November 10, 2019. What if death is a second birth? Pastor Stephanie's sermon today is about the Sadducees trying to box Jesus in with a ridiculous question, to which they think they know the answer. But Jesus doesn't take the bait, and instead teaches about the different kind of relational life we will enter in the next life. *** Transcript *** Now, I'm no lawyer. But I've heard enough about the role of trial lawyers to know that they largely live by this rule: never ever ask a question to which you do not know the answer. That should probably be a rule that people who give children's messages should also live by. Can you imagine asking an open-ended question, and then having the enthusiastic children give a multitude of answers that may or may not be related to the question? I know I've done it. You hear me do it. And children, I am only saying this in a joking kind of way. I actually really enjoy hearing what's on your minds. So please, whenever I ask the question, I do like to hear your answers. Just for the sake of time though, we can't always hear all the things that you have to say. So sorry about that. Maybe we can try and catch up downstairs after the service. The truth is, as we give children's messages it is too true that we are often fishing for some specific answers that we want to elicit. So we do think we know the answers that we want to hear, before we ask the question. I could really step into dangerous territory, by mentioning how this business of asking questions to which we already at least think we know the answer goes awry between married couples. For example, one couple might inquire of the other, "Who told our daughter that she could stay out until 1:00am tonight, hmm?" Or, "Who said we'd go on vacation with your family for a whole week? I don't think it was me." Well, that line of questioning isn't very effective, is it? Or very wise. In most cases in life I like questions where people are genuinely curious to know more, to learn something, to find out about another person, what he or she thinks or feels and why that is so. I imagine you appreciate those kinds of questions better, too. It seems to me that Luke, in our gospel reading today, goes to great lengths to express the various ways in which questions were posed to Jesus throughout his ministry. People came to him in chapter 10 and said, "Who is my neighbor?" seemingly wanting to understand that commandment better. So, Jesus happily obliged them with a story about a Good Samaritan that made a point, one that stretched them for sure, but it was a great and helpful answer. In chapter 11 the disciples say, "Would you teach us to pray?" and there we have the Lord's Prayer. Helpful question, helpful answer. But now, deep into Luke's gospel, we enter a realm something more like a courtroom scene, where the questioners are less interested in learning something than they are in entrapment. These questioners pose their queries in ways that are designed to box Jesus in. They are crafty like that. No matter how he answers, one group will cheer him and the other group, they figure, will despise him. So in chapter 20 alone, on two occasions they pose questions that will force Jesus, they think, to say something that will rile the crowds. First they ask him by what authority does he teach, and then they ask him whether it is lawful to pay taxes to Caesar. Both intended to divide. In each case, Jesus gives a straightforward answer that does not play into their hands, but is clear enough to those who are willing to ponder the meaning of his answers. Now we come to today's gospel reading, and the religious group called the Sadducees are pulling out all the stops. They pose a question to Jesus in which they think they know the answer. It's about the resurrection, and they are known for not believing in the resurrection. They're also known as the scribes meaning that they are considered quite the experts on all things in the Torah, the books of the law. So they draw upon a concept known as levirate marriage in the Torah, in which to preserve a man's lineage a woman must bear a son to carry on. If the man dies before a son is produced, the wife is given in marriage to the man's brother and any resultant son is known as the dead brother's son. It's patriarchy with a capital "P" and these scribes see nothing wrong with the fact that women in these scenarios are viewed as property. They accept this as their gospel truth and draw the story to present to Jesus all the way to the point of ridiculousness: Suppose a man dies. His wife is passed down to his brother. That one dies. She's passed on again to the next brother, and on and on this goes, they say, through seven husbands. This is not only a tragic story. From a woman's point of view it's downright creepy. But not to the Sadducees. They continue, "Okay, Jesus. Whose wife will she be then in the resurrection?" Jesus will not be trapped. He sees what they're doing. So he pivots to a vision for all those who are actually interested in what he knows about life after this life, to cheer and to comfort them and us, rather than to engage in this silliness. As pointed out by serious scholars, as far as the Sadducees were concerned Jesus had two options. Option one: he could pick one husband out of the seven and proclaim that particular pairing was linked forever. But that answer would be indefensible. After all, you cannot choose one when all the marriages were considered legitimate. Therefore Jesus, they assumed, would be forced to pick option two. That option would have Jesus acknowledging that he had been living a lie proclaiming an untruth. If the woman could not belong to just one husband in the age of resurrection, and yet she certainly could not belong to all the husbands in the age of resurrection, the logical conclusion would be that there is no age of resurrection. Once they forced Jesus to admit that, Jesus would be unmasked as a religious charlatan and the people would take matters into their own hands, they reasoned. But Jesus did not take that bait. He could have said to the Sadducees, "You're comparing apples to oranges. You clearly do not know of what you speak." But without saying, "You don't know what you're talking about," he instead starts from his platform that resurrection is real. He says that in this life we marry, but in the next life there is no marriage. We enter into a different kind of relational life. Lest we be concerned about that, because it is so unknown to us, he assures us that in the resurrection age we cannot die anymore, because we are like angels, and are children of God being children of the resurrection. Just to make sure that the Sadducees know that he too knows what's in the Torah, he reminds them of the story of the burning bush where a person they consider their hero, Moses, speaks of the Lord as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob -- present tense. He doesn't say he was the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob while they were alive. No, he says he is continuing to be their God now. And then, if we must be in a courtroom-like setting, Jesus says in summation, now he is God not of the dead but of the living. For to him all are alive. Mic drop. The lectionary cuts off the next two verses, but I think they need to be shared. Some of the teachers in the law responded, "Well done, teacher." This needs to be noted so that we don't fall into believing what the made-for-TV movies of Jesus' life can cause us to think -- that all of the Jewish religious leaders were out to get Jesus. That was simply not the case. Many of them did give Jesus an honest hearing and honor his teaching. Many, many, many of the Jews were Jesus' first followers and the initial members of the church. So there is that "well done, teacher" comment, and then the chapter ends on this note: "And no one," I think referring to those who would entrap Jesus, "dared to ask him any more questions." All well and good for us. Jesus tells us that God is the god not of the dead, but of the living. For to him, all of them and us are alive. If Abraham and Isaac and Jacob are still living, then somehow those we have loved are alive. And so we will be when we pass from this life to the next. Jesus is saying that there is a continuity to the life we live in God. Yes, we do pass from this life. Since this is the only life we know it is hard to imagine life beyond this one. All we can know for sure is that it is a life beyond our imaginations: no marriage, but then no marriage breakups, either. No boundaries of who is related to whom. No hierarchies. No patriarchy, or matriarchy for that matter. No injustice. No violence. No illnesses. Every tear shall be wiped away -- that gets me every time -- and we will gather around the throne of God with joy and celebration. There are so many images in scripture that sustain and give us hope regarding this. Jesus says in his Father's house there are many dwelling places where a place is prepared for us to dwell in, to go on living. The promises for life beyond this life, while difficult to fully grasp how they will be experienced, depict relationship with God and others that is beyond our wildest imaginations of ongoing abundant life, peace, beauty, and joy. We accept and affirm that death is not the end. But do we really grasp the continuity of life in Christ that we experience now, and will continue to experience throughout eternity in a new fashion? Father John O'Donohue uses a metaphor to help us think about the continuity of life we have with God, who is as Jesus says, not the god of the dead but the god of the living and in whom all are alive. What if we got it all wrong about death, O'Donohue says? What if we got it backwards by thinking of death is an ending? What if death is a second birth? Imagine if we could talk to a baby just before it was about to be born and describe to the baby what's going to happen? We might say to the little one, "You're about to be expelled from the shelter of the womb where you have been formed. You'll be pushed along a passage where you will feel at every moment that you are being smothered. You'll be squeezed to the point where you'll feel like you're suffocating. You'll be on a journey without a map. You won't know where you're going, and anything can happen to you. Finally after a long time, you'll be pushed out into the vast vacancy with cold, bright, merciless light, and then the cord that connects you to your mother whose life has sustained yours? Well, that will be severed." If you could tell a baby this, you could imagine them saying, "Oh, no. I don't want to go. It's been so great in here. But now it sounds like I'm going to die. I'm going to lose everything that's been wonderful and comfortable." We might think of death like a baby might think of birth, if a baby could think about it. We tend to see the destructive side of death, to see what we are losing and that's natural. It is much harder to think about a bigger world actually opening up to us. In the resurrected life we enter into a new kind of relationship with God in which the loneliness of space and time will no longer have a hold over us. No one can tell us exactly what that will be like. There is not a map, and things that are unknown to us can frighten us. That's why Jesus' words in the gospel are so compelling. He does not engage in a theological discussion. He moves into the relational side of things. He explains how we humans are related to God and how God is related to us. Just like all those who've gone before: Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and Leah and Rachel, perhaps your grandparents and mine, and all whom we remembered an All Saints' Day, are very much alive. God is still their god, Jesus said, because they are alive to God. God is still actively in a relationship with them. This is the message Jesus gave the Sadducees about resurrection: our relationship simply can never be broken with God. With that assurance, we can live in freedom and joy. The life we have in Christ is already rich and meaningful, and we need to cherish each day that we have breath and look for the ways that God's grace, power, and love are present to us and to the world around us. But the best is yet to be. We are on a continuum that extends farther than any I can see or anyone's imagination can fully grasp. With Job we can say, "I know that my redeemer lives." Because he lives, we too will live forever with him. He is not the god of the dead but of the living, because to him all are alive. Thanks be to God for this inexpressible gift. *** Keywords *** 2019, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Stephanie Doeschot, Job 19:23-27a, Psalm 17:1-9, 2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 2 Thessalonians 2:13-17, Luke 20:27-38

October 27, 2019. Pastor Stephanie preaches on the Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector from Luke 18. We like to categorize people as "good" and "bad." But people are more complex than that. We will all have setbacks and situations that humble us, and it's better to accept the value of humility. *** Transcript *** Grace to you and peace from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Some of you, I have learned, are fans of pneumonic devices and short, pithy phrases that capture the essence of a theme. I'm also a fan of such things. I appreciate simplicity, especially for abstract concepts whenever possible. Over the past several months, I have employed the technique of selecting a six word phrase and repeating it throughout the sermon in an attempt to leave an imprint of the main theme of the sermon. On Easter Sunday the well-known credo "Jesus is risen from the dead" was said several times throughout the message. I repeated that technique a couple of other times since then, with the result of several of you talking back to me at the conclusion of the service in your own six word messages. I love the way you engage in worship with me and with one another. So today I'm going to stretch your memory just a tad by utilizing a seven word phrase. Are you ready? This one comes from 20th Century author James Matthew, better known as J. M. Barrie. He's the guy who captured the imaginations of millions with his stories of the boy who refuse to grow up, Peter Pan. In a lesser known work of his entitled The Little Minister, he tells a tale of which the essence is stated like this: life is a long lesson in humility. Isn't that the truth? We learn and we grow and we achieve, and think that that should lead us from one success to another. Instead, we find out along the way that what we know and what we accomplished, while important, are not the be all and end all. We will have setbacks, and we will have situations that humble us. Better to accept early and often the value of humility, according to Jesus. Luke 18 says that Jesus told the parable that we read today to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and regarded others with contempt. Reading that reminded me of the propensity that some have of labeling some people in the "good category" and others in the "bad category" according to our own viewpoints. When I studied educational psychology in college, my professor was very fond of Lawrence Kohlberg's theories of moral development. So we studied those carefully. In Kohlberg's theory, people who label others as clearly being one or the other, good or bad, are actually functioning at about a third grade level of moral thinking. As you might guess, people who have fixed those labels on others are usually doing that based on what? Outward behavior, outward appearance, qualities or actions. The longer we live though, friends, connected to God's wisdom, the more we see that people simply cannot be lumped into these categories as easily as we thought. None of us is wholly good nor wholly bad. We are all far more complex than that. The highest level of moral development thinking is level 6, and Kohlberg attributed that to those who operate by values associated with Jesus' teachings on The Sermon on the Mount, including the Beatitudes: Blessed are the meek. Blessed are the merciful. Blessed are the peacemakers. While the longer we walk with Christ and have our own sharp edges softened, it is also true that none of us can live at level 6 all the time. It becomes more clear to us that we will never be righteous in and of ourselves. Life is a long lesson in humility. Two people went to the temple to pray. One, a pious, devout religious person, a Pharisee who prayed, "God I thank you that I'm not like other people: extortioners, murderers, adulterers, or like this tax collector. I fast. I pray. I tithe all that I have." Now, no one here is going to say that not being an extortioner, a murderer, or an adulterer is a bad thing. Those are good things to avoid being. And certainly no one on council is going to say there's anything at all wrong with tithing. Instead they're going to say, "Bring it on!" So we can probably all agree that the one labeled the Pharisee was actually refraining from doing harmful things and actually doing things that were very good. But his attitude, oh my. There is the problem. He's pretty proud of himself, and we just don't like that in other people, do we? Especially when one's pride is so excessive that it leads to utter contempt for other people. The problem, I think, is that a little bit of that is inherently within us as well. We just don't see it in ourselves as easily. Imagine for a moment instead of thinking about a Pharisee who often gets labeled as holier-than-thou, imagine you are seated at your sweet grandmother's table as she prays before your Thanksgiving meal. "Dear God, we are so grateful that we are not like other families we know. People who don't know enough to offer thanks to you. Families that have fallen apart. And so they never gather around tables anymore. We rejoice that we went to church this morning to do what all good people do: we offered our thanks to you as the giver of all good gifts." Now, since this is Grandma, who's always been so good to us, we might inwardly roll our eyes a bit, but we wouldn't think of her as stuffy, as we've come to believe that Pharisees were. But that's the problem. The Pharisee in the story is described with some severe hyperbole, but he and Grandma, and you and I, are all prone to think of others as a little bit worse than we are, or ourselves as not as bad as those people. Periodically, we get the chance to correct our assumptions when we meet someone in a category of which we've been dismissive, and we actually learn of their struggles and of their stories and of their common decency. Then, if we are wise, we will eat humble pie and admit that we were wrong about them. Life is a long lesson in humility. Jesus' story continues. The tax collector could hardly even pray. He beat upon his chest crying, "Lord have mercy on me, a sinner." He is the one Jesus describes as humble. Now, the word "humility" is related to our word "humus." The earth. Earthiness. To be humble is to be close to the ground, near the bottom. The tax collector wasn't trying to be humble. He was humble. He knew he was down pretty low. He knew he was a sinner. He wasn't trying to act like he didn't know what to do in church. He really didn't know what to do in church. He wasn't acting like he didn't know how to pray. He honestly did not know how to pray. And yet he did. Ironically, his cry for mercy has become a prayer that is now used by pilgrims and penitence disciples who know that they do not have the words to use, but know enough to call upon God for mercy. It's called the Jesus prayer. "Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." The good news is that when we are empty of ourselves and our own abilities, and acknowledge our dependence on God, that is precisely when God meets us. Jesus is telling us in this parable that two people could be in the same church on any given Sunday. One person could go home thinking, "That was okay. Nothing special. Nobody seemed to notice or thank me for all the things that I've been doing for the church. I didn't really care much for the music, and the sermon didn't do much for me either. Maybe next week will be better." Another person arrived, hoping for something to fill the ache inside, and this person stayed seated long after the benediction, aware of something trembling inside of him. What was this wondrous thing? It seemed like a mixture of joy and curiosity. He simply could not explain what had happened to him during the service, but he knew that somehow he'd been touched by God. Today is Reformation Sunday. Martin Luther recognized that he and others, who had devoted their lives to the church, could easily have prayed the boastful prayer that the Pharisee had prayed. But he came to see himself in reality like everyone else: more like the lowly tax collector, undeserving of God's grace. No religious acts or pious talk would merit the extravagant grace, given through the cross of Christ. Free, undeserved grace is given to all of us because of God's love. As we baptize Maleyah and Levi today, we affirm that they need to do nothing to deserve God's grace. It is freely given to them and to us all. This parable, and indeed the entire Reformation, was and is an attempt to shift our attention from ourselves -- our piety and our passions, our faith or our failure, our glory or our shame -- shift that attention to where it belongs: to God. To the God who delights in justifying the ungodly, welcoming the outcasts, and healing all those who are in need. It's never been, nor ever will it be, about us and our righteousness. It's always about God, who makes us righteous through Christ. This too teaches us that life is a long lesson in humility. Pastor Will Willimon might be someone you've heard of. He's an author and speaker in many places. He's a pretty good person. He served for many years as dean of The Chapel at Duke University. His list of credentials is long, and the admiration he gets from many is wide. He relates this story: "I got talked into being on the board of this fraternity at Duke. They had been on probation ever since I had been on the staff there. They developed such a bad reputation that the dean of students only occasionally let them serve tea. They were banned from any parties on campus. "Well, they called a board meeting one Palm Sunday afternoon, one of our biggest church days of the year. So I was less than pleased to find myself over at their frat house for what turned out to be a two-hour meeting. 'What was going on when the sofa caught fire?' they were asked. 'Oh, it was all a misunderstanding,' they said. Such was the level of conversation. I'm sitting there thinking, what's a person like me doing among people like this on a Sunday? I'm a preacher, not a probation officer. "Finally, the meeting ended. As I was headed for the door, I passed by this somewhat unkempt looking guy propping up a wall who says to me, 'That was a killer sermon today, pastor.' I stopped in my tracks. I turned and I looked at him and managed to squeak out, 'You were in Chapel today?' 'Sure, I'm there almost every Sunday. Sit in the back row.' He gestures toward this equally raggedy looking guy in an inappropriate t-shirt standing next to him saying, 'George goes with me. George said he liked your sermon a couple of weeks ago better than today, but I needed the one you preached today. God really spoke to me.'" Willimon concludes, "Two men went to the chapel to pray that day. One a preacher, the other an unshaven sophomore in a T-shirt. Two men walked out the door after worship. The latter was justified, made right by God. But the former, he still has a lot to learn about God." Life is a long lesson in humility. Thanks be to God for the grace that none of us deserve, yet we receive it in abundance. Please stand as you are able as we offer to God our hymn of the day. *** Keywords *** 2019, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Stephanie Doeschot, Jeremiah 14:7-10, Jeremiah 14:19-22, Psalm 84:1-7, 2 Timothy 4:6-8, 2 Timothy 4:16-18, Luke 18:9-14, Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector

*** [Keywords: 2019 Christ Lutheran Church sermon Apostle Paul English translation Garden of Gethsemane God's own timetable Grandmother Lois How long, O Lord? Jesus Laura Martin pastor MSP Middle Eastern people Ministry Site Profile Mother Eunice New Testament Greek On Seeking Mustard Seed People Prophet Habakkak Psalm 37 Psalms able to guard airing grievances all of us together all that is not right with the world all we see and hear also be translated angry another piece another word authentically grateful for big God big issues bodies of water challenging times chaos chemotherapy clear the air commit your way to the Lord, trust in Him and He will act contention dealing with pain deepen our despair demands desired results destruction disciples discouraged discrimination disillusionments emotional illnesses entrusted to him even the smallest evidences of God's grace exhorted to do the same faith faith inadequate faith is too small faith of another family of origin feeling judged full flowering tree hang onto faith hateful have to bear headed to cross hiddenness hold the faith for each other holding out hope honest honest expressions hope and encouragement hopes how much more if you all have faith if you all hold faith if you have faith the size of a mustard seed injustice instability it is enough because of god's grace items job promotions labor under these challenges lamented life out of death little bit of faith losing job macro level marital strife me in Jesus mental merciful God micro level mulberry tree mustard seed off balance other places in the world our Savior in whom we trust our own city pastoral interactions patience people of faith pie in the sky planted in the ground plural you poem political mood praise God anyway prayer prison proclamation of faith protege Timothy relate righteous shall live by faith serious illnesses shriveled up dead dried up seed singular you solutions elude something good something significant southerners speak these concerns standalone people strife struggling suffering sufficient that is faith this congregation this country throughout the ages time of pain tiniest amount of faith trials trust uncomfortable unrest unspoken cares uprooted cast into sea violence wait and watch waiting not our favorite thing way they thought we are made righteous weary what God was going to do what's a person to do? y'all you in your faith]

June 16, 2019. After Jesus' death, two of his disciples spoke what are maybe the three saddest words in scripture: we had hoped. We had hoped Jesus was the one to save us, to restore Israel. Instead, Jesus is dead and we are defeated. Guest Pastor Karen Scherer preaches today on a hope that does not disappoint. *** Transcript *** Grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen. I don't know if any of you know or have heard of Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber. Any of you know of her? Good, a few of you. Pastor Bolz-Weber is shockingly pastoral. She has tattoos and sleeves all up and down her arms, telling the story of the Trinity on her body. She wears nose rings and earrings, and periodically a lip ring, and her hair stands up straight. And she uses language in church -- that you probably would ask me not to use -- to express the reality of her faith and to proclaim the gospel to others. Young people love her because of her genuineness, and because of the love that God has placed in her heart and the faith that she has. She was pastor of a church called House For All Sinners and Saints. That name was chosen specifically to have Sinners be first and Saints be second in that title. I recently read a story of how Pastor Bolz-Weber would meet with new people who were wanting to join her church, a congregation that was exploding in membership. And she would meet with them at this welcoming meeting with newcomers, and she'd ask them to tell why they came to All Sinners and Saints. And they would share and give various reasons. Some would say they heard that she was very funny and inspiring, and very radical. Some shared that it was a compromise, because one side of the family was Baptist and the other side was Roman Catholic, and they thought maybe they could sort of meet in the middle at this Lutheran church. Others said they really liked the music. And another said that they felt it was a very welcoming and inclusive church. At the end of a meeting, she makes a point of always telling the people who are wanting to come to this church and become part of it: it's great to have you all here and it's great to hear of what has brought you here. But I need you to hear something from me, and that is that the church will disappoint you, and I will fail to meet your expectations or I'll say something stupid and hurt your feelings. It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when. Welcome to the congregation, we will disappoint you. And is this not true? That's why Saint Paul makes an absolutely astounding statement in our reading for today from the letter to the Romans. He says that hope does not disappoint. Hope does not disappoint. Now, think about that for a moment. How many times have you hoped that something would happen and were sorely disappointed when it did not? Everyone of us has. But remember the story at the end of Luke's gospel, when three days after Jesus' death a couple of his disciples were walking down a road to Emmaus trying to make sense of what had just happened in Jerusalem: the triumphal entry on Palm Sunday, the shared meal, the betrayal, the arrest and the trial, and the crucifixion. And as they were talking about all of this, a stranger walks up (and of course -- spoiler alert -- it was Jesus, but they didn't recognize him). And he said to them, "Hey, what are you guys talking about?" So they told the story of Jesus' life to him. They told the story of his ministry and death, at which point they then spoke what are maybe the three saddest words in scripture: we had hoped. We had hoped Jesus was the one to save us, to restore Israel. Instead, Jesus is dead and we are defeated. Those two disciples started out with hope and ended with deep disappointment. Why? Because hope as a starting point for us looks like Palm Sunday. It looks like the crowds entering triumphantly into Jerusalem shouting "Hosanna!" But Palm Sunday always turns to Good Friday eventually. Think about it in your own life. We had hoped. We had hoped that the time and money spent on the graduate degree we had would mean we'd have a job by now in our field. We had hoped that our parents would love us unconditionally. We had hoped that by this time in life we would be happily married, or we would have a meaningful career, or we would be able to retire, or we would feel like we at least knew what we were doing. We had hoped that the Blues would win the Stanley Cup. Oh yes, they did! But what if they hadn't, which was highly possible? Our hopes would have been dashed. Disappointment. We had hoped that our children or our loved one would not have to suffer. We had hoped that what we had worked for so long would finally come to fruition, and that didn't happen. So it's a little hard to hear Saint Paul say that hope does not disappoint. What world is he living in, anyway? Well, the world humankind has constructed and strives to live in, we know, is filled with disappointment and pain and suffering -- because our hope, you see, is built on us and what we think we want. Our expectations, our hopes. But what about God's hope for us? You see, our hope is built on something less, on less of what it is that God has planned for us. That is, sharing the glory of God was God's intention for humankind, being in the full presence and in deep, solid relationship with God in the garden of the earth. The cosmos, following God's will for us, not our own. But our hope disappoints because we place our faith elsewhere. We place it on our own work, our own fate, our own hearts' desires. And you know what happens? That turns into an idealistic hope that somehow we can make things happen. And those things are about us, about what we want. And when something happens to dash that hope which has now become our goal, we find someone to blame. And so often, God is about the handiest person we have -- or ourselves, or others -- which is maybe why not only does Paul speak of a hope that does not disappoint, but he connects it to suffering. Because of those three saddest words -- we had hoped -- he connects it to the suffering and death of Christ Jesus. To the redeeming work of a God who seeks reconciliation with us and who seeks to give us peace and connection with God and with one another. The Easter hope we have, brothers and sisters, the hope that does not disappoint, has nothing to do with idealism or naïve optimism -- like when God shuts a door, God always opens a window. It has nothing to do with the avoidance of suffering. The Easter hope that we have is a hope that can only come from a God who has experienced our life, our suffering, our world -- who has experienced love and friendship and lepers and prostitutes and betrayal and suffering and death and burial and a descent into hell itself. Only a god who has borne suffering can bring us any real hope of resurrection. Only a god who is with us, and who has been with us and for us and among us and known the suffering of our lives, can bring us real hope. And that is the hope of new life, the hope of being raised up, the hope of resurrection. And if ever given the choice of optimism or resurrection, I'd go with resurrection any day of the week. And this is the god of whom Paul speaks and in whom we place our hope. This is a hope that does not disappoint, that looks less like being idealistic about ourselves, and more like being realistic about God's redeeming work in the world. It's a hope that comes not from naïve optimism, but from being wrong and falling short and experiencing betrayal and being a betrayer, and it comes from a suffering and the grave and what feels like a night from which dawn could never emerge, and then how God reaches into the graves we dig ourselves and others, and again loves us back to life. The Christian faith is one that does not pretend things are not bad. This is a faith that does not offer platitudes to those who've lost loved ones to violence or tornadoes or floods or terrible terrorist actions. This is a faith that does not take us out of suffering, but assures us of God's presence in the very midst of suffering. And we know this through Jesus Christ and by the power of the Spirit. So maybe the way suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, is that suffering, endurance, and character actually free us, free us from the burden of having to be naïvely optimistic and more to be absolutely realistic about the God who is with us and for us and among us. Maybe if hope isn't a very reliable starting point, then hope is not something we strive to muster up ourselves. Maybe real hope is always something we are surprised by. Maybe hope is that which is left after all else has failed us. This is an Easter hope. Nadia Bolz-Weber writes, "This is not a faith that produces optimism. It is a faith that produces a defiant hope that God is still writing the story, and that despite darkness, a light shines. And that God can redeem our crap," although she didn't use that word. "That God can redeem our crap, and that beauty matters, and that despite every disappointing thing we've ever done or that we have ever endured, that there is no hell from which resurrection is impossible." We have a hope that does not disappoint, given to us through the Father, through his son Jesus Christ, and by the power of the Holy Spirit. We have a hope that raises us and gives us hope for new life. And a hope that does not disappoint. Amen. *** Keywords *** 2019, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Karen Scherer, Romans 5:1-5, Luke 24:13-35

May 5, 2019. After Jesus' disciples witnessed his ministry, arrest, trial, execution, and resurrection, they went home and went fishing. What were they supposed to do next? Jon Heerboth preaches from John and Acts on how Jesus got the disciples' attention and ours, and tells us what he needs us to do next. *** Transcript *** On Easter Sunday here, we celebrated the resurrection of Jesus Christ with many hallelujahs, we sang our favorite Easter hymns, and we felt that our world was full of new life — new life in Christ as well as the new life of springtime. But today is the third Sunday after Easter. It's still Easter, but this Sunday feels a lot different than the week before last, doesn't it? There may not be a "Hallelujah Chorus" today. And I think that's the only singing you're going to get from a choir. But we will still be talking about the resurrected Christ and finding God's will for us, as we wait in the meantime between the First Coming and the Second Coming of Jesus. Last Sunday we heard how Jesus appeared to the disciples, and Thomas was there the second time. And he saw the holes, he felt his palm, he saw the wound in the side and said, "My Lord and my God." And Jesus said to him, "Blessed are those who," like you and me, like all of us, "have not seen and yet have come to believe." And then after that, John wrote that book so that its readers would come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing would have life in his name. And then that was the end of the book of John in chapter 20. Well, it would have ended anyway, except that there's an epilogue —  one more thing added to the book. And that is today's gospel lesson. Now, the purpose of an epilogue is to treat unfinished business. And most of it, according to the Gospel of John, revolved around Peter. There was unresolved tension with Peter and Jesus, and the other disciples, and there was a lot of confusion among them about what they were supposed to do next. They had witnessed the risen Lord. And they, like us, were experts in the teachings of Jesus. And they, like us, had received the great commandment to love one another. And yet, the disciples seem like they were all dressed up with no place to go. Moreover, Peter was still agonizing over his treacherous denial, while his master was being interrogated and humiliated by the high priest of the Jewish Supreme Court. So it looks like, after hiding out in Jerusalem for a while, Peter and some of the others went home to Galilee. Maybe they thought they would be safer there. Maybe they were out of money, or were tired of waiting for something to happen. But at any rate, they went home. So the disciples witnessed the ministry, arrest, trial, and execution of Jesus. They found out about the resurrection. They met the risen Christ twice before in this gospel. The disciples had all the evidence they need to confirm that Jesus had died and risen from the dead. And how did they respond to these monumental events? They went fishing. They went fishing. Now, this wasn't some weekend camping trip or a little vacation after a rough patch at work. They went fishing because that's who they were: fishermen. They went home to Galilee, and picked up where they left off when they left to follow Jesus. Galilee was home at least to four of them: James, John, Peter, and Andrew. Jesus called them from their lives in the boats and called them to go fish for people. They followed Jesus, from Galilee to Jerusalem. They listened to Jesus teach, and watched him heal the sick and work miracles. They were with Jesus at the Last Supper. They were around when he was arrested and crucified, and witnessed the resurrection. After all that, they returned home. They picked up their lives where they left them off months or years before, and then they went back to work. There was no one to tell them what else they should be doing. In a way, we were like that after Easter Sunday. We celebrated, worshipped, had breakfast, and went back to our daily lives. But today's gospel lesson is set on the beach. When the people came home, I'll bet they endured ridicule from their neighbors. "Look who's back: the grand adventurers, the glorious revolutionaries. The idealists out to change the world have decided to come home after all. We always knew that their silly scheme would amount to nothing." Ever live in a small town? That's how they talk. "Love your neighbor." Who thought that was a good plan? Adding insult to injury was the fact that the disciples seemed to have lost their old touch. They had been out fishing all night and had caught absolutely nothing. When the sun began to rise, the man on the shore said, "Children. You have no fish, have you?" They answered him, "No." I'm sure that the only thing more irritating to professional fisherman than admitting failure, is receiving advice from someone who doesn't know how to fish at all. Jesus told them they should cast their net on the other side of the boat. And when they did, they had a very large catch indeed: a hundred and fifty-three fish. I'm not much of a fisherman, but that is a piece of advice I wish someone had given me along the way. Simply "cast over here instead of over there, because the fish must be somewhere else." They don't say fish are dumb. They hide from the bait. I don't know, but I know that people I know who fish don't like to be reminded of their failure, and I'm sure that this group of disciples were not happy after that night of failure. Anyway, when they caught the fish, John recognized the man on the shore and said, "It is the Lord!" Impetuous Peter grabbed his clothes and headed into shore quickly. The rest were left to drag the boat and the heavy net to land all by themselves. Jesus said the words anyone would like to hear after an exhausting night: "Come and have breakfast." Jesus provided bread and fish for all of them. While they were sitting around the fire, Jesus approached Peter with their unfinished business. Peter had denied Jesus three times while Jesus was being interrogated. Jesus didn't blame Peter or shame him, and he didn't ask for his repentance. He asked questions. "Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?" Jesus was referring to loving Jesus more than life as a fisherman, life in the boat, Peter's life before discipleship. Peter said to him, "Yes, Lord. You know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my lambs." A second time he said to him, "Simon, son of John, do you love me?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord. You know that I love you." Jesus said, "Tend my sheep." He said to him the third time, "Simon, son of John, do you love me?" Peter felt hurt and maybe a little irritated when Jesus said to him the third time, "Do you love me?" And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you." And Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep." But that was a powerful moment for Peter — the charcoal fire, three questions. Peter knew that he was making a life-changing commitment to Jesus. Jesus didn't forgive Peter. Peter had to forgive himself and come to terms with what the rest of his life was going to be. Because he was going to have to be what Jesus needed him to be. As difficult as it would be for Peter, he had to accept that he was going to have to be the shepherd from now on, because Jesus wasn't going to be there. And that would be his identity. When God has business with us, God will find us and will get our attention, and that's what happened to Saul on the road to Damascus. He was a zealous practitioner of Judaism, and was going to bring some of the followers of Jesus to Jerusalem for trial before the Jewish courts there. God had other plans both for Saul and for Ananias, the Christian in Damascus who went to help Saul but didn't want anything to do with him. But God said to Ananias, like he said to so many of us, "Go, for he's an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel." Paul needed to be what Jesus wanted him to be, and Jesus got his attention. Paul's encounter with Jesus may be one of the most powerful images we have of bending human will to God's will. We don't expect our encounters with God to be as earth-shaking as St. Paul on the road to Damascus. I'm sure we would like all our worship to be as dramatic as the final choruses to Handel's Messiah. We might like our lives to be filled with such overwhelming experiences. Life isn't like that, though. It is not all emotional highs, moments of clear vision and bright light, dramatic experiences, or religious ecstasy. Our reality is simpler and more mundane. There's a clue for us in the disciples' experience. They were going about their ordinary lives, just like we do, and when they least expected him they encountered Christ. It was profound, and yet it was ordinary. Come and have breakfast, Jesus said. These brothers in Christ shared a simple meal after a long night. There were no bolts of light from the sky. No choirs of angels. No heavenly music from the Messiah. There was Easter, on the shore of the Sea of Galilee in the ordinary course of a morning. Easter, in the simple passing of fish and bread around the warmth of a charcoal fire. Easter, in breakfast with the risen Jesus. That was not the end of it for the disciples, just as Easter does not end for us with the benediction on Sunday. Jesus reconciled with Peter following Peter's denials when Jesus was arrested. Jesus did not promise resurrection, celebration, or joy. He promised suffering and martyrdom. Bonhoeffer wrote, "When Christ calls a man, he bids him to come and die." Peter was crucified. And Paul, according to legend, was beheaded in Rome. In the Book of John, there is no Last Supper. That story is not there. There are stories, though, of eating and drinking with Jesus — at Cana, with the 5,000 that he fed, and on the shore here with the disciples. When Jesus was there he saw to it that there was food in abundance, wine for all the guests at the wedding in Cana, baskets of leftovers with the 5,000, and enough bread and fish for everyone at breakfast over the charcoal fire. These stories pull together much of what it means to be in relationship with Jesus. The way in which Jesus hosts meals helps us to see the Eucharist that was embedded in Jesus' life, not his death. A little different framework from the Lord's Supper might mean grace in abundance, forgiveness in abundance, salvation in the risen Christ. And that is our Easter, as we come to Christ Lutheran Church on this third Sunday of the Easter season. Jesus is here with bread and wine, offering grace and forgiveness for all of his people everywhere. Like the women at the tomb, we come and see Jesus here. We find God in each other at worship, at the table, and in fellowship. And then we go out into the world. This is how we live out John 3:16. We understand what Jesus wants us to be. He wants us to be good shepherds when he can no longer be. We have to accept that Jesus could believe in us, and many of our people here respond accordingly. We have many shepherds here. We have people who work to feed the hungry, to find shelter for homeless people, people here who are working to protect God's creation by greening up our congregation and our communities. We have people who reach out to our community, with our facilities and with the word of God on a regular basis. We have people who come to church and volunteer their time as key people, assisting ministers, worship volunteers, people who help with fellowship and the flowers, and people who teach our children. On Sundays, we gather to celebrate the resurrection with joy. It's both empowering for us, and challenging. We are called to go forward in our lives as witnesses of faith, here at Christ and out in the rest of our lives. We know, though, how that witness has led to suffering and even death for so many of Jesus' followers. We pray for guidance and protection, and we offer our thanks and praise to the Good Shepherd. Amen. *** Keywords *** 2019, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Jon Heerboth, Acts 9:1-6, (7-20), John 21:1-19, John 3:16