Reflection: Hosanna to the King of ... Me? (March 24, 2013)

Palm Sunday
Zechariah 9:9-12; Philippians 2:5-11; John 12:12-19

When young children discover that they are independent beings they begin to explore the boundaries of separation from their parents and others. This exploration leads them to resisting the authority of mom, dad, siblings, caregivers, etc. Among toddlers, that rebellion is expressed as something like, “You’re not the boss of me.” While such a statement may be cute the first time or two that it’s spoken, a child who insists that mom, dad, or anyone else in authority isn't “the boss of me” is heading for either a rude awakening or big trouble — or both.

Most people outgrow the attitude underlying “you’re not the boss of me.” Statements like “I don’t need organized religion to love God” and “I’m spiritual, not religious” are pious sounding, chic ways of saying “you’re not the boss of me” to God. It’s easy for us to see such arrogant rebellion against God’s authority in other people, but how clearly do we see our own versions of telling God that He can’t tell us what to do or control our lives? What words do we speak to inform Him that we object to the way that He is working in our circumstances? How are we heading toward a rude awakening or big trouble—or both?

When the crowds welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem shouting “Hosanna to the King of Israel!” they were acknowledging Him as their Messiah King. But when He called them to follow Him into a victory that was radically different than their expectations and desires, their Hosannas abruptly shifted to shouts of “Crucify Him!” and “We have no king but Caesar.” They were telling Jesus, “You’re not the King of me!”

As we journey with Jesus to the Cross of Calvary in joyful expectation of celebrating His empty tomb, we should pause today and consider our shouts of “Hosanna!” We welcome our King with our words, but have we made room for Him in our lives? What other kings are we following? To what other kingdoms are we allegiant? How have we set ourselves up as kings in our own little kingdoms and defiantly lived our lives as statements of “You’re not the King of me?” In place of palms and garments, let’s take everything that hinders the lordship of Jesus in our lives and lay it at His feet to welcome Him with heartfelt shouts of “Hosanna to the King of me!”

Audio file of the sermon "Hosanna to the King of ... Me?"

Reflection: Hoarding Rubbish (March 17, 2013)

The 5th Sunday in Lent
Isaiah 43:16-21; Philippians 3:4-14; Luke 20:9-20


Along with the increase of channels on cable television there are now more TV shows than ever. Many of the offerings of cable networks are “reality TV” shows. Although slanted by the presence of cameras, these programs give us a look at the way that other people live. And some of those ways are mind boggling. Shows like “American Pickers” and “Hoarders” feature examples of people who fill their lives with material things of little or no value. Sifting through mountains of trash may result in an occasional item of value, but for the most part these people are hoarding rubbish.

Most people aren't hoarders of worthless things and may not even know someone who is. But we’re all guilty of hoarding rubbish when it comes to spiritual matters. In today’s Epistle lesson, Paul confesses to being a spiritual hoarder before he came to know Christ. Over the course of his life he had worked hard to gather up all sorts of impressive spiritual treasures. He started with the advantage of being born into a rich spiritual tradition and he diligently added to what he had inherited. He had great zeal for collecting spiritual accolades. But when he realized that all of the things that he had accomplished and was hoarding were of no real spiritual value, Paul did what few hoarders can being themselves to do. Recognizing that everything he had hoarded was spiritual rubbish, he got rid of all of it. With empty hands he was freed to take hold of Jesus and His righteousness.

If we think that our spiritual clutter is different than the rubbish that filled Paul’s life, we need to stop and take inventory of what we've hoarded. It’s actually rather simple to determine if our good works, pious behavior, sacrificial contributions, etc. are of any value. All we have to do is compare them to “the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus.” Anything that we hold onto in order to have a righteousness of our own apart from the righteousness that comes to us by the grace of God is rubbish. When we cling to it we make no room in our lives for Christ and His righteousness. Paul knew this and did the only thing that could free him from destructive hoarding: “I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.” It’s the very thing that frees us whenever we turn away from squeezing God’s grace out of our lives by hoarding rubbish.

Audio file of the sermon "Hoarding Rubbish."

Reflection: You Can Come Home Again (March 10, 2013)

The Fourth Sunday in Lent
Isaiah 12:1-6; 2 Cor. 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11-32


The adage “You can't go home again” reflects the reality that once you've left home and experienced other things you can’t come home again and expect things to be the same as they once were. Anyone who has moved away from a childhood home has experienced this to one degree or another. We learn that even when things stay the same at home, we change once we leave. Our successes, failures, education, new relationships, and all of the other things that we experience while we are away become barriers to going back to home the way it once was. Not only do we change, but so does what we've left behind. But what if, after all the things that enticed us away had disappointed us, the home we remembered as loving, accepting, comforting, and nurturing was still there for us? Wouldn't we want to go home again? What would it take to do so?

One of the most compelling applications of the parable in today’s Gospel lesson is how it shows us the way to coming home again. It’s easy for most of us to relate to the son who plays the prodigal in this parable. After all, in our own ways we've rebelled against our Father and have found the ways of our world enticing enough to abandon His ways and His will. And like this son, somewhere along the line we've come to our senses and realized that what we had in our Father’s house that seemed so boring, meaningless, and empty turned out to be so much richer and satisfying than what the deceitful promises of the world actually delivered. In our spiritual hunger we longed to come home enough to swallow our pride and humble ourselves. We never expected things to be as they were, to be received back as beloved children with all the rights and privileges that are reserved for those who belong to the Father. After all, we knew that you can’t go home again. But, just as when we left in the first place, we were wrong.

Today’s parable is often called the “Parable of the Prodigal Son,” but it is far better for us to realize that it is more accurately the “Parable of the Waiting Father.” No prodigal can go home again, but through the Father’s love there is a path to reconciliation and restoration so that we can come home again. And when we do, the Father greets us with loving arms and rejoices in the homecomings of His prodigal children.

Audio file of the sermon "You Can Come Home Again."

Reflection: Watching for Temptation (March 3, 2013)

The 3rd Sunday in Lent
Ezekiel 33:7-20; 1 Cor. 10:1-13; Luke 13:1-9

Temptation is not only tempting, it’s interesting. What is tempting for one person holds no temptation for others. There are even things that are repulsive to some people while being irresistible to others. Evil things can be tempting, but so can good things. When the object of temptation isn't something bad but is something good that we want to use in a sinful way we can see the problem with trying to deal with temptation by ridding our lives of tempting things. There is no way to remove every source of temptation from our lives. Instead, we must watch for temptation and for the way out of it. And, because we are the body of Christ, we must watch for the temptation that threatens others too.

Drawing on a familiar and important role in the ancient world, God told the prophet Ezekiel that He had made him a watchman for the house of Israel. As a spiritual watchmen, Ezekiel was to warn people who were facing temptation and rescue those who had given into it. His work was to save the people from falling from God’s grace and having to face His justice in the Judgment. God told Ezekiel that He did not want to see people perish, even those whom He called “the wicked.” As a watchman, Ezekiel was called to warn people about the dangers of temptation and the consequences of sin. He could not control their response and the outcome, but he was responsible for sounding the alarm — for watching for temptation.

Like Ezekiel, we serve as watchmen. God has called us to warn those who are facing temptation and rescue those who have embraced it. The God who still “finds no pleasure in the death of the wicked” works through us to turn them from their destructive ways. As we carry out this vitally important work we will face many temptations. The very things that we warn people about may tempt us. The thought that we can control the reactions to and outcomes of our message will try to seduce us into relying on things other than God as we carry out our work. The lack of visible results may tempt us to think that our work is pointless. But when we remember that our God takes “no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live” and that He has rescued us from death, we find the strength, purpose, and hope we need to be faithful in watching for temptation.

Audio file of the sermon "Watching for Temptation."