Sunday, November 26th, 2023 – Christ the King Now and Then, a sermon on Matthew 25:31-46

Gospel: Matthew 25:31-46

[Jesus said to the disciples:] ³¹“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. ³²All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, ³³and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. ³⁴Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; ³⁵for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, ³⁶I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ ³⁷Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? ³⁸And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? ³⁹And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ ⁴⁰And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family you did it to me.’ ⁴¹Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; ⁴²for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, ⁴³I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ ⁴⁴Then they also will answer, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’ ⁴⁵Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ ⁴⁶And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”

Friends, today is Christ the King Sunday. The last Sunday in our church calendar. Next week, we begin an entirely new church year with, as we always do, Advent.  In the announcements, I invited you to think a little bit about what that word “King” means for you and what it means to call Christ our king. Is it a word that represents feelings of royalty, honor, respect. One to whom all knees shall bend? Or does it give feelings of domination, triumph, power, patriarchy and fear? 

I’ve never been there but I’ve heard that the National Cathedral in Washington DC is quite a place to visit. Not only does it have Darth Vader as one of the gargoyles lurking in stone on its outside architecture, but visitors enter through these huge doors carved with scenes of creation, and then you walk past three tiers of stained-glass windows – “past all the monuments of faith, past all the memorials of human achievement and long-gone saints, past the statue of Abraham Lincoln and the space window and the pulpit carved with the profiles of apostles.”^[1]

Photo by Larry Jost

And then… one finally arrives at the high altar, “where Jesus sits on his throne at the end of time, surrounded by the whole company of heaven as he balances the round earth on the palm of his hand like a ripe fruit.”^[2] It is an image of Christ the king at the end of the time, the Last Judgment if you will, preparing to judge the world and evaluate everything that has happened from creation to the end of days.

It is an out of this world image that ignites imagination and wonder, but I think also overwhelms with fear and intimidation. Depictions of the Last Judgment often enshrine Christ in a threatening stance, lording over creation, to sort of put us in our place and to behave. It has a triumphalistic – in the end, we win and you lose – sort of feeling to it. 

I think a Sunday like today, Christ the King Sunday, runs the risk of the same sort of thing. It risks suggesting that Christ is the King of all the god-options out there.  Of all the choices to make on the religion menu – Christ and Christianity is the prime-rib, the most expensive and best option. Let’s all kneel before Jesus and raise our hands in victory for choosing the right path.

But that’s not the point of Christ the King Sunday – nor the point of the altar at the National Cathedral either, I’m guessing. 

Christ the King Sunday is not an old tradition – it’s actually quite new. Not even 100 years old. Christ the King Sunday was started in 1925 by Pope Pius the 11^th. Writing after World War I, the Pope said that while the war had ended, there was no true peace. It’s been said that “(The Pope) deplored the rise of class divisions and unbridled nationalism, and held that true peace can only be found under the Kingship of Christ as ‘Prince of Peace’.”

This Sunday – Christ the King Sunday – was born out of protest against a rising sense of fascism and nationalism in the world. I mean, just take that in for a moment. A whole liturgical day created to remind us of to whom we pledge our loyalty and allegiance – Christ is our King, and no one else. As one preacher asked confrontationally this past week, “Why do we as Americans put our hand over our heart for the national anthem but not for the Creed or the Lord’s Prayer?” It’s a good question on a day like today. And all week I have been wondering, how has a Sunday like Christ the King Sunday been so domesticated and forgotten from its original purpose? Especially in a time such as this, when we too bear witness to a rising sense of fascism and nationalism in our country and world. 

It seems to be a day when we are reminded not simply that Christ will be King then in the end. But that Christ is our king…now.

To understand what it means to have Christ as our king now – we turn to Jesus’ parable this morning. 

Now, at first glance, this parable of the sheep and the goats starts out sounding and looking a lot like that high altar scene in the Washington National Cathedral. “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. ³²All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, ³³and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left.” 

It sounds big and intimidating and threatening. And it sounds like it has nothing to do with this life, but has everything to do with the next life. It sounds out of this world and into the next world. It gives an image of an NSA-version of God, using elite surveillance technology, watching and listening to everything you do as an individual, so that it can and will be used against you in a heavenly court of law at the end of time. If you are going to get to heaven, then you need to be a sheep and in order to be a sheep, you need to do kind things for the poor and the least of these – you know, the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the sick, the imprisoned. And if you don’t – well, then – eternal weeping and gnashing of teeth and fire and damnation. 

And so as a result, we use a parable like this to show us how we ought to live, morally speaking. We should care for the poor so that we can get our reward in the end. Which is all well and good…I guess… except for when such a parable is weaponized as a source of anxiety and fear, self-righteousness and manipulation. I can think of countless times I’ve turned away from people who are hungry or thirsty or naked with vulnerability. How about you? And I can think of times when I’ve had the courage to offer compassion to a person in need. How about you? 

So, which are we – sheep or goats? Is that really our task today? Is that really how we should spend our time? To find ourselves on the sliding scale of salvation? Does that leave any of us transformed and made alive again – ready to leave as disciples, knowing that any interaction could adjust the scales on whether we are a goat or a sheep? I’m just not so sure.

But what I am sure of and am haunted by is the fact that nearly every time I hear this story, we speak about it as if there is no one hungry in the room with us. I could preach a whole sermon about whether we are sheep or goats and how Christ calls us to the care for the hungry, the poor, the sick, the imprisoned. You know – those people. As if none of us are them. 

This past Wednesday, Scott Wopata – the executive director of the community action center – was preaching at Emmaus’ thanksgiving eve service. “We are a people in need,” he said in his sermon. He talked about how before the pandemic, the CAC was serving about 20 families a day in the food shelf. And then during the pandemic, they saw those numbers double and triple. And when he is asked to describe that time, he says that what stands out to him is all the families they met who had never had to ask for help before. And he just named how difficult it is to cross that threshold of life – to get to a point where you finally have to ask for help. To say, “I’m hungry. I’m thirsty. I’m lonely. I’m not well.” It’s a naked and vulnerable feeling.

Scott went on to say that they now see about 120 families in the food shelf a day, and that by the numbers, about 1 in every 4 people is getting support from the CAC at this time. Let that sink in. 1 in 4. We are a community in need. Not out there – in here. 

I could talk and make jokes about who among us is a goat and who is a sheep. I think that would almost be easier to stomach than for any of us to admit to being in need. I’d rather be a failed disciple than a needy one. 

But I think that’s the deeper reality we are invited to wonder in – who among us is hungry? Where are you thirsty? Where do you feel like a stranger? Where are you imprisoned in your own life?

When we can answer that question – that’s when the power of Jesus parable can really find us.

You see, no one in the parable was surprised at where they were in the division of things. No person in the goat line said to Jesus, “Now, hang on – I’ve been working ridiculously hard my entire life to be a sheep. I’ve done all the right things –  achieved academic success, maintained a good reputation, and given to tax deductible charities. You better check your books again, Jesus. I belong in the other line.” No one in the sheep line said to Jesus, “That’s very kind of you Jesus to consider me a sheep, but I haven’t done that much. You should probably just let someone else have my spot.” No one was surprised where they were. 

They were surprised where Jesus was. 

“Lord, when did we see you?” Neither group could see Jesus. Did you catch that? Neither group know where Jesus was in their world. They couldn’t see him. 

In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus is really concerned with the health of your eyes and our ability to see properly.

If your right eye causes you to sin,, Jesus says, tear it out. 
The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eye is healthy, your body will be full of light.
Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own?

Jesus is worried about our vision and if we can see him. 

Lord, when did we see you? They all ask. It doesn’t matter if they are a sheep or a goat, Jesus wants to correct our vision. He wants us to see with kingdom-of-God eyes.

People ask all the time, where is God? Where is Jesus? And today Jesus says, “I’m here already. I am the hungry. I am the thirsty. I am the stranger and the sick. I am the naked and the imprisoned.  I’ve come to you hidden in the hurting human. Come and see. I will meet you there.”

So often we’ve been taught that Jesus shows up in those who help. In those who care for the needy. But today Jesus – Christ the King who sits enthroned at the end of time, surrounded by the whole company of heaven, calls all people to himself and says, “I’ve been with you the whole time. I am the need. I am the heartache, the weakness, the cold and abandoned. There you will see me. You don’t need to hike some mountain or go on meditation retreat. You do not need to spend hours in prayer or travel halfway around the world to find me.” 

The parable begins big and intimidating, far off in another world. But it ends small and close to home. According to today’s gospel, the farthest distance you have to travel to see God is the distance from your heart to the heartache beating closest to you. Including your own. That’s where we will see God.

This parable isn’t meant to be a source of fear and anxiety, or morally self-righteous, up-right living. It’s meant to be a source of faith.

That Christ is our king not only then in the afterlife but now in this life. And Christ upends our expectations of the kind of king he will be. Not far off in the heavenly halls of power, castled and contained, watching and waiting. But nearer and closer than we could have ever imagined. 

This parable isn’t about where you are or where you will be as a sheep or a goat in the end times. That’s just a distraction. It’s about where God is… where Christ our king is… now.

I am the hungry, Christ says.
 Those who hunger for bread and rest.
Those who hunger for companionship and touch.

I am the thirsty, Christ says.
 Those who thirst for justice.
Those who thirst for employment or for a peaceful night of sleep.

I am the stranger, Christ says.
 In the refugee fleeing war
or the just-moved retiree seeking a friend.

I am the naked, Christ says.
The bodies stripped bare by bullies or bombs
 The humiliated and betrayed just trying to get by.

I am the sick, Christ says.
Those in withdrawal from another relapse
Or those in grief from all that’s lost.

I am the prisoner, Christ says,
Caged with guilt and lacking joy
Or handcuffed with debt and never free.

I am all these and more, Christ says. When you meet them, in yourself or in the other, you meet me.

Can you imagine? If this Christ was truly our King? 

Come and see, he says. Come and see. 

Let us pray. 

God of mercy,
give us eyes to see your face.
God of mercy,
give us ears to hear your cry.
God of mercy,
give us hands to reach out to you.
God of mercy,
give us a heart to know your presence.
God of mercy,
give us mercy,
that we may draw near to you.^[3] (Steve Garnaas Holmes)

Amen.

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^[1] Barbara Brown Taylor, The Preaching Life

^[2] Ibid.

^[3] Steve Garnaas-Holmes, https://unfoldinglight.net/2014/11/19/2676/

Sunday, November 12th, 2023 – Tending the Fire, a sermon on Matthew 25:1-13

Gospel: Matthew 25:1-13
[Jesus said to the disciples:] ¹“Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. ²Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. ³When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; ⁴but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. ⁵As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. ⁶But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ ⁷Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. ⁸The foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ ⁹But the wise replied, ‘No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ ¹⁰And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. ¹¹Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ ¹²But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I do not know you.’ ¹³Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”

It was June 2^nd, 2020. Violence and unrest were in full force in Minneapolis after the murder of George Floyd. Pastor Ingrid Rasmussen and her congregation at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church were at the heart of it all – as they became an organizational center for volunteers, medics, wounded protesters, as well as food shelf and basic needs station. 

This understandably drew a lot of media attention. Pastor Ingrid was just finishing up being interviewed by the New York Times when out of the blue, a man came up to her holding a lantern. His name was Brian Dragonfly and he worked for a Native American youth empowerment organization in the neighborhood called Migizi.

Their organization and their new building built the year before had been burned down. When Brian Dragonfly arrived there to assess the situation, he noticed that the building was still burning and something inside of him told him he needed to capture that fire. And so he did.

NYTUNREST Minneapolis, Minnesota — Tuesday, June 2, 2020 Brian Dragonfly, who works at the Native American nonprofit Migizi in Minneapolis, holds a flame he captured from the fire that pitted the organization following unrest after George Floyd died in the custody of the Minneapolis police. “My intent is to keep it lit until we get a new place and maybe bring that flame to places of prayer and healing,” he said. CREDIT: Alyssa Schukar for The New York Times 30246184A

And now, he was carrying it with him, in his lantern. And he came to Pastor Ingrid and Holy Trinity wondering if they would tend the fire – care for this little flame – until the Migizi organization could rebuild. Pastor Ingrid said, without hesitation, “Yes,” not really knowing what this would mean.

In Pastor Ingrid’s words, they went straight to the sanctuary, found some candles and the fire was shared…along with it the trauma of the preceding days…and the hope that this moment in (their) neighborhood’s life would be an opportunity for new life. Then MIGIZI shared on Facebook: “Despite the flames, we as a community burn brighter…We look forward to showing our resilience once again.”

That night, Pastor Ingrid knew that she needed to bring that flame home with her. She couldn’t leave it alone and so she tended to it for the night, and the next day – the congregation took over this sacred responsibility.

For three years, three months, and nineteen days, that flame has been tended to – passed around from congregation member to congregation member each week. For more than 1200 days, the fire that engulfed their neighborhood flickered in member homes. The keepers estimate that more than four hundred candles have aided them in the journey. In the beginning, they had to replace the candle every 2-3 hours. It was like tending a newborn child, they said. They kept the flame at two homes at once, just in case one went out. One member said that each morning she would bring the flame to her morning coffee and devotion spot and had it flickering during family meals. They told people who stopped by about the flame, and they read by its amber glow in the evenings. The flame was transferred from one candle to another 400 times, with great care not to extinguish it. Carrying this flame became part of their life together. 

And then – just last month, the people of Holy Trinity got to hand the flame back to Brian Dragonfly and the people of Migizi. They were ready to carry it themselves. Their new building was rebuilt and that flame that turned their world upside down was at the center of their prayer service during the grand opening. 

It was a much longer journey than the people of Holy Trinity imagined – caring for this fire. It wasn’t quick or easy. But it brought with it new relationships and learning of what it means to be a beloved community and to carry hope for someone until they can carry it themselves.^[1]

This story was alive in me this week as I –  like many of you – have continued to be stopped and stunned by the violence in Israel and Palestine and reminded of just how hard it is to be in any kind of conversation around what is happening. Many of us just struggle to understand the basics and history of this conflict. Others are deeply involved and passionate about it. While many of us are not directly physically threatened by what’s been happening, I think we all often respond to moments like this…with a danger response. You’ve heard of fight or flight or freeze. I think that’s how many of us respond in a moment like this. Neither are right or wrong, they are just normal. Some of us respond to this moment with fight. We want to stand up and against what’s happening – to call out and march in the streets, to educate and alert others to what’s happening. Some of us just want to flee. Perhaps because it’s just more than our life can handle at the moment. Or because we are not sure what we can do from so far away, or because there are countless other acts of horrific violence happening across the world at any given moment– how do we pick just one? And so we flee. And I think some of us just freeze. We are just stopped in our tracks – silent and heartbroken and not sure what to do and needing to wait and learn more. I think that’s where I’ve been – I think I’ve had a freezeresponse. 

As I said, I don’t think any of these responses is right or wrong. I think we can normalize them. And I think each one of these responses carries with it a risk too. To fight can risk adding violence to violence, turning on each other and hardening our hearts. To flee risks ignoring the suffering of the world and the very places where God promises to be present in this world. To freeze risks waiting too long such that as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Justice delayed too long becomes justice denied.” 

So, in the midst of all that, I’ve been wondering, is there another option? Another way to respond?

This past week in the midst of wrestling and dialoging with others on all of this, someone shared with me an article that has stayed with me. In light of the violence in Gaza and Israel, author Yuval Noah Harari said the struggle to maintain our humanity is difficult right now. He said that most Israelis and Palestinians are psychologically incapable of empathizing with each other right now. The mind is so filled with pain that there is no space left to acknowledge the pain of others. “But (you) outsiders who are not …immersed in pain should make an effort to empathize with all suffering humans, rather than … seeing only part of the terrible reality. It is the job of outsiders to help maintain a space for peace.” 

And then he said this – listen. “We deposit this peaceful space with you, because we cannot hold it right now. Take good care of it for us, so that one day, when the pain begins to heal, both Israelis and Palestinians might inhabit that space.”^[2]

“It is the job of outsiders to help maintain a space for peace. We deposit this peaceful space with you, because we cannot hold it right now. Take good care of it for us, so that one day, when the pain begins to heal, both Israelis and Palestinians might inhabit that space.”

It sounded like Brian Dragonfly and his lantern. I read that and suddenly I felt unfrozen. In his words, I heard another option – one that wasn’t fight or flight or freeze, but one that was faithful. And I felt like I could move again – and live into a new response in the midst of such horror and terror. The response of holding on to and caring for the possibility and the dream of peace.

It’s like he is handing us a lantern – a light of peace – saying, “Can you tend this fire for us? It might take a long time. Can you keep it burning until we can carry it again ourselves?” 

In our gospel reading today, Jesus tells a parable that seems to be all about the light we carry with us and the oil that keeps it burning. There is so much that is disturbing and challenging about the parable this morning. I think it is supposed to disturb us, confront us. The power of a parable like this is that it will disrupt us. That is its renewable resource. Such that we find something different in it every time we read it. There is a lot we can talk about and wonder about, lots of ways to interpret it, but I’ll just tell you how it is landing with me this week…

Jesus tells a parable about 10 bridesmaids – each of whom is carrying a lamp. Some brought extra oil- which was wise. And some didn’t, which was foolish. Because this light needs to burn for a long time. 

There is only one other time in the gospel of Matthew that Jesus talks about lamps. And it’s all the way back in the Sermon on the Mount. Where Jesus says to his disciples and the crowd gathered, “You are the light of the world…no one after lighting a lamp puts it under a bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it lights the whole house…let your light so shine before others.” 

You are the light of the world, Jesus says near the beginning of the gospel. And then near the end he tells a parable about 10 people, each are carrying a light. And some of them are running out of oil. 

There is so much we don’t know about this parable. But it seems to be about keeping the light burning. It seems to be about the oil you carry with you and what we do when that oil runs out. When half the bridesmaids wake up realize that they are running dry, burned out of oil – they ask for the others to share their oil. 

And the others say no. Why? Because then no one will have enough oil. They all will run out. Which sounds like a cruel response. But also maybe not. But here’s the things – maybe there are just somethings you can’t share, even if you wanted to. 

As one preacher has said, you can borrow someone’s homework to get by, but you can’t borrow the hours they spent studying. You can borrow someone yoga mat but you can’t borrow someone else’s peace of mind or passion. I can borrow your bible, but I can’t borrow your faith in God when mine gets low. 

The trouble of the parable to me isn’t that some of them ran out of oil. Truth be told they all would have if the bridegroom would have taken any longer; we all run out of oil sometimes. The trouble isn’t even that the others wouldn’t share their oil. The trouble is what happened next. You see, in my holy imagination with this disrupting parable, I think that both groups are wise and foolish. When the foolish ran out of oil, they turned to their neighbors -which is wise. And the wise turned them away, which was foolish. They told them to go somewhere else, to the convenience store down the street. They separated themselves. Divided themselves. Because they didn’t trust that their light could shine bright enough for someone else. Jesus didn’t say you are the light for yourselves, he said you are the light of the world – let it shine for others.  The wise could have said, “I’m sorry, I can’t give you my oil. But come closer and lean into me. Let’s share my light for now. There will be enough glow for the both of us.”

I like the way Preacher Nora Tubbs Tisdale puts it. She says….

There is a great temptation when tragedy strikes or when hopes are dashed…in our lives to separate ourselves from the very people whose lamps are still burning brightly. We hole up in our homes or our dorm rooms or our apartments, nursing our wounds, not wanting to be “bad company” for others. Or—alternatively—we run around frantically searching in the wrong places for the oil that doesn’t ultimately satisfy. But perhaps there is another path to follow. When your oil is running low and indeed has run completely out, stay close to those whose hope and faith are burning brightly. Get out of your house, your apartment, your dorm room, and go to places where the faithful gather. Go to places where the hymns of the faithful can lift you up, and the foretaste of that great heavenly banquet—the banquet we taste every time we gather at this communion table–can nourish you. Hang out with people who have faith, and their faith can help make you whole.^[3]

When Brian Dragonfly and his community were low on hope, he didn’t ask Holy Trinity to borrow 400 candles. He asked if their neighbor could carry the fire and let it shine bright enough for them to see.

Yuval Harai said he’s out of oil. And so are many others. His lamp for peace is running low. And so he’s asking us – his neighbors – to keep ours burning. To make and care for a space for peace – a light for their feet. 

In other words, when the oil of your lamp gets low, don’t turn away. Lean in. Lean in to those whose lamp is still burning bright and let their lamps brighten your way. Or when the oil of your lamp is full and you can see the others scrambling – tend the fire and make room. Keep your lamp trimmed and burning, so that it might shine unto the feet of others, a light to the world. 

Otherwise, we will risk turning away from each other, in search of oil that cannot be bought and for a light to call only our own, never discovering the things that really make for peace. Never trusting that together, by the grace of God, we have what we need to light the way. 

May it be so. Amen. 

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^[1] Many thanks to Pastor Ingrid for permission to share this story, much of which came from her facebook post. 

^[2] https://time.com/6324254/israel-hamas-war-peace-yuval-noah-harari/

^[3] https://chapel.duke.edu/sites/default/files/Tisdale–11-09-14.pdf

Sunday, October 29th, 2023 – Love you and See you next week, a Confirmation Sunday sermon on the greatest commandment.

First Reading: Leviticus 19:1-2, 15-18
¹The Lord spoke to Moses, saying:
 ²Speak to all the congregation of the people of Israel and say to them: You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy.
 ¹⁵You shall not render an unjust judgment; you shall not be partial to the poor or defer to the great: with justice you shall judge your neighbor. ¹⁶You shall not go around as a slanderer among your people, and you shall not profit by the blood of your neighbor: I am the Lord.
 ¹⁷You shall not hate in your heart anyone of your kin; you shall reprove your neighbor, or you will incur guilt yourself. ¹⁸You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against any of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord.

Gospel: Matthew 22:34-46
³⁴When the Pharisees heard that [Jesus] had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, ³⁵and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. ³⁶“Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” ³⁷He said to him, “ “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ ³⁸This is the greatest and first commandment. ³⁹And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ ⁴⁰On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”
 ⁴¹Now while the Pharisees were gathered together, Jesus asked them this question: ⁴²“What do you think of the Messiah? Whose son is he?” They said to him, “The son of David.” ⁴³He said to them, “How is it then that David by the Spirit calls him Lord, saying,
 ⁴⁴‘The Lord said to my Lord,
 “Sit at my right hand,
  until I put your enemies under your feet”’?
⁴⁵If David thus calls him Lord, how can he be his son?” ⁴⁶No one was able to give him an answer, nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions.

Let us pray. Spirit of the living God, you are already with us. But we pray that we might trust in your presence now – in this moment when stop to settle our minds and breathe in your Spirit. We pray that this uncontainable love would fill us up. In our prayers, and our singing, in your word and the people we meet, come and find us this day, Lord, and give us the love only you can provide. So that we might once again have a strength to love. As violence rages around us and around the world and as talks of peace fall to the ground, awaken us to your presence in every single person of the world and stir up among us healers and peacemakers. Help us to have the courage to turn toward each other and not away. In Jesus’ name, amen. 

About nine years ago, I was in a play called When We Are Married. It’s a British comedy from the 1930s. It’s also the reason why at home, every once and awhile, I will slip into a British accent. It was fun to practice a British accent for the play, but 20 Minnesotans on stage doing their best British accents wasn’t great. 

But it is an interesting play because the premise is that three couples are all celebrating their 25^th wedding Anniversary. You see they all got married on the same day, at the same church, by the same pastor. They’ve stayed friends ever since and now they are celebrating 25 years together. 

Except for one thing. 

The new organist at the church had just discovered a juicy little secret. As it turns out – the three couples haven’t been married for 25 years. 

You see, the pastor at the time didn’t realize for the first few months that there were certain forms he had to fill out in order to be authorized to perform the ceremony of marriage. Which means that the few weddings he did perform as a brand-new pastor 25 years ago…were null and void. 

Which means these 3 couples are not and never were legally married. 

Now, to many of us, perhaps that is a comical mistake that isn’t that big of a deal – they were married in each other’s hearts and in the eyes of God, but you can imagine back in the early 1900s that for you (and everyone else in your small town) to learn you’ve just been living together and are not actually married to your partner…well, that would have been shocking and devastating to the core. Like you’ve been living a lie.  

That’s how it was for the three couples, and so, as a result, they spend the rest of the play wrestling with and wondering about one question – hang on, if we haven’t been married this whole time, would I marry you….now?

I mean, think about it, you’ve settled into the routine of life, you’ve built a life together, but now, you’re stopped in your tracks and you have to ask yourself and reassess, if given the choice, would I do it again? Would I marry you…still today?

Have you ever been halted like that with something? Stopped in your tracks, when you have to reconsider, or recommit to something? Where you have to pause and rethink everything – to kind of find the core of who you are again? 

This got me thinking about the spiritual moments in our life when that happens. I think it happens a lot during big moments in our lives – like when a loved one dies and we are confronted with death. Or maybe when a child is born and you get a front row seat to the beauty and wonder and fragility of everything. Or maybe it’s when you just reach a new phase in life – like when you’re offered a new job, or the kids are out the house, or you’ve retired or your affirming your baptism – and you start to ask all those questions about identity. Like “who am I and what’s my purpose here?”

That happens in the big moments in our life. But here’s the thing – I think that’s not often enough – to wait around for the big moments of our life to make us stop and reconsider things. 

A friend of mine is a Methodist Pastor and every year they have a worship service called Covenant Sunday. Together, on that particular Sunday, the Methodist Church prays a prayer together that recommits themselves to the covenant God has made with them, as children of God – made in the image of God, and the covenant they have made to God, as followers of Jesus. It’s kind of like renewing your spiritual wedding vows. And every year, when that Sunday comes around, I find myself a little jealous of it. A chance every year, like the three couples in the play, to reconsider and recommit ourselves – to God and to faith and striving to follow in the way of Jesus.

Like marriages and friendships and lot of things in life, we get caught up in the routine of everything and we often just go through the motions of life – without really thinking or considering our lives. And so the thought of a Sunday set aside every year to stop and pause and to consider and re-consider, to commit and recommit our faith together seemed like something I longed for.

But here’s the thing – even that doesn’t feel like enough. 

I actually think I want Covenant Sunday – every Sunday. As one of my preaching professors used to say, “In the human heart, the shelf-life of the gospel is at best 7 days…after that it starts to wither and then you have to come back and hear it again.” I want something each week that catches me a bit off guard, punctures the ordinary and routine of life and faith. Something that says, “Stop. Are you sure? Are you sure want to be a follower of Christ? Again?”

Something like that happened a few weeks ago. 

A couple of weeks ago, in high school youth group, we were reading this same passage from Jesus that we read in our gospel lesson, where he is asked which is the greatest commandment. Jesus says, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind…and you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” We were talking about our call to serve our neighbors and what it means to love others through service. And it was a pretty routine conversation as far as Scripture readings go. It seemed there were not a lot of things to catch us off-guard with this passage. Love God and love your neighbor as yourself.

Except for when one of the high school youth says casually – “Yeah…but what if you don’t love yourself?”

What if you don’t love yourself?

Love the Lord your God and love your neighbor as yourself. Seems pretty straight forward.

Yeah, but what if you don’t love yourself? How can you love your neighbor as yourself?

And this young person asked in a way that didn’t make us worry about them, but in a way that took us a little deeper into ourselves and our faith for just a moment. It made us pause and reconsider these greatest commandments and what they might mean. This youth unknowingly became a spiritual director to us all in that moment, as we all went…”Whoa. What if I don’t love myself?…Do I love myself?”

What do you think? Do you? Do you love yourself? 

I wonder how many of us ever ask that question. I wonder how many of us have ever noticed that part of one of the greatest commandments, as Jesus puts it. Love your neighbor…as yourself. Do you love yourself?? Can you look yourself in the eyes – and like you would with your child or your parent or a beloved, can you say, “I love you”?

It’s a vulnerable question, I know. Maybe some of us want to turn away from the mirror and ignore it completely. Let me ask it again…do you love yourself? 

Even just saying it out loud feels a little silly. A little self-helpy. A little cheesy and saccharine sweet. A little too curved-in on one’s self, as Martin Luther would say. 

And yet, it is right there in Jesus’ words for us today and I think it might be not just the greatest commandment but also the greatest struggle each one of us has – the struggle to love ourselves. 

Some of us struggle to love God, because of our image of God. We have taken into our hearts an image of God as angry, vengeful, abusive God. We have not taken fully into our hearts that Jesus is the image of God. Jesus, the Prince of peace. Jesus, the one who has come to save and not condemn. For us as Christians, Jesus is the image of God. But some of us have not fully absorbed that truth, which makes it hard to love God.

Some of us struggle to love ourselves because of our image of ourselves. We see ourselves as something unlovable, unforgivable, unworthy. When, in fact, the God, who is love says to each one of us, “You child, I made you. I made you to look like me. You are made in my image – you look like love.  And not just you but everyone around you. So love yourself – for you are made in love and by love and for love. 

Many of us have been taught that to be a person of faith, to be a good Christian, our job is to love God and others more and to love ourselves less. But that’s not what Jesus is saying here in Matthew 22. Love the Lord Your God and love your neighbor and love yourself. Each one a crucial part of a life of faith.

In our Christian tradition – the source of this love, the strength to love comes from the promises of baptism. Baptism is the way we embody the realest reality about who we are. It isn’t augmented reality, baptism reveals real reality.  Baptism is the proclamation of a love that never washes away – a grace that never dries off. Baptism is a pool that is never closed. Baptism is shouting from the roof tops that this person (big or small) is and has always been made in the image of God. And not only this person, but every person. And doesn’t that get hard when the culture we live in wants to separate people into good people and bad people. Culture says you are good or you are bad. You are what you do. And so we can see why the gospel has a 7 day shelf life when there is so much that deteriorates it every other day of the week. Our cultures can deliver such deteriorating lies – like you are grades, you are your wealth, you are the state of your home, you are your body, you are your popularity, you are your relationship status, you are your worst moment. But God says, “No, you are mine. You are my beloved. You are worthy of love. And not just my love, but your love. Don’t just love your neighbor as yourself. Love yourself as a neighbor, as a child of God who has a place and a purpose here.”

That’s the promises of God in baptism poured out upon you. And even if you have not been baptized these promises are still true and for you even now. Martin Luther says we are called to remember our baptism every day. When you are showering or washing your hands. Which I’ll admit often sounds silly to me – except on the days when it doesn’t. Those days when I look myself in the mirror and remember how desperate I am to be reminded of the promise of being made in the image of God. Because I’ve had a different and distorted image of myself for too long. 

God looks at you and says, I love you. Can you look at you and say, I love me too. How else can we be God’s presence in the world, the body of Christ on earth, if we don’t love what God loves? 

It’s what we are invited to give our lives to – today. To recommit, to renew our vows to today. In a few moments, when the confirmands stand up here and affirm their baptisms, by saying yes to God’s promises, you get to do the same in your hearts. 

You too can renounce the devil and all the forces that defy God.
You too can profess a faith in God who made you in their image
You too can rely on the presence of Christ, who has come to be with you.
You too can trust in the holy spirit, who promises to go with you and sustain you along the way. 
You too can renew your baptismal call to love yourself, love your neighbor, and to strive for justice and peace in all the earth.

Maybe it’s a bit overly optimistic, but I think my prayer today is that every Sunday would be covenant Sunday. That every Sunday would be affirmation of baptism Sunday. Because it is. Every Sunday we get to decide to, commit to, covenant to say yes to God’s promises once again in our life for another week. 

I’m glad it is Sunday. I’m glad you’re here. May you see you as God sees you. May you love you as God loves you. And may that love give you a strength to love for the next 6 days. 

See you next week. Amen