Sermon: "The In-Between", Exodus 18:8-9, 13-24/Acts 1:15-17, 21-26 (May 13, 2018)

5/13/18

Sermon video here.

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I’m about to preach a very different sermon than some of you may be expecting.

Today, many churches around the world are celebrating Ascension Day, the day when Christ finally “ascended” into heaven forty days after his resurrection. This is an important day for Christians as we remember the end of Jesus’ physical time on earth and his final instructions to the Apostles: to proclaim the good news to all nations. But today isn’t actually Ascension Day; that was on Thursday. With Ascension Day technically over and Pentecost not happening until next Sunday, today is something different. Today, we’re in what’s liturgically called “The In-Between.”

Well, no, that’s not true. I completely made that up. But I figured that, since it’s so often overshadowed by those other major festivals, this day deserves its own memorable moniker. Besides, it plays an important role in Eastertide. Just as it’s crucial for us to dwell in the darkness of Holy Week between the celebrations of Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday, we need to take a breather between the Ascension and Pentecost in order to more fully appreciate where the disciples are at this point: what I call “the in-between”.

Braiding and Brokenness: The Significance of Our Lenten Practice

It's been a few weeks that Lent has been over, now. Since I've gotten some emotional distance from the difficulty of the Triduum and the catch-up work that always happens after Easter Sunday, I thought I'd take a moment to reflect on our Lenten practice this year.

Many people of all ages (even some from outside our immediate congregational community!) took part in our lenten braiding project. Each Sunday, I collected the braids that people turned in, and spent my afternoon weaving them together by hand, one by one, using a continuous piece of yarn--my own personal Lenten practice.

Life and Love out of Darkness (Maundy Thursday)

Each year, our community combines Holy Week services with another local church, Southminster Presbyterian Church. We alternate who takes point on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday--this year, we were up for Maundy Thursday. 

Now, Maundy Thursday is known as "the day when we wash each other's feet" in many communities, but in many others, the thought of touching another person's bare foot is enough to turn them atheist. You may recall that two years ago, we did a ritual involving broken pottery that was both beautiful and profound (from my perspective, at least). This year, since our Lenten focus was on symbols, I wanted to make sure we did something significant that tied into our theme.

A Sign Unto You--Lent 2018

So.

Lent again.

As always, I put a lot of thought into what sort of Lenten practice I should encourage our congregation to undertake together. This year, our Lenten sermon series is "A Sign Unto You", and we're examining the symbols of our faith and how they help or hinder our ability to see Jesus. We're specifically addressing the cross, the (baptismal) font, the (communion) table, and the bible, plus a week on idols and, of course, Palm Sunday.

Symbols are kind of my wheelhouse, so I wanted to make sure that we connected beyond just an intellectual engagement with them.

On Ash Wednesday, we took four large cloths (two yards of fabric each--thanks, Joann's!) with a question written on each:

Sermon: "A Sign Unto You: The Cross", Numbers 21:4-9/John 3:14-16/Mark 8:31-38 (February 18, 2018)

2/18/18

Sermon video here.

(This sermon was the first in our Lenten sermon series, "A Sign Unto You", where we'll be talking about the prominent symbols of our faith and how they help--or hinder--our ability to see Christ.)

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Here we are again at the beginning of Lent. Purple paraments, repentant reflection, and a new sermon series: a sign unto you. Over the next six weeks, we’ll be looking more closely at the signs and symbols of our faith, considering together how they help or hinder our ability to see Christ. It’s so easy to embrace symbols without putting a lot of thought into what they really stand for, isn’t it? It’s one thing when the symbols are just literary metaphors in high school English class (does anyone actually remember what Moby Dick was supposed to be about, anyway?) but when they inform our faith—the lens through which we understand the world around us—it becomes a lot more important to pay attention.

Sermon: "A Prophet Like You", Deuteronomy 18:15-20/Acts 2 (January 28, 2018)

1/28/18

Sermon video here.

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One of the gifts of the Revised Common Lectionary is that it draws our attention to things that we might not think about otherwise. For example, the last two weeks’ readings have shown us that prophets aren’t all cut from the same cloth: Samuel was earnest in his desire to serve God beginning in his childhood, while Jonah threw prophetic temper tantrums. Then this week, we get this informative flashback in Deuteronomy that provides helpful insight as to why God gave prophets to the Hebrew people in the first place. While we do tend to talk about prophecies often enough—especially around Advent—it’s less common to talk about the mechanics, characteristics, and criteria of prophet-dom. So I’m really glad to have this opportunity to dig into it, especially given a recent conversation I had. 

Sermon: "It's Time to Trust", Genesis 22:2-3, 9-14/Luke 1:26-35, 38/Matthew 26:36-44 (December 24, 2017)

12/24/17--Sixth in an Advent Series, "It's Time..."

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A man of many years is trudging up a hill, back bent nearly in two with the effort. He’s never been the athletic type, but now, at well over 100 years of age, after a morning of splitting wood through his tears, he finds himself making a trek that he very much does not want to make. A quiet man, he learned long ago that asking questions rarely produces answers that he wants or understands, and yet he has so many. Why, after having to abandon his firstborn son, his Ishmael, should he have to lose his beloved Isaac too, son of his very heart? And by his own hand? He wipes the sweat from his brow. What could this possibly accomplish? What kind of God could ask such a thing? And what will he tell his wife, with whom he’s already been through so much?