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

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

All Saints Sunday
115^th Anniversary of Bethlehem Lutheran Church, Georgetown, CT
November 5, 2023

¹When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. ²Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:
 ³“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
 ⁴“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
 ⁵“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
 ⁶“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
 ⁷“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
 ⁸“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
 ⁹“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
 ¹⁰“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
 ¹¹“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. ¹²Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” – Matthew 5:1-12

            I think maybe we should have read this gospel passage standing on our heads. I don’t know the last time you did that, but it really gives one a different perspective on things. Grass grows down, rain falls up, gravity pulls things to the sky, and nothing seems quite as it should. 

            It actually was Episcopal priest Barbara Brown Taylor who suggested this way of reading the beatitudes. That’s because Jesus turns the whole idea of blessedness upside down. This is a familiar form to the people of Jesus’ day. Actually it’s a familiar refrain in our own world. Blessed are the rich for they have earned their reward. Blessed are the powerful for they deserve their place of influence. Blessed are the housed, the fed, the clothed, the free, the citizen, the privileged, for, well, their blessing is obvious, isn’t it? 

            Sometimes we say it out loud. Sometimes we think it. Often it’s just soaked into our consciousness. Power, success, wealth, status, brains, brawn – they are what our society tends to value. Even if we engage practices to counter that, like the beautiful practice of gratitude journaling, pausing daily to notice things in our lives to be thankful for, often we connect blessing to the things we label as “good.” Gratitude for small moments of joy, the laugh of our little ones, the taste of delicious food. Blessed are the good moments. 

            But Jesus, teaching the crowds at the beginning of his public ministry turns all that upside down. Blessed are the poor in spirit. Blessed are those who mourn. Blessed are the meek, the persecuted, the ones hungering and thirsting for righteousness. What? That doesn’t sound blessed!? That sounds like a life full of challenge. It sounds like blessedness is found in really hard things. It sounds like blessedness is in the ordinary stuff we face every day. 

            And of course, that’s exactly Jesus’ point. Blessedness isn’t only in moments of joy and contentment, in success and achievement. Blessedness is, perhaps, as the ends of the sentences suggest, the presence of God with us in it all. You just sometimes have to stand upside down to see it. Or in more theological language, you have to look for blessedness through the lens of the cross – the place that looks like shame and death to the world but is in fact the moment of triumph for the God of life. 

            We are gathered here this morning to celebrate this congregation and its 115 years of ministry. You have chronicled the milestones in your history – presented in short timeline form in this morning’s worship folder. The founding by Scandinavian Lutherans in 1908. The pastors who have led you in ministry. The building and purchasing of buildings. Surely, those are moments of blessing. Those are moments where you felt excitement and joy at what was possible. Those are easy places to notice God’s blessing.

            But what about all the other little moments in between? What about the people who have faithfully set out bread and wine Sunday after Sunday so that this community could gather at Christ’s table to feast? Blest are they. What about the Sunday school teachers who raised generations of children to know the foundation of God’s love for them? Blest are they. Blessed are the musicians, choir singers, instrumentalists, and you the people of God raising your voice in this place. Blessed are the council and committee members who have wrestled with practicalities of ministry and who have sometimes born the burden of leadership in troubled time. Blessed are the ones who set out tables of fellowship for moments of joy and to feed the body along with the soul in moments of grief and mourning. Blessed are the ones who call us to tend to our neighbors through service and companionship. 

            You know this, of course, but sometimes we forget to say it, we forget to turn our vision upside down to understand it. In some ways that’s what the celebration of All Saints Day is about, too. It’s the church’s way of remembering that while we have lifted up some particular heroes of faith, blessed saints live among us everywhere because a saint is alive within each of us. 

            Here’s the hard part about these beatitudes, though – they sound great. God meets us in our moments of challenge and longing and grief and pain. That is blessed. And yet, it is not a rescue from the challenges. The history of this congregation, the history of any congregation, is full of hard moments, conflict, growing pains, anxieties. We know that’s reality, but too often we think it shouldn’t be that way. If we just did this thing better or if we just got through this hard moment, then we’ll find blessedness. But that’s not the promise of the beatitudes. The promise is God with you every single moment, challenging or joyful, difficult or wonderful. The promise is “Blessed are you.”

            The question, then, for the church, in the words of Martin Luther, “What does this mean?” We could of course go from here basking in the knowledge of our blessedness, content to enjoy the glow of God’s love for us. But as we gather to celebrate this morning, we do so in the midst of a broken and hurting world that desperately needs the gift of knowing their blessedness.        

            War looms on our minds as Israel and Gaza continue on a path of mutual destruction. How might we proclaim the blessedness of human life on every side, the right of every human to life, community, and peace? Racism is deeply embedded in our institutions including our churches. How might we remind ourselves and others of the blessedness of every life in a way that challenges those systems meant to strip some of their humanity? Hunger and homelessness abound in every community near and far. How can our collection of items provide a reminder of their blessedness while also striving to deepen our relationship with others so that we might bless each other not only in items but in presence? How can our blessedness spill over into the people we meet in our everyday interactions at work or school or home or while running errands? 

            Your anniversary title says 115 Years of Grace and Future of Faith. One way to look at that future is the sharing of this gift you have been given. When saints are baptized they are given a candle. We, the people of God, invite that person into a life of sharing that gift saying either “Jesus said, I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will have the light of life,” which comes from the verses immediately after today’s beatitudes. Or we say “Let your light so shine before others that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.” 

            That candle is such a beautiful symbol. In the sharing of the flame the light isn’t diminished. When light passes from one candle to another as we did this morning, there is more light, not less. Blessedness is like that. Our blessedness does not mean that others are not. When we live from that place and share from that place, we participate in God’s spreading blessing everywhere into every corner of creation. 

            It’s a hard time to be the church. The support for the church as institution is different than what many remember from a few decades ago. There are not easy answers, no jumping back to a supposedly wonderful time to be the church. But there is blessedness here, now, as we are. There is blessedness in every one of those 115 years of grace and in the future of faith. It isn’t perfect. God doesn’t promise easy journeys or quick fixes. Just God present in it all. Sometimes we just might have to turn our perspective around or even upside down to see it. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Reformation Sunday
October 29, 2023
Joint Worship with Grace (Plainville), Zion (Bristol), Gloria Dei (Bristol), at St. Andrew, Bristol, CT

³¹The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah. ³²It will not be like the covenant that I made with their ancestors when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt—a covenant that they broke, though I was their husband, says the Lord. ³³But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. ³⁴No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, “Know the Lord,” for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more. -Jeremiah 31:31-34

 ²¹But now, apart from law, the righteousness of God has been disclosed, and is attested by the law and the prophets, ²²the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe. For there is no distinction, ²³since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God; ²⁴they are now justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, ²⁵whom God put forward as a sacrifice of atonement by his blood, effective through faith. He did this to show his righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over the sins previously committed; ²⁶it was to prove at the present time that he himself is righteous and that he justifies the one who has faith in Jesus.
 ²⁷Then what becomes of boasting? It is excluded. By what law? By that of works? No, but by the law of faith. ²⁸For we hold that a person is justified by faith apart from works prescribed by the law. – Romans 3:21-28

³¹Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; ³²and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” ³³They answered him, “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free’?”
 ³⁴Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. ³⁵The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there forever. ³⁶So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.” -John 8:31-36

Link to the recording of the full worship service: https://www.youtube.com/live/CR5fSEX_1zc?si=HvOi1R7ergSu2kuY

            Today is a celebration! For me, anyway. I don’t know how you feel about it. I am celebrating that the weather is finally feeling more like it’s really fall. It feels like we’re finally at the real change of season. I love fall! It’s my favorite season. It’s a break from the oppressive heat of summer. The leaf colors are always a treat. There’s the fun of Halloween, opportunity to remember indigenous history of our land and connect with the indigenous communities in the area today, a season focused on gratitude, time for making soup and squash. And, my personal favorite, the long-awaited return of sweater season. 

            It’s not perfect mind you. I’ve developed a ragweed allergy and the mold in the leaves tend to aggravate my sinuses. My garden winds down and changes. I don’t mind the back to school time, but it’s a big shift in routine that we have to figure out all over again, at least in our household. 

Seasons are like that – I enjoy the cold and snow of winter, but it’s grey and short on sunlight. Spring is beautiful as it emerges, but it’s also mud season and allergy season again. Summer, well, that’s my least favorite season, but I hear people enjoy swimming and the beach and playing outdoors. But one does have to contend with sunburn and heat and bugs.

            The constant, though, is change. At least here in New England we get four really distinct seasons. However you feel about any one of them, you can count on it changing before too long. And change, well, it’s often both exciting and difficult. It’s almost always both gain and loss. But, 

            Sometimes in the church, perhaps especially on Reformation Sunday, we think about change as before and after, a timeline that marches steadily forward, one thing ends and another one begins. For too long we celebrated the triumph of the Protestants over the Catholics on this day, forgetting that both shaped the other and continue to live together, shaping the Christian faith. We have too often heard the Hebrew Scriptures dismissed as in sufficient and the Christian New Testament as the antidote, forgetting that it is the same God of love and grace who shapes it all. We have often lamented the changes that are happening in the church of today, remembering a supposedly good time of numerical growth in the past and a supposedly less good time of numerical decline in the present, forgetting, perhaps that nothing is perfect and God is somehow in it all. 

            We might be tempted to read such before and after kind of language into our scriptures today. “I will make a new covenant with Israel. It will not be like the one before it.” Well, I don’t want to argue with God, but it’s not really that new. What Jeremiah announces is a covenant of love and liberation in which God’s ways of being are written on our hearts. But that was true from Genesis chapter 1. It was true for Abraham and Sarah, Hagar and Ishmael, Jacob and Leah and Rachel, Joseph and his brothers. It was true for the people God liberated from slavery in Egypt. It was true for Ruth and Naomi, David and Solomon. This new covenant language is not a singular before and after – one way of being ends and another begins, but the promise that God is always enacting the same love and grace in a new time and place. 

            Jesus reminds his listeners that the truth will set them free. In one sense, the action Jesus ultimately points to is an act of God’s liberation for all creation in all times and places. It’s the renewal, rebirth, and reconciliation enacted at the baptismal font, recalled in our confession and forgiveness, proclaimed at our funerals. God’s liberation is both fully accomplished and also something we need enacted for us again and again and again. We could be like Jesus’ listeners and deny our need to be set free. 

            But if looking inward to our own brokenness isn’t enough, we have only to look at the world. The world news weighs heavy on us in particular these days. Military fighting and threats to annihilate whole peoples dominates the action in Israel and Gaza, denying the full humanity of both Israelis and Palestinians, of Christians, Jews, Muslims, and people of other faiths and no faiths. War continued in Ukraine, the Armenians are experiencing the beginning of another genocide. Families are in crisis at our borders and within our borders. The climate is changing in already catastrophic ways. Just as we experience cycles of renewal and rebirth, we also feel ourselves trapped by never-ending cycles of violence on the international and interpersonal scale. We have indeed been slaves to violence. God, we plead, set us free again. 

            Our plea may be an end to all violence and oppression everywhere, but our experience so far has been God’s growing and changing with us, proclaiming love and peace in new ways for every new time and place. I’m not convinced that world peace is just over the horizon. Unfortunately, I don’t think eternal world peace is going to happen anytime soon. So I’m glad we are not doomed to stay stuck where we are. 

            That’s the gift of this living and breathing seasonal change. We are alive and therefore we change. Some of the changes will be welcomed. Some will not. They will come whether we like it or not. It would be in some ways, comfortable to stay right where we are. But where we are isn’t always perfect. In fact it’s rarely perfect. 

            Here you are – four congregations gathered together today. You are exploring shared worship. You are starting shared confirmation. You are sharing events and adult faith formation and opportunities for outreach. You are exploring what else you want to do together and how working together might mean more opportunities to share God’s love and grace with your community. This is a new thing! It’s been done in other ways in other places by other people, but this is new for this community of people. And it’s change. 

            I wonder if we might follow the lead of God’s new covenant in scripture and think of this not as a simple before and after. There was not something perfect about the church of a few decades ago, even though the institution was larger. There is not something wrong with what each of these four congregations are doing now that we are going to fix by any changes that come. 

            Instead we are living through an ongoing cycle of growth in which each season brings its unique gifts and challenges and God is somehow in it all. I don’t know what will come of this collaboration – the possibilities are very much still open. Little has been decided. Your hopes and fears shared this month will be prayerfully considered as we take the next small step toward something. And the church will be reformed. Not from bad to good. But from what was into what will be, from what has been working to share God’s love to what might work next to share God’s love. This is what it means to be set free and live under the new covenant God is always making and remaking with us. The freedom to grow and change fed and nourished by grace. 

            In that context, let me make three invitations to you as you think about the changes that are possible for your congregations and any other changes you might be facing. 

            The first is this. We all know the New England Fall game of when you turn on the heat for the season. Some of you have already turned on the heat. Some of you are shivering until the last possible moment. Others somewhere in between. As seasons change we have to adjust. We each adjust differently. As you navigate the possibilities of coming together, some will have to metaphorically turn on the heat a little earlier than you wanted. Others are going to need to put on an extra sweater to get through til the heat comes on. Let’s do that with grace and hold each other in love as each of us reacts to the changing season of the church differently. 

            The second invitation is this. Let yourself be a tree. When it is fall and it seems like things you love are changing falling away, remember the hope and possibility of something new emerging after a period of rest. It will be rooted in what has been but it will be different than before. When you are bursting with energy and new ideas, remember those come from the growth that happened in previous seasons and give others time to conserve their energy so they can burst forth in due time. And remember that whether we like it or not change is going to happen. 

            The third invitation is this. Come and feast. Because the journey through the seasons is challenging. It takes energy and courage. The feast is spread before you here in bread and wine and gathered community. Come, eat. Remember that God is always doing something new with you, with your congregation, with our broken and hurting world, with all creation. May you know the strong rootedness of God’s love in it all. Amen. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

50^th Anniversary of the Ordination of Pr. Rolf Hedberg
Concordia Lutheran Church
October 22, 2023

¹Comfort, O comfort my people,
 says your God.
 ²Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
 and cry to her
 that she has served her term,
 that her penalty is paid,
 that she has received from the LORD’s hand
 double for all her sins.
 ³A voice cries out:
 “In the wilderness prepare the way of the LORD,
 make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
 ⁴Every valley shall be lifted up,
 and every mountain and hill be made low;
 the uneven ground shall become level,
 and the rough places a plain.
 ⁵Then the glory of the LORD shall be revealed,
 and all people shall see it together,
 for the mouth of the LORD has spoken.”
 ⁶A voice says, “Cry out!”
 And I said, “What shall I cry?”
 All people are grass,
 their constancy is like the flower of the field.
 ⁷The grass withers, the flower fades,
 when the breath of the LORD blows upon it;
 surely the people are grass.
 ⁸The grass withers, the flower fades;
 but the word of our God will stand forever. – Isaiah 40:1-8

¹³For, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.”
¹⁴But how are they to call on one in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him? ¹⁵And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” ¹⁶But not all have obeyed the good news; for Isaiah says, “Lord, who has believed our message?” ¹⁷So faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes through the word of Christ. – Romans 10:13-17

¹⁶Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. ¹⁷When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. ¹⁸And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. ¹⁹Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, ²⁰and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” – Matthew 28:16-20

In the name of Jesus. Amen. 

“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord! Make straight in the desert a highway for our God.”

            I don’t know if it’s because we often read these words of Isaiah in the season of Advent when we are anticipating the celebration of Christmas and remembering the ways Christ has already come to clear the way for us. Or maybe it’s just our human nature. But I often hear this passage and imagine that there is a beautiful, newly paved multi-lane highway ready to drive away on. As if this passage announces for us smooth sailing ahead. Just get in the car and drive forward into the reign of God. 

            Now, Rolf, I didn’t know you at the time of your ordination 50 years ago. I met you first when I was myself an eager young seminary graduate hoping to soon be ordained and you were gracious enough to lend me your pulpit for a Sunday, putting a level of trust in me that, looking back, was remarkable. But I do know that most of us entering ministry imagine to one degree or another that highway sign that we think Isaiah gives us: Drive forward! The road is ready. Just get in and drive forward into the reign of God. The church is ready to welcome you and your gifts and your leadership and your ideas. And I’m sure all 50 years of ministry have been smooth sailing, just like that, right? No? 
            What about you, people of God? Though your paid calling may have been different, all of us share God’s call to go forth and make disciples and teach the ways of God. All of us just sang together “I want to walk as a child of the light. I want to follow Jesus.” When people founded the congregation of Concordia, when you joined with them in mission, when you were baptized or welcomed into the fold, did you too imagine that Isaiah was offering you smooth sailing ahead? Just climb aboard and enjoy the ride? Maybe we don’t articulate it, and maybe when we say it out loud we don’t even really believe it, but something in us thinks being church together should just all work itself out, everyone should get along, and even the hard work will be joyful and fruitful. That’s been your experience here, right? Everything just sails forward? No? 

            It could be that you, like me, have often misheard this passage from Isaiah. “Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain.” The sign is not “Road all clear, proceed ahead.” The sign is actually, “Road construction ahead.” God is doing some work. And we’re not talking about a simple resurfacing job. We’re talking Boston’s “Big Dig” level road construction. Mountains are leveled, dirt is moved. Construction equipment rumbles. Everything is dirty and muddy. And traffic. Traffic is eternally snarled up. 

            The Hedbergs are familiar with Northern Virginia, which is where I grew up. And there the road construction just moves up and down the highway. As soon as they widen it all the way to the end it’s literally time to start back at the other end and widen it some more. Whole interchanges are leveled and redesigned and then leveled and redesigned all over again. That’s, I think, the kind of project Isaiah is talking about. God’s highway is not a one-and-done path, but never-ending project of opening up a way for God in our broken and hurting world. The promise is not an easy road but the promise of God’s presence with us to the end of the age.

            Does that sound a little more like what 50 years of ministry has been like? I know that you’ve walked with communities through all manner of challenges. I know you’ve navigated challenging turns of events in the congregations you’ve served, in the community around you, in the world at large. 6 transition ministry gigs and three long-term calls – that’s plenty of ups and downs, twists and turns. And it hasn’t been easy – no good ministry is. You’ve been participating in God’s work of constructing a reconstructing a path for God’s love and grace into the world.   

            You’ve followed the call to Comfort! Comfort! And to speak tenderly to those who were grieving, making a way for God’s voice of comfort in the midst of some of the greatest upheavals of people’s lives. You have similarly walked for 50 years alongside moments of joy – baptisms, confirmations, marriages and more. Those too are moments where God is building something new, and you answered the call to speak God’s love into it, creating a path. Through your teaching, preaching, and faithfulness in leading and shaping worship. I know this not because I’ve known every moment of your ministry, but because I know you and that love and that good humor you bring to this work. I know your faithfulness to your people. And even though sometimes it feels like driving in snarled traffic through a massive construction zone, that’s the call, and one you’ve done faithfully. And, yes, surely God would have found a path one way or another, but how can we believe if we have not heard, how can we hear if there is not someone to proclaim? Thank you for answering that call in the places you have served these 50 years. 

            This goes, too, for all of us. We live out this wild and crazy call to go and make disciples, to proclaim comfort and challenge. But that work is not easy and not smooth sailing. You do it as a community – holding one another through all the difficult moments. Putting up with the ways in which God has been shifting and constructing and rerouting you. This congregation is in yet another time of discernment about what the future of ministry is like, but it is not the first time or the last that God will be doing work that feels inconvenient, disruptive or anything but smooth sailing. God is making a way, it’s just not always the straight highway we think we’re getting or we’d like to get. 

            Everything I’ve said so far is about our navigating God’s messy construction around us. But the construction is not just around us, but also within us. Part of God’s clearing the way of love and grace and justice and peace is right through our imperfect and broken selves. Whether we like it or not God is moving mountains and valleys that we would just as soon keep within ourselves. None of us is perfect, not even pastors, sometimes especially not pastors. And God works with that, builds with that, proclaims the message of love and grace with that. 

            Here is where I want to say, in addition to all I’ve already said about Rolf’s ministry, what I think is a particular gift of Rolf Hedberg the pastor and Rolf Hedberg the person, what makes him in my mind an exceptional pastor and a trusted colleague – and that’s his openness to the ways God is at work and moving within him. I have known you, Rolf, to be a person open to new ideas, new challenges, new ways of seeing things. After 50 years of ministry, some are convinced they’ve figured it all out. But in the time I’ve known you, you have always been open to learning something new. You might call it humility or integrity or openness, but I think your openness to God’s construction and reconstruction in you one of the things that continues to make you a good and faithful pastor and something you model for me and for all of us. Thank you. 

            For all that and more we are gathered to celebrate this morning. To celebrate Rolf, his ministry, this ministry. We do so not because the project is over and the road is finished. This is not the end of Rolf’s ministry. The discernment you are engaging here at Concordia is not fully clear. The church at large is and I think always will be very much still under construction. And frankly, it’s not going to get any easier. And I would be remiss if I didn’t at least name that we are gathered to celebrate this morning in a world which is very much in pain. Israel and Gaza, Ukraine, Armenia. A congress that cannot seem to govern even itself. And all the other deep and abiding challenges that our world contends with every day. With all that going on, it can feel as if the completion of this grand highway of peace and justice where the glory of the Lord will be revealed is a distant reality. Thank God the construction isn’t stopping here where we we are now. 

            But every Sunday, in the midst of all that is going on – big worldwide grief and despair, our own personal griefs and despairs – in the challenging and wonderful work of ministry, in the midst of all the big leveling that is happening, God makes one small level place in the midst of the construction, and there lays out bread and wine to be for us God’s body and blood, to be for us the promise that despite the construction and the traffic and the frustration and the mess and the violence and the fear and all of it, that God’s glory will be revealed in the end. Until then we gather at this one little level place to feast. And Pr. Hedberg will do this morning what he has done thousands of times over and call us to that table. There he will proclaim so that we can hear that God is here for us in the midst of it all. And before we are sent again to do the hard work with God of building this highway to the reign of God, we will feast together and know deep within that God’s peace is indeed possible, that God is here. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

18th Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 26A)
Christ the King Lutheran Church, Nashua, NH
October 1, 2023

²³When [Jesus] entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him as he was teaching, and said, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” ²⁴Jesus said to them, “I will also ask you one question; if you tell me the answer, then I will also tell you by what authority I do these things. ²⁵Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?” And they argued with one another, “If we say, ‘From heaven,’ he will say to us, ‘Why then did you not believe him?’ ²⁶But if we say, ‘Of human origin,’ we are afraid of the crowd; for all regard John as a prophet.” ²⁷So they answered Jesus, “We do not know.” And he said to them, “Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.
 ²⁸“What do you think? A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work in the vineyard today.’ ²⁹He answered, ‘I will not’; but later he changed his mind and went. ³⁰The father went to the second and said the same; and he answered, ‘I go, sir’; but he did not go. ³¹Which of the two did the will of his father?” They said, “The first.” Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. ³²For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him.” – Matthew 21:23-32

            Anyone who has been a parent knows the two sons of Jesus’ parable. You needn’t have had two or more children, or sons specifically. In fact, anyone who has managed other people, existed in a family, or, really, existed as a person knows these two sons. The one who says yes but does not follow through, and the one who says no but goes and does it. My child has both inside of her. I have both inside of me. I suspect you have both within you, too. 

            I know I sometimes have the best of intentions. I’m going to get better at regular daily devotions. I’m going to eat healthier. I’m going to do more work for justice in the world. I’m going to read more, learn more, be a more patient parent, be a more present spouse. There are a thousand things I really should be doing and I fully acknowledge they would be good to do. Sometimes I do them, and often I don’t. It’s merely talk. I fall right back into old patterns. 

            Other times I hear about something I should be doing and I think “I just can’t. Not one more thing.” Or sometimes I’m resistant – someone calls me out on something I’ve done that is unintentionally offensive and my instinct is to be defensive. But then, I take it in, remember my core values and I do commit to doing better, learning more. I do this at home, too – I just can’t right now play tag in the yard one more time with an almost-7-year-old who is honestly speedier than I am. Then I take a breath and remember how much I love her and how short this time is and I go out and play…sometimes. 

            So I know what these two sons are like from the inside. And I also know what it’s like when my kid does this. She has been known, perhaps more frequently than I’d like, to shout “NO!” (or worse) but then take a breath and go do what’s been asked. I have learned to pause and wait and let her body catch up to her mouth and do what she knows needs doing. And just as often I’m telling her something and I realize she just isn’t taking it in even when she nods in agreement – she has said yes, but she hasn’t even heard the request much less had any plan to accomplish it. Here, more as a parent than as the child, is where I realize something deeper about this parable. At the end of the day I love this kid with both things in her. I love her when she says yes and does no. I love her when she says no and does yes. What’s most important in all of it is our mutual relationship. 

            A lot of folks have made this about the importance of action not just speaking. Faith without works is dead. Promises without follow-through are empty. There is agreement between Jesus, the Pharisees, and I suspect among us that it’s better to do it than to say it. But I don’t think that’s primarily what Jesus is driving at here. 

            First of all, it’s better to do it AND say it. Neither of the sons in the parable is fully correct in their actions. We’d all like to be the third offspring who always says AND does the right thing. But that’s too much fantasy even for a parable – a person who always does and says the right thing. 

            Second of all, spinning wheels about saying versus doing isn’t really consistent with the rest of Jesus’ teaching. Both are important. In some ways the people he’s arguing with aren’t saying or doing anything worth much of anything helpful. They seem more interested in argument for the sake of argument. 

            I think, and here I draw on renowned Episcopal writer and preacher Robert Farrar Capon, that this parable is really Jesus saying to the people around him and of course to us: “Are you in or out? When the rubber meets the road, when things get tough, when the cross comes and suffering comes and death comes are you going to fall on God or not?”

            Because that’s exactly where Jesus is headed. Maybe we’re not thinking about that because it’s a long way off in our church year to get to Holy Week and Good Friday, but all these parables we hear this fall are Jesus’ last conversations before he lands in the hands of the authorities and in the grip of the tomb. The time for talking is done. 

            Here’s the thing – the action to be taken, the work to be done. It’s not good works. As vital as it is to our life and our world and our faith, the task in this parable isn’t serving others, welcoming the stranger, fixing our broken politics, or enacting world peace. And please, please – those tasks are urgent – lives are at stake. We need to do those things. But that’s not what the father is asking of the sons in this parable. The task at hand is going to the cross. 

            It sort of turns the whole thing on its head when you think of it that way. A landowner had two sons. He asks the first one: “Do you want to go and die?” The first son answers “Uh…heck, no!” or maybe even something a little saltier than that. And who would say yes to such a request? But then, who knows what happens. Maybe everything else falls apart. Maybe he finally realizes he can’t do it on his own. And he falls the only place he knows, on his relationship with his father who has called him to walk the way of the cross. 

            The second son answers the same invitation with a laugh. “Ha! Yeah, right, Dad. The cross. Ok. See ya there!” But he understandably has no intention of pursuing that path. So he spends the rest of his days toiling away working hard, trying to prove himself to someone – to his father, to himself, to the world, to anyone and everyone, missing the one call that really mattered – to come and die. To come and let go. 

            And sooner or later we all get there. Some sooner than others. We realize in one moment or another that we have to let go, stop trying so hard, let go of the thing we thought was right or good. Let go of striving for perfection, let go of the world’s ideas of success, let go of whatever it is that keeps us from fully trusting God and opening our hearts to the world. And if we can’t do it on our own, sooner or later our bodies fail us and we have no choice but to land back in the arms of God and find the life that God offers at the cross and the grave. Say yes or say no, do what is asked or don’t, but one way or another you’ll find yourself falling on the one relationship that can offer new life forever. 

            And so we ask, perhaps, what that has to do with this community’s task today as we plan to gather after worship to better understand the history of CTK. This is a community like any other that has answered God’s call in so many ways. And also a community like any other that has failed in other moments to live fully into that same call. This congregation, like any other, has been at various times both children from the parable – the say yes and do no one, the say no and do yes one. We’ll take some time to look at your history after worship today. Where are the places you discovered God really powerfully at work through the ministry you did by the power of the Holy Spirit? Where are the places you have discovered God really powerfully at work when you failed at something and realized God was there to hold you, pick you up, send you in a new direction? 

            And then for each of us individually and for this and every congregation, to begin asking, what’s next? Where is God calling us to let go of one thing, to die to one thing so that new life can emerge? I think for our church communities right now, it’s particularly a time of grieving certain things about how we’ve done church, really honoring what has been, so that we can open ourselves to where God is moving into something now in this moment. 

Our temptation as people and as churches, at least for me and many of the churches I work with, is to try to be busy. We say yes to the cross, but then we let a million little tasks consume us because the deep, hard stuff is, well, hard to do. What might it be like to let some of that go? To forget what we think we should do and should say, so that we can hear what God’s call is now? I don’t have easy answers. I wish I did. I wish I could tell you exactly what to do as individuals and as a congregation to get through the next 10 years or at least the next 3-5. But I don’t know. That’s a task to explore together. What I know is that God is calling. God is inviting. And God will love us through every step and misstep along the way and meet us in the crucial moments, the hard moments, the moments that feel like deaths, meet us in actual death – and lead us from there into new life. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

17th Sunday after Pentecost
September 24, 2023
St. Paul Lutheran Church, Berlin, NH

¹⁰When God saw what [the people of Ninevah] did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it.
 ^4:1But this was very displeasing to Jonah, and he became angry. ²He prayed to the Lordand said, “O Lord! Is not this what I said while I was still in my own country? That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing. ³And now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” ⁴And the Lordsaid, “Is it right for you to be angry?” ⁵Then Jonah went out of the city and sat down east of the city, and made a booth for himself there. He sat under it in the shade, waiting to see what would become of the city.
 ⁶The Lord God appointed a bush, and made it come up over Jonah, to give shade over his head, to save him from his discomfort; so Jonah was very happy about the bush. ⁷But when dawn came up the next day, God appointed a worm that attacked the bush, so that it withered. ⁸When the sun rose, God prepared a sultry east wind, and the sun beat down on the head of Jonah so that he was faint and asked that he might die. He said, “It is better for me to die than to live.”
 ⁹But God said to Jonah, “Is it right for you to be angry about the bush?” And he said, “Yes, angry enough to die.” ¹⁰Then the Lord said, “You are concerned about the bush, for which you did not labor and which you did not grow; it came into being in a night and perished in a night. ¹¹And should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also many animals?” – Jonah 3:10-4:11

[Jesus said to the disciples:] ¹“The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. ²After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. ³When he went out about nine o’clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; ⁴and he said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went. ⁵When he went out again about noon and about three o’clock, he did the same. ⁶And about five o’clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, ‘Why are you standing here idle all day?’ ⁷They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard.’ ⁸When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, ‘Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.’ ⁹When those hired about five o’clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. ¹⁰Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. ¹¹And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, ¹²saying, ‘These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ ¹³But he replied to one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? ¹⁴Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. ¹⁵Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ ¹⁶So the last will be first, and the first will be last.” -Matthew 20:1-16

            This week I needed a little break in the evening and went looking for a feel-good movie to watch to unwind. I stumbled on the recent remake of Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris. If you aren’t familiar with the original book or one of the movie adaptations, it’s a fairly simple story. Mrs. Harris is a hard-working cleaning woman and war widow in London in the 1950s. She’s salt-of-the-earth kind of people. She works hard, treats everyone with kindness even when they treat her like dirt. She gives her much richer employers not only her best work but also tends to them even when they fail to pay her on time. 

            As a woman of modest lifestyle, she has rarely let herself dream, but something sparks her to pinch every penny to go buy a dress from the famous fashion designer Christian Dior. Through a series of events, largely because of her kindness she comes into just enough money to fulfill the dream. When she arrives in Paris, she discovers it isn’t quite so easy as she thought to walk into the world of Paris high fashion – not everyone thinks a woman of her position in life should have access to the upper echelons of high fashion. But there, again, it’s her kindness that earns her the sympathy and support of the whole staff. Jumping over lots of details, she gets everything she deserves in the end. She works hard, treats people with love and respect, and in the end she’s not rich or famous, but she gets the dress, a friend, a place, recognition – all that she deserves for the way she lives. 

            I share that story with you because it’s what we want, right? We want hard-working people, kind people, the people who go out of their way to make the world better to get their just reward. It’s a true feel-good outcome. It makes us feel as if everything is right with the world. 

            But, that’s Hollywood. And while there may very well be some individual times and places where people do get rewarded for doing what’s right, the real world is much less predictable. You and I know deep down that people who pour their heart and soul into their work day in and day out often fail to earn the salary they really deserve, while people who manage to lie and cheat and prey on others can sometimes earn millions of dollars. Some people who do all the right things get crippling diseases, kind people get trampled on, and salt-of-the earth people get forgotten by the world. Life, unlike Hollywood, isn’t fair. 

            Which makes it that much harder to listen to today’s Bible readings. Because you know what? It’s not fair! Jonah, after much reluctance, finally followed God’s call and marched right through the heart of evil proclaiming God’s wrath to them. Ninevah was then the world’s center for fat-cat bankers, rich robber barons, corporate greed, inequality. It was a land of waste and excess, where the rich got richer and the poor got poorer. And Jonah came to tell them God wasn’t pleased. Jonah hopes those rich, big-city cheats get what’s coming to them. But what happens in the end? They put on a little sackcloth and say they’re very sorry, we won’t do it again. And God relents?! That’s it?! That’s all it takes?! What is fair is destruction. These people have caused harm to one another, to the world. They deserve repayment for the harm they have caused. In the balance, this few hours worth of repentance doesn’t outweigh the wrong they have done! And Jonah wants nothing more than to see them get what is only fair and right and the thing God told him to go proclaim. If you were just going to show mercy, God, why did I bother? 

            The same is true of the parable Jesus tells. He wants us to sit up and yell “Wait! That’s not fair!” Some people work all day and get a day’s wage. Some people work an hour and get the same day’s wage?! Unfair! And the boss makes sure everyone knows it. If the owner didn’t want to be so public about it, he could have paid the first that came to work before paying the others. They never would have known about the injustice. As they come into the line to receive their pay, the ones who just came in for the last hour are expecting what’s fair – a perfectly fair proportion of the perhaps well-paying landowner. In their surprise at getting a full day’s wage, they shout with glee. And the others are starting to add it up – if an hour is worth a day’s wage and I worked 3 hours – hey! That’s three days wages! I worked all day – that’s easily 10 days wages right there. But then the grumbling begins as every single pay envelope contains the same daily wage. You almost see the glint in the landowner’s eye as he watches this unfold. No one is paid less than promised, but it’s utterly unfair – to everyone! 

            This is a thread running through a lot of parts of scripture – life isn’t actually fair. On the one hand, this feels like bad news. If life were fair, we could exert some level of control. We could work hard and anticipate our reward. If we messed up we could expect what is due in return, but then move forward again. Our friends would prosper and the ones who have done us harm will suffer. Part of us would love to live in a world that makes sense on paper, where everything adds up and balances out. 

            But it’s also good news, because I don’t know about you, but if I really add things up in my life, I know I’d rather receive grace than the punishment I might rightly deserve. It means when the people closest to me hurt me, there is grace enough to mend the relationship instead of meting out punishment on the ones I dearly love. I want my kid to live in a world where grace is abundant, even if it’s also a world in which bad things sometimes happen to good people. In moments of anger I want my enemies punished, but really I want everyone to find wholeness and fullness of life. 

            Right now I hear a lot in our churches about our expectations for what church life ought to be. There was a brief moment in time when if churches did all the right things they’d probably grow in size and expand their ministry. Have good preaching and engaging worship, serve the community, share the faith and expect more money in the plate and more people in the pews. This didn’t work everywhere but for a while it was a reasonable expectation: work hard, get your reward. But the world has changed. A faithful church, like St. Paul’s, can serve the community with a winter warming shelter in partnership with fellow people of faith, have faithful preaching and engaging worship, share the faith and…well, God hasn’t promised you growth. Just daily bread – the bit you need for today – no more, no less. 

            You might grow larger again – that can happen to, of course – but I want our small churches like yours to know you’re not alone. You’re doing good work. Your ministry matters. And that there’s still no guarantee that you’ll grow. Or any guarantee that you’ll exist in the same way forever and ever. I hope you’ll keep showing up and doing ministry. Whether some days you’re a reluctant or tired prophet like Jonah, or an eager early-bird worker, or slipping in at the last hour, God’s calling you. God needs your presence, your gifts, your skills. God sees you, loves you, knows you. 

            I wish for you the picture-perfect, feel-good Hollywood ending. I wish you the kind of adventure that Mrs. Harris has in Paris – changing the world, experiencing riches of every kind – both tangible luxuries and human connection, finding yourself back at home with a new sense of energy, courage, and hope. I wish that for you. Each of you. 

            But what I can promise you is God’s grace sufficient for you. God’s love poured out on your in your good moments and just as much in your bad ones. God’s love poured out on you in your joys and in your struggles. God’s love in life and in death. You don’t get more if you work harder. You don’t get less if you mess everything up. In fact, God says, just don’t even try to keep score. What really matters isn’t something that can be added and subtracted. God’s love just is whole and perfect and for everyone – there isn’t more here and less there – it’s just not that kind of thing. So go! God calls! There is work to do! Love to share! But the lesson in these texts is this: God loves you, and there’s just nothing you can do about it. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

13th Sunday after Pentecost
August 27, 2023
Messiah Lutheran Church, Amherst, NH

¹I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. ²Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.
 ³For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. ⁴For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, ⁵so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. ⁶We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ⁷ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; ⁸the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness. – Romans 12:1-8

¹³Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” ¹⁴And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” ¹⁵He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” ¹⁶Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” ¹⁷And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. ¹⁸And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. ¹⁹I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” ²⁰Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah. – Matthew 16:13-20

Context: Messiah Lutheran Church has a history of being a Welcoming Congregation for immigrants, refugees, and asylum seekers. This Sunday they were hosting their new asylum-seeking family at worship. This sermon was preceded by a bi-lingual children’s sermon reading the picture book Sugar in Milk by Thirty Umrigar, read aloud here: https://youtu.be/ls7PDr2cBBU?si=Eq7521OlV7gFncuA. It is referenced in this sermon. The full recording of worship can be found here https://www.youtube.com/live/KTlJUvUVItM?si=iz79NwKCRB7tonTh

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Most of the time we hear this gospel passage, at least in my experience, we focus on the rock. Much angst has been had over interpreting Jesus’s words. 

Is Peter the rock on which the church is built? Certainly some strains of Christendom focus on Peter as the one charged with starting the church. Some churches even claim that bishops are all in a line of succession from Peter himself. 

Others suggest that the confession of Christ as Messiah, Son of God, is the rock on which the church is built. That belief, that early and simple Christian creed is a rock solid foundation for the work of the church. 

Perhaps, too, we should consider that it isn’t so much the words explaining it but Jesus himself who is the foundation going forward. Peter and his confession after all are rooted there, in the God made Flesh. 

But I’m not interested so much in the rock today. I’d like to think together about what gets built on top of the rock. What is this thing we call the church? We have a solid foundation – Christ, the Son of God, confessed by Peter, and shared through his and other voices. That’s not going anywhere. The foundation is solid, however you slice it. 

But the church…? Well, let’s just say that you and I know the church is sometimes a bit shaky despite its solid foundation. The church is often mired in conflict – over not enough money, what to do with the money we have; too much political involvement, not enough political involvement; too loose boundaries, too tight boundaries; who is welcome and who isn’t; whether worship starts at 9:30 or 9:45. We are in a time of massive cultural shift away from widespread support of formal institutions like government, education, civic organizations, and, yes, churches. That brings anxiety and grief for those who have loved the current structures of church into being. And, just plainly, being in community together is always hard. This was true for the disciples of Jesus, the early church, and anyone who has ever tried to live with another human being. 

The foundation is solid, but people make the church sometimes a little shaky. And if we feel worried about that, maybe we can take heart that all the way back at the start of the church the apostle Paul was trying to address the same thing with the church of Rome. “Look folks,” he says, “Quit going around bragging about being better than other people. Though we are many, we are one body. Every part is important, it just does different things.” 

Clearly the people of the early church in Rome were squabbling – some putting themselves out as better than another. Maybe saying it out loud and maybe just walking around with a smug attitude. And I’m sure there were parking lot conversations and back channel communications. Maybe there were tense council meetings or people who sort of just drifted away. 

We’re tempted to think we need to all get onto the same page. If everybody could just see things exactly the same way – we do have this clear confession at our foundation, after all – then we’d get along and everything would be fine, right? 

Well, no. This church that Jesus speaks about building doesn’t work that way. It’s not supposed to be that way. 

That’s one of the reasons I love the book I shared a few moments ago. In the old tale, the king is convinced that they have everything they need. Maybe they’re not all exactly the same, but close enough. No more room. We’re sturdy just as we are. But when new people arrive on the shore, they are challenged to think again. See – we’re full, like this glass of milk, the king says. No more room. We have everything we need. And the creative and wise leader of the people who have come to stand on the shore of the kingdom replies with a spoonful of sugar. Not only is there room but they are better for welcoming newcomers. They are better not because they are like the people already there or will become like the people there. They are all better because of their unique differences. 

You’ve been doing this work boldly and faithfully here at Messiah. You have made space to welcome families seeking asylum in this country. You have made physical space, space in your congregation, space in your schedules. I hope you also see the gifts you have gotten to experience in the connections you’ve been making. 

You’re gearing up for another God’s Work. Our Hands. Sunday. It is not only a time to provide needed beds to people who might not otherwise have a place to sleep, but you’ve made it a chance to build relationships with other Lutherans and with the Turkish Cultural Center. I haven’t gotten to experience these events with you, but it sounds to me like the experience is richer for including more people from different places. 

            We are in a time where this kind of partnership, this kind of relationship building is even more essential than usual. There is so much that needs bridging in our communities. There is is so much need for welcome, for food, for care, for love and compassion. Our congregations never should have operated as silos, but it’s clear they won’t survive into the future without recognizing the gifts of others and living into relationship with our communities in deeper ways. 

            I don’t know which part of the body you are here at Messiah. I don’t know what part your neighbors are. Maybe it would be a fun exercise to talk about whether you think you’re ears or feet or biceps or liver. What’s most important is that you find a way to build those relationships both with one another here at Messiah and with people beyond your congregation. And not only making room but actively celebrating one another and your differences. 

            For too long the prevailing wisdom (or lack of wisdom) was that as long as we had everything we needed ourselves in our own congregation or our own community, we didn’t need anyone else. Whether we thought like the ruler in the story that we were all full up or whether we were just too prideful to acknowledge that we didn’t have everything we already needed, when we build bridges across differences and cultures, and across boundaries, our lives get richer, our communities get richer, and our churches get richer. And by that I don’t mean, necessarily financially richer. That may come or it may not, but richer in the sense of adding sugar to the milk. Richer in terms of recognizing the gifts of each person and each community. 

            Christ has given us a rock solid foundation. In doing so Christ invites us into partnership with God in building up the church. Not always or necessarily actual buildings and institutions, but always and forever the rich ministry of love and grace in community with all God’s people from every place and time. That, along with the foundation, is the strength of the church that God brings to life in this and every age. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

11th Sunday after Pentecost
August 13, 2023
Immanuel Lutheran Church, Oxford, CT

²²[Jesus] made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side [of the Sea of Galilee], while he dismissed the crowds.²³And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, ²⁴but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. ²⁵And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. ²⁶But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. ²⁷But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”
 ²⁸Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” ²⁹He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. ³⁰But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” ³¹Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” ³²When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. ³³And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” – Matthew 14:22-33

            What does it feel like to walk on water? When Peter steps out into the stormy waves does he have to balance as the water moves underneath him? Does his foot find something steady, even as the top layer of water sloshes over his feet? Do his feet even get wet? 

            There’s a Tik-Tok video I’ve seen of a floating walkway that undulates with the waves and people walking on it have to balance and change their speed to accommodate the walkway rising and falling beneath them. They look terribly unbalanced and brave, but a little ridiculous.

            Or is it something like when I take my daughter to the trampoline park and I – inadvisably – attempt the ninja warrior style obstacle course with her and try to run across the giant foam roller. One braces oneself, puts out a tentative foot, then at some point you have to commit and go for it trying to keep momentum forward to get across before it rolls you off. It is extremely disconcerting and I always end up in the foam pit, and usually with some bruises. 

            For the science types out there, the problem with walking on water is that our center of mass is so much higher than our center of buoyancy, such that even if we put boat shoes on, we’d find ourselves falling in before we even got a first chance at a foothold – there’s a whole science demonstration available on YouTube if you’re curious about why we can’t walk on water, at least with the constraints of earth’s gravity. 

            However you look at it, walking on water is not easy, and even if we could sort of do it, we’d look unbalanced and a little ridiculous. It’s inherently unstable both because of how we’re made as humans and because of what water is and does. Just talking about it makes me start to imagine the ground swaying beneath me. 

            Unfortunately life is a lot like trying to walk on water. Which is perhaps what makes this gospel story such a well-known and powerful one. Here we are buffeted by wind and waves, trying to row a boat with some direction, with some purpose but being thwarted even in our strongest efforts. 

            It’s just that the storms are so much beyond our control. Literal storms have become increasingly strong and unpredictable with global climate change. Vermont was flooded by storms last month, devastating communities. Winds from Hurricane Dora stoked wildfires in Maui killing more than 80 people and destroying property. Winds have carried smoke to us this summer from raging wildfires in Canada. 

            The proverbial winds of change seem to be blowing faster than ever. The winds of economic change have whipped up waves of concern over rising inflation, destabilized markets, and uncertainty for the future. Politics remain stirred up by opposing winds of ideology, creating a swirling storm that often hurts most the vulnerable among us. We are swept forward by technologies that are often more advanced than we are prepared to manage in an ethical and thoughtful way, creating their own storms of bullying and misinformation. 

            And while the church has often been depicted as an ark – a large safe haven from the flood-making storm outside – a more apt description for the church at least in today’s world is the disciples’ rickety fishing boat buffeted by the storm. The church is in a time of tremendous change – a shift from carefully organized congregations, each led by a standardized hierarchy of educated clergy, carefully ordered committees, and Roberts Rules of Order toward something that exists in many forms in many places with leaders emerging in different ways. That’s not to say there won’t still be congregations and clergy, but we are seeing tremendous change from social forces that may feel like they are dangerously rocking the boat that at least for many seemed a bit more steady before. 

            I would love to tell you that we’ll be sailing any moment into the end of the gospel reading where the storms finally cease. We often think of this story and the power of Jesus to calm the storm and bring us to a safe and comfortable place. Yes, dear ones, Jesus holds us close and comforts us. Jesus provides a safe haven for weary, storm-battered people. And some of the storms we face will quiet down even as others begin. But stopping the storm is not the first thing Jesus does when he arrives on the scene. He initially makes no move at all to stop the storm. In fact, this whole story is about him trying to convince them that it is in fact he who has come to join them in the storm. They think it’s a ghost. It almost seems they’re more afraid of Jesus coming in a way they don’t recognize than they are of the storm. And Peter’s venture out onto the water is actually a test to see if it really is Jesus. All of this while the storm still rages.  

The reality is that we live mostly in the midst of this story rather than at the end of it: surrounded by wind and waves, in rickety boats with water sloshing in and trying to walk on water. And frankly, often more afraid of Jesus showing up in new ways than we are of the storms of life around us. 

So, church, if Jesus isn’t always first and foremost going to stop the storm, how are we as church going to figure out how to steer the boat and maybe even walk on the water? I’d love to tell you that when you call a pastor that the uncertainty and wondering you feel will all go away and the storms will settle. As important as pastoral leadership is, as hard as we’re trying to find a good fit for you, as hard as your call committee is working at thoughtful discernment, that isn’t going to stop the storm. On some level we know that, but it’s a tempting milestone to look forward to. If only we can keep the boat afloat that long.

Or maybe it’s more general – like maybe we just have to figure out how to keep the boat and ourselves afloat until the culture swings back into an anomalous era where the institutional church is at the center. Maybe if we just hang on long enough to restart a Sunday school, if we just hang on long enough to get worship right (nevermind that means something different to each person). Maybe we can just hang on long enough to see Jesus still the storms. 

But that’s not the point of this story. The point of this story is that Jesus comes and joins us in the rocking boat and invites us into the impossible and bizarre task of walking on the waves. The church has work to do. Not because it’s essential to keep the boat afloat. If the boat sinks, Jesus is there to lift us out of the water and do something new. But we have work today because we don’t really have any other choice but to ride the storm. 

I think you’re already well on your way to doing that here at Immanuel. You’ve embraced the people from Trinity with wide hospitality – you’ve made room in the boat for lots of new folks from different places to join together in the struggle. You’ve wrestled with the ongoing work of anti-racism – engaging with the pernicious storm of racism seeking to navigate it in new ways so that together we might all better see Jesus. You’ve lifted up and honored lay leadership in important ways – it’s clear that’s a key factor in thriving while the church rows through the current storms. You’ve done experimental work in children’s and youth ministry, you’ve wrestled with difficult questions about who you are in this transition period – you’re figuring out how to row in a storm and walk on the water. 

            I know it’s not easy. I know it feels unsteady and uncertain. I know it feels like you can’t quite get a hold on how to do it. And I know that sometimes it feels downright impossible. But I also know Jesus is among us. Calling to us, reassuring us, and inviting us to take the next step forward in the storm. It’s in taking those steps, in persevering in the storm that we discover the presence of Jesus with us. Without Jesus we wouldn’t be able to take any of those steps at all. 

            Yes, one day the storms will cease and we will find rest with Jesus. Until then, God is among us in the storm and cheering on our often wobbly, unbalanced, and fearful steps, reaching out a hand to help us up and always reassuring us through it all. Thanks be to God. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco