November 25, 2018. How do you respond to authority? Pastor Stephanie preaches on John 18 and the interaction between Pilate and Jesus, two people who each have authority vested in them. *** Transcript *** I have a question for you: How do you respond to authority? Don't worry, it's a rhetorical question, since I can't go row by row getting your responses right now. Even if I could, there would be many of you who would probably say, "Well, it's complicated." It's a difficult thing to answer, and I completely understand that. After working with a very authoritarian pastor in my first seminary fieldwork experience until I could take it no longer, I learned that I have authority issues. Never had to think too much about that before that year. And thankfully I had professionals around me who could help me to process the interior work that I needed to do around that issue. It did help to soften it some, to know that other seminary students had had issues with that same pastor. And so after my experience, the seminary little longer sent any students over to that pastor to work with him. But still, since I was bound to encounter others who exerted authority in the same manner in which this guy did, in ministry and in life in general, I had to learn and grow from that experience. Even with the self-reflection I took on after that, that is not to say that all of my authority issues have been resolved. I'm still a work in progress on that, and in so many other ways. We may like to think that not many people do have authority over us, because we like to emphasize our freedom and our autonomy, don't we? I'm reminded of the time when our oldest son expressed so emphatically one day when he got home from school, "I am the boss of me." If you're a parent, you'll know how glad we were to hear that. It took a little debriefing for Phil and me to understand where that had come from. But as we talked with Andrew more, we began to understand that his class had been listening to the school counselor that day, and she was helping them to understand boundaries of how to operate and respond with strangers. That all made perfect sense, and I was grateful for that reinforcement of what we were also teaching him. But it didn't mean that his father and I were less authority figures than we had been before that day. Because it is complicated to figure out how we relate to those in authority over us, the interaction between Pilate and Jesus in John 18 is intriguing, if we stop to analyze it. These are two people who each have authority vested in them. They are each called by various names by those around them and many of the titles imply elevated leadership, even though the power dynamics in this instance seem very unequal. Pilate seems to loom larger, since from a purely human point of view it would appear that he holds Jesus' future in his hands. But let's look at this as objectively as we can. Pilate has subjects who follow based on coercion, and structures set up for him to be obeyed or else. We don't even want to know what that might mean. But Jesus has followers who come by way of invitation and response. Pilate has soldiers all around his palace that would do his bidding on command, in an instant. Jesus is standing all alone before him with no apparent support system, much less foot soldiers nearby. Pilate is in control of this interview, yet he is the one who is threatened by Jesus. He must inquire as to whether Jesus does claim to be a king, as his followers have designated him, whether or not Jesus is guilty of committing any crimes. The one thing Pilate wants to know most of all: is this guy a threat to me and my authority? We've all known people like that, haven't we? Jesus, by contrast, is not threatened by Pilate in the least. He is calm, he is confident, and he speaks with authority that allows him to turn the question of whether he is the king of the Jews back to the questioner. "Do you ask this on your own, or have others suggested this to you?" Jesus is amazing in that he is clearly not anxious in this situation. I think we can perceive from his demeanor that he is communicating, "You, Pilate, are in authority within your own little kingdom, but you cannot stir me up because you are not in authority over me. And as a matter of fact, I have a question for you to ponder. What is it about you that worries you so much about me? Your own insecurity, or your desire to please others so you can retain your power?" If we are at all honest with ourselves, questions like that, when addressed to us, can be unnerving as well. We really don't want to probe that deeply to find out why we act or react as we do in our most anxious moments at times. At this point Pilate is not interested in probing his own motives. No, this is way too scary for him, or perhaps unlikely. He was too pompous to think that it might even be relevant. You can almost hear the fear in his voice when he nearly spits out, "I'm not a Jew, am I?" He refuses to let this be anything about him. So he throws it back on Jesus, reminding him that he must have done a terrible thing to have his people handing him over to Pilate. Well, one of the most common human responses to fear is to run and hide or, as in the case of Pilate, to double down on the power that we can grab to protect ourselves. Pilate has power. He likes power. He wants to keep it that way, and he's willing to use force, if necessary, to secure his lock on his position. He has been taught a way of being an authority for so long that he doesn't question whether there is a better way. His way of wielding the kind of power uses weapons and soldiers, invasions and persecutions to protect what Rome already has, and seeks to expand. And let's be clear, he was very interested in securing his own place in that hierarchy as well. The trappings of power might reassure Pilate, but he's clearly unsettled by a different kind of power that he senses in this stranger from the hinterlands who stands before him. He wonders, "Who is this guy who is not cowering before me and pleading for his very life?" So, Jesus decides to let Pilate in on the basis of his confidence. It's as if he's saying, "You see Pilate, your frame of reference about your kingdom causes you to think and to respond in a certain way. For me to be a king threatens your kingdom. But I am the king of a kingdom of which you are not familiar. You were talking apples. I am talking oranges." In Jesus recorded words, we have this: "My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here." This has to be mind-blowing to Pilate. Who has ever heard of such a thing? How does one keep a kingdom intact without force, without fighting back rivals? And if his kingdom isn't from this world, then from where does it come? Well, the Gospel of John has been building, building, building toward a climax of demonstrating the truth of this very kingdom to which Jesus refers. The opening chapter in the gospel shares with us that the word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory of grace and truth. So, Jesus responds to Pilate saying, "You see that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world. To testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." There you have it: Jesus' authority rests on the fact that he is the truth. He doesn't need a campaign or soldiers to stand guard in his kingdom. All that is good and kind and right is part of his kingdom, because his kingdom is a kingdom of truth. His royal mission began in heaven and he came to earth with a divine mandate. He was sent to unveil the truth. When Jesus talks about truth, he's not just talking about honesty or truthfulness -- although he is talking about that. He's not saying merely that he's going to say true things. He says he embodies, and he is the truth. The irony in this story is that truth is the only authority and power that Jesus wields. He stands as the naked truth that upholds the universe before the lies of religion and power politics, and any other kind of lies you can think of. As we know, lies undermine. Lies erode trust. Without trust there can be no genuine relationships. Marriages, friendships, partnerships all rely on trust born out of thankfulness and truthfulness. If anything makes us suspicious it's when lies, untruths, and deceptions become accepted as, "Oh well, the way it is." Nothing good can be built on a foundation of lies. Only truth will bear the weight of building something with integrity and strength, and foster good and decent relationships. So Jesus spoke the truth to Pilate, just as he had spoken truth to the religious leaders. But neither the religious leaders would listen to the truth nor Pilate. Together they would conspire to destroy Jesus. But here's the good news, folks: the truth cannot be overcome. Christ the King Sunday reminds us that Jesus, in all of his truth, overcomes all kinds of lies and deception. His is the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never overcome it. They could take Jesus' life, for a time. But as God raised him to life, truth won the day. And truth will ultimately always win. So what can we say about Jesus' kingdom versus other lesser, rival kingdoms? First of all, Jesus' kingdom is a kingdom of truth. It's not a kingdom that lies and manipulates others by striking fear into people's hearts. His is the kingdom of mercy. It's not a kingdom of coercion, where the strong dominate the weak. His is the kingdom that frees the enslaved. The truth shall set you free. It's not a kingdom that enslaves to keep control. His is a kingdom that has a wide circle of inclusion where all belong. It is not a kingdom where the king asserts his superiority and all the subjects live in fear as to whether they are in or out. His is the kingdom where love and service for the good of all creation is the mode of operation. His is the kingdom that can never be toppled by rival kingdoms, because it is the one true kingdom that goes on and on, forever and ever I know Brent referred to this as well, but this is the end of the liturgical year. I could wish you a Happy New Year. We think it's December 31 to January 1 where we observe a new year, and that's true on our calendars that we observe in this society. But for us this Sunday is the end of the year, and it is most appropriate that these readings come to us to remind us that Jesus is from the beginning to the end, and on and on into eternity. We can close the liturgical year affirming and rejoicing that Jesus is seated at the right hand of God the Father. All things are under his guidance, and he will come again to wipe out warfare and sorrow and sickness. As we prepare to celebrate Advent, that is exactly what we'll be doing. We'll be celebrating the fact that our king is coming, has come, and will come again. With such a king we need not have authority issues, because he is no bully. His authority over us yields love, forgiveness, and wide acceptance. That is compelling and deserves our worship and praise. Our hymn of the day seems to take on some of the language of kingdoms that do battle and strive to conquer others, but please listen carefully to the language of this hymn as you sing it. It transforms concepts like battle and conquest, and points out that the king whom we serve brings an entirely different kind of kingdom than the one the world has to offer. Let's honor Christ for this as we sing hymn number 805 using some of these words: For not with swords' loud clashing
Or roll of stirring drums
With deeds of love and mercy
The heavenly kingdom comes
Lead on, O King eternal
We follow, not with fears,
For gladness breaks like morning
Where'er your face appears
We pray with the church worldwide. Come, Lord Jesus. *** Keywords *** 2018, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Stephanie Doeschot

October 28, 2018. Pastor Stephanie considers different ways to relate the story of Bartimaeus to the Reformation, in her sermon today. *** Transcript *** So as we've said, it's Reformation Sunday. And that should mean something, shouldn't it? I know those of you who were here last year commemorated this in nearly every conceivable way, according to the reports I got, as the 500th anniversary of Martin Luther posting his 95 Theses on the door at Wittenberg Castle was observed. My husband Phil and I joined in with several friends at the worship service that was held in the Basilica as part of that commemoration. So, even though we're operating on a little smaller scale this year in 501, it seems that we should be remembering what prompted the Reformation in the first place. The appointed gospel reading is of course the story of Bartimaeus receiving his sight. I guess we might look at this interesting story of the blind man, Bartimaeus, who calls out to Jesus, for some way to see how that might be attached to Reformation Sunday. Just like when we read any gospel story, we can get hooked on one aspect or another and wonder what it is about that aspect that calls to us. This is a short reading, and yet I saw several things that might be good food for thought. We could look at the name "Bartimaeus," for example. You know that "bar" in Hebrew means son, and "mitzvah" means commandment. So if you're invited to someone's bar mitzvah, that means it's about son of commandment and bat mitzvah means daughter of commandment. So Bartimaeus the son of Timaeus is spelled out in that way. Here's where it gets interesting: "Timaeus" can be interpreted in a couple of different ways. In Aramaic, one of the languages in the New Testament, it means defilement or dishonor. The listeners who heard this story originally would have also realized that in Greek the word means honor. So Bartimaeus could then mean son of honor. This guy is simultaneously a son of honor and a son of dishonor. Isn't that the story of all humankind, really though, the state in which each one of us find ourselves some parts worthy of honor, some parts not so much? When we are honest with ourselves, it's the mixture that we all have within ourselves. But that's not the primary theme of the sermon. We could look more carefully at the response of the crowd, including the disciples, to the cries of this blind man. There was not much compassion given. They tell him to be quiet. If you've been on this journey with us through the Gospel of Mark, you've already seen plenty of instances where the disciples are just not getting it. They don't know what Jesus is about yet. So they've been telling people not to bring children up to Jesus, and now they want to keep a blind man away from Jesus. Well, we've had enough on this topic too, so that's not the theme of the sermon either. Here's another aspect we could consider. Maybe we could consider the part about Bartimaeus throwing off his cloak. He springs up and he goes to Jesus, leaving his cloak behind. Now, that detail must be there for a reason. What does this cloak signify? Could it be that he is leaving behind the only security as a beggar that he has known? He's probably spread out his cloak in front of him at the roadside, receiving gifts and alms that people have dropped on his cloak over and over again. So is this his act of faith that he isn't going to need his cloak anymore, since he's so sure Jesus will help him? Interesting to consider, but still not the main subject of this sermon. Because as I've said, this is Reformation Sunday, and I hope you take away from this service another point. It's something that transformed the way Martin Luther viewed his relationship with God and wanted everyone to focus on, more than the outward rituals of religion. And that is that it's God's desire to lavish grace and mercy on us, not because we deserve it, but because God is love and wants so deeply to have a vibrant relationship with us through faith. Our faith is predicated on God's love for us while we were yet sinners, as we said in the prayer of confession today. Christ died for us before we had a clue that we needed someone to demonstrate love for us in such a self-giving, redemptive way. Before we ever became aware of our need for forgiveness and restoration, salvation even, God was reaching out to us to bring us to a place of recognition and receptivity in order to gain this glorious gift of salvation. As Ephesians 2 says, we were dead in our trespasses. But God, who is rich in mercy (one of my favorite phrases in there) did not leave us there but instead made us together alive in Christ. So because this Sunday reminds us of the pillars of our theology, I'd like to take you through a little theological reflection on the gospel reading. This section in Mark 10 is an excellent illustration of the belief that we are saved by grace through faith. The blind man Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus, who may or may not have been honorable, doesn't really matter to this story because God loves all people. Anyway, Bartimaeus is sitting by the roadside near Jericho. He's heard of the reputation of Jesus as a compassionate healer. But the story doesn't really start with Bartimaeus, just as our own stories don't really start with us. God is the first mover. That's a concept familiar to those of you who love philosophy and theology. It means that everything starts with the nature and character of God. Your story, my story, Bartimaeus' story, all start with God. How do we see this in Mark 10? Well as reports of Jesus circulated, especially of his ability to give life to a little girl who had died, to heal the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years, to heal lame people and to calm storms (to recapitulate a little bit of where we've been in the Gospel of Mark) Bartimaeus wants to experience this Jesus for himself. Yes, he was motivated by wanting to receive his sight again, but also even the fact that Bartimaeus can recognize who Jesus is tells us something of God's initial action in Bartimaeus' life. When he was told that Jesus from Nazareth was passing by, it is said, he cried out. They called him Jesus of Nazareth. What does he cry out when he calls him? "Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me." Voices in the crowd knew Jesus as being from Nazareth. Bartimaeus recognizes that there's more to Jesus than just being identified as from this town or that town. Now, that means something to people in St. Louis, as you know. To know that someone came from Chesterfield, or Hazelwood, or Affton is a source of conversation. But identifying Jesus from where he'd come from didn't mean anything to Bartimaeus. He calls out to Jesus, identifying him as "son of David." That's a recognition of Jesus being the promised one that he and his people, the people he knew, were longing for, for the one who was going to set everything right arising from the line of David. This too is a gift from God: that Bartimaeus, in his physical blindness, would have insight into the uniqueness of Jesus. So, God moves first in this story, acting in ways of pure grace, giving Bartimaeus even the smallest kernel of faith. Spiritual insight, if not physical sight, to start with. I wonder, do you ever stop to think about what you know about God, even if it doesn't seem that much to you, that even any of it is there because God has already done something in your life to draw you nearer to God? It's there because God has prepared a way for you and me to know and to experience more fully. Well next, we see Bartimaeus calling out to Jesus for mercy. In faith, Bartimaeus calls on Jesus to provide for him what he most desires. He is, at this point, utterly relying on the mercy of God, and not on anything that he can offer by way of earning God's favor. People who like to check out all the ways that Greek or Aramaic words are used in the New Testament provide a lot of help to people like me, who like to know but lack the patience to spend hours poring over comparing where this verb shows up and that verb shows up. Of course, it's much easier now with computers. But it used to be that people had to look and notice and write it down and then compare, so I'm thankful for lots of helps in this regard too, because I think these words are very important. I also appreciate learning from the people in our Tuesday text study, including Pastor Roger, who are really up on these things. They can always shed some light on the significance of the various words that are actually used. In this case, it is noteworthy that the verb used for Bartimaeus calling to Jesus is a strong, strong word telling us that Bartimaeus is begging for mercy. He is crying out. He is intensely calling to Jesus. He's putting all of his hopes on what Jesus can do for him, because he has the faith that Jesus can and will do something for him. "Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me." And, Jesus does show him mercy. He restores Bartimaeus' sight. How he restores Bartimaeus' sight we are not told in this story. All we have is Jesus saying, "Your faith has made you well." Or whole. The word is "sozo." This is one Greek word I really know. And it's an important one because it's the word for salvation. It means salvation, wellness, wholeness, peace, shalom, any manner of well-being, of wholeness. And then we are told that Bartimaeus regained his sight and followed Jesus on his way. I think that's an important addendum. It's an illustration of what Reformation leaders call salvation by grace through faith -- God's grace, prompting us to see and to receive grace through eyes of faith also given to us by God. It all comes from, and all cycles back to, God's goodness and mercy for God's glory. So, you may wonder, what's our part in this? I guess it could be summed up in one thought: we get to respond to God's grace. For one thing, we celebrate and praise God for the salvation that has come to us as God's gracious gift in Jesus Christ. We do this each week in worshipping together, and throughout the week as we reflect on the goodness that God has given to us. Sometimes when we think about these big, sweeping, theological concepts of salvation coming to us by grace through faith, we can forget that this is an ongoing thing. Bartimaeus didn't just thank God and then go back to his old life. Even though he could now see and didn't have to be a beggar, he probably had other relationships, other things he might have done with his time. But he became a follower of Jesus regardless of how those other connections were kept up. Some of what is troubling in the larger church today, and I don't mean here but I mean in the larger scope of the church, is that people can talk so much about salvation as a commodity as though "Will I have my salvation?" And then, "Now that's all I need. And so we can go on our merry ways" If that's their belief. But there seems to be no sense of continuing into the path and recognizing that there's always more. There's always more mercy. There's always more grace. There's always more that we will see and experience with Christ, as we continue to follow him. And God's set up that way because God likes being in relationship with us. So as we follow we are continually in the process of realizing more and more of what God is willing and able to do, in and through and for us. Like Bartimaeus, we have lots of occasions in which we want to call out for mercy in our own lives and for the lives of others. And like Bartimaeus, we are exercising the gift of faith that God gives us as we do. At least one part of exercising faith through prayer is asking for help, or grace, from the holy one in faith. It is calling to the one who is more willing to respond than we can ever imagine, and more capable of response than we dared to hope. The prayer of faith we get from Bartimaeus has been simply called the Jesus Prayer. It is practiced by people around the world. It originates in the pleas for mercy in the psalms, and also throughout the ministry of Jesus by those who called on him in various ways, including this call or cry from Bartimaeus. It simply goes like this -- and you cannot forget it, once you've got in your head -- Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me (or on us, as the occasion warrants). You can pray it as a meditation as you breathe in and breathe out. Some people find that a very helpful practice, as do I, to breathe in the words "Jesus Christ," breathe out "Son of God," breathe in "Have mercy on us." I find this especially valuable when I don't have any other words because feelings can be so intense. When you have a personal need or concern for another that is so great, or circumstances that seem so overpowering, you can simply express your faith in the one who gives grace. It's the kind of prayer I find myself repeating when news such as we received yesterday showed up in news sources of every kind -- that a shooter had entered a synagogue in Pittsburgh, killing and injuring many Jewish worshippers. At times like this our words seem so inadequate. It is difficult to give voice to the anger, sadness, lament, anguish, and sorrow that we feel for the people most directly impacted, as well as for ourselves and our surroundings, our corporate sense of security, our trust, that some places at least are havens from violence and strife, gets shaken to the core. Whether these prayers for mercy are for these intense needs for healing and comfort for others, or of mercy for ourselves and our failures and our remorse, God hears these requests for mercy. Those who know of their need for mercy and of whom they need to ask it, do find mercy, and wholeness and peace. This is faith. It is the faith which knows that grace and mercy are the gifts of God. It is faith that experiences grace as the gift of utmost importance and returns thanks to the giver of all good gifts. In the words of the Apostle Paul, which so moved Martin Luther to take his stand, it is by grace that we are saved through faith. This is not our own doing. It is the gift of God, not the results of works, so that no one may boast. We have received mercy through what Christ has done for us, friends. Now we can live in continual relationship with God, who is always rich in mercy toward us. God does have mercy on us. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2018, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Stephanie Doeschot

September 23, 2018. Hospitality toward others is the way to welcoming God more fully into our lives. When Jesus' disciples argued about which of them would be greatest, he showed them what greatness meant by welcoming a child. Pastor Stephanie preaches on just how radical a thought this would have been for the disciples, and invites us to break down walls to welcome others into our lives. *** Transcript *** I imagine that many of you are familiar with the side of Jesus that wasn't what we'd call "meek and mild," right? Like for instance, the time that we read that he came into the temple and looked around, didn't like what he saw, so he started tossing some tables upside down. Yeah, he didn't much like how people were being exploited, so he made a rather dramatic show of his displeasure. Admit it, you love that, don't you? You love Jesus going and getting 'em and telling 'em what's right and what's wrong, as long as those aren't our tables. We love it that Jesus stands up for the little people against authorities that are taking advantage of them. I would also love to read a story about Jesus knocking down some walls. I mean, walls divide people all the time. And we like to talk about building bridges rather than building walls. So, walls that divide have to go. Wouldn't it be cool for Jesus to tear down a few? You who love action films have to be with me on this one: Jesus takes a karate chop or two and demolishes a barrier that the big shots have constructed to keep their own kind in and everyone else out. I'm sure you have an idea or two yourself how you'd like to see Jesus go about this. Well, I might invite you then to sit down for an hour or two some time and read through the entire Gospel of Mark, and look for the many ways that Jesus does at least three things. He turns things upside down. He knocks down preconceptions. And he challenges conventional thinking. If you do that, I'm guaranteeing that you will find a pretty good-sized list of his words that do just that. These stories may not show a literal turning of objects upside down like tables, but they do an effective job of causing people to go, "What's that again, Jesus? You might have to run that past me again, because that isn't how things really go in this world." Jesus was a master of knocking down walls that we build to keep our own ways of thinking and operating in, and his ways of operating out. That is pretty much the case when his disciples are walking along with him while he is talking about the suffering, dying, and rising again that he will be doing in the near future. Apparently, all they are hearing is the "wah wah." That happens sometimes, because this is not something that they want to hear about. Instead, they've been having their own little discussion walking behind him. Knowing this but calling them out on it, when they get to the house in Capernaum where they'll be staying, Jesus asked, "What was that that you were arguing about while you were walking behind me?" We aren't told that anyone admitted to what they've been arguing over and that it was about who would be the greatest in the Kingdom that they just knew that Jesus was ushering in. In fact, the gospel writer Mark says they were silent because they did not want to own up to their aspirations for greatness. So can't you just imagine Jesus sighing once again and sitting them down to have a little lesson? This is how I imagine the conversation going based on the parts that we do have recorded before us: "Okay, now as you know," Jesus says, "I've been teaching you about how different God's ways are than human ways. You think you know what greatness is, but..." (And I insert my own comment here. This could be easily addressed to our own contemporary culture, couldn't it? How little our society has learned over the years. It's hard now to even use the word "greatness" for things that actually are great, since "Make America Great Again" has become a thing -- and a thing that demonstrates anything but greatness.) But back to Jesus' conversation. As he tells them, "You people think you know what greatness is, but you do not. You think that power, prestige, status, wealth, and social position are the great things. Not true at all. Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." That was probably met with silence again from the disciples. After all, Jesus just knocked down an invisible wall that they were leaning on. "What?" They must be thinking. "Nobody, but nobody, gets ahead by going for last place or by doing menial jobs." Jesus goes on, "Here, let me show you." He took a little child into his arms and said to them, "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me. And whoever welcomes me welcomes not me, but the one who sent me." So now he really has their attention. All they see is a child, whom they cannot imagine playing any kind of important role in this kingdom of love that Jesus keeps talking about. From our vantage point this act seems cute. "Aw, Jesus picks up and hugs a child." But it was likely not so cute to Jesus' disciples. In his day children were definitely seen but not heard. They had little to no inherent worth, in and of themselves. John Pilch, in his work The Cultural World of Jesus, sheds light on the customs and culture reflected in Jesus' actions and words. A child in our culture is deeply valued and put high on our priorities. At least we insist this is so, in spite of the number of children in poverty and other difficult circumstances. But for the most part, most people would agree that children are our treasures. However, in the time of Jesus, a child was lowest on the priority list. Children weren't worth much until they grew up and proved themselves. They were actually considered nobodies. Their worth was tied up in their potential to maybe someday becoming productive adults, who could support their families in their old age. Even in medieval times, I was surprised to learn, Mediterranean cultures put a low value on children. Thomas Aquinas himself taught that in a raging fire, a husband was obliged to save his father first, then his mother, next his wife, and last his young child. That kind of thinking is so hard for us to fathom. But it helps to know that, to see just how radical Jesus' words were to his disciples. He's essentially saying this: you are worried about your greatness? I'll tell you what's great to me, and to the one who sent me. It's welcoming others, like this little child who has value to me far beyond what you can see. In fact, I want you to knock down all your preconceptions about who is important to me. Everyone is important to me, regardless of social status, or ability to be productive, or pedigree, or anything else. And I will demonstrate that every time. I welcome them all. To the extent that you welcome those like these little ones, you welcome me and my father who sent me. In fact, the way you show hospitality by welcoming others, that is what's greatness to me. As preacher theologian Barbara Brown Taylor puts it, Jesus didn't just tell them, but showed them who was greatest by calling their attention to a little child. It's as if Jesus were creating a business card or a LinkedIn profile for a child bearing this message under the child's name: 26 inches tall. Limited vocabulary. Unemployed. Zero net worth. Nobody in the eyes of many. And then, in all capital letters, GOD'S BELOVED. I hope not many of you can personally relate to being the most insignificant. Yet each of us often has something going on inside our heads that says that we really don't have any place getting too close to Jesus. We rule ourselves out from being someone whom he would like to have near him yet. Nothing could be further from the truth. The stories of Jesus' intentional actions, of going to dinner with a social outcast like a tax collector, of going to parties with people who are considered disgraceful by others, means that all of us, no matter our personal history or feelings of not being good enough, can find a place of welcome near Jesus. We are all welcome: the little people and the big people who will make themselves little enough or humble enough to sit on the lap of Jesus, so to speak. And what's more, we are all invited to be God's agents in welcoming others. All of us who know we've been welcomed, not because we've had anything special to offer, but just because we've come to know that God loves us anyway. Well, we all have a special job. We get to invite others to come and to know the same for themselves. We get to knock down a few walls ourselves. We are commissioned to let people know there are no barriers to being welcomed by God. That puts us all on God's hospitality team now. We get to let others know that they are welcome just as they are, too. No special requirements need to be met. Just come and symbolically sit on the lap of Jesus. There's a lot of room there. It's a very big and welcoming lap. There aren't many places where you can find hospitality or welcome like that. In fact, there's nothing anywhere that can compare. So Christ Lutheran Church, as all churches do, has a special job description. It's to exhibit radical hospitality, Jesus style. I'll admit there is even something in it for us. Whenever we start with, as the disciples were doing here, "What's in it for us?" well we don't get much in God's operation. But when we do what God wants us to do there's always something in it for us as a side benefit. When we welcome others, Jesus says we welcome him and the one who sent him. Somehow God makes it fulfilling and joyful to welcome others, because we get to see God in action in that as they respond, and know God. The way we show hospitality by welcoming others is what is greatness to God. Hospitality toward others is the way to welcoming God more fully into our lives. After all, we're told some have entertained angels unaware as they have knocked down walls to welcome others into their lives. Because where love and graciousness to others is present, there is God in the midst of our gatherings. It's exactly what the song we opened with envisions. Let us build a house where all are named Their songs and visions heard And loved and treasured, taught and claimed As words within the word Built of tears and cries and laughter Prayers of faith and songs of grace Let this house proclaim from floor to rafter All are welcome, all are welcome All are welcome in this place Amen. *** Keywords *** 2018, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Stephanie Doeschot

August 26, 2018. Do we choose or are we chosen? Pastor Stephanie tackles this theological puzzle today, as we as a congregation find ourselves between pastors and the Transition Team is meeting for the first time. *** Transcript *** Do we choose or are we chosen? Perennial question. I will admit that right up front this week, I tried to choose another theme out of the lectionary passages for worship today. But where we are landing just kept coming back to me. It seemed too complicated to deal with in such a short time. So I tried to push it off to some other day, and I could never feel really good about choosing something else. So here we go. You see I find myself in that line of theological thought which insists that God chooses us long before we ever give a thought to choosing God. And yet, in both the words of Joshua today and in the words of Jesus in this week's gospel, we are given the matter of choice. Will we go forward, as Joshua proposes, and serve the Lord who has faithfully brought us this far in safety and care? Or, will we let our wandering hearts give in to other idols that vie for our attention and devotion? Will we follow the crowd that looks at the curious teachings of Jesus and the cost of discipleship and say, "That's too much for me," and back off? Or we will line up with Peter, who sees the cost, yet also sees the incredible value of following Jesus, and choose to line up behind him? Actually, I wish it were easy to choose God's ways once and for all, but really we get to choose over and over again. Or, should I say that we see how we have been chosen already by God, and we see the results of that over and over again throughout our lifetimes? Who is doing the choosing? Volumes have been written, and centuries of debate have been spent on trying to figure out this theological puzzle. See why I did not want to address this in 10 to 12 minutes? So, when faced with such puzzles, I say use narrative whenever possible. I have to say that when I look back over my own life as objectively as I can, it appears to me that a whole lot of time, choices that I think I made were pretty clearly mine. But maybe I wasn't really the one choosing. Maybe I was being guided into a choice. Here's an example: a few years ago, I received an invitation to work as the Coordinator for Adult Discipleship for the Reformed Church in America, the partner denomination to the ELCA, in which I was ordained as minister of word and sacrament. I thought I had chosen to accept that call. In that role there was one persistent theme that tugged at me. As I thought about what was the one key piece that holds all of discipleship together, one theme kept appearing: abiding in Christ, and Christ abiding in us. In our gospel reading today Jesus says, "Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them." That is not an unusual phrase in the Gospel of John. In fact, the intimate connection between God and people abiding in each other is all over the place in John's gospel. "Abide," for those of you who don't use that word too often (perhaps we don't daily) means to remain in, to stay deeply connected with one another. Jesus says, "Abide in me, and I in you. Apart from me you can do nothing." Then he explains in John 15, "I am the vine and you are the branches." And throughout the gospel we see these phrases: "Abide in my love," "Abide in my word," "The spirit abides in you," and on and on. So to abide in or dwell in the living bread is what strengthens us to continue to choose whom we will follow. Because when we dwell with someone, we get more deeply acquainted with that one's nature, character, and dependability. So all of those abiding teachings became the lens through which I thought about, and taught about, discipleship from then on. But was I choosing this as a life and work theme, or was something else at play? Thinking back, it was inevitable. The silent retreats I felt drawn to attend, the people who stretched my view and practice of prayer, the sabbatical Phil and I took that deepened our practices of the inward journey into abiding with God. All of that had come before, and all of it had shaped what was now so obvious to me as the key thing to be emphasized. So I wonder, did I choose this or was it chosen for me? Well, Christ Lutheran Church, you have entered into a very unique time. You are at a crossroads between settled resident pastors. In this past week, the new Transition Team has met for the first time under the capable leadership of Pastor John Mann. This team will be periodically engaged with as many people as possible in this congregation in a process of discovery. As a church in the coming months, you'll be looking back at what has been shaping your life together. And as you do, certain themes are bound to come into focus. These will help you as you choose some aspects of the future you believe you are called to pursue. And as you abide in Christ together, you will wonder, "How much of this did we choose, and how much of this has been divinely chosen for us?" It seems to me this is what Simon Peter found himself struggling with, as Jesus questioned him as to whether he would choose to go away or stay and abide with Jesus. I hear, in Peter's response, a statement that there really is no choice at all for him, even though others have clearly chosen not to follow. "Lord, to whom can we go?" he says. "You have the words of eternal life." Can you imagine some of Peters thoughts though? "Yes, I did choose to follow you Jesus. But wait, you chose to call me first? But I did say 'No' to my fishing business, where I was a leader, and decided to be a follower instead. Then again, you chose me to be a follower and leader. So it's still been your choice all along." Ah, the nuances of faith issues. I expect in the end, it is perhaps some of both, interplaying. We are both guided by God, who has chosen to love us, and we are asked to choose to respond with commitment and gratitude. Indeed, it goes without saying that out of great love, God has chosen us all. And yet at the same time, I believe that you and I and we as a church are called to choose every day whom we will serve. For a while, God did choose to abide with us. You and I are still called to choose how we will live in response. When the joy of realizing that God abides with us even more intimately than we know how to abide with God, then every day can be a fresh new discovery of that grace. Amen. *** Keywords *** 2018, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Stephanie Doeschot, RCA