August 5, 2018. Katie Ciorba preaches (and sings!) on Paul's ideas about a maturity of faith. How do we grow in the body of Christ, with a childlike faith versus a childish faith? How do we grieve the loss of our pastors and of valued families, and still look forward together to the work of the Transition and Call Committees? It may seem overwhelming, but we don't have to do this work alone. *** Transcript *** In 1982, Amy Grant (a singer some of you may be familiar with, maybe for some of her later work which became crossover pop music like the song "Baby Baby") came out with the album Age to Age, which really was her first breakout music. She was a Christian singer. I was seven years old at that time, and I thought that Amy Grant sang and looked like an angel. She still is beautiful. She has some really amazing songs on that album. One is called "El Shaddai." There's another song called "Sing Your Praise to the Lord." I knew every single word on that entire album, and not only that but I forced all of the children in my neighborhood to know every word of that album, and we performed concerts for which we charged money to come watch us perform. At that time I still believed that one of the spiritual gifts God had given me was to be a singer. It's not true. But it was also the last time I sang in church. I sang "El Shaddai." Again, I was probably 10 years old and I believed that I could sing that song. So as I was reading the scripture for this week and thinking about where it brings me, one song from this album came to my mind and it's called "Fat Baby." Obviously it's not politically correct, and probably Amy wouldn't be singing it today. And it was buried in the middle of the album. To be honest, it's not a great song. It's a jazzy song and... okay, I will sing a little bit for you. So, pardon me. Remember, it's not my gift. So she says: He's just a fat little baby! Wa, wa, waaaaa... He wants his bottle, and he don't mean maybe He sampled solid foods once or twice But he says doctrine leaves him cold as ice He's been baptized, sanctified, redeemed by the blood His daily devotions are stuck in the mud He knows the books of the Bible and John 3:16 He's got the biggest King James you've ever seen! That's it for my singing. So, as I was thinking about this song a lot, thinking about what Paul had said in our epistle for today, he's saying that folks who really show off their Biblical knowledge without having a mature faith is exactly what Amy Grant was singing about. In our scripture, Paul asks us not to be children, but to be mature in Christ, which really led me to think a lot this week: what does it mean to not be a fat baby in Christ? I don't think that Paul was referring to things like mowing the lawn or paying the bills. You see often now on facebook or Instagram people doing such mundane tasks, and then saying "Hashtag: Adulting." I don't think that's what Paul was talking about in terms of maturity. I also actually think it's interesting some of the readings use the word, our face should not be like "infants." In our reading today we read "children," but I think actually probably "infants" is a better word for what we're talking about. I don't think Paul is actually being ageist against children. In other parts of the Bible, in Mark for example, Jesus says that the knowledge of God belongs to children. And we often hear that having a childlike faith is something we should aspire to. To me, what a childlike faith means is fully embracing the mystery that is God, and believing with all of our heart, soul, and mind. But perhaps what Paul is referring to is something that Rusty Osborne posits, that Paul is making the distinction between having a childlike faith and having a childish faith. Here, Paul seems to be saying that maturity is a firm, steadfast belief in Christ that endures times of questioning. He seems to be saying that being mature in our faith is actually a commitment to faith in and of itself. When Matt and I were getting married, many years ago now, I had grown up with a pastor named Pastor Weinman. In marriage counseling, I'll never forget how he talked to us. He said that the truth about human love is that human love waivers, it goes up and down, and there are times that you'll feel amazing love and compassion and passion toward one another, and other times you won't want to look at each other in the morning. But that what marriage is is a commitment to that relationship, that love goes up and down but commitment can be the steady thing. And I think that's what Paul is saying here, that sometimes our faith itself will go up and down, but to be mature in our faith is to be committed to that faith itself. To turn back when we are in times of questioning. That the commitment to faith itself is what makes us mature. In our gospel today, Jesus also seems to be thinking of the same committed, mature faith in him. This passage comes shortly after the loaves and fishes where Jesus feeds 5000, and people who had no food all of a sudden have food and the crowd is looking for Jesus. They saw this amazing thing, and now they want more. This amazing food was given to them where there was none. And they're looking for him. But Jesus is concerned that they're looking for him because of the food that he gave them, because of the immature way that they are looking for him. They're seeking him out, they're sated. They've had their food and now they want more. And they keep asking him, "What can we do? What can we do to get more of you? What can we do? How can you give us the signs? What's the easiest way for us to get what you have? We want more of it." And Jesus' answer to them is that their work is to believe in God, to be steady in their belief, to be focused not on feeding themselves daily, but to feast on the bread of God, that God provides, of Jesus himself. This is moving when I think about my own faith. It's often when I'm best fed that I'm grateful and remember to praise God. I'm sure you have your own memories of these times, but mine often include times when I'm in nature or moments when I'm sitting in this pew with my kids and just feeling so good to be together. Or, honestly, on the first day of school when everyone's out the door and I'm in a quiet home. These are the times that I remember to praise God, to look to him, to thank him. To be immersed in my faith. But I wonder about the times when I'm spiritually hangry. When I'm doing taxes, which definitely makes me hungry and angry, "hangry." And when I'm letting somebody down. When I'm embarrassed. When I have health concerns, or people that I love have health concerns that are questions that aren't getting answers. When I have parenting fails, which is not infrequent. When I'm doing things like wasting my time looking at facebook, or making my brain turn off when I should be engaging with humans that are around me. At those times I yell for signs. But Jesus, the living bread, is not what I'm looking for. I want the easy answers. I want it to be easier. I'm being immature in my faith, in my relationship with Jesus. But the miracle of Jesus is that he says the work for us to do is to believe in God. He understands it, this idea of faith is not simple. It's work. We have to continue to be looking back to what Jesus is doing, and no matter where we are, no matter how hangry we are, Jesus is there turned toward us, ready for us to look back toward him. The other thing that Paul says is that we cannot do this work, we cannot be in faith, without community. And that we together build our faith and grow in community, growing into the body of Christ. That we don't have to do this work of being mature in our faith alone. And members of the body of Christ, which is all of us and all of the people outside of these doors as well, are members that have different gifts to bring, and shine lights on our faith in different ways. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, to be honest. We are all important to the body of Christ, and we all have gifts, and none of us have to do this alone. I think as a body we've grieved the loss of our pastors. And I know for many of us, we are also now grieving the loss of the McCarty family. And that anytime a family member, a church member leaves our body, it can feel like an amputation. It's a loss. It's painful, and it's good and right to grieve that loss. I know I personally felt a lot of despair about this loss. And if I'm honest with myself, I have sometimes felt overwhelmed with the work of the church right now. Even as Brett was talking today, thinking about the work of the Transition Team and the Call Team. How are we going to educate our kids? Right now we have a vacuum to be honest, and what's going to happen with our high schoolers? Who's gonna pay for the renovations? All of these questions that weigh me down, that I feel like are mine to carry alone. And then I remember what Paul reminds us over and over again, that in Christ, with the body of God, with the body of Jesus, we have everything we need to complete these tasks. Knowing that we all have important roles in the church, but we don't have to do everything. We have our specialized roles. One of my favorite podcasts is "On Being" with Krista Tippett. I know Pastor Penny referred to it as well, so it must have the thumbs up. But one of the conversations that Krista had was with a nun named Sister Simone Campbell. She's from Nuns on the Bus. You may have heard of them. They go from town to town with activism and try to tell people about different causes. She has a lot of work through activism and contemplation and she was using the same message of Paul, saying that we need to do our part, even if that's just one thing. So she says in this conversation, "You know how in the scripture Paul says we're all one body. Not everybody is an eye. So one day I was meditating and trying to figure out what part of the body of Christ I am. So I came up with this insight. I think I'm the stomach acid." She goes on to say that the stomach acid sounds like just such a terrible part, but it's so important for metabolizing food and she says if the stomach acid runs amok it's an illness. So we need to keep it in one part of the body, that it generates energy and heat and all kinds of good stuff, but it is a very specific, small piece that depends on the whole system to be healthy and effective to work right. I think it's important for us to take a moment to just contemplate our own gifts, how our own gifts move the body of Christ forward. Most of us won't be the stomach acid, and I know O'Brien would say that I would probably be the voice, with my loud announcements. But what do we have to bring to this body together? What do we have to bring to this body, but also to the world? It can feel so overwhelming to do it alone at our church, yes. But also in this time when we see so much agony; kids separated from parents; lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender folks who face death and discrimination simply for loving who they love; health and water crises; not enough healthcare; environmental harm; poverty. But we're reminded that we don't have to do it all alone. In fact, we can't. Another person that's very popular at this pulpit (actually he never stands here) Pastor Tom Schoenherr has a book that's called The Deeper Journey. In this book, he puts the idea of community and Jesus together eloquently. He says, "Jesus, the bread of life, draws us in the community with him and with one another, giving us joy and the promise of new life, sharing God's love." Sister Simone Campbell, whom I spoke about earlier, wrote a poem that I think is very poignant about this. She says, "I always joked that the miracle of the loaves and fishes was sharing. The women always knew this. But in this moment of need and notoriety, I ache, tremble, almost weep at folks so hungry, malnourished, faced with spiritual famine of epic proportions. My heart aches with their need. Apostle-like I whine, 'What are we among so many?!' The consistent 2,000 year-old ever new response is this: blessed and broken, you are enough. I savor the blessed, cower at the broken, and pray to be enough." Dear Jesus, help us to see each other and ourselves as enough as we continue to be spiritually fed, feasting on you, the bread of life, and holding each other steady, mature, yet growing in our faith as the body of Christ. Amen. *** Keywords *** 2018, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Katie Ciorba, LGBTQ, Transition Committee, Call Committee

July 22, 2018. Have you ever had one of those days when you just need to have a break? Jesus and his disciples had those days. He had compassion for the human need facing him, and as his followers his compassion begins to take hold in our lives. So what do we do when we need some rest? Pastor Stephanie's sermon today is about following our shepherd and receiving what we need from his hands. *** Transcript *** You've all had "those days," haven't you? When all you want to do is get away from work after a [mic cuts out]. (I'm having one of those days. Okay, at least I got the children's message in the right time. But now I've got to shut the mic off. So here we go.) But you had those days where all you want to do is get away from work after a trying day, or from the nursing home where you become emotionally drained, or from school with its impossible demands on your time, or frankly from your colicky child whom you love more than life itself, but now you just have to have a break. You long for a place where you can relax in peace and quiet, where you can experience some comfort and refreshment, and you're just about to, and the relief is on the way, and then something happens to interrupt your plans. And you're back on duty being responsible and caring for the needs of others. This is pretty much where we find Jesus and his disciples in our gospel reading today. They've had it rough -- and I mean emotionally, physically, mentally, in every possible way rough. They're just coming off the horrific news, as we read in the scriptures last week, of the death of John the Baptist. And that would have been unnerving at the very least. To know that Herod's family system would take such vengeance on one of their own would have shaken them to the core. John was not only a co-worker, if you will. He was Jesus' own cousin and possibly one of his closest confidants. What was going on in Herod's palace? During that time, the disciples had been out in the countryside, sent by Jesus to cast out unclean spirits and to heal the sick. That had to be quite demanding as well. Exhilarating, and yet challenging. So now we have them all getting reunited. What a debriefing process that must have been: super, super high highs, and at least one devastating low. They are all beyond tired and weary from it all. So Jesus suggest that they retreat for some much needed R&R, and that is where they are headed as they make their way across the sea when they are met with enormous need, right in front of them. Crowds of people have gathered along the shoreline, desperate to experience Jesus' healing presence for themselves and their loved ones. The nearest I can come to imagining this would be to relate to you an experience I had in South India in 2006. My husband and I were part of a group of eight people who, with our gracious hosts from the church of South India, visited churches, schools, and medical facilities connected to our denomination's mission work. We were there for 14 life-changing days. Never have I met so many joy-filled, dedicated Christian believers all in one place as we met there. Nor have I met such crowds of people with so many looks of desperation and pleas of help on their very beings. To be with a small entourage in a sea of human need in the city of Chennai, or even on the hillsides of Kerala, is something I will never forget. I only know that by about day 12, I was nearly completely physically exhausted, and it was an over-the-top emotionally draining experience. Now, let's go back to the scene where Jesus and his disciples are anticipating a much-needed rest. They've had many days of meeting needs and caring for people, while managing their own weariness from doing so. Imagine the reality of that time of rest fading away as they face the vast human need coming into focus before their eyes. Can you imagine trying to catch a glimpse of Jesus' face in slow motion as he catches a glimpse of the crowd? What kind of face do you expect to see? A tired face, an annoyed face? Perhaps a little mix of both? Maybe we imagine Jesus sighing deeply, knowing there's still work to be done, but internally wishing it were not so. Not right now. We could relate to any one of those responses. Perhaps there was a mixture of those descriptions pertinent to Jesus at that time, but the prevailing image that is created in the gospel of Jesus at that point is whatever it takes for us to imagine a look of compassion on his face, compassion that overrides the rest of what was going on inside of him. We are told that Jesus was moved deeply from within by seeing the people in such need, and with such earnestness to receive from him. In the words ascribed to him there, we see that he noted that the people were tired and harried and "were like sheep without a shepherd." We can hear, even in those words, that he said how his heart was going out to them. Compassion. The Greek word is splagchnizomai. It's not a word synonymous with pity, as we often use it in our own language. It's a word that you can almost feel as you say it. You want to practice that? Splagchnizomai. It calls for something from the deep, because it is literally a visceral word. It means to be moved down deep into the deepest part of our beings, even described as being passion that arrives from our bowels. It makes me think of something like the feeling we had when we heard of the devastating accident at Table Rock Lake a few days ago. It was bad enough learning of the fatalities and feeling with the families who experience the loss of loved ones. But then it got even more intense when we learned that one woman and her nephew lost nine of their family members. For her it was the loss of her husband and all of her children. That is incomprehensible. One cannot help but have a physical reaction to such a situation. That's more than we can bear to imagine for another. But when we have a feeling of relating so deeply to the pain and hurt that another must be feeling, we do often bear some of the pain within ourselves. That is compassion in its rawest form. It means to have pathos or feeling with one another. The prefix "com" means "with." A compassionate response is to relate deeply, to suffer with or alongside, whatever is causing sorrow for another. Even saying this I know that I have hooked some of you in situations where you have had deep compassion for the sorrow of another, and for yourself perhaps. Mark shows us over and over again, Jesus demonstrates for us what it is like to be full of compassion, because just as we say "God is love" it's also true that God in Jesus is compassion. As followers of Jesus, his compassion begins to take hold of our lives. He gives us the opportunity and the ability to see what he sees, the more the reality of his dwelling within us takes hold. As we receive grace and provision for ourselves a transaction of sorts takes place. He transforms us, introducing grateful response for what we have received, which in turn helps us to be able to want to give that to others. We are able to give to another something qualitatively more valuable because of his presence in our lives than we could have ever conjured up ourselves. In a very real way the Good Shepherd operates through us, shaping us into people who are more able to see others with compassion and with love. As we grow in compassion, we can see what Jesus sees in each person a little bit more clearly. I think we together could compile a rather lengthy list among ourselves, if I were to ask you what calls for compassion in your life. What has taken extra strength and prayer for you to deal with, because it is intense and causes you to feel deeply for those who are suffering? I might suggest an easy one: family members and friends with chronic illnesses would surely make the list. Also thinking of those who live without adequate food or shelter. Additionally, policies in our government that make life more difficult for the most vulnerable. Hearing instances of bullying that degrade people, or seeing it in our schools, neighborhoods, or workplaces. And certainly when recurring incidences of racial discrimination and mistreatment occur in our city, time and again, and we imagine how hurtful that is. That's just to name a few items on a list, and I'm sure you have plenty more that pop into your head. I came across a story this week that I liked because it stretches us to see how Jesus taught us to see. It goes like this: A rabbi once asked his pupils how they could tell when night had ended and day had begun. "Could it be," said one of the students, "That when you see an animal off in the distance, you are able to tell it is a sheep rather than a dog?" "No," said the rabbi. Another said, "Is it when you are looking off in the distance at some trees, and you see a particular one and you can identify that as a fig tree rather than a peach tree?" "No, that is not it," answered the rabbi. After a few more unsuccessful suggestions, the pupils demanded of the rabbi, "Then what is it? How can we tell when night has ended and day has begun?" It is when you look at the face of a woman or man, a girl or a boy, and on that face you see your sister or your brother," said the rabbi, "Because if you cannot see this, it is still night." Even in our short time together, I can already see that this congregation is growing, and has grown significantly in seeing the face of others created in the image of God, not only within the congregation but within this community and the world at large. We see it, we know it, and even yet that isn't always the main issue as we know. Some of you may be thinking in response to all of this: I do see this. I do feel this. I have this list, but I am tired and weary myself. All that is going on in the world and with people for whom I care who are struggling, wears me out. Every day a new crisis or two is reported. We already see and feel too much of the world's burden many times. It is true that we are in a similar place to that of the disciples in our gospel reading. We too are invited to take a rest to be restored within the context of so very much need, so many people who are tired and harried and wanting something which will fill them. So what do we do? We too continue to follow the shepherd and receive what we need from his hands. It is for our own needs. It is also so we have something to give to others. He shepherds us, he feeds us, he heals us because he loves us and wants us to be filled with his love and grace. He also sends us out as the fed and healed sons and daughters to be his compassionate presence wherever we go. As we receive the words of life shared with us today, read, sung, and prayed together, and as we receive the nourishment that is present at the table, we are given some of the rest that we need. We are fed and refreshed from a never-ending supply of grace. It comes from the bread and wine given and poured out by the compassionate one to address the weariness and the hurriedness of our lives. It is given to restore hope, to experience healing, and to receive strength for the journey that each each of us must travel. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2018, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Stephanie Doeschot

July 8, 2018. Jesus was not accepted as the messiah in his own hometown. Pastor Jim Bennett's message is about how God's strength is shown best in weakness and humility, something that may be difficult for us, like the people of Nazareth, to embrace today. *** Transcript *** I wonder if Christ Lutheran Church has ever had a son or a daughter who was raised in the church, and then went on to become an ordained pastor. There's a story of a new, young minister being introduced to her home congregation for the first time following her ordination to word and sacrament ministry. Her parents were proud. Her pastor was proud. Her Sunday School teachers were proud. Everybody was proud. She was surprised by the long, loud applause when she was introduced. And being young and quick of wit, she responded, "When there is applause at the start of one's ministry, that's faith. When there is applause in the middle of one's ministry, that's hope. When there's applause at the end of one's ministry, that's charity." When Jesus walked into his hometown of Nazareth for the first time after his commissioning in the temple, there was no applause. The people were not proud. They were confused. They reacted with disbelief to his words and deeds saying, "Is this not the carpenter?" They could not believe that Jesus of Nazareth, that small child that they perceived as a bit arrogant for having taught in the temple as a young boy, was there in their midst, was actually the Messiah that all the other surrounding towns were so excited about. The people of Nazareth could not accept Jesus for who or what he was because of their preconceived ideas that they carried with them. Let me digress just for a moment, if you will. Martin Luther was known for conveying some radical ideas about the gospel. I joined the Lutheran Church as a teenager and I have to confess, being unchurched for many, many years, that at that time, my life could have been a poster child for what inspired Luther's well-worn phrase where he said, "Sin boldly that grace may abound." Now, I'm not trying to compare myself with Jesus. But when I announced ten years later that I was intending to go to seminary to become a pastor, there were some people who, to say the least, had some quizzical looks on their faces. And following my ordination, I remember being invited back to my home congregation to face those proud Sunday School teachers who probably saw me as proof that miracles still exist. The people of Nazareth in Jesus' day, and sometimes the people in our own congregations, have some firmly set expectations of what or who they expect pastors and prophets to be. And the church has a right to expect that those who are called to be set apart in this way, to be above reproach, and who are respectful and honorable women and men who preach the Good News, who preach the gospel. But someone forgot to tell the people of Nazareth that the gospel that Jesus wants us to hear really can come across in two ways. The gospel is intended to comfort the afflicted, but it's also intended to inflict the comfortable. And I think Jesus in Nazareth did the latter. You remember that young woman pastor in the story that I started my sermon with, whose congregation was so proud of her? Well, the sermon that she preached that first Sunday after her ordination was one where the message conveyed an advocation for social justice. She was really challenging her congregation to step up and do some amazing things. She was calling her congregation to a higher level of accountability. Some members thought that she was pretty tough on them, but they thought she was young and they were still proud. So they invited her to return, year after year, and the second year when she came back, the very next year she preached the same sermon. Well, they were still proud. They were a little confused but they thought well, she's young. Maybe she forgot she preached the same sermon the year before. The next year she returned and she preached the same sermon as the two previous years. At that point they were less proud, and they were a little confused and angry. So the chair of the worship committee was appointed by the church council to take her aside and ask her, "Why is it that you continue to preach that same uncomfortable message year after year?" And she responded, "You know, I grew up in this congregation. And week after week, I heard the gospel that was comfortable to our members. And sometimes we need to hear the gospel that afflicts the comfortable. It sounds like you finally got my message." Now, I believe that to be an apocryphal story. But it speaks to our gospel lesson today. Jesus' message never got through to the people of his hometown. The story suggests that whenever someone comes into our midst, and shows or invites us to think in a radically different way from what we are used to believing or thinking about God, or about God's love, we feel threatened and our reaction is to judge or disbelieve. The people of Nazareth had placed their faith in a messiah that turned out to be a carpenter who grew up in their own town, and their belief made it impossible for God's good works to be done there. God's news can guide the work of God's people. It can be rough going at times. Some might believe that that's because we really need stronger, more charismatic or powerful leaders who represent God and inspire those who respond to God's message of the gospel to action. Well, that's probably the attitude the people of Nazareth had. A God who is strong and all-knowing should have the message proclaimed by those with similar characteristics. Yet there stood Jesus, that humble Carpenter. In our second lesson today, which was the theme for my children's sermon, the Apostle Paul tried to explain to the church at Corinth that God's strength shows through best in weakness. That may seem counterintuitive, but I invite you to think about it: Christ's human weakness allowed him to die on the cross, and then God turned that weakness into the most powerful message in human history. There has always been a point of tension between the humanity and divinity of Christ, between his weakness and his strength, and I think that is the same for many of us today. There are those who feel that they need to be in complete control of their lives, who are confident and self-reliant, that there is no room for doubt in their faith. And they have then little need for God. They're self-made women and men. And all of those characteristics, those traits, can be positive except when they become barriers to growth or barriers to relationship. I could not help think back to an old Mac Davis song from 1980. You probably have to be over 50 to remember this song. And I do believe he wrote it tongue-in-cheek, but it was titled "Oh Lord, It's Hard To Be Humble When You're Perfect In Every Way." You can Google that if you'd like. But then come those sudden chest pains. The lump in our neck or our breast, maybe a pink slip from work. Or the announcement of a separation or divorce. It stops us in our tracks and it reminds us that we are not gods. But we are mere mortals, frail and vulnerable. Those chinks in our armor are God's contact points. In our broken, imperfect lives God's light finds opportunities to show through in those cracks. Ralph Waldo Emerson is noted to have said, "As no person had ever a point of pride that was not injurious to him or her, so no person had ever a defect that was not in some way made useful to them." Strong, self-reliant people never had the opportunity to know the power or strength that can be found in weakness. Any human weakness can restore our sense of humility that leaves room for God's strength. It brings us into a condition of grace that is open to the light and spirit of God, and I have found that to be true in my own life and in the lives of many of the people to whom I come in contact with in my ministry. The people of God in Nazareth did not understand that concept that God's strength is shown best in weakness and humility. And even today it's difficult in our 21st Century for Americans to embrace it. We admire people who are strong, and given the choice between power and weakness, who would not choose power? We look for signs of God in the strong and powerful, and often overlook God in humble human interactions. But I wonder if our faith in God encountered in our everyday human condition is not really stronger in faith than that which relies on powerful proof in exceptional situations. Our gospel lesson states that because the people of Nazareth could not accept Jesus he could do no mighty works there. If, like the people of Nazareth, we cannot recognize God's presence in the most simple of people or situations, and perhaps even in the tragedies of our lives, God will not be able to do God's Mighty works. We look back to scripture and see the marvels of God, and have little doubt of the power of God. But the gospel, the Good News of God, wants us to embrace a divine humility found in God's weakness, God's death on the cross. The Apostle Paul knew what it was like to carry such weakness in his life. He talked about it as a thorn in his flesh and he prayed several times to "keep me from being afflicted." But God spoke to him. He said, "I sought the Lord about this that it should leave me. But he said, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' So I am content with weakness, for when I am weak I am strong." May God use our weakness to spread the Good News. And may we be open to hearing the Good News that comes in unexpected ways from unexpected people. But not Mac Davis. Amen. *** Keywords *** 2018, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Jim Bennett

June 24, 2018. Have you ever had any fearful experiences on the water? Pastor Stephanie preaches today on the story of Jesus calming the storm. She reminds us that there is no storm that we face, personally or as a community of faith or in any other realm, where we are actually alone. *** Transcript *** I'd like you to say a brief prayer with me, please. O Lord, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts together be acceptable in your sight, O God. Amen. I introduced myself a bit last week, and I know that every week I'm going to need to do a little bit of that. I probably won't do that so much from the pulpit today, but I do look forward to meeting each and every one of you. My name is Pastor Stephanie Doeschot, as a you've probably read about somewhere or heard, and I'm looking forward to spending this time with you as your interim pastor, and look forward to what God will do in and through this congregation, and as we work together in partnership to ascertain where God is taking this congregation, and to just be still and be the people of God in the meantime as we continue on loving God and loving one another. I have a question for you, much like I did for the children: have any of you ever had any fearful experiences, this time on the water? Well, bodies of water can be so beautiful and inviting, but then there are times when they are mighty forces to be reckoned with. Several years ago, my husband and I were on a pastoral sabbatical concluding with a lovely week at a beach cottage south of Monterey, California. If you've been there, I need say no more. That is one of God's finest designs over there. The Pacific rolls in and there's so much beauty to enjoy, and it's very peaceful and wonderful. Well, it was peaceful until we decided that we would like to try our hand at sea kayaking, which had been highly recommended to us. We made an appointment for the last day of our stay there. It was the only one still available. This was about three weeks after Labor Day. The season was winding down at the rental shop and to have guys go out with you. So we showed up on that Friday morning only to find out that the guide who was to take us on this adventure had not shown up for work. This was our last day. We were flying home the next day and we were determined to take advantage of this opportunity. The manager of the store had to stay nearby to rent out the kayaks, but he told us with a short tutorial by him that we should be fine. And we fell for it. Well, it was not without difficulty and several attempts, that we did make our way through the first line of the waves that break into the shore, and I assure you on the Pacific Ocean those are no small force to be reckoned with either. My husband made it a little better than I did. But you had to put your kayak perpendicular, heading straight out into the water to break through the waves, and I had a couple of times I have to admit that the waves had the better of me and I would be flipped over. And I would have to get myself up and get the thing readied again, and stand and try to push out, and make it through about four or five layers of these breakers. Well, we eventually got to do that, and then we were delighted to enjoy a long stretch of peaceful water where the harbor seals would playfully pop their heads up and make their little sounds and look at us, and then they'd pop down to swim. It was idyllic. But the instructor had told us that what we really wanted to do was to go out further, where the kelp beds lie and where we would see more wildlife. He said we would know we were there when the water turned green all around us. And he was right. What he did not tell us was that when we would get out that far, we would also be likely to be caught up in swells that were for the first twenty seconds rather fun. But after that, sheer terror set in. I know for me much of that was in my head. As I said, I'd already overturned two to three times near the shore when the small but intense waves pitched me out of my kayak. Suddenly now, in the face of these enormous swells where I found myself sometimes at the bottom looking up at what seemed to be 15 to 20 feet of water (maybe I exaggerate but it seemed like it) and then riding up the side of that wave only to be cast down to the bottom of the next swell, panic set in. I envisioned myself being overturned by a subsequent one, and either not being able to get back into the kayak before some unfriendly sea creature started nibbling at my body parts, or that I would be completely upside down and unable to breathe. Oh, the dangers we can imagine. Often at least based in some reality, but just as often magnified beyond the bounds of that which is likely to happen. I did not wait to find out how my deepest fears might be realized. At this point I could barely maintain eye contact with my husband, carried away as he was by swells somewhere out of my eyesight, but my lungs still worked. So I called out to him that this was no longer fun, and I wanted to get back to the shore ASAP. Surprisingly, no argument came from him, and we each managed to turn those kayaks into the direction that they needed to go, because at this point we were still facing Asia. But we managed to get them turned around and headed back to the shore. These kayaks looked to me like a child's toy compared to the size of these gigantic waves. As you can see I'm here today, so we made it safely. But not without sending my pulse into higher regions than ever, I'm pretty sure. Well, surely you have your own stories. You can relate to times of feeling at the mercy of some powerful force of nature, or a situation where you wonder about the outcome. In our gospel lesson today a storm arises. As you recall, Jesus has been teaching on the west side of the Sea of Galilee, and the disciples have been getting a chance to get to know him, and who he is about, and marvel over him already, and yet not completely understand him. But when he says to them, let's get in the boat we need to go to the other side, they do it and they fish. Skilled fisherman that they are, they probably don't think of thing of what lies before them. And then a storm comes up, the likes of which shake them to their toes. As you recall, panic sets in for the disciples. Jesus is sleeping. Sleeping through all of this. And yet they are encountering a storm that has created deep fear in their hearts and their minds, and so what really hooked me this week in responding to this passage was Jesus' response to the panic of the disciples who, with accusing tones in their voices said Jesus, don't you care about us? We are perishing here and you seem not to care. This is a crisis. So what does Jesus do? He takes charge of the situation, speaking to the wind and the waves and commanding them to be still. And they do calm down. But you get the sense that the storm is still raging inside of his companions. Maybe they're asking themselves: are we really safe with this guy? How do we know he really has our backs? We had to wake him up to pay attention to this, remember? What if he sleeps through the next crisis, or if we can't find him when we need his help? Then what? Well, the response we have through our English translation doesn't fully carry the full weight of the care and desire that Jesus has in his words to them to stretch them, and to stretch us into another way of framing his relationship with us in times of trouble. Asking them and us why are you afraid doesn't mean that he doesn't get that many things are fearful. He's prodding them to dig deeper into the reserves of the heritage of their faith. Remember the other passages we just heard this morning? He's reminding them that they would probably have heard them, not in so many words, but he's digging into their heritage where they would have heard this oral tradition of stories passed down, through their families of faith, through their worshiping community, around the campfire, maybe the stories of God addressing Job such as this which is already read, where God says, "Have you people commanded the morning till your days began and caused the dawn to know its place? Have you entered into the springs of the sea or walked in the recesses of the deep? Who of you has cut a channel for the torrents of rain and a way for the thunderbolt to bring rain on a land where no one lives and to make the ground put forth grass?" Our fears can be real, for there are many dangers and difficulties. But God, the one who is over and above all circumstances that can threaten us is still, as from before the dawn of time, in charge of it all. Then Jesus asked a second question: have you still no faith? Because when the disciples anxiously accused, "Don't you care, Jesus, that we are perishing?" they indicated that they did not understand the very nature of who it was to whom they were speaking. Jesus' actions, teaching to the crowds and conversations with them up to this point, were to help them connect to the God that they exalted in the Psalms. As an example from Psalm 107 today, we saw the words that dealt with the fact that the psalmist is extolling the praises of God, who calms the sea, who calms the storm. That would have been their literature. That would have been their context, and yet the connection is not yet made between who this Jesus is, and who is the God whom they worship? So when Jesus is dead asleep and the disciples call to him, it's a good illustration for us to see because we can find ourselves in the same place. At times, we are in the storms, and in the difficulties. And we too wonder if God just might be taking a nap during this time. We too know the stories of faith. We too know that God is much bigger and mightier than we, and yet don't we also wonder if God is going to rise up in this occasion and change these circumstances for us? I don't have to prompt you with too many thoughts, because I'm sure our intercessory prayers and the prayers that you offer every day, and the wonderings in your hearts and minds, arise from the situations that are troublesome to us. No need really to mention what's going on in our Southern borders, and yet we as people need I believe to call out to God and say, "O Lord do not sleep through this." Not that we think God will, but to remind ourselves that we are calling on God in the faith tradition of those who have come before us and, I think, honoring God in a very special way to say, "Only you, God, can give us the peace that we need in this process and the peace that we pray for the many people who are troubled by such things." We have friends who have been in difficult times because of medical conditions. I won't dwell on this, but if I seem a little sleepy this morning it's because last night I had to take my husband to the emergency room. And that's not a common thing. He's the kind who will tough out anything that comes his way if he possibly can, and he's been having some esophageal issues and been under medical care for that. But last night about 8:30 he said, I think I'm having a heart attack. Don't you just love it when you're teaching or preaching a passage, and then you get a chance to put these words to the test yourself? Yeah, so fear. So anxiety. So a sense of calling on God: God help us. Do I call 911 right now, or will he in half a minute say no no no, I'm fine? Anyway, I did. I didn't call 911, but I did persuade him to jump in the car with me and I took him to the ER. And he's fine, after lots of medication and lots of time and tests to show that indeed, it was not a heart attack. He just needs to go see a GI specialist. Fine, we can deal with that. But only to illustrate that we all have those moments where something comes up suddenly, or something is pervasive and stays with us a long time. And we so want to see the hand of God bring peace and change of the circumstances to us. Because there are legitimate fears about things that are too big for us. Jesus doesn't ever say, "Your fear is unfounded. What what do you mean, everything's rosy." But he does give us the proper perspective of how to deal with that. Rest in Me. Rest with me. Rest in me, Jesus seems to say. He offers instead, and dearly wants disciples at the stormy sea and disciples here present with us, to take that offer to live in what another penned as the "peace of God that passes all understanding, keeping our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." From this place of peace, a person, a community, a movement can thrive in the midst of any storm. I promise I won't talk about him every week, but our grandson I mentioned last week is about to celebrate his second birthday. And he's an even-tempered child. He smiles affably and seems to be making good progress in his development. One thing did cause a bit of concern: on the days that I would take care of him around his nap time, as soon as he was awakened from his nap he would cry out and make all kinds of sounds that he normally didn't make. And he would be seeming to express panic if someone wasn't in the room with him right away. It was almost like him saying, "Where is everyone, who's here for me?" Of course, I would rush in and comfort him and pull him out of his crib. And I'm happy to say that as time has gone on he has learned to soothe himself and awaken without anxiety. He seems to have internalized the fact that whatever dream he had (or nightmare) or initial concern for his own safety that he had upon awakening, he is not alone in the larger sense of the meaning, and someone is always nearby for him. As we grow in faith, may we notice just how true it is that someone is always nearby for us. We can also recount with the psalmist that we have called upon the Lord and found God faithful and true to be with us in all things. Even though, granted there are fear producing situations in our lives, they need not paralyze us. They need not have dominion over us. They need not consume us. They need not cause panic because we are not alone in our boats. A scene from the end of John Bunyan's classical allegorical novel The Pilgrim's Progress finds the chief character Christian, the archetype of a person struggling to lead a life of faith, nearing the end of his symbolic journey. This journey requires him to cross a great and fearsome river. He is desperately afraid. Together with his friend Hopeful, they wade into the waters with trepidation. Christian cries out, "I sink in deep waters. The billows go over my head. All the waves go over me." Hopeful replies with these grace-filled words: "Be of good cheer, my brother. I feel the bottom and it is good." Be of good cheer, friends. There is no storm that we face, personally or as a community of faith, or in any other realm, where we are actually alone. The careful, watchful eye of one whose might and compassion is always upon us, let us call upon the name of the Lord for help in times of trouble. For God's mercy is everlasting, and God's peace is able to calm every storm. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2018, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, Pastor Stephanie Doeschot