October 16th, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse Who are we in the gospel story? Are we the unfeeling judge who turns deaf ears to cries of injustice? Are we the earthly disciples of God who hear them ringing in our ears and must act? I know which one I want to be, which of the two, we aspire to be. But on this Sunday after Thanksgiving, which one are we, really? Consider this scenario: a tent appears in your neighborhood park. Someone sleeping in the woods as the weather turns cold. How do we respond? Do we call the police so they can move that person along? Do we take a chance and see who owns the tent? Do we whine to our dog-walking friends about the lack of resources? Winter is coming. Do we hear the cry of injustice? Or this: right now, while our eyes are focused on the unjust invasion on Ukraine, East Africa is experiencing the worst drought in four decades, and millions of people are starving, or on the verge of it. The forecast suggests no reprieve – a fifth season of drought is expected. Millions of heads of livestock have died, crops have withered, children are not going to school. According to The Washington Post, desperate families are reportedly marrying off their 9-year-old daughters for a dowry that puts a little food on the table. In Somalia, the UN has predicted a famine will be declared by the end of the year, and the problem isn’t much better in a number of other sub-Saharan countries. Today is World Food Day. Who are we? The judge who drowns out the cries for help with his good life? Or disciples of God who hear and try to answer? What can we do? The answer isn’t an easy one – but then, the gospel isn’t easy to follow. Africa is far away; and homelessness is complicated – and well, our lives are busy too, with their own sets of problems. But don’t misunderstand that gospel. We hear the story of the widow who represents the most vulnerable and voiceless in society. She is seeking what is only her due – justice and fairness – and being ignored for so long. Maybe eventually, the judge gets around to doing something about it – I mean, she just won’t go away. But by then, the injustice has likely worn a permanent crease in her life and become so much worse than it would have been if help had come early. That is not how God works, the gospel promises. God steps up. God intervenes. God hears our calls and hops to it. But again you might ask: show me when God hopped to my problem. When God actively did something to help my family or cure my complaint. Show me that and then we’ll talk. Is this who we are? People who wait for a miracle, for “a sign,” for someone else to solve the problem? I don’t think that’s in the gospel. I don’t think it says anywhere: go back to trying to solve Wordle, and let God take care of everything. In fact, I am pretty sure the gospel says: you’re called to be my disciples on earth. So who are we? We are the presence of God. Not in one way. Not in a perfect, all-problems-solved kind of way. But in a doing-our-best-out-of -hope-and-kindness kind of way. When we care for a friend who has been given a terrible diagnosis, we are the presence of God. When we drive a truckload of supplies halfway across the country to bring food and chainsaw oil to hurricane survivors, we are the presence of God. When we go home, having seen that tent in the woods, and we don’t call the police, but instead donate to Shepherds of Good Hope, we are the presence of God. When we advocate for our government to send more foreign aid to Africa, and fill the shelves of our food banks here, we are the presence of God. Timothy reminds us of the hard facts: gospel-bearers must be persistent, in good times and bad. They must convince, rebuke, and encourage. They will be ignored – their own calls for justice will not be heard. There will never be enough – not enough time, not enough money, not enough action. And yet…who are we? When God seeks, will God find faith on earth? Are we that faithful? Or will we be waiting for someone else to take care of things, because the problem is too big, too daunting, too much trouble? Do not be made complacent by the gospel this morning, for it is not a call that God will yet take care of everything. The gospel is actually a reminder that God has already taken care of everything – for God has taught us and inspired and empowered us to be the faithful on earth. We have what we need. We are what is needed. The psalmist says this morning: “I lift my eyes to the hills, from where is my help to come?/ My help comes from the Lord.” And the Lord, he writes,” will watch over our going out and our coming in from this time and for evermore.” God is watching over the comings and goings of the faithful on earth. We have our instructions. Who are we? Amen

October 9th, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse The act of being grateful makes us feel better. We know this. It reminds us to appreciate what we have, to focus on those around us. It helps us become comfortable in our own skin. Gratitude requires us truly to see the world around us as a gift. It lessens the energy we put into envy, into striving in unhealthy ways. So, in a way, it’s odd that sociologists have taken to studying it, to prove the value of it. For example, one study found that people who express more gratitude were likely more generous, more agreeable. People who kept a gratitude journal – and wrote every day a list of things for which they were thankful – reported better well-being and optimism. They even, apparently, exercised more. Gratitude is linked to positive mental health. It correlates positively with spirituality. When psychologists sit down to treat people who are depressed or anxious, getting them to shift their thoughts to feeling grateful for what they have is one of the key steps in therapy. What are you thankful for? Do you contemplate this regularly? Do you have a ritual that reminds you to give thanks? At every mealtime, do you say grace? The evidence is clear: when we do, we are all healthier for it. The thing about gratitude is it works in direct contradiction to materialism. It is an antidote for our craving for more, for our natural inclination to rank ourselves above others. The advice that Jesus gives in our gospel is profound. He is teaching us a lesson of faith, yes. But it is also a valuable recipe for happiness. Do not covet the food that perishes but rather the food that lasts to the end of your days, Jesus cautions the disciples. For it is the “bread of God which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” The food that Jesus speaks of is not just what we put on our table at dinner time; it includes all those material items which we desire. The bread of God is not a pile of do-gooder platitudes. It is a gift, for which we do not need to strive, which sits there, waiting for us to choose to open it. It is a gift that teaches us to seek out love and not gold; to have presence in the moment rather than always chasing the future; to live as one fulfilled, rather than never feeling full. “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry,” Jesus promises. “Whoever comes to me will never be thirsty.” Can we learn to incarnate those words if we find gratitude difficult? I think we tend to underestimate the power of our inner voice prompted by God to change our thoughts, to shift our perceptions. What if we woke each morning, and said to ourselves – not, how shall I get ahead today? – but how shall I show how grateful I am for what I already have? What if we stopped asking ourselves: how can I justify my place in the world, but instead asked, how can I use the place where I stand to do real good? In our second lesson, we are given an elegant passage to remind us of what that would look like: “Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is commendable – if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think of these things.” The truth is, if we fill our thoughts in this way, we won’t have much room for anything else. We are, indeed, living off the Bread of God. Now, some might say, what is honorable and true for one person is not necessarily so for another. I would say they are wrong. We are individuals, that is true; our stories are unique, our beliefs may differ. But at the core, the Bread of God is what it is. It does not make up facts to suit bigotry or racism or homophobia or sexism. It does not argue for exclusion. It does not cozy up to those who would use their power over others. It does not fling around insults. And yet so much of the posture is fed by a lack of gratitude, a failure to be thankful, and a tendency to see what one lacks as something that has been stolen away by another person. We are all served the Bread of God. But if we cannot say thanks for that, we will not be filled by it. I have been sitting with people, listening to their stories, for 25 years. Stories of grief and regret, anger and envy, pride and success. And I can tell you, that in the end, the people who have been most content, who have seemed to shine with an inner light of peace, and who have been the most giving, the most loved by their families, are the ones who could so easily speak about the things that made them feel thankful. I sat with a man last Sunday night who was having a 9-hour surgery then next day for a very aggressive kind of cancer. He asked me to come the night before his surgery because he knew he needed the Bread of Life before he closed his eyes. He ended our visit with a thanksgiving for the gift of communion. I have sat with legions of people who expressed the same kind of gratitude living in situations that called for lament. Were they always that way? I doubt it. Did gratitude flow from them naturally? I don’t think so. They worked to see the better side of a situation, the good in a difficult loved one, and the bounty on every table. They were filled by the bread of life. In the end, on this Thanksgiving weekend, let us remember this lesson, the secret to happiness that Jesus offers to us this moment: Wake each day, and fall asleep each night, remembering what we are thankful for. Amen.

October 2nd, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse

Growing up as a pastor’s kid, I always knew what was expected of me – which was basically whatever my dad needed at the time. My own boys have lived that same life for much of their childhood, and for the most part, I know it has been a gift to help grow them into responsible adults. They were used to being asked to set up tables in the hall, or fill a last-minute empty spot as worship assistant, or play whatever role they are given in the pageant. Even older now, they’re still doing it – cleaning up the church property during the convoy. They are my dumpster boys, my heavy lifters. For the most part, they don’t complain. In fact, they complain a lot less than I used to. But I know it is sometimes a hassle, when they would rather be doing other stuff. We have all been there – doing duties which we quietly resent, or for which we would like just a little more credit. Maybe it’s the extra time you gave at work that no one seemed to notice, or all the cleaning at home, or running to get groceries alone at 5 pm on a Friday. When we train Gus, our dog, it’s entirely about positive reinforcement – he does something great, he gets a reward, even if it is just being told he was a good dog. That version of works righteousness has proven highly effective. And when I have tried to explain to him Article IV of the Augsburg Confession, he has been fairly unimpressed. The fact is we are all conditioned just like Gus: when we do something great, we want to be recognized for it. When it comes to my boys, I hope I am a much better boss than that manager in the our gospel this morning. Because that guy sure is a taskmaster. In the gospel, the question is posed: “If your servant has worked all day long, do you invite him to take a load off and sit at your table?” Heck yes, I am thinking! After a long day of work, that would be the decent thing to do. But if you are the boss in the story, Jesus says, you would be more likely to ask your servant to put on an apron, get cooking and get your dinner on the table. And after all that – do you thank your servant? I don’t think so. Because that’s his job. All I can say, is thank goodness I don’t work for anyone like that! Except, hold on: I do. Jesus is telling one of his parables again, and in that parable it’s pretty clear who the master is, and who we are meant to be. It turns out God is pretty demanding. There is no “one good deed for the day” kind of counting in the gospel. Yet, isn’t that the bargaining we do with ourselves and with each other. If you’re good, we tell our kids, you can get that toy, or do that activity, you want. I ate healthy all day, I tell myself, I deserve that chocolate bar. If I can just save this much money, all will be well. We are constantly living in this bargaining game of “I deserve.” Of course, this is an unhappy state, because what’s the flip side: “I don’t deserve this.” I don’t deserve this nice meal. I don’t deserve my good fortune. And that’s just as toxic. God wants us to avoid both. In the parable told by Jesus, we are directed to say “we are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done.” But of course, God means just the opposite: because we are worthy, we are called do what we should, and not worry about our standing, or who deserves what. It is a wonderfully freeing thing to stop counting good deeds, and to see our lives as a journey of doing good things, from beginning to end, with no tally kept. So God says don’t seek a reward when you have done well on behalf of the gospel; and neither should you inflict judgement when you fail. For a person who sees themselves as powerful and valued can accomplish countless good deeds. And as our example, we have this touching letter from the apostle Paul to his mentor Timothy. Now as for the origin of the letter, many scholars now take the view that it was written long after Paul’s death, by a Christian writer – but that is a subject of debate left to another time. They are powerful words, and it is their ability to transport us, to make us consider our own place, that is their true value. Paul’s letter reads like a last letter from a son to a father. It feels like a letter a soldier might write to his family on the eve of battle, knowing he will likely die. Certainly Paul, as we read the letter, is clear that he is passing on his charge to another. It is very personal: he takes time to recall Timothy’s mother and grandmother. He recalls Timothy’s faithfulness with love. “Recalling your tears,” Paul writes, “I long to see you that I may be filled with joy.” This is not a lament, but a charge to Timothy to carry on. “For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.” In that sense, we are not to say: we have done all we can because our strength is spent. We are to say, we can do much more, because we are strong and determined. “Join me in suffering for the gospel, relying on the power of God,” Paul says. The term “suffering” is a little off-putting; I think we can all agree that we prefer to avoid suffering not join it. But Paul is saying that the gospel has a cost, it requires energy – that we step outside ourselves, and stop keeping score. This is no small thing. I meet people every day who are trapped in a negative image of themselves. This goes in two directions, usually: people who worry so much about their judgement of others, that they stumble through life. And those so concerned with how others judge them, that spend life always trying to prove their value. Someone once gave me a great piece of advice: people don’t think about you as much as you think they do. And it’s true: all of us have our own worries, our own preoccupations, our own standards. And much of that we impose upon ourselves, trying to manage what other people think. But once we accept that almost everyone else is doing the same – trying to get by, trying to do better – well, isn’t that a relief. The only one to whom must answer, in the end, is God. A God who seeks not to make us slaves, currying favour. But servants, valued and trusted. Paul writes: “Guard the good treasure entrusted to you, with the help of the Holy Spirit living in us.” What is that treasure truly for us? It is a new posture. One in which we no longer regret what we ought to have done. But we look ahead, to what we have yet to do. Amen