Sally Stevenson, July 11, 2018
Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 23
Romans 8:14-19, 34-35, 37-39
John 14:1-6
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
If you mention the name Sally Stevenson around St. Timothy’s Church, people will tell you two things: Sally was amazing with kids, and Sally walked everywhere. They didn’t always know where Sally was going, but Sally knew. Both these things that everyone knows about Sally happened before my time at this church, but they are still what she is known for. Being great with kids, and walking everywhere. If that’s the kind of thing people remember about you and me, we will have done enough with our lives.
By the time I got here, two years ago, Sally was already spending her days at Amherst Meadows, where I would visit her. Sometimes she was at Mercy hospital for some sort of treatment, and I would visit her there. As I sat with her, she would tell me about what worried her, and her hopes for other people’s futures. But she always spoke with confidence about where she was heading, and that she would one day be reunited with her brothers, Tom and Bill. Sally knew where she was going.
In the gospel reading we just heard, Jesus tells the disciples that he is leaving them, and not to be afraid because they know the way. And Thomas speaks up and says, Lord we don’t even know where you’re going. How can we possibly know the way? And Jesus tells them, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” The disciples did know the way, just as Sally knew the way.
Sally was amazing with kids, and she walked a lot, and she knew where she was going, because she knew the way. And as Jesus says to the disciples, do not let your hearts be troubled. In God’s house there are many dwelling places, and Jesus has come to walk with Sally to the place he has prepared for her, because she knows the way. May God give us the confidence to know where we are going, and the comfort to remember that we know the Way.
Amen.
Wednesday, July 11, 2018
Saturday, July 7, 2018
Mitzi Ruwadi
Mitzi Ruwadi, July 5, 2018
Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 23
John 10:11-16
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
I do not know much about Mitzi’s life other than what I have heard from others, or read in her obituary. Her active years at St. Timothy Church happened before I got there, but I’ve been her priest for about two years. I’ve visited her and Ray a few times, more frequently in the final weeks of her life. But there are two things I know for certain about Mitzi.
First, she loved taking communion. I don’t think she had the words for why the sacrament mattered so much to her—and, if I’m honest, I feel the same way. She had a deeply spiritual experience every time she took communion, and it was an honor for me to be the one to bring it to her.
The second thing I know about Mitzi is that she loved the 23rd Psalm. And many of us share her love of that little piece of poetry. Maybe it’s the pastoral imagery. Or maybe it’s the assurance of God’s presence in our lives. Or may it’s just that final line, about dwelling in the house of the Lord forever.
But what I really love about Psalm 23 is the actual language of the part that gets translated as goodness and mercy following me. The Hebrew word that becomes “following” is actually more like chasing, or hunting down. Goodness and mercy don’t follow us, like a stray kitten. No, God’s goodness and mercy hunt us down like a tiger. We cannot escape them, even if we wanted to.
Mitzi lived her life hunted down by God’s mercy and goodness, and she did not mind getting caught. And receiving that goodness and mercy from God, she turned right around and passed it on to others, her family, and friends, and fur babies, and of course her wonderful home health aids. Mitzi responded to God’s love by passing it on to others, and I hope you will take inspiration from that and continue to do the same in your own lives.
Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.” Mitzi knows her shepherd, and her shepherd knows her. May God give us all the grace to hear the Shepherd’s voice, and to be led to lie down in green pastures beside still waters, where Mitzi now rests in peace.
Amen.
Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 23
John 10:11-16
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
I do not know much about Mitzi’s life other than what I have heard from others, or read in her obituary. Her active years at St. Timothy Church happened before I got there, but I’ve been her priest for about two years. I’ve visited her and Ray a few times, more frequently in the final weeks of her life. But there are two things I know for certain about Mitzi.
First, she loved taking communion. I don’t think she had the words for why the sacrament mattered so much to her—and, if I’m honest, I feel the same way. She had a deeply spiritual experience every time she took communion, and it was an honor for me to be the one to bring it to her.
The second thing I know about Mitzi is that she loved the 23rd Psalm. And many of us share her love of that little piece of poetry. Maybe it’s the pastoral imagery. Or maybe it’s the assurance of God’s presence in our lives. Or may it’s just that final line, about dwelling in the house of the Lord forever.
But what I really love about Psalm 23 is the actual language of the part that gets translated as goodness and mercy following me. The Hebrew word that becomes “following” is actually more like chasing, or hunting down. Goodness and mercy don’t follow us, like a stray kitten. No, God’s goodness and mercy hunt us down like a tiger. We cannot escape them, even if we wanted to.
Mitzi lived her life hunted down by God’s mercy and goodness, and she did not mind getting caught. And receiving that goodness and mercy from God, she turned right around and passed it on to others, her family, and friends, and fur babies, and of course her wonderful home health aids. Mitzi responded to God’s love by passing it on to others, and I hope you will take inspiration from that and continue to do the same in your own lives.
Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.” Mitzi knows her shepherd, and her shepherd knows her. May God give us all the grace to hear the Shepherd’s voice, and to be led to lie down in green pastures beside still waters, where Mitzi now rests in peace.
Amen.
Monday, May 28, 2018
Sunday, May 27, 2018
The Marriage of Douglas and Alana
The Marriage of Douglas and Alana
May 26, 2018, The Signal Tree
Song of Solomon 2:10-13; 8:6-7
Psalm 67
1 John 4:7-16
Matthew 5:13-16
Alana and Doug asked me to include a particular Robert Fulghum quote somewhere in the service, and since I know a good quote when I read one, I am happy to oblige:
"We're a little weird. And life is a little weird and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness- and call it love - true love."
And speaking of weird, how about this tree, huh?
I don’t know how many of you know anything about the Signal Tree we have gathered under. If you read the plaque in front of it, you get the sense that it was some kind of navigation marker for Native Americans. But others say it might have been used as a ceremonial place. Some say it was trained to grow like this, and others say it could just be a freak of nature. But no matter the reason it is shaped like it is, the one thing you can’t mistake is that it suggests that we are welcome, with its arms spreading out to embrace us this afternoon.
And for us, today, this Signal Tree signals something else: The place where two young people have decided to bind themselves together—against the odds—to promise to live with and for one another until the day they die.
Now THAT is something worth marking. It is worth remembering, because it is worth noticing that people are still willing to hold hands and take a leap of faith into the unknown. And as those of us who are married know, it truly is a leap into the unknown, like it or not.
These two make their promises in good faith, trusting one another. And you have all gathered here as witnesses and cheerleaders, to help them along the way. Cheering at times when they need it, consoling and comforting in the times they need that. Sometimes, things work out exactly as we planned, sometimes not so much. And sometimes even better. And so please remember, that having your support will make a difference for these two.
It is fitting that Alana and Douglas have chosen to be married in front of the Signal Tree, because they are sending a signal to the world. As we just heard Jesus say, You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.
Douglas, Alana: You are the light of the world. Because love is the light of the world. You are proclaiming love, and commitment, and hope to all the world on this day. Sending a signal as clear as this tree. And along with everyone who has gathered with you today, I implore you to let your light shine, and give light to all the house. We need that light in our world. Today, we celebrate the light of your love. May it burn the brightest of all!
Amen.
May 26, 2018, The Signal Tree
Song of Solomon 2:10-13; 8:6-7
Psalm 67
1 John 4:7-16
Matthew 5:13-16
Alana and Doug asked me to include a particular Robert Fulghum quote somewhere in the service, and since I know a good quote when I read one, I am happy to oblige:
"We're a little weird. And life is a little weird and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness- and call it love - true love."
And speaking of weird, how about this tree, huh?
I don’t know how many of you know anything about the Signal Tree we have gathered under. If you read the plaque in front of it, you get the sense that it was some kind of navigation marker for Native Americans. But others say it might have been used as a ceremonial place. Some say it was trained to grow like this, and others say it could just be a freak of nature. But no matter the reason it is shaped like it is, the one thing you can’t mistake is that it suggests that we are welcome, with its arms spreading out to embrace us this afternoon.
And for us, today, this Signal Tree signals something else: The place where two young people have decided to bind themselves together—against the odds—to promise to live with and for one another until the day they die.
Now THAT is something worth marking. It is worth remembering, because it is worth noticing that people are still willing to hold hands and take a leap of faith into the unknown. And as those of us who are married know, it truly is a leap into the unknown, like it or not.
These two make their promises in good faith, trusting one another. And you have all gathered here as witnesses and cheerleaders, to help them along the way. Cheering at times when they need it, consoling and comforting in the times they need that. Sometimes, things work out exactly as we planned, sometimes not so much. And sometimes even better. And so please remember, that having your support will make a difference for these two.
It is fitting that Alana and Douglas have chosen to be married in front of the Signal Tree, because they are sending a signal to the world. As we just heard Jesus say, You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.
Douglas, Alana: You are the light of the world. Because love is the light of the world. You are proclaiming love, and commitment, and hope to all the world on this day. Sending a signal as clear as this tree. And along with everyone who has gathered with you today, I implore you to let your light shine, and give light to all the house. We need that light in our world. Today, we celebrate the light of your love. May it burn the brightest of all!
Amen.
Tuesday, April 10, 2018
Mary Regula, 11/29/26-4/5/18
For Mary Regula
Isaiah 25:6-9
Revelation 21:2-7
John 6:37-40
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
We gather together on this day to commend Mary into the care of God’s loving arms. There will come another day when we will gather to celebrate Mary’s remarkable life and incredible accomplishments. Today, we have met in this holy place to be reminded of her deep and abiding faith in God, and—more importantly—to be reminded of God’s unfailing love for Mary. There are three things I want to share with you this morning.
First, a greeting. I did not know Mary for very long, in the scheme of things. But every time I visited her, starting two years ago, right up until the time she stopped speaking, she would always take my hand, look me in the eye, and ask, “From whence have you come?” The best name I have for this is, “Regal Curiosity.” From whence have you come? I always wanted to say, “from hither and yon, M’lady.” But I always answered truthfully: From St. Timothy’s Church. And every time I gave that answer, Mary’s eyes would light up. She knew the place well, and even as her memory slipped away, she still recognized the name, and she would smile at the memory.
Second, a poem. The very first time I visited Mary and Ralph at the farm in 2016, I sat down with them to chat and to bring them the Sacrament. Several times during that first conversation, Mary quoted from a Robert Browning poem. She wanted to be sure I understood how important it was to her. And she would stop the conversation, and look me in the eye and quote two lines: “Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be.” She was so insistent about this, that I looked up the poem as soon as I had time.
It’s a l-o-n-g poem, but Mary knew the best part, which is the first stanza: “Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!” Mary and Ralph lived together fearlessly, embracing a full life, trusting God, seeing all. A whole life together as God hoped, and they lived all of it.
Third, the Sacrament. From my very first visit, after Mary took the bread—the body of Christ—she would weep. Uncontrollable tears streaming down her cheeks. Every time. These were sacred, holy moments, and no one dared speak until Mary would open her eyes again. Taking Communion was a transcendent experience for Mary, and I was honored and humbled to be the one who was blessed to bring it to her, over those few short months. If I ever doubted whether Jesus was truly present in the Sacrament, a short drive down to Navarre would set me straight.
The greeting, the poem, and the Sacrament. These are the three things I will always remember about Mary. And you could give these things different names: people, abundant life, and Jesus. These are the three things that Mary was passionate about, and—it’s no coincidence—these are the same things that God is most passionate about: people, abundant life, and Jesus. Mary lived a life attuned to God’s will. She cared about people, she wanted people to live the fullest life possible, and she knew that, somehow, Jesus came to her in the sacrament.
Mary’s life was an inspiration yes. But her faith in God is what made it so. Jesus said: “Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away.” Mary surely has come to Jesus. And if Jesus asks her, “From whence have you come?” She can say with confidence, “From a life well-lived, and people well-loved: a life well-pleasing to God.”
Amen.
Isaiah 25:6-9
Revelation 21:2-7
John 6:37-40
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
We gather together on this day to commend Mary into the care of God’s loving arms. There will come another day when we will gather to celebrate Mary’s remarkable life and incredible accomplishments. Today, we have met in this holy place to be reminded of her deep and abiding faith in God, and—more importantly—to be reminded of God’s unfailing love for Mary. There are three things I want to share with you this morning.
First, a greeting. I did not know Mary for very long, in the scheme of things. But every time I visited her, starting two years ago, right up until the time she stopped speaking, she would always take my hand, look me in the eye, and ask, “From whence have you come?” The best name I have for this is, “Regal Curiosity.” From whence have you come? I always wanted to say, “from hither and yon, M’lady.” But I always answered truthfully: From St. Timothy’s Church. And every time I gave that answer, Mary’s eyes would light up. She knew the place well, and even as her memory slipped away, she still recognized the name, and she would smile at the memory.
Second, a poem. The very first time I visited Mary and Ralph at the farm in 2016, I sat down with them to chat and to bring them the Sacrament. Several times during that first conversation, Mary quoted from a Robert Browning poem. She wanted to be sure I understood how important it was to her. And she would stop the conversation, and look me in the eye and quote two lines: “Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be.” She was so insistent about this, that I looked up the poem as soon as I had time.
It’s a l-o-n-g poem, but Mary knew the best part, which is the first stanza: “Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!” Mary and Ralph lived together fearlessly, embracing a full life, trusting God, seeing all. A whole life together as God hoped, and they lived all of it.
Third, the Sacrament. From my very first visit, after Mary took the bread—the body of Christ—she would weep. Uncontrollable tears streaming down her cheeks. Every time. These were sacred, holy moments, and no one dared speak until Mary would open her eyes again. Taking Communion was a transcendent experience for Mary, and I was honored and humbled to be the one who was blessed to bring it to her, over those few short months. If I ever doubted whether Jesus was truly present in the Sacrament, a short drive down to Navarre would set me straight.
The greeting, the poem, and the Sacrament. These are the three things I will always remember about Mary. And you could give these things different names: people, abundant life, and Jesus. These are the three things that Mary was passionate about, and—it’s no coincidence—these are the same things that God is most passionate about: people, abundant life, and Jesus. Mary lived a life attuned to God’s will. She cared about people, she wanted people to live the fullest life possible, and she knew that, somehow, Jesus came to her in the sacrament.
Mary’s life was an inspiration yes. But her faith in God is what made it so. Jesus said: “Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away.” Mary surely has come to Jesus. And if Jesus asks her, “From whence have you come?” She can say with confidence, “From a life well-lived, and people well-loved: a life well-pleasing to God.”
Amen.
Wednesday, April 4, 2018
Braden Ehmer, 8/17/93-3/29/18
For Braden Ehmer
Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 46
Revelation 7:9-17
Psalm 23
John 11:21-27
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
I never met Braden. But I can tell by watching you enter this room today that he was deeply loved, and will be fiercely missed. We probably all feel the same way today. We don’t want to be here to bury one so young. This is not the way things are supposed to go. And yet, we have to be here. For one another, and to try to find a way to honor Braden’s life. At times like this, we have no words. And so we turn to God’s Word, and we focus on the promises God makes to all of us.
As we heard from Isaiah, God will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.
And from the book of Revelation, They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.
And, most importantly, from Jesus himself to Martha: "Your brother will rise again."
We all struggle in life, through good and bad, because things do not always go as we intend. Things don’t go as God intends either, because this world is not the way God wants it to be, intends for it to be. Sometimes parents and grandparents outlive their children and grandchildren. Sometimes brothers and sisters and cousins have to gather on a day like this and say goodbye to someone they love so dearly, long before they should have to. And in the midst of that, Jesus says to us, your brother will rise again. Your son will rise again. Your friend will rise again.
We all struggle to believe in God sometimes. But when we experience love, we experience God. Because God is love. The love you have for Braden and that Braden has for you is a gift from God. Love does not die. You love Braden forever, and he loves you forever. Because of this, you will see him again one day. I don’t know how or when—but I know that it is true.
This is our faith: to believe that you will see Braden again. Until that time, hold onto that hope. The hope of Easter. Remember Braden. Live in the ways he has inspired you in your life. None of us is perfect, but love is perfect. Hold on to that love, hold onto each other, and hold onto the promise that your brother will rise again.
Amen
Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 46
Revelation 7:9-17
Psalm 23
John 11:21-27
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
I never met Braden. But I can tell by watching you enter this room today that he was deeply loved, and will be fiercely missed. We probably all feel the same way today. We don’t want to be here to bury one so young. This is not the way things are supposed to go. And yet, we have to be here. For one another, and to try to find a way to honor Braden’s life. At times like this, we have no words. And so we turn to God’s Word, and we focus on the promises God makes to all of us.
As we heard from Isaiah, God will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.
And from the book of Revelation, They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.
And, most importantly, from Jesus himself to Martha: "Your brother will rise again."
We all struggle in life, through good and bad, because things do not always go as we intend. Things don’t go as God intends either, because this world is not the way God wants it to be, intends for it to be. Sometimes parents and grandparents outlive their children and grandchildren. Sometimes brothers and sisters and cousins have to gather on a day like this and say goodbye to someone they love so dearly, long before they should have to. And in the midst of that, Jesus says to us, your brother will rise again. Your son will rise again. Your friend will rise again.
We all struggle to believe in God sometimes. But when we experience love, we experience God. Because God is love. The love you have for Braden and that Braden has for you is a gift from God. Love does not die. You love Braden forever, and he loves you forever. Because of this, you will see him again one day. I don’t know how or when—but I know that it is true.
This is our faith: to believe that you will see Braden again. Until that time, hold onto that hope. The hope of Easter. Remember Braden. Live in the ways he has inspired you in your life. None of us is perfect, but love is perfect. Hold on to that love, hold onto each other, and hold onto the promise that your brother will rise again.
Amen
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
Massillon Ecumenical Lenten Service, 2018
MACA Lenten Service, 2018
James 1:12-14
Matthew 6:9-13
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
So, back when the preachers got together and decided to divide up the Lord’s Prayer for preaching, I picked “Lead us not into temptation.” Mainly because I was interested in it, and also because I was too dumb to realize how difficult it would be. Pastor Gower, being a wiser pastor chose the phrase, “Our Father,” although he was hoping for just "Our." Which reminds me, let’s begin by reviewing what we’ve heard so far.
The Lord’s Prayer begins with that phrase, Our Father. It reminds us that—even though we tend to think of this as an individual prayer—it is a prayer from and about our community. And the next week, we heard that asking for God’s kingdom to come is asking that life in this world would be like it is in the parables, when Jesus describes what the kingdom of God is like. Then we heard that asking for our daily bread really reminds us that all our needs are provided by God. And last week, we heard that—with God’s help—we can let sin pass us by rather than grabbing onto it when it comes to us, because come to us it will.
And that leads us to today: Lead us not into temptation. This is, perhaps, the strangest of all the petitions in the Lord’s Prayer. In Matthew’s version, it gets coupled with, “but deliver us from evil,” which is the easy part. Luke’s version stops with the hard part: Lead us not into temptation.
Even when I was a little kid, I thought this was a strange thing to ask of God. I mean, God wouldn’t want us to fall into temptation, so why would we need to ask God not to tempt us? It’s like asking God not to make me steal candy from the kids at school. And, as I grew to be a teenager, I began to think of this phrase as being more like, “Lead us not into temptation, because I can get there on my own just fine, God, thanks.”
The more you think about this petition, the stranger it becomes. If you have a world view where God is literally in control of everything, maybe it’s a less confusing request. You know, everything happens because it is God’s will, even the bad things. And therefore, it might just be God’s will that we fall into temptation, so we’d better be sure to ask God not to lead us into temptation, in case that’s one of the things God had in mind. And if that worldview works for you, then, well, good for you. But I just can’t embrace that, personally. As best I can tell, bad things happen in this world, even though God does not want them to happen. And not put too fine a point on it, a God who actually wants innocent people to suffer is a God I’m not that interested in. Please don’t throw anything at me.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Job. Some people will point to the book of Job as an example of God leading someone into temptation. Now I’m not going to debate whether the book of Job is an allegory or not, since I feel like I just dodged being hit by a load of Bibles from you all. But I do feel the need to point out that it is Satan who is tempting Job to denounce God; God is not leading Job into temptation.
And what do we do with that verse from the book of James that we heard read a little earlier tonight? “No one, when tempted, should say, ‘I am being tempted by God’; for God cannot be tempted by evil and he himself tempts no one. But one is tempted by one’s own desire, being lured and enticed by it.” No person should say, “I am being tempted by God.” That’s pretty clear, right?
Huh. So on the face of it, we don’t really see God leading anyone into temptation. And we have James telling us that God does not lead us into temptation. And yet, on a regular basis, we pray that God would not lead us into temptation. As the Lutherans might say, “What does this mean?”
You may have heard that Pope Francis has begun floating the idea that this phrase ought to be rendered something more like, “Do not let us fall into temptation.” And the Catholic Church in France has begun using that phrasing. Well, in French. And soon the Swiss Church will make the same change, starting on Easter day. But I don’t think that’s going to catch on really, because language scholars have lined up against it and . . . well . . . people just won’t do it. The Lord’s Prayer is the Lord’s Prayer. Just ask any Episcopal priest how easy it has been to introduce the “Contemporary” version, which appeared in 1928, and is still considered “too modern” in many churches.
But here’s another thing to consider. In the Gospel of Mark, right after his Baptism in the River Jordan, Jesus is driven by the Spirit into the wilderness, where he is tested, or tempted by Satan. In fact, the actual phrase is “thrown out” into the desert. The suggestion here is that Jesus was not looking for this; Jesus was not slipping into temptation; no, Jesus had to be thrown into temptation, since it is so contrary to his very nature.
And maybe that’s a helpful thing to keep in mind when we consider the phrase, “Lead us not into temptation.” Like, it is certainly our nature to fall into temptation. We don’t need to be thrown. We don’t even need to be led. Show us temptation, and the honest among us will say, “Where do I sign?” We are all tempted to sin against God and our neighbor, and we are all prone to give into those temptations, no matter how hard we might strive to fight against them. And that is why we constantly and consistently confess that we have sinned against God in thought, word, and deed, and why we constantly and consistently need to hear the words of assurance and absolution, that God forgives what we have done, are doing, and will do in the future.
And so, what about this phrase, “Lead us not into temptation?” Why did Jesus tell us to pray that, and why do we keep on doing it, even though it is so confusing to us? The answer is . . . I have no idea.
HOWEVER, maybe this is something to carry with you, and it goes back to the first sermon we heard at these weekly gatherings: Us. Our. The collective. I do not pray that God would give me my daily bread. Or forgive me my trespasses. And you do not pray that God would not lead you into temptation. It is us. It is the church. It is this collective, messy, struggling, hungry, forgiven people of God, following God’s call to go out into the world and make it a little more like the Kingdom of God that we pray will look on earth as it does in heaven.
You and I are in this together, whether we like it or not. And my prayer for all of us is that God would lead us away from temptation and into being the church that God wants us to be. Forgiven, united, welcoming, loving, and ready to celebrate the risen Christ who passes over from death into life, and pulls us with him, by the grace of God, and by the will of God. The one who has the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever.
Amen.
James 1:12-14
Matthew 6:9-13
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
So, back when the preachers got together and decided to divide up the Lord’s Prayer for preaching, I picked “Lead us not into temptation.” Mainly because I was interested in it, and also because I was too dumb to realize how difficult it would be. Pastor Gower, being a wiser pastor chose the phrase, “Our Father,” although he was hoping for just "Our." Which reminds me, let’s begin by reviewing what we’ve heard so far.
The Lord’s Prayer begins with that phrase, Our Father. It reminds us that—even though we tend to think of this as an individual prayer—it is a prayer from and about our community. And the next week, we heard that asking for God’s kingdom to come is asking that life in this world would be like it is in the parables, when Jesus describes what the kingdom of God is like. Then we heard that asking for our daily bread really reminds us that all our needs are provided by God. And last week, we heard that—with God’s help—we can let sin pass us by rather than grabbing onto it when it comes to us, because come to us it will.
And that leads us to today: Lead us not into temptation. This is, perhaps, the strangest of all the petitions in the Lord’s Prayer. In Matthew’s version, it gets coupled with, “but deliver us from evil,” which is the easy part. Luke’s version stops with the hard part: Lead us not into temptation.
Even when I was a little kid, I thought this was a strange thing to ask of God. I mean, God wouldn’t want us to fall into temptation, so why would we need to ask God not to tempt us? It’s like asking God not to make me steal candy from the kids at school. And, as I grew to be a teenager, I began to think of this phrase as being more like, “Lead us not into temptation, because I can get there on my own just fine, God, thanks.”
The more you think about this petition, the stranger it becomes. If you have a world view where God is literally in control of everything, maybe it’s a less confusing request. You know, everything happens because it is God’s will, even the bad things. And therefore, it might just be God’s will that we fall into temptation, so we’d better be sure to ask God not to lead us into temptation, in case that’s one of the things God had in mind. And if that worldview works for you, then, well, good for you. But I just can’t embrace that, personally. As best I can tell, bad things happen in this world, even though God does not want them to happen. And not put too fine a point on it, a God who actually wants innocent people to suffer is a God I’m not that interested in. Please don’t throw anything at me.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Job. Some people will point to the book of Job as an example of God leading someone into temptation. Now I’m not going to debate whether the book of Job is an allegory or not, since I feel like I just dodged being hit by a load of Bibles from you all. But I do feel the need to point out that it is Satan who is tempting Job to denounce God; God is not leading Job into temptation.
And what do we do with that verse from the book of James that we heard read a little earlier tonight? “No one, when tempted, should say, ‘I am being tempted by God’; for God cannot be tempted by evil and he himself tempts no one. But one is tempted by one’s own desire, being lured and enticed by it.” No person should say, “I am being tempted by God.” That’s pretty clear, right?
Huh. So on the face of it, we don’t really see God leading anyone into temptation. And we have James telling us that God does not lead us into temptation. And yet, on a regular basis, we pray that God would not lead us into temptation. As the Lutherans might say, “What does this mean?”
You may have heard that Pope Francis has begun floating the idea that this phrase ought to be rendered something more like, “Do not let us fall into temptation.” And the Catholic Church in France has begun using that phrasing. Well, in French. And soon the Swiss Church will make the same change, starting on Easter day. But I don’t think that’s going to catch on really, because language scholars have lined up against it and . . . well . . . people just won’t do it. The Lord’s Prayer is the Lord’s Prayer. Just ask any Episcopal priest how easy it has been to introduce the “Contemporary” version, which appeared in 1928, and is still considered “too modern” in many churches.
But here’s another thing to consider. In the Gospel of Mark, right after his Baptism in the River Jordan, Jesus is driven by the Spirit into the wilderness, where he is tested, or tempted by Satan. In fact, the actual phrase is “thrown out” into the desert. The suggestion here is that Jesus was not looking for this; Jesus was not slipping into temptation; no, Jesus had to be thrown into temptation, since it is so contrary to his very nature.
And maybe that’s a helpful thing to keep in mind when we consider the phrase, “Lead us not into temptation.” Like, it is certainly our nature to fall into temptation. We don’t need to be thrown. We don’t even need to be led. Show us temptation, and the honest among us will say, “Where do I sign?” We are all tempted to sin against God and our neighbor, and we are all prone to give into those temptations, no matter how hard we might strive to fight against them. And that is why we constantly and consistently confess that we have sinned against God in thought, word, and deed, and why we constantly and consistently need to hear the words of assurance and absolution, that God forgives what we have done, are doing, and will do in the future.
And so, what about this phrase, “Lead us not into temptation?” Why did Jesus tell us to pray that, and why do we keep on doing it, even though it is so confusing to us? The answer is . . . I have no idea.
HOWEVER, maybe this is something to carry with you, and it goes back to the first sermon we heard at these weekly gatherings: Us. Our. The collective. I do not pray that God would give me my daily bread. Or forgive me my trespasses. And you do not pray that God would not lead you into temptation. It is us. It is the church. It is this collective, messy, struggling, hungry, forgiven people of God, following God’s call to go out into the world and make it a little more like the Kingdom of God that we pray will look on earth as it does in heaven.
You and I are in this together, whether we like it or not. And my prayer for all of us is that God would lead us away from temptation and into being the church that God wants us to be. Forgiven, united, welcoming, loving, and ready to celebrate the risen Christ who passes over from death into life, and pulls us with him, by the grace of God, and by the will of God. The one who has the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever.
Amen.
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