First Lutheran Church

September 4, 2022 – The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Luke 14:25-27,33. Now large crowds were traveling with [Jesus;] and he turned and said to them, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. …  So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.”

Philemon 8-16.  For this reason, though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do your duty, yet I would rather appeal to you on the basis of love—and I, Paul, do this as an old man, and now also as a prisoner of Christ Jesus. I am appealing to you for my child, Onesimus, whose father I have become during my imprisonment. Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful both to you and to me. I am sending him, that is, my own heart, back to you. I wanted to keep him with me, so that he might be of service to me in your place during my imprisonment for the gospel; but I preferred to do nothing without your consent, in order that your good deed might be voluntary and not something forced. Perhaps this is the reason he was separated from you for a while, so that you might have him back forever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a beloved brother—especially to me but how much more to you, both in the flesh and in the Lord.”

“The Summons”

Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?

Will you go where you don't know and never be the same?

Will you let my love be shown, will you let my name be known,

Will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?

Sermon

Pastor Greg Ronning

Today’s “Hymn of the Day” invites us all, “Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?”  It’s a nice hymn, but it’s also kind of a tricky hymn.  It’s innocent tune, its “sing songy” quality, its pitch and its rhythm, its happy bouncy feeling; disguises the serious life altering implications contained in its invitation.  We refer to the song as “Will You Come and Follow Me,” but the official title is listed as “The Summons.” I think the official title better suits the true nature of the song.  “Will you come and follow me,” is not an invitation to an afternoon walk in the park, but a serious “summons” to engage in the radical way of Jesus, a way that has consequences.

A closer look at the song, at the lyrics, uncovers the true cost of following Jesus.  To follow Jesus and become his disciple is to leave your whole self behind, to care for the cruel as well as the kind, to be changed forever.  It is to risk the hostile stare and negative attention that comes with living out the values of the kingdom in the midst of a fallen world.  To follow Jesus is to place yourself amongst the so called “least of these,” the prisoners, the lepers, all those who have been marginalized and dismissed.  To follow Jesus is to love, and set free that part of you that is afraid, the “you” that is the longing of your very soul, the “you” that desperately wants to do the right thing in a world that rarely values doing the right thing.  To follow Jesus is to engage the way, the truth, and the life, that Jesus taught and lived.  To follow Jesus is to be willing to be radically changed forever, - to never be the same. To follow Jesus costs everything.

In today’s appointed gospel Jesus is very clear about the cost of being a disciple, the cost of following him and his ways, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. …  So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.”

“Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?”

In today’s appointed epistle, Paul’s letter to Philemon, we have another example of what it means to follow Jesus.  It’s a little different than the other letters found in the New Testament attributed to St. Paul.  In this letter Paul is primarily addressing one person. In this very personal letter, Paul invites his friend Philemon to enter more deeply into his faith, to give up his possessions, to engage in the work of reconciliation, to come and follow in the way of Jesus.

In order to truly understand Paul’s letter to Philemon we need to take a moment and unpack the context of the letter.  Here’s what we think we know.  … Philemon was a leader in the church at Colossae and had been instructed in the faith by Paul.  Paul introduced him to Jesus.  Philemon appears to be a wealthy Roman citizen, who like many other wealthy citizens in that time and place, had a slave.  The slave’s name was Onesimus.  Somehow this slave, Onesimus, ends up in Rome and is helping Paul who is in prison.  Some suggest that Onesimus is a runaway slave that encounters Paul by chance, some suggest he ran away to appeal to Paul to appeal on his behalf for his freedom, and others suggest that he was sent to Rome to serve Paul who was in prison.  Whatever the case, during their time together, Onesimus becomes a believer in Christ, and shares in the ministry of the Gospel with Paul.

Eventually, Paul comes to the conclusion that it is time for Onesimus to return to Philemon.  And this is the occasion for the letter.  And this letter indicates that a reconciliation needs to happen as part of this reunion.  We don’t know what in particular needs to be “reconciled?”  Perhaps Onesimus was a runaway slave, perhaps the condition of his slavery was because of a debt that he owed? Perhaps, in “that context” Onesimus had “wronged” Philemon.  And / Or perhaps, just maybe, and better yet, Paul who had penned that “in Christ there is no longer slave or free,” expected that truth to be more than a platitude but rather a value that was to be lived out, a summons for slaves and masters to be reconciled in Christ. Whatever the case, the relationship between Philemon and Onesimus, master and slave, needs reconciliation

So it is that Paul passionately appeals to Philemon, on behalf of Onesimus, for his freedom.  Paul reminds us that in Christ people are not to be property but family.  Onesimus “beloved-ness” is boldly witnessed by Paul who describes him as “his child,” as a part of his very heart.  Paul’s love for Onesimus is very clear, and Paul’s understanding of Onesimus as a “beloved child of God” is very clear!  Paul declares that he could command Philemon to set Onesimus free, that the authority of the Gospel is very clear on this matter, but instead he wishes to appeal to him - in with and through - love.  Paul knows that the love of God in Christ Jesus is the only thing that can make true reconciliation possible, such love is the very power of reconciliation, the only thing that can truly set us free, the only thing that can save us.  Paul does not trust in the authority and power of the law, but rather in the grace and love of Christ.

So, Paul sends Onesimus back, asking him to trust in the power of love.  Hoping that love will prevail, that love will pave the way to reconciliation and freedom. Hoping that the love of Christ will replace rights, vengeance, and retaliation.  And Onesimus seems to have trusted Paul, to trust in love, and makes the long journey back to Philemon not knowing if it will lead him back into slavery or into freedom.

And Paul invites Philemon to trust in love.  He invites him to enter more deeply into his faith, to engage in the work of reconciliation, to give up his possession, to count the cost and see in it not only the freedom of Onesimus, but also the freedom of his salvation.  Philemon is challenged to forgive what society has pronounced as a legitimate debt, he is challenged to give up some of his economic gain, he is asked to relinquish some of his privilege, he is asked to give up some of the power that society has given him, - he is invited to make a change and never be the same.  He is asked to let go of “the way things are,” to adjust the injustice of slavery. He is asked to no longer see Onesiums a slave, but as an equal.He is asked to invite him fully into his life as a sibling in Christ. 

Paul powerfully concludes the proposition, by taking on the condition of Onesimus, “So, if you consider me your partner, welcome him as you would welcome me. If he has wronged you in any way, or owes you anything, charge that to my account. I, Paul, am writing this with my own hand: I will repay it. I say nothing about your owing me even your own self. Yes, brother, let me have this benefit from you in the Lord!”

Martin Luther, in his commentary on Philemon, describes how Paul models, lives out, the love of Christ in his appeal for Onesimus …“This epistle gives us a masterful and tender illustration of Christian love. For here we see how St. Paul takes the part of poor Onesimus and, to the best of his ability, advocates his cause with his master. He acts exactly as if he were himself Onesimus, who had done wrong. Yet he does this not with force or compulsion, as lay within his rights; but he empties himself of his rights in order to compel Philemon also to waive his rights.”

I like Luther’s use of the word “rights.”  It seems we are often so concerned about our individual rights that we forget about our responsibilities, we forget that we are called to live life for the common good.  As Luther wrote regarding the freedom of a Christian, “A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all.”

Paul ends his letter to Philemon, his brother in Christ, with a confident appeal, “I am writing to you, knowing that you will do even more than I say.” 

So, what happened?  What happened on that day when Onesimus returned to Philemon?  The fact that this letter written in the first century survives to this day and has been read aloud in worship for almost two thousand years, strongly suggests that Philemon chose not to live as an entitled citizen of Rome but rather as a humble citizen of the Kingdom of God. It is widely believed that Philemon set Onesimus free, reconciled the relationship, and that there was no longer “slave or free” in Christ, in the church at Colossae. 

And we can only imagine the chain of events that must have set into motion.  As Onesimus was welcomed back into the community of faith, no longer as a slave but as a beloved family member, certainly others may have been reconciled and liberated!  And what happened to Onesimus?  Interestingly, a page from an early church history book written some 60 years after Paul’s letter to Philemon mentions an “Onesimus” who served as the Bishop of Ephesus.  Could that be the same person? Paul’s letter to Philemon certainly changed the way things were in the church at Colossae, certainly things would “never be the same.”

And what will happen today, what is happening even now, as Paul’s letter to Philemon is read aloud in our congregation?  Will it provide the impetus to lead us more deeply into our faith, into the work of reconciliation, to give up our possessions, to count the cost and see in it the freedom of our salvation, “to come and follow me?”

Perhaps some of you are being called to reconcile with someone in particular?  To find a way to forgive and be forgiven?  Relationships are hard to do, but at the same time too precious to abandon. How might we become reconciled with each other?  Only in the grace and love of Christ is it possible.  Let us trust in love and begin the process!

Perhaps we are being called to participate in a wider process of reconciliation?  Our society is struggling in so many ways, reconciliation is needed in so many areas.  In particular I commend to you the reconciliation work begun by our church, The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, with regards to racism.  Unfortunately, Paul’s words written to Philemon regarding the freeing of one slave did not lead to the end of institutional slavery.  The effects of slavery, the so-called original sin of our country, still ravages our life together.  We must continue to do the hard work of reconciliation, work that can only be done - in with and through - the grace of God’s love.  Be on the lookout for ways to participate as our church begins this important work.

What will happen today, what is happening even now, as Paul’s letter to Philemon is read aloud in our congregation?  “Will you come and follow me?”

May we find the courage to engage the words of today’s epistle through the person of Philemon.  To be willing, as he was, to graciously receive the word; and to faithfully begin to reflect on our privilege, our wealth and our possessions, our power and our status, seeking a way to employ these things, even surrender these things, for the sake of the kingdom.  May we find a way to practice kindness, do justice and walk humbly in the way of Jesus. May we as Philemon, answer the summons, “Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?”

And may we find the great and holy comfort that we share with Onesimus.  Let us be reminded that no matter how the world might try to define us, we are finally and ultimately, only, - the beloved children of God. And may this love that we have experienced in Jesus, inspire us to love others as we have been loved.  And trusting in that love, may we discover all the faith that we need to answer the summons, “Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?”

Together, let us follow.

Amen.

Sermon on Luke 14:1,7-14

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

You won’t see Jesus writing any articles for Better Homes and Gardens or the Magnolia Journal. He is far from the ideal houseguest.

In today’s story, he’s invited to a dinner party at the home of one of the leaders of the Pharisees. This was an important person, and it was an honor to be invited to share the sabbath meal.

It’s hard to tell whether people are excited that he’s there or if he’s just a curiosity, but all eyes are on him.

The part we didn’t read today is that there was a person there with edema, or a swelling, probably in one of his limbs.

Everyone watches Jesus, waiting to see what he’ll do. Will he heal this person on the sabbath, or will he send him away?

Jesus asks their unspoken question: “Is it lawful to cure people on the Sabbath or not?”

No one is brave enough to give an answer, and Jesus heals the man and sends him on his way.

Then, Jesus answers the question with another question, which is a very Jesus-y thing to do: “If one of you has a child or an ox that has fallen into a well, will you not immediately pull it out on a Sabbath day?”

And again, no one answers.

Jesus doesn’t exactly bring sparkling conversation to this dinner party.

Then, after he’s been the subject of so many stares, Jesus notices the other guests in return.

He notices that they’re very concerned with where they sit, which indicates their importance and social standing.

And instead of minding his own business like a polite dinner guest, Jesus calls them out on it.

Then, he even starts giving advice to his host! Jesus basically tells him that this isn’t the sort of gathering he should be having.

And right after what we read today, one of the other guests pipes up, perhaps trying to save the host from embarrassment, saying, “Blessed is anyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of God!”

Instead of being shamed into an awkward change of subject, Jesus tells a parable about someone who threw a lavish banquet, but the rich and powerful guests all made excuses not to come, so instead, people who are impoverished, disabled, and unhoused are ushered into the feast.

Jesus just isn’t getting the message that this isn’t how guests are supposed to behave.

But that’s because Jesus is more concerned with the upside-down Reign of God than with being polite.

Instead of being worried about:

1.    Status

2.    Power

3.    Recognition

4.    Fitting in

5.    Or being polite,

Jesus wants the guests and the host to get a clearer picture of what the Reign of God will look like. It will not look like that sabbath dinner, with homogeneous guests vying for the best seats.

Instead, it will look like an upside-down version of the social hierarchy. The most powerful will be at the humblest seats, if they choose to attend at all, and the least, the last, and the lost will be seated in places of honor. Those who are ignored by society will be seen and respected.

How easy is it to look around you and make assumptions about who “belongs” and who doesn’t?

Categorizing is in our nature—our ancestors needed to figure out quickly what was a threat and what wasn’t: fruit tree-good, lion-bad.

But our brains still think like this, even though most of us aren’t in danger of getting eaten on a daily basis. Our brains decide in seconds whether another person is a threat or a friend, but our brains haven’t caught up to the fact that different doesn’t equal bad or dangerous.

This, plus centuries of prejudice and stereotyping, leads us to make unfair judgments about our neighbors before getting to know anything about them.

And so, we give side-eyes to folks around us, just like the guests at the home of that leader of the Pharisees. And we want to fit in and get the best seat we can, just like they did. It’s so easy to be ruled by our unexamined instincts instead of seeing our neighbor as God does.

I’ve been telling the book study group for the past month or so that it’s really hard for me not to use Father Gregory Boyle’s work in every one of my sermons. So, please indulge me for using a story from the latest book we read: Barking to the Choir.

You might remember that Father Boyle is the founder of Homeboy Industries in LA, the largest gang intervention program in the world. He shares this story:

“A homie, speaking to a city council meeting, addresses them as if they were stand-ins for all of society. ‘You gave up on me even before you knew me,’ he says. So we are encouraged to stand with the tax collector and the prostitute, the widow, orphan, and stranger, precisely because they are the judged, the scapegoated, the less-than, whose chances are taken away well before they are given. The principal cause of suffering for the leper is not an annoying, smelly, itchy skin disease but rather having to live outside the camp. So the call is to stand with them, so that the margins get erased and they are welcomed back inside. Jesus didn’t think twice: he touches the lepers before he gets around to healing them.”[1]

It's easy sometimes to give up on people before getting to know them. Perhaps the other dinner guests from our reading today had given up on the person with edema from the moment they saw him: he was an inconvenience, perhaps his very existence made them feel embarrassed especially on a Sabbath day. They seem to have used him as a prop to see what Jesus would do. They don’t seem to value his humanity.

But Jesus indicates that instead of being sent away, the man will be seated at the head of the table in the Reign of God. As Father Boyle put it, Jesus “touches the lepers before he gets around to healing them.” He builds connection before worrying about what he can do for people. He restores people’s humanity simply by recognizing them as people. That is the greatest healing Jesus provides. Jesus might be a terrible dinner guest etiquette-wise, but that’s because he’s preparing for a different kind of party: where the least are the greatest.

Even the healthcare workers among us can’t heal people in an instant the way Jesus did. But, any one of us can restore people’s humanity by noticing them, forming a connection, recognizing them as the image of God.

So, whenever you see anyone, especially folks who are ignored or hurting, take a moment. Smile, ask them how they are. If you can do more, great. If not, you have already shown that you have not given up on them. And that human connection is a glimpse of the upside-down Reign of God.

[1] Barking to the Choir p. 166

First Lutheran Church

August 21, 2022 – The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

Luke 13:10-17Now [Jesus] was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.” But the Lord answered him and said, “You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?” When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing.

Sermon

Pastor Greg Ronning

I don’t think I’ve ever fully appreciated the story in today’s appointed Gospel, the story about a woman who was “bent over and quite unable to stand up straight.”  It’s been three years since this story appeared in our lectionary, and over the last three years I have discovered the story anew.  It’s now a story to which I can began to relate. 

You see there have been moments, increasing moments over the last few years, when upon rising up from my chair, I am “bent over and quite unable to stand up straight.”  It often happens on a day that I have been golfing, but sometimes It just happens on days when I’ve done nothing particularly strenuous. All of the sudden in the middle of standing up, my back just stops, it seizes up, and it refuses to fully straighten out.  And in that moment, I am in pain, and all I can see is the floor below me.  Thankfully, after a few steps, sometimes a few more, I am usually able to slowly rise up, and once again, able to look up and forward.  But in that brief moment when I first try to get up, I can begin to imagine what it might have been like for the woman in today’s Gospel.

And honestly, I can only begin to imagine what her life must have been like.  For eighteen years she has been “bent over and unable to stand up straight.”  For eighteen years she has been forced to stare at the ground, watching only her feet and the feet others as she made her daily way in life.  For eighteen years I imagine she rarely made eye contact with another person, exchanged a passing smile, shared a personal greeting.  For eighteen years she struggled with her everyday work.  For eighteen years she seldom had the opportunity to see the sun rise and set, to gaze up at the stars in the heavens.  For eighteen years her condition pushed her down, and probably pushed her out to the margins of life.  She must have been strong and resilient to survive, but over eighteen years she also must have been worn out and resigned to the burden that life had unfairly dealt her.

On this day, on the Sabbath, she shuffles head down to the synagogue where Jesus is teaching.  We don’t know if this was her custom, a special trip, or just happenstance.  Has she been coming for the past eighteen years seeking healing?  Did going to the synagogue give her peace, hope, and comfort? I wonder if anyone ever noticed her presence?  Or did she just disappear into the background, pushed down and out; down to the ground upon which she was forced to stare, out of the sight of everyone who stood up straight and tall?

Yet this day will be different!  Something amazing will happen.  It’s important to note that she does not approach Jesus, unlike others she does not come up to him and asked to be healed.  Odds are, cast down as she was, that she doesn’t even see Jesus.  But Jesus sees her! And this is the important part, Jesus sees her!  Even though Jesus is engaged in teaching, in the middle of his sermon, busy leading the service; he suddenly becomes aware of her presence and stops everything and calls out to her, invites her to come over to him, invites her forward into his presence. 

Everything must have come to a standstill as she slowly made her way over to Jesus.  How strange it must have been for everyone to see this bent woman from the edges, slowly and deliberately shuffle into the very middle of it all.  When she finally arrives, Jesus declares, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.”  He then lays his hands on her, and she immediately straightens up and begins singing praises to God.  I imagine that her eyes were filled with tears as she straightened up and looked directly into Jesus eyes, as she looked face to face at those surrounding her, as she shared the joy of smiles, as she looked up towards heaven for the first time in years.

And then a stuffy church leader tries to ruin the moment. He is indignant(annoyed, offended, resentful, outraged, irate)because Jesus broke the rules, he violated the tradition, he interrupted the service order, he disrespected the Sabbath, Jesus did something new in a place that only valued the old ways.  The Leader complains, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.” 

The kingdom has suddenly broken into their world, and he is unable to see it.  Ironically the synagogue, the sanctuary, the gathering, has not been designed to allow the kingdom to come. Sadly, in many ways, it actually hinders the coming of God’s kingdom. I am reminded of a meme I saw this past week on Facebook reminding us that whenever we pray, “Thy Kingdom come,” we are also in essence praying, “May my kingdom go.”  This leader in the synagogue, and those who were aligned with him, were not open to the unfolding of God’s Kingdom, because it did not match their expectations, their small and limited understanding of the Kingdom of God.

Jesus quickly calls them out on their hypocritical demands, their inability to bear witness to the kingdom that is at hand; and the woman is allowed to continue to stand up straight and praise God, and the entire crowd began rejoicing at the wonderful thing that Jesus had done.

Today the good news comes to us, as it usually does, as a word of comfort and a word of challenge.  We all have been forced to carry burdens in life, burdens that often leave us bent over, unable to straighten up, forcing our eyes down to the ground.  Like the woman in today’s Gospel, we have physical ailments that make us weary and resigned.  We also have burdens placed upon us by others, burdens that are psychological, sociological, and ideological.  And all these burdens we carry tend to bend us over and lower our vision.  Worn out with our heads down we stop making eye contact, exchanging smiles, and greeting one another.  And in the process, we get pushed down and pushed out.  And it may feel like nobody notices you and your struggles. 

Today we are reminded of Jesus promise, “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”  To that end the Spirit has gathered us together this morning to be the body of Christ, to that end the Spirit has given us eyes to notice each other’s burdens, and hands to help lighten each other’s loads.  Just as the Spirit brought the woman in today’s Gospel to the synagogue, you have been brought here today.  And just as Jesus noticed her, Jesus fleshed out in each of us, sees you.

And yes, that is the challenge, to allow ourselves to become the body of Christ for the sake of each other and for the sake of the totally other.  To look out and notice, and reach out to those in need, as Christ.  Yes, as Christ has done for us, and as Christ for the world. And not just inside the walls of our church, but out there in the world too! 

We are called to seek out those who are bent from the burdens that life has forced them to carry, those who cannot stand up straight because of a burden society has unfairly placed upon them.  We are called to notice the marginalized, the oppressed, the powerless, those captive to poverty, those who have been made scapegoats, those who are pushed aside because they are different, any and all those who are not included, those who are bent and cannot straighten up, those who cannot look up to the heavens, those whose eyes are cast down, those who have all but lost hope. And we are called to open up our space, our practices, just for them.  To change in order that they might feel welcome.  We are called to free up our spaces from anything that might hinder the coming of the Kingdom of God, in order that God’s love might transform all who are present “here in this place,” and all who live in our neighborhood.  In order that God might “raise us up as on wings of an eagle, shine down on us like the sun, and hold us in the palm of his hand.”

Life is hard, and life is often not fair.  So it is, that we are not called to judge people because of their burdens, we are not called to respond with a rigid legalism, but rather to be kind and compassionate.  That’s what the leader of the synagogue in today’s gospel forgets, the heart of our faith, - compassion. He gets caught up in ritual for the sake of ritual, orthodoxy for the sake of orthodoxy, tradition for the sake of tradition.  We are called to the compassion of Jesus, a compassion that sees “the broken body, the broken soul, the broken spirit, - before it sees the broken commandment.” (Debie Thomas).

May this compassion be the center of all that we do, here in this place and here in our world. May this compassion invite all those carrying burdens on the edges of life into the center of our faith community.  May this compassion shape our practices.  May this compassion guide us in the ways we use our sacred spaces.  May the compassion of Christ find its way into our hearts, heal us, lift us up, and compel us to share the love of God with each other, and with those in need.  Amen.