Love is So Large

by | Apr 5, 2024 | Sermon

Love is So Large

 

Mark’s gospel leaves readers in suspense about the resurrection. “Terror and Amazement.” So–> we argue that it isn’t about our reaction, but God’s abundant mercy. Where Love is so large it outlasts, outlives, outdoes our fears, sins, shortcomings. Again and again!

 

 

Recording

Sermon given by Pastor Shaun O’Reilly at Faith Lutheran in Reno, NV on March 31,2024

 

Gospel Text

Mark 16:1-8 

Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”  Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus.  Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.  Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.  Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.  Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.  “Now my soul is troubled.  And what should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’?  No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour.  Father, glorify your name.”  Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.”  The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder.  Others said, “An angel has spoken to him.”  Jesus answered, “This voice has come for your sake, not for mine.  Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out.  And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”  He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die.

 

 

SERMON TEXT

3/31/24, Mark 16:1-8

Easter Sunday, Year B, Faith Lutheran Church

Pastor Shaun O’Reilly

Love is so large it absorbs

                            the threat of change.

 

On that first Easter Day, these women run from the tomb in terror and amazement — It doesn’t sound heroic, it sounds like they sense some kind of threat —in what they have discovered

And,  Love is so large it absorbs

                                      the threat of change.

 It was the first day of a new week. The sabbath had ended. Like at creation, when all the work was done, and then there was a day of rest … 

And then?   Is there anything more?

This story, this time, this event tells us. Yes. Yes to the more, Yes to what’s next. Undeniably. Never faltering —> Yes. 

A new week begins and there is a new sunrise.     The work is done, and there’s more. 

So let’s start there: What was the work? We heard it last Sunday, as we told the passion story.  “Darkness came over the whole land .. and Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.” Nearby, a guard finally says, without mocking — “Surely this man was God’s son.”

That was the work.

Jesus put in a royal purple robe, and mocked. And left by his closest friends. Peter tried to stick around but eventually denied him. And Jesus was hung up on that cross and suffered and died. 

That was the work. 

We told the story last Sunday. And we told it on Friday night. Todd preached, telling us that the Great Three days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Vigil are the heart of our faith. And Good Friday is the center of that heart. And he said, I don’t have a lot of comfort to give you tonight, on Good Friday at our Lord’s death. 

But then, later, later that preacher said: Maybe Jesus holds comfort for us. That because he did the whole work of suffering and dying, it means: that when we suffer, and when we die, especially when we follow the hard road of faith—loving others and the world more than ourselves—well, as we do it all, we can hear Jesus, that faithful worker, say: “I know. I’ve been there. I’m with you.”

So the work was done. God’s unending love for us on the cross. And the sabbath came. Rest and quiet. 

And at it’s end, at the beginning of a new week, the women go to his tomb. They go to anoint his body. And they find: The crucified one is not here. Jesus is raised.

And they fled from the tomb, “for terror and amazement had seized them.” There’s that threat! 

              And here is this Love so large it absorbs the threat of change.

Mostly, I think, it’s that everything is new, and they don’t understand. Or, I think, it is all flooding in at once. It is the exchange in their minds (and souls): we went to the tomb hoping to anoint our dear friend’s precious body; now we are running, attempting to believe what we’ve heard—that this friend has more for us?

That the work is done and the sabbath is over, and there’s a new week??!

Can God have more for us?!

What can this change bring? I’m afraid. 

 

 Hear the Promise of Easter:

                  Love is so large it absorbs

                          the threat of change.

 

I’m imagining that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, as they run, they are covered emanating smells. What else could have happened to those oils and spices they were going to use for anointing? 

What happens when you are carrying something fragile, being careful, it’s spill-able, but then you are filled with terror and amazement? I know what happens, it ends up all over you and all over everybody else.

I think the Mary’s are covered now in oils and spices. They went to anoint a body, and they are anointed. Like, they are blessed. 

Blessed for burial and new life. Blessed for the work.

Which is to die to themselves the way Jesus gave up everything and humbled himself out of love and service; and they are blessed to rise up too—new, changed, alive in that love. Not dead, alive. He is not dead. He is alive.

It reminds me of an easter story I’ve heard, there was a church in England that wanted to put up a new banner for Easter, you know — advertise to the community like our signs outside. 

But the printer got it wrong and when the banner came back it said:

Chris is risen! Chris is Risen!

And I don’t know if the church put it up and painted on a T, or left it as Chris, or got their money back.

But you know, in the theme of the breaking NEW of Easter, the Springtime life, the “Now the Green Blade rises” eastertide — to say that Chris is Risen — someone’s name —  is not far from our Gospel of God among us. 

It’s a change to have someone’s name like that in the phrase, but Love is so large it absorbs the threat of change.

 

The message the women receive at the tomb is: the crucified one has been raised. Go and tell the disciples and Peter, he’s going ahead of you to Galilee.

So there’s more to come. “Ahead of you to Galilee” means, there’s somewhere to Go, there’s something to do. And whoops, I spilled the oil all over myself, but I guess I’m blessed now to be this body in the world. 

And they’re supposed to go and tell, tell the deserter disciples, tell the disciples AND Peter — Peter is named outright here, the one who had denied Jesus publicly three times after pledging “I will never turn away.”

Go and Tell those, and that one, the news. 

Go to the lowly and the ashamed and the underserving, and when you tell them “He is Raised!” I bet you, you raise them up. 

 

This is Easter life! Christ, Risen. And it means the disciples are Risen, sharing in his life, death, and his life again. 

 Chris is Risen!  You are Risen.  

 

For those terrified and afraid. For those laying low, I think they get anointed. 

           We are made new.

The women flee in terror and amazement, but that won’t be the end of the story. Easter new life has made it to today.

I know change is hard. It was hard for them to follow Jesus in his ministry. It was hard, and frightening to go to Jerusalem—the place of power—and feel the powerful turn on Jesus. 

 And it is scary and stupidly unknown to say: that dead, beloved one is raised. 

There’s no blueprint for the followers. And they are terrified and amazed. And God doesn’t leave them there. God doesn’t leave you there.

Love is so large it absorbs

                         the threat of change.

 

And so we are raised in this new life, to walk the road together. Trusting and leaning on that love, like we have before. We say with our psalm today: Thanks be to God, God’s love endures forever.

Even in change, even now, even today, even you and me, anointed to follow our God.

 

Christ is Risen. Christ is Risen indeed, Alleluia.

And so are you. God’s love is so large. 

Amen. 

 

 

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God is Cross-High

by | Mar 20, 2024 | Sermon

God is Cross-High

 

St Patrick’s day meets our theology of the cross–we find God in the lost and broken. “Lift high the cross” means look at God’s love, broken among us, and become it too. 

 

 

Recording

Sermon given by Pastor Shaun O’Reilly at Faith Lutheran in Reno, NV on March 17,2024

 

Gospel Text

John 12:20-33

 

Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”  Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus.  Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.  Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.  Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.  Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.  “Now my soul is troubled.  And what should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’?  No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour.  Father, glorify your name.”  Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.”  The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder.  Others said, “An angel has spoken to him.”  Jesus answered, “This voice has come for your sake, not for mine.  Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out.  And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”  He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die.

 

 

SERMON TEXT

3/17/24, John 12:20-33

Fifth Sunday in Lent, St Patrick’s Day, Faith Lutheran Church. Pastor Shaun O’Reilly

 

I love that today’s gospel reading has these visceral descriptions about interacting with the savior. First, the visiting Greeks say: We wish to see Jesus. And then, later in the passage, there’s the moment when Jesus says, I, when I am lifted up, will draw all people to myself.

It’s these descriptions of connection: through seeing; and through being absorbed or drawn in. “We wish to see Jesus… When I am lifted up, I will draw all people to myself.” 

These phrases are so rich and vivid, I want to share with you an artistic description of longing and sight and revelation that is close to my heart. This depiction comes from Eugene O’Neill’s Long days journey tonight. He was a New York playwright of Irish descent. In 1957 he won the Pulitzer Prize, after his death, for this play,. And in it, in Act four, this character Edmund, has a heartfelt conversation with his father, telling him of divine moments when he’s been at sea and his dreams have been visualized, kind of like “we wish to see.”

Edmund says:

“Several times in my life, when I was swimming far out, or lying alone on a beach, I have had the experience. Became the sun, the hot sand, green seaweed anchored to a rock, swaying in the tide. Like a saint’s vision of beatitude. Like a veil of things as they seem drawn back by an unseen hand. For a second you see — and seeing the secret, are the secret. For a second there is meaning! Then the hand lets the veil fall and you are alone, lost in the fog again.”

 

Now, how absolutely spiritual does all of that sound? The lifting back of the veil, a glimpse of revelation. Where you see something, and you become something. 

I love that these greeks say this, and I wonder why they came to the disciples saying this: We wish to see Jesus. 

I wonder, did they want an autograph? Like waiting for T Swift after a concert? Did they want to see him because they had a problem with something they had heard we wish to see Jesus and we want to talk to him about all the trouble he’s starting?

Well, in context Jesus had just had his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, they probably wanted to see what it is what all about. But I wonder today if it is for you if it is like it is for me. Their longing stirs up my longing.

“We wish to see Jesus!”     Yes, Yes I do too! 

I’ve seen before, but hearing you long for it, I long for it again.

Do you long for it?

I wonder if it stirred up the longing of the disciples. 

In biblical greek, the word for disciples means “learner.” And you all know what it’s like to learn and be instructed, sometimes it becomes rote, and tiresome, and systematized. Did it wake the disciples up to have these foreign visitors coming in, hearts full of longing of what could become, and saying, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

Fun fact, I was walking my dog this week, and I was dictating back to my phone parts of my sermon as a draft, and at one point when I said “Sir we wish to see Jesus” Siri chimed in from my iPhone saying “sorry I didn’t get that!”

Ha. I know. Siri. But this is my wish. 

If you turn to the Lutherans saying, “We wish to see Jesus” – which I hope you do – you’re going to get back a theology I love. And that I think is true. 

It is that Seeing Jesus and Experiencing God is not some quest for heaven or the realms above. It is the God of flesh that has come right close to us and met us. The divine gives us our daily bread, and walks with us in our days. 

So much so that it is said that when someone asked Martin Luther what he would do if he knew the world was ending tomorrow, he responded, I would go out in my garden and plant a tree. 

Like, I would not be staring at the sky waiting for a sign, but I would be here and now, with the things of this earth, like God is, and doing the good work. 

This is, too, our sacramental theology, our sacred connection. The water of baptism. The grain and grapes of our communion. We meet God in these earthy elements that we taste and see and feel and experience together, and it is not some other worldly longing, it is a gift come right down to be with us where we are. 

 

Which is what Jesus answers to the crowds and the disciples wanting to see. 

 Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. 32And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” 33He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die.

 

It’s happening now, he says. You and I delivered from evil, re-created to be agents of mercy. “And when I am lifted up” – his lifting on the cross – “I will draw all people to myself.”  

 

Friends in Christ, if we wish to see and experience and live in Jesus the divine, it is Cross-high.

Meaning, it’s right here.

In fact, it’s right here in all of our suffering and pain and longing too. 

We do not look to distant days of the future, we do not look beyond our cosmos,  look to your Lord on the cross, here today, loving you by giving Godself, shared among us as we say “body of Christ for you.”

Look to your God loving you from the cross and be drawn in. 

“When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself.”

 

Do you know the true story of St Patrick? He wasn’t Irish first, God forbid. He was from Great Britain, and was taken by Irish raiders into slavery and servitude in Ireland for six years. 

He was a shepherd there, and became devout in his faith. The legend is that he was longing and praying for the people to come to know Jesus Christ there. 

After six years he escaped his enslavement and found a way back to Britain. There, though, he had a revelation. A saint’s vision, Eugene O’Neill might say.

He was to go join the Christian mission that existed for Ireland and groups that were going back to encourage the small group of Christians there and to spread the word, to tell the story. 

Patrick’s story is one of a man, taken into bondage, as good as dead. Brought back to life and society and hope. Only then to receive the call to go and serve his enslavers with a bondage-breaking message: Turn to Christ, restorer of the broken! 

Could it be that this faithful one becomes so revered in that land because his God-given vision was for what was there, and for the people, and as a shepherd, caring for what is right before you, and his vision was cross-high

?

He loved like Christ loved, self-sacrificing, returning to his oppressors. And proclaiming the message of our savior, who by his cross draws all people to himself. 

 

Today, do not hesitate to be drawn again. To taste and see the love of God for you. 

At the beginning of our Lenten journey we drew ashes on each other’s foreheads. We drew the shape of the cross. Saying: “this is the road we walk.” Not just seeing Jesus, but going, and to go with Jesus means the cross, and our giving up, and our inevitable death. Our Lord says, “unless a grain falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”

Be drawn in again today to the story, life, death, life again. This is the story of the love of God for the world. 

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It Begins in the Wilderness

by | Dec 10, 2023 | Sermon

It Begins in the Wilderness

 

This Advent, as the nights grow darker, the days shorter, and we try to focus on the reset of this time in the midst of Christmas-mania. May you and I be heralds of glad tidings, may we speak tenderly to each other and to a wilderness world, saying, “This God of comfort is not far away from you, but is all about finding you in the wild and gathering you up and bringing you home!”

So, be at peace, abide with your shepherd, turn around. Those longing for justice and light are lambs, seeing a new day in a new kingdom.

 

 

Recording

Sermon given by Pastor Shaun O’Reilly at Faith Lutheran in Reno, NV on December 10, 2023

 

Gospel Text

Mark 1:1-8

 

1The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

2As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,

“See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way;
3the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight,’”

4John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 5And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 6Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. 7He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. 8I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

 

 

 

Sermon Text

It begins in the wilderness. And what did you expect? Last week Advent came to us in the middle of things. Or, more pointedly, at the very end of things — at the end of Jesus. The sky growing dark. But now we’re in Mark chapter 1. Now, we’re in the wilderness.

 

A pastor I used to work with would say:

It’s funny. Seems you can tell the good news without a baby Jesus, but apparently you can’t tell it without John the Baptist. Because not all four of our gospels have a birth story about Jesus, but they do all have this: The wild man in the wilderness telling people to get ready, to let God change their hearts.

 

It begins in the wilderness. And what did you expect? Have you ever had Christmas in the wilderness? Here’s one way you can do it, in our very town. There is a simple hike off of Mt Rose Hwy. You head from town up the hwy toward the lake, and you turn left on Callahan Road.

In a little ways you get to Galena Creek Trailhead, and if you take that hike, some of it next to the golf course, on your right, but then you outpace the golf course which always make me feel good like — then, it starts to feel like some wilderness, and you’re following the creek. And then there’s this moment where, in a clearing, there’s a pine tree with a bunch of Christmas ornaments on it. I think the first time I saw it I was like, “O come on, who’s out here doing this to the trees?”

But, really the more I’ve seen it, I kind of don’t mind it so much. Some of the ornaments are personal ones, and interesting. Also, it’s kind of like a rock cairn, those stacks, they let you know as you’re going — Hey, folks have been here.

And for me it’s two things in our desert waiting. In our dry creek-bed waiting:
1. It’s suddenly Christmas in the wilderness. Like a surprising gift.
2. And it’s a connection to others in the wilderness. O, I’m not alone! I was happy to leave the golf course behind. That was maybe too much connection. But just as you’re getting into the wild, it can be a respite to know — Oh yes, I don’t walk this way alone.

 

It begins in the wilderness. And even there, Advent is whispering to us— there are gifts! There is one another. In Scripture, the place of the wilderness is where a reset occurs, a challenge (like a temptation) or a place or a space where our idea of the “normal way of things” has broken down, or reached it’s end, and it’s time to begin again.

 

Wilderness can be an in-between place. On the way to the new. It’s not easy. It’s not always desirable. But it’s not always a setback either. Like a preparation, it is cleaning the slate, it is clearing the deck. Writers and naturalists like Henry Thoreau know this, saying: “We need the tonic of wildness.” Or Gary Snyder, writing just on the other side of the Sierras, up by Nevada City says: “The wild-often dismissed as savage and chaotic by “civilized” thinkers, is actually impartially, relentlessly, and beautifully formal and free. Its expression-the richness of life, life on the globe including us, the rainstorms, windstorms, and calm spring mornings- Its expression is the real world, to which we belong.”

And what did you expect?

 

We belong, in part, to this wilderness, on the way to the new. And we belong, together. Consider today the good news of Isaiah 40: “Comfort, O Comfort my people. Speak Tenderly to Jerusalem. Her penalty is paid.”

This is God saying: it’s time to whisper to any wandering heart, call the wanderer, call them in to the warmth of home. Comfort, speak tenderly, here’s hot cocoa, take off those wet boots, get by this fire. You belong here.

 

Isaiah says, Take Heart! If you are suffering, there is a HOME from the wilderness. We are found and we are called home. So you can already tell, the relationship between wilderness and Home, between self and world … it is a tangle, it’s complicated. But being drawn between these places, spaces, and states, and existing there—it’s true.

Take, for instance, the Israelites wandering in the wilderness, after being freed from slavery in Egypt. It is a long time and it takes trust. God is feeding them, but they don’t know the way, they don’t have the map, they are not in control. They wander that wilderness long enough that the generation that came out of Egypt, adults when they were freed, they all die. Even Moses, you remember.

 

There’s the peculiarity. No one makes it out of the wilderness alive. The desert is undefeated. And we will come to the end of ourselves. Even Jesus. Last week, the first Sunday in Advent; Our Beginning is Jesus’ end, the giving of his life. Not even Jesus makes it out of this world alive, and yet, for him, death is not the last word.

We don’t make it out alive, and yet there is a voice calling in our wilderness.

 

This Advent, can we hear it? Can we feel the other side of death? That’s the context for Isaiah 40: Hey, a battle has been won, a war is over, and returning is our king with the spoils of that war. For society it is the end of wilderness time, because this kingdom is made whole again! The agents and advocates returning, a royal highway is prepared. That’s a way made through every valley and mountain, so that crowds can gather along a parade route, cheering because it’s victory day!

And the crowds are shouting: good tidings! Isaiah says, we are to shout to one another HERE IS YOUR GOD!, pointing to the way that’s been made.

See, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for him; his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. God has the reward with him, of fighting the good fight. Of going through death, and what reward, what treasure does God bring to showcase on the highway? And, what did you expect?! God is a shepherd with a flock, “He will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep.”

 

For God in Christ the treasure…what is won…is you and me.

The whole reset, the strife, the battle for life and death … it is so that God can carry us home from the wilderness. Carry YOU home from YOUR wilderness this Advent. The little lambs of the flock are returned, Comfort, Comfort my people. I gather them in my arms.

 

It was our prayer on Monday night, with Pat McDuffie in her last hours, in the wilderness of a hospital room; but tangled, because the wilderness had a voice calling someone home, and we knew we weren’t alone — I feel like you all were with us, family in the wilderness, her family gathered around, all saying: it’s ok, you can go home to God, God comes to gather you in God’s arms. You are the treasure, Patsy. And even now it’s that you are the treasure. You are gathered in the arms of Mercy. Here is your God!

This Advent, as the nights grow darker, the days shorter, and we try to focus on the reset of this time in the midst of Christmas-mania. May you and I be heralds of glad tidings, may we speak tenderly to each other and to a wilderness world, saying, “This God of comfort is not far away from you, but is all about finding you in the wild and gathering you up and bringing you home!”

So, be at peace, abide with your shepherd, turn around. Those longing for justice and light are lambs, seeing a new day in a new kingdom.

AMEN

 

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God is Cross-High

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Advent Expectations

by | Dec 5, 2023 | Sermon

Advent Expectations

 

Advent begins at the end, with the death of Jesus and images of the end. What does this tell us about the nature of Advent in our lives? What does this tell us about the nature of Jesus’ death and resurrection?

 

Recording

Sermon given by Pastor Shaun O’Reilly at Faith Lutheran in Reno, NV on December 3, 2023

 

Gospel Text

Mark 13:24-37

24“But in those days, after that suffering,

the sun will be darkened,
and the moon will not give its light,
25and the stars will be falling from heaven,
and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.

26Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. 27Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.

28“From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. 29So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. 30Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. 31Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

32“But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. 33Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. 34It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. 35Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, 36or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. 37And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

 

 

 

Sermon Text

 

I bring you a poem this Advent. Expectations, by Kay Ryan. It’s printed in our reusable bulletins. And I’ll begin with a reading.

We expect rain
to animate this
creek: these rocks
to harbor gurgles,
these pebbles to
creep downstream
a little, those leaves
to circle in the
eddy, the stains
and gloss of wet.
The bed is ready
but no rain yet.

I like this poem because it contains this posture of waiting that we take on in Advent:
Preparing; Remembering what has been before; also really desiring what is to come.

 

A dry creek bed—that’s us in Advent!

 

And I also like the way things are. The way this creek bed exists despite expectations, or, as it must expect the rain. The poet describes: this creek bed is still something in its waiting. We are something while we wait and expect. As this season draws nearer to Jesus’ birth among us, I want to wonder with you about the power of our expectations. What is coming to us? Whom do we long for the savior to be? Does it matter? And what did you expect?

The bed is ready. But no rain yet.

I love Mark’s gospel and I’m glad we get to read it together here in year B. The story he tells is born in a community of struggle. And it makes me wonder: do you think that Christians coming together in community expect to struggle?

 

If we paid attention to the story, and to the history of faithful community, we might expect it? But mostly we don’t.

 

In Mark chapter 13 they are talking about the temple. Jesus is walking there with the disciples. Historically this temple is soon to be utterly destroyed in the year 70, with only remnants of the western wall remaining — which is still a sacred Jewish site. But this was the Romans exacting punishment, delivering a calamitous blow to the Jewish uprising and to communities that follow Jesus.

Mark’s gospel, the good news that he wants to bring, it comes to people, believers, trying to make sense of a very devastated world. He’s writing after destruction, and he’s also writing to people who are like: Where is the Christ, the One We Expected to be back shortly so we don’t have to live like this?!

It’s been over 40 years since Jesus ascended in the clouds, and now that generation is fading. Leaders are dying, like Paul and Peter, and disciples that walked with Jesus in Galilee. So much has changed already, and it is difficult to hold on to hope. This is not what the followers expected.

But this has been, in some way, the Christian experience now for over 2,000 years, and so we’re still asking:

 

Do we think that Christians coming together in community expect to struggle? And what did you expect?

 

I don’t know what followers expected after such a brutal war and the temple destroyed, but it is into this moment of chaos that Mark tells a story. And it is the story we will tell. He will tell it among us this year.

Perhaps it’s surprising that today we read from chapter 13. If you’re like me, maybe we expect more, or different. We could begin at the beginning of the story, right? Maybe with Creation? Or maybe when Jesus is born? No, our church year begins here. It begins, in medias res. — an ancient latin phrase meaning, “beginning in the middle of things.” It’s how Dante begins the Divine Comedy.

 

Advent seems to begin in the middle of things. Our passage from Isaiah is people crying out: God, here in the middle, it’s messy, even after we tried to patch things up… when will you arrive?

 

Our psalm, well it’s in Mid-Song — they’re crying out for restoration: Remind us, God. Let your face, let the light of your goodness enlighten our darkness. And our 1 Corinthians reading is folks trying to be the church: relying on grace, together — that’s right in the middle of who and what we are. Then, the gospel reading, chapter 13 of Mark. It’s not quite in the middle. It’s closer to the end. At least, the end of Jesus’ life. Which, for Mark, and I think — in this year of Mark— for all the listening disciples, it is the end of something for us too.

Mark tells an apocalyptic story. It’s a genre of literature using grand symbols to make sense of what people have experienced and what they are seeing. And in some way it’s like asking: And what did you expect?! Let me tell you a story about what is unfolding.

 

Some Christians will try to use these writings to talk about the end of time or how to predict the world’s end. That’s not what this good news was doing for Mark in the community.

 

Biblical apocalyptic literature is actually trying to bring hope and perseverance in the midst of struggle. What is consistent across the readings on the first Sunday of Advent is: Well, it sure is a time for crying out. Isaiah: O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence. And Mark 13. They are walking out of the temple, and a disciple says: Look Jesus! What large stones and what grand buildings!

Jesus says: “This whole temple will go down. In those days, after that suffering, the sun will grow dark, the moon – dark, stars falling, great powers shaken.”

I believe the gospel of Mark has Jesus talking here about the cross. These are elements that match Mark’s description of Jesus’ death. And it is important here to mention it because, it may feel like the readings are jumping into the middle of things … but consider … That on the very first Sunday of Advent, the first Sunday of the church year, we are beginning at the end of Jesus.

 

We are beginning at the end of Jesus. Or another way to say it is: The death of our Holy, Human one, our Savior, is our beginning.

 

I don’t know about you, but the lectionary to me seems to be saying, “And Shaun, what did you expect?!” Oh, next week it’ll make sense. We’ll read Mark 1, verse 1, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ” “Arche’” “tou” “Euongelion.” Which will sound like Genesis one, “in the beginning.”

So, Church, it’s coming: The beginning. Arche’. New Creation! What we expect is arriving!

But first, we attend to something else. The Son of God, Bringer of New Creation, meets us on day one … as the sky is growing dark, and the earth is shaken. It is the giving up of his life that makes way for what is new.

 

Here’s the point in our advent waiting.

Kay Ryan writes, “we expect rain to animate this creek” … and she describes what that might be like. Saying: “The bed is ready but no rain yet.”

 

Imagine that this Advent we are this dry creek bed. We know the life source that is supposed to flow through us. We know the times of plenty when there has been a lot and overflowing. And we beg for those moments, because we also know times of drought. Times that put us back into wondering:
Will there ever be water here again? Will that life flow here again?

We are waiting; the world with labor pains of wars, and hunger, and grief, exhaustedly trying to hold on to hope. We are that creek bed in Advent. And on the first Sunday, imagine that five feet away is a cross on which hangs one some are calling the savior of the world.

We are the creek bed. And we are not waiting alone. This one is dying. And also all creation cries out with labor pains.

At noon, darkness comes over the whole land, the creek bed knows it has grown dark in a strange way. At three o’clock the one on the cross cries out — in the way of the Psalms, in the way of Isaiah 64, this one above whom it is written “The King of Jews” — is dying, shouting out in a loud voice:
My God, my God why have you forsaken me?

He’s given a drink. The creek notices because the creek, too, is thirsty. He breathes his last breath. The curtain in the temple is torn in two, top to bottom.

And it’s quiet.

A guard nearby says “Truly this man was God’s son.” Was God’s son, because this is the end. This is the end of the revolutionary ministry of this loving and healing friend, this brother and son and teacher. He taught so well and so deep as to make all of creation wonder if this CAN be the end, and yet it is.

Can the creek expect rain in this darkness? We don’t really know. The creek is quiet. The bed is ready, no rain yet. But, the life of that lamb of God from the cross has been poured out. His blood soaks the rocky creek for now.

 

AMEN

 

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Christ’s Chorale

by | Nov 19, 2023 | Sermon

Christ’s Chorale Sings Freely

 

How good are you at waiting? How good are any of us? And yet that is what we are asked to do, particularly in this season of Advent.

 

Recording

Sermon given by Pastor Shaun O’Reilly at Faith Lutheran in Reno, NV on November 19, 2023

 

Gospel Text

 

Matthew 25:14-30

14“For it is as if a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them; 15to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. 16The one who had received the five talents went off at once and traded with them, and made five more talents. 17In the same way, the one who had the two talents made two more talents. 18But the one who had received the one talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money. 19After a long time the master of those slaves came and settled accounts with them. 20Then the one who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five more talents, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents.’ 21His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ 22And the one with the two talents also came forward, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me two talents; see, I have made two more talents.’ 23His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ 24Then the one who had received the one talent also came forward, saying, ‘Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; 25so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.’ 26But his master replied, ‘You wicked and lazy slave! You knew, did you, that I reap where I did not sow, and gather where I did not scatter? 27Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received what was my own with interest. 28So take the talent from him, and give it to the one with the ten talents. 29For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. 30As for this worthless slave, throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

 

 

Sermon Text

This is the second to last Sunday of the church year!  And that can feel like, well, an interesting Sunday … Because next Sunday is a celebration — it’s called Christ the King Sunday! But on the Sunday before that Sunday … we’re waiting.

 

How good are you at waiting? It can be tough.

 

And so we have these readings, in the year of Matthew, about faithfully waiting. This theme will return shortly in Advent, as we wait for Christmas. And really they are pointing to a similar thing together. How do you and I — creatures of a creator — how do we trust while we wait? And there’s a theme, then, from our readings for today to our theme of Stewardship during this month of November. How are we called to give our time, talent, treasure in a way of trust over fears? In a way of delight over duty? Anticipating joy instead of judgement?

 

Lord, I believe!

But then I get tired. Or I get afraid and I act out in greed.

Or I feel overworked … Lord, I believe; Help my unbelief!

 

Do you know of one thing that helps unbelief? One thing that encourages us to be good stewards— people that know nothing less than our whole lives lived in the context of being creatures of a creator? One key element that helps the creatures is community. For community… we are grateful; being stewards together.

A preacher friend of mine and a mentor has a story from his days as a theology professor. He says, “Some years ago, I received a brief, handwritten note attached by a paperclip to a Theology 100 paper just collected from my students. The note read, Professor, My roommate is ill today. She asked me to bring her paper to class also. I’m so sorry I forgot it. I’ll bring it to your office later today when my schedule allows. If you must take points off because of this, please take them away from my grade, not my roommate’s. Thank you. He says, “I was touched. What wonderful thing–what a gift of sheer grace–to have so loyal a friend. Everyone should have one such friend. After all, “Greater love has no one than this, that she lays down her GPA for her friend.” Or, it goes something like that. He says, that’s what came to mind, laying down for your friend in community.

 

And friends, I’m so proud of our community of Faith Lutheran this year! You all have been givers, and over and above!

 

We voted to dedicate over 70,000 dollars to a new parking lot! We upped our benevolence giving this year — more money distributed as people have come to this church in need; and along those lines we upped our giving to the Synod — our wider expression of faith in the Sierra Pacific Synod, in the ELCA, in the Lutheran Federation for the world. We have more outreach ministries part of our congregation this year, ministry for children and families in need and those with food insecurities.

Then, people in this church have given time and talent on all our teams and committees — we have been active. The Property team, the choir, the fellowship team, finances and counters, and altar guild and musicians and all kinds of meetings, and providing hospitality after funerals. This year folks gave time and energy to new classes and connections. We are thankful to Pr Stan and Vicar Sarah for sharing gifts and leadership and guiding formation.

Speaking of, many of you gave time and energy to our Adult Catechumenate program in Lent, called “the way”— that led to us celebrating baptisms at the Easter Vigil, and we are so thankful for the faith of Trish and Theresa, Lukas and Sonja and all who have walked the road of discipleship this year.

 

I am proud, and I can tell you: You can be Proud — that we are church together.

 

It’s with this backdrop that you and I can turn to this new year, and we can hear our stewardship team encourage us: Keep being part of the gift we encounter together! You are invited to this shared community. We celebrate with joy and we walk as disciples. And in our annual giving of time, talent, and finances —> we give back. We give back to God, to each other, and to all who are to come.

And so the invitation is to all of us. To consider our personal involvement, to consider what we have received and to cheerfully commit. I like the way Proverbs 11:25 puts it- “whoever refreshes others will be refreshed.”

 

Now, first off, this is not God making a deal with us — waiting for us before being generous — not a prosperity gospel, but its a natural rule, a beautiful rule of our living.

 

Do we live in closed-in fear, or do we live in open freedom? And what a blessing that freedom is. That is a truth of a life of stewardship. And the bottom line is: We want, for each other, this free and faithful living. So it’s not about how many hours you volunteer. It’s not about how much money you give to God or you give to this church.

It is about the state of your existence as a creature in community.

 

I titled today’s sermon, “Christ’s Chorale Sings Freely.” Meaning — Do you trust God? In grace, are you made free? In faithful living, have we committed to each other? Well then, we are a community that lives, operates, we are a choir that sings, freely. This applies to our welcome to the communion table. This applies to our expectations of our giving together. This applies to how we volunteer and serve one another as the body of Christ. It is for freedom! Laying aside judgement and duty and quid pro quo: Christ’s Chorale Sings Freely!

Ok. But you’re like: “preacher, what about this parable?” Well, in the parable of the talents there is one particular steward, who to me, is gripped in fear. He isn’t singing freely. The talent has him, instead of him openly living with it. To be afraid, and to go and bury what you’ve been given … this cannot be the way. Christ’s kingdom is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

 

We are not called to shame and hiding. We are called to freedom and light.

 

I think that’s what the unfaithful servant was missing. And so, we are called to shape up and live out of trust. Live with faith! Well, that’s a kind of prescription, but it’s not quite good news for creatures like you and me. Because I know me. I will be generous; but sometimes I’ll hold back. I will have moments of inspiration and … I will have seasons of hard-heartedness. I can’t be sure I’ll get the best returns on what has been entrusted to me, and so what does that mean? Outer darkness?!

Well, there’s more to my preacher friend’s story. As a teacher, his first reaction to the note he found was — Wow, what a good friend she’s being. But he continued. “My second thought was more troubling. “My goodness! What kind of a cruel ogre do they think I am?” Have I seemed to them like some maniacal, red-pen-wielding Ripper, just looking for my chance to penalize somebody for missing a deadline, however innocent the reason? It was early in the semester. What had I done in such a short time to give that impression? Or had some teacher before me, either here or in high school, taught this young woman that teachers are petty tyrants?

Something like this confusion between my self-image as a teacher and the one implicit in my student’s note lurks behind the dynamics of “the parable of the talents.” And then he says, But to the story there is one more thing…The story doesn’t end with the frightened slave banished to the misery of outer darkness. There remains one more servant to account for his talents. It’s Jesus — the storyteller himself must answer to the Master. He, too, had a talent to invest.

Let’s listen in as that accounting proceeds. . .

“And what about you, Mr. Parable Man? I gave you as big a fortune as any of them. What have you done with it? Where’s your portfolio. Account for yourself, son!”

“Well, Sir, I know your reputation–that you are a jealous Master, visiting the iniquity of the parents upon the children for generation after generation, and taking no pleasure in sinners. . .”

(Interrupting) Yes, yes, So where’s the fortune you’ve made with what I gave you? How did you invest?”

“I made friends, Sir! Lots of them. Well, quite a few. Some. But you’d like them, I’m sure. They have the capacity to change the world. There’s Simon, the one I call ‘Rocky,’ and Thomas and Salome and Mary of Magdala. There’s John and Matthew and Judas, and the other Mary, just to name a few.

 

“I gave everything to them. Everything you gave to me, I passed it on to them. All the wisdom, the love, the stories, the jokes, the prayers, all the songs–everything. I gave it all away.

 

“And on that last night, just before everything fell apart and got completely crazy, while we were eating the Passover, I told them that after tonight, all that would be left of me would be in them. I gave myself to them.

You could say I buried myself in them, Master. And we ate that bread and drank that cup, and, well, you know the rest. Here I am.”

“And them? Where are they? Where’s the return on my investment? Did they follow you? Are they with you? What happened to them when you were arrested?”

“They ran away, Sir.”

“They ran away?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“All the men. Some of the women stayed to watch, hoping, it seems, that they might claim my body when it was all over.”

“So this is what your life, your fortune, has come to?”

“That’s it.”

(Brief pause)

“I see. And what if I were to send you back to see what’s become of this ‘investment’ you say you made? What would you find?”

“Good question, Master. Good question.”

“Do you want to go back? Do a little accounting, see what there is by way of a return?”

“Sure. But just one thing. . .”

“What’s that?”

“When we come back, remember this: These are my friends. If you must exact some penalty or another, do it against me, not them.”          

AMEN

 

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