Sermons
So in this season of Advent when there is so much focus on the light of Christ and the love of God breaking into our darkened world, I wonder how we can honor both, light and dark, as gifts of the Holy One. Light and dark are both good, valuable, and holy even though we often speak of light, Christ’s light, banishing our darkness.
It takes all of us to create a world where the hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, imprisoned strangers are treated like our Gospel envisions. Like we see Christ - who is ever stranger, ever near - in them. Like they are made in the image and likeness of God. Like they are part of the body of Christ. Like they are beloved members of our communities. Like they are us. It takes all of us to answer the Christ who says, "Welcome me."
As people of faith we do not do this alone, we are called to take risks together and not dig holes. As a community of faith, Holy Trinity Lutheran Church is working together to boldly proclaim that the kingdom of God is drawing near. We invest our lives in service to one another and in assisting those who are more vulnerable than we are. We lean into reparations work and invest in repairing the damage done by generations past. We’re drawn to call out racism and demand an end to violence. We are called not to dig holes and bury ourselves and our gifts, but to take some risks and boldly proclaim, not only with our words and our prayers but also with our actions, that Christ is not only coming again but is here with us now.
A Sunday school teacher once asked a question to her young students, “Do you know what a saint is?” One of the little girls thinking about the big stained glass windows in the church that depicted saints throughout the centuries, said “A saint is someone the light shines through.”
It's unlikely that the little one understood metaphor and theology in such a profound way. But she gave an eight-word sermon that morning without even realizing it.
Do not worry. That’s Paul’s advice today.
Oh, if it were that simple. Many are on anti-anxiety medication. We worry about the future. We worry about the effects of climate change. We worry about dysfunction in the nation’s capital. And especially after this week, we worry about violence in the world, especially the Middle East.
Like a loving parent, God continually calls us to be our best selves, and at the same time generously forgives us when we fall short. This generosity itself is a call for us to do the same with one another. We are made to be merciful. We forgive because God forgives. The forgiveness that we are to pass on to others is the forgiveness we have in union with Christ. Not because we are moral heroes or because we seek our own well-being, but because we are forgiven people.
Taking up the cross means recognizing Christ crucified in every suffering soul and body that surrounds us, and pouring our energies and our lives into alleviating their pain — no matter what it costs. It means accepting — against all the lies of our culture — that we will die. It means following up that courageous acceptance with the most important question we can ask: Given my inevitable death, how shall I spend this brief, singular, God-breathed life?
If we’re honest, we are probably more like Peter in his misunderstandings and foibles, than we are like Peter in his proudest moment in today’s gospel. Yet Jesus embraces us just as he does Peter. He continues to call his church together to proclaim God’s love, to forgive and be forgiven, to gather week after week around this holy meal. And as his followers, we continue to baptize and teach, feed the hungry and welcome the stranger, and call forth and encourage the gifts of one another. So that our whole lives are rooted in the identity given to us in baptism, “Beloved Child of the Living God.”
