Fifth Sunday in Lent
Sunday, April 2, 2017 – 11 o’clock in the morning
Thoughts from Pastor Miller
Thoughts from Pastor Miller
Tuesday, March 28
Now the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowds to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus killed. The governor again said to them, “Which of the two do you want me to release for you?” And they said, “Barabbas.”
Pastor Wilbert Miller’s Vespers Sermon
“A Tawdry King, A Cowardly Saint, and Bedraggled Runts Like Us”
1 Samuel 16: 1-13;
Text of Marc-Antoine Charpentier’s Le reniement de Saint Pierre
March 26, 2017 (Fourth Sunday in Lent)
Over and over again in the Bible, God calls the most complex characters to carry out ministry in this world.
Two such characters are with us this evening, King David and Saint Peter. They are giants of the faith and yet dreadfully flawed.
Take King David for instance. It all started out rather innocuously. Samuel went to Jesse to see whether one of his boys might have sufficient intellect and chutzpah to be the next king of Israel.
Eliab was the first son to be paraded before Samuel. He was tall and handsome, a strapping figure to be sure. Anyone on the lookout for royal stature would have picked Eliab in a heartbeat. But abruptly, God’s voice came booming from heaven and vetoed Samuel’s preliminary pick: “Look not to his appearance and to his lofty stature.”
And so, Samuel resumed the search. Seven of Jesse’s sons were marched before him, one-by-one, and each summarily rejected by God. It was the eighth, the ruddy one with beautiful eyes, who caught God’s attention. David was an after-thought being the runt of the litter. It was befuddling really because, as you know, then and now, we prefer leaders who are big and powerful. We are skeptical of runtiness!
Ted Schneider was the pastor of St. Luke’s-Silver Spring, the largest Lutheran congregation in metropolitan Washington, DC. Every year, our national Lutheran church holds a retreat where only the senior pastors of our largest congregations are invited. Needless to say, I have never been invited since I have served runts of the litter—ruddy and beautiful congregations, but runts nonetheless. Pastor Schneider, who went on to be the Lutheran bishop of Washington, D.C., told me that, almost without exception, the pastors of these congregations with more than 2500 members were 6’6” tall with sweeping white manes and deep, resonant voices. When they walk into cocktail parties, you take notice. Pastor Schneider stood out among these eye-catching titans—or actually he didn’t: he is 5’6”, I think.
King David was the runt, too, and yet everyone took notice and that’s what eventually caused problems. He captivates us by slaying the giant Goliath and crafting the gorgeous Psalms we sing on evenings like this. He was unlike anyone Israel had ever seen—so self-assured, so charming, so debonair; no one questioned David’s God-given ability to lead Israel. And yet, like so many compelling leaders, David sickens us to this day no matter how much we adore him.
Those blessed with unusual gifts are often the ones who must be kept in check. Down through history, those with the greatest promise have often unleashed the most unfathomable havoc. One need only look at David’s hideous affair with beautiful Bathsheba: watch the cover-up as he eventually had Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah, killed on the front line of battle. Powerful men, when crossed, can be ruthless and have the potential to unleash all manner of mayhem.
We also welcome Saint Peter tonight as the choir sings this evening’s cantata. Peter was like David in so many ways. Though called to be Jesus’ right-hand man, all did not turn out as planned. When Jesus was arrested and his death was imminent, Peter slinked into the shadows and denied ever having known his best friend. Peter had three chances to stand up for Jesus and three times he cowered like a beaten puppy.
What is so astonishing is that God even called Peter and David. You would think God would have known better…and maybe God did.
Rabbi David Wolpe, in his book, David: The Divided Heart, writes: “Throughout his journey, David, though sinful and rebuked, is never faithless. His failures do not make him doubt—or reject—God; rather, they intensify his devotion.”
Rabbi Wolpe continues: “Conventional religion has a regrettable tendency to do surgery on the human soul, leaving only the exalted parts. But readers of the Bible find that [it] is filled with flawed human beings and fraught situations against the backdrop of charged sanctity.”
Peter was no different. The classics scholar Erich Auerbach notes that in all of Greco-Roman literature, there is no story like Peters’ encounter with the servant girl in the high priest’s courtyard. “Peter is the leader of the Christian movement, and yet the literature of the movement implicates him in a tawdry deception with dialogue so realistic that it’s embarrassing” (Richard Lischer, The End of Words).
We like happy endings where our heroes are perfect and courageous but that, dear friends, is not the biblical story. God chooses flawed folks like David and Peter to do heavenly work here on earth.
And, by the way, God chooses you and me to do similar work as well. In spite of our cowardice and braggadocio, doubts and tawdry desires, God picks us to let God’s grace shine through to those we encounter day after day.
Take heart in the odd flaws of heroes and saints like King David and Saint Peter. After all, you and I join them to do God’s work here on earth. There is hope for us, dear friends, there is hope.
Pastor Wilbert Miller’s Sermon
“With a Little Spit and Mud”
John 9: 1-41
March 26, 2017 (Fourth Sunday in Lent)
The man was born blind for goodness sakes…Jesus and his disciples passed by him as so many others had, day after day.
Curiously, however, no sooner had the disciples passed by the blind man than they asked, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
The disciples’ initial reaction was not to alleviate the man’s suffering; instead they probed why he was born blind: had he sinned or his parents? They wanted to study the matter of suffering a little more deeply.
There continues to be a lot of suffering in the world. People are hungry and homeless, refugees and unemployed, depressed and addicted. Is our initial impulse to speculate on why they suffer or do we act immediately to alleviate their agony?
Jesus answered the disciples’ question curtly: “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be made manifest in him. We must work the works of him who sent me, while it is day; night comes, when no one can work.”
Did you hear Jesus’ answer: the man was born blind so “that the works of God might be made manifest in him.”
Enough speculation, Jesus said. Let God’s work begin! It’s getting dark.
There wasn’t a moment to spare because Jesus was going to die soon. And so, he spat on the ground, made clay with the spittle, and wiped it on the blind man’s eyes. Jesus then told him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam,” and soon after that, the fellow returned without a white cane and German Shepherd on a leash and he began to dance.
Just wondering…If you walked down the street after Mass today and passed a blind man, would any of you spit in the mud and wipe a bit of the concoction on his eyes? Do you sense the urgency Jesus sensed or are you a bit more cautious? Rather than stooping down for a little spit and mud, might you suggest we first form a task-force or at the very least do a cost analysis? After all, don’t we want to make certain that spit and mud is acceptable to all even if it might heal a blind man?
I did my seminary internship in 1976 at Emanuel Lutheran Church in South Philadelphia. Emanuel was the largest African American Lutheran congregation in America located in the rough and tumble Southwark Housing project where thousands and thousands of people lived. One day, fourteen-year old Kenny Williams was shot in the head on the twenty-first floor of one of the dilapidated twenty-five story high-rises as he and his two friends played a fatal game of Russian roulette.
I was at the church when my internship supervisor, Pastor John Cochran, called and said: “Drop everything and come immediately. Bring a silver bowl for baptism and oil for anointing. Kenny has had massive trauma to the brain and is on life support.”
Soon after “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” had been declared and water was dabbed on dear Kenny’s blood-soaked head, he breathed his last.
That Thursday evening, following the seven o’clock Mass, our broken-hearted staff sat in the pastor’s office, staring numbly into space. Pastor Cochran’s question will stay with me for a lifetime: “Why hadn’t Kenny been baptized before he was on his death bed? Why hadn’t we sensed the urgency?”
Like Kenny’s baptism, the healing of the blind man rings of urgency for Jesus. There was no time to speculate as to why he was born blind; he had to be healed, now, not tomorrow. Bring the spit and mud!
Remarkably, even after Jesus had done the miraculous, the Pharisees, good and faithful ones they were, still had nagging questions, “This man is not from God for he does not keep the sabbath.” Never mind that the blind man could now see for the first time in his life! The issue for good religious folks was whether all the rules had been followed. As so often is the case when merciful things are done, the Pharisees concluded that, in fact, Jesus had broken the commandment by healing the blind man on the sabbath; he never should have healed the guy.
My experience has often been that when the most good is done, there are complaints and critiques, not by bad people, mind you, but by good, caring people: a congregational meeting should have been held first to seek the mind of the membership; it was a splendid idea but didn’t you realize a few “influential people” might leave the church in disgust; or someone who knows the Bible will inevitably say, as did the Pharisees, “Couldn’t you have waited until Monday after the sabbath?” And, of course, you can hear them demand, “Why in the world did you have to use spit and mud on the Upper West Side?”
Jesus gathers us here this morning to remind us, yet again, that there is an urgency to act in his name, not tomorrow, not in six months, but today, now! It’s not dark yet but it’s getting there. What we do may be sloppy but, much more importantly, what we do might save a person’s life.
Our actions may come in small ways, volunteering in our Women’ Shelter or just bringing a few new pairs of women’s underwear for those who live here six months of the year; you may help at the Saturday meal for HUG for those living on life’s edges; or you may make a generous contribution to the courageous work of Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service helping those seeking a safe place to call home (with your generosity, we are well on our way to collecting $4000). When we do these things, today, God’s goodness is made manifest in this place and in our lives.
When Jesus saw the man born blind, the incessant deliberations ceased and the gracious healing began. The old rugged cross loomed near and it was time to act.
I pray that our ministry here at the Evangelical Lutheran Church of the Holy Trinity may always be filled with a similar sense of urgency. Now is the time to use some spit and mud!
Monday, March 27
While he was sitting on the judgment seat, his wife sent word to him, “Have nothing to do with that innocent man, for today I have suffered a great deal because of a dream about him.”
It is the proverbial “dead of night”. I awake from a disturbing dream. I am alone in the dark. The room is silent, and not a sound can be heard in the house or outside. All is still.
But my heart is beating wildly and my soul is troubled. I have heard voices in my dreams. The voices of the dead are calling to me. Are they accusing me of not fulfilling my obligations to them? Of some act of disrespect? Of some unresolved difficulty?