Study Format:
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• There is no historical record of the exact incident described in v. 1. However, there are records of enough other events to confirm that such incidents would not have been uncommon. History confirms Pilate was a violent ruler. There is also no historical record of the collapse of a tower at Siloam, though again, building collapses would certainly have been common enough. The point of the examples are more theological than historical. While the deaths of the Galileans would have some political motive, a building collapse would be nothing more than an act of perverse fate.
• “Repent,” metanoia in the Greek, is not about moral uprightness, but about a dramatic change of direction. It is a changed mind, a new way of seeing thing, adopting a different perspective. This of course has moral implications, but that is an effect, not the cause.
• Jesus questions address the popular idea that sin is the cause of disasters in the world. In his responses, Jesus both demonstrates the problem with that idea and enforces the need for repentance. It is too simple to assume that the Galileans killed by Pilate or the 18 killed in the tower, or anyone else who is a victim of atrocity, is a worse sinner or somehow deserving. Tragedy is not a sign of divine punishment. Life is simply not that predictable. Even so, all of us need repentance. We cannot take our good fortune as proof of God’s blessing.
• The parable of the fig tree has parallels in other ancient Near East literature. What makes this parable unique is the gardener’s interceding on behalf of the tree, and the owner’s mercy in allowing the tree another year.
• Matt Skinner argues it is too simple to read the parable as a straight allegory, with God as the owner, Jesus as the gardener, and us as the fig tree. The power instead comes in the suspense the parable generates.
• Another interpretation of the parable. David Lose notes that nowhere in Luke’s Gospel is God portrayed as a vindictive God to whom Jesus is pleading on our behalf. God is instead portrayed as merciful, forgiving those whom the world casts aside as outsiders. So what if “the landowner is representative of our own sense of how the world should work?”
Works Sourced:
Culpepper, R. Alan. “The Gospel of Luke.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume IX. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
Lose, David. “Lent 3C: Suffering, the Cross, and the Promise of Love.” In the Meantime… < http://www.davidlose.net/2016/02/lent-3-c-suffering-the-cross-and-the-promise-of-love/>. Accessed 22 February 2016.
Skinner, Matt. “Commentary on Luke 13:1-9.” Working Preacher. < https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2789>. Accessed 22 February 2016.
The extraordinary can look so ordinary
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Monday, February 22, 2016
Jumbling Tower: A Sermon on Luke 13:31-35
Who’s familiar with the game of Jenga? Where you build a tower out of blocks and one by one remove one of the blocks until the whole thing finally comes crashing down? In seminary, one of my friends won a Jenga game as a door prize and for several months a group of us got really into playing Jenga. Only this was a seminary door prize, so this was not name brand Jenga, this was the knock-off brand “Jumbling Tower.” And Jumbling Tower is like Jenga in concept only. You know how in Jenga the blocks are all exactly the same size, and they are sanded smooth and finished so they can slide easily out of the tower? Jumbling Tower does not have the same concern for craftsmanship. In Jumbling Towers, the blocks are all uneven. Before the game even begins the tower has a decided lean to it. And the blocks are not finished, or even really sanded. Splinters were a common Jumbling Towers injury. This caused the blocks to catch on each other as you were trying to remove them. These handicaps added a certain unpredictability to the game that was not present in regular Jenga. Jumbling Towers was more a game of chance than anything else. You could have the steadiest hand in the world, but if the block you were going for caught on the other block it didn’t matter how steady you were, the tower was going to come jumbling down.
I was thinking about Jumbling Tower in relation to our Gospel reading for today, because do you ever have those periods where life feels like a game of Jumbling Tower? Where work and family and relationships and money and stress are all balanced precariously on top of each other. And the pieces aren’t smooth or uniform, so even if you are totally balanced, totally steady, do everything exactly the right way, still all the pieces come jumbling down around you?
I think the Pharisees saw Jesus’ life as a game of Jumbling Tower in our Gospel reading for this morning. Scholars are back and forth about these Pharisees, if they are allies of Jesus who are trying to protect him from Herod or if they are trying to trick Jesus or lead him into a trap. For me, I think the Pharisees are well intentioned here. I think these particular Pharisees like Jesus, or even if they don’t fully buy into his whole ministry, are at least decent enough people that they don’t want to see him killed. And they know that’s exactly what Herod is trying to do. They can see the tower start to lean as Jesus gets closer to Jerusalem. They can see the block that Jesus is reaching for, and they can see the large snag on the block that will catch and cause the entire tower to come tumbling down. So they run up to Jesus and they’re like, no, turn around, go the other way, grab a different block. If you don’t, if you keep going forward on this path, the whole thing’s going to come crashing down.
Herod too, I think, sees Jesus’ ministry as a game of Jumbling Tower. Only for Herod, the tower that’s going to crumble is the tower of his own power and control. If he lets Jesus keep going, keep teaching, keep healing, keep inciting the crowds about the promise of the coming kingdom of God, Jesus is eventually going to dislodge the block that supports Herod’s entire precariously balanced reign. There is, in Herod’s view, already a king in Judea, and there is not space for another one. The only solution Herod can see to keeping his own tower standing is to get rid of Jesus.
Both Herod and the Pharisees are trying to prop up unstable towers, to keep things exactly the same. And what’s driving this need for stability is fear. The Pharisees are afraid for Jesus’ life, Herod is afraid to lose control. Fear. In Bible study this week, we were talking about this story and what I found incredibly powerful was just how current the political machinations Luke describes feel. Herod is afraid. And because he is afraid, he is fear-mongering. He is trying to gather people behind him to spread the news that this barefoot preacher from Galilee is dangerous, is a threat to safety, stability, and everything that the people of Israel hold dear.
And what did Jesus do? Jesus leaned into that fear. “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.” From the very beginning of Luke’s Gospel, the conflict has been billed as a battle between the powers of the world, as represented by Herod, and the power of God, displayed in Jesus. We saw it when Mary sang “My soul magnifies the Lord…who has brought down the powerful from their thrones.” We saw it when Herod imprisoned John for exhorting the people against all the evil things Herod had done. We saw it when the devil took Jesus to Jerusalem to test him. And since the transfiguration, when Jesus turned his face and his feet toward Jerusalem, we could feel the pressure rising, as the two great forces seemed to be drawing ever closer to each other, gearing up for the great cosmic battle between Jesus and Herod. To return to the Jumbling Tower analogy, Herod seems determined to push Jesus’ tower over before Jesus can topple his. In Herod’s mind, Jesus has to die, because it is the only way that power can be maintained.
But here’s the thing. What’s amazing about this text is that Jesus is actually planning to die. The Pharisees thought that they could scare Jesus away from Herod by telling him that Herod was trying to kill him, but Jesus was not afraid of Herod and he was not afraid of death. Jesus told the Pharisees, “I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.” Herod wants to kill Jesus because he is afraid, but Jesus is steadily walking toward death, death on his own terms, because he is not afraid. And Jesus is not afraid, because Jesus knows that his death is not the end of the story. In fact, his death is just the beginning of the story. Jesus knows that resurrection follows death, that in fact it isn’t until he dies, that life can begin.
And so, sisters and brothers, I think the question this text asks of us is what would we do if we were not afraid. Who would we be, what chances would we take, what power would we have, if we leaned into the fear, if we truly understood that in Jesus there is always the opportunity to begin again. Sometimes I think we think of faith as the thing that props up the Jumbling Towers of our lives, when in reality, sometimes the towers just fall, and faith is comfort of knowing that when that tower falls, God is always there to build it up again.
And so, as we continue through this journey of Lent, I challenge you this week to do something that scares you. Introduce yourself to someone who is different than you. Get to know them, get to know their background, where they’re from, what drives them. Find commonality, but also rejoice in your differences. Agree to disagree on something. Or maybe commit to a regular prayer practice. Give God the time or the money or the talent you have been holding back because you were afraid you did not have enough to go around. Or forgive yourself or someone else for something you’ve been holding onto. Let go of your need to control the outcome, and instead focus only in the very next step in the journey. Lean into your fear, whatever it may be, trusting that when the towers around you come crumbling down, Jesus is on his unwavering journey to Jerusalem, and no amount of fear will keep him from completing his work of bringing resurrection to all. Thanks be to God. Amen.
I was thinking about Jumbling Tower in relation to our Gospel reading for today, because do you ever have those periods where life feels like a game of Jumbling Tower? Where work and family and relationships and money and stress are all balanced precariously on top of each other. And the pieces aren’t smooth or uniform, so even if you are totally balanced, totally steady, do everything exactly the right way, still all the pieces come jumbling down around you?
I think the Pharisees saw Jesus’ life as a game of Jumbling Tower in our Gospel reading for this morning. Scholars are back and forth about these Pharisees, if they are allies of Jesus who are trying to protect him from Herod or if they are trying to trick Jesus or lead him into a trap. For me, I think the Pharisees are well intentioned here. I think these particular Pharisees like Jesus, or even if they don’t fully buy into his whole ministry, are at least decent enough people that they don’t want to see him killed. And they know that’s exactly what Herod is trying to do. They can see the tower start to lean as Jesus gets closer to Jerusalem. They can see the block that Jesus is reaching for, and they can see the large snag on the block that will catch and cause the entire tower to come tumbling down. So they run up to Jesus and they’re like, no, turn around, go the other way, grab a different block. If you don’t, if you keep going forward on this path, the whole thing’s going to come crashing down.
Herod too, I think, sees Jesus’ ministry as a game of Jumbling Tower. Only for Herod, the tower that’s going to crumble is the tower of his own power and control. If he lets Jesus keep going, keep teaching, keep healing, keep inciting the crowds about the promise of the coming kingdom of God, Jesus is eventually going to dislodge the block that supports Herod’s entire precariously balanced reign. There is, in Herod’s view, already a king in Judea, and there is not space for another one. The only solution Herod can see to keeping his own tower standing is to get rid of Jesus.
Both Herod and the Pharisees are trying to prop up unstable towers, to keep things exactly the same. And what’s driving this need for stability is fear. The Pharisees are afraid for Jesus’ life, Herod is afraid to lose control. Fear. In Bible study this week, we were talking about this story and what I found incredibly powerful was just how current the political machinations Luke describes feel. Herod is afraid. And because he is afraid, he is fear-mongering. He is trying to gather people behind him to spread the news that this barefoot preacher from Galilee is dangerous, is a threat to safety, stability, and everything that the people of Israel hold dear.
And what did Jesus do? Jesus leaned into that fear. “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.” From the very beginning of Luke’s Gospel, the conflict has been billed as a battle between the powers of the world, as represented by Herod, and the power of God, displayed in Jesus. We saw it when Mary sang “My soul magnifies the Lord…who has brought down the powerful from their thrones.” We saw it when Herod imprisoned John for exhorting the people against all the evil things Herod had done. We saw it when the devil took Jesus to Jerusalem to test him. And since the transfiguration, when Jesus turned his face and his feet toward Jerusalem, we could feel the pressure rising, as the two great forces seemed to be drawing ever closer to each other, gearing up for the great cosmic battle between Jesus and Herod. To return to the Jumbling Tower analogy, Herod seems determined to push Jesus’ tower over before Jesus can topple his. In Herod’s mind, Jesus has to die, because it is the only way that power can be maintained.
But here’s the thing. What’s amazing about this text is that Jesus is actually planning to die. The Pharisees thought that they could scare Jesus away from Herod by telling him that Herod was trying to kill him, but Jesus was not afraid of Herod and he was not afraid of death. Jesus told the Pharisees, “I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.” Herod wants to kill Jesus because he is afraid, but Jesus is steadily walking toward death, death on his own terms, because he is not afraid. And Jesus is not afraid, because Jesus knows that his death is not the end of the story. In fact, his death is just the beginning of the story. Jesus knows that resurrection follows death, that in fact it isn’t until he dies, that life can begin.
And so, sisters and brothers, I think the question this text asks of us is what would we do if we were not afraid. Who would we be, what chances would we take, what power would we have, if we leaned into the fear, if we truly understood that in Jesus there is always the opportunity to begin again. Sometimes I think we think of faith as the thing that props up the Jumbling Towers of our lives, when in reality, sometimes the towers just fall, and faith is comfort of knowing that when that tower falls, God is always there to build it up again.
And so, as we continue through this journey of Lent, I challenge you this week to do something that scares you. Introduce yourself to someone who is different than you. Get to know them, get to know their background, where they’re from, what drives them. Find commonality, but also rejoice in your differences. Agree to disagree on something. Or maybe commit to a regular prayer practice. Give God the time or the money or the talent you have been holding back because you were afraid you did not have enough to go around. Or forgive yourself or someone else for something you’ve been holding onto. Let go of your need to control the outcome, and instead focus only in the very next step in the journey. Lean into your fear, whatever it may be, trusting that when the towers around you come crumbling down, Jesus is on his unwavering journey to Jerusalem, and no amount of fear will keep him from completing his work of bringing resurrection to all. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Conversation Points for Luke 13:31-35
Study Format:
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• Are the Pharisees who came to Jesus seen as positive or negative? On one hand, these Pharisees could be warning Jesus to try to protect him from Herod, an example of how Luke presents a more positive view of the Pharisees than the other Gospels. On the other hand, could the Pharisees be attempting to trap him or trick him? Luke 11:54 talks of how the Pharisees began “lying in wait for him, to catch him in something he might say.”
• Luke’s Gospel has set up a conflict between the power of God, as displayed through Jesus, and the power of the world, personified in Herod. Here, Jesus demonstrates that he has nothing to fear from Herod, and that Herod only thinks he is a player, but in fact Jesus is always in control.
• “I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.” This could have a thickness of meanings. That Herod cannot keep Jesus from accomplishing his goal, a reference to Jesus journey to Jerusalem, and a foreshadowing of the three days between his death and resurrection.
• Last week’s text (Luke 4:1-13) had the devil taking Jesus to Jerusalem to tempt death and not die. This week, Jesus talks about how he must go to Jerusalem, not to escape death but in fact to die.
• Jesus’ words about prophets and Jerusalem are both reminders of Old Testament prophets who died in Jerusalem (Uriah (Jer. 26:20-23) Zechariah (2 Chr 24:20-22), among others), and a foreshadowing of Stephen’s speech in Acts 7.
• The image of God as a bird mothering her young has many Old Testament references (Deut 32:11; Ruth 2:12; Pss 17:8; 36:7; 91:4; Isa 31:5).
• The “house” in v. 35 is possibly a reference to the Temple. The Gospel of Luke was written in the late 70s/80s. Jerusalem was sacked and the temple destroyed in 67 CE. So, the readers of Luke’s Gospel are living in the time where these words have come true.
• “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” (v. 35) is a reference to Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem in Luke 19:38. The words might sound familiar, as they are the words we shout during the Palm Sunday procession.
Works Sourced:
Culpepper, R. Alan. “The Gospel of Luke.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume IX. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• Are the Pharisees who came to Jesus seen as positive or negative? On one hand, these Pharisees could be warning Jesus to try to protect him from Herod, an example of how Luke presents a more positive view of the Pharisees than the other Gospels. On the other hand, could the Pharisees be attempting to trap him or trick him? Luke 11:54 talks of how the Pharisees began “lying in wait for him, to catch him in something he might say.”
• Luke’s Gospel has set up a conflict between the power of God, as displayed through Jesus, and the power of the world, personified in Herod. Here, Jesus demonstrates that he has nothing to fear from Herod, and that Herod only thinks he is a player, but in fact Jesus is always in control.
• “I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.” This could have a thickness of meanings. That Herod cannot keep Jesus from accomplishing his goal, a reference to Jesus journey to Jerusalem, and a foreshadowing of the three days between his death and resurrection.
• Last week’s text (Luke 4:1-13) had the devil taking Jesus to Jerusalem to tempt death and not die. This week, Jesus talks about how he must go to Jerusalem, not to escape death but in fact to die.
• Jesus’ words about prophets and Jerusalem are both reminders of Old Testament prophets who died in Jerusalem (Uriah (Jer. 26:20-23) Zechariah (2 Chr 24:20-22), among others), and a foreshadowing of Stephen’s speech in Acts 7.
• The image of God as a bird mothering her young has many Old Testament references (Deut 32:11; Ruth 2:12; Pss 17:8; 36:7; 91:4; Isa 31:5).
• The “house” in v. 35 is possibly a reference to the Temple. The Gospel of Luke was written in the late 70s/80s. Jerusalem was sacked and the temple destroyed in 67 CE. So, the readers of Luke’s Gospel are living in the time where these words have come true.
• “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” (v. 35) is a reference to Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem in Luke 19:38. The words might sound familiar, as they are the words we shout during the Palm Sunday procession.
Works Sourced:
Culpepper, R. Alan. “The Gospel of Luke.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume IX. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
Monday, February 15, 2016
Why I Don't Like this Text for Lent 1: A Sermon on Luke 4:1-13
As I think most of you know I am a big fan of the lectionary, that three-year cycle of readings that determine our Sunday texts. But the first Sunday of Lent is one of the times when I really disagree with the lectionary selection, and here’s why. First, this story from Luke four falls totally out of order from the texts we’ve been reading. We started in Advent with the stories before Jesus’ birth, and that made sense for Advent. On Christmas Eve, we read about the night Jesus was born, also logical. On the day we celebrate Jesus’ Baptism, we read Luke 3, about Jesus’ baptism. Then through Epiphany, we read about his ministry in Galilee. Last week, the last Sunday of Epiphany, was the Sunday that marks the transition between Epiphany and Lent, a day we refer to as Transfiguration Sunday. And, appropriately, on this transition Sunday, we read the story that marked the transition between Jesus’ Galilean ministry and his journey to the cross, the transfiguration of Jesus. Throughout the next four weeks of Lent, we will read about Jesus teachings in Jerusalem as his crucifixion drew nearer. In Holy Week, we’ll read about those final events leading to his death. On Easter, we’ll read of the resurrection. And then in the Sundays following Easter, we’ll read about Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances to his disciples and we’ll also read stories from Acts, about how the church developed after Jesus ascended into heaven. The whole first six months of the church year falls nicely into a logical chronological order of the events of Jesus life, death, and ministry. All except this Sunday. Where we randomly jump from the transfiguration to before even the beginning of his Galilean ministry. This isn’t where we are in the story.
I understand why the lectionary committee set it up this way. We are on the first Sunday of our forty day journey through Lent, so it makes sense to read a story about a time when Jesus went on a forty day journey in the wilderness. The lectionary committee is trying to frame the season of Lent, to give some context to where this forty-day period of the church year comes from. The problem I see with this is I think by starting with this story of Jesus victory over temptation in the wilderness, the lectionary committee sets us up with an overblown expectation of what this season is all about. By starting Lent with this reading about Jesus resisting temptations for forty days, in a season where we are encouraged to give things up and commit ourselves to spiritual disciples, it almost makes it seem like resisting temptation is the purpose of Lent. It becomes all to easy to frame the next forty days as a period of epic battle between the forces of good and evil, where every Facebook notice or piece of chocolate or swear word or whatever we have given up for Lent is a test placed in front of us by Satan himself, and our job is to, like Jesus, successfully resist all of these carefully placed temptations and prove that we, like Jesus, can stand strong against the forces of evil. And if we fail in our Lenten journey? If we give in to chocolate or swearing or not devoting time to prayer? Well, Jesus resisted way greater temptations than this and HE did it without any food and in the wilderness all alone, so we should at the least be able to go without Facebook.
Now there are a couple problems with this. The first, rather obvious, one is that we are not Jesus. Now, don’t get me wrong, using Jesus as a model for how to live our lives is a great strategy. The literal meaning of discipleship is to learn through imitation. So imitating Jesus, following Jesus, is great. The problem comes when we set the proof of our success in discipleship in actually becoming Jesus. Because, fully human though Jesus may have been, he still has a leg up on us in the fact that he is the Son of God. Imitating Jesus is one thing, being Jesus is another thing entirely. I don’t know about you, but the last time I tried to walk on water, I got very wet. If being Jesus is what we are striving for, we have set ourselves up to fail.
And I say “set ourselves up to fail” because I cannot believe that being Jesus is what God expects from us. I think all too often when we read this story and we think about temptation, even as we are reading “the devil,” we subconsciously place God in the role of the tempter, and make this story about God testing Jesus, testing us, to prove we are worthy of God’s love. You know that old saying about how God will never give you more than you can handle. The truth, brothers and sisters, is that statement is not actually scriptural. That statement is so often used to downplay real traumas in our lives as nothing more than a test God set before us because God knows we can handle it, and if we fail to do so it is a judgment on our faith, not God. But this is a story about the devil tempting Jesus. See God is just not in the business of pushing us to our limits to see just how much we can handle. God is in the business of being with us in the brokenness of the very limits of our lives, because God knows what it feels like to be hurt, to be broken, to be alone. This is a story about Jesus being hungry, lonely, hurting, so when we read this story we can know that when we are all of those things Jesus can relate to our pain because Jesus knows exactly what pain feels like.
But I think this story is about more even then that. Because Jesus does not so much resist the devil’s temptations as he refuses to engage them at all. I picture the devil as a carnie, pitchfork in grubby hand, greasy hair covered by a baseball cap pulled low around jutting horns, snaked tongue hissing through missing teeth, as he casually tries to entice Jesus to step right up, step right up, just knock over the pins, get the ball in the hoop, pop the balloon with a dart, and he can win the huge stuffed animal of wealth, fame, and fortune, knowing all the while that the pins are glued down, the hoop to small for the ball, the darts dull, the game is rigged, and there is no way for Jesus to win. And instead of proving his power by playing the game and winning, Jesus simply walks away. Because Jesus refused to even play the game, the rules of the game could not apply to him.
Brothers and sisters, the game is rigged. We can’t win, we won’t win. And the good news for us on this first Sunday of Lent is that doesn’t matter because we don’t have to play the game. Our worth is not dependent on our ability to beat the devil in his tricks, our worth is in the One who doesn’t play games. Jesus didn’t win; he didn’t play. In Jesus there are no winners and losers, there is just Jesus who came to set the whole world free.
And so, because of Jesus, the spiritual disciple of Lent is not about trying to be Jesus, it is about that root meaning of the word discipleship, it is about imitating Jesus. Here’s your nerdy Lutheran theological concept for the day, this is what Luther referred to as the third use of the law. See after the law has condemned us. After we’ve realized that the game is rigged, we can never win, and we will always fall short, we experience the radical transformative grace of God. We come to know that God never needed is to play the game in the first place, God loves us exactly as we are, exactly who we are. And when we’ve experienced that grace. When we come to know the unconditional love of God. Then the law becomes for us not a threat, but a guide. A helpful tool for shaping our lives. We can use the law like we use a cookbook, if we don’t have an ingredient, we can substitute something else. Like the law about what to do if your neighbor’s ox gets loose. If you don’t have an ox, you can still find in the intent of the law guidance about how to be a good neighbor. The law becomes not about trying to measure up to some impossibly high standard, but about helping us become better, stronger, happier versions of ourselves. Because in the end, better, stronger, and happier is what God wants for us.
So this season I invite you to enter into the disciple of Lent. Give up something that’s taken too much from you, or take on something you wish you had more of. Do something hard, lean into the discomfort of the struggle. But do it knowing that you are doing it for yourself, not for God. Because God already thinks you are great, and wants you to think you are great too. Amen.
I understand why the lectionary committee set it up this way. We are on the first Sunday of our forty day journey through Lent, so it makes sense to read a story about a time when Jesus went on a forty day journey in the wilderness. The lectionary committee is trying to frame the season of Lent, to give some context to where this forty-day period of the church year comes from. The problem I see with this is I think by starting with this story of Jesus victory over temptation in the wilderness, the lectionary committee sets us up with an overblown expectation of what this season is all about. By starting Lent with this reading about Jesus resisting temptations for forty days, in a season where we are encouraged to give things up and commit ourselves to spiritual disciples, it almost makes it seem like resisting temptation is the purpose of Lent. It becomes all to easy to frame the next forty days as a period of epic battle between the forces of good and evil, where every Facebook notice or piece of chocolate or swear word or whatever we have given up for Lent is a test placed in front of us by Satan himself, and our job is to, like Jesus, successfully resist all of these carefully placed temptations and prove that we, like Jesus, can stand strong against the forces of evil. And if we fail in our Lenten journey? If we give in to chocolate or swearing or not devoting time to prayer? Well, Jesus resisted way greater temptations than this and HE did it without any food and in the wilderness all alone, so we should at the least be able to go without Facebook.
Now there are a couple problems with this. The first, rather obvious, one is that we are not Jesus. Now, don’t get me wrong, using Jesus as a model for how to live our lives is a great strategy. The literal meaning of discipleship is to learn through imitation. So imitating Jesus, following Jesus, is great. The problem comes when we set the proof of our success in discipleship in actually becoming Jesus. Because, fully human though Jesus may have been, he still has a leg up on us in the fact that he is the Son of God. Imitating Jesus is one thing, being Jesus is another thing entirely. I don’t know about you, but the last time I tried to walk on water, I got very wet. If being Jesus is what we are striving for, we have set ourselves up to fail.
And I say “set ourselves up to fail” because I cannot believe that being Jesus is what God expects from us. I think all too often when we read this story and we think about temptation, even as we are reading “the devil,” we subconsciously place God in the role of the tempter, and make this story about God testing Jesus, testing us, to prove we are worthy of God’s love. You know that old saying about how God will never give you more than you can handle. The truth, brothers and sisters, is that statement is not actually scriptural. That statement is so often used to downplay real traumas in our lives as nothing more than a test God set before us because God knows we can handle it, and if we fail to do so it is a judgment on our faith, not God. But this is a story about the devil tempting Jesus. See God is just not in the business of pushing us to our limits to see just how much we can handle. God is in the business of being with us in the brokenness of the very limits of our lives, because God knows what it feels like to be hurt, to be broken, to be alone. This is a story about Jesus being hungry, lonely, hurting, so when we read this story we can know that when we are all of those things Jesus can relate to our pain because Jesus knows exactly what pain feels like.
But I think this story is about more even then that. Because Jesus does not so much resist the devil’s temptations as he refuses to engage them at all. I picture the devil as a carnie, pitchfork in grubby hand, greasy hair covered by a baseball cap pulled low around jutting horns, snaked tongue hissing through missing teeth, as he casually tries to entice Jesus to step right up, step right up, just knock over the pins, get the ball in the hoop, pop the balloon with a dart, and he can win the huge stuffed animal of wealth, fame, and fortune, knowing all the while that the pins are glued down, the hoop to small for the ball, the darts dull, the game is rigged, and there is no way for Jesus to win. And instead of proving his power by playing the game and winning, Jesus simply walks away. Because Jesus refused to even play the game, the rules of the game could not apply to him.
Brothers and sisters, the game is rigged. We can’t win, we won’t win. And the good news for us on this first Sunday of Lent is that doesn’t matter because we don’t have to play the game. Our worth is not dependent on our ability to beat the devil in his tricks, our worth is in the One who doesn’t play games. Jesus didn’t win; he didn’t play. In Jesus there are no winners and losers, there is just Jesus who came to set the whole world free.
And so, because of Jesus, the spiritual disciple of Lent is not about trying to be Jesus, it is about that root meaning of the word discipleship, it is about imitating Jesus. Here’s your nerdy Lutheran theological concept for the day, this is what Luther referred to as the third use of the law. See after the law has condemned us. After we’ve realized that the game is rigged, we can never win, and we will always fall short, we experience the radical transformative grace of God. We come to know that God never needed is to play the game in the first place, God loves us exactly as we are, exactly who we are. And when we’ve experienced that grace. When we come to know the unconditional love of God. Then the law becomes for us not a threat, but a guide. A helpful tool for shaping our lives. We can use the law like we use a cookbook, if we don’t have an ingredient, we can substitute something else. Like the law about what to do if your neighbor’s ox gets loose. If you don’t have an ox, you can still find in the intent of the law guidance about how to be a good neighbor. The law becomes not about trying to measure up to some impossibly high standard, but about helping us become better, stronger, happier versions of ourselves. Because in the end, better, stronger, and happier is what God wants for us.
So this season I invite you to enter into the disciple of Lent. Give up something that’s taken too much from you, or take on something you wish you had more of. Do something hard, lean into the discomfort of the struggle. But do it knowing that you are doing it for yourself, not for God. Because God already thinks you are great, and wants you to think you are great too. Amen.
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Conversation Points for Luke 4:1-13
Study Format:
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• The lectionary always has the temptation of Jesus as the Gospel reading for the first Sunday in Lent. Which means we’ve read all the stories around this one already this year. Take a few minutes to remember what happened before this (the miraculous announcement and birth of John, the miraculous announcement and birth of Jesus, Jesus and John meeting at the Jordan, Jesus’ baptism), and what happened after (the beginning of Jesus Galilean ministry and his rejection at Nazareth). How do the events before and after affect how you understand the text? How does this text affect how you understand the events before and after? How does reading this story on Lent 1 change how you hear this story? How you experience Lent?
• Culpepper notes several important functions the temptation scene holds in Luke
1) Clarifies the nature of Jesus’ work as the Son of God – work is to combat Satan and demonstrate faithfulness
2) Identifies Jesus with the heritage of Israel – Jesus is in the wilderness forty days, Israel was in the wilderness forty years, bread reminds of manna, quotes from Deuteronomy link to the three temptations of Israel (Exod. 16:15; 17:1-7; 32)
3) Mirror the conflict of God’s reign with the reign of Satan – many times in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus ministry is depicted as “an attack on the enslaving and destructive effects of Satan’s work” (Culpepper 98)
4) Emphasizes Jesus ministry as the fulfillment of the Scriptures – Jesus quotes scripture to respond to the devil. Other times in Luke Jesus is referred to as the fulfillment of Scripture (3:4-6; 4:18-19; 7:18-23; 24:44)
5) Offers a model for resisting temptation – In Luke, Jesus frequently exemplifies Christian virtues; he is empowered by the Spirit, prays regularly, associates with outcasts
• The story moves at the leading of the Spirit. The Spirit descends in 3:22, leads him into the wilderness in 4:1, and moves him into ministry in 4:14. Being led “in the Spirit” is also a phrase commonly used to describe Christian leaders in Acts (the seven, 6:3; Stephen, 6:5; 7:55; Barnabas, 11:24).
• In the Old Testament, forty is often a number associated with trial or testing. During the flood, it rained for forty days (Gen 7:17). The Israelites wandered in the wilderness forty years. Moses spent forty days on Mt. Sinai receiving the law (Exodus 24:18, 34:1 – 28). Jonah warned the Ninevites of God’s destruction in forty days (Jonah 3:4).
• The first temptation is a challenge to Jesus sonship. The forty days and the reference to bread parallel the manna in the wilderness (Deut 8:3).
• The second temptation is a gain of power by compromise. Authority becomes an ongoing theme in Luke, Jesus taught with authority (4:32), commanded unclean spirits with authority (4:36), had the authority to forgive sins (5:24), gave the twelve authority (10:19).
• The third temptation is to call on God to deliver Jesus from death. This temptation takes place in Jerusalem, the very place where Jesus would die. So by refusing to give in to the devil’s temptation and test God to save him in Jerusalem, Jesus prefigures the time when he will indeed face death in Jerusalem and not call upon God to save him.
• The devil departs “until an opportune time” foreshadowing the devil’s return in the events leading up to his death (22:3, 31, 53).
Works Sourced:
Culpepper, R. Alan. “The Gospel of Luke.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume IX. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• The lectionary always has the temptation of Jesus as the Gospel reading for the first Sunday in Lent. Which means we’ve read all the stories around this one already this year. Take a few minutes to remember what happened before this (the miraculous announcement and birth of John, the miraculous announcement and birth of Jesus, Jesus and John meeting at the Jordan, Jesus’ baptism), and what happened after (the beginning of Jesus Galilean ministry and his rejection at Nazareth). How do the events before and after affect how you understand the text? How does this text affect how you understand the events before and after? How does reading this story on Lent 1 change how you hear this story? How you experience Lent?
• Culpepper notes several important functions the temptation scene holds in Luke
1) Clarifies the nature of Jesus’ work as the Son of God – work is to combat Satan and demonstrate faithfulness
2) Identifies Jesus with the heritage of Israel – Jesus is in the wilderness forty days, Israel was in the wilderness forty years, bread reminds of manna, quotes from Deuteronomy link to the three temptations of Israel (Exod. 16:15; 17:1-7; 32)
3) Mirror the conflict of God’s reign with the reign of Satan – many times in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus ministry is depicted as “an attack on the enslaving and destructive effects of Satan’s work” (Culpepper 98)
4) Emphasizes Jesus ministry as the fulfillment of the Scriptures – Jesus quotes scripture to respond to the devil. Other times in Luke Jesus is referred to as the fulfillment of Scripture (3:4-6; 4:18-19; 7:18-23; 24:44)
5) Offers a model for resisting temptation – In Luke, Jesus frequently exemplifies Christian virtues; he is empowered by the Spirit, prays regularly, associates with outcasts
• The story moves at the leading of the Spirit. The Spirit descends in 3:22, leads him into the wilderness in 4:1, and moves him into ministry in 4:14. Being led “in the Spirit” is also a phrase commonly used to describe Christian leaders in Acts (the seven, 6:3; Stephen, 6:5; 7:55; Barnabas, 11:24).
• In the Old Testament, forty is often a number associated with trial or testing. During the flood, it rained for forty days (Gen 7:17). The Israelites wandered in the wilderness forty years. Moses spent forty days on Mt. Sinai receiving the law (Exodus 24:18, 34:1 – 28). Jonah warned the Ninevites of God’s destruction in forty days (Jonah 3:4).
• The first temptation is a challenge to Jesus sonship. The forty days and the reference to bread parallel the manna in the wilderness (Deut 8:3).
• The second temptation is a gain of power by compromise. Authority becomes an ongoing theme in Luke, Jesus taught with authority (4:32), commanded unclean spirits with authority (4:36), had the authority to forgive sins (5:24), gave the twelve authority (10:19).
• The third temptation is to call on God to deliver Jesus from death. This temptation takes place in Jerusalem, the very place where Jesus would die. So by refusing to give in to the devil’s temptation and test God to save him in Jerusalem, Jesus prefigures the time when he will indeed face death in Jerusalem and not call upon God to save him.
• The devil departs “until an opportune time” foreshadowing the devil’s return in the events leading up to his death (22:3, 31, 53).
Works Sourced:
Culpepper, R. Alan. “The Gospel of Luke.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume IX. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
Mortal: An Ash Wednesday Sermon on Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
I’m always struck as a preacher by just what a weird day this is liturgically. We read this Gospel where Jesus talks on and on about how not to be like the hypocrites who sound a trumpet as they give alms, who love to stand and pray in the synagogues, and who distort their faces to show they are fasting. And then we stand, and say long prayers, and take an offering, and I put dirt on your faces. So that everyone you come across for the rest of your day will know that you went to church. OK, so, some people will just think you have gunk on your head, but a lot of people will know you were in church. Either way, it will make for some awkward conversation, when someone politely tells you that you have dirt on your face, and you have to say, yes, I know, I like that dirt there. With this ashy cross, I’ve labeled you for the rest of your day until you get to wash your face, as a person who prayed today, and isn’t that exactly the thing that Jesus is telling us not to do? It is a weird day, this Ash Wednesday.
And let’s go to this hypothetical conversation with this polite stranger who shares with you that you have something on your face. So you tell them, no, that’s ash on my face from the Ash Wednesday service at my church. And what if they ask you, oh, and what is Ash Wednesday, why do you do that? What will you tell them? Will you tell them, this is the day that my pastor marks the sign of a cross on my forehead to remind me that someday I will die and become dust. And before that, we confessed all our sin for a long time. What response might you get to that? Gee, remember that you are dust, your pastor sure sounds like a load of fun!
Maybe you’ll get that response. But maybe you won’t. Maybe instead the person will be intrigued by a community where people feel safe enough to admit our failures, or comforted by a faith tradition that is not afraid to speak openly and honestly about what it means to be human. Because that really is what Ash Wednesday is all about. It’s not, like the hypocrites Jesus warned us about, about covering our faces in ash and saying long prayers so that people will know how faithful we are. Nor is it about confessing our sins so that we can feel sufficiently bad about ourselves to properly repent. No, Ash Wednesday is like a big deep refreshing breath of honesty. So much of our lives are spent trying to dodge our own mortality. And I’m not talking just about death and aging here, although, stand in line at the grocery store and any number of magazines will barrage you with the next best product to look ten years, twenty years, thirty years younger. We certainly are a society that over-values youth. But by mortality, I also mean that innate desire to try to earn our own salvation, to earn God’s love and forgiveness. To clean up our souls, get our lives together, so that we can be good enough for God to love us. Every Sunday we come to church, we confess our sins, and then we go out and screw up throughout the week, get mad at a family member, lose our temper while driving, say something hurtful to a friend, and then we come back the next Sunday, do it all over again, and promise that this week will be the week we’ll finally get it all together, and we don’t. We fail at this whole Christian thing over and over and over again. And it might feel frustrating and exhausting.
But Ash Wednesday is the day where we just claim it. It’s like finally letting out your breath when you’ve been holding your stomach in. Like slipping into sweatpants after a long day in the office. Ash Wednesday is the day when the church takes a collective deep sigh and says, we are human, we are mortal, and we screw up sometimes. The best description of Ash Wednesday I’ve heard is if we imagine our lives as a long piece of ribbon, with our baptism at one end of the ribbon and our death at the other, Ash Wednesday is the day when the two ends of the ribbon touch. It’s a day when we see how God holds the whole collective span of the ribbon of our lives together in almighty hands, and everything, all parts of it, are under God’s care. It is a day for us to relax into the simplicity of it, that we are human, that we are mortal, that we are broken, dusty, sinful, and that is OK because all of that is held together in the span of God’s care. I hope, I pray, that today as we say the confession together, as you receive the ashes on your forehead and hear the words that you are dust, that you experience all of this not as condemnation, but as relief. That in this place, in this experience, in this day, you are welcomed here just as you are. In the words of confession, in this proclamation of your own mortality, may your soul find rest in the promise that you are enough.
On Ash Wednesday we proclaim that we are mortal. But Ash Wednesday is about more than that. The bulletin doesn’t say it because sometimes the Holy Spirit works outside of convenient worship planning schedules, but we’re actually going to come to the rail twice today. We’re going to come once to receive ashes, and then I’m going to invite you forward again and we will receive communion together. Because on Ash Wednesday when we proclaim that we are mortal, we also proclaim that God is not. On Ash Wednesday we rest in the reality of our mortality, in the truth of our brokenness, because God is the one who holds the ribbons of our lives. God claims us in the waters of baptism and who holds us in the moments of our death. And in every moment in between there, God is the glue that mends the broken pieces of our lives. The cracks, the weaknesses, the things we’ve done, and things we’ve failed to do, all of the things we will confess, those are places where God comes and binds us back together, filling in the holes and mending the tears. And so we come together to the table, to the banquet feast that the Lord has set, with ashes on our foreheads, a mingling of the palm fronds of Palm Sunday and the oil of our baptisms. We come, hypocrites with hands outstretched and smudged faces and we receive into our hands the very body of Christ. Jesus broke bread with Judas who betrayed him and Peter who denied him, and today, around this table, Jesus breaks bread with us. That bread of life fills the hungry places in our souls and it is available again and again. There is nothing we can do to keep God from offering us this gift of grace.
So today, may you feel safe enough in the presence of our loving God to let your guard down and be truly human, with all the beauty and grace, cracks and pain which that entails. May your forehead be marked with the ashes of death intermingled with the oil that anointed your head in baptism. After your mouth forms the words of confession, may you leave with the sweet taste of wine on your lips. Because God, who is grace beyond all knowing, holds you. Amen.
And let’s go to this hypothetical conversation with this polite stranger who shares with you that you have something on your face. So you tell them, no, that’s ash on my face from the Ash Wednesday service at my church. And what if they ask you, oh, and what is Ash Wednesday, why do you do that? What will you tell them? Will you tell them, this is the day that my pastor marks the sign of a cross on my forehead to remind me that someday I will die and become dust. And before that, we confessed all our sin for a long time. What response might you get to that? Gee, remember that you are dust, your pastor sure sounds like a load of fun!
Maybe you’ll get that response. But maybe you won’t. Maybe instead the person will be intrigued by a community where people feel safe enough to admit our failures, or comforted by a faith tradition that is not afraid to speak openly and honestly about what it means to be human. Because that really is what Ash Wednesday is all about. It’s not, like the hypocrites Jesus warned us about, about covering our faces in ash and saying long prayers so that people will know how faithful we are. Nor is it about confessing our sins so that we can feel sufficiently bad about ourselves to properly repent. No, Ash Wednesday is like a big deep refreshing breath of honesty. So much of our lives are spent trying to dodge our own mortality. And I’m not talking just about death and aging here, although, stand in line at the grocery store and any number of magazines will barrage you with the next best product to look ten years, twenty years, thirty years younger. We certainly are a society that over-values youth. But by mortality, I also mean that innate desire to try to earn our own salvation, to earn God’s love and forgiveness. To clean up our souls, get our lives together, so that we can be good enough for God to love us. Every Sunday we come to church, we confess our sins, and then we go out and screw up throughout the week, get mad at a family member, lose our temper while driving, say something hurtful to a friend, and then we come back the next Sunday, do it all over again, and promise that this week will be the week we’ll finally get it all together, and we don’t. We fail at this whole Christian thing over and over and over again. And it might feel frustrating and exhausting.
But Ash Wednesday is the day where we just claim it. It’s like finally letting out your breath when you’ve been holding your stomach in. Like slipping into sweatpants after a long day in the office. Ash Wednesday is the day when the church takes a collective deep sigh and says, we are human, we are mortal, and we screw up sometimes. The best description of Ash Wednesday I’ve heard is if we imagine our lives as a long piece of ribbon, with our baptism at one end of the ribbon and our death at the other, Ash Wednesday is the day when the two ends of the ribbon touch. It’s a day when we see how God holds the whole collective span of the ribbon of our lives together in almighty hands, and everything, all parts of it, are under God’s care. It is a day for us to relax into the simplicity of it, that we are human, that we are mortal, that we are broken, dusty, sinful, and that is OK because all of that is held together in the span of God’s care. I hope, I pray, that today as we say the confession together, as you receive the ashes on your forehead and hear the words that you are dust, that you experience all of this not as condemnation, but as relief. That in this place, in this experience, in this day, you are welcomed here just as you are. In the words of confession, in this proclamation of your own mortality, may your soul find rest in the promise that you are enough.
On Ash Wednesday we proclaim that we are mortal. But Ash Wednesday is about more than that. The bulletin doesn’t say it because sometimes the Holy Spirit works outside of convenient worship planning schedules, but we’re actually going to come to the rail twice today. We’re going to come once to receive ashes, and then I’m going to invite you forward again and we will receive communion together. Because on Ash Wednesday when we proclaim that we are mortal, we also proclaim that God is not. On Ash Wednesday we rest in the reality of our mortality, in the truth of our brokenness, because God is the one who holds the ribbons of our lives. God claims us in the waters of baptism and who holds us in the moments of our death. And in every moment in between there, God is the glue that mends the broken pieces of our lives. The cracks, the weaknesses, the things we’ve done, and things we’ve failed to do, all of the things we will confess, those are places where God comes and binds us back together, filling in the holes and mending the tears. And so we come together to the table, to the banquet feast that the Lord has set, with ashes on our foreheads, a mingling of the palm fronds of Palm Sunday and the oil of our baptisms. We come, hypocrites with hands outstretched and smudged faces and we receive into our hands the very body of Christ. Jesus broke bread with Judas who betrayed him and Peter who denied him, and today, around this table, Jesus breaks bread with us. That bread of life fills the hungry places in our souls and it is available again and again. There is nothing we can do to keep God from offering us this gift of grace.
So today, may you feel safe enough in the presence of our loving God to let your guard down and be truly human, with all the beauty and grace, cracks and pain which that entails. May your forehead be marked with the ashes of death intermingled with the oil that anointed your head in baptism. After your mouth forms the words of confession, may you leave with the sweet taste of wine on your lips. Because God, who is grace beyond all knowing, holds you. Amen.
Healing in Valleys: A Sermon on Luke 9:28-43a
It was a long journey up that mountain. The disciples, Peter, James, and John, were already worn out before the journey had even begun. Not long before Jesus had given them the authority to heal and sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God. And out they had gone, away from their teacher for the first time, putting into practice the things he had taught them. They’d come back amazed at the power with which he’d filled them and testifying that he truly was the Messiah of God. He had spoken harshly to them following that proclamation, declaring “those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it.” They had been confused by his words, but none could contest the wonder they had seen as his followers and now in themselves, filled with his own authority. So when he got them up that morning, eight days after those strange words were spoken, they followed silently, though their eyes were heavy and their pace slow with exhaustion.
Step after long step they traveled up the mountain, away from the crowds, the rest of the twelve, the familiarity of the path they’d been on. When they reached the peak of the mountain, Jesus drew away from them to pray. And Peter, James, and John sat nearby, fighting sleep and watching their teacher in prayer.
Until all at once the thing they did not know they were waiting for took place. For suddenly, right in front of them, the appearance of his face changed and his clothes became dazzling white. And with him were two other men. And though Peter, James, and John had never seen them before, they recognized them instantly. They were Moses and Elijah, the great heroes of the stories of old. Moses who led God’s people from slavery to freedom and Elijah, the great prophet, the one whom all the stories proclaimed would announce the coming Messiah. Here they were, standing and conversing with the one whom the disciples themselves had just proclaimed as Messiah. What an declarative affirmation of the truth of their beliefs.
Peter, always the first to speak, could not contain his enthusiasm any longer. “Master, it is good for us to be here! Let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah!” But just as Peter was speaking, suddenly a cloud overshadowed them. And the same lifelong study of Torah that revealed to them the identities of the two strangers filled them with terror at the appearance of the cloud. For clouds in the Old Testament are always proof of the power and the presence of God.
And confirming their fears, from the midst of the cloud came a voice. A voice that boomed over the horizons and whispered in the wind. A voice that was felt as much as it was heard. A voice that declared, just as it had several months, several miles, a seeming lifetime away, on the valley floor of the Jordan River, as Jesus had come dripping from the waters of baptism and knelt by the water to pray, “this is my Son, my Chosen. Listen to him!”
It is, certainly, an amazing story. A story to be awed at, amazed by, wondered in. Jesus, the Messiah, resplendent in white, flanked by the heroes of old, claimed and identified by a voice from a cloud as the Son of the Most High God. A story to be awed by, but not a story that changes us. Transfiguration is powerful, but as the disciples will soon display, it is not what transforms us. Transformation instead happens in the beautifully mundane corners of our lives.
After the cloud departed, Moses and Elijah disappeared, and Jesus’ face and clothes returned to normal, Jesus and the disciples too returned to normal. They headed back down the mountain, back to where the crowds were waiting, back to their normal lives, and none of them spoke to anyone about what they had seen.
As they stood once again in an ordinary town, among an ordinary crowd, they were suddenly approached by an ordinary man with a too-familiar story. The man had a son, his only child, and the child was possessed by a demon. Suddenly the demon would seize up on the child, causing the boy to shriek, convulse, and foam at the mouth. “I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.”
And Jesus, just down the mountain from the moment of his transfiguration, his feet still dusty from the path, his clothing still damp from the mist of the cloud that had enfolded them, his body still weary from the journey, his eyes still bright from the encounter, rebuked the unclean spirit with a word, healed the boy, and handed him back to his father. With that action, Jesus demonstrated that his work was not done, and his actions set his face toward Jerusalem.
It is easy to get caught up in the wonder of the transfiguration. To marvel like Peter, James, and John did at the glorious display of heroes and saints, clouds and fanfare, dazzling displays and magical transformations. It is so easy to get caught up in the splendor of it all, to think that such splendor is what God has in store for us, and to gasp, like Peter did, let us build tents and stay here. Transfigurations do not always take this form, but you can certainly imagine your own transfiguration experiences. A worship service that moved you, a retreat that spoke to your soul, a beautiful piece of music, a powerful sermon, a transforming prayer. A place of peace where you knew beyond knowledge that God was with you. Those moments, as Peter, James, and John discovered, are beautiful but they are fleeting. Because for every mountain top experience, there is on the other side of it a valley. A valley with another town, another crowd, another person longing to be healed.
We live in a culture that glorifies the mountaintops. That promises us that if we are good enough, strong enough, smart enough, faithful enough, that we can have a life that is nothing but mountaintops. That mountaintop experiences are what God wants for us. But this story, or series of stories, promises us a different truth. A truth that is not glorious, but it is powerfully, gracefully, and confidently real. This series of stories assures us that while God may be revealed to us on mountaintops, it is in the valleys that God heals. We do not have to go to mountaintops to see God’s presence, for it is in fact in the dark, deep, achingly familiar parts of life that we experience transformational healing. Peter, James, and John were awed on the mountaintop. But it was in the valley a young boy was brought back to himself, a father’s broken heart was mended, and the disciples learned a power that was greater than themselves. Jesus brought them up the mountain top for clarity, so that their hearts would ring with the declaration of Jesus as God’s son, the chosen, and in the valleys they would be transformed.
So marvel on the mountaintops, brothers and sisters. Stand in awe of God’s glory, revel in God’s majesty. But do not be afraid of the valleys. For it is in the valleys that God’s healing is revealed. Amen.
Step after long step they traveled up the mountain, away from the crowds, the rest of the twelve, the familiarity of the path they’d been on. When they reached the peak of the mountain, Jesus drew away from them to pray. And Peter, James, and John sat nearby, fighting sleep and watching their teacher in prayer.
Until all at once the thing they did not know they were waiting for took place. For suddenly, right in front of them, the appearance of his face changed and his clothes became dazzling white. And with him were two other men. And though Peter, James, and John had never seen them before, they recognized them instantly. They were Moses and Elijah, the great heroes of the stories of old. Moses who led God’s people from slavery to freedom and Elijah, the great prophet, the one whom all the stories proclaimed would announce the coming Messiah. Here they were, standing and conversing with the one whom the disciples themselves had just proclaimed as Messiah. What an declarative affirmation of the truth of their beliefs.
Peter, always the first to speak, could not contain his enthusiasm any longer. “Master, it is good for us to be here! Let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah!” But just as Peter was speaking, suddenly a cloud overshadowed them. And the same lifelong study of Torah that revealed to them the identities of the two strangers filled them with terror at the appearance of the cloud. For clouds in the Old Testament are always proof of the power and the presence of God.
And confirming their fears, from the midst of the cloud came a voice. A voice that boomed over the horizons and whispered in the wind. A voice that was felt as much as it was heard. A voice that declared, just as it had several months, several miles, a seeming lifetime away, on the valley floor of the Jordan River, as Jesus had come dripping from the waters of baptism and knelt by the water to pray, “this is my Son, my Chosen. Listen to him!”
It is, certainly, an amazing story. A story to be awed at, amazed by, wondered in. Jesus, the Messiah, resplendent in white, flanked by the heroes of old, claimed and identified by a voice from a cloud as the Son of the Most High God. A story to be awed by, but not a story that changes us. Transfiguration is powerful, but as the disciples will soon display, it is not what transforms us. Transformation instead happens in the beautifully mundane corners of our lives.
After the cloud departed, Moses and Elijah disappeared, and Jesus’ face and clothes returned to normal, Jesus and the disciples too returned to normal. They headed back down the mountain, back to where the crowds were waiting, back to their normal lives, and none of them spoke to anyone about what they had seen.
As they stood once again in an ordinary town, among an ordinary crowd, they were suddenly approached by an ordinary man with a too-familiar story. The man had a son, his only child, and the child was possessed by a demon. Suddenly the demon would seize up on the child, causing the boy to shriek, convulse, and foam at the mouth. “I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.”
And Jesus, just down the mountain from the moment of his transfiguration, his feet still dusty from the path, his clothing still damp from the mist of the cloud that had enfolded them, his body still weary from the journey, his eyes still bright from the encounter, rebuked the unclean spirit with a word, healed the boy, and handed him back to his father. With that action, Jesus demonstrated that his work was not done, and his actions set his face toward Jerusalem.
It is easy to get caught up in the wonder of the transfiguration. To marvel like Peter, James, and John did at the glorious display of heroes and saints, clouds and fanfare, dazzling displays and magical transformations. It is so easy to get caught up in the splendor of it all, to think that such splendor is what God has in store for us, and to gasp, like Peter did, let us build tents and stay here. Transfigurations do not always take this form, but you can certainly imagine your own transfiguration experiences. A worship service that moved you, a retreat that spoke to your soul, a beautiful piece of music, a powerful sermon, a transforming prayer. A place of peace where you knew beyond knowledge that God was with you. Those moments, as Peter, James, and John discovered, are beautiful but they are fleeting. Because for every mountain top experience, there is on the other side of it a valley. A valley with another town, another crowd, another person longing to be healed.
We live in a culture that glorifies the mountaintops. That promises us that if we are good enough, strong enough, smart enough, faithful enough, that we can have a life that is nothing but mountaintops. That mountaintop experiences are what God wants for us. But this story, or series of stories, promises us a different truth. A truth that is not glorious, but it is powerfully, gracefully, and confidently real. This series of stories assures us that while God may be revealed to us on mountaintops, it is in the valleys that God heals. We do not have to go to mountaintops to see God’s presence, for it is in fact in the dark, deep, achingly familiar parts of life that we experience transformational healing. Peter, James, and John were awed on the mountaintop. But it was in the valley a young boy was brought back to himself, a father’s broken heart was mended, and the disciples learned a power that was greater than themselves. Jesus brought them up the mountain top for clarity, so that their hearts would ring with the declaration of Jesus as God’s son, the chosen, and in the valleys they would be transformed.
So marvel on the mountaintops, brothers and sisters. Stand in awe of God’s glory, revel in God’s majesty. But do not be afraid of the valleys. For it is in the valleys that God’s healing is revealed. Amen.
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Conversation Points for Luke 9:28-43a
Study Format:
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• Culpepper describes the transfiguration as “a composite of the whole Gospel tradition. In one scene we hear echoes of the baptism of Jesus, Jesus’ passion predictions, Jesus’ fulfillment of the Law and prophets, the death and resurrection of Jesus, and his ascension and future coming.”
• Luke places Peter and John together in the list of disciples to join Jesus, foreshadowing their role in preparing for the Passover supper in Luke 22:8, and their combined mission in Acts 3:1-10; 4:1-22; and 8:14-25.
• Just like at Jesus baptism, a voice comes from a cloud and affirms Jesus’ identity as the Son of God, and the Chosen One.
• Clouds in Luke and Acts often function as a manifestation of God. In Acts 1:9, Jesus is taken up to heaven in a cloud.
• The change of Jesus’ appearance seems to mirror the change that would come over Moses’ appearance after he would converse with God.
• The change in Jesus’ appearance could also be a foreshadowing of his death and resurrection. At Jesus ascension, two men in white robes appear (Acts 1:10).
• The location of the mountain is not described in any of the Gospels. The appearance of Moses and Elijah seem to suggest that the importance of the story is as a parallel of the experiences of Moses and Elijah on Mt. Sinai and Mt. Horeb, instead of the location of this event itself.
• After Moses and Elijah leave, Peter suggests building three booths, a reference to the Jewish Feast of Booths which celebrated the end of the Jews wandering in the desert. By doing this, Peter signifies he does not fully understand the event. He wants to hold time, but faithful following of Jesus requires going from this place to the cross.
• Immediately following the transfiguration, Jesus healed a boy with an unclean spirit.
Works Sourced:
Culpepper, R. Alan. “The Gospel of Luke.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume IX. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
1. Read passage aloud. What did you notice in the reading? What words or phrase caught your attention?
2. Read passage aloud a second time. What questions would you ask the text?
3. Read passage aloud a third time. What do you hear God calling you to do or be in response to this text?
Interesting Ideas to Consider:
• Culpepper describes the transfiguration as “a composite of the whole Gospel tradition. In one scene we hear echoes of the baptism of Jesus, Jesus’ passion predictions, Jesus’ fulfillment of the Law and prophets, the death and resurrection of Jesus, and his ascension and future coming.”
• Luke places Peter and John together in the list of disciples to join Jesus, foreshadowing their role in preparing for the Passover supper in Luke 22:8, and their combined mission in Acts 3:1-10; 4:1-22; and 8:14-25.
• Just like at Jesus baptism, a voice comes from a cloud and affirms Jesus’ identity as the Son of God, and the Chosen One.
• Clouds in Luke and Acts often function as a manifestation of God. In Acts 1:9, Jesus is taken up to heaven in a cloud.
• The change of Jesus’ appearance seems to mirror the change that would come over Moses’ appearance after he would converse with God.
• The change in Jesus’ appearance could also be a foreshadowing of his death and resurrection. At Jesus ascension, two men in white robes appear (Acts 1:10).
• The location of the mountain is not described in any of the Gospels. The appearance of Moses and Elijah seem to suggest that the importance of the story is as a parallel of the experiences of Moses and Elijah on Mt. Sinai and Mt. Horeb, instead of the location of this event itself.
• After Moses and Elijah leave, Peter suggests building three booths, a reference to the Jewish Feast of Booths which celebrated the end of the Jews wandering in the desert. By doing this, Peter signifies he does not fully understand the event. He wants to hold time, but faithful following of Jesus requires going from this place to the cross.
• Immediately following the transfiguration, Jesus healed a boy with an unclean spirit.
Works Sourced:
Culpepper, R. Alan. “The Gospel of Luke.” The New Interpreter’s Bible Volume IX. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995.
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