The Hungry Crowd

10th Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 17B)
July 28, 2024
Immanuel Lutheran Church, Oxford, CT

¹Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, also called the Sea of Tiberias. ²A large crowd kept following him, because they saw the signs that he was doing for the sick. ³Jesus went up the mountain and sat down there with his disciples. ⁴Now the Passover, the festival of the Jewish people, was near. ⁵When he looked up and saw a large crowd coming toward him, Jesus said to Philip, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” ⁶Jesus said this to test Philip, for he himself knew what he was going to do. ⁷Philip answered him, “Six months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.” ⁸One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to him, ⁹“There is a child here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?” ¹⁰Jesus said, “Make the people sit down.” Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all. ¹¹Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. ¹²When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.” ¹³So they gathered them up, and from the fragments of the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten, they filled twelve baskets. ¹⁴When the people saw the sign that Jesus had done, they began to say, “This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.”
¹⁵When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.
¹⁶When evening came, his disciples went down to the sea, ¹⁷got into a boat, and started across the sea to Capernaum. It was now dark, and Jesus had not yet come to them. ¹⁸The sea became rough because a strong wind was blowing. ¹⁹When they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the sea and coming near the boat, and they were terrified. ²⁰But Jesus said to them, “Here I Am; do not be afraid.” ²¹Then they wanted to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the land toward which they were going. – John 6:1-21

What stands out to you from the gospel I just read? If you were to go home and tell someone this week what the gospel reading was all about, you might start by saying that Jesus miraculously fed thousands of people and walked on water. Those are the miracle moments. That’s what we call these stories that appear in multiple gospels – the feeding of thousands occurs 6 times in all four gospels, and the story of Jesus walking on water appears in three of the 4. It’s one of the ways we have come to identify Jesus – miracle maker. And who among us couldn’t use a miracle or two in our lives? And certainly our world is in need of a few miraculous moments.

But…I wonder…with our attention drawn to the miracle moments, what else are we missing in these stories? By naming the stories by the miracle moment, what is forgotten or ignored? We never, for instance, refer to this story as “the hungry crowd chasing Jesus,” or “the angry mob set on crowning Jesus king.” We rarely refer to the walking on water as “the story of frightened disciples rowing for their lives” or even more simply, “the stormy sea.” And yet, those things are very much a part of the story.

We do this a lot don’t we? We say we are an Easter people and, despite lots of cross imagery, we often do not talk about ourselves as people of the cross.

I get it, of course. This is how we remember our lives. We look back on a trip we took and pour over beautiful pictures and smiling faces and forget the awful 24-hour fight delay, the flat tire on the side of the road, the tired, cranky moments when we took things out on our traveling companions. Those of us with kids in our lives have likely had the experience of remembering earlier ages of those kids and smiling over cute phrases, tender moments, silly fun, while forgetting the sleepless nights, tantrums, and diaper changes.

There might be other instances where we remember only the bad. That was the year my loved one died. That was the year we lost our house. That was the year I was diagnosed with cancer. It marks a whole year – those kind of monumental experiences. And yet, it is never the whole picture of a year of our lives. Every year filled also with celebrations, coffee with a friend, a beautiful sunset, a good book.

Perhaps we are even more shaped this way now in our lives, with so much information accessible to us at our fingertips. Our news cycles feed us nonstop coverage of national candidates and world-scale tragedies, often missing the important and often difficult work of governing and peacemaking that happens, most of which happens in ways that don’t make for easy headlines, and neat, tidy happy-ending stories. And we know, I hope, that social media is designed to feed us cultivated stories that create longing in us for perfect lives, perfect bodies, perfect homes, perfect trips – none of which tell the whole story.

What else is going on around the miracles of Jesus? The crowd that gathers in this moment was not called together to sit and listen to teaching, they weren’t there just because they were curious. They were there because they had seen Jesus healing among the sick. Many certainly in awe of that and looking to understand who this miracle-worker is. But many of them are there because they, too, seek healing – healing for bodies broken by disease, healing for spirits beaten down by life. Or they are there because someone they love is near death, or living with chronic pain, or just down on their luck. Too, perhaps, some are there to make him king, which they try to do later in the story, because they live in the midst of an oppressive empire. That’s the scene – a crowd of regular ordinary people, with lives full of joy, yes, but also full of challenges. A crowd desperate for renewal, for resurrection.

The disciples, surprised, perhaps by this pressing crowd, are looking at least to feed them. Perhaps they themselves are hungry. But they look around and see not enough. They look at what they’ve got and realize they, too, are in great need. Hunger and longing – awareness of being empty, aware they are lacking. They see only what it is that they don’t have.

So, too, the disciples in the boat later in the story. Afraid, alone, miles from shore. Exhausted from rowing. It was dark out, so they couldn’t see much of anything.

Sometimes, when we stop and look, we see a lot of pain, longing, fear, and emptiness. Hunger – real, honest-to-goodness hunger for food exists in every community. Longing for wholeness is present in some way for nearly every human I know. We wish for a world renewed and restored, if not to Eden, at least without war and violence.

How we hold all these things together – hunger and miraculous feeding, fear and relief – affects the story we tell. If our story is about God’s miraculous fix, we may very well feel the lack of God’s presence when the miracle is absent or delayed. If our story is all about scarcity and what we don’t have, we miss God’s presence with us even in our longing.

What if we called this story “Christ with us in hunger and plenty” or “Christ walking with us through the storm”? Would that change how we think about it?

I know that here at Immanuel you all are anxious to call a pastor. No congregation has an easy and smooth process these days, but you have been through it more than most congregations. You’ve had candidates back out multiple times through absolutely not fault of your own. We’ve tried to match you with great candidates, but they’re hard to find right now. We’re not giving up, and we can talk more after worship about that. That said, I wonder what story you are telling yourselves in this moment. Are you the congregation without a pastor struggling along until the miracle moment? Or, and this is what I think, you’re a congregation engaged in good, exciting ministry, who care about each other, who care about your community, who extend a broad welcome to all, who are alive and Spirit-filled. And, I know, tired. Because transitions are tiring. Ministry is tiring. I just hope you know God’s presence with you now, in this waiting, in the ministry you are doing, in the hunger and the feeding, in the exhausted rowing and in the arrival of God in your midst in surprising ways.

Because while we associate Christ most with the miracle moments, he is there in all of it. He is there drawing the crowds in need of healing. There with compassion for those who are hurting. There planning ahead and helping us discover abundance in the midst of our scarcity. There helping us pick up the pieces – broken and abundant. There coming to us in the storm. God is not hanging around waiting for the big moments but joining us in every moment.

As you bring your own burdens, needs and cares today. As you carry the weight of a world divided and at war. As you worry about your own church community and the call process that isn’t going as you’d hoped. Come. Christ calls the hungry and hurting, the longing and hoping, the grieving and broken to the table. Where there is a miracle waiting. A miracle in which God offers a taste of the abundance that is always there, a miracle that reminds us of God’s presence in the ordinary as well as the extraordinary, a miracle of community gathered to feast and experience God with us every step of the way.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Whose Party are You Going to?

8th Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 15B)
July 14, 2024
Zion Lutheran Church, Bristol, CT

¹⁴ King Herod heard of [the disciples’ preaching,] for Jesus’ name had become known. Some were saying, “John the baptizer has been raised from the dead; and for this reason these powers are at work in him.” ¹⁵ But others said, “It is Elijah.” And others said, “It is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old.” ¹⁶ But when Herod heard of it, he said, “John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.”
¹⁷ For Herod himself had sent men who arrested John, bound him, and put him in prison on account of Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife, because Herod had married her. ¹⁸ For John had been telling Herod, “It is not lawful for you to marry your brother’s wife.” ¹⁹ And Herodias had a grudge against John, and wanted to kill him. But she could not, ²⁰ for Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he protected him. When Herod heard John, he was greatly perplexed; and yet he liked to listen to him. ²¹ But an opportunity came when Herod on his birthday gave a banquet for his courtiers and officers and for the leaders of Galilee. ²² When his daughter Herodias came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his guests; and the king said to the girl, “Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it.” ²³ And he solemnly swore to her, “Whatever you ask me, I will give you, even half of my kingdom.” ²⁴ She went out and said to her mother, “What should I ask for?” The mother replied, “The head of John the baptizer.” ²⁵ Immediately she rushed back to the king and requested, “I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter.” ²⁶ The king was deeply grieved; yet out of regard for his oaths and for the guests, he did not want to refuse her. ²⁷ Immediately the king sent a soldier of the guard with orders to bring John’s head. The soldier went and beheaded John in the prison, ²⁸ brought his head on a platter, and gave it to the girl. Then the girl gave it to her mother. ²⁹ When John’s disciples heard about it, they came and took his body, and laid it in a tomb. -= Mark 6:14-29

If you can get past the gruesome, gory details of the beheading of John the Baptist, imagine what it would have been like to be invited to the King’s birthday party – a magnificent event with lots of rich and powerful people. Fancy clothes, rich food, music and dancing.

King Herod is by most measures a wild success. He grew up in a royal household. His territory is not the largest by any means, but he holds power over a significant territory in a powerful empire. He was far from the favorite son of his equally gruesome father, but he received the best education money could buy in the very power center of the Mediterranean world, the equivalent of a law degree at Harvard or an MBA at Columbia. As king, he initiated many a building project, fortifying his small corner of the Roman empire against attack. He lived in grand style, capable of throwing magnificent parties no doubt attended by the crème-de-la-crème of Judean society. He surely was busy as a leader, but he was also busy enjoying the many benefits of his position of power.

Whether we buy in fully or not, most of us are influenced by a society that lifts up power, wealth, influence, fortification of territory, and the opportunity to live a life of privilege. Who among us hasn’t envied a neighbor has more disposable income or what we perceive to be a better life, a better marriage, a better job, a better house, a better whatever. Or dreamed what we’d do with a mega-millions lottery win. For that matter, what church hasn’t looked around with envy at another congregation and envied their budget and attendance numbers, what seems to be from the outside a thriving church.

I genuinely value compassion, service, caring for others, equality and justice, the power of love and peace over the power of money and war. And… I’m human, so sometimes – too often, perhaps – I forget what I value and give in to the longing for power, wealth and success as defined by the world’s standards. I don’t envy Herod, at least not the Herod in this story, but he represents a kind of celebrity that holds a certain appeal.

But Jesus is not invited to Herod’s party. And he’s made it pretty clear that he wouldn’t attend even if he got an invitation served up on a silver platter. In fact, in other gospels Jesus tells a parable about an invitation to a party – when the powerful people are too busy the character in the parable throws open the door to the anyone and everyone to come to the feast.

While Herod is busy throwing parties and building up fortifications, Jesus is out healing – raising from the dead a little girl that society doesn’t really value that much, healing a woman who had been written off for her disease. He gets busy healing the multitudes of all manner of diseases – people whose names weren’t considered important enough to record, people whose status in society was probably very low. And immediately after this, Jesus will find himself surrounded by a crowd of hungry thousands. The disciples will turn to the obvious and remind him that they don’t have enough money to buy food for them all. But Jesus refuses to operate by the rules that govern the economy and feeds the thousands with a few loaves of bread.

It’s such a contrast, these two ways of living. Those who abide by the rules of power, wealth, and influence and those who abide by the rules of open generosity, deep compassion, and resurrection hope. To be clear, rarely if ever does Jesus outright condemn wealth, power, or influence – there are wealthy people who share openly, powerful people who bring themselves low to honor Jesus, and influential people who play a part in the story of salvation. But to orient one’s whole life toward it, to celebrate the things that will ultimately fail, is in the end a path of death.

This story is a reminder of what comes of those things we so often cling to. It’s John the Baptist’s gruesome death, yes. But ultimately we see the emptiness in the characters that surround Herod, too. They may not come to the same untimely death, but they have missed the best part of living.

This moment in the narrative of Jesus, this strange interlude stuck in the middle of the narrative of Jesus’ evolving ministry, strikes me as an invitation to us to consider which party we’re knocking on the door to get into. Two paths before us, two leaders we could follow, two ways of being in the world.

As I was returning from vacation this past week I was reading the poetry of Wendell Berry and one stood out to me as a kind of commentary on this reading.¹ I won’t read you the whole poem, partly for time, partly for what I think are some parts that are difficult for processing from an oral reading. But he starts out as if with an invitation to Herod’s party:

“Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

But then he turns, inviting us instead to Jesus’ kind of party:

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.

He continues, for several lines that I think mean, in essence, embrace patriotism as a love of your land and your fellow people but reject nationalism, the idea that one nation, one party, one way of being is always right and others wrong. He says…

Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.

He ends, and I’m skipping ahead here: Practice resurrection.

For that’s what resurrection is, in part. Yes, the calling forth of all God’s people on the final day to live anew. But also the call to die to the way the world asks us to be and in doing so find ourselves resurrected to a new and abundant life.

I think that is part of what we are doing together as we form Faith Lutheran Chruch in Bristol. We’ve stopped trying to go it alone, stopped trying to make the numbers work, stopped trying to succeed by the world’s measures. And in coming together we have to let go. In fact, we have to die. Only in letting go do we find ourselves resurrected. There will be moments in this process, moments in the life of this new congregation, where we, human that we are, will turn back to what we know from the world around us – looking for financial security, large numbers of people, perhaps even notoriety and influence. But God will keep calling us back to a life of generosity that doesn’t count costs, to the sharing of resources without calculation, to the celebration of all God’s people no matter their age, race, gender, sexual identity, bank account balance, language, or ability, to the healing power of relationships with one another. There will be moments when we have to die – to ourselves, our ideas about how things should be, and, yes, all of us, too, will one day die. If we haven’t gotten it by then, Jesus will be there to meet us and walk us forward into that far more life-giving resurrection party.

Practice resurrection, dear friends. When the world serves us gruesome violence or asks us to give ourselves over to the things we know cannot give us life in the end, practice resurrection. Follow the way of Jesus, whose party is always open to you, to everyone, and death no longer has a seat at the table.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

“Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front,” The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry, Penguin Random House, 1964, p. 54-55.

Interrupted Plans

6th Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 13B)
June 30, 2024
Congregations of Grace, Zion, and St. Andrew, in Bristol/Plainville, CT

Recording of worship available here: https://www.youtube.com/live/uUKxQWp3j20?si=r3CoLaN4fK1KnlZV

²¹ When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him; and he was by the sea. ²² Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw Jesus, fell at his feet ²³ and begged him repeatedly, “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live.” ²⁴ So Jesus went with him.
And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him. ²⁵ Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. ²⁶ She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. ²⁷ She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, ²⁸ for she said, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.” ²⁹ Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. ³⁰ Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?” ³¹ And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’ ” ³² Jesus looked all around to see who had done it. ³³ But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. ³⁴ He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”
³⁵ While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader’s house to say, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?” ³⁶ But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only believe.” ³⁷ Jesus allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. ³⁸ When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, Jesus saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. ³⁹ When he had entered, he said to them, “Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping.” ⁴⁰ And they laughed at him. Then he put them all outside, and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. ⁴¹ Jesus took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha cum,” which means, “Little girl, get up!” ⁴² And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement. ⁴³ Jesus strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat. – Mark 5: 21-43

If you know me at all, you know I like to have a plan. I like to know what will happen, what comes next, what the 1, 3, 5 10, 20-year plan is. If I could plan out every last week of my life I’d probably be happy. But we all have plans right?

We have plans for ourselves – maybe we have a vacation bucket list, a plan for our retirement, a hope for what our lives will be like in the future. We have plans to stay in our job and grow there or find a new job that is more fulfilling.

We have plans for our families – we want to see our kids, our grandkids, our nieces and nephews, the kids in our lives grow and flourish, go off and find their dreams, their passions, and above all be happy.

We have a plan for this new ministry that is forming. We have ideas for what we can accomplish better together. What will be possible, what will find new life with a bigger community ready to share the love of God.

We have plans for the world – we want our country to flourish, for peace between nations, for communities that embrace all people.

We have beautiful, wonderful plans.

So did Jairus. Jairus had a daughter. He wanted to see her grow up, see her find her way in the world, see her flourish. But she is struck with a sudden illness. She is on the brink of death. All of her plans, all of Jairus’s plans for his life and hers are at risk. There is no plan now. None of his religious training, his community connections, his wisdom or skill can plan his way out of this. There is nothing he can do except throw himself at the feet of Jesus.

So, too, the bleeding woman. She had plans for her own life. She had surely imagined her life differently. But she has spent 12 years experiencing a total lack of control over something in her body. Something that disrupts her plans, her life, her connections to community. She cannot fix it herself. None of the doctors she has seen have been able to help her, one wonders, even, if they might have only made it worse. There is no plan anymore, except to throw herself at the feet of Jesus.

And you know as well or better than I do, that our plans sometimes run up against the same kinds of uncontrollable interruptions. A loved one dies suddenly. A terrible diagnosis arises out of nowhere or an illness we cannot diagnose grinds our life to a screeching halt. A relationship fractures. We lose a job, a natural disaster damages our home, something we worked hard on falls to pieces. That doesn’t even touch the hopes we have for peace and wholeness in the world, which seem impossibly beyond our control even when we engage in all the ways we know to alleviate the suffering of others and advocate for justice.

We have a pretty good plan for this new ministry. One which will finally have a name today!! We have worked hard for two years to get here. There is still much work ahead. The steering committee has been slogging through some administrative preparations while also thinking and dreaming about ministry opportunities. The call committee is ready to interview pastoral candidates. You all are invited to be part of that planning.

But along the way we’ve already encountered some interruptions to our plans. Things that caused us to pause, rethink, replan; moments of fear frustration, and uncertainty. I have often spoken of the work of this particular process as taking one step at a time, checking in, praying, and then taking the next step. By the grace of God we keep moving forward on the path.

And there will be more interruptions along the way. I don’t know what they will be, but I know they will come. This ministry, like those that exist now, will have hard moments, things that disrupt the best laid plans. And while I think it will be a strong and thriving ministry for some time to come, there will be times where we have no choice but to throw ourselves at the feet of Jesus and trust that God’s healing power, God’s capacity for resurrection will carry us forward.

The thing about our plans is that they only carry us so far. Our plans have created the brokenness in our lives, our communities, and our world. Our plans, no matter how good, eventually fail one way or another. And yet we remain rather attached to them. At times, we’d rather follow our own plans even when they lead to things falling apart.

But that’s exactly where Jesus meets us: in the moments when our plans fall apart and we aren’t sure where to turn next. Jesus meets us on the road, listens to our cries, opens himself to sharing the divine healing power. Jesus comes to our deathbed and calls us to rise up.

It’s this experience that empowers us to go out and meet the world in its brokenness. Our community, our world is in desperate need. This ministry we’re a part of isn’t just a nice thing we do – it’s life and death stuff. It’s food for the hungry, solace for the grieving, hope for the hopeless, healing for the sick, and new life for those who are dying. When Jesus meets us in our disrupted, broken lives we are transformed to be conduits for God’s healing power for the sake of the world.

Ministry – this ministry – this will continue to be hard. There is grief ahead in these months. You will be saying goodbye to the plans you once had for your individual congregations. Saying goodbye to buildings or to a building as you’ve known it. Saying goodbye to traditions that even where they find life in the new ministry will still feel different. Saying goodbye to the particular way you have been community. Yes, there is much to celebrate, much life and healing and resurrection in the new ministry forming. But this is also a time of plans interrupted. A time of Jesus meeting us, taking time to see us.

There’s something that often happens with Jesus in the healing stories. He usually doesn’t just wave his hand over the crowd or send healing from afar. When Jairus comes to him he asks to visit the girl in their home. When the woman touches him, she is healed. But Jesus stops – not to chastise her but to see her, know her, offer her his attention.

God meets us here. Whatever burdens you bring today. Whatever needs healing. Whatever plans you have that have fallen apart. Whether in this process of coming together as a new ministry you feel you are despairing at the deathbed or witnessing the resurrection, Jesus has come to meet us here this morning. God meets us in word and song, bread and wine, in the presence of one another. And whatever our plans may be, God’s plan is always, always for new life.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

The Hands Tell the Story

3rd Sunday of Easter (Year B)
April 14, 2024
St. Peter’s Lutheran Church, Cornwall, CT

^36bJesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” ³⁷They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. ³⁸He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? ³⁹Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” ⁴⁰And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. ⁴¹While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” ⁴²They gave him a piece of broiled fish, ⁴³and he took it and ate in their presence.
⁴⁴Then Jesus said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” ⁴⁵Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, ⁴⁶and said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, ⁴⁷and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. ⁴⁸You are witnesses of these things.” – Luke 24:36b-48

This sermon was inspired by Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor’s sermon on this text published in Home By Another Way.

The hands tell the story.

In the book My Grandmother’s Hands, Resmaa Menakem tells the story of spending time with his grandmother as a child. Often as they sat together watching TV she would ask young Resmaa to massage her aching hands. One day he thought to ask her why her hands were so thick and swollen. She explained to him that as a young black girl in the south, at the age of four she had begun picking cotton on a plantation, joining other black workers struggling under racial oppression. The sharp burrs had scarred her hands forever. He is making the point that racism lives in the bodies of black and brown siblings. The hands tell the story.

Our hands tell a story, too. In a different way than other parts of our bodies, they say something about us and our lives. The cuts, bruises, dings, and maybe even missing tips of those who work with heavy duty machinery. The sun-weathering and wind-chapping of the hands of farmers and construction workers who do that work outside in all weather. The dirty fingernails of the gardener and the paint-flecked hands of the artist. The highly decorated nails of those who enjoy making them artful and beautiful. The calluses – on fingertips of string players and seamstresses, in the joint creases of the weightlifter or gymnast. The changes in the hands that come with age, visible in the hands that have tended to daily life year after year. The fingers of an infant still trying to coordinate with the brain to learn fine motor skills. The intertwined fingers of those who love one another. Of all the parts of the body, it is often the hand that we hold when a loved one is seriously ill or taking their last breath. Our hands tell our stories.

So, too, Jesus’ hands tell a story. Perhaps already worn from carpentry work before he began his ministry, they are almost certainly weather-worn from a first-century life mostly outdoors. As the sun was setting, early in Jesus’ ministry all those caring for any who were sick with various kinds of diseases brought them to him, and Jesus laid his hands on each of them and cured them. To the leper who asked Jesus if he was willing to heal him, Jesus reached out his hand, touched the man and said “I am willing. Be made clean.” It was Jesus’ hands that plucked grain to eat on the sabbath angering some of the religious authorities. When Jairus’s daughter dies, Jesus takes her hand in his and proclaims, “Child! Get up!” He laid hands on the woman who had been bent over for 18 years and restored her body. It his his hands that are nailed to the cross on Good Friday.

Now, at the end of the gospel account, when Jesus first appears to some of his most beloved followers, it is not his face that he draws their attention to. That would tell them it is Jesus. We recognize people best by their face. But the face does not tell them what has happened in the same way as the hands. That’s where Jesus draws their attention. Jesus’ hands reveal where he has been. They tell the story. In resurrection we and the disciples are drawn back through the story. Not just the healing and feeding and blessing, but the dying. There in the resurrected Jesus are the wounds of the cross. The hole, the scar. The sign of the immeasurable pain and suffering and humiliation that occurred just days before. This is a fully embodied Jesus, fully resurrected from the dead. He is hungry from his journey through the tomb to hell and back. Have you anything to eat? Do the nerve endings of his resurrected body still twinge with the memory of those nails?

I think the disciples are still in shock when Jesus appears to them, but soon enough they will be ready to go again. Resurrection! Life after death! Now we can go back and keep doing all the things we’ve been doing! And how wonderful would that be! For Jesus and the disciples to go back out on the road, now with an even more amazing story to draw the crowds. They can heal the sick, feed the hungry, proclaim the coming of God! Won’t it be great! And after a meal of broiled fish, they’d be on their way again as if the cross never happened. And it would be wonderful. And maybe they could if Jesus were just an apparition as they first feared, or if they just looked at the face of their beloved friend and teacher.

But the hands. The hands won’t let them forget. Won’t let any of us forget. Resurrection is not just a chance to go back and do what they’d already been doing. Resurrection changes things. It is something altogether new. Yes, Jesus came to teach and heal and work miracles. But Jesus also came to die. In resurrection they are not returning, but doing a new thing. They are living with the knowledge that love is stronger than death, that death is not the worst thing or the last thing.

Now, look at your hands. What stories do they tell? What do you see there? What memories and stories do your hands tell? What joys and sorrows are brought to mind when you look at them?

And consider this. In baptism we are baptized into Christ’s death that we might also be baptized into his life. We are people of the resurrection and we bear that marks of our own hardships and suffering as well as the marks of cross. Our story and Christ’s are forever bound. Our hands become his and his become ours.

At the communion table, it is our hands that we stretch forth, begging for a crumb of grace. Like Jesus appearing to the disciples, longing for something to eat to fill out need. Our hands reach for the bread, take the cup. Our hands hold God and bring God within.

So, too, then hands bless. The last time the disciples see Jesus’ hands he raised them in blessing as he ascends to heaven. Here in this place we bless one another with our hands in a sign of peace – whether that’s a handshake, a hug, or a touch-free gesture. And we bless as we go out to be the hands of God in the world.

And I wonder – a congregation doesn’t have a physical hand to tell its story. But we have a motto in the ELCA – “God’s Work. Our Hands.” Your hands, my hands – they are way God’s story is told in our world. What story is being told through this congregation? The steady presence rooted in this close-knit community, offering worship and care week after week. The partnerships you have been developing, getting to know your fellow Christians here in this community. The ways you connect through community events. The support you offer to the shared work of the whole church. And, perhaps the biggest impact, the way your hands serve one another and all the people in your lives.

Take a look at your hands again. What story do they tell? What story are they being called to tell next? Where might God be asking you to serve?

I know that here at St. Peter’s you’re aware of questions about the future. There are practical realities that have to be named and understood and contended with. But there is also a story of faith, God’s story in this place, told through your hands. That Christ is risen does not promise smooth sailing. Christ’s resurrected hands tell the whole story, not just the good parts, not just the life but also the death. Your story, this congregation’s story, all of it folded into God’s holy story.

So come again to the table today and offer your hands for the bread. Receive the blessing. Then go, serve God and serve your neighbor. And know you are lead by God’s wounded hands into whatever the future holds.

Pastor Steven Wilco

Jesus In It All

5th Sunday in Lent
Saturday, March 16, 2024
Holy Trinity Lutheran Church, Canton, NY (part of the North Country Lutheran Parish in Saranac Lake, Canton, and Plattsburgh, NY)

²⁰Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. ²¹They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” ²²Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. ²³Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son-of-Man to be glorified. ²⁴Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. ²⁵Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. ²⁶Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.
²⁷Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—;‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. ²⁸Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.” ²⁹The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, “An angel has spoken to him.” ³⁰Jesus answered, “This voice has come for your sake, not for mine. ³¹Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. ³²And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” ³³Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die. – John 12:20-33

It is almost officially spring. Time of year for new life, new growth, and planting of seeds. Where I live in Massachusetts the planting calendar has finally given the go ahead to start some seeds indoors. It’s a warm month so far but we can get frost into May, so it’s only the frost resistant vegetables like lettuces, chard, and kale and the seeds that take a long time to germinate before they are ready for planting like bell peppers. Some spring bulbs are sprouting, my bee balm is just beginning to send up some new growth, the pussy willow is budding. I am excited.

And I also have been practicing the discipline of waiting. For the sake of the pollinators I didn’t clear out the brush from last fall. I let things sit. I reminded myself that the winter dormancy is necessary for the cycle of new life that is about to spring forward. It will be summer filled with life and energy and hopefully delicious vegetables for my family and flowering plants for the insects. But fall and winter will come again. Plants will wilt and brown and go dormant or die out altogether.

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies it remains a single grain, but if it dies, it bears much fruit. We take this too often for granted, this miraculous and wonderful gift of seeds that break open and provide new growth and the seeds that will become next year’s abundance.

This is the metaphor Jesus uses today. It’s in response to a plea from some visiting Greeks: “Sir, we wish to see Jesus!” What a prayer. If I only had one prayer for the rest of my days that might be a good contender. In joy and sorrow, in challenge and opportunity, I wish to see Jesus revealed.

But in all honesty, I want to see Jesus revealed in the abundance of new life. I want to see Jesus revealed in beautiful gardens bursting with colorful blooms, in deep red, juicy tomatoes hanging from the plant, abundant blackberries sweet and tart ready for picking. I want to see Jesus in the exuberance and life and joy. I want to see the Jesus of Easter morning.

But we are here, still in Lent. We sometimes see Lent as a season where we hold back, fast, pray, enact penitence, all in preparation for Easter to burst forth and be the real celebration. But this image Jesus presents in response to the plea to see him, reminds us that we are not waiting for Jesus to be in the Easter reveal. Jesus is in it all along the way. Jesus is in the death and the dormancy, in the fruit burst apart to gift seeds for next year’s new growth.

This is a reminder I need constantly. I often feel I need to get it all together for God, that I need to have everything in order, my brokenness repaired, my sins contained. And I think many of our churches feel that way – that we’ll have Jesus when the pews are full, when the budget is balanced, when we have a full-time pastor, when whatever program we remember being successful in the past is alive again.

The gift of this image of the seed dying in the earth is that when we’re looking for Jesus we don’t have to wait for the new growth. Jesus is in the dying and the rising. The death and the new life.

Here in the North Country, you’ve already been through a number of changes. At Holy Trinity you’ve been in different locations. Folks at Redeemer have been in the same location but have been served by a number of pastors. You all have said farewell to your most recent pastor as he retired. Ministry here is nimble, and you all have stepped up to lead as lay members, willing to dive deep into scripture, theology, mission, and more to continue proclaiming God’s love in this place. You’ve seen many cycles of growth and decline, just within your own ministry.

But it’s not just one big cycle like our annual seasonal changes, it’s also one thing growing as another is receding. Nothing grows all the time. There is a natural ebb and flow. As if the church is a giant field in which some plants are sprouting, some are producing fruit, some are dying back, and some ground is fallow for what comes next.

In this stage as a congregation, you’re exploring your mission as a newly formed parish. What can you do together that you couldn’t do alone? Call a pastor, yes. But what else? What new mission might emerge? What has lived its fruitful life and will give way to make space for something new. What will this next phase of your ministry bring? We talked about some of that in our meeting earlier today. Jesus, I trust, is in it all.

This is true in our communities, too, both small local community and big world community. There are challenges here that are reflected in all of our communities – poverty, racism, conflict. We live in a politically divided country and a world full of war, famine, and disease. Climate change threatens to destabilize our global ecosystem. There is much to worry over. And also the gifts of people who engage in building relationships, creating solutions, brokering peace, welcoming immigrants and refugees, and so much more. Dying and rising, death and life, and Jesus in it all.

What is growing in you? Or dying back in you? What gifts might be dormant within you that are needed by your community? In health changes, in job changes, in relationship changes, in new opportunities and missed chances, have you prayed that you might see Jesus? Where have you felt Jesus’ presence in it? Where in your life are you still struggling to see God’s walking with you?

Wherever you are in your own journey today. Whether you see clearly Jesus leading you or whether your struggle to see Christ’s presence in the ups and downs of life, come today again to the table of mercy.

Here, as we sometimes sing in the ancient words of the early church, the grains of wheat once scattered on the hills were gathered into one to become our bread, so may all your people from all the ends of earth by gathered into one in you.

Here we take into ourselves the fruit of that grain. Seeds that have burst forth with life, completed their cycle. And Christ’s body, crucified and risen, in with and under the grain. Together they become a seed in us. Revealing anew to us the presence of Christ dying and rising in us. The gift we receive at this table is one that renews in us the call of God and equips us to grow and bear fruit, and, yes, even equips us to die – to die to our own sin, our own control, our own insistence on how things ought to be, even ultimately gets us ready for when death itself finally comes. It renews in us God’s promise that death is not the worst thing or the last thing, but a moment in which through God new life is about to spring forth.

Pastor Steven Wilco

A Cross-bearing God

2nd Sunday in Lent (RCL Year B)
February 25, 2023
Prince of Peace Lutheran Church, Brookfield, CT

¹When Abram was ninety-nine years old, the Lord appeared to Abram, and said to him, “I am God Almighty; walk before me, and be blameless. ²And I will make my covenant between me and you, and will make you exceedingly numerous.” ³Then Abram fell on his face; and God said to him, ⁴“As for me, this is my covenant with you: You shall be the ancestor of a multitude of nations. ⁵No longer shall your name be Abram, but your name shall be Abraham; for I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations. ⁶I will make you exceedingly fruitful; and I will make nations of you, and rulers shall come from you. ⁷I will establish my covenant between me and you, and your offspring after you throughout their generations, for an everlasting covenant, to be God to you and to your offspring after you.”
¹⁵God said to Abraham, “As for Sarai your wife, you shall not call her Sarai, but Sarah shall be her name. ¹⁶I will bless her, and moreover I will give you a son by her. I will bless her, and she shall give rise to nations; rulers of peoples shall come from her.” – Genesis 17:1-7,15-16

³¹Jesus began to teach them that the Son-of-Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. ³²Jesus said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. ³³But turning and looking at his disciples, Jesus rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
³⁴He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. ³⁵For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. ³⁶For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? ³⁷Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? ³⁸Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son-of-Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.” – Mark 8:31-38

According to a variety of studies by the Pew Research Agency over the last decade or so, churches are no longer the first or best place to learn morality.

Now, churches are a place that should and mostly do operate and teach in a moral way. This is not a sign that churches are somehow slipping in their morality. Just that people can and do learn morality in schools, in scouts, in sports, in Rotary, in conversation with others and in reading a variety of books and staying in touch with the world. They learn them through community service with or without religious affiliation. My own moral formation was largely spurred in early years by church participation but influenced for the better by all manner of secular experiences. If we are here to be “good” people – whatever we think that means, I hope that’s reinforced here, but I also hope church doesn’t stop there.

What we’re called to is cross-bearing. And that something above and beyond moral values and actions.

Take Sarah and Abraham for example. Back when their names were still Sarai and Abram they were living a prosperous and likely fairly moral life. Not perfect, but good decent people. God calls them not to shape up their moral life, but to go. To give up their security, their home, their way of life, to follow a call and a blessing, and absurd one given their age and their lack of an heir to carry on their family. God promised not a comfortable life with 2.4 children, but descendants more numerous than the stars. He’s told to go settle in the promised land, but it turns out that land is occupied by others. He is called in his blessing to give a 10^th of his wealth. He is called to liberate his brother from an army of kings. The promise isn’t straightforward, but in fact God reveals that not all will be ease and blessing for him and his descendants. There will be long centuries of oppression and more warfare ahead.

Abraham and Sarah demonstrate plenty of moments of morality – following the codes of hospitality and generosity of the time, asking God for what is right, waiting patiently. But they also demonstrate plenty of less than stellar moments. On two occasions Abraham and Sarah tell a ginormous lie that gets them in big trouble. They fail to trust God’s promise and try to take matters into their own hands. They banish Hagar and Ishmael to die in the desert, oblivious it seems to God’s miraculous care for them.

So are they courageous? Very! Loyal? Fiercely. Bold risk-takers? You bet. Faithful? On the whole, yes, deeply faithful. But moral? Well… sometimes more than others. Centuries before the Romans even invented the cross as a means of public torture and execution, even more centuries before Jesus spoke about it and then endured himself the cross, Abraham and Sarah take up their cross to follow God. They give up everything to live a life of bold risk, trusting in something that they didn’t even see fulfilled in their lifetime, something beyond what they could touch and hold and know. God didn’t send them out for the purpose of experiencing suffering, but God also didn’t beat around the bush about the fact that suffering would be a part of the experience.

So, too, Jesus with the disciples. They aren’t ready to hear the depth of risk and suffering that will be involved in maintaining God’s commitment to radical and inclusive love. Peter takes the opportunity to rebuke Jesus: “Enough of this talk about crosses and death, we’ve been healing people and talking about God come near! Let’s do more of that!” But Jesus isn’t having it. Jesus knows all the good work they’ve been doing comes at a price. Not a monetary one, but a much costlier one.

You see, Jesus didn’t get killed because he went around doing good things, preaching nice things. He got killed because he suggested God, God’s love, and all living things were more important than maintaining order or power or even doing “good.” The call is to bear the cross

The question then becomes – what kind of cross-bearing is God calling us to in this present moment?

Doing good stuff is important if not always easy. Serving community feeding programs like Daily Bread in Danbury. Donating resources for world hunger, disaster relief, and many other important causes that affect real change in people’s lives. Caring for each other and tending to one another’s mental, physical, and emotional health in caring community together. Caring for the earth. Caring for young people and older people, lonely people, struggling people. This is work I know you do. It is so deeply important and a clear expression of your faith. And yet I wonder if it is quite yet cross-bearing.

Keeping the congregation going, especially through pastoral transition, isn’t always easy work. Making sure committees are functioning and sign-up sheets filled. Tending to stewardship and finance. Holding broad opinions together as you seek to move together as a community into the future. All of that supports and makes possible the deeper mission you have, but it is not yet quite cross-bearing.

Cross-bearing, I think, is that thing that is asking you to pick up all that you have and all that you are and go – into something new, something uncertain, something maybe even a little or a lot terrifying. Cross-bearing is that call that’s nagged at you deep within that you’ve been trying to avoid but it will not let you go. Cross-bearing is being okay with the kind of grace from God that will break you apart into a thousand tiny pieces and put you together again as a whole new creation. Cross-bearing is clinging to hope despite the crumbling of everything around you. Cross-bearing is submitting to death because you trust the one who says it’s the only way to life. What Cross-bearing is God calling you to in this moment of your life? In this moment of the congregation’s life?

It’s not easy. I’m with Peter ready to rebuke God for even suggesting it. And yet…

Lectionary blogger Dan Clendenin puts it this way: “The deist God is remote, safe, and silent. He won’t bother you. He won’t intervene in human history or answer your prayers. And he sure won’t speak to you or do the impossible.” That is, the God we often imagine, the God we often pattern our lives after is a nice God of moral action in the world. That God is safe. The problem is that God also doesn’t resurrect us from the dead.

But the God we proclaim as a church, is the one who does intervene in human history, answer our prayers, speaks to us, and does the impossible. And the one who calls us to the way of the cross. Those things are intimately bound up together. Death and resurrection.

With Abraham and Sarah, and so many saints before us, with Jesus who leads the way not only to the cross but to resurrection, we are called to uproot ourselves, give up some of the things dearest to us, take bold risks, try out some things that might be deeply uncomfortable at first, and even attempt to do the impossible. Lent is a time not just to reflect together, but to spur one another on to this kind of cross-bearing.

And that’s a whole lot harder than being a good person. Most days it’s not particularly appealing. But it comes from a God of deep love. A God of deep compassion. A God with the power to pull life from a barren woman and bodies up out of the grave. A God who bears the cross lest we have to bear it alone. This call comes from the only God who knows that we all end up meeting death one way or another and from the only God who knows that it’s the only way to resurrection.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Now What?

1st Sunday in Lent (Year B)
February 18, 2024
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Stamford, CT

⁸God said to Noah and to his sons with him, ⁹“As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, ¹⁰and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. ¹¹I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.” ¹²God said, “This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: ¹³I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. ¹⁴When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, ¹⁵I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. ¹⁶When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.” ¹⁷God said to Noah, “This is the sign of the covenant that I have established between me and all flesh that is on the earth.” – Genesis 9:8-17

⁹In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. ¹⁰And just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. ¹¹And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
¹²And the Spirit immediately drove Jesus out into the wilderness. ¹³He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.
¹⁴Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, ¹⁵and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the dominion of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” – Mark 1:9-15

Well…now what?

I think that’s the essential question posed by today’s scripture texts. Now that that is over, what do we do now?

Imagine Noah and his family. For years they build an ark preparing for the flood. They are ridiculed by their community. They load themselves and all the animals up. The rains come 40 days and 40 nights. Then the ark floats months on end while the waters recede. Finally. Finally! They walk out on dry land. God promises never again. God has saved them in this strange and miraculous way. He makes of them a fresh start for the whole earth. The sun shines on a new day, rainbow and all. Now what? God has saved you and given you a whole new fresh start. What will you do with it?

So, too, Jesus. Here at the beginning of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus emerges from anonymity. He comes to be baptized by John in the Jordan – it is his own flood experience, perhaps just as powerful if far more brief than Noah’s. The heavens tear open, the spirit descends, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Wow! Where do you go from there. If we didn’t know the rest of the story that would seem the pinnacle of the story already. Now what? What does this baptism mean? What does it call him to do? To be?

So, too, us. Here we are, washed in the waters of baptism, forgiven, loved and free. Now what? To what are we being called in this moment? What is it that we actually do now?

Our nation continues to struggle with a highly polarized political environment that has become more about winning elections and controlling power than about serving citizens. Israel and Palestine continue on a path of intended mutual destruction and it is less and less clear that there is a solution for all to live, much less to live in peace. We continue to have intractable challenges where people every day die from hunger, live without shelter, and cannot find a homeland that is safe from violence all in a world with a changing climate threatening to destabilize human community. We may be people gifted with the Holy Spirit and called by God, but who are we in the midst of such big challenges? Now what?

We’ve been through a global pandemic. It’s changed the way we operate in so many ways. I am well aware that the stress, anxiety, grief, and loss is still affecting our mental health and our capacity to communicate gently and carefully with one another in so many contexts. It has accelerated the decline in membership across institutional religion. I know you’ve talked about what has been lost just here at St. John’s, the things you hope to rebuild. But it is not just St. John’s, not just Lutherans, not just Christians. I’ve had occasion to talk with two different Jewish clergy from two different states in the last week and this same thing came up. We’ve been through something terribly challenging and are trying to pick up the pieces. Now what?

And you sit here poised in the middle of a pastoral transition. You’ve done good work to identify who you are and where you’ve been. You’ve celebrated the ministry of your now retired pastor and welcomed a transition pastor. Your leaders have worked hard to incorporate all your input into a fantastic congregational profile. Your call committee is readying to receive candidates. You are a strong congregation in many ways, ready to continue expanding your ministry. But what does that look like? How will you welcome a new pastor and lead together with that person? Who will you be in the future as St. John’s? Now what?

Now, I hope you’re not expecting me to present you with an answer to that question. I’d love to. I really would. I’d love to give you a set of steps to solve all the problems. At least the church ones. But that’s not how the life of faith works. There aren’t easy straightforward answers, just communities of imperfect people walking together to figure it out. But perhaps today’s scriptures, besides helping us pose the question, might give us some food for the journey.

First, our path doesn’t have to be perfect. I think there’s often a false assumption that we have to keep getting it right. We worry about doing all the things perfectly and we either run ourselves ragged or end up paralyzed afraid to make decisions and take action. But none of this is a simple, easy, straightforward path from baptism to perfection. Noah, for all his faith, courage, and commitment couldn’t fully handle the broad opportunity to create a new life in a newly refreshed earth. He turned to drink, though in another setting it might as easily been addiction to power, work, consumerism, money, greed, sex, or any number of other things. Just after this beautiful new start, the righteous man chosen to carry forward the human community turns out just as flawed as anyone else. While we needn’t celebrate the flaw, we recognize him still as a hero of the faith. He is both. Our now what is not only for perfect people. Every single one of us has gifts that will help carry us into the future. Every one of us has flaws that will trip us up. We carry forward anyway, knowing that in community together we have what we need both to build up our gifts and care for one another in our failings.

Second, our now what is not an easy path. After baptism Jesus goes into the wilderness 40 days. We might equate that with an ascetic retreat or a vision quest or some kind of trial of self to see what one is made of. But I think of it as genuine wandering. A time of trying to figure out what in the heck any of this means. What does the tearing of the heavens and the voice mean exactly? At least in the synoptic gospels, Jesus’s human side is sometimes still catching up with the divine vision.

I particularly like Mark’s version of the 40 days in the wilderness that we read today. If you’ve been around the Bible or church for a while you might remember that in Matthew and Luke’s gospel Jesus fasts 40 days and then the tempter comes in corporeal form to present three big clear trials. All well and good. But Mark makes it sound like a 40 day wilderness with temptation lurking, calling, taunting throughout. I don’t think we’re on a journey as people, as faith communities, as communities and nations that will lead us finally to a big turning point where then everything changes for the better. I think we’re in this wilderness with temptation at every turn, constantly learning, growing, falling and getting up again. Temptation is much more pervasive and subtle most of the time. We might let go of our expectations about a linear journey to greater success, however we want to define that. But rather a journey to learn what we can and figure out how not just to survive but to thrive in our wilderness.

Third, we may find a lot of unexpected partners in this journey. Noah was thrown into a boat with a bunch of animals. Jesus was with the wild beasts. And the angels attended him. The angels, sure, but I’m not sure about wild beasts or the ark full of animals. But I do wonder if those are reminders to expect unexpected partners. Who are the people who don’t identify as church goers or even people of faith who might walk with us in our mission to share the good news in word and deed? Who might be an angel – that is a messenger of God’s presence – in a disguise that we are not prepared to notice? Is God doing something somewhere in someone that we have failed to notice? How are we opening our eyes to the possibility of God’s presence accompanying us everywhere we go and not just in the church building?

So, now what? Take a step. Whatever the next step is. Use your gifts for the sake of this congregation. Use your gifts for the sake of the world. Take risks to step out in love for others. When your new pastor comes, welcome that person and find ways to take the next steps with them. Because the one thing that is abundantly clear is that God is with you. God is with you in storm and sunshine, in failure and success, in lonely wilderness and in new starts. God has claimed you in baptism and called you to share God’s good news.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Newness and Sameness

Transfiguration Sunday
February 11, 2024
Grace Lutheran Church, Plainville, CT

²⁷Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” ²⁸And they answered him, “John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” ²⁹He asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.” ³⁰And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.
³¹Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. ³²He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. ³³But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
³⁴He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. ³⁵For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. ³⁶For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? ³⁷Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? ³⁸Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”

¹And he said to them, “Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see that the kingdom of God has come with power.”
²Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, ³and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. ⁴And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. ⁵Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” ⁶He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. ⁷Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved listen to him!” ⁸Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus. -Mark 8:27-9:8

Can you all feel the shift in the weather this last week? I know it’s going to be cold again. Winter is not over, the groundhog’s shadow notwithstanding. But I’ve been noticing more light in the morning and the evening. The imperceptible daily change finally adding up to a bit more daylight. I even thought I caught a hint of spring on the air on Thursday when the last of the snow melted and an unseasonably warm breeze blew through my yard. It was fleeting. But I felt it.

The world turns on its axis day in and day out. It travels around the sun creating our New England seasons year after year. In that sense every day, every season, every year is like another. The birds will return, flowers will bloom, plants will grow. Heat will come and abundant harvests. The turning of the leaves and chilling of the air. Crisp cold and perhaps snow. Then it starts over again. Each year like the one before it.

And in another sense no day, season, or year is like the one before. Every day brings its new challenges, every season its own new events. We grow and change. Communities grow and change. Nations even come and go if usually on a longer time scale. What will this year hold that is new, different, unexpected?

In some sense I think this sameness and newness of the changing seasons is what our text is about today – this strange day of the church year in which we remember Jesus’ transfiguration. Our text begins with Jesus questioning the disciples: Who do people say that I am?

Well, they say, people are trying to put you in historical context. John the Baptist? Elijah? One of the prophets? You are the latest in a round of God’s heaven-sent messengers, new for us in this season to do what others have done before.

Who do you say that I am?

Peter, ever bold, “you are the Messiah!” You are something different. You are unique. You are the new thing we have been waiting for.

But of course, Peter misses that like many of the prophets before and since, like Peter himself will one day become, it is not a path of glory but a path to the cross, to suffering, to challenge, and death. Jesus is new and not new. Jesus is both a unique incarnation of God and the latest in a long line of God’s prophets.

Then Jesus takes three of them up the mountain. Again, not an unusual thing for then or now to take a quiet retreat up the mountain. But here Jesus transfigures before them, dazzling bright. Moses and Elijah appear. They hold council. The past – the figure of Moses who led the people out of Egypt but who never saw the promised land; the figure of Elijah whose mission was not over when he was taken up to heaven in a whirlwind and passed his mantle to Elisha; all they represent – the people who sought to live in harmony with the torah and the people who were challenged by the voices of the prophets – all of the past meets here in the present and looks to the future. Jesus is new and not new. He is leading all of them into something different, unexpected – this transfiguration makes that clear. But he is bringing the past with him into that new future.

This is sometimes called a little Easter – a glimpse of resurrection glory before the walk to the cross. A pattern we follow in our liturgical seasons. This event is not the resurrection. It is not the solution of their problems, it is not the end of war and strife and pain and death. But it’s a glimpse for the disciples of some of what could be possible. It’s a mixing of time – past, present, future. All in harmony together.

Peter, again ever bold, Wouldn’t it be nice to stay here? Let’s set up camp and dwell in this harmony where the past, present, and future are alive in God’s glory!

Thwarted again. The point is not to stay, even in the glory of the mountaintop, but to head back down the mountain and engage the next turn, the next day, the next season, the next year. And to take into the next cycle of days the knowledge of God’s holding it all from beginning to end.

This is the life of faith and the life of the community of faith. We cycle through days, seasons, years, whole centuries. Each one is new and not new. In continuity with the past but also turning in a new way, a new direction, a new time. What if we could glimpse all of it in the way God can, holding all things together?

Here at Grace I think you have already begun to wrestle with that as you formed your Why statement: “Grounded in the Spirit we recognize the generational changes in this world while honestly and humbly working to love and support all.” You recognize both change and continuity.

This year holds some important decisions for Grace. You know that a decision about whether or not you want to partner in a new collaboration will be coming within a couple months. If you choose yes, there will be very hard work ahead. There will be exciting new things but also grief, sadness, changes. If you choose no, there will be other hard decisions ahead in the coming year or two. There will be new things but also grief, sadness, changes. I would love to spare you the hard part. I would love to be Peter stepping in to say, “No!” Things will stay just as they are in this moment. This is good right here. Let’s stay. No talk of the cross, of death.

But, well, that turns out not to be his finest moment. It is in fact the center of our faith that things die and rise again to new life. That is not because what has been is bad and what comes next is better. It does not mean one thing failed and another will succeed. It means that living things change, grow, even die. AND it means that who we are is held in God so that the past is not lost and the future is full of new life in conversation with the past.

I do not pretend to know what the right decision is for you as a congregation. I don’t even always know the right decision to make for myself. But I do know that the history of God’s people is full of these cycles. One thing rolls into another. We look back and imagine it was easy because we’ve seen the next parts of the story. But those moments of one thing rolling into another Moses to Joshua, Elijah to Elisha, John the Baptist to Jesus, Jesus to the disciples and to us – those are life altering death and resurrection moments. And on this mountaintop today we glimpse God’s view that holds that all as one.

What will this year bring for you? I don’t know all your individual stories. The health concerns that you and your loved ones hold that may need attention in the coming year. The relationships that are forming or breaking. The new ventures and life changes this year might bring for you. I don’t know what world events and community pain weighs on your hearts. I do know that this year will bring both newness and sameness.

This week on Ash Wednesday we will remember that every one of us faces death sooner or later. And we will remember in that God holding it all, life and death, grief and hope, newness and sameness. God holding you. God loving you. God embracing all that is, all that has been, and all that will be. Amen.

Pastor Steven Wilco

Holy Disruptions

4th Sunday after Epiphany (Year B)
January 28, 2024
St. Paul Lutheran Church, Terryville, CT

²¹Jesus and his disciples went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. ²²They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. ²³Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, ²⁴and he cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” ²⁵But Jesus rebuked the spirit, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” ²⁶And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of the man. ²⁷They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” ²⁸At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee. – Mark 1:21-28

I wonder what would happen if Jesus came to church with us this morning.

That’s what happens, in a sense, in today’s Gospel reading. Jesus comes to the synagogue in Capernaum on an ordinary sabbath day. The gatherings on sabbath days were not the same as those in modern Judaism, but they would have been something we and our modern Jewish siblings in faith would have recognized. They would have gathered. Perhaps paused to share with one another about things that had happened in their lives. They would have heard scripture read. Someone would have given some interpretation. It would have followed a pattern familiar to them. It would have been routine. Routine in the kind of way that beautiful traditions repeat themselves over and over – full of life, but also blessedly predictable.

This familiar, predictable pattern is first interrupted by their awe of Jesus’ teaching. Wonderful, I’m sure. But also something within the realm of the expected. What they usually heard, just better. You can imagine the morning carried forward, just with a bit of whispering in the pew. “Wow! Isn’t this amazing?!”

But then something else happens. Something much more disruptive. A demon-possessed man enters. Shouting. Shouting not for healing. Not some strange, unintelligible rant. But pointed shouting at the one who was teaching with authority. Again, imagine this happening here in the middle of your own Sunday morning routine. Interrupting your own beloved patterns, perhaps interrupting the very way in which you have come to connect with God. How are you feeling? What do you do with this man? Do you avert your eyes and hope the whole thing goes away? Do you usher him out and give him the number of the crisis helpline and send him on his way? Do you try to talk with him?

Jesus, being Jesus, doesn’t back down but commands the demon out of the man. Is it a split-second before the healing is clear? Longer? Minutes, even? You can cut the tension in the synagogue with a knife. What will happen? If it works, what then? What could that mean? If not, what will we do next?

However long it takes, it does work. The man is released from what binds him and stands in the assembly healed and whole again. The crowd is amazed.

I imagine they never do hear the end of the sermon, never do finish their usual pattern of worship. They do seem to remember that he taught with authority, though I imagine no one remembers what he talked about or what the Torah reading was. No one talks about anything but that powerful moment of liberation. The totally unexpected, unprecedented interruption to their sabbath gathering. In fact, for some, even perhaps many, that moment interrupts their lives. It follows this that the whole city swarms the door of the house where he is staying. People come that their lives might also be set free from the demons that bind them.

Friends in Christ at St. Paul, do we expect Jesus to come and join us on Sunday morning?

In theory, probably yes. We would give the answer that we know is technically correct. We come here every Sunday expecting to see Jesus. And I believe we do meet Jesus here every Sunday. But we tend to meet Jesus in all the ways we’d normally expect. We encounter Jesus in the community we share together and in bread and wine. I hope it feeds our souls for our daily living. And then we continue on as we had before.

I wonder what it would look like for Jesus to show up to us as he did to the people attending worship in Capernaum. Would it look like the encounters with rich people he has later in the gospel accounts in which they go away unburdening themselves of wealth for the sake of others? Is it like the account of the fishermen who were called and left everything they knew to follow Jesus, becoming itinerant disciples who would end up persecuted and in many cases killed for their faith? Would it look like the town of Capernaum where radical, unexplained healing drew crowds such that no one got a minute of peace and quiet from now til – literally – God only knows when?

What would it look like for Jesus to transform your life, our lives with such radical authority? Would it be letting go of all the things we spend most of our time on – our properties, our meetings, our budgets, our committees and find ourselves instead out in the world building relationships? Would it look like, if not giving away all our personal wealth, giving away all our churches’ wealth (and in that I speak of the whole synod and its wealth, too) for the sake of justice in the world? Does it look like doubling down on the belief that Jesus is present and transforming the world toward love but letting go of some of our doctrinal or liturgical commitments? Does it look like miraculous healing and transformation? Does it look like expecting and welcoming disruption to the way things have always been?

We may expect to encounter Jesus at church, but most of us don’t expect him to disrupt anything, to change our lives. I am not Jesus, thankfully. And therefore I don’t have an answer for what exactly God is up to in this congregation, much less in the whole synod, the whole church of the 21^st century. I’m not here to tell you what to do, where to go, or what’s next. But I wonder if together, we might expect the unexpected from Jesus.

This meal we share. These scriptures we read. This water we baptize with. It has power. It has life and death power. There are people in this community, in this congregation. In every community, in every congregation. Wrestling with their demons. Grief, loss, addiction, chronic disease, disconnection, broken relationships, shame, guilt, mental health crises, hunger, houselessness, unemployment and underemployment. Too often they cry out – What do you have to do with us, Jesus?

It’s a good question. Another one I don’t have a complete answer to. But I know deep in my heart, deep in my own experience, that God’s love is a lifeline in crisis. God’s love can motivate and transform systems of injustice. God’s love doesn’t always fix all our physical ailments, but God’s love does heal bodies as well as souls. God’s love doesn’t necessarily undo the consequences of our actions, but it can love us into new life anyway. God’s love interrupts, disrupts the power of death in our world. Not, in my experience, preventing the death of people, of institutions, but reminding us that death is not the worst thing or the last thing.

And I think you know it, too, or you wouldn’t be here early every Sunday morning. Something here, some encounter with God has changed you, has disrupted something in a profound way, healed you in a profound way. Maybe you know what that is and maybe it is something to pause and wonder about. I suspect God’s disruptive healing has created ripples through you out into the world through your friends and co-workers and neighbors. Ripples of disruptive love that have been and will continue to be transforming the world.

So come, people of God, to this table again. Eat, drink, but perhaps expect today and every day the possibility that God is going to disrupt you, speak a calling into you, empower you to be a part of disrupting the world in which death seems to reign supreme.

And go from here today, not contented, but troubled. Troubled by the question of where God might be acting up in the world. Maybe here, inside these walls, inside this community. Maybe in a way you hadn’t thought of before. And maybe outside these walls, somewhere you didn’t expect Jesus to show up much less take center stage and transform something. Go from here curious. Because even though I don’t always know when or where or how, I do know God is active in me, in you, and in this world. In some way, I want to be a part of it, even if it causes great disruption to the life I had expected to unfold.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Now Is the Time (No, really, NOW!)

Third Sunday after Epiphany (Year B)
Sunday, January 21, 2024
St. Andrew Lutheran Church, Ridgefield, CT

¹The word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time, saying, ²“Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you.” ³So Jonah set out and went to Nineveh, according to the word of the Lord. Now Nineveh was an exceedingly large city, a three days’ walk across. ⁴Jonah began to go into the city, going a day’s walk. And he cried out, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” ⁵ And the people of Nineveh believed God; they proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth.
¹⁰When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God had second thoughts about the calamity that God had said would be done to them; and God did not do it. – Jonah 3:1-5, 10

¹⁴Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, ¹⁵and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the dominion of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

¹⁶As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. ¹⁷And Jesus said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for human beings.” ¹⁸And immediately they left their nets and followed him. ¹⁹As Jesus went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. ²⁰Immediately Jesus called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him. – Mark 1:14-20

[Sermon begins with some pulpit pounding and a fire-and-brimstone tone…]

40 days more and the kingdom will be overthrown! Repent!

The time is fulfilled, and the dominion of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news!

I considered in place of the sermon inviting you to join me in walking through the streets of Ridgefield in the style of Jonah and of Jesus, shouting these messages from our texts today. But, probably much to your relief, I decided against that.

I don’t mean that seriously, really. But I did for a moment imagine it. A group of us, shouting, proclaiming, the sense that our message was so urgent that we needed to go! Now! Tell as many people as possible as soon as possible!

This approach may have had its place in Jesus’ time – it’s certainly not my place to critique Jesus’ approach to evangelism. But I’m fairly certain it’s a relatively ineffective technique in our current context. And yet…

I worry that the North American church of the 21^st century has lost that sense of urgency. The sense of urgency that Jonah, when he finally did follow the call of God (that is, after the incident with the big fish), he proclaimed to the power center of his day that the time was indeed short. Now is the time or God will overthrow your city! Really, you have 40 days to get it together.

Likewise there is urgency when Jesus starts his ministry, maybe we missed the line at the beginning of today’s gospel reading “After John was arrested.” John the Baptist got himself arrested for proclaiming this message and soon he’ll be killed for it. And so Jesus picks up the message – the dominion of God has come near! Now! Now, is the time! Believe in the good news!” This was literally life or death stuff.

Only something with that urgency would inspire the fisherman to leap up and leave their boats behind. Leave their families, their way of life, to join Jesus on this mission. They clearly don’t yet know it will lead to Jesus’ death and in many cases their own, but they have to see it’s already a dangerous mission. And yet the urgency of now, the sense of God come close urges them forward.

Now, I am committed, and I know many of our churches and members are committed, to the understanding that God is love, God is everywhere, and God will sort things out in the end with and abundance of grace. That’s what I encounter in scripture, what I experience in my own life, what inspires me to serve in this church. And yet, I wonder if that has caused us wrongly to let go of the urgency. If God will sort things out in the end, we’ll just enjoy our time together as church and see what happens.

Yet, we do live in a time of great urgency. There are people for whom the message of God’s love and grace is, in fact, a matter of life and death. It’s easy to see, perhaps, in big world events. As Israel and Palestine continue at war, the need for God’s challenging message of loving neighbor in the most basic sense is needed now, today, no time to wait. Anywhere nations rage against each other, anywhere people employ violence, where guns are used to intimidate and kill, God’s love is needed urgently. The time is now! God’s reign has come near!

Just last weekend we made our annual observation of the life and work of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. We too often smile and give thanks and repeat his dream for unity and justice, while failing to engage the urgency of addressing the persistent and pernicious racism in our own day, in our own communities, in our own hearts. People are dying because racism persists. Violence spawned from imposed inequality, disparate health outcomes from a discriminatory health system, mental health impacted by the constant drip of aggressions in daily interactions for people of color. The time is now! God’s kin-dom come!

There are people in our communities and in our pews whose grief, depression, addiction, anxiety, weighs so heavily that their life is in danger. If that is you, hear now God’s immense and unconditional love and our encouragement to reach out. And for us as a community, we have a message that people need to hear, now.

God is calling. The time is now. God is near. Repent!

But what does that look like if not walking down the street with a bullhorn? (Which, by the way, to be clear, I’m not advocating as an effective primary strategy.) The answer, though, isn’t simple or straightforward. How do we answer God’s call to proclaim the coming reign of God? How do we participate in the movement of the world toward something even a little closer in line with God’s love and grace?

We have to keep listening, acting, reflecting over and over again. We have to speak from that place of love and grace in our daily interpersonal actions, with the collective voice of our congregations, in our communities, and for the world. We have to put our financial, time, and talent resources toward something that makes tangible our desire for that changed reality. We have to find the ways that make sense to each of us to impact the world.

I know you as a congregation have invested time and energy in supporting and welcoming the LGBTQIA community and taking that message out of your doors and into the streets. I know you support a number of organizations that feed, clothe, and house those in need. What else can you do collectively as a congregation to speak and act God’s love and grace into the world? The need is urgent. The time is now. If all we do is enjoy praising God together and go on our way comforted, then we have missed God’s urgent call to be the church.

Here’s the thing. God doesn’t just wave a magic wand to make the world a better place. Instead God calls ordinary people to use the gifts they have to share that message. I have lots of questions for God about this, because the magic wand approach sounds much easier. I know I don’t always follow the call as well as I could. Even with the best of intentions I have even caused harm attempting to follow the call. This strategy of God is imperfect at best from my perspective.

But God called Jonah, who had absolutely zero interest in following. Even after getting swallowed by a fish and spit back up on the shore, he had to be kicked in the pants to go share God’s message. I can’t imagine he did so with much enthusiasm. And yet…by God’s power working in him, he brought about a change in the center of empire, economic oppression, and tyranny over others.

The disciples whom Jesus calls are more eager, but they are no more experienced. They had no previously identified gifts for ministry. They will bumble along, sometimes outright clueless about what Jesus is doing. And still they will change the world. They will start the church that we are a part of today. They will share the good news of God’s love for all people. And they will do so with the urgency it calls for.

Here’s the thing. God has decided to use you. Not some generic you that allows us to point the finger and say “Not me, pick her, pick them, pick him.” But you, in particular. God calls you. God needs you. The world needs you. Your gifts. Your energy. Your love. Yours and mine. And the world needs it now.

So, come to the table today to receive again the presence of Christ, to be nourished for this work. Because now, today, this week, this month, this year, God is calling you to something for the sake of the world. You in your school or workplace or community. You in this congregation at St. Andrew. Us together as the church. And I, for one, can’t wait to see what happens when God leads us out from here on a wild and wonderful journey of discipleship.

-Pastor Steven Wilco