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“Pity the Bride…Is the Groom Coming or Not?”

Pastor Wilbert Miller’s Sermon
“Pity the Bride…Is the Groom Coming or Not?”
at Bach Vespers (J.S. Bach’s BWV 140 Wachet Auf)
November 12, 2017
The Evangelical Lutheran Church of the Holy Trinity
New York City at Central Park

Please forgive my arrogance, but I actually do believe I can improve on Jesus’ parable about the ten bridesmaids.  The tension could be dramatically heightened if the focus were placed on the bride and not the ten bridesmaids.   Honestly, who do you think was more jittery awaiting the groom’s belated arrival, the bridesmaids or the bride-to-be?

You know as well as I that the bride was the panicky one.  Come on, what did the bridesmaids care?  For them, the weekend wedding festivities were like one big Chi Omega sorority homecoming party.  The bridesmaids were decked out in silky green dresses, chic six-inch heels, and exquisite hairdos, and had already drunk way too many flutes of mimosas.  While they would never admit it publicly, they were going to have lots of fun whether the groom showed up or not. For better or worse, they would have a story to tell for a lifetime.  Why would the bridesmaids be nervous?

But pity the poor bride.  She pranced back and forth in the bridal room, tears making her dazzling makeup job look like a runny Rorschach ink blot test.  She hysterically asked the rabbi, not once but three times, “Has this ever happened to you before? Tell me the truth, rabbi, has it?”

All the while the organist was playing—ten minutes, twenty-two minutes, forty-six minutes.

The ushers were wondering where their pal was but they were chuckling under their breath.

The poor grandparents, this was their worst nightmare for their precious “little princess” as they nervously peeked at their watches.

And the guests were whispering, “He’s from too classy a family not to show, don’t you think?”

The identical thing happened to the early Christians.  They had placed their hopes on Jesus’ countless promises to come again.  Nevertheless, one year led to the next.  Fifty, sixty, seventy years after he died and rose and still no Jesus.

It was not just them.  The organist has been playing preludial music now, awaiting the bridegroom’s entrance, for two thousand years.  We cry out like the petrified bride, “Come, Lord Jesus, come, where in the world are you?”

That’s where the bridesmaids earned their beautiful bouquets and lodging in the elegant rooms of the manor house.  Their job, when the groom still hadn’t shown up, was to keep their lamps trimmed and burning so the bride’s spirits would not fade into the darkness.  While only five of the ten bridesmaids had enough oil left in their lamps when the groom finally did arrive, the truth is that all ten became drowsy and fell asleep.  Waiting is tough, especially when expectations are running high.

Have you ever had to wait, really wait, sometimes against all sensible hope?  Alexandre Dumas, the author of The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers, writes, “All human wisdom is summed up in two words; wait and hope.”

And yet you all know how hard it is to hope deep into the night, singing all the while.  Much of the world has given up hope.  We continue to send our sons and daughters off to ferocious foreign wars; God’s planet is wheezing; homeless folks line our streets; and the guns, oh the guns—have we already lost track of the last mass murder at First Baptist Church in Sutherland Springs, Texas?  Will it ever end?  Better said, will Christ come again to save us from the wretched mess we have made?

If God calls us to do anything tonight, it is to encourage one another to keep hoping that Christ will keep his promises and come again.  We do all manner of hopeful things while we wait.  We forgive one another when forgiving seems well-nigh impossible.  We raise our voices a little louder when the poor are trampled by the oblivious rich and the arrogant powerful.  And we make music, yes, we make music, when far too many have hung their harps in the willows and forgotten the beloved songs of Zion.

Do you remember those old-fashioned weddings when the pastor asked, “If anyone can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace”?  That’s when it was good to have the bridesmaids dressed and ready.  If Uncle Ernie or Aunt Hildegard made a peep, the sisters of Chi Omega would shoot a wicked glance their way or even pounce!  They were all about hope…PERIOD.

That’s why we are here this evening.  Let us resume the breathtakingly beautiful music-making, in the darkness, with our lamps trimmed and burning.  Let us help each other hope that the groom, Christ our Lord, will come again and that peace will prevail for us and for this groaning world.

Consecration Sunday Sermon

Pastor Cynthia Krommes
(Senior Pastor, St. John’s Lutheran Church, Phoenixville, PA)
Pentecost 23 A, 2017 (Matthew 25: 1-13)
November 12, 2017
Holy Trinity Lutheran, Manhattan

It is a joy to be here and especially, to serve as your Consecration Sunday preacher.  I’m not the first pastor from Phoenixville, Pennsylvania to preach in this pulpit.  The Rev. Dr. Robert Hershey who served here for 21 years, began his ordained ministry at Central Lutheran Church in Phoenixville, a congregation which later merged with St. John’s.  A while ago, a man stopped by my office and gave me a book of Pastor Hershey’s sermons entitled Think About These Things.  I read the beautifully crafted sermons and they did make me think.  Then last week, my husband John and I attended Bach Vespers, a ministry Holy Trinity began during Pastor Hershey’s tenure, now 50 years ago. Your faithful stewardship of the Gospel proclaimed through word, sacrament, music and deeds, has kept the lights on at Holy Trinity for 150 years.

“Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”  Matthew 25: 12

Wednesday is Bible study day at St. John’s where the focus is the Gospel for the coming Sunday.  There are two studies, one in the morning at the Episcopal House, a low-income housing community for the elderly and the other in the evening in the Fireside Room at St. John’s.   The morning one is made up of mostly older women in their 70’s and 80’s, some of whom have “lost their filters” if you know what I mean.  If they think it, they say it.  After the text is read, the question is asked, “So what caught your attention?”  This week Sissy immediately responded, “This whole thing is just wrong.”  She went on, “Didn’t Jesus tell us to share.  They weren’t wise bridesmaids, they were stingy ones.  Then the bridegroom locks the door and doesn’t let the foolish ones in even though they ran all over town to get more oil when he was the one who was late. It’s just not right!”  Almost everyone around the table nodded in agreement.  I suspect that when some of you heard the passage read this morning that ended with the proclamation, “The Gospel of the Lord,” while your mouth responded, “Praise to you, O Christ,” your mind was thinking, “What?!”

Putting this text in context helps.  It’s Holy Week. Jesus has left the temple precincts where there’d been significant conflict with the religious authorities.  In his parting shot he calls them hypocrites and a brood of vipers.  Now he’s preparing his followers for what is to come and not just his crucifixion, but what will follow his death and resurrection.  A second context for the text comes when Matthew’s writing his Gospel, 50 years later. The church has been waiting and waiting and waiting for Jesus to return and is losing hope. So, Matthew includes four of Jesus’ parables which are known as the Advent parables because they anticipate the coming reign of God.  They are stories about faithfulness, perseverance, readiness, obedience, compassion and specifically with the ten bridesmaids, stewardship.

Stewardship is everything we do after we say, “We believe.”  I like how Brother Curtis Almquist of the Society of St. John the Evangelist puts it, he writes, “In our baptism we give up both the delusion and the burden of possessing life.  We acknowledge that we are neither the author nor finisher of life. We’re a steward of life, an ambassador on a short-term, mortal assignment by Christ. Who knows for how long?”  Then he concludes, “Give it your all; you will be given all you need.” (http://www.tens.org/resources/blog/stewardship)   To be bluntly honest, five of the bridesmaids gave it their all and five did not.  I suspect on any given day we might be one of the wise or one of the foolish, or perhaps both.

So how do we keep oil in our lamps?  How do we show forth the light of Christ in our lives?  How do we live as baptized, as consecrated ones?  How are we stewards of life?

First, worship weekly.  I heard Church historian and Reformation scholar, Timothy Wengert, preach a sermon in chapel at the Philadelphia seminary in which he said that on Sunday after worship he feels confident and full of faith, but by Friday it’s all but gone, so he runs back the bath, word and meal, hungry for grace.  That’s true for me.  For you, too?  All I have to do is read the front page of the New York Times.  I’ve spent most of the past year feeling numb and then last week our national addiction to guns and violence violated the holy, sacred space of First Baptist Church in Sutherland Spring, and Jesus was crucified once again.  Numbness turned to tears.  Oh, how we need to be here, living under the sign of the cross, in a community of faith that dares to call evil, evil and good, good, that dares to tell the truth.

You, the people of Holy Trinity dare to not only to tell, but to sing the truth.  Last Sunday, my husband John and I heard the truth sung in Bruhns’ Cantata at Bach Vespers that “even though we are much too weak to wield the sword of the spirit, there stands by us, a mighty hero who has overcome Death, Sin, Hell and world…the foe conquered, the race is run, for all has ended to our delight. Triumph!” Worship weekly.

Pray daily.  At the Wednesday Evening Bible Study, the question was asked, “How do you keep oil in your lamp?”  Around the circle, we went and just about everyone said, “I pray.”  One woman shared her nightly prayer and it was beautiful.  Another, a recent widower who is deeply grieving the death of his beloved wife, teared up and said, “All I have to say is Dear God, and I know that I am not alone.”  Now there might be some here who do not know how to pray.  In fact, when we do newcomers’ class at St. John’s often a brave soul confesses he’s clueless when it comes to prayer.  That’s when our Lord’s prayer can be very helpful.  Pause after each phrase and ponder what that means for you.  “Our Father….I am not alone…..give us our daily bread….bread for me and the beggar in the park…forgive my trespasses….my envy and lust, my greed and self-centeredness….for thine is the kingdom, which means it belongs to you God, not to the elite and their politicians or even me.  Amen.  Oil for your lamp, pray daily.

Serve joyously, or as Brother Curtis said, “Give it your all.”  You are an ambassador on a short term, mortal assignment by Christ.  Elsie had given it her all, but now her husband was dead and she was living at Parkhouse, the county home, stuck in a wheel-chair, missing him, her friends, her house, her everything.  I was there with communion not knowing what to say so I prayed “God, help me help her.”  Then, by grace, God did.  That day Elsie was commissioned to be the St. John’s Missionary at Parkhouse.  She said, “What do I do?”  I replied, “You are going to have to figure that out, but I think it is mostly loving other residents and the staff.”  She figured it out and the next time I visited was full of stories about the people on her floor and how wonderful they were.  She said the residents started taking turns praying before meals.  She told me about a man named David who refused to leave his room. Elsie said, “I just wheeled myself to his room and told him, there is a place for you at the table and when you aren’t there we miss you. Besides we can’t pray until everyone’s present. And you know what?  He wheeled himself to the table.”

You are God’s missionary.  It might be as a member of a board who dares to ask the difficult questions that go beyond what’s legal to what’s ethical. There’s a difference.  Or taking supper to a sick neighbor or you’ll figure it out.  But know, mostly it has to do with love.  Serve joyously.

Give generously.  It’s important to have discipline when it comes to giving because every time we turn around someone is trying to sell us something that promises to make our lives better, easier, more satisfying.  If we buy it, there’s a short-term high and we do feel better, but it’s temporary and before long we need another fix.  Just look in your closets and you know this is true.  In Phoenixville people rent storage units, bigger than many Manhattan apartments, crammed with stuff they bought to make their lives better, easier and more satisfying.  No wonder there are so many foolish bridesmaids, out of oil with bad credit ratings.
This is where proportional giving – giving a percentage of our income towards or beyond a tithe which is ten percent – is a blessing.  It makes us think about our money and what we do with it.  It instills discipline and helps us to use our resources on what really matters.  To give is to make a difference beyond ourselves, it makes life worth living.  Give generously!

Giving keeps the lights on, literally and figuratively.  And they were on here last Sunday evening when the dark came early as the marathon was ending.  All day long thousands ran and ran and ran.  Just as we do every day, sometimes making progress, sometimes not.  At Holy Trinity the lights were on and a young man and his mother saw that and came into this holy, sacred space and through music and words heard the truth.  He had run the race and proudly wore the light blue poncho to prove it.  It was a moment of personal victory, but he, they, needed more than that and knew it.  After Vespers he shook your pastor’s hand and thanked him, for the light.  The race is run and all ends to our delight.  Triumph. Amen.

“Now That Peter Has Answered, What Do You Say?”

Pastor Wilbert Miller’s Sermon
“Now That Peter Has Answered, What Do You Say?”
Matthew 16: 13-20
August 27, 2017 (12th Sunday after Pentecost)
The Evangelical Lutheran Church of the Holy Trinity
New York City at Central Park West

Who doesn’t love answering Jesus’ question, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”

The disciples immediately got in on the act. They raised their hands the moment Jesus called on them and they breathlessly answered, “People are saying you are John the Baptist, Elijah, or Jeremiah, and others say you are one of the prophets.”

We want to answer, too. We want to be the first to tell Jesus what others are saying: “Some say you are the best person who ever lived, kind of a super Martin Luther King, Jr. or a wonder-working Mahatma Gandhi but even better; others claim you are almost like God; some actually declare you are God; and still others confess that you are completely human and completely divine all at the same time.

Oh yes, we love reporting what others say: “Did you hear what President Trump said yesterday; my fourth-grade teacher, Miss Burt, always said this about the Palmer Method of penmanship; my pastor preached exactly on that issue last Sunday; my mommy warned of that when I was six-years old.”

We are quite proficient reporting on what others say.

Now, let me forewarn you: never come knocking at my office door and say, “Pastor, people are saying.” Never! To be blunt, if you tell me, “People are saying,” I will look you straight in the eye and say, “I don’t want to hear what others are saying, I want to hear what you say! Put your money where your mouth is.” Oh, and by the way, expect the exact same thing from me…at least on my best days.

I know this sounds unusually harsh but I am only trying to do what Jesus did. After the disciples blurted out all they had heard regarding what others were saying about him, Jesus asked them point blank, “But who do you say that I am?” As you might imagine, there was dead silence, as there so often is when convictions are required rather than opinions. Answering “Who do you say that I am?” demands guts; we must stand up and be counted.

Actually, one person did blurt out who he thought Jesus was and, as you might imagine, it was good ol’ Peter. Never shy to offer his slant on matters of the day, Peter instantly declared, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Don’t you love him?

And for that answer, Jesus presented him with this impressive ecclesiastical accolade: “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it”…Oh, and by the way, we have followed suit and put up a mosaic in Peter’s honor, right here at Holy Trinity altar’s, just off to Jesus’ side.

I don’t for a minute think Jesus called Peter “Rocky” because he was a theological genius: Jesus had to know from experience that Peter was not the brightest bulb in the chandelier. I also doubt whether Peter’s new nickname had much, if anything, to do with him offering his own courageous opinion rather than that of others. Jesus must have had an inkling that, only hours before he would die, Peter would cower when it mattered most. A young girl would query Peter, “You also were with Jesus the Galilean?” and Peter would get all shaky-kneed, just about upchuck, and stutter, “I tell you, I do not know the man”—and he would allegedly do this not just once but three times. Sounds like no answer at all.

Whatever the case, never forget Jesus’ response to Peter’s answer as to who he was: “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven.” When all was said and done, Peter’s confession, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” had nothing to do with his convictions, with his heroism, or even with his brilliance; it had everything to do with God. Peter’s answer to “who do you say that I am” may seem like he had just won the ¾ of a billion-dollar heavenly lottery, but don’t be fooled. Peter didn’t even realize that his answer actually meant that God had come very close to dolts like him and would come close to all those who followed him down through the centuries, including you and me. No matter how idiotic our answers regarding who Jesus is or how profound they might sound, Jesus comes to us anyway. We must never forget, just as for Peter, God has provided us with our best answer and that is Jesus who comes to be our brother.

I think that’s why Jesus called Peter the rock and why he calls us the rock in our own peculiar way. We can be such cowards, falling back on the old saw, “people are saying.” We can sometimes tremble and claim we hardly know Jesus when our answers matter most. In spite of our foul-ups and flame outs, God has come to earth in Jesus to put up with our foolishness and cowardice and even when we try to convince others that we are the bee’s knees.

Yes, we are the rock, not because we are so much better than the rest of the world or cleverer than just about anyone else or fearless heroes beyond compare. We know full well that our boldest moments often come when huge cheering crowds march at our sides and we don’t have a thing to lose; likewise, our worst moments often come when we are standing all alone and must say exactly what we think. In spite of all our corny, cowardly, and halfhearted answers, Jesus for some odd reason builds the church on our scrawny and sometimes pompous shoulders. If we can at least know that—and that will be our best answer—we can almost certainly be like Peter, the rock, called to serve Christ here in this place at 65th and Central Park West.

Who knows, maybe someday there might be a mosaic of us right up there with Peter, standing at Jesus’ side! Amazing, huh?

 

 

“The Grace to Change Our Minds”

Pastor Wilbert Miller
“The Grace to Change Our Minds”
Matthew 15: 21-28
August 20, 2017 (Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost)
The Evangelical Lutheran Church of the Holy Trinity
New York City at Central Park West

These are tumultuous times, times that in the words of Mitt Romney cause “racists to rejoice, minorities to weep, and the vast heart of America to mourn.”

As white supremacists parade swastikas through American streets, neo-Nazis present Hitlerian salutes in front of synagogues, and Ku Klux Klan members wave Confederate flags in African Americans’ faces, we must examine our souls this morning and cry out in horror, “My God, my God!”

One of you asked me following worship on Wednesday evening, “What can I do?” Your question was borne in fear for our nation and for our African American, Jewish, Muslim, and LGBTQ brothers and sisters. You have participated in countless protest marches and called your representatives in Washington, but the madness continues; in desperation, you wonder, “What else can I do?”

My answer may seem surprisingly passive, simplistic even. I said, “What you can do is go to church.”

I believe going to church is the most radical thing we can do in these perilous times—not the only thing, mind you, but the most radical thing. This is where we gather to hear a different word—not a partisan word from Republicans or Democrats or a brawling word from CNN or MSNBC, The New York Times or Breitbart. Here we gather to receive a creative word from God amidst the jarring cacophony of anti-Semites, the harsh screams of racists, and the pathetic whimpers of scaredy-cats. The word we hear in this place implores us to seek an uncommon way, a way overflowing with love for our enemies. This fresh way of viewing the world challenges the very core of our being: “There is neither Greek nor Jew, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German Lutheran martyr who sacrificed his life against the Nazi madness, seemed to agree that church-going in tough times is exactly what we should do: “The early morning belongs to the Church of the risen Christ. At the break of light the church remembers the morning on which death and sin lay prostrate in defeat and new life and salvation were given to mankind.”

The word of God that raised Jesus from the dead has the exact same power to eradicate the demonic insanity that threatens to rip our nation asunder. Yes, indeed, we come to church this morning to learn a different language so that when we leave here today, we are able to speak the vibrant language of God’s love to our suffering world.

The story we just heard may not sound at all like the life-giving word we are in search of on a day such as this. The Canaanite woman who approached Jesus was an old enemy of his “people.” It seemed only natural for Jesus to detest her; she came from across the border after all, Syria, and worshiped gods repugnant to God’s chosen people. It seems like the wrong word for today because Jesus plummeted to sickening lows of racial superiority. As the woman knelt before him, pleading for her demon-possessed daughter, Jesus’ response was disgusting: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

The Canaanite woman refused to surrender, she would not be deterred: “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.” Outcast that she was, she believed God’s word could overcome hatred and because of that stunning confidence, Jesus said, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And, of course—surprise, surprise—Jesus changed how he felt about this woman from the other side!

It may sound blasphemous to suggest that Jesus changed his mind and yet have we not come here this morning for an extraordinary word from God, a word not of our own making but of God’s, a word that can set this world upside down? Far from being blasphemous, to be able to change one’s mind is a gracious gift from God.

Perhaps you think changing your mind—or Jesus changing his—is a demonstration of weakness. If that’s what you think, know that God changed God’s mind as well.

In the story of Noah, after annihilating pretty much every human-being and the entire creation, God stretched out a rainbow in the sky and changed God’s mind: “The waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh” (Genesis 9). On another occasion, when the Israelites created a golden calf and God was beside himself with fury, Moses implored the Lord to think twice before wiping them out. And, once again, a surprising word: “And the LORD repented of the evil which he thought to do to his people” (Exodus 32). Did you hear that? God repented, God changed God’s mind!

Far from heresy, as I said, the greatest grace is the astonishing news that if God can change God’s mind, God can certainly change our minds and our enemy’s.

I know this can happen because it happened to me a few months ago when an African American Lutheran pastor worshiped right here on Sunday morning. At the Passing of the Peace, I unfortunately did not greet her personally. While we met after worship, she was quite upset and said so on Facebook. I was crestfallen. I quickly built up walls of defense as to why I was right and she was wrong: I didn’t notice her; I would never do such a thing; I have served African American congregations; we raised our sons in African American communities; I was arrested at the South African Embassy in Washington, DC, protesting its racist apartheid regime. But it didn’t take long to realize that I had overlooked the pain she was feeling at having been left out all the while trying to justify my inaction. At that moment, God spoke a new word to me that changed my mind and, hearing that word, I apologized to her publicly on Facebook and wrote her a personal note begging her forgiveness. When she wrote back thanking me, I felt a great grace extended to me from her and from God…I pray that I was changed for the better.

We are pointing a lot of fingers these days, uttering lots of harsh words. Could some of our anger be borne in the frustration that nothing will ever change—in our enemies who seem so brazenly wicked, with our families whom we so vigorously disagree, and even in the dark caverns of our own shady hearts? I wonder…

That is precisely why we need to go to church in these tumultuous times. It is in this place where we hear that God can change anyone, including our enemies and, yes indeed, even ourselves.

“Water Walkers Who Refuse to Wait for the Catastrophe”

Pastor Wilbert Miller’s Sermon as We Prayed for Our Nation
“Water Walkers Who Refuse to Wait for the Catastrophe”
Matthew 14: 22-23
Wednesday Evening Mass, August 16, 2017

This wasn’t the first time Peter had said something so preposterous. He was always the big shot, wanting to be at Jesus’ side in glory and telling anyone who would listen that Jesus called him “The Rock.” Like the disciples, we have grown weary of Peter’s antics. When he says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water,” we, along with James and Andrew, jab each other in the ribs and say to Peter: “Go for it Pizza Pie; take a giant step for mankind, big fella; float like a dragonfly.”

The Bible doesn’t tell us how far Peter walked on water. What’s your guess—two steps, perhaps four? Saint Matthew does write: “Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, be became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’” As Peter screamed, Jesus castigated him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

In the midst of our merriment at Peter the buffoon, aren’t we a bit jealous of his bravado? After all, taking just a few measly steps on a wind-battered lake ain’t exactly shabby. How many steps do you think you could take before sinking into the sea?

In these days, it’s easy to sit in our La-Z Boys and judge those who get out of the boat and try to quell the sickening racism and disgusting anti-Semitism occurring in our nation. We all have our opinions of what is appropriate and inappropriate. Like Olympic diving judges holding up scorecards, we evaluate anyone who takes a step or two off the high dive to try to bring justice to our reeling nation. It’s easy to judge from a safe distance; it is far more dangerous to step into the raging sea with hopes that things might get a bit better.

What do you think: is it better to try and fail or to be rendered impotent by our desire to act perfectly before taking a single step?

Dietrich Bonhoeffer is one of the great saints of the twentieth century. You are probably aware that he had a cushy job teaching just up the street at Union Theological Seminary. But as Hitler began to rear his ugly head, Bonhoeffer had to make difficult decisions: whether to leave the safe confines of United States soil for his beloved German homeland and, eventually, whether to be involved in the plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler. People could and would judge him but Bonhoeffer found it more unbearable to stand idly by as Jewish people faced the slaughter. In the finest of Lutheran tradition, Bonhoeffer “sinned boldly;” he dared to act because he was already saved by a merciful God. Risky, of course, but, for Bonhoeffer there was no alternative. Oh yes, he was hung at Hitler’s Flossenburg Concentration Camp only days before World War II ended….Feels a bit to me like sinking into the sea for what you believe. But we do not forget Saint Dietrich.

Listen to his words and tell me if you have heard anything more timely in recent days: “If I sit next to a madman as he drives a car into a group of innocent bystanders, I can’t, as a Christian, simply wait for the catastrophe, then comfort the wounded and bury the dead. I must try to wrestle the steering wheel out of the hands of the driver.” One thing is clear: there is no room for anti-Semitism and racism in the Christian life. We must take risks and we must do what we can to stop the madness in our own day.

At the beginning of this evening’s worship service, Steve Aurand played one of my favorite liturgical pieces, Stephen Sondheim’s “Send in the Clowns.” Steve asked whether this was appropriate for this evening and I said, “More than appropriate, it is perfect!”

Jesus invites us to join the clowns, folks like Saint Peter and Saint Dietrich, those willing, in faith, to jump out of the boat and to walk on water. For my money, Peter is the most faithful clown in the disciple boat—as was Bonhoeffer after him! Their faith was borne of bravery and deep faithfulness, knowing they would be ridiculed when their boats began to sink and yet trusting that Jesus would catch them no matter how wet they got.

I pray that each of us will step out of this boat (this holy space, by the way, is called a nave after the Latin word “navis” which means “ship”). We will leave this boat tonight and, I pray, by faith, boldly and lovingly walk on water. There is far too much hatred these days, far too much vitriol aimed at those with whom we disagree. Let us not be coopted by the haters; let us not use their ugly ways to try to accomplish loving results. Let our biggest risk of water-walking be to love those who think differently than us and to stand with those too easily crushed by the rich and powerful.

Let us dare, in Christ’s name, to build a house where all are welcome, in this congregation and throughout this nation.