Behold, I Make All Things New

NW MN Synod Theology for Ministry Conference

Reconciliation:  UnBinding Hearts

September 18, 2018 at the Fair Hills Resort, Detroit Lakes, MN

Romans 7:15-25a

In the name of Jesus.  Amen.

I confess to Almighty God, before the whole company of heaven, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned….(ELW, p. 321)

Truth be told, I have sinned in more ways than I have time to share in these few moments…..

…but for now, in particular, I want to confess that I have sinned  by dragging my feet, taking my sweet old time, being slow to recognize the intricate, pervasive, overwhelming reality of sin itself…not just my own sin, or our own sin, or the sin of the whole human family—but the sin that affects, infects and shapes the very social fabric in which we are embedded--sin that has wormed its way into every nook and cranny of our shared existence….sin that attaches itself to society as we know it and to all the structures of this world as we and our ancestors have shaped them.

I have sinned by being reluctant to realize that language like “privilege” and “institutional prejudice” and “structural racism” and “implicit bias” are more than the by-products of 20^th and 21^st century “political correctness”….but that such notions name some of the deepest, most abiding and corrosive realities of sin itself.

I have sinned both by what I have done---all the ways I have benefited from the way my world has been constructed to benefit me and “my people”---I have sinned both by what I have done and by what I have not done—by not asking, more often, and more deeply, questions like:  “How did we get here?” and “How did the world come to be this way?” and  “Who suffered, who lost out, who was ignored….so that I might prosper?”

I have sinned by failing to ask questions as simple and basic as:  “Just who are we talking about whenever we say the word ‘we’?”

I have sinned, my sisters and brothers, by not inviting us to consider such matters earlier in my time of service among you in this synod.

…And so, my hope and prayer is that this theology for ministry conference will mark a venturing out together…to have our eyes opened, our lives turned inside out… so that we’ll pay closer attention not just to the people we are called to serve, but to the whole social  fabric itself that continually shapes us and that our God is continually refashioning in the cruciform likeness of Jesus who suffered and died and rose again for us not just to save you and me, but to redeem all that God has made.

Now, you might be wondering, what brought all this on?   “We’ve never heard Larry talk that way—what on earth has gotten into him?”

Well, since you asked (!), several things have gotten into me, leading me to this point of confession.

First, my world has become much bigger than it used to be.

I didn’t even own a passport when you called me to be your bishop in 2007.   Except for a few visits to Canada, I had no international travel experience. 

·       

I    I had not yet seen the hardscrabble life of the Dalits (a.k.a. “untouchables”) in our companion synod in India….

·       

I    I had yet to behold the grinding poverty of mountain-folk in Nicaragua who walk five miles to get their water from a muddy river…. 

  

·       I had not yet visited Germany, the homeland of my ancestors and of the Reformation, I had not yet seen what’s left of the Berlin Wall along with still lingering after-effects of decades under communism in the former East Germany.

·       I did not yet have a vital circle of LGBT friends, African American colleagues (including leaders of historic black churches in our state), and other neighbors who reflect the wondrous diversity that our Creator loves.

The second thing that’s “gotten into me” is the witness of an abundance of teachers whom God has sent to me who’ve provoked me to perceive how, in so many ways, the very shape of our world advantages some while disadvantaging others.   I hadn’t yet pondered the fact that, like so many people of privilege, I was born on third base—a base that my ancestors stole from the first inhabitants of this good land.

Other teachers—like N.T. Wright--have led me to embrace more deeply a more cosmic Christology that recognizes in the groaning of the creation the birth pangs of God’s new creation…..a cosmic Christology that flows naturally from epistles like Ephesians and Colossians and that culminates in the stunning declaration in Revelation of God’s greatest promise:  “Behold I make all things new!” (Rev.21:5)

Only such a cosmic, all-embracing theology can address the individual, collective and indeed society-wide damage caused by the sin for which our Savior lived, died, rose again and will return to restore in full!

The third thing that has gotten into me is an affliction—I hope it’s your affliction, too—that I can’t stop reflecting theologically on everything, including our shared life together in this cultural moment:   the United States of America in the year 2018.

Sometimes don’t you just wish you could take a break and switch off your “theological reflection” button?

Douglas John Hall in his book Thinking the Faith, tells about a conversation he had with a fellow traveler on a long air flight who asked theologian Hall what he did for a living.  “Since it was a lengthy flight,” Hall writes,”and since my companion seemed willing to listen, I took my time and attempted to answer his question in a responsible way.  At the end of my discourse, he looked at me very earnestly and, without a trace of irony in his voice, said: ‘It must be wonderful to think about everything, all the time!”[1]

Oh how I wish I could occasionally flip the toggle and switch off that theological reflection “thing,” but I can’t, and you can’t…and that’s actually a very good thing because when God calls us pastors, deacons and SAMs  to public ministries in the church, God expects us, God commissions us to be God’s gadflies in the world….to test and measure and sift everything we experience in God’s World  through the “sieve” of God’s Word in Jesus Christ.

And what does that Word tell us?    

Way back in 1953 a British clergyman J.B. Phillips wrote a little book that’s still in print, entitled:  Your God is Too Small.   In a way, I wish Phillips had written a prequel volume, entitled Your Idea of Sin is Too Small.

What does the Word of God tell us about sin?   It tells us, plain and simple, that sin is bigger, wider, deeper, and much more virulent than we assume it to be.   

Yes, the word “sin” names our original sin, the sin we inherited just by virtue of being conceived and birthed by sinful human parents.    Sin is that curved-in-upon-ourselves-ness that Luther taught us about.   Sin is—in the popular religious imagination of America—the bad thoughts, words and deeds that ensue from being fatally flawed.   Sin is what we never outgrow our need to confess, so that we may be forgiven.  

But sin is also much, much more than an individual, personal affliction.   Sin has a grasp, a reach--sin spreads itself and its effects, infecting not just everyone, but everything.   Sin fills not just space, but time as well.   We are always dealing with not just the wrongs you and I have done in our slender slice of eternity….but we are forever bumping up against all the wrongs of all our ancestors.   In this fashion sin infects every structure we manufacture, every arrangement we concoct, every era in our collective history. 

Sin always and forever is bigger than we imagine it to be….and this is more than a political or social or moral construct—it is a deep theological reality, encompassing ideas like privilege, structural racism, institutional prejudice, and implicit bias.

Sin’s a much bigger force to contend with than we realize on Sunday mornings when—as if on auto-pilot or just drowsy--we confess that we are captive to sin and cannot free ourselves.   Not by accident, the apostle Paul whom we true blue Lutherans love for his witness to justification by faith—not by accident did Paul also speak of the whole creation groaning (Romans 8:22).

Our encounter with God’s Word will continually overwhelm us with the enormity of sin until we find ourselves crying out with Paul:   “Wretch that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?”  (Romans 7:24)

And when those words fall from our lips, we will continue with Paul’s breathless, joyous, confession:  “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”  (Romans 7:25)

For as sure and as certain as we are that sin is so much bigger than we thought it was, God’s cosmic, redemptive work in Christ is always bigger.   And God’s Word will always drive us to confess, in the words of Colossians 1:    Christ himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together (v. 17)…[and] through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.” (v. 22)

In the name of Jesus—through whose Cross and Empty Tomb God is making all things new.  Amen.

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[1] Douglas John Hall, Thinking the Faith:  Christian Theology in a North American Context (1989, Augsburg Fortress)     pp. 323-324.

I Was A Stranger, and You Welcomed Me

NW MN Synod Women’s Organization Convention

Trinity Lutheran Church, Detroit Lakes, MN

September 15, 2018

Hebrews 13:22:   “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” 

Matthew 25:31-46, especially v. 35b, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.”

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

I love the word you’re focusing on during this convention:  the word hospitality.    And I’m tickled by your theme verse from Hebrews 13:2—one of the New Testament’s most evocative passages which echoes beloved tales from Greek and Roman mythology (like the ancient story of Baucis and Philemon) as well as Old Testament narratives like the story in Genesis 18 in which Abraham and Sarah entertain three mysterious strangers—three angels, three “faces of God” by the Oaks of Mamre.

Hospitality definitely deserves our attention, especially in today’s church.  On that we can certainly agree—but just what do we think hospitality is all about?

Is it mainly about politeness and good manners?   Those are certainly not unrelated—politeness and hospitality--and I’m certainly in favor of “good manners” any day of the week. 

More than once I have encouraged folks in our synod to recall  what they hopefully  learned as third graders, regarding how to meet someone you don’t know—how to introduce yourself to them and give them a chance to introduce themselves to you.   Hospitality depends on a modicum of polite manners and simple acts like greeting folks, providing nametags for everyone, making all who show up feel comfortable and at home in our churches.

But, hospitality is also about much, much more than good manners!

It’s also about genuine friendliness and warmth—moving past our shyness, setting aside our natural “reserve” …and going out of our way to open up relational space for that other person or persons---particularly if they’re newcomers who may have just moved into the area.

Hospitality is about good manners—to be sure!---and it’s also about heartfelt warmth and genuine friendliness—oh yes!

But there is even more to this thing we call hospitality, as we see with crystal clarity in our gospel reading from Matthew 25.

Hospitality may start with polite good manners…and hopefully it will move on to warm friendliness…..

…but hospitality reaches its true destination…hospitality blossoms forth into fullest flower when we come to know that at its best Christian hospitality is about all the encounters in which God opens us up to recognizing and receiving Jesus Christ in our midst.

Simply put:  in being hospitable we come face to face with none other than our Lord and Savior!

And this deeper hospitality becomes more astounding, more surprisingly jaw-dropping, whenever it dawns on us that we meet Christ in the very last persons we’d anticipate, in the folks we’re most surprised to encounter!

This is where things get really interesting!

Look again at the whole motley crew Jesus rolls out here in Matthew 25.  Jesus informs us that he identifies most closely NOT with the beautiful, successful, powerful, or famous personalities in our lives…..

….but that Jesus becomes recognizable in the faces of the most desperate, needy ones:   the hungry, thirsty, sick, and naked folks….the strangers we meet in jails and prisons--not the best of the best, but the worst of the worst.

Jesus draws us into hospitality with persons we’re not too sure about, folks we’re maybe inclined to blame for bringing their own troubles upon themselves, individuals who make us nervous, fearful or uncertain….puzzling, perplexing “others” whom we may be inclined to cross the street in order to avoid.

We prefer that our deeds of hospitality feel satisfying…we like it when our warmth and friendliness is reciprocated….but instead Jesus points us to encounters that may well make us wonder, might even feel downright off-putting and uncomfortable!

In case you don’t hear this passage that way, let me paraphrase it just a bit, in today’s vernacular:  

·      “I was in my usual spot, on the street corner holding up a sign that says I’m homeless and haven’t eaten in days--and you gave me food; 

·      I was dehydrated and on the verge of heat-stroke—and you gave me something to drink;

·      I was a refugee fleeing violent gangs in my homeland, and you embraced me;

·      I looked like death warmed over with a ratty shirt and tattered jeans and you gave me something decent to wear;

·      I was trying to sober up after an opioid overdose and you got me to a clinic,

·      I was doing 20 years in the state penitentiary and you went to the time and trouble of becoming my first visitor in months.

Offering that kind of hospitality to those sorts of folks will be scary, unsettling and perhaps even dangerous. 

Offering Jesus’ brand of costly, deep hospitality that’s held up here in Matthew 25 may well make others in our communities start to wonder about you and me.   We may start to become identified with those whom we welcome.

If you think I’m overstating this, recall the sorts of things that are being said nowadays about strangers from other lands who seek to make a new home in this country—(the most of our own immigrant ancestors did decades ago!)

Take a closer look with me at this phrase in particular from Matthew 25:35b.  It’s usually translated, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.”   But if we dig deeper into the original Greek language of the New Testament we discover that the word here is xenos, which can mean a stranger, but it can just as easily be translated as a foreigner.   We run into this Greek word xenos whenever we see the word xenophobia—the fear of strangers.

And the word normally translated “welcomed” here comes from the Greek word synago, from which the word synagogue is derived.   Synago is about more than saying a friendly “Hi, how are you?”   It means embracing someone, enfolding them into our own people.    So Matthew 25:35b could be more faithfully translated:  “I was a foreigner and you took me in.”

This clear “dominical saying,” this unmistakable directive straight from our Lord flies right in the face of so much anti-immigrant, anti-refugee, anti-foreigner rhetoric that’s being tossed around willy-nilly in our country right now—rhetoric that has no place in the community of Jesus Christ who so closely identified himself with suspicious strangers that he declared:  “I was a foreigner and you took me in.”

So, my dear friends, the more closely and carefully we listen to Jesus we will be drawn into the kind of deep, dangerous hospitality that could get us criticized, ostracized, and even shunned by others.   

Some of the dirt that’s on those to whom we’re hospitable, may well rub off on us!

Why would Jesus ask such a thing of us?   Why, why would Jesus put us to such a difficult test?   

Why would Jesus expect us to step so far out of our comfort zones?   Why can’t we simply stick to the safe, garden-variety hospitality that’s easy to offer to persons who’re just like ourselves?

Such questions, in the mere asking of them, reveal how much we still have to learn about God’s way with us.

For in truth, Jesus never invites or expects us to do anything that he has not already done for us and for our salvation.

Here in Matthew 25 Jesus doesn’t call us to a costly, risky hospitality that’s beyond our capabilities.   

Rather, Jesus invites us into…Jesus draws us deeply into his own way of being with us and our fellow members of the human family.

For this is not some alien path, far out of our reach.   This is Jesus’ own way in the world.   This hospitality that Jesus holds out before our eyes is the hospitality he first extended to us:  we who were hungry and desperate for nourishment; we who were parched and dry; we who were being hunted down by the Evil One and his minions; we who were exposed and naked as the day we were born; we who were sin-sick souls desperately needing salvation; we who were captive to sin and unable to free ourselves…..we have all been the kinds of people Jesus speaks of here….we were all “those kinds of people” when Jesus, our Host Par Excellence…Jesus, our perfectly hospitable Savior looked upon us with love and pity and forgiveness and healing and welcome.

It is this Jesus who holds up not some impossible ethical standard, but rather invites us, draws us, woos us into his own way of living life large and always for others.  Jesus leads us into a hospitality we could never pull off on our own. 

Jesus invites us into his very own deep, dangerous hospitality, promising to meet us in the face of every person we encounter--—often most clearly and unmistakably in the faces of the strangers we meet.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen.

Bishops' Statement on Immigration

Bishops’ Statement on Immigration

As bishops charged with responsibility for over 500 parishes across our region, we write to share our deep concern about the current debate over immigration in the United States.   As we observe the unfolding situation along our country’s border with Mexico we are troubled that this debate seems to be driven more by rancor and political partisanship than by the deep moral and spiritual dimensions of the issue at hand.

Our communities of faith share three foundational principles regarding the issue of immigration:

First, we assume that people have the right to migrate in order to sustain their lives and the lives of their families.  This assumption is based on the ancient biblical teaching that the goods of the earth belong to our Creator who intends them to be shared with all people.  While defending the right to private property, our churches teach that individuals do not have the right to use private property without regard for the common good.

Second, we assume that a country has the right to regulate its borders and to control immigration.  While people have the right to migrate, no country has the duty to receive so many immigrants that its social and economic life are jeopardized.   The vast majority of our parishes were established by immigrants to America.  So we realize that most persons migrate-- not simply to enhance their standard of living--but to embrace safety, freedom, and opportunities that don’t exist in their countries of origin.  Our immigrant heritage has also contributed to our churches’ strong commitment to assisting immigrants and refugees.

Third, we assume that a country must regulate its borders with both justice and mercy, both fairness and generosity.   This third principle supplies the proper context for understanding the first two principles.  It is only in the interplay of pursuing both fairness and generosity that the best discussion of immigration will take place.

It is precisely such discussion of immigration that is so sorely needed in our nation at this time.   So we urge members of our parishes along with all our neighbors to embrace the gift of respectful conversation as we sort out this perplexing, critical issue of immigration.  In that spirit we invite you to consider the following possibilities:

• ·       Re-commit ourselves to fact-based reasoning, a free press, and free speech;
• ·       Insist upon civility in our public discourse—starting with ourselves;
• ·       Resist the urge to do all our “talking” via social media;
• ·       Sit down regularly with persons who hold opinions other than our own and listen more than we speak;
• ·       Urge our members of Congress, Senators and the President to pursue comprehensive immigration reform that is both compassionate and just; 
• ·       Invite others to join us in pondering what it means to balance care for ourselves with care for the common good; and
• ·       Avail ourselves of the resources of our faith communities--principally the gift of prayer.

O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son.  Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred that infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and through our struggle and confusion, work to accomplish your purposes on earth; so that, in your good time, every people and nation may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.  Amen.  (Evangelical Lutheran Worship, p. 79)

Bishop Terry Brandt, Eastern North Dakota Synod, Evangelical Lutheran Church in America

Bishop Michael Hoeppner, Roman Catholic Diocese of Crookston

Bishop Lawrence Wohlrabe, Northwestern Minnesota Synod, Evangelical Lutheran Church in America

Note:  this statement draws upon Catholic Social Teaching On Immigration and the Movement of Peoples (United States Conference of Catholic Bishops)[1] and A Message on Immigration (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America).[2] 

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[1] http://www.usccb.org/issues-and-action/human-life-and-dignity/immigration/catholic-teaching-on-immigration-and-the-movement-of-peoples.cfm

[2] http://download.elca.org/ELCA%20Resource%20Repository/ImmigrationSM.pdf?_ga=2.7800370.1268351297.1529811555-2130564817.1526953250

God's Grace Changes Everything

Sermon for Synod Day--June 30, 2018

“God's Grace Changes Everything”

ELCA Youth Gathering, Houston, Texas

Acts 8:26-40

In the name of Jesus.  Amen.

What have been some of the most significant days in your life thus far?

I’m not asking you to recall the day that was most fun or exciting or unforgettable.

But rather:  what are the moments that have had the biggest impact on your life? 

I can think of three of them in my own life…

There’s August 6, 1977 when I married Joy. 

There’s  April 8, 1982 when I became a father

And then there’s June 15, 2003—when I was NOT elected bishop of the SW MN Synod…a "defeat" that opened me up to ask, “So where’s God calling me now?”   [I include this day, because our most significant days are not always our happiest days…]

What have been your most significant days…your “this changes everything” moments?

Here in Acts 8 we meet a fellow who’s having the most significant day of HIS life.

We aren’t told his name.

All we’re told is that  he was from the East African nation of Ethiopia;  he was a eunuch (whatever that means); he was his queen’s treasurer; and he was traveling between Jerusalem and his homeland.

Just a few scraps of information—that speak volumes  about this man:

·       He was a foreigner of a different race from a different country…

·       He was a eunuch—a slave who (like other slaves in the ancient world) had been castrated early in life so he could be completely devoted to his owner….

·       And he was his queen’s slave, in charge of all her money: a lowly slave with lofty responsibilities.

But why was this black man from East Africa traveling between Jerusalem and his homeland?

I think it’s because he was a spiritual seeker like so many folks nowadays—especially youth and young adults.  Though presumably raised in the religion of his homeland, somewhere along the line he was drawn to the Jewish faith…he honored the God of the Jews, traveled to Jerusalem for Jewish festivals and read the Jewish scriptures, our Old Testament.

…which is exactly what he was doing, as he rode in his chariot through the desert, from Jerusalem back home to Ethiopia. 

And fortunately, the eunuch wasn’t alone on that desert road.  A Christian named Philip was there, too, encountering the eunuch just as he was reading from the prophet Isaiah about a mysterious “Suffering Servant” who faced humiliation, barrenness, and death.

This Bible passage was getting under the eunuch’s skin….causing him to wonder:   “Who in the world was Isaiah writing about?”

I wonder why this question bugged him so much.  Was it because the eunuch saw something of himself in this passage? 

After all--like Isaiah’s “Suffering Servant”—the eunuch had been “sheared”—shorn of his manhood.  He had tasted the bitterness of humiliation.  He had been cut off from having a family of his own.

“Who’s the prophet writing about?” the eunuch pleads with Philip….and Philip responds by telling him “the good news about Jesus”

Just exactly what Philip said next, we aren’t told.   But maybe it went something like this:

This mystery person, this suffering servant who experienced all the crummy things you’ve experienced…he has a name and it’s Jesus.  He was born, taking the form of a slave.   He spent his whole life serving others in the lowliest of ways.  When his enemies hoisted him up on a cross, his life was cut off.  His body was thrown away, discarded like so much garbage, buried in a borrowed grave….

…a grave that could not hold him!  After three days Jesus burst out of his grave—alive again, nevermore to die again!

And Jesus went through all of that so that he might now live his unending life through you.  As a fellow Christian friend of mine likes to say:   “I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me.” (Gal.2:19b-20)

As surely as Philip shared with the eunuch “the good news about Jesus”…God’s grace, God’s undeserved riches in Christ were poured over the eunuch when he was baptized.  

That was his “this changes everything” turnaround moment.

Nothing that people were always noticing about him—his skin color, his status as a sexual minority, his “foreignness,”  his lowly status as a slave, his lofty responsibilities as the Queen’s chief financial officer—nothing that people might have known about him held this man back from going on his way rejoicing….

…and, as an ancient church tradition suggests, when the eunuch reached home, he too (like Philip!) told others “good news about Jesus” and thus helped plant Christianity in Ethiopia.

My young friends, you belong here--even though you might think there are 101 reasons why God could never choose you to love and embrace and forgive and send into his service.

But when God thinks of you, God comes up with 101 reasons why you are JUST the kind of person God needs, a beloved child through whom Jesus chooses to live and move and have his being.

None of the ways we get all hung up on “sorting ourselves out” in this world matters, none of it matters one little bit to God.

God’s grace calls dibs on you and everyone else who has ears to hear.

God’s grace in Jesus Christ changes everything.  

God’s grace send you to tell others “the good news about Jesus.”  

God’s grace calls you is as surely and as certainly as anything could ever be.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen. 

Reconciliation: Unbinding Hearts

Reconciliation:  Unbinding Hearts

NW MN Synod Assembly—Saturday, June 9, 2018

Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd, Moorhead, MN

Mark 3:20-35

In the name of Jesus.  Amen.

When I was a lad growing up on a farm in southern Minnesota, there was one unforgivable sin.

The worst thing I could do on our farm, especially in the spring as we tilled the soil to prepare for planting--the unforgivable sin was getting a tractor stuck in the mud.

Why was that so bad?  Because if you get a tractor “good and stuck” in the mud, you can’t get it unstuck.  Someone—namely my dad--would have to stop what he was doing and come with another tractor and the heaviest-duty log chain he had, to get me unstuck…

…and if my Dad happened to get too close to the same mud I was stuck in, he might get stuck, too.   And then we’d have to call a neighboring farmer or the local tow-truck guy to come out to our farm and get us BOTH unstuck.

When you’re really stuck, you’re stuck, and you can’t get yourself unstuck. 

Here in this story from Mark 3, all sorts of folks seem stuck.

First there’s a restless crowd that seems stuck in their sheer fascination with Jesus—so bound up in their determination not to miss a second of “breaking news” about Jesus—so bound up that they can’t even eat!

Then there’s Jesus’ nervous family who seem stuck in their fear that he’s off his rocker, and if they don’t spirit him away and get him some help, the shame of his delirium might somehow cling to them, making them look just as crazy.

As if the restless crowd and the nervous family members aren’t enough, there’s a gaggle of religious experts,  know-it-all scribes from the head office in Jerusalem, who’re watching Jesus like hawks, all the while voicing their foregone conclusion—that Jesus isn’t on God’s side, but that he’s in league with the devil.   “He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons.” (v.22)

So stuck are these spiritual pooh-bahs that they can’t even absorb a simple, logical question that Jesus asks:  Why would someone allied with the Prince of Demons get rid of demons instead of “multiplying” demons wherever he could?

Everyone’s stuck here: the fickle crowd, the anxious relatives,  the suspicious scribes…they’re all really stuck and can’t get themselves unstuck.

…which is exactly what Jesus encountered throughout his earthly ministry…

….and it’s what we, who are the Body of Christ, also experience in our own day.  

Think about it—all the ways we and those around us are stuck nowadays….

So many Americans seem stuck in resentment, fear, incivility and prejudice against neighbors who look, speak or act in ways different from us.

Our society is stuck in an opioid epidemic that could kill half-a million Americans over the next decade…[1]

Our children are stuck wondering every day if their school will be the site of the next mass shooting…

Our culture seems gripped by gridlock…shackled by uncertainty over what we believe or whom we trust…unable to tell whether facts are real or “alternative” or simply fake.

Our churches feel rudderless, stuck in decline, unable to pass on the faith, bereft of the youthful energy we crave so much.

“Stuckness” describes to a tee the condition that prevails in our world, even now in this present moment…

….which is why we constantly find ourselves uttering some of the most honest words that ever fall from our lips:   “We are captive to sin and cannot free ourselves.”

Think of it:  there’s hardly any other encounter in which we speak with such brutal honesty about how it is with us, than when we confess our utter “stuckness” in sin…when we throw ourselves on the mercy of almighty God who alone can get us unstuck, with God’s liberating word of forgiveness, God’s resurrecting power of reconciliation.

Smack dab in the middle of this story in Mark 3, Jesus speaks this striking one-sentence parable:  “No one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.”  (v.27)

Jesus told that parable to the know-it-all scribes, in order to get them unstuck…to propose another possibility:   that Jesus came not to side with Satan, but to subdue Satan….to plunder Satan’s crumbling kingdom?  

That, my dear friends, is exactly what Jesus did and is still doing. 

With every exorcism he performed, Jesus was setting loose another one of the devil’s subjects.  With every sickness he cured, every withered limb he healed, every blind eye he opened Jesus was unbinding those in the clutches of the Evil One.

With every good-news-promise he uttered, Jesus was staking out God’s claim to a world Satan mistakenly thought belonged to him.

What we witness here in Mark 3 is God reasserting God’s rightful claim to all that God has made.

It’s what Jesus was always about—in his amazing life, through his bitter death, in the surprising power of his resurrection—in all of that Jesus was unbinding sin-stuck hearts.

And this same risen and living Lord Jesus Christ continues to do so even today, through the ministries he has entrusted to us, Christ’s church.

By rights, we who are the church really ought to think of ourselves as a 24-hours-a-day/365 days-a-year tow truck service.   We—the church--exist to get folks unstuck from sin, death and the power of the devil.

We bypass this truth at our peril, according to Jesus when he speaks here about blaspheming the Holy Spirit, which is (according to Jesus) an unforgivable “eternal sin.”

The trick here—when we hear such scary talk about an “unforgivable sin”—the trick here is to realize that Jesus wants to wake us up and shake us loose.  

For there is sin that can’t be forgiven—not because God is stingy to forgive it—but because we can become so stuck in this sin that we don’t even desire or seek God’s forgiveness.   It doesn’t get any worse than that:  getting stuck so deep in sin that you no longer know or care how deeply you’re stuck in sin.

What hope is there for poor souls who’re that far gone, that  deep into sin?

There is only one hope:  the hope that Someone will come along who isn’t stuck—

Someone who is utterly free enough, strong enough, brave enough, and merciful enough to pull us out.

There is such a Person.  His name is Jesus. 

Jesus’ own family got part of this right—he is “out of his mind” in the sense that Jesus is not operating completely under his own control.  

And the suspicious scribes also got some of this right—Jesus is “possessed” all right--possessed by the Holy Spirit so completely that he’s always “ready, willing and able” to pull us out of whatever mess we get ourselves stuck in.

This One, this Stronger One, our Lord Jesus, has gone down to death and the grave for us…to drag us out of the muck and mire of our waywardness….and to set our feet on a dry, level, wide and free place once again.

As wonderful as it is to receive such mercy and grace, we can’t help but want to pass this on to those who are still stuck all around us.

God in Christ saves us in order to send us to our neighbors.   God invites us to use—not a tow truck or a winch or a heavy-duty cable with a big steel hook on it--to get others unstuck.

No, the tools for rescuing others that God entrusts to us are entirely different.   God invites us and authorizes us to help others get unstuck with

• A Word of liberation,
• Water for washing away the mud, and the
• Bread and Wine of the New Kingdom that God is establishing even now, in the midst of Satan’s crumbling stronghold.

As God calls, authorizes and equips us to partner with God in helping others get unstuck, we behold first-hand how wide and far-reaching the scope of Jesus’ astonishing mercy truly is.

At the very tail end of our gospel lesson, there’s a sentence that’s often misunderstood. 

It can sound as though Jesus is setting aside his own earthly family….when in reality, Jesus is radically expanding his family…opening the door so widely that anyone and everyone can gain a foothold in God’s Kingdom: 

“Here are my mother and my brothers!,” declares Jesus.  “Whoever does the will of God”—whoever is no longer stuck!--“is my brother and sister and mother.”

That whoever here in Mark 3:35…that whoever includes anyone and everyone with eyes to see and ears to hear.

No exceptions!  

No exclusions! 

No one ineligible for God’s reconciling power that never ceases to unbind human hearts.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen.

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[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Opioid_epidemic