Pastor Wilbert Miller’s sermon
Matthew 4: 12-23
January 22, 2017 (3rd Sunday after Epiphany)
Evangelical Lutheran Church of the Holy Trinity-Manhattan
The gospel reading we just heard demonstrates why we should be extremely careful when making important decisions in life.
Jesus had only twelve choices for the disciples who would assist him in proclaiming that the kingdom of God had come near. If you had been in his place, wouldn’t you have exercised extraordinary vigilance in picking your dream team?
Professional football teams do that. They spend enormous amounts of personnel time and money studying which players to choose in the college draft. Character, speed, strength, agility, intelligence—these are carefully analyzed before any player is picked. Teams have high hopes of assembling the next Super Bowl team so every choice on their fifty-three-player roster matters.
Jesus didn’t have a fifty-three-player roster, his was composed of twelve. Given that, you might be surprised how he went about selecting his disciples. Jesus walked along the Sea of Galilee and, from all appearances, chose the first guys he came across. Matthew makes no mention of whether Jesus had a head-hunting firm conduct advanced interviews but I doubt it.
Perhaps Jesus should have been more judicious. He came up short on all twelve of his selections; they all ended up being clunkers. His first choice, Peter, was a compulsive liar, denying ever having known Jesus when push came to shove; another pick, Judas, sold Jesus up Calvary’s hill for thirty pieces of silver; and the other ten disciples, well, they were nowhere to be seen when Jesus breathed his last. Losers, cowards, reprobates…you name it. Quite candidly, Jesus’ choices do not come off as particularly imaginative or insightful.
And how astute were Peter and Andrew, James and John? When Jesus said, “Follow me,” they dropped everything and followed immediately. Admittedly, the swiftness of their decisions sounds awfully holy, but honestly, would you really have followed Jesus the minute he snapped his fingers? Wouldn’t you have analyzed the job description first, talked to people whose judgment you respected, and asked about the compensation and benefits package? For goodness sakes, the disciples were being asked to turn their backs on their boats and nets and family and to follow a quirky Galilean rabbi…Wouldn’t you have said something like, “I am flattered, Jesus, but give me a few days to study this whole thing and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
And yet, that’s not what happened. There was a sense of urgency. The kingdom was near and Jesus had to act decisively and swiftly. There was no time to dilly-dally.
We all want to be successful, don’t we? We listened to our parents who counseled us to count the costs, to be certain we are doing the right thing before jumping in head first.
The Christian life is no different. We have our questions about our faith and want to get them answered the best we are able before we say, “I do and I ask God to help and guide me.” Maybe we should read one more book, attend one more class, have one more meeting with the pastor, make certain we don’t do anything we will regret later. And, as citizens of this nation, we want to listen to all sides before standing up for the poor and vulnerable. We fear that one error in judgment will ruin the day. Give it all time, see how it all unfolds—really…not exactly eager for the kingdom of God.
The church is no different. We engage in painstaking research before acting. Study, study, study…count, count, count…discuss, discuss, discuss. When you called me as your pastor, you did exactly that as far as I can tell. You spent a year-and-a-half in an interim process before choosing your next pastor. You analyzed Holy Trinity’s strengths and challenges and pondered how best to move forward. The Call Committee invested an enormous amount of time reading candidates’ exhaustive bios, parsing our in-depth answers to questions provided by our Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, interviewing us face-to-face, and calling our references to make certain we were telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth. You flew Dagmar and me all the way from California to New York—not once, but twice. You watched carefully to see which of the three forks we used to eat our entrées; you listened to my chanting with high hopes I could carry some semblance of a tune. The entire congregation had the opportunity to “meet and greet” on a Saturday afternoon and to ask any pressing questions you might have. You listened to me preach to see whether I kept you awake or immediately sent you to Lalaland. And then, with fingers crossed and heads bowed, you voted…This all didn’t exactly occur immediately.
Most of us have a million and one reasons why we should be patient and prudent: resources our limited and rash decisions will be costly for years to come. We worry about making a mistake we will regret and yet, in some ways, Jesus made twelve flagrant ones. None of his disciples stood out in a crowd and none stood up for Jesus when his life was on the line.
The disciples must have felt like they had made a mistake as well, especially when they saw Jesus hanging on the cross. Why had they been so impulsive, why had they dropped their day jobs to follow the abysmal failure named Jesus? Maybe they should have listened more carefully to their parents and exercised more patience when making such a significant decision.
Perhaps that is why today’s gospel reading is so useful for us. Just as he called the first disciples, Jesus calls us now to proclaim that the kingdom of God has come near. There is an urgency to act, not tomorrow or next month or next year, but now…immediately…on behalf of all God’s children.
Our decisions, of course, will be filled with ambiguity, even fear; that’s why they are called leaps of faith. Finally, we must trust that God is leading us and guiding us and will excuse our errors in judgment due to our eagerness to act in this suffering world on God’s behalf.
Oh, and by the way, God calls us, we don’t call God. God knows we will stumble or our all-knowing God wouldn’t have called us in the first place!
And so, let’s get going and believe that God supports us every step of the way.
The Third Sunday of Advent
Sunday, December 11, 2016 – 11 o’clock in the morning
& 18 New Members Join Holy Trinity!
“America! America! God Shed His Grace on Thee”
Sermon at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church-Manhattan
November 13, 2016 (26th Sunday after Pentecost)
Psalm 98; Malachi 4: 1-2a; Luke 21: 5-19
In the last congregation I served, soon after I arrived, I began the practice of praying for our elected leaders by name; that meant we prayed for our President George W. Bush and our Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger. One member was horrified: how conservative is our new pastor? he wondered.
Let me forewarn you: we will observe that practice in this congregation as well, praying for our current President Barack Obama and our newly elected President Donald Trump.
We are, after all, citizens of a democracy. Democracy allows for change, for better and for worse. Democracy can be quite messy as our nation’s history reveals. President Abraham Lincoln delivered his Gettysburg Address this week, November 19, 1863, in the face of the horrors of the Civil War; citizens spilled blood, not against foes from distant shores, but against family members and neighbors. Our great President said, “Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.” Familiarity with history is essential: imagine the fear people must have had for this great country’s future as Seminary Ridge (as in the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg) stood littered with the lifeless bodies of young soldiers.
And now this week…
Our Lutheran tradition places great weight on the exercise of power. Government, far from being a swampy cesspool that must be drained, is the necessary venue where decisions are made for the common good. We believe political service to be a noble calling from God just like a pastor or doctor or farmer. While democracy does not bring about the kingdom of God, good government does do necessary things like providing for the easily forgotten, protecting the defenseless, and seeing that roads and bridges are built and well maintained.
Having served as a pastor in Washington, D.C. for thirteen years and having counted many fine public servants, Democrat and Republican, as parishioners and friends, I know how thankless the calling of government work can be. Count me out when talking about draining the swamp: I give thanks for hard-working and decent public officials.
While we Lutherans believe government a noble calling, we do not deem it a blank check. Bad government tramples the rights of the innocent, inhibits religious liberty, and despoils God’s good creation. None of us who call ourselves Christian dare acquiesce to horrific name calling or mistreatment of Mexican immigrants or African Americans, people in the LGBTQ community or the disabled, women or Muslims. We have a calling as citizens: we must hold our president accountable to the highest standards when it comes to protecting the most vulnerable and we will pray that he will achieve such breathtaking heights of decency and compassion so that all people in this land are treated equally with liberty and justice for all. And when our president lifts up the lowly, he will receive our utmost support.
I love today’s Psalm 98: “O sing to the Lord a new song, for he has done marvelous things.” This Psalm’s beauty is achieved when all creation sings in harmony to the glory of God. Lyre and trumpet, sea and porpoise, flood and hill—all make a joyful noise to the Lord.
Let us not jeopardize this glorious song. The moment anyone, president or citizen, starts singing off key, recklessly endangering creation’s song of praise to God, let us call him or her back to our Creator’s perfect song.
You know that God sent God’s only son so that the broken, despised, and poor might join this song. If the Bible is anything, it is a musical score that insists on the inclusion of the voices of widows, orphans, and refugees in singing a new song. The moment we see these blessed poor thrown from the choir loft, we have no option but to demand that our political leaders restore them to the choir. Whenever even one broken soul is left out, creation’s music turns sour.
These days should not surprise a single one of us who has listened to Jesus. He just told us moments ago: “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom…they will arrest you and persecute you…You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death.” As desperate as this sounds, never forget what Jesus added: “But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.”
For far too many months now we have heard the obnoxious music that attacks and repels, humiliates and accuses. It has been jarring and ugly, dissonant and destructive. We are here at 65th and Central Park West for one reason and one reason only: to sing a new song to the Lord. We dare not join in the horrid music that this world too easily sings; rather we are called to sing a new song. Moses and Jeremiah, Saint Paul and Saint Stephen, Martin Luther King and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Mother Teresa and Anne Frank—they sang music that seeks the best for God’s suffering creation. We remember these blessed ones, not because they were rich or powerful, but because they strove to sing Mother Mary’s song, “My soul proclaims the greatest of the Lord because he has put the mighty down from their thrones and exalted those of low degreed and the rich he has sent empty away.” The history of God’s people reveals this is never an easy song to sing. History is one story after another of those of low degree being trampled upon. The church’s finest hour in every age has occurred when God’s people have struggled against seemingly insurmountable odds to ensure that the hungry are filled with good things in God’s name.
Some people in our nation are very happy this morning, some are furious, some are heartbroken, some say, “wait and see.” Whatever your feelings, we gather here as a hopeful people who believe God’s love for the oppressed and forsaken will prevail.
At the end of this Mass, we will sing “O Beautiful for Spacious Skies.” I pray, in one glorious harmony, we will sing, “America! America! God shed his grace on thee.”
“Braving the Darkness Once Again”
Pastor Wilbert Miller’s Sermon
November 6, 2016 (25th Sunday after Pentecost)
Congratulations! You reset your timepieces correctly; you have fallen back instead of springing forward; and you have arrived here in a timely manner for the prayers of the evening.
The problem, however, is that it is dark outside and it is going to get darker yet.
There are those dark days when people are alarmed, unsettled, shaken, days when we can’t even hear the murmur of a prayer. Perhaps these are such days.
The front page in Friday’s The New York Times wrote: “An overwhelming majority of voters are disgusted by the state of American politics, and many harbor doubts that either majority-party can unite the country after a historically ugly presidential campaign…”
There have been other dark times, far darker, for sure. The letter we just heard was written to the people of Thessalonica 2000 years ago; those were dark days, so dark, in fact, that people thought the end was just around the bend and quite a few simply quit working altogether. The writer warned people “not to be quickly shaken in mind or alarmed, either by spirit or by word or by letter…”
Similar darkness is sung about in this evening’s Bach cantata #20, “O Ewigkeit, du Donnerwort” (“O eternity, O word of thunder”). Thank God music accompanies the words, lots of music, otherwise it would be too much to bear. The cantata’s words lead us straightaway into Dante’s Inferno:
“They will be plagued by heat and cold,
Fear, hunger, terror, lightning’s bolt
And still be not diminished.”
For those who have lived a bit of life, you know dark nights will surely come. Whether or not you believe in Hades and the devil, you know how it feels when hell is nipping at your heels.
This night, like so many down through history, is painted in gloomy shades. We desperately need a word of hope, a moment of prayer, a glimmer of light.
Is it just the melancholy in my own soul or are you also shook by the darkness of these days? The dastardly things candidates say to and about one another and about other people; the inability to listen to those facing unemployment, racism, and sexism; the rumors of war, the sounds of bombs bursting in air, the heightened police presence on our church’s doorstep this very moment, complete with high-powered weapons and riot gear—just like those times soon after Jesus died, fear and chaos are in the air.
After all the years, we still have the yearning of the ancient epistle writer: “Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word.”
That is why we have gathered this evening. We may say we have come just for the Bach, but I suspect there is something deeper as our voices reach toward the heavens, crying out for “eternal comfort and good hope.”
In a few moments, following the singing of the cantata, we will utter a few prayers. They are not new-fangled prayers cooked up for this occasion. They are cobwebby and well-worn and yet dazzling and vigorous; they abound with the wisdom of the ages and have been found to support countless people navigating terrifying caverns of darkness. The church has appointed these prayers for nights such as this: “O Lord, support us all the day long of this troubled life, until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes and the busy world is hushed, the fever of life is over, and our work is done.”
The days ahead promise precious little light; darkness soaks our bones. God’s good gift for evenings such as this is the promise that darkness will not prevail.
We are, after all, a people of light. We use very few candles when the sun is up. But when darkness drapes creation, we go wild, lighting every candle we can find. When gloom fills the sky and nightmares haunt us, we tell one another the stories of how God has triumphed previously: “Blessed are you, O Lord our God, king of the universe, who led your people Israel by a pillar of could by day and a pillar of fire by night.” And we implore God, for one another’s sake: “Enlighten our darkness by the light of your Christ; may his Word be a lamp to our feet and a light to our path.”
This is why we have braved the darkness yet again to be here. This is why we sing, why we pray. In this dark sanctuary, God entrusts us with good hope and eternal comfort. And from this place we will process out into the night, bearing light for our fearful world. Amen.
Twenty-fifth Sunday after Pentecost
Sunday, November 6, 2016 – 11 o’clock in the morning
It Takes Two to Gospel