Jesus is presented in the Temple - Lord of Life Lutheran Church

Luke 2:22-40

Jesus Is Presented in the Temple

22 When the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, they brought him up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord 23 (as it is written in the law of the Lord, “Every firstborn male shall be designated as holy to the Lord”), 24 and they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, “a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons.”

25 Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit rested on him. 26 It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. 27 Guided by the Spirit, Simeon came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him what was customary under the law, 28 Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying,

29 

“Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace,
    according to your word;

30 

for my eyes have seen your salvation,

31 

    which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,

32 

a light for revelation to the Gentiles
    and for glory to your people Israel.”

33 And the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him. 34 Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed 35 so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

36 There was also a prophet, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was of a great age, having lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, 37 then as a widow to the age of eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped there with fasting and prayer night and day. 38 At that moment she came, and began to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.

The Return to Nazareth

39 When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. 40 The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.

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Depending on where you are in the world, there are many different rituals and traditions that surround the birth of a baby. 

In my family, it has become somewhat of a tradition that my grandfather, who is a pastor, baptizes each of the grandchildren and great grandchildren. 

One of my friends from college just had a baby boy and in her tradition, it is custom that the paternal grandfather give the baby his name after birth. 

I just heard that in Morocco the family buys an entire goat, slaughters it, and feasts on it for weeks after the baby is born. 

I spent my internship in Malaysia, and I remember being so excited when one of our Chinese families had a baby. I kept asking where he was— when could I see him? But in Chinese traditions, the mother and baby stay in confinement and eat all sorts of nutritious meals for the first month after birth. Finally, after 30 days, they have what they call a “Moon Party” and the baby makes her or his first public appearance. For many Christian Chinese people, the first public appearance is to church for the baptism. 

There are a lot of traditions, superstitions, and rituals that go along with having a baby. In ancient Israel, the Jewish law said that women are unclean for 40 days after giving birth and baby boys are required to be circumcised 8 days after birth. So Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus traveled to the temple so that Mary could be cleansed and they could offer a sacrifice to the temple as the law required, dedicating their first born son to the Lord. 

Now this story might seem a little odd to be told right after the typical Christmas narrative we heard on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. There are no wise men, there are no shepherds, no escape to Egypt just yet. We have these two characters— Simeon and the prophet Anna who we’ve never seen before and will never see again. 

But the writer Luke adds all of these details for a reason— actually two reasons— Luke wants the readers to know where Jesus came from and where Jesus is going. At first reading this might not make much sense, but if we go back and look at the specific details that Luke includes we can see how clever of a narrator he really is. 

We know, of course, that Jesus came from a Jewish family. Mary and Joseph are careful to follow the law as good Jewish people, going to the temple regularly and abiding by all of the rituals required of them. Jesus also came from humble beginnings. The sacrifice of two turtledoves or two young pigeons was what was required of the poorer families coming to the temple. Jesus came from the line of David, but he was not royalty. He did not live in a palace with mountains of money. In fact, living in Galilee, in the town of Nazareth, we know that Jesus was brought up from very humble beginnings— he would be what we consider very poor. He came as a Jew, from the wrong side of the tracks, as the son of a poor carpenter.   

Then Luke uses Simeon and the prophet Anna to tell us where Jesus is going. Simeon calls him, “a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” He says that, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” Anna praises God when she sees Jesus and spoke “about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.” 

Jesus was not just a child, but the child that the prophets had been waiting for. He was the one all of Jerusalem was waiting for— the one who would redeem God’s people. Jesus was the one God had promised for thousands of years. He is finally here— the holy one, the redeemer, the king of kings, the Son of God— a poor baby boy from Nazareth. 

It wasn’t what anyone was expecting. We hear in Isaiah and the other prophets that there will be a mighty warrior, this champion to come and wipe out the oppressive Roman empire. God’s people expected a pillar of fire, a grand entrance with a chariot and a hundred horses. They expected Jesus to come down from heaven as a mighty commander and massacre all the people who oppose his rule. 

Instead, we got a fragile, tiny baby, born among the filthy animals to poor parents from a no-where town. And, because we know the story well, we know that God will continue to surprise us with this Jesus and his ministry. Right from the beginning, God uses a woman (Mary) as the vessel for God’s salvation, and another woman (Anna)— a prophet no less— announces the importance of Jesus in the temple. 

Jesus comes from the poor and excluded to save the poor and excluded. It is one of the ways that God remains so faithful to us. God does not sit from God’s throne on high and issue us trickle-down salvation from the hallowed halls and royalty. God did not try to use Herod or Pharaoh to bring about God’s salvation. Surely, God could have done that. But that’s what makes our God so incredible. God chose to come as a child. 

God chose to become the most dirty and wretched in order to save the most wretched and dirty. Jesus will walk among his own people— the poor, the exiled, the outcast, the sick, needy, and burdens. He will eat with sinners and pardon adulterers. And finally he will rise up against the empire in the way only he can— with his death on a cross and resurrection after three days. 

Nothing Jesus does is expected, none of it seems like what the prophets promised. Where was the champion? The strong, impressive leader with armies that God promised the Israelites? 

Perhaps that’s what makes this story so very important. Right from the beginning, outsiders— these two seemingly random people in the temples say, “this is him. This is the one we have been waiting for. It might not seem like it, but it is him, the who God has promised from the beginning.” These two unexpected characters in this important place have set the stage for all of Jesus’ ministry and the coming of the kingdom— it will involve people we never expected, in the more common and sacred places. 

The coming of the kingdom will involve a man eating locusts and living in the wild. It will involve a woman who listened at Jesus’ feet instead of cooking and cleaning with her sister. It will involve fishermen and tax collectors. It will involve a grieving mother. It will involve a man who spent his entire life persecuting Jewish people. It will involve hundreds of thousands of people who never even expected to encounter Jesus. And it involves us, as filthy and ragged as we are in this time after the holidays. 

God’s faith can be, will be, and has been proclaimed by those we might consider to be minor characters. God is working in the nobodies of our society. After all, that’s who God chose to be the savior of the world— a nobody child from a nowhere town, with nobody parents.

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This sermon was preached at Lord of Life Lutheran Church in Jacksonville, Florida on December 31, 2017.

The uncovering and practice of gifts

I think I was mostly frustrated and challenged by seminary because all I wanted to do was sit around in people's living rooms with beer (or milkshakes) and talk about Jesus and theology and feminism and sometimes sports. Like, why did we have to take up all this time going to class and (ugh) learning when we could be sitting around professing and prophesying?

Well, probably because most of what we did in the living rooms of classmates was not prophesying at all. We did a lot of things, but basically none of them could be qualified as prophesying. We questioned, argued, debated, sometimes walked out. We complained (a LOT), we proved people wrong (okay, a lot of times, people proved us wrong, too), we "omg did you see this article?" almost weekly. We also spent a lot of time not being theological at all-- whether it was complaining about a classmate or professor, or just complaining about seminary in general, we didn't really do any prophesying. We did, however, drink a lot of beer and milkshakes.

But we did learn in those moments. We learned about pastoral care and what it looked like to be present for one another amidst the nonsense and daily struggle, as well as tragedy and trauma. We learned how to disagree with someone while still loving them (even if we're not so great at demonstrating it). We learned how to listen and how to speak.

And let me tell you, it wasn't easy. It was emotional and it was messy. Like I've mentioned before, I spent most of my first year in seminary sitting with Daniel and legitimately sobbing that my heart was too full and I wasn't good at any of this seminary stuff. I didn't feel like I belonged for most of seminary, actually. I kept up academically, but as full of love my heart was, I struggled to show it. And when I did, I mostly did it in unhealthy or unhelpful ways. So many people in seminary were so kind. So many of them were gentle. I have literally never in my life fit into those two categories. Passionate? Yeah. Compassionate? Ehh, I wasn't that good at showing that particular quality.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm pretty full of myself. And I do think I have most some of the qualities that make a great pastor, friend, or Christian. It's the demonstrating them part that always hangs me up. And maybe that means I don't actually possess those gifts. It's hard to tell, because for the majority of my life, I really didn't think I was given those gifts.

But the more I've learned about myself and uncovered my gifts for ministry, the more I'm convinced that it is not so much that I don't possess those gifts. I think God has given me the gifts of compassion, kindness, charity, love (and, okay, maybe not so much gentleness or patience). Because honestly, I don't think God would have called me so obviously to ministry if God had not given me these gifts. Plus, I can feel these gifts stirring inside me quite often. My heart breaks for the things that break God's heart. I ache and cry out in frustration and distress for the pain in this world. I feel deeply and fully when people experience violence and trauma. So, I know I possess these gifts deep in my bones.

These gifts have just been buried by my other characteristics and qualities for so long, that I've forgotten how to demonstrate them. I haven't practiced them enough for them to come naturally to me. I react with things like sarcasm instead of compassion. I react with passion (being appalled and infuriated by situations) instead of compassion (continuing to listen and care for a person). I spring into action quickly and sometimes carelessly, before considering all aspects or carefully considering. I am often brutally honest with people instead of being kind to them. It's not that these things are inherently bad or wrong, but they do make relationships (and ministry) for me more difficult.

Maybe it's that God gives us gifts that we have to uncover, we have to cultivate. Sure, some people are probably born kind and compassionate (I believe Daniel was, but I'm pretty biased), but others have to be formed and re-formed into living out their gifts in Christ. So that's what seminary has done for me, it has given me the tools and motivation to cultivate those gifts in myself. I'm not done yet, because God in the Spirit will likely be re-shaping me and showing me a new, better way until the day that I die. But it's happening. And it's frustrating and excruciating work (have I told you about how I only like doing things that I'm good at?), but I needed it.

So I guess what I'm saying is that that is why seminary was such a struggle for me, why I often didn't seem like I was happy. Because I felt like I was crawling out of my skin with things I'm not very good at, and learning them from deep within my bones and spirit. And those growing pains hurt.

Pray then do

I might be becoming a cynic. Maybe I was always a cynic and restaurant work brought it out in me. Whatever the case may be, I think it has done me good to be out of the church bubble I've been in for the past several years and talk to people who a) don't care for the church, b) are apathetic toward the church, or c) hate the church with their entire being. I've learned a lot and honestly, I kind of agree with a lot of what my colleagues say to me when I tell them I'm a pastor.

It's an interesting phenomenon, really.

When I'm in a casual conversation with someone and they ask me what I do, I usually say some variation of, "I studied to be a pastor," "I am a pastor," or "I work in the church." All of a sudden it's like invisible floodgates open and everything that they have ever experienced in Christianity comes rushing out (usually at me). I honestly don't mind these conversations, because a lot of times I can agree with at least some of what they say and in some instances try to apologize for what the church has done and (not very often) say, "if you'd be interested in giving it another try, I know this church..."

I was talking to a friend the other week about "everything that's wrong with the church/people who call themselves Christians," and she got on the subject of praying. She said, "I get that praying can seem really powerful for y'all, but why don't you actually do anything? Praying isn't going to fix the government or on a smaller level, feed that hungry person you just passed on the street." After talking a little bit more, she said, "praying didn't help me when I had my daughter. I'm sure plenty of people prayed for me, but no one in my parent's church stepped up and paid my bills or offered to give me a job or a place to stay when I needed it."

I couldn't agree more.

I've come to the realization that saying that we will pray for someone has become a bit of a cop out. It has become a conversation ender when we become uncomfortable. It has become a passive way of making us free as if we are making a difference when we could actually be making a difference. 

I compare it to being a "Facebook advocate/activist." It's awesome that people share photos online of their favorite causes and charities, but if we are not donating to those charities, marching in those protests, calling our senators, speaking against whatever -ism in real life, then our Facebook activism falls short. Really short.

Sometimes, though, praying is all we can do. I understand that. No matter how much money I donate to cancer research, I cannot cure my friend's cancer. I cannot assist my friend who lives 2000 miles away with the child care she so desperately needs. So I pray. And that matters.

But sometimes there is something we can do. Something more than praying. I've recently had many religious and less-than-religious friends comment about "thoughts and prayers" after national tragedies. There are a lot of us who feel hopeless against such senseless violence and we want to say something or do something to make it feel as if we can make a difference. And prayers do make a difference. But offering our prayer is only the beginning of seeking justice.

When presented with dead children, bleeding women, and crippled people, Jesus did not wait in the wings to offer them "thoughts and prayers" (Luke 7, Matthew 9). He went to them, he healed them, he offered them justice and peace. What good is saying, "peace, peace," when there is no peace (Jeremiah 6:14; 8:11)? Offering "thoughts and prayers" to people without moving into action, or at the very least advocating for action, we are healing the wounds of God's people superficially (Jeremiah 6:14). In other words, we are putting a bandage over a hemorrhaging wound instead of finding the cause and healing it.

There is nothing wrong with praying. But it cannot be passive. We must pray then do. Pray then protest. Pray then offer to cook a meal. Pray then drive her to the bus stop. Pray then step in when someone is being persecuted. Pray then do his laundry. Pray then help them look for a job or offer to be a reference. Pray then visit her in the hospital. Pray then babysit their children. Pray then call our senators. Pray then advocate for change. Pray then do.

My struggle through seminary

My parents weren't exactly "convinced" when I told them I wanted to go to seminary. To them, I think it felt like an attempt to prolong "real life" or maybe a last ditch effort to find meaning. I don't really blame them. It was pretty out of the blue, and it was almost a 180 degree turn from most of my life. And I don't think I really affirmed my decision very well throughout seminary either. I remember my mom saying quite often, "You don't really seem happy. Are you happy?" And, of course, I would immediately get defensive because of course I was happy. I was where God had called me. I was connecting to the deepest parts of my heart for the first time in my life. Of course, I am happy, mother. Leave me alone now, to be h.a.p.p.y. 

But I could see why she didn't think I was happy (I probably wasn't "happy," the way most people would use the word). I was struggling. From the very first class in seminary, I was struggling. Seminary was hard. Oh, but it was a deep deep joy for me as well. As much as it hurt to be stretched, moved, changed, broken, and molded, it brought me deep and abiding joy. I went through more transformation in the first few months of seminary than I had my entire life. I remember in elementary school I had terrible "growing pains" in my legs and feet. My body was changing and growing so fast that it was actually painful. This spiritual growing was also excruciating. So to the general spectator, or even to the people closest in my life, it probably didn't look like I was very happy.

I don't think the classes in seminary are designed to be difficult. And I didn't find them to be particularly difficult throughout the three years. Greek, of course, was like drinking out of a firehose. And I was never exactly brilliant in Greek, but I understood it enough to get by. I didn't understand any of Hebrew, and it was basically the worst (they say it's mathematical or "logical" and I'm like okay, 1+1+1=1 [Trinity joke, y'all]). All the other courses were challenging, but more so in the "make you rethink everything you've ever known and believed" sort of way. The workload was annoying for most classes, but never oppressive.

So, what made seminary so difficult? Probably the "make you rethink everything you've ever known and believed" part. My pre-seminary education was pretty normal for anyone who never really imagined going to seminary. I went to Sunday School for basically my whole life, learning about the picture-book stories like creation, Noah, and probably something about Jesus. I went to confirmation class when I was in middle school and memorized the books of the Bible (that's about all I remember from confirmation-- the fact that I had to memorize the books of the Bible, I don't actually remember the books of the Bible). I didn't attend any church camps growing up, at least not that I remember. I attended the ELCA Youth Gathering (and it was awesome), and after college I worked for the campus ministry at Ohio State while it went through a leadership vacuum.

So let's just say I didn't have any theological training beyond the couple of Rob Bell and Francis Chan books I had read in college.

So in seminary, it seemed as if every day I was being smacked by the realization that I everything I thought I knew about God was either wrong or not-exactly-right. Imagine that. At 21 years old, without any theological training, I didn't know everything. So what seemed like every day, whether it was in class or in conversation with upperclass colleagues, I had to question everything.

If you've ever gone through this kind of questioning and awakening, you know how completely exhausting it is. So as joy-filled I was by my new friendships and learning, I was also feeling those growing pains all the time. That's why when people ask me about seminary I tell them to run away quickly, especially if they aren't ready for such fast and hard growth. And maybe not everyone goes through such crazy growing pains in such a short period of time. Maybe some people are able to go through those growing pains and still remain happy. But it was the kind of pain and growth that was needed for me to get to where I am today: called by God and the church to public ministry and working (and failing) day after day to follow Jesus.

My call to ministry

When I was growing up, I was never very interested in doing anything unless I already knew I was good at it.

When I was in junior high, I wanted to be a theater star, I wanted to be a famous singer. You see, I had auditioned for our junior high school musical and the director ranted and raved about my audition. "Where have you been? Why didn't you audition for the middle school production of Annie??" (I had planned to, but I wrote down the wrong date for the auditions. Whoops.) Side note: I was running for the cross country team at the time and I was super terrible at it. I immediately quit upon being cast in the musical. I thought I was brilliant. It turned out that I was mostly just good at being type-cast as the singing-but-not-dancing lead role, who was generally blonde, stupid, and had an annoying screechy voice. But I thought I could be a star. And I was for a little while in junior high. Eventually I realized that I wasn't brilliant and found something else to obsess over.

In high school, I took a TV production-type class. We went "on-air" to make announcements to the school every day, we storyboarded, wrote, filmed, and edited PSAs, commercials, and music videos. And I was pretty good at it. I loved dreaming up concepts and watching them come to life on our old school editing TVs. So I was obviously going to be a TV talking head when I grew up. I'd go to school for broadcasting or journalism and really find my stride.

After that class, I took the newspaper class and a speech-writing class. And I was pretty good at both. I guess to be more precise, I was decent at writing articles, I was a harsh editor, and I was great about inserting myself into the right place at the right time for great photos. My photo even made the front page of our monthly newspaper. In the speech-writing class, I always got great grades, and felt wonderful giving speeches or debating, no matter the topic. I knew I would either be a journalist or a speech writer for someone important.

This delusion continued into college where I was accepted into the Media, Marketing, and Communications Scholars program at Ohio State (thank you, writers of recommendation letters). But suddenly I was a tiny fish in a big huge pond. I wasn't that good at any of these things I'd tried. I could hold my own, but there was no way I was going to excel the way my classmates did. So, with speech-writing still in my heart, I moved on to something that I thought I would be good at-- American Political Science.

And I did excel in most of my political science classes. I was good at writing exactly how the professor wanted, I loved reading Leviathan and treatises, I could remember theories and arguments thoroughly. I had written so many research papers (my favorite kind-- I'm sick, I know) in high school, that I could knock one out in a day by college. So when I talked to my advisor about taking more classes and graduating early, I knew that I didn't need to try to do anything more than political science. I was good at it, so there was no need to add a second major or a minor even. Just political science.

All this, my history with only wanting to do things I'm already good at, is why I knew I was called to ministry. Not by people, not by my own ego, not by society, but by God.

You see, I'm not that good at most of the things involved in ministry. Relationships have always been really hard for me. Small talk is excruciating. I'm an okay preacher, but only because of hard work and a lot of focus throughout seminary. I have a deep and abiding love for God's people, but I'm sometimes harsh and abrasive, impatient with imperfection and the slow laboring coming-of-the-Kin-dom. Teaching is fun for me, but I usually get way too nerdy and don't realize when I've lost people. Honestly, I would probably be a much better church administrative assistant than a pastor.

So the only way I can explain my call to ministry is in these terms: God put it in my heart. To humble me. To stretch me. To mold me. To kill and resurrect me. To prune me. My whole life, I only ever tried things that I already knew I was good at. It was never really my idea to enter seminary or ministry. After all, I spent most of the first year sitting across from Daniel in the dorm hallway, sobbing that I was no good at any of it and that I didn't belong there. (Did I mention that I'm pretty good at being dramatic?) That's how I know my call is legit. That's how I know this is where I am supposed to be. Not because I am good at it (I'm totally not), but because God has put it in my heart so obviously and fully that I honestly can't imagine doing anything else.

What would Jesus do?

How do we learn to live an ethical life? Many of us would answer with the quip “WWJD” or “What would Jesus do?” However, the question of “what Jesus would do” misses the mark of ethics in more than one way. The phrase “What would Jesus do” assumes that we move throughout our lives actively and consciously making decisions about what we should and should not do (or what is right and wrong); it is also too vague and relative to guide us when decision-making is needed, and assumes that Jesus is not actively working in our world.

If we assume that ethics can be decided by simply asking ourselves “what Jesus would do,” we are not speaking of ethics at all. How many of us have to decide whether we will tell the truth or lie in everyday conversation? Do we really have to decide whether or not we are going to kill our neighbor every day? Generally, what we do naturally flows from who we are. In other words, the core of Christian ethics is not decision-making but character-forming. The true goal of ethics is to form us into a people of character who see the world rightly. Ethics is a matter of aligning our will with God’s will and being “a particular kind of people, a people of God.”* Ethics is, more than a laundry list of what we do, who we are in Christ Jesus. It is a matter of who we are as baptized members of God’s family. But how do we learn these habits of holiness and become “a people of God?” 

We learn to be a people of God in the same way a person learns to become a carpenter. While much of the technical knowledge can be learned by reading a textbook, it takes a mentor and a lot of practice to become a truly skilled carpenter. In the same way, in order to become a people of character, we must learn from the masters, or the saints, and practice the discipline by remembering and imitating them (Hebrews 11). In mirroring the saints and learning to be a people of character, we begin to see the world as God sees the world. Paul shows us how to learn from him when he writes that Timothy has observed and learned from him (2 Timothy 3:10-12). As communities, we can foster this kind of growth and character-forming in various ways, but they all involve meeting together as one body and “provok[ing] one another to love and good deeds” (Hebrews 10:24). Building a people of character is not simply about reading the bible and determining what we should or should not do, but following Christ and imitating Christ in his bringing of the Kingdom of God. 

Out of this imitation comes new life in community with one another. In our baptism and our catechesis we are freed from decision-making and strict memorization of the laws. We are enabled by the community to internalize the rules and commands that we have learned through study as well as our imitation of the saints and become a people of character. It is the Christian community that promises to bring us up and nurture us in faith and prayer.**  We live in a distinctive community with distinctive symbols and traditions such as baptism and eucharist which form us and transform us into a distinctive kind of people. Eventually through this type of catechesis, we become “a people who think, see, feel, and act differently.”* Once we inhabit these ways of being, when our will is aligned with God’s will, we no longer have to think about what to do, we no longer have to make decisions. Our actions became second-nature and a manifestation of who we are through Christ. As we can see, the Christian life is less about decision-making and more about character-forming within our congregations.

This does not, however, mean that we will never need to make moral decisions. Decisions are still made on the margins of the moral life. There are certain times when we are faced with a new or challenging moral question and our habits and character cannot provide an answer. This is when we are called to make a decision based on our experiences, Jesus’ life, and the lives of the saints. Herein lies the confusion about WWJD. Most of us would imagine that these decisions can be made by asking the seemingly simple question, “what would Jesus do?” We cannot merely rely on each person’s individual interpretation of “what Jesus would do” in any given situation.*** When faced with the classic moral conundrum such as whether or not you should tell a murdered where his potential victims are hiding, people can come up with different answer to “what Jesus would do.” Would Jesus lie to the murderer to protect the people? Or would Jesus tell the truth and be the cause of the people’s untimely demise? We simply do not know the answer. Therefore, we cannot apply this moral platitude to the moral decisions we make. Our moral decisions on the edges of our lives are too complicated to use a maxim to gauge our moral practices. 

Finally, we can see that the question “What would Jesus do” implies that Jesus is only hypothetically working in our world, when in reality we know and are called to proclaim the Messiah who is living and presently active in our world. Jesus is alive and sent the Holy Spirit to abide in us and with us (John 14:15-15:11) If the previous comments on forming habits of holiness seem like a tall order, that's because it is. It is, in fact, an impossible order without the work of the Holy Spirit in our lives. We are given new life in the Spirit in our baptism and renewed in Christ each time we are gathered together in worship and partake of his body in Holy Communion.****  Therefore, a better question would be “what is Jesus doing?” and to that we can answer: renewing us in the Spirit and forming us into a holy people of character. 

While on the surface, WWJD seems like a fine rubric for our moral code, the Christian life requires something much deeper. We are enabled by the living and active Christ to become a people who demonstrate habitual holiness. Because our morality and behavior stems from who and whose we are, the Christian life is less about decisions and more about our formation as God’s children. However, when decision must be made on the edges of the moral life, such a vague and relative quip will only lead us into chaos. Therefore, we look to the examples of the saints to be our guides and mentors in all that we do.  

* Daniel M. Bell, A People of Character lecture, Fall 2016. 

** Evangelical Lutheran Worship hymnal, 228. 

*** Daniel M. Bell, Proclaiming the Truth lecture, Fall 2016. 

**** Evangelical Lutheran Worship hymnal, 92.

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Shitty situations

I've been thinking a lot about Mary (the mother of Jesus) these days. Mary is such and interesting character in God's story. She is dynamic, confident, untroubled. And I firmly believe she'd be a feminist if she had any idea what the word meant back then (but I'll save that for another post).

I've been thinking about the way Mary just said "yes" to God without even thinking about it. She's almost annoyingly cool in her response to the angel. But I don't think this really had much to do with Mary's personality. I think it had much more to do with the promise she had heard over and over again as a Jew hearing the biblical narrative of God's action throughout history. 

You see, Mary would have recognized that this was not the first time that God called ordinary people into extraordinary circumstances. To be quite frank, this was not the first time God had called someone into a shitty situation. 

Now I don't use that word lightly. Unlike when I was in high school, I don't get enjoyment from cursing in the public sphere (okay, yeah I do). But think about it. God was asking unmarried Mary to carry a baby and claim that it was God's child. In a time where promiscuous women were stoned to death. It was, for lack of a better word, a shitty situation. 

But Mary would have heard other stories about God calling people into these kinds of situations. 

Moses freeing his people from the Egyptians- not exactly an easy thing to do. 

Jonah going into Nineveh and calling for repentance- pretty terrifying. 

Abraham and Sarah trusting that at way-too-many years old they would have a baby and that baby would be the father of nations- a basically impossible situation.  

Calling on Rahab to protect the very people that would destroy her city in a matter of days- not a great situation in which to be. 

But there's a common thread that Mary would have recognized and that I am coming to recognize more and more. God is going to call us into shitty situations. But the good news is that God isn't like an absentee parent sending us off to college with a "good luck kiddo." 

God goes with us. God is in the dregs with us. And the situation might suck, but we aren't alone in it. God promises to walk beside us through everything (or carry us if you like that poem). 

And as Mary heard from the angel that she'd be carrying the savior of the world in her womb, I imagine her thinking, "Well dang. Alright... But you better be with me through this, Lord." 

And as she looked into her son's beautiful face, I'm guessing she realized that God was not only with her, but within her. 

We are quickly entering the season of Lent, a season when we remember Jesus' temptation, the trials, the burdens that he endured. And before we realize it, we will be confronted with Holy Week - when Mary watched her son be betrayed by all of his closest friends, watched as they lashed him, watched as they drew him up onto the cross to die.

Mary's fortitude, her strength in these situations comes from that promise long ago: "I am with you." And God was her, providing her with strength, comfort, and assurance throughout her entire life.  

I can promise that God is not done sending God's people into pretty shitty situations, but I can also guarantee this one important promise from our Lord and Savior: we are not alone. God is with us. 

Ethics and the Church

Christian Ethics paper, 2016. 

A woman in my congregation recently approached me to discuss a matter that has been troubling her. She has been working for a defense contractor for some 25 years and recently learned that her company sells defense products to oppressive governments. She is concerned that working for this company is incompatible with being a disciple of Christ. In this paper I will outline my conversation with her as I assure her that we are all guilty of sin, offer her a time of confession and forgiveness, and encourage her to seek the counsel and support of the congregation. 

In beginning my conversation with this individual, I would emphasize that she is not alone. Her hands are not the only ones whose hands have blood on them from this company or from outside of this company. Our economic and politic system allows and encourages many people to continue in companies that separate them from the people who are actually affected by the companies. There is virtually nothing we can do to have our hands completely clean from the atrocities of the world. Luther’s explanation of the Fifth Commandment affirms that we are truly not free from these sins as we allow our sisters and brothers in Christ to perish at our own weapons. “For although you have not actually committed all these crimes, as far as you were concerned you have nevertheless permitted your neighbor to languish and perish in his misfortune.” We are captive to sin — even sin of which we have been ignorant for so long — and cannot free ourselves. I would assure this individual that she is not alone in her struggle and call toward a holier life. 

Following this assurance, I would invite this individual into a brief order of confession and forgiveness. We recognize confession as a means of grace as it allows us to name the powers that hold us captive and confess the truth of God’s forgiveness and grace through Christ Jesus. “Although we are set free to live in love and faithfulness, we continue to turn away from God and from one another.” It is commendable that she is mature enough in her faith to recognize that her career is not compatible with Christian discipleship. In confession I would invite her to explain how she discerned that. I would also invite her to be specific and detailed in her confession, including naming the powers that we renounce in our baptism. Confession is the beginning of being set free from sin. In confession we move toward the center, who is Christ, unlearning our sinful ways and learning habits of holiness. Confession shows us that salvation is truly a gift because despite our confession and sanctification, we will continue to sin and be unworthy of God’s forgiveness apart from Christ. We can begin the process of penance and reconciliation upon being assured of God’s forgiveness in Christ Jesus. It is an invitation back into the reconciled communion of the body of Christ. 

Finally, I would discuss with this individual the next steps toward reconciliation and penance. I would agree that she may want to consider leaving the company as a form of penance since she does not find it compatible with Christian discipleship. However, I would assure her that this is not a decision she must make immediately or alone. Discernment and sanctification are long processes that should be taken seriously in our community. In the discernment process we are beginning to move toward Christ, we are not instantly made better. It is like being checked into the hospital; we must diagnose the sin (in confession) then discern the appropriate remedy for that sin (penance and reconciliation). Sanctification does not happen immediately but is a long, slow, and sometimes painful process. I would encourage her to seek the counsel of those in the community and the saints of the church. The community will help her identify her gifts and her calling as a baptized child of God. The community is called to “bear one another's burdens” (Galatians 6:2) and promised in her baptism to “support and pray for [her] in [her] new life in Christ.” Part of this bearing of burdens and support consists of praying and confessing with her, and seeing how God opens our lives to new ways of living and faithfulness. We are called to new lives in Christ, a cruciform way of living that points toward Christ with a long, bony finger, whatever the cost.

If the communal discernment concludes that she is called to a new vocation and she quits her job, the community will support her in that decision. It should set her free from burden and bondage, allowing her to live according to the new age in Christ Jesus, but this does not mean it will not be difficult. Christ instructs his disciples to deny themselves, take up the cross, and follow him (Matthew 16:24; Mark 8:34; Luke 9:23). However, ultimately she will gain so much more from this discernment and decision. As Bonhoeffer writes in The Cost of Discipleship, 

Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man (sic) must knock. Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life.

The community will assist her financially, emotionally, and spiritually during this time of transition. We will walk with her in discernment, assist her financially while she is in between jobs, work on establishing a scholarship fund for her children, or work to provide child care for her as she looks for a new job opportunity. The entire community with this individual is called to trust the Spirit in this vocational discernment and be receptive to the ways that God might surprise us by opening up new ways of living.

By affirming her feelings of uncertainty about her vocation, providing an opportunity for confession and forgiveness, and encouraging communal discernment, I hope to provide this individual with theologically sound pastoral care in a time of great trial and discernment. Through this communal discernment process, she will be empowered and held accountable in her new life in Christ through the body of Christ and communion of the saints. 

Sources: 

 Dr. Daniel M Bell, “Lecture 18B Counting Blessings, Capitalist Theology and Christian Economics,” Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary of Lenior-Rhyne University, assigned November 17, 2016.

 Kolb, Robert, and Timothy J. Wengert, eds., The Book of Concord: The Confessions of the Evangelical

Lutheran Church, “Large Catechism,” Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000.

 Evangelical Lutheran Worship hymnal, “Confession & Forgiveness,” 95. 

 Evangelical Lutheran Worship hymnal, “Introduction to Individual Confession and Forgiveness,” 243. 

 Evangelical Lutheran Worship hymnal, “Profession of Faith,” 229.

 Dr Daniel M Bell, Lecture 7 - “A People of Character,” Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary of Lenior-Rhyne University, assigned September 22, 2016. and “Lecture 10 Vocation,” assigned October 6, 2016.  

 Evangelical Lutheran Worship hymnal, “Presentation, Holy Baptism,” 228.

 Dr. Daniel M Bell, “Lecture 10 Vocation,” Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary of Lenior-Rhyne University, assigned October 6, 2016.

 Matthias Grunewald, Isenheim Altarpiece, 1912-1916, Unterlinden Museum, Colmar: France.

 Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Gerhard Leibholz, The Cost of Discipleship, New York: Macmillan (1958). 

My education after seminary

I had never worked in the food industry before this spring. I don't regret having to work in a restaurant as a hostess to make ends meet. We have to do what we have to do between graduation and first call. I've learned a lot and come to appreciate the service industry even more than I did before. That saying (I don't know if it's actually a saying) that "everyone should work in the food service industry at least once," is very true.

So here are some things I have learned while working in a restaurant...


Ice cream solves a multitude of problems. My manager's go-to move when someone is upset or an order is made wrong (over and over again) is to send the table ice cream (actually gelato because we think we are fancy). And let me tell you, people are totally into it. They are delighted to get free ice cream after their meal. The other day, we had a little girl come in with her parents and she was just WAILING. She wanted ice cream and she wanted it about ten minutes ago. As I sat them, I mentioned to her mother that we have gelato (pft). The wailing stopped as the gelato-posing-as-ice-cream was delivered. Ice cream solves everything, y'all. It just does.

Your education means nothing if you aren't nice. I was chatting with a fellow hostess, exchanging stories, and asking about her life. She said she is currently working at Tazza because she just got out of a bad relationship and had to move back in with her parents. As I mentioned that I had just finished my master's degree. "How old are you?" she asked. I replied that I'm 25. She said, "I feel so under-accomplished! You're younger than me and you have a master's degree!" I was quick to point out that we are both working the same job for the same wage. Education means absolutely nothing when you're in the same lot in life.

The 5/10 rule makes a lot of sense in real life. In restaurant business there is a rule that says if someone is within ten feet of you, you should acknowledge the person with a smile or a "hello." If you are within five feet of a person, you should greet them and offer to assist them. As an introvert, it is really easy for me to dip my head when people walk down the street or greet me in a grocery store. Since working in a restaurant, I have greeted a lot more people in my day to life. This is also a "rule" that I think is invaluable in ministry, whether we tell our worship greeters about the "rule" or using it in our lives everyday.

People just want to be treated like human beings. Whether it is the chef, the line cooks, the host, the servers, or the guests, we simply want to be treated like human beings. Whatever that means to you might vary, but to me it means that people who are in the service industry are people. People who go to eat in restaurants are people. It's not super complicated. I don't think that one person is any better than the other. Sure, I work in a restaurant where I can't afford the food, but that doesn't mean I should be treated like a someone who is less than human. It's probably too much to ask, but you know, I'm an optimist.

Keep your feet underneath you. I'm not the most graceful person in the world. I was slipping and sliding on the kitchen floor the other day and someone said, "keep your feet underneath you." That sounds like common sense, but it's more about not cutting corners or going too fast. And I can really use that advice. I'm pretty good at going too fast and forgetting to take a look around and appreciate my life.

So I guess what I'm saying is that I'm really enjoying working at the restaurant, and it is teaching me a lot. I hope I don't have to work there forever, but I'll take these lessons with me into ministry and whatever is next in life.

On being left behind

I've moved about eighteen times in my life. I am quite used to getting settled in a place for about a year, then packing all of my things and starting over again in another place. What I am not used to, however, is being left behind.

I started thinking about being left behind as I listened to the first lesson last Sunday. The disciples watched as Jesus ascended into heaven, then were scolded for looking up to where he had gone into the clouds. I cannot imagine what the disciples must have been feeling as they watched the Lord ascend into heaven (Acts 1:9-11). You see, I am not used to being left behind.

I have always been the one to leave a place first. When I left for undergrad, I had to go early to start my job, making me one of the first of my friends to leave for college. I was the first one of my three roommates to move out of my dorm room after our first year. Even through seminary, I did not waste any time moving out of the dorm and into my apartment or up to Durham to be with Daniel. But now I find myself being left behind and I feel like one of the disciples looking up at the sky going, Okay, so what's next? 

In the past week, there have been a half a dozen moving trucks moving my beloved classmates on to their next adventure, most of them heading to internship or Clinical Pastoral Education for the summer. Others were headed to camp or to vacation. Many of our friends have not left quite yet, but they are making plans are will probably not be around much longer. As I hear each person talk about their plans for the next few months I find myself feeling a combination of anxious, jealous, and angry. We have no plans and we aren't going anywhere. I'm feeling quite left behind.

I imagine God peering at the disciples as Jesus ascends into heaven, thinking Come on now, you've work to do, don't just stand there. I am trying to remind myself the words of Acts... "You don't get to know the time. Timing is God's business. What you'll get is the Holy Spirit" (paraphrased from The Message, Acts 1:7-8). I am not entirely sure I am comforted by the words, but they're there. And I keep reading them.

And we do have work to do. We are called in this time more than ever to love one another fiercely and not let this time of anxious waiting come between us. We are called to love those who are left behind with us, and nurture the relationships with those who have left us. We are called to smile and nod as people tell us the Spirit is at work. And, I suppose, we are called, as we feel left behind, to keep repeating those words (whether we fully believe them or not)... You don't get to know the time. Timing is God's business. What you'll get is the Holy Spirit.

Accepting Hospitality

A normal question we encountered over and over again at the beginning of our time here in Malaysia was, "how do you find Malaysia?" It seemed every time we saw anyone from church, they would want to know how we were getting along - especially with the weather. (It's quite hot here, if you haven't heard.)

After a few weeks, the questions turned to food. No matter what time it was or what we were about to do, every time we got into the car with someone, they would promptly ask, "Have you eaten?" We never tried it, I would guess if we had ever said we were hungry, they would have put the pedal to the floor in search of acceptable food choices.

In these past few weeks together, we have been getting a different question when gathering with folks. "What will you miss the most?"

The food.
The people.

Table fellowship.

"In the beginning was the Word. It was only when human beings appeared that the Word became food on a table. We know that language allows us to understand each other and to express what we think and feel. We humans, however, are more than language. We humans are cookingage, i.e., that which allows us to prepare the food with which we can nourish not only our body, but also our spirit. It was when we started to cook our first meals and when we started to conjugate the incarnate Word that we noticed that we were human. Both table and Word humanize us. No wonder it is essential that the table on which our meals are served be conjoined with good conversation: at the table, the word is essential."  -- Forward by Joaquín Racionero Page

(From "Theology of Food: Eating and the Eucharist" by Angel F. Méndez Montoya, vi)

Hospitality is about more than giving. I think there's also an element of receiving in it too. Showing hospitality has been instilled in me from a young age. My mom was always hosting parties and dinners when we were growing up. It seemed no matter where we moved, one thing remained constant -- our house was a place to gather, a place to eat, and a place to have fellowship. I don't remember going to as many parties as we hosted when I was growing up. It wasn't just parties, either. We constantly had people staying at our house overnight. Later, Mom would laugh and called the house Hotel Habermehl, but I remember it vividly. No matter who it was -- grandparents or friends of friends -- everyone was welcome at our house for as long as they needed to be there.

Therefore, as I grew older, I became very good at hosting and not so great at receiving hospitality.

Okay, let me be clear: my body rejects hospitality like it rejects red meat and dairy products. I'm simply not very good at being taken care of. I'm the worst guest if you expect me to just relax and receive. I'm the kind of guest you invite over before the party so I can clean your house and help bake the pies. I'm not entirely sure what it is about receiving that grates me. It probably has to do with my perfectionist tendencies and my over- achiever work ethic. Whatever it is, I was in for a rude awakening in Malaysia.

Learning to accept hospitality and assistance has been the hardest for me this year. It has taken me nearly six months to even write about how it has affected my life. We spent the year without a car, in a foreign place, with foreign food, immersed in a different language. All of these things meant I had to learn how to accept the hospitality of others.

We had to ask people (in the beginning, they were complete strangers) to take us to the grocery store.
We had to call people to ask them what words meant in an Indian restaurant.
We went to lunch with people who ordered food for us without even knowing if we would eat it.
People drove us home from church and restaurants constantly because we had no way of transporting ourselves.
We were completely reliant on other people for things we never would have imagined before.

It was weird. It drove me insane. I fought back against it. But it changed me and formed me into a woman who can -- even if I don't really want to -- accept hospitality. And as I reflect on all the things I could miss about Malaysia, my heart keeps going back to the people, their hospitality, and especially their food. It's how they show that they care deeply for us and want us to be happy (and fed). And my goodness, is it biblical and wonderful. I miss it desperately and I can't wait to get back for more.