayed and killed. And three days later he will rise. Out of death itself, life will come. If you notice our flowers today, the dark flowers on the bottom that Sarah put together with the light flowers coming out. Out of death, life will come. Death is never the final word. Three days after death, Jesus will rise again. And in fact, in Christ, death leads directly to new life. It is no accident. Always, and forever. And that, beloveds, is one of the most important messages of our faith.
     
    In 1873, Horatio Spoffard and his family were booked on the French liner Ville du Havre to travel from the United States to Europe, when his world came to an end. Spoffard was delayed, and he sent his wife and his daughters ahead of him. The ship went down, and only his wife survived. He immediately set out to join his wife in Wales, and as his ship passed the spot where his daughters were lost, he wrote a poem, and Philip Bliss set it to music. “When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, though hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well, with my soul!”
     
    We know what God does with times like these. The pain, despair, and death are real. And so too, is God’s presence in the midst of our pain, and the life God brings out of death. So what are we to do, family of faith, when the world falls apart? Jesus tells us this, too: be servants of all, and embrace the children, embrace those who are most vulnerable when the world falls apart. Because always, and especially when the world falls apart, God calls us to come together. To allow our hearts to break, and embody love in the world as Christ did. To live, as James wrote, with the gentleness and wisdom that can only come from God. To face the brokenness with courage, speaking truth, speaking love, speaking healing, knowing that, as we heard last week, Jesus went first. Out of death and brokenness, Jesus always and everywhere brings life, and it will be well with our soul.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2024, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Mark 9:30-37
  • Jun 2, 2024The Rhythm of Life and Love
    Jun 2, 2024
    The Rhythm of Life and Love
    By: Pastor Meagan
    Series: (All)
    June 2, 2024. Pastor Meagan preaches on the Sabbath, how it's not just another rule to follow but instead shows us that rest and play are essential to us, and all of creation.
     
    Readings: 2 Corinthians 4:5-12, Mark 2:23-3:6
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    Those of you who are parents, or have parents, or are children, or have children, or were children, have probably all heard it, or maybe you've said it at one time or another: “First do your homework. Then you can have screen time.” Has anybody heard that? Or TV time, or you can go outside and play, whatever it might be. So, the other "or" you might hear: “Clean your room, and then you can go outsite.” So you do the work, and then you've earned some fun or rest time. I'm sure that sounds pretty familiar to all of us. And I admit, although I am an adult now and I don’t have anyone setting those expectations for me, I still do this for myself. Housework, or yardwork, or homework, or work-work comes first, and then I can do something just for rest or for fun. I will have earned my down time.
     
    And let’s be honest, it can feel really good to accomplish that task, can't it — just like the major garden project we worked on this week — and then sit on the patio under the umbrella, admiring how good it all looks as the cats romp around in our yard around us. But this has its downside too, I think. This simple principle of earning our rest or fun guides the way we navigate our most basic human needs sometimes, without our even realizing it, and that’s where we can sometimes get into trouble. We defer rest, or food, or fun, or even taking care of an aching back or a desperate need for water, until we've finished that “one more thing,” or just “ten more minutes, ten more minutes and then we're gonna take a break” until we feel like we've done enough to earn giving ourselves what we need. Karen and I have come to call this “opening cans of worms,” this phenomenon of doing one thing (dust and vacuum the sun porch), and then one more thing (organize the cat basket), and then one more thing (wash the windows and wipe out the sliding glass door tracks), until we're more ready to collapse than relax! Does that sound familiar to anybody?
     
    We hear echoes of this principle in other ways, too. Although leaders in the synagogue in our gospel today don’t say anything to Jesus about the man with the withered hand, we can easily imagine what they’re thinking. “He shouldn’t have come here. He should go to the doctor instead.” “This is the Sabbath. Why is he interrupting us today? He needs to come back a different day.” Or even, as was spoken aloud in several other gospel stories, “I wonder whether he sinned, or if it was his parents, to cause his withered arm.” You get the good you earn, right? And the man, others think, has not. Clearly.
     
    And for the disciples, who are hungry on the Sabbath at the beginning of our story, the command to honor the Sabbath becomes a weapon used against them. They should have worked harder sooner, so that they would have the food they need on this day when God commanded us to rest. Sabbath rest is enforced on them, even if it means they will go hungry that day.
     
    Through ministry at the Basilica of Saint Mary in Minneapolis, I saw how this principle shows up even in well-meaning efforts to help those experiencing homelessness, hunger, and unemployment. Most support for permanent housing, for example, requires that a person be in successful recovery from addiction and mental illness, have stable employment with a steady sustainable income, and have documentation proving all of this in order to qualify. This means appointments with doctors, housing managers, benefits coordinators, and others, all while keeping track of the required paperwork and getting it to the right place at the right time, which is challenging enough when you aren’t staying on the street or in shelter. And if you have a criminal record, none of the rest of that seems to matter.
     
    A person seeking food, or shelter, or heat, is told, “It’s not the right time or day to ask for that. You’ll need to come back.” Or, “You need to get a job and provide for yourself.” A parent bringing their child across the border to save them from violence and starvation in their home country hears, “You’re not doing this the right way. You need to go back and wait. Go through the process.”
     
    The disciples, according to those who criticized them, should have gone hungry rather than gather grain on the Sabbath. The man with the withered hand, who was truthfully more disabled by the assumptions people made about him than he was by the hand itself, should have worn the label people gave him, rather than allow Sabbath healing that violated the law.
     
    Jesus, as he so often does, challenges this whole notion — not once, but twice — in our gospel today. Faithful Jewish teacher that he was, he does not throw out the commandment to keep the Sabbath. Far from it. But puts it in its rightful place, reminding us (although he doesn’t quite use these words today) that the greatest commandment of all is love. And love is the fulfillment of the law. The law always leads us to compassionate relationship with God and others, and Mark tells us that it was out of anger, and grief at their hardness of heart, that Jesus restored the man to the community. The Sabbath, Jesus claimed, was meant to serve creation in its relationship with God, not to be used as an excuse to judge those who are already struggling to fit in.
     
    Sabbath practice, at its best, is not just another rule to follow. We celebrate baptism today with Mabel, and we're reminded that in our own baptisms, we're invited into a rhythm of creativity and rest that God, the creator of all things, lives out. Creation itself flows from day, to night, to day, and through the seasons that call for sowing and planting, then tending, then harvesting, then putting the earth to bed for the winter so it can prepare itself for another spring. Jesus' life, death, and resurrection shows us, as Paul wrote so eloquently, that even death brings us into closer relationship with Christ, who died and rose again that we might share the life that he came to give us. God made everything that is, called it good, and then rested on the seventh day. Baptism reminds us of that.
     
    The command to practice the Sabbath teaches us that rest and play are essential to us, and all of creation. So whether you're satisfied at completing the work of the day, frustrated at things that did not go as planned, weary of the struggle and feeling that you will never earn the rest you so desperately need, enter into Sabbath rest today. Another day is coming, and all will be well. The Sabbath really is for us.
     
    Thanks be to God.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2024, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, 2 Corinthians 4:5-12, Mark 2:23-3
  • Apr 14, 2024Can I Get a Witness?
    Apr 14, 2024
    Can I Get a Witness?
    By: Pastor Meagan
    Series: (All)
    April 14, 2024. We are all witnesses. This week we were witnesses to the eclipse. And just like Jesus’ disciples, we're called to be witnesses of the risen Christ, in flesh and blood.

    Readings: 1 John 3:1-7, Luke 24:36b-48

    *** Transcript ***

    Just a few days ago there was an event, one that had many of us clamoring to be witnesses. Classes at school were shortened, and I myself bugged off early from a Zoom meeting so I wouldn’t miss it. Vacation days were redeemed, hours spent in cars driving to where the experience would be. Complete. Total. I checked into some options myself. I considered heading south (the anticipated traffic and aforementioned Zoom meeting got in the way of that plan) or maybe getting tickets to ride the riverboats by the Arch (they were booked), and I settled for being a witness closer to home. Karen and I secured the cats inside and we joined our neighbors in our back yards, heads turned upwards — with eclipse glasses, of course — watching the moon as it covered the sun, feeling the air cool, and experiencing the earth darkening in the middle of the afternoon. It was awesome. It’s not every day, after all, that we get to witness a solar eclipse.

    The disciples were called to be witnesses too, and they had their own set of questions to answer. Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and John, and Salome were the first to see the empty tomb, as we heard on Easter Sunday, and we know it took them a while to share what they had seen. And then, in the verses just before Jesus appeared to the disciples in today’s gospel, two of the disciples were walking the road to Emmaus and they were joined by Jesus on the road, and they went back and told the disciples what had happened.

    And the disciples were talking about all of this, in that upper room. Perhaps they were debating, as many of us did, about where they should go to find Jesus for themselves. Should they go to the grave again? Should they all go down the road to Emmaus, in case Jesus showed up there to break bread with all of them? Or should they just stay where the were, where they felt at least somewhat safe from the religious leaders and soldiers they feared might be after them? They may have wondered if the story the women and the two who walked the road to Emmaus could be trusted. They were all overwhelmed with shock and grief and fear, after all. Who knows what they actually saw? Jesus was dead, they knew that for sure. He couldn’t really be alive, could he?

    And as they were discussing all of these things, Jesus himself came to them. He appeared in that upper room, and wished them peace and showed them his scars. And then Jesus asked for food, because he could tell that the wounds weren’t enough to convince the disciples. And as they experienced these things, their hearts and minds were opened, things made clear to them that hadn’t made any sense before. And Jesus called them witnesses.

    We're called to be witnesses too, called to tell the story not just of the celestial event of the eclipse — although that was pretty amazing, even from my backyard. We're called to be witnesses of the risen Christ, in flesh and blood. To see and even touch the scars in his hands and his feet and his side. To watch him eat, chewing the fish provided by the disciples and swallowing it down his esophagus into his belly, just like all of us do. To have our hearts and minds opened to the miracle that is being lived out right in front of us. And to tell that story to everyone we meet.

    There are so many ways, and places, and people, in whom we can see Jesus among us. I was witness to Jesus alive this week in the passion of a father advocating at the capitol in Jefferson City for his son, who is experiencing the worst of conditions in a nursing home here in St. Louis since he was the victim of gun violence at the age of 19. This father was seen, in his pain, resolution, and hope, as he shared his story. He was a witness, and we were witnesses to him.

    Trans people had a chance to be seen in all their belovedness on Trans Visibility Day, which this year just happened to fall on Easter Sunday. How appropriate to celebrate their lives of challenge and beauty and resilience, on resurrection day.

    I saw Jesus alive in the joy several clergy experienced as they shepherded a baby kitty named Motka from Oklahoma to Ohio to be embraced in love at her new forever home.

    The disciples didn’t believe it right away that Jesus had risen and was standing in front of them. It wasn’t until they saw Jesus chewing and swallowing that they got it, and their minds and hearts began to absorb and transform. That very human act changed everything, like Jesus’ voice calling “Mary!” on Easter Sunday morning, and the breaking of bread on the road to Emmaus allowed the other disciples to become witnesses to the resurrection. It was as if these actions served as a new pair of glasses for the disciples — resurrection glasses, if you will — allowing the disciples to recognize the risen Jesus as he stood in their midst. It enabled them to tell the story.

    And that leaves us with a question: what does it take for us to recognize the risen Christ among us? What does it take to know our own belovedness, as it is described in the letter to John today — to know that we are children of God? What does it take for us to know the belovedness of those around us? What kind of glasses do we need to truly see? What story do we have to tell? And can I get a witness today?

    Thanks be to God.

    *** Keywords ***

    2024, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, 1 John 3:1-7, Luke 24:36b-48
  • Apr 7, 2024To Be the Hands and Feet of Jesus in the World Today
    Apr 7, 2024
    To Be the Hands and Feet of Jesus in the World Today
    By: Rachel Helton
    Series: (All)
    April 7, 2024. Today, Rachel Helton's message is on Doubting Thomas, and how the resurrected Jesus meets him and us where we need him most.
     
     
    *** Transcript ***
     
    Won't you pray with me? May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be fruitful and true and pleasing to you, O God. Amen.
     
    It was the first day of the week, and Peter (who denied even knowing Jesus just a few days previously) and another disciple have now seen the empty tomb. Mary Magdalene has encountered Jesus himself, who she recognized only after he called her by name. And now we're told that Jesus has come to be among the disciples — the disciples who are huddled behind locked doors, filled with fear. And Jesus says to them, "Peace be with you." And he breathes the Holy Spirit upon them. And that Spirit is not just upon them, but within them. But someone was missing from their midst, Thomas.
     
    While the rest of the disciples were sheltering together — confused, disappointed, afraid — we don't know why Thomas wasn't with them. But the Gospel according to John tells us that Thomas Didymus, Thomas the Twin, wasn't there when Jesus first appears among the disciples, so he has to hear about their encounter with the risen messiah second hand. I wonder if he felt jealous, if he felt left out. Perhaps he felt like he missed out on an opportunity that everyone else had been given. So we shouldn't be surprised, really, that he says, "I want to see him too." I don't think Thomas says this because he needs evidence of the Resurrection, but rather because he longs to encounter the risen Christ himself.
     
    And Jesus meets him there. Thomas needs to see the wounds on Jesus' body. He needs to experience the living God through encountering the traumatized Jesus. Thomas needs to know that Jesus' suffering was real, and that Jesus will continue to show up in suffering. The Resurrection does not suddenly erase suffering, but it does assure us that nothing — not suffering, not fear, not doubt, not confusion, not even a locked door — can keep us from encountering the love of God. It was a whole week later, we're told, when Jesus appeared to Thomas. And I wonder if Thomas' hope dwindled during that week. He must have wondered if he'd missed out forever.
     
    We can feel this way too, if we start to compare our experiences with God to others around us. We might find ourselves feeling jealous, or even feeling skeptical or suspicious of someone else's experience. We might long for Jesus to meet us where we need him most.
     
    Jesus appears again to the disciples, and this time Thomas is there. And Jesus does not scold him or question him or make any mention of the fact that Thomas' experience is somehow different than the other disciples. He simply offers his broken body to him, because that is how Thomas enters into relationship with the Christ who is risen from the dead. The broken body given for Thomas. The broken body given for you, for me.
     
    We can get hung up on this story being about "Doubting Thomas." But this is not about the doubt of Thomas. It's about the deep grace of Christ and his willingness to come to Thomas and meet him right where he is. And verse 31 tells us why he does this: so that through the encounter with the transformed, living Christ, we might believe — and through believing have real life.
     
    Thomas' response to Jesus, saying, "My Lord and my God, my Lord and my God," he bridges together his past experience of living with the presence of Jesus and his future of being empowered by the Spirit of God. In the experience of the broken body, the wounded hands, Thomas can become the hands of Christ in the world, because believing is about more than what one thinks or understands. It's about what one does.
     
    And we know from the reading from Acts that the life of the disciples going forward was the life of doing and living in a community of radical belonging and radical love of neighbor. The disciples are of one heart, one soul, one mind. Through their unity they bear witness to the resurrected Christ, and the result is that everyone has what they need.
     
    Psalm 133 says how good it is when kindred live together in unity. And our reading from 1 John urges us to live together in fellowship. There was suffering in the world then. And there is suffering in the world now. The alleluia of the Easter morning does not erase that reality. But God promises to show up and be with us in life. In all of it. God promises that no one will be left out of his abundance. Mary needed to encounter Jesus in her confusion and grief, and Jesus met her there and called her by name. The disciples needed to encounter Jesus in their fear, and Jesus met them there with peace, bringing the Holy Spirit to them. Thomas needed to encounter the scarred and broken Jesus for himself, and Jesus met him there. In a way, perhaps we are Thomas' twin, because we too weren't there and yet we hold out for our own encounter with the resurrected Christ.
     
    And this is the promise of the Resurrection. Not just a promise of life, but a promise of relationship with a God who meets us where we are. Two thousand years later we, like Thomas, can also say, "I want to see him too." And we can trust that Jesus will meet us in the place where we need him to. It doesn't look the same for each of us. Christ reveals himself to us in intimate and unique ways, not to prove something, but to empower his continued ministry through us by the work of the Holy Spirit. The result of the Resurrection is that we can fully experience God's provision of abundance through the love we share with our neighbors.
     
    On Maundy Thursday, we read together the words written by Teresa of Ávila in the 1500s, and I want to share them again today:
     
    Christ has no body but yours,
    No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
    Yours are the eyes with which he looks
    Compassion on the world,
    Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
    Yours are the hands, with which he blesses the world.
    Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
    Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
     
    I invite you to think about your own encounter with the risen Christ. How is Jesus being revealed to you? And how are you empowered by this encounter with Christ to live in community, to care for others, to be cared for by others, for the sake of abundant life? As we sing together our hymn of the day, let us think about what it means to be the hands and feet of Jesus in the world today.
     
    Amen.
     
    *** Keywords ***
     
    2024, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Rachel Helton, Acts 4:32-35, Psalm 133, 1 John 1:1-2:2, John 20:19-31, St. Teresa of Ávila, Christ Has No Body But Yours
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