First Lutheran Church

March 2, 2022 Ash Wednesday 

Sermon

“Shrove Tuesday, Mardis Gras and Ash Wednesday”

Pastor Greg Ronning

“Tonight,I have danced with the bagman. Tonight, I have danced with a general. I have danced with clowns and cowboys.  I have danced with the president and an elephant. I have danced with a cheerleader, with Apollo, with Dionysus.  Tonight, I have danced with God.” 

Those words are attributed to a woman named Gertrud Nelson; they belong to “Shrove Tuesday,” “Fat Tuesday,” “Mardis Gras,” “Carnival;” - the night before Ash Wednesday.  A time set aside to celebrate life and all its sweet goodness before the season of Lent begins. A time to go crazy, wear costumes and masks, indulge oneself, maybe even overindulge.

And I think it can be said that her words might also belong to us and our experience.  Did any of you celebrate “Shrove Tuesday” last night.  For some that means pancakes with whip cream for dinner, for others it’s that wild costume party in New Orleans, and for others it’s something in between.  Whatever you did last night, even if it was nothing, the words of Gertrude Nelson still belong to each of us in a much deeper way.  In fact, it could be said that we spend most of our lives at “Carnival.” 

We love to wear our masks. We have so many good ones. We get up in the morning and we put the appropriate mask on and then head out into the world, and “play,” interact with other people who are wearing their masks.  Life can be a grand game of make believe.  And we dance with generals, clowns, cowboys, kings, queens, and the president. 

And why not?  It’s hard to face the world “unmasked.”  We all know what we really look like.  How could we go out into the world without a mask? We got so many blemishes, scars, open wounds.  We all Have our shadowy sides.  And thus, we can be so weak and so vulnerable.  So, we need to cover up, there’s no other way. It’s a matter of survival. I guess that’s what sometimes bugs us about Ash Wednesday and Lent. The scriptures and the words that go along with Lent remind us too much of that conversation we have late at night when we strip the masks off, or the one we have in the morning just before we put a new mask back on, that honest conversation about our life.

It’s been said that our society no longer knows its sin, that we’ve become so hardened and dead to our brokenness. Yet I don’t think that’s the case.  I think our sin, our imperfections, our sense of being separated from life and meaning; is so great that all we can do is submit to a life of make believe.  As a matter of survival, we put on masks and act out roles just to get through another day.  We know sin, we know Psalm 51, we live in it all the time! What we don’t know is “real love,” “strong peace,” and “radical grace.”  Those things of God that set us free from having the need to wear masks and costumes.

No wonder we don’t like Lent.  Yet maybe we need Lent.  Maybe it is Lent that sets us free.  Not the kind of Lent where we beat ourselves up in some kind of “existential inner dialog.”  But a kind of Lent that we can do together.  A season where we can all agree to take off the masks and just be ourselves.  A time to gather together, unmasked, and confess to each other that, “Hey I’m not perfect!” 

If we did Lent together maybe it would be liberating?  If we let down our guard, eased up on our defenses, stopped playing all those games, maybe we would find some peace. If we stopped worrying about what other people were thinking, if we could get beyond “reacting,” and find ourselves doing something “intentional,” maybe we would find some love, maybe love would find us?  What if we gathered together, without masks, and reminded each other that we are loved, just the way we are!

Lent is not an individual event.  That doesn’t mean that you can’t give something up for Lent, or begin a diet, or an exercise program.  But don’t kid yourself into believing that that’s all there is to Lent.  Unless we take the corporate dimension of the season seriously, the hard road of Lent cannot lead to the transformation, the rebirth, the new life of Easter.

So, make plans this year to get involved in this community of faith.  Make plans to attend the Thursday mid-week service to worship and explore discipleship, the places where our faith hits the road.  Pray with a small group, read the bible with another person, serve those in need, do something faithful with faithful people!

Today is the first step, we gather to take off our masks, and expose our foreheads to be covered only with ashes; the ashes of humility, pain, and brokenness.  No masks just us.  “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”   We confess our sin.  We face the pain and the darkness we all know so well. We take the time to rest in it together. 

And soon it will happen, just when we don’t think we can bear it anymore, the ashes marked in the form of the cross, the same cross traced in oil at our baptism ,will begin to claim us.  As we stand together unmasked and naked the spirit of love moves among us.  And we realize that we are not only “not alone” in our lives, but that we are unconditionally loved just as we are.

I would like to conclude today with the alternative psalm appointed for this day, Psalm 103.  I would like for it to be the last word.  Please take a moment to open yourself up to God and your neighbor, to let the masks fall from your faces, and hear this word from God.

Psalm 103

Bless the LORD, O my soul,

and all that is within me, bless his holy name.  

Bless the LORD, O my soul,

and do not forget all his benefits …

The LORD is merciful and gracious,

slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.  

He will not always accuse,

nor will he keep his anger forever.  

He does not deal with us according to our sins,

nor repay us according to our iniquities.  

For as the heavens are high above the earth,

so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him;

as far as the east is from the west,

so far he removes our transgressions from us.  

As a (parent) has compassion for (their) children,

so the LORD has compassion for those who fear him.  

For he knows how we were made;

he remembers that we are dust.  

As for mortals, their days are like grass;

they flourish like a flower of the field;

for the wind passes over it,

and it is gone, and its place knows it no more.  

But the steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him,

and his righteousness to children's children,  

to those who keep his covenant and remember to do his commandments.  

May these words lead us confidently and boldly through the 40 days of Lent and into the new life of Easter.  Amen.

Sermon on Luke 9:28-36

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

As it often happens, the disciples are confused.

It started as a nice little hike up a mountain, but then some really strange stuff starts happening.

1.     First of all, Jesus starts glowing.

2.     Then, Elijah and Moses show up.

3.     Then, a talking cloud rolls in.

4.     Then, all the strange stuff goes away as quickly as it had appeared.

Like I said, there’s a lot going on here that they don’t understand.

And, honestly, I’ve never really understood this story.

It is truly a weird story. Jesus starts glowing like he’s in a bleach commercial.

Then, he’s talking with the most famous prophets in Jewish tradition—who’ve been dead for a very long time, by the way.

Finally, God’s voice from heaven says to listen to Jesus, like he’s going to make some great proclamation or share some profound teaching, and he doesn’t say anything. And, yeah, it was probably a more general “listen to him,” but it still seems like kind of a letdown after such a dramatic declaration.

It’s always felt like I’ve been missing something here.

But maybe the point of this story isn’t to understand it.

I’ve heard many a literature teacher bemoan students’ desire to “understand” a poem. Poet Billy Collins has a poem about this very problem. It’s called

“Introduction to Poetry”:

I ask them to take a poem

and hold it up to the light

like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem

and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room

and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski

across the surface of a poem

waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do

is tie the poem to a chair with rope

and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose

to find out what it really means.

Maybe what I try to do with the story of the Transfiguration is beat it with a hose to find out what it really means.

In contrast, I love the poetry of T.S. Eliot, even though I don’t understand at least 3/4s of it. I love it because even as I read lines I don’t understand, I suddenly find myself weeping or I’m completely out of breath or my heart is pounding.

I love it, not because I understand it, but because I feel it.

Maybe the point of the story of the Transfiguration is not to understand it, but to feel it.

It’s appropriate that Transfiguration falls in February this year, as it so often does. February is Valentine’s Day, right now Messy Church is focusing on love, and we even got heart-shaped cookies from the stewardship team last week. There’s a lot of love going on this month.

And the story of the Transfiguration is, at its core, a story about love.

About a Liberator who has been proclaiming freedom to captives, good news to the poor, healing to our broken world, and bringing about the Reign of God. Now, Jesus is talking to Moses and Elijah about his “departure,”—the word is related to “exodus,” like the exodus of the Hebrew people from Egypt that God led through Moses. God is, once again, about to set people free. And this time, it’s all of us.

This is the turning point. This is when everything changes. Right before this, Jesus asked his disciples who they thought he was, and Peter got it right—“The Messiah of God.” Now, that belief is being confirmed, and the next step for Jesus is to undergo the death and resurrection he knows he is about to endure. And he does it because of love.

The hosts of the podcast Nerds at Church pointed out that there’s a difference between “transfiguration” and “transformation.” Transformation suggests a total change—inside and out. Transfiguration is only an “outside” change. Inside, Jesus is still the same. At his core, he is love. He is God’s Chosen. And everything he does is for the sake of those whom he chooses out of love: us—all of humanity.

In this story about love, we see our Jesus in all his magnificence: glowing, surrounded by revered figures of faith, with the voice of God declaring Jesus’ authority from the heavens. And the disciples are totally confused. In fact, they won’t say anything about this to anyone until things start to make more sense.

I, too, still find a lot of details in this story perplexing. But I also know that if I think I understand everything about God, then I am stuffing God into a box of my own making. One of the wonderful things about God is that there is so much we don’t understand—so much we get to learn and question and grow in understanding about.

The wisest people I know are the first to admit what they don’t understand. They have a healthy humility about their limits and the limitlessness of God.

When we come across things we don’t understand, we can be like Peter and try to find a solution, try to find something to do so that we don’t have to wrestle with the mystery any longer.

Or, we can abide in wonder at the dazzling, perplexing works of our God who loves us more than we can ever fully grasp.

The same God who freed the Hebrew people from Egypt freed you through the cross and empty tomb. All out of love for you.

Imagine Jesus saying this to you: “You are free, because I love you.”

When we remember that at the core, God is love, we can embrace the mysteries of faith, even sometimes frustrating ones like the Transfiguration. We don’t have to try to torture a confession out of it. We don’t have to figure out every detail. We don’t have to follow Peter’s example and try to come up with something to “do” in reaction to this story.  

We can simply allow ourselves to be loved, just as we are.

We can revel in being loved by our Creator, who made us good, who loves us no matter what.

We can rest in the infinite mysteries of our Liberator, who died on the cross and rose again because he loves us so much.

At its core, the story of the Transfiguration is about love.

And at your core, you are loved.

Forever and ever. Amen.

First Lutheran Church

February 20, 2022

The Seventh Sunday after Epiphany C

Genesis 45:3-11, 15Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come closer to me.” And they came closer. He said, “I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life. For the famine has been in the land these two years; and there are five more years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. So it was not you who sent me here, but God; he has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. Hurry and go up to my father and say to him, ‘Thus says your son Joseph, God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me, do not delay. You shall settle in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near me, you and your children and your children’s children, as well as your flocks, your herds, and all that you have. I will provide for you there—since there are five more years of famine to come—so that you and your household, and all that you have, will not come to poverty.’ ” … And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him.

Luke 6:27-38[Jesus said:] “But I say to you that listen, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.

“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

“Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”

Sermon

“To Give and Forgive”

Pastor Greg Ronning

Brothers and sisters rarely have perfect relationships.  But can you imagine being sold into slavery by your brothers and sisters?  Can you imagine the pain involved in such a rejection?  One minute you’re part of a family, and the next minute you're being plotted against by those in the family with power and strength over you.  First, they throw you down a well and then they sell you to a passing caravan headed to Egypt.  This is the story of Joseph and his brothers as found in the book of Genesis.

Then imagine that years later you run into those same family members and now they're weak and in trouble, and you have all the power.  What do you do?  Do you get even?  Do you reject them?  Does your broken heart grow hard and seek its revenge? Or are you able to open your broken heart and invite these people inside?  Well, no one would blame you if you closed your heart and walked away.  A jury of your peers would never convict you, in fact a jury would probably side with you and award you compensation for physical and emotional damage.  Your brothers and sisters could all be locked up in jail where they belong;- and justice would be done.  

Yet this is the story of Joseph, an amazing person who, I suspect, sees things very differently than you and I. His response is not the natural and easy one.  Instead of revenge, he chooses to give and to forgive, to share his wealth, privilege, and power, giving them all the things that they need to survive.  Those who left him for dead, now receive the gift of life from the brother they hated so much that they sold him into slavery.  Joseph goes even farther, he chooses to open up his heart and invite those who threw him out, - into his life. 

Joseph sees and understands things differently.  His transformed heart is in control of his fallen mind. In this moment when most of us would see the opportunity for “karma,” the opportunity for payback; Joseph sees the presence of God. And from that perspective, in the opportunity to extend grace and mercy he finds his destiny, the hand of God In loving those who hated him he finds meaning and purpose.  It's an amazing story.  Joseph is an extra-ordinary human.  Giving and forgiving, he is able to stretch beyond the limitations of our broken humanity and live out the powerful love of God. 

As I reflect on the story, I would like to see myself as Joseph, but I must confess that I act more like his brothers.  I am unable to share with others, I am jealous of others, I am threatened by my neighbor, and I am ,more times than not concerned primarily only with myself.  I'm afraid to live like Joseph, to give and forgive, freely and abundantly.  I see myself and my resources as limited.  I can't afford to live like Joseph, giving and forgiving on such grand scales.        

Then comes today's Gospel reading.  If Joseph's giving and forgiving seems “unreal” to me, what am I to do with the teachings of Jesus?  The story of Joseph only implies what God might want in certain situations.  But in today's Gospel Jesus is so specific.  And these words scare me.  These words are a complete reversal of the values that I need to survive in the world that I know, the world in which I must live.  How can I give till I have nothing?  How can I love the unlovable?  How can I turn the other cheek?  How can I love my enemy?  Such giving and forgiving is beyond “unreal,” it seems absurd.  

Yet the story of Joseph and the words of Jesus won't go away.  And even if they did, the same words can be found throughout the scriptures, radical giving and forgiving is all over the place.  And they haunt me.  I can't just put them on a nice "Christian poster" and hang them on my wall.  I can't "spiritualize" them .I can’t separate them from my economy. I can't show up to serve at the Pantry and not know what they really mean.  My heart longs to be extraordinary in my giving and forgiving, my heart longs to practice the radical discipleship that Christ sets before me, my heart is ready to follow, but my fallen mind finds a way to hold back. 

What is your heart saying to you when you hear the call to give and forgive? Is it beating faster in anticipation of the Kingdom?  What is your mind saying to you when you hear the call to give and forgive?  Is it in panic mode, survival mode, trying to shut down the longings of the heart before they get you into trouble?  Is it busy trying to rationalize the hard questions of faith away?  Is it seeking to pull the discussion back into the realm of the human condition - scarcity; and out of the realm of the endless abundance found in the Kingdom of God?    

Perhaps our primary task today is to simply try to shut down that fallen part of our minds, the part of us that is afraid.  That part that clings to “the way things are,” that part that seeks to limit us to the fate of being ordinary.  Perhaps if we can do that, shut down out fallen mind, even for just a little while, we can find that place in our heart where Christ dwells with that abundant and extravagant holy imagination that belongs to the Kingdom of God.  And from this extra-ordinary place, the seat of our faith, we can begin to become more like Joseph, more giving and more forgiving, more like Christ.

In today’s appointed epistle lesson from First Corinthians, (which we did not read this morning,)St. Paul reminds that the life of faith is like the life of a seed, “What you sow does not come to life unless it dies.”  The seed of our faith, the hopes of our hearts, the hopes of the Kingdom, must be planted in the death and resurrection of Christ.

The seed alone can't do much, as it is, it cannot feed the hungry, clothe the naked, nor shelter the homeless.  As it is, it is small and insignificant.  Yet within this seed is the power and potential to feed, clothe, and shelter.  If we plant the seed, burry it, and let it die; it will grow into wheat and fruit that can feed; cotton that can clothe; even a mighty redwood that can provide shelter.  All this is possible, is only possible, if we let go of the seed and plant it in the earth.  We need to bury it and let it die in order for it to be transformed into new life. If we miss this crucial truth about the seed nothing will ever happen.

If your heart is ready, eager and longing, begin planting today. Yet don't leave here this morning expecting to be able to forgive everyone everything, don’t leave here expecting to be able to give all you have to the poor.  Don't try to plant all your seeds at once.  Walk with God and plant one seed at a time, begin to stretch your limits as you would begin to exercise.  Build upon your planting, each seed planted and transforming into new life, will give you the strength to plant the next one.  

Begin where you are, with a small act of forgiveness, give some food to the Pantry.  (You may have already done that last Sunday!)  Plant a seed of your time by serving as a volunteer. Plant a seed of your resources by making a donation to an organization that serves those in need.  You have lots of seeds, lots of faith, hope and love. Just keep planting them, one by one; row by row, and before you know it you will have helped create a rich and abundant garden filled with peace, strength, purpose, and resources for the kingdom.  A garden of giving and forgiving. 

God loves you, trust the seed that is your life to the death and resurrection of Christ. Let go of your fears, trust in your hopes and the dreams of the kingdom; give and forgive, show mercy, be graceful.  For what you sow will come to life, an extraordinary life that makes a difference, “thy kingdom come, thy will be done.”  Amen.