A Terrifyingly Beautiful Call

(Sermon at Luther House Chapel on April 10, 2016 - John 21:1-19)

Last year when I was working in a church, I was approached by a parishioner after preaching. He said, "Sarah, you should really stop starting your sermons with 'I love this story of Jesus.' Surely you don't love every story of Jesus. And anyway, you use the same beginning for every sermon."

At the time, I smiled sweetly and said, "Oh but I do love every story of Jesus. There is not a single story of Jesus and his disciples that does not bring me great joy. I love them. And I love telling them! But you're right - I should probably stop repeating myself."

And I do. I love every story of Jesus - but I understand his point. Sometimes saying I love every story of Jesus doesn't quite do every story justice. Take this story, for instance - I do love this story of Jesus and his disciples. The imagery is rich, Jesus nourished his friends - it is a beautiful scene. But I don't just love this story - this passage actually terrifies me.

Like the disciples, we really have no idea what we are getting ourselves into when we encounter God incarnate in Christ Jesus. We encounter God - or rather God comes crashing into our life - and suddenly things are turned upside down and inside out. It's terrifying.

My husband calls these "mountain-top experiences." And I would guess that many of you have had these experiences throughout your life. It could be while you are on a mission trip, it could be the moment you hold your newborn baby in your arms for the first time, it might be in the midst of great pain and sorrow... You can have these experiences throughout your entire life - in fact, for some of us, it is what brought us to church in the first place.

One of my mountain-top experiences happened in the Central American country of Honduras, literally on the side of a mountain in a small village.

It is the kind of experience that makes God feel so close. Suddenly and beautifully you know that you're walking on holy ground and the existence of God and the love of Christ are undeniable. And somehow, in some way, you know your whole life has changed. You know your identity has shifted and your goals and your mission in life are new and more important.

All of that happened to me on that side of the mountain in Honduras - everything change and all of a sudden I knew I wanted to do international mission work. I knew I wanted to travel the world and meet new people and fall in love with all of God's creation. I was so ready for the next adventure, I wanted to change my plans and change my life to go where God was leading me.

But ten days later, I was back in the United States and I decided not to quit seminary, I decided not to immediately become a missionary. I began classes again and I started work once more. And as I entered the usual drudgery of providing for myself and thinking of my own needs, I slowly forgot about all those powerful moments on the side of that mountain. The fire that had been blazing in Honduras started to diminish until it was just embers.

That's exactly where we meet the disciples in the passage this morning. They had been following Jesus for nearly three years - surely having mountain-top moments on a daily basis as Jesus healed people around him and taught them about scripture. Their lives had been changed, their hearts had been renewed and shifted in these moments. There was a fire lit in their hearts that was roaring for the mission that Christ had given them.

But then Jesus died, and the fire faded - they became scared and worried that maybe they couldn't live out this mission for Jesus. And then they witnessed him resurrected - another beautifully terrifying mountain-top experience.  But then he was gone again, and they were left with this mission that seemed too hard and too crazy.

And isn't that exactly where we are today? Two weeks ago, we came to church early (early early) and greeted one another with joy and thanksgiving that our redeemer lives! And we shouted "hallelujah!" And we sang songs and hymns with more energy than we should be able to muster at 6:30am.

And now, only a few weeks later we can barely drag ourselves out of bed to make it to church. We have forgotten that it is still Easter and we should still be shouting "hallelujah!" We have forgotten that Christ lives.

So the disciples are coming down off of all these mountain-top experiences and they know deep within their bones that everything has changed. They themselves have been changed but they are lost and they don't know where to go from here.

So they decided to go back to what they knew before Jesus had entered their lives and completely changed them. But if I know anything, it is that once Jesus enters your life, there is no going back to the way things used to be. You can try, but it will not be the same. So they went fishing. The disciples went back to the everyday drudgery of life. They did what they needed to do to provide for themselves and their families.

But I imagine that the reason they didn't catch any fish might be because they could feel that uneasiness, the restlessness, knowing everything had changed and that fishing was not what they were supposed to be doing. I imagine they felt something similar to what I felt when I came back from Honduras - I was restless and unsatisfied with life. Nothing seemed to be quite right because I tried so hard to go back to my old ways of living - before Jesus had come so close to me on that mountain.

And Jesus, as loving and persistent as he is, and wanting to make sure his disciples completely "get it" before he leaves them, he comes back and reminds them again. He reminds them who he is and what his mission is. He reminds them of whose they are and what their mission is.

And this is the terrifyingly beautiful part - Jesus doesn't just leave the disciples with a new job or a check list of things they need to get done as his disciples. He says, "feed my lambs, provide for my lambs, feed my sheep." He commands them to become shepherds. And if you know anything about being a shepherd, you know that "shepherd" is not a job title, it is an identity.

You can't take your "shepherd hat" on and off as you please. You cannot go out to the fields and throw food out to the sheep and lambs twice a day and call yourself a shepherd. Being a shepherd is 100% effort, 100% of the time. It is our new identity, it is our new mission and our new life. That is what it means to be a disciples of Christ.

Following Jesus is not easy and it is certainly not a list of things that we can check off our to do list every day. And that's why this passage is so terrifying to me. That is why mountain-top experiences are so terrifying and beautiful - because when God comes so close that we can no longer deny God,  we are in for real change. Our lives are no longer about taking care of ourselves. All of a sudden we are given all of these sheep in the form of our brothers and sisters in this world - our loved ones, our friends, our enemies, people in foreign lands we have never met - for whom we are called to lay down our lives. Just as Jesus laid down his life for all.

So this morning and throughout this season I pray that we take these mountain-top experiences, these moments when God comes so close that we suddenly feel changed and re-created, and we do not back away. When Jesus call us to feed his sheep and follow him, I pray that we understand the terrifyingly beautiful call to be his disciples and accept it - empowered by the Holy Spirit and renewed by the promise of our risen Christ and of the coming Kingdom. Amen.

My Restlessness

Restless (adj.) - unquiet or uneasy, as a person, the mind, or the heart; unceasingly active; averse to quiet or inaction, as persons.

I think my restlessness started when I was very young. We moved around a lot when I was a child and once you are accustomed to something for 14 years, it becomes a part of who you are. Every two years (sometimes sooner) I feel a type of tugging- a want for less routine, more spontaneity, something new, a purging of all that is old.

My restlessness has led me to do some silly things. I begged my mom to redecorate my bedroom while I was in high school because we had no plans of moving. When I was in college I cut off all of my hair in the quest for something new and different. Sometimes I try out a new style of clothing for a while. It's like a midlife crisis every two years.

My restlessness has also led me to do some other mildly crazier things. Like draining my bank account on a ticket to Hawaii for ten days. And writing an entrance essay for seminary.

Sometimes it's a combination of restlessness, anger, sorrow, the need for freedom - the realization of something small - for me to do the big things that need to be done. Breaking off an engagement. Ending a relationship of almost five years.

I'm afraid my restlessness will leave me alone in this life. If not alone, it certainly has the potential to leave me lonely. In my need for change, I pick everything up and move. I leave the people I love in the search for something to stop my restlessness.

I used to be afraid I would never find the cure to my restlessness.

Then I went to Honduras.

Honduras seemed to settle me. I never felt more physically healthy than when I was in Honduras. Even the things you'd expect from international travel (exhaustion, stomach issues, soreness from more physical work I'm used to) didn't bother me at all.  I have had neck and shoulder issues from being a student for 17 years and sleeping on a thin mat on a concrete floor didn't leave me aching in the morning.

I also couldn't have been happier than I was in Honduras.  I missed talking to my parents and friends, sure; but I don't think I've ever laughed for ten days straight and I was filled with so much joy while I was there.

I felt filled with the Holy Spirit on a moment to moment basis in a way I've never felt before. I could see God in every child's face and every evening worship service.  I felt God's touch every time a six year old held my hand and in the mornings when the weigh of the mist in the mountains was heavy.

I wasn't restless there.

It took me about 4 hours in the country before I felt as if I belonged there. I've never felt so at home. We had something to do every single day and there was a new adventure around the corner of every dirt road. If I ever got bored in Honduras, I was doing something wrong.  There were endless things for me to learn there.

I miss it every day.

I'm no longer afraid that I will never find a cure for my restlessness. I know that God will lead me back to a place like Honduras. I feel the workings of that every day as I sit in class and as I talk to professors and pastors about international mission.

But it's really hard to wait. I'm doing everything I can to convince myself to stay in seminary and finish my degree. But it's so hard when I'm restless here. Especially restless here. I'm comfortable here and I hate being comfortable.

I long for poverty and adventure and challenge and love. I long for the faces of children and laughter surrounding me every day. And I don't know what that means for my future or where I'll be in the world, but I know I won't settle until my life is consumed by it.

A Million Different Pieces

I spent ten days of January in Honduras. Everyone has asked, "What was your favorite part?"

Easiest question in the world.

The kids.


We spent six days in Santa Cruz- a small village of about 120 people perched on the side of a mountain.  It was on the side of this mountain that I fell in love at least a half a dozen times.

Toya. Maria. Margarita. René. Nelson. Cecilia. Mariven. Belkis. Karin.


I wish I could have taken them all home with me. I was absolutely torn in half to leave them. There is nothing I wouldn't give to be sitting on the front porch of the school, giggling with the girls and waiting for them to tickle me and whisper silly Spanish things to me every time I looked the other way. I'd give everything to see Nelson smiling at me before breakfast in the morning. I can't describe how much I wish I could see René's silly smile after he pokes me during worship service.

Everything was amazing in Honduras. We couldn't have asked for better weather, we were in the most beautiful mountains I've ever seen in my life, we ate incredibly good food. Serving people in the clinic was really awesome. Watching the men redo everything Aly and I contributed while doing construction was hilarious.

But nothing compares to the kids. Their joy and smiles and laughter have split my heart into a million different pieces. Even Jesus is going to have a hard time putting me back together this time.

Why it hurt so bad was hard to put my finger on at the time. It had everything and more to do with the fact that I just adore children, plain and simple. I'd start adopting them now if that was legal (or logical), but the adoption laws in Honduras prevent me from adopting children until I am 25 years old (yes, I researched this).

But the other part of me knew there was something different about these kids.  I am heartbroken over the fact that Cecilia should be having sleepovers and being silly at 14 years old instead of taking care of her three younger siblings, cooking for her family, and realizing she only has a few more years until she will be married and raising her own children.

I am heartbroken over the fact that Mariven was the only person around to care for her almost deaf and blind grandmother. She will never have a normal childhood. She is only eight years old.

I am heartbroken because many of the young boys who should be playing soccer all day long are working in the fields owned by wealthy men. Spraying vegetables with pesticides that are likely to kill them or give them chronic health problems by the time they are forty. Earning about a dollar a day.

I am heartbroken because they haven't named the precious two month old that they brought to the clinic. They would wait to be sure the baby lived a little longer before naming her.

I am heartbroken because I have lived 21 years on this earth without knowing them and loving them. I have lived a comfortable life and it makes me hurt for them. It makes me hurt for the entire world, because this is not the only community or country with such poverty and oppression.  I am heartbroken because my church ignores it.

The same people who call themselves Christians elect corrupt politicians and buy their food from places that use a cushiony version of slave labor. I am that Christian. I am that person that doesn't deserve to be called a Christian.

I haven't been living my life the way Christ wants me to be living my life.
I don't know how to fix it.
I wish I had a good solution.
I know it is not as easy as people wanted it to be.

But I know that it starts with exactly what happened in Honduras. It starts with falling in love with Christ and falling in love with your neighbor.

I just don't know where to go from here.

Mission Trip

You might be thinking, “Sarah is going on a mission trip?” That’s a completely fair thought. I keep asking myself that too (except in the first person, not the third person). Seminary is really intense right now and this is not a good time to go on a mission trip. But I’m not sure if there is ever a “good time” to go on a mission trip. 

Next summer I will have Clinical Pastoral Education. 

Then another full year of school. 

The summer after that, I will hopefully be preparing for a move to my internship site. 

Then internship. 

Then school. 

My first call. 

Life. 

I'm not sure if there is ever a "good time" to go on a mission trip- especially as a full-time graduate student. 

And I could probably come up with a list of reasons why I shouldn’t go, but I keep coming back to the one reason why I should – God loves people.

I’ve been trying to live through love in the life I currently have. It’s easy to pray for far off places and far off people, but loving who you live and work with is a challenge. I’ve been trying to see my life as a mission field, not just this trip. And it has been cool to see the way God has used this new approach to everything from the way I work with my classmates to the way I treat people in traffic. But now, it’s time to take the things I’ve learned to a new longitude and latitude.

I’m going to Honduras for ten days. We are going to be doing a a building project and working in a medical clinic. But we are also going to hang out with children, learn about the culture, and be loved by people who have absolutely no reason to love us.  There will be a community built and love stared that is only possible through the love and sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

Going wasn’t a hard decision. When it comes down to it, Jesus laid out a pretty simple plan for us, didn’t He? Love God and love others. Nope, deciding to go was easy.  Also, the last time I tried resisting what God wanted me to do, I ended up doing it anyway (hence my being in seminary in the first place). Paying for it, however, is a real challenge.

To be honest with you, I just don’t have $2,000 laying around my dorm room with me while I’m eating baked Tostitos chips and watching Glee. So, instead of selling my plasma 43 times, I decided to send letters to people I don’t usually write and ask for something I don’t usually ask for: money. 

I’d love if you could financially support me on this mission trip. A little, a lot, anything would be great. You can stay updated on my progress and trip here on my blog.

I completely understand if you cannot support me financially, but if you could pray about this trip, that would be awesome. There will be a whole host of obstacles that pop up and entangle themselves around our ankles as we prepare to go love the people of Honduras. And knowing that you are praying would mean a lot to us.

Thank you for reading this rambling post. And I hope to hear from you soon.

Why are people poor?

I think many of you probably know that my most recent and engaging call has been pushing me (maybe not away from parish ministry but) toward mission work in a Spanish-speaking country.

So when I heard that I have the opportunity to go to Honduras this January with some really amazing classmates, I jumped on the chance like a slightly crazy and desperate girl.

In preparation for my mission trip to Honduras, I will be writing about some missional things.  This first post is how I responded to our application question.  It got me thinking about my own identity in Christ and whether or not I am really living into that.  

Why are people poor? What role should the Church have, if any in responding to poverty?

People are poor because we are a broken humanity.  People are inherently self-centered and concerned with having enough and, in the Northern Hemisphere, an abundance of resources.  We live in a Western society that shouts, “more!” in every commercial, store front, and magazine.  Capitalism buys into the excessive culture and perpetuates it until it is out of control.  Westernized countries own the most wealth in the world because of a society that is disconnected from the needs of the entire world.  As long as broken, selfish people are in charge of distributing resources, there will always be people who do not have enough.  

The Church is all about identity.  If, as missionaries, Christians are able to confuse the identities of people in other nations as well as our own nations, to the point of only considering ourselves Christian, the first step to end poverty will be accomplished.  This is not an easy task.  Changing the core identities of people who have been told for hundred of years that they are American, European, or African is not something that will be accomplished overnight.  

Responding to poverty is not about charity from Westernized countries.  It starts with a change in identity, continues with education, and is carried out with love that transcends borders and ethnicities.  The Church must provide an alternative to wasteful selfish consumerism, and thus far, we have been pretty unsuccessful at providing an example for Christians and nonChristians.  

Let me know how you would respond to this question. Why are people poor?  What, as Christians, are we called to do about it?  How can we practically live that out in our lives today?