Prophet of Peace

Prophet of Peace

Rev. Dr. Tom Sorenson, Pastor

November 27, 2016

Scripture: Isaiah 2:1-5

Let us pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O God, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

Today is the first Sunday of Advent. Advent is the season of the church year when we anticipate and prepare to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ at Christmas. Advent is in some ways a rather theatrical season. We suspend our disbelief and pretend that Jesus hasn’t been born yet, never mind that he was born over two thousand years ago. Advent is not Christmas, it is preparation for Christmas. Out there in the world it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, as the old song goes. In here it isn’t Christmas. It’s Advent. Christmas is coming. It’s on a Sunday this year, so in addition to our Christmas Eve service on the evening of the 24^th we will have a service on Christmas morning at our regular time. It will be Christmas then, but not now. Now it’s Advent.

Every year as we enter the season of Advent one question occurs to me more than any other: Who are we waiting for? The obvious answer of course is Jesus, but for me that response raises more questions than it answers. Who, after all, is Jesus? What does he mean for us? What does he mean for the world? How are we to understand him? The Christian church has long answered those questions by saying that he is the Son of God who came to earth for the purpose of suffering and dying to pay the price of human sin so that those of us who believe in him can go to heaven when we die. If that answer works for you, OK I guess. I won’t argue about it with you; but I am convinced from reading the Gospels that that is not primarily what Jesus was about. He was more about how God calls us to live this life.

Mostly he was about reviving the voice of ancient Hebrew prophecy. That part of the Hebrew tradition was already ancient by Jesus’ time. The voices he heard and echoed date mostly from the 8^th century BCE, more than seven hundred years before Jesus. That would be like someone today reviving a message from the 1300’s, which I’m sure sounds like a long time ago to all of us. It is a long time ago, and the Hebrew voices of faith that Jesus revived came from a long time ago in his time. One of those voices was the prophet Isaiah from whom we just heard in our first scripture reading. That passage gives us a wonderful vision of a glorious future of peace and international understanding and cooperation. It imagines that many people will come to Jerusalem to learn the way of the Lord, that is, of the god Yahweh, the god of the Hebrew people, the God we know as the one and only true God. It says God will settle the peoples’ disputes, which I think we can take to mean that the people will settle their own disputes peacefully because all of them will be seeking to follow the ways of God. Then there will be no more war. In some of my favorites lines from the whole Bible Isaiah says “They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.” Always reminds me of the old spiritual with the refrain “I ain’t gonna study war no more.” Isaiah then calls his people, and calls us, to that way of living when he says: “Come, O house of Jacob, let us walk in the light of the Lord.”

And I suppose it’s natural to ask at this point: Why does the lectionary give us this text for the first Sunday of Advent? After all, it doesn’t mention Jesus. Christianity has long thought that Isaiah predicts the coming of Jesus (which I don’t), but there’s nothing in this passage that sounds like a prediction of a person. So why this text for the first Sunday in Advent? I think it’s because, although this text doesn’t predict Jesus, it points to something profoundly true about Jesus. This vision of a world at peace with no war is a vision that Jesus picked up hundreds of years after Isaiah. It is a vision he developed and proclaimed to his world and to ours. The ancient Hebrew prophetic call for a world at peace resonated in Jesus’ soul because he knew that God is a God of peace not war, a God of peace not violence, a God of peace not fear, a God of peace not anxiety. We Christians call him the Prince of Peace, and indeed that is what he is. He spoke of the Kingdom of God as a time on earth when God’s vision of peace for all the world becomes a reality.

For me, when I think of peace, I think first of all about an end to war and to all physical violence between people. Indeed, Jesus is our prophet of that kind of peace; and that kind of peace is really important. But it is equally true that peace is like an onion. There are many layers to it. I remember a quote that I think is from the Dalai Lama, although I couldn’t find it online. It goes something like: If you want peace in the world, begin by being at peace in yourself. The idea is that outer peace begins with inner peace. That’s an idea Jesus would fully embrace, for he sought to transform the world by transforming individual souls. So today as we think of peace, let’s think first of all about the inner peace we can find in our Lord Jesus Christ. He calls us first of all to inner peace, and we can find that inner peace in him. In him we can be at peace because in him we know that God loves us unconditionally. We know that God forgives us unconditionally. We know that God is our eternal home that awaits us at the end of our time on earth. He said “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” He said “I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” Matthew 11:28-29 That’s the inner peace we can find in him—rest for our souls. That peaceful rest in Jesus is the beginning of peace not only for our souls but for the whole world. If you want peace in the world, start with finding peace in your soul. That is a message I desperately need to hear today. Perhaps you do too.

Now, I’m preaching on peace today; but the Advent theme for this first Sunday of Advent is actually not peace but hope. So it occurs to me to ask: Is there really any hope for peace in the world? I sure struggle to find that hope these days, but I know that the answer to our search for a hope of peace is God. God is always the answer to any kind of hope. God is how we can hope for that which seems so unattainable in our lives and in our world. We can hope for peace or any other great thing that we lack because we know that God is present and active in our lives and in the world. God’s presence and activity in the world are always subtle. They’re always quiet. They can be hard to perceive, but they’re always there. Always working. Always calling us and the whole world to build that peaceful Kingdom of God of which Jesus spoke. So hope for peace? All the worldly evidence to contrary notwithstanding, yes. Yes, because God.

Recently I have seen two things that seem to me to be signs of a possible peace in the world. They are, of all things, two television commercials that are running this holiday season. One of them is an ad for amazon.com. In it a Muslim imam goes to visit his friend. An imam is a Muslim prayer leader, the closest thing Islam has to a priest or pastor. His friend is of all things a Catholic priest. They have a friendly visit. They talk. They laugh. In the course of their time together they both show signs of having knee pain. The imam bids his friend the priest good-bye. After he leaves, both of them unbeknownst to the other go online and orders his friend a pair of knee pads, from amazon.com of course. Both are surprised when their unexpected gift arrives. They both put on the pads and go to their places of worship, the imam to his mosque and the priest to his church. They both kneel on their new knee pads and pray. The ad doesn’t say so, but they’re both praying in their different ways to the same God, to the God of reconciliation and peace. That ad nearly brings me to tears, for it is a sign that some people in the world get it. They get it that peace and reconciliation are the way of God.

The other ad is for Apple, the computer company. It features Frankenstein’s monster. In the ad he appears as a large, dark, unhappy creature. The first thing he does is record a music box playing the song “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays.” He records it on an i phone of course, for this is an ad for Apple. Then he screws red and green Christmas lights into sockets in his neck, where they light up. He walks into a town where people are celebrating Christmas. The people shrink back. They’re afraid. They don’t know what this man who looks like a monster will do. He starts to play his recording and to sing “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays.” One of his Christmas lights goes out. A little girl beckons him to come to her. He does, and she tightens the light on his neck that has gone out so that it comes back on. She sings with him. Then everyone sings with him. They all relax and welcome him to their town. It turns out that this creature who everyone saw as a monster was just a lonely man looking for friendship and acceptance, looking for home. The ad ends with a line on the screen that reads: “Open your heart to everyone.” And I say thank you Apple, and amen. Open your heart to everyone indeed. That is the way of peace. That an enormous corporation like Apple would run an ad like this in a world like this is a sign of hope for peace, that peace we so lack and so badly need.

So in this Advent season as we await the birth of Jesus Christ, let us be at peace. And let us hope for peace in God’s world. Let us be hope for peace in God’s world, and let us start by being at peace in our souls. Let us begin by caring for the other, the stranger, the one very different from us, the ones who pray differently, the ones we might think are monsters when they really aren’t. Let us begin by opening our hearts to everyone. Then perhaps we will find the peace that Jesus brings. The peace that Jesus is. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Light in the Darkness

Light in the Darkness

Rev. Dr. Tom Sorenson, Pastor

November 13, 2016

Scripture: John 1:1-5

Let us pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O God, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

(Take off stole) For a moment I’m going to speak for myself here. That’s why I have taken off my stole, the symbol of my status as an ordained minister and as your pastor. I’m going to speak for myself because I have to. If someone tells me that I can’t do that, that I’m only up here because I am the pastor of this church, I won’t argue with them; but I’m going to speak for myself anyway. I’m not speaking now in my role as your pastor. I’m speaking only as an American citizen. For me, last Tuesday, the world became a very dark place, much darker than I had ever thought of it being before. I don’t need to tell you about the result of our election of that day. You know it already. You know who won, and you know as much about that person as I do, maybe more. Some of you already know how I took that result. For the rest of you, I took it very badly. I reacted to it with powerful negative emotions, emotions of depression and even anger. I see nothing but harm coming from it, harm to our nation, harm to the world, especially harm to the vulnerable, to minorities, immigrants, non-Christians, and people with disabilities like my six-year-old granddaughter Calnan, who has a significant visual disability that will probably only get worse as she grows up. I grieve the result of our presidential election, and I suspect that I will for years to come. I never thought my country would make a decision I consider to be this bad, but it did. So I have prayed for help for my nation and for myself as we enter what I fear will be a very difficult time for us and especially for the ones Jesus called “the least of these.” I have struggled and continue to struggle with the question of how I can keep doing the work, the ministry, that I have been doing for years, for last Tuesday’s result frankly makes it all seem small and meaningless. Tomorrow I am going to a two-day retreat for UCC clergy on the subject of how to be the church. I am hoping that spending time with my UCC colleagues, as far as I know all of whom have reacted to the election much as I have, will help me get my feet back under me; for they sure haven’t been under me since last Tuesday. I hope you understand that I had to tell you what’s going on with me, for you need and deserve to know.

(Put stole back on) OK. I’m back as your pastor. One thing that Christianity has always known is that the world is a dark place. Our world today is hardly unique in being a dark place. There has always been war. There has always been injustice. There have always been charlatans and reprobates in seats of power. The good has always struggled with evil. Indeed, sometimes it seems to us Christians that the world is nothing but an arena for the cosmic struggle between good and evil. Frankly, I have never understood how Christians can see the world any other way, for we follow a Lord and Savior whom the darkness of the world tortured and executed as a common criminal, as a threat to public order. Yet we call our crucified savior the Son of God. We call him Emmanuel, God With Us. We call him God Incarnate. And the world killed him as if he were nobody. Yes, he rose again, but our faith truly grew out of the darkness of the world.

Our New Testament knows that. We heard it say it in our reading from John this morning. I used the New Revised Standard Version translation of those verses because they are the form in which I have long known these verses and because I think they are a better translation than the NIV we use here, especially in their last phrase. Those verses are the New Testament’s most profound proclamation of Jesus as God Incarnate. And they know that Jesus came precisely into a world of darkness. They are so profound that I’m going to recite them to you again. They say:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

Jesus is the light of all people, and he came into darkness. His light shines in that darkness. And this Bible verse says “the darkness has not overcome it.” That’s the line that’s translated better in the NRSV than in the NIV. The darkness has not overcome it. Folks, I’ve had a hard time holding onto that one since last Tuesday, but I know it is true. The darkness of the world has never overcome the light of Christ. He is the light in our darkness. Thanks be to God.

This last week one of you forwarded to me a letter that proclaims not the light of Christ in the world exactly, for its author is Jewish, but the light of God in a world of darkness. That’s the same light that shines in Jesus. This letter is from Rabbi Will Berkovitz, the Chief Executive Officer of Jewish Family Services in Seattle. It is so beautiful and so powerful that I am going to share most of it with you. Last Wednesday Rabbi Berkovitz wrote:

"What happens now?" was the question my children asked me last night as I was putting them to bed. "What can we do? What will we do?"

We can hold our place while not denying others theirs. We can walk with the vulnerable so they know they are not alone. We can be a place of peace and not darkness. We can be kind with ourselves and others. And we can transform that kindness into deeds of love. We can acknowledge the fear and uncertainty that may exist within us, but to which we must not succumb. 
 
With clarity and conviction, we will re-affirm the core beliefs that have always guided us. We will value the dignity of each individual. The one who prays differently or not all. The one whose color, gender, education, sexual orientation, abilities, aspirations, ethnicity or geography is not the same as ours. The one whose experiences and worldview are different than our own. 

We will look within and re-commit ourselves to the work ahead. We will be a place of refuge and gathering where we respect and offer compassion to those who are most vulnerable, embracing the orphan, the widow, the stranger, the poor and the brokenhearted. 

One more time, we will remind our children and ourselves of our collective story, so each of us learns anew and remembers always there are reasons we are obligated to do all we can to repair what is broken. And we will come together to build sanctuaries of peace with the power to shine light out into the darkness.

Jesus is our light in the darkness, but other faiths also know that God is light in the world’s darkness. Rabbi Berkovitz speaks powerfully here of what God’s light, the light we know through Jesus Christ, means in the world today—and not just since last Tuesday. He speaks of what it means for all people of faith to be called to be that light in the world. For us it is Christ’s light, for Rabbi Berkovitz and others it is the light of God known in other ways, but it is the same light. To live in that light, indeed to be that light, means we walk with the vulnerable so they know they are not alone. We become a place of peace. We are kind with ourselves and others. We perform acts of love. We value the dignity of every person, even, or rather especially, those who worship differently than we do or don’t worship at all, those who differ from us in color, gender, education, sexual orientation, abilities, and ethnicity. We become a place of refuge where we offer respect and compassion to the most vulnerable among us. In the grand tradition of Jewish prophecy Rabbi Berkovitz lists the orphan, the widow, the stranger, the poor, and the brokenhearted as those who are most vulnerable. Those yes, but there are others too. Women, whose equal human value and dignity we men so often disparage and deny. Racial minorities, who live among us in a land founded in and deeply tainted by racism. Sexual minorities, who have been told for millennia and are still told today that they are somehow broken when they are no more broken than the rest of us. The immigrants living far from what was their home, hoping for a better life for themselves and their children. Muslim, Jewish, Hindu, Sikh, Buddhist, and other religious minorities whom we Christians have told for centuries that their faith is false and they are damned if they don’t become Christian, a diabolical falsehood that far too many Christians still believe and still proclaim.

As Rabbi Berkovitz says, there are reasons we are obligated to do all we can to repair what is broken. The world didn’t break last Tuesday. It has been broken from its beginnings. It didn’t get dark last Tuesday, it has been dark from its beginnings. The reason we have to know that we are obligated to do what we can to fix it, that we are obligated to be Christ’s light in today’s darkness, is that we are Christians. We say that we follow Jesus of Nazareth as the Christ and as our Lord and Savior. He came as the Word of God in human form to be light in the darkness, and he came to tell us that we too are to be light in the darkness. We are to carry the light he brought into the world’s darkness and make the world brighter.

Folks, today God’s call to us to do that is more urgent than ever. More people than ever will need help. More people than ever will be afraid and need a safe place to be. Many already are and do. Some of them may be Christians, but most won’t; and that doesn’t matter at all. Some of them may be straight, able-bodied, and white like most of us, but most won’t; and that doesn’t matter at all either. Those things matter not at all in how we are called to be there for them, to be the light of Christ, the light of God for them, to assure them that they are dearly beloved children of God. To say you are valuable. To say you are loved. To say that regardless of what the world says to you, regardless of what your government says or does to you, you matter. You matter to us, and much more importantly you matter to God.

Being and doing those things is what it means to be Christian today. Not to be and do those things is to fail in our call to follow our Lord Jesus Christ. Are we willing to be Christians today? Are we willing to be the light of Christ for a dark and hurting world? May it be so. Amen.

What God Wants

What God Wants

Rev. Dr. Tom Sorenson, Pastor

October 30, 2016

Scripture: Isaiah 1:10-18; Luke 19:1-10

Let us pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O God, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

Earlier this past week Jane and I went to breakfast at the Mountain View Diner in Gold Bar, something we do most every Tuesday morning. Recently they’d had a white board in their little entry way with sayings written on it. Last Tuesday there was one they identified as a Japanese proverb. It read: “Vision without action is a day dream, action without vision is a nightmare.” Now, that’s not a specifically Christian saying, but it points to a question that is an issue for all faith traditions, not just our Christian one. What is the proper relationship between religious belief and actions? To put it in more traditional Christian language, what is the proper relationship between faith and works? Are we saved only through God’s grace which we access through faith, as Paul, Martin Luther, and John Calvin contended? Or is faith without works dead, as the New Testament’s Letter of James contends? To put the question yet another way, what does God want from us? Does God want our faith in God and Jesus Christ? Or does God care more about how we live our lives, what we do and don’t do? To go back to the language of that Japanese saying I saw last week, does God want us to have vision, or does God want us to undertake good actions? That truly is a central question of the Christian faith.

I think our two scripture readings this morning shed a good deal of light on that question. I’ll start with the Isaiah. There the prophet Isaiah of Jerusalem, claiming to speak for God, condemns the people of Israel in very harsh terms, especially the leaders and rulers of the people. He calls them rulers of Sodom and people of Gomorrah, two notoriously sinful cities of Hebrew scripture, sinful mostly for how they abused strangers among them. Then he soundly rejects the people’s religious practices. In these passages God condemns and rejects their sacrifices, offerings, incense, religious holidays and festivals, even their prayer. Now, some people today may think that God is rejecting those things not because they worship but because they are the wrong kind of worship. After all, we don’t worship God by sacrificing, that is, ritually killing, animals. No Christians do, and I wouldn’t be a Christian minister if being meant I had to do that. We don’t use incense in our worship, although some Christians do. We don’t celebrate “New Moons.” So maybe we think that all those things that Isaiah lists and condemns are just the wrong kind of worship. But see, everybody in Israel in Isaiah’s time, including the prophet himself, was sure that all of those things were precisely the right kind of worship. This ancient Hebrew text is not saying that the people need better worship. It is far more radical than that. It is saying that God doesn’t want even the right kind of worship from them. God doesn’t even want their prayers, and surely prayers are appropriate from people of faith. God doesn’t want their worship or even their prayers because, the text says, their “hands are full of blood.” Because of the people’s “evil deeds.” Because they are “doing wrong” rather than doing right.

OK, but what’s wrong and what’s right? Our text from Isaiah certainly poses that question, and it answers it too. Immediately after it tells the people to “learn to do right” it says: “Seek justice, encourage the oppressed, defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.” That’s what right. Directly or indirectly Isaiah here raises the three types of people the Hebrew prophets typically called the people to protect and take care of. They are first of all the stranger, that is alien in their midst. Isaiah doesn’t mention this group explicitly, but he does indirectly when he calls out people he calls the rulers of Sodom. In the story in Genesis of Sodom a mob of supposedly straight men want to gang rape men who were staying temporarily in that city. The sin of Sodom is hostility toward the stranger, and Isaiah mentions it in our text. The other two groups the prophets typically call out for defense are the widow and the orphan. Isaiah here says the fatherless not the orphan, but in that strongly androcentric culture being without a father made you an orphan even if you still had your mother. Isaiah specifically mentions the widow. In that society a woman without a man to protect and take care of her was in a terrible state. These are the groups the prophets typically lift up because they were the most vulnerable people in those days, the ones who couldn’t care for themselves and had no one else to care for them either. So that’s what’s right. To care for the vulnerable. To lift up the oppressed.

Then there’s our reading from Luke about Jesus and Zacchaeus. Perhaps we miss the story’s point that Zacchaeus is a really bad dude. See, he wasn’t just a tax collector, which would have been bad enough. He was a “chief” tax collector. That’s a sort of wholesale tax collector. He paid assessed taxes to the Romans in advance, then hired others to go collect taxes from the people. They had to get enough to pay the chief tax collector back what he had already paid to the Romans plus profit for themselves and for him. Zacchaeus was so good at it that he’d gotten rich. The original audience for this story would have hated Zacchaeus with a passion as soon as they heard that he was a chief tax collector. Jesus saying that he was going to stay with Zacchaeus made the people angry with Jesus, and understandably so.

Yet in our story Zacchaeus apparently gets religion. He says he gives half of all he has to the poor. He says he will repay anyone he has cheated plus what in US law we call treble damages. Whereupon Jesus praises him highly. He says “Today salvation has come to this house, because this man, too, is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost.” It is perhaps an odd way of praising Zacchaeus. What does he mean calling Zacchaeus a “son of Abraham?” Does that mean only that Zacchaeus was a Jew? Probably not, because Zacchaeus was always a Jew even when he was extorting excessive amounts of money from people. What Jesus means here, I think, is that Zacchaeus has finally figured out what being a person of faith, in his case the Jewish faith and in our case the Christian faith, is really about. It is about doing justice. The kind of justice Isaiah was taking about more than 700 years earlier. Justice as care for the poor and vulnerable. Justice as respecting all other people as children of God regardless of their life circumstances. Justice as honoring especially those society and culture dishonor. Lifting up those human society and human culture trod down. Lifting up those society and culture oppress. Affording equal dignity to those against whom society and culture discriminate. Supporting people and movements that advocate and do all of those things and opposing people and movements that don’t or that even advocate perpetuating society’s ills. That’s what Jesus is saying when he honors Zacchaeus, the former sinner, calling him a child of Abraham.

Now of course, we’re all at different stages of life. We all have different abilities and different resources. Of course God know that, and God doesn’t expect precisely the same things from all of us. Most of us come to a time in life when we are the ones who need care and aren’t in much of position to give care. God knows that. God respects us and is with us when we come to that point in life. There is grace in receiving care as much as there is grace in giving care. That’s all true. It is indeed divine truth. It is truth too many of us too easily forget. We want to be the care givers not the care receivers. Well, if what God wants from us is caring for those in need, then God cares for those in need. God cares for us when we are ill. God cares for us when we are poor. God cares for us when we are weak. God cares for us as we near the end of our lives on earth. Nothing in God’s desire that we do justice means that we are not also to receive justice, to receive care, when we need it.

That being said and truly meant, I am convinced that we Christians badly need to remember a truth that our faith tradition so easily forgets. Yes, God wants our faith. God wants our belief. God wants us to trust God and to rely on God. God wants us to see Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. But God also wants that faith of ours to change us. To transform us. To make us people of divine justice, the kind of justice Isaiah demanded. The kind of justice Zacchaeus demonstrated once he repented, once he turned around. I disagree with Isaiah here a bit. I think God does want our worship, but God wants our worship not because God needs it but because we do. God wants our worship because God wants us to repent, to turn around, to be transformed the way Isaiah wanted the people of ancient Israel to be transformed. The way Zacchaeus was transformed. That’s what God wants. Are we ready to hear? Are we ready to follow? May it be so. Amen.

Transformed

Transformed?

Rev. Dr. Tom Sorenson, Pastor

October 23, 2016

Scripture: Luke 18:9-14

Let us pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O God, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

Let me ask you what I think is a really important question. What is the Christian life about? What is Christian faith about? Is it about believing in God? Yes, whatever “believing in” actually means. Is it about believing in Jesus? Again yes, whatever “believing in” actually means. Is it about doing what you need to do to make sure you get to heaven when you die? Well, maybe kinda sorta, but mostly not despite the fact that a great many Christians think that is precisely what it is about. Is it about living a moral life, doing what’s right and not doing what’s wrong? Yes, although of course a lot of people who aren’t Christians live perfectly moral lives and a lot of Christians live pretty immoral ones. All of those are legitimate questions about the Christian faith and Christian life, and those are to a greater or lesser extent legitimate answers to those question; but none of them gets to what I think the Christian faith and life properly understood are mostly about. They don’t get to the most profound understanding of Christian life and faith, to the most faithful understanding of Christian life and faith. To get at what Christian life and faith are really about, let’s take a look at that story we just heard from Luke about the Pharisee and the tax collector praying in the temple.

Luke sets up that little story by saying that Jesus told it “to some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everybody else.” This little parable gives us two characters. They’re both praying in the temple in Jerusalem. The first character we’re introduced to is a Pharisee. The Pharisees were a prominent sect of Judaism in Jesus’ time. They stressed strict observance of the Torah law as what Jewish faith was about and as what God wants from God’s people. The Gospels don’t treat them kindly, but for the most part they weren’t bad people, no worse than most people anyway. They were practicing their faith as they sincerely believed it should be practiced. Yet this Pharisee pretty clearly isn’t practicing his faith in the proper spirit. He prays: “God, I thank you that I am not like all other men—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.”

Now, before I go on let me say this about this man giving a tenth of all he gets, presumably to the temple. That’s not where he goes wrong. You all might consider following his lead in that regard. Still, this guy pretty clearly gets the life of faith all wrong. He thinks he does what his faith requires, which is more or less OK. But he also thinks that his obeying the commandments of his faith, or at least some of them, makes him superior to other people. His thinking that leads him to condemn all other people as sinners, which he pretty clearly thinks he is not. Our Pharisee thinks he’s righteous. He doesn’t get it that he too is a sinner. At the very least he’s guilty of the sin of pride. He is, I think we can say, a self-righteous jerk.

Then there’s the tax collector. Now, In Jesus’ world a tax collector was nothing like one of our honest and honorable civil servants working for the IRS. Most Jewish people of the time hated tax collectors, and they had good reason to hate them. The tax collectors worked for the despised Roman occupiers. Roman taxes were the only governmental taxes there were, and the people who collected them were mostly Jews working for the Romans. That was bad enough, but the way these tax collectors supported themselves was by taking more money from the people, most of whom were dirt poor, than they actually owed to the Romans. They gouged people for as much as they could get out of them, and people hated them for it. Jesus gives us one of those hated tax collectors as the second character in his parable.

The tax collector prays very differently than the Pharisee. He can’t even look up to heaven but beats his breast, a sign of spiritual or emotional anguish. For his prayer he says “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” It’s a prayer of confession grounded in this man’s profound sense of his own sinfulness, his own unworthiness before God. Jesus ends the parable saying “I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve always thought of the tax collector as the hero of this story, the one we’re supposed to be like. I’ve thought of the Pharisee as the villain of the piece, the one we’re not supposed to be like. I think that’s probably what Jesus intended. It turns his audience’s expectations upside down, which Jesus’ parables almost always do. But as I read and contemplated this parable this past week something occurred to me that I’d never thought of before. Jesus presents these two characters as diametrical opposites, one self-righteous and arrogant and one humble and contrite. Yet I think that these two characters have more in common than at first it appears that they do. What they have in common is that they are both in need of radical transformation. Let me explain.

Pretty clearly the Pharisee needs to be transformed. He needs to be transformed out of his self-righteousness and pride. That’s clear enough, but what about the tax collector? To see how he needs transformation let’s look at what this parable does not tell us about him. It doesn’t tell us that he knows that God has already forgiven him. Neither does it tell us that he was going to stop being a tax collector. It doesn’t tell us that he was going to practice his duties as a tax collector more honestly, that he would stop taking more from the poor tax payers than they could afford and line his own pockets with the excess he got from them over what he had to give the Romans. Jesus doesn’t tell us that the tax collector had any such intentions, so I think it’s safe to assume that he didn’t. But even if he had such thoughts as he prayed in the temple he still had to go out and follow through on them. He probably needed transformation in his thoughts, and he definitely needed transformation in his life and his work.

That’s what these two characters have in common. They both need to be transformed. They don’t need to be transformed in the same ways, but they both need to be transformed. One needs to be transformed out of arrogant self-righteousness. The Pharisee is arrogant, and the true spiritual virtue is humility. He’s self-righteous, thinking that his own actions get him right with God. The true spiritual virtue is recognition that none of us is truly righteous on our own, that if we are in right relationship with God it is only because God puts us in right relationship, not that we do. He thinks that only other people are sinners in need of God’s grace, when the truth is that in one way or another we are all sinners in need of God’s grace. The Pharisee doesn’t get it about God, sin, and grace. He needs transformation in his understanding of God, himself, and others.

It is perhaps less obvious how the tax collector needs transformation. Unlike the Pharisee he knows that he is a sinner. Unlike the Pharisee he isn’t self-righteous. He doesn’t think he’s better than other people. In all of these ways he is spiritually healthier than the Pharisee. But notice some other things about him. He prays for forgiveness, but apparently he doesn’t know that God has already forgiven him. In a way he’s too hard on himself. He’s not living into God’s grace because though he prays for mercy he doesn’t know the reality of God’s graceful mercy in his life. Beyond that, this little parable says nothing about what the tax collector does after he leaves the temple. Simply by virtue of his being a tax collector he surely needs transformation in his life, as we’ve already seen. He needs at least transformation in how he does his work, but perhaps there is no way he could adequately transform the work of being a tax collector. After all, no matter how he did that work he’d still be doing it for the Gentile occupiers and oppressors of his people. Perhaps the transformation he needs is to give up being a tax collector altogether and find some other more moral or ethical way of making a living. In any event Jesus’ audience certainly would have thought that this tax collector needed transformation not only in his knowledge of God’s grace but also in how he did his work and lived his life. Surely they were right about that.

So this little parable gives us not one character in need of transformation but two. It is primarily a story about people’s need for transformation. It is a story about everyone’s need for transformation, not just about its two characters’ need for transformation. It is a story about our need for transformation, about your need for transformation and about my need for transformation.

This is a story about what the life of faith is mostly about. To answer the question I started this sermon with, the Christian faith is mostly about transformation. It is about our need to be transformed in our thinking and in our living. It is about our need better to understand God, God’s grace, and how God’s grace calls us to live in response to it. The two characters in our parable didn’t need to be transformed in the same ways, and we all don’t need to be transformed in the same ways either. I have some ideas about how I need to be transformed. I share them with God and with appropriate people in my life. I don’t know how each of you needs to be transformed, although I’m pretty sure that you, like all people, do need to be transformed. I’m here to talk with any of you about that if you like. But today I’ll just leave you with some questions: Has your faith transformed you? Is it transforming you? Is my faith transforming me? Is our faith transforming us? May it be so. Amen.

Wrestling with God

Wrestling with God

Rev. Dr. Tom Sorenson, Pastor

October 16, 2016

Scripture: Genesis 32:22-31

Let us pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O God, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

It’s a strange story, isn’t it. The story we just heard from Genesis about the Patriarch Jacob I mean. In that story Jacob first isolates himself from his household, which he sends across a stream called the Jabbok along with all of his possessions. The story doesn’t tell us why he did that rather odd thing, it just says that he did. Then it says that “a man” wrestled with Jacob until daybreak. It doesn’t say who the man is, not at first at least. It doesn’t say why the man wrestled with Jacob, only that he did. The man somehow puts Jacob’s hip out of joint. Then this man, who seems to be winning the wrestling match at this point, asks Jacob to let him go. We’d expect Jacob to be the one needing to ask for release, what with his hip out of joint and all, but the story puts it the other way round. An exchange between the two wrestlers follows in which the man, whoever he is, changes Jacob’s name to Israel. A translator’s note tells us that Israel means “struggles with God.” The man says he has changed Jacob’s name because Jacob has “struggled with God and with men” and has “overcome.” Really? When has Jacob struggled with God? And how could any mere man overcome God? I don’t know, but that’s what this man says Jacob has done. Jacob names the place where the wrestling match took place Peniel, which a translator’s note tells us means “face of God.” He calls the place that because, he says, “I saw God face to face.” Really? The only way Jacob could have seen God face to face at that place is if the man he wrestled with was actually God, and it turns out that that’s precisely what we are to understand. Jacob thinks the man is God, and pretty clearly we’re to think that too. Indeed, there’s a hint earlier in the story that the man must actually be God. It comes when the man changes Jacob’s name from Jacob to Israel. In the Hebrew scriptures God sometimes changes people’s names, but no one else does. Earlier in Genesis God has changed Abram’s name to Abraham and Sarai’s name to Sarah. In our story this morning the man acts like God and changes our hero’s name from Jacob to Israel. So the man must indeed have been God.

This story seems to serve several different purposes within the Jewish tradition. In the verses right after the ones we heard the text says that Israelites don’t eat the tendon attached to the hip bone of an animal because that is where this man/God touched Jacob, so the story explains an otherwise odd Hebrew dietary practice. The story explains how Jacob became Israel, Israel not Jacob being the name of the entire Hebrew nation that descends from him.

But mostly this story is about a man wrestling with God. Yes, the man is one of the Jewish faith’s great patriarchs, but he’s still just a man like any other man, a person like any other person. And yes, the story says at its beginning that a man wrestled with Jacob, but we’ve already established that we are to understand this man to be God, or at least a manifestation of God. There’s certainly no fully developed incarnational theology here. Judaism has always rejected incarnational theology, but somehow this man is still an appearance of God. I think wrestling with God is the central theme of this story. Jacob, the father of the nation named after his altered name Israel, wrestled with the eternal God. And he won! Yes, God wounded him on the hip, but the man/God of the story had to ask Jacob to let him go, not the other way round as we probably would expect. Quite a concept, isn’t it? A mere mortal wrestled with God and prevailed.

Now, this story would be amazing enough if it were only a story about an ancient patriarch and an encounter he had with God. But see, the great Bible stories like this one are never just about things that happened to other people a long time ago in a place far away. They are about us. They are about God and us. They are about our relationship to God and God’s relationship to us. When we read or hear about Jacob wrestling with God the Bible invites us to ask: What does this story say to us? What does it say about God? What does it say about our relationship to God and God’s relationship to us? Well, this one seems to say that our relationship to God and God’s relationship to us is one of wrestling. Jacob wrestled with God, and his doing so both tells us that we are to wrestle with God too and gives us permission to wrestle with God.

Yes, I know. We’re supposed to be meek and accepting in our relationship with God, right? Well, sometimes right, but sometimes not so right. Yes, our relationship with God can be one of peace and quiet, of quiet confidence in God’s grace and forgiveness. But I think if we’re honest we sometimes wrestle with God too, or at least we want to. After all, God is ultimately the great cosmic mystery, the power behind all that is that somehow relates in love to fragile, mortal creatures like us. How can we not wrestle with understanding a reality so utterly transcendent, so infinitely far above and beyond us, so great that we can’t even really begin to understand how great? I think we do wrestle with God, or at least a lot of us do. I wrestle with God. I wrestle with trying to understand God. I have wrestled with God in print in the books I have written and am writing. I wrestle with God publicly in my sermons. I wrestle with God in private. See, understanding God, coming to terms with God, isn’t all that easy when you really stop to think about it. If God were easy, how could God really be God? How could that which is infinite, omnipotent, omniscient, and utterly transcendent be easy? How could a reality infinitely beyond our reality be easy? Sure, we can make it easy. We can decline God’s invitation to a wrestling match with God, but if we’re really going to live into a deep and transforming relationship with God I think we need to accept that invitation. I think we need to wrestle with God.

How do we do that? Well, we do it first of all by reading and really trying to understand the Bible’s stories about God. Those stories aren’t easy. They present many different visions of God. In those stories God is variously violent and a God of infinite peace. God is both judge and cosmic forgiver. God is both male and infinitely beyond human categories like male and female. In some passages in Proverbs God comes pretty close to being female. God both demands strict adherence to the Torah law and says law isn’t at all what God wants from us. Sometimes the Bible says God wants correct worship. At other times it says God doesn’t care one whit about our worship but wants justice from us instead. God is infinitely beyond the human and with us as a human in Jesus. Wrestling with that wonderful, complex, confusing, and comforting book we call the Bible is one primary way that we wrestle with God.

We wrestle with God in our prayer life. We take our confusion about God straight to God and ask for help. We confess our sin and open ourselves to grace. We ask for help with troubles in our lives and know that God’s help may come not at all as what we’re asking for. We wrestle with God in our life together as a church. What does God want from us? Where is God calling us to go? Those are not easy questions to answer. They need wrestling with. We wrestle with God in our personal lives too. What does God want from us there? Love, yes; but what does that mean in the specific situations we must deal with? That one too needs wrestling with.

So yes, I think this story of Jacob wrestling with God calls us to wrestle with God too. And this story has some very good news in it about our wrestling with God. We see the good news in the story in the part where in his wrestling with God Jacob prevailed. God had to ask Jacob to let him go. That’s a symbolic way of saying that in our wrestling with God we too can prevail. God changes Jacob’s name to Israel, meaning Struggles with God, because Jacob had struggled not only with people but with God and had prevailed. We can prevail in our struggling, our wrestling with God too. This story is telling us that truth. But of course we need to understand what our prevailing in our wrestling with God actually means. Of course we can’t overpower God. I doubt that we even want to. What we can do is wrestle ourselves into understandings of God that work for us. We can learn to live with and to love a God we can never fully understand. We can learn that our living with God takes place precisely in our wrestling with God. We find the meaning of our living with God precisely in our wrestling with God. We might well get a hip put out of joint in the process, or something else that changes our lives, makes us different than we were before. Indeed, that’s very likely to happen if we truly wrestle with God. And yes, that struggling, that wrestling, includes breaks between the rounds of the match. It includes times when we can go to our opposite corners and rest from the wrestling. Those are precious times that we should seek and cherish. But they won’t make the wrestling go away. God is too big, God is too “other,” for the wrestling ever really to end.

So let’s wrestle with God, shall we? We can do it alone, and we can do it together. God calls us to the match. Are we ready to wrestle? I pray that we are. Amen.

Hold the Fireworks

Hold the Fireworks

Rev. Dr. Tom Sorenson, Pastor

October 9, 2016

Scripture: 2 Kings 5:1-14

Let us pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O God, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

Do you like fireworks? I mean the pyrotechnics that that we set off mostly on the fourth of July. I sort of do, and I sort of don’t. I sure don’t like it when people in the neighborhood where I live set off so many of them on July 4 that we have to take our dog and flee to Canada to get away from them. But then there are the fireworks we saw in Moscow. The Russians are really good at fireworks. They set them up at different places around the huge city of Moscow, then set them off from all the sites simultaneously. They light up the whole city. We could seem them from our dorm room at Moscow State University. Very impressive, and great fun. The first time I saw them was on what the Russians call “Den’ tankistov,” which translates to “tank soldiers’ day.” I suppose they have a tank soldiers’ day because it was mostly the Soviet tanks that defeated the Nazis. Whatever. We saw them again for the celebration in November of the October Revolution—ask me later about why they celebrated the October Revolution in November if you want. We saw fireworks on May 1, which the Soviets celebrated as international labor day. The Russian fireworks I saw were really impressive, and fireworks generally can indeed be really impressive. They’re bright and colorful. They’re loud. They streak and swirl and sparkle. Everyone looks at them and says “ooh!” and “ahh!” We like to be impressed, and fireworks are quite impressive.

Which is all very well and good, but here’s the thing. We like to be impressed by more things than just fireworks. We like to be impressed by all kinds of things. We like flashy impressive movies. We like shiny impressive new cars. We like big impressive displays of flowers. We like music that knocks our socks off more than we probably like quieter, more contemplative music. Same with art. We like to be impressed. We like to be bowled over by things we experience. We like big and colorful and impressive in all areas of life. That may not be all we like, but we do like that stuff a lot.

Unfortunately, we often translate that love of the big, loud, colorful, and flashy to God. We want God to be like that too. We want big displays of divine power. We want thunder and lightning. We want angels blowing trumpets. We want God to demand big things from us, important things, things that impress people, things that change the world. Or at least a lot of people want God to be like that. A lot of people always have. We heard about one of those people in that long story we just heard from 2 Kings, the story of Naaman, the commander of the armies of the king of Aram, Aram being the ancient name for Syria. It is, frankly, one of my favorite stories in the whole Old Testament. I’ll just recap it briefly.

Naaman is a great man, but he suffers from some skin disease that our text calls leprosy. His soldiers have taken a Hebrew girl as a slave, and she tells Naaman that there is a prophet in Israel who could cure his disease. That prophet turns out to be Elisha. So the king of Aram whom Naaman serves sends him to the king of Israel with a badly worded letter of introduction, one that gets the Israeli king all upset. When Elisha hears about it, we aren’t told how, he has the king send Naaman to him. Then the story gets really interesting. When Naaman arrives “with his horses and chariots” at Elisha’s house, Elisha doesn’t even come out to greet him. He just sends a messenger, who tells Naaman to go to the Jordan river and wash himself in it seven times. That, the messenger tells Naaman, will cure his skin disease.

Whereupon Naaman, that great man, gets all upset. “I thought that the prophet would come out to me and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, wave his hand over the spot and cure me!” My rivers back home are better than the stupid Jordan!” So he stomps off in a rage. Then one of his servants says, essentially, what’s up with that?! If he’d asked you to do something difficult you’d have done it, right? So why not do this easy thing?” Whereupon Naaman goes to the Jordan, dips himself in it seven times, and his skin disease is cured.

Now, Naaman of course wasn’t just an any-man. He was a great military commander who traveled with horses and chariots and probably an armed guard. He wanted to be treated like the special man he thought he was. When he wasn’t given special treatment, he went into a huff. But he’s upset about more than the prophet’s failure to give him the reception he thought he was due. He’s upset because Elisha didn’t do anything impressive. He didn’t do any magic tricks. He didn’t make the earth shake. There was no thunder and lightning. Naaman wanted a show, and he didn’t get one; so he was upset.

I think in the way he wanted an impressive show and was upset when he didn’t get it makes him very human. After all, don’t we all sort of want God to show up and do big, impressive things? Don’t we want the blast of angel trumpets, and earthquake, though maybe a not too destructive earthquake, to announce God’s coming, blinding light and heavenly choirs singing triumphant music? After all, we’re talking about God here. God, we think, is big and powerful, “almighty” to use the adjective we so often use for God that has become a noun that is virtually God’s name for us. We want the God Who parted the Red Sea for the escaping Hebrews. We want the God of Revelation who does powerful things on earth, although probably not as violent a God as we get in that book. We want our God to be a cosmic Superman doing really impressive things.

Well, here’s the thing about all of that. Yes, there are stories in the Bible about God doing really big, impressive things. There is that story in Exodus of God parting the Red Sea. There are other stories of God doing really big things, but for the most part in the Bible God doesn’t act that way. Take for example a story from the tales of Elijah, the predecessor of the Elisha we get in this morning’s text. It’s at 1 Kings 19:11-12. In that story Elijah is running away from King Ahab and Queen Jezebel, who are out to kill him. He’s hiding out on a mountain. God comes to him and says to him that “the Lord is about to pass by.” The text reads:

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.

A different contemporary translation, the NRSV, has the verse end with there being “a sound of sheer silence.” The old King James Version has it end with “a still, small voice.” That’s where the Lord, where God, was. However we translate the original Hebrew of this story, God isn’t in the fireworks. God isn’t in the big, impressive, attention grabbing things. God is in the silence, or the gentle whisper, or the still small voice.

That’s how it was with the great Syrian military commander Naaman and the prophet Elisha too. Naaman wanted the respect he was so sure was due him. He wanted a show. He wanted fireworks, and the prophet didn’t even come out to see him. The prophet didn’t put on a show. There were no fireworks. Through a messenger he just told Naaman to do something really simple. God dip yourself in the Jordan seven times. That’s hardly impressive. It certainly isn’t difficult. It’s no great heroic feat. Yet God was at work in that simple act of dipping oneself in the waters of the Jordan river. That’s where God was, in the still, small act of bathing in a river.

That’s how it mostly is with God in our lives too. I know that God has spoken to me, and I’m sure God has spoken to many of you too. Yet God has never overpowered me. God has never shown up with fireworks. God has never made a lot of noise in my life. God has spoken to me gently, quietly, silently really. God has come not as a great wind but as a sense, a feeling, a pull, a push, more as a question than an answer. Yes, I know that some people describe experiences of the presence of God in more dramatic terms, but I really think most human experiences of God aren’t like that. Most of them are like Elijah’s on the mountain, where God wasn’t in the big show but in the quietness. Or like Naaman’s, where God wasn’t in any kind of spectacular display but in the words of a prophet’s messenger and a simple act in an ordinary river. I am convinced that that’s mostly how it is with God.

So when we seek to know God’s will for us either personally or as a church, let’s not look for a big show. Let’s not expect fireworks. Let’s hold the fireworks and listen for something soft, something gentle, something indirect even. That’s where God is likely to be. Sure, it would be easier if God would just show up the way we sometimes wish God would, but for the most part God doesn’t do that. God asks us to listen attentively. To discern carefully. God usually comes in a still, small voice, not in fireworks. So let’s listen attentively and discern carefully shall we? Amen.

Nonetheless

Nonetheless

Rev. Dr. Tom Sorenson, Pastor

October 2, 2016

Scripture: Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4

Let us pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O God, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

You know, the Bible truly is a remarkable book. The newest parts of it were written nearly two thousand years ago, the oldest parts of it more like three thousand years ago or more. Yet sometimes when we read a passage in it we could swear that it is talking about the world today. I suppose that’s largely because, as the depressed author of Ecclesiastes says, there is nothing new under the sun. Our world is different from the worlds of the Bible in many ways, but the people of the Bible were just as human as we are. I suppose that truth explains some of why the Bible sometimes sounds so contemporary. Maybe the Holy Spirit has something to do with it too. Whatever the reason, somehow the Bible has spoken to people of vastly different cultures, times, and places for a very long time, which I suppose is why we still turn to it as a source of spiritual and worldly wisdom. The book of the prophet Habakkuk from which we just heard a couple of passages dates from the around the turn of the seventh to the sixth century BCE, that is, from around the year 600 BCE or so. It is very ancient; yet when we read those passages we just heard during the clergy lectionary group that I attend on Monday mornings, my colleagues in that group and I all were struck by how much it sounds like this ancient Hebrew prophet was describing our world today.

The prophet cries: Violence, and he thinks God doesn’t answer. His world was indeed filled with violence. The ancient world in which Israel tried to exist was a world of empire after empire acting the way empires always do. Empires are violent. They invariable use military force to try to expand their borders or at least their power over other people. Israel often bore the brunt of that imperial expansionism. By the time Habakkuk cried out against the violence of his day the Assyrian Empire had already wiped the northern of the two Hebrew states of the time off the map for good. The Babylonian Empire had conquered the Assyrian Empire by force and was expanding toward Jerusalem in an attempt to expand its borders and create a buffer between itself and the Egyptian Empire to the west. The ancient world in which Habakkuk lived was a world filled with violence at every turn. It was more technologically primitive violence than is the violence of our world, but it was still violence.

Habakkuk cries that God isn’t paying attention: “Why do you make me look at injustice? Why do you tolerate wrong?” The world is a mess! There is injustice everywhere? How long, Lord, how long? I don’t know about you, but think I know what Habakkuk was feeling. See, I know that there is a lot of good in the world. I know that there is a lot of love, compassion, and justice in the world, but these days it’s so easy to forget all that and just see the violence and the injustice. The Russians just bombed a hospital in Syria. I don’t know how many innocent people, most of them Black, have been shot in our country in the last 24 hours, but far, far too many. Heck, one is too many. A grade school boy who was shot at school has died. A grade school boy! Really? What’s going on in this country of ours, in this world of ours? There is way too much shooting. There is way too little justice. I get it when Habakkuk screams “How long, Lord?” I feel like screaming the same thing.

Well, in our passages from his book this morning Habakkuk gets his answer from God. God tells him that there still is a divine vision for a better future. That vision is not false. It will come in due time. Then God tells Habakkuk how he is to live in the meantime. Our passage ends “but the righteous will live by faith.” God tells Habakkuk, and tells us, that God calls us to live by faith in the teeth of all the violence and injustice in the world. God’s answer, for now, to us who live in a far from perfect world is: Live by your faith.

Folks, that, I think, is one of the great things that having faith does for us. I allows us to live when we know that things should be different in our lives and in our world. There is a great Canadian theologian whose work is foundational for much of my understanding of the Christian faith. He’s quite old now, and he’s retired from many years of teaching at McGill University in Montreal. His name is Douglas John Hall. Maybe some of us can read some of his work together sometime. In one of his great books he tells us what faith is, or at least one of the things that faith does. He says that faith is the ability to look reality squarely in the eye and say “nonetheless.” Actually, he says look reality squarely in the eye and say “dennoch,” because for some reason he thinks it sounds better if he says it in German. But dennoch is just a German word that means nonetheless. Faith in God and Jesus Christ gives us the strength to look all the world’s evil squarely in the eye and say nonetheless I believe. Nonetheless I will keep on living. Nonetheless I will keep working for peace and justice. Nonetheless I will believe that God is good and that the good will eventually prevail. Folks, faith is the only thing that can do that for us.

I frankly don’t know how people with no religious faith deal with the world except by ignoring everything that’s wrong with it. With faith we don’t have to ignore what’s wrong with it. With faith in God’s compassion and justice we can not only see what’s wrong with the world, we can work to make what’s wrong right. With faith we can live nonetheless. May God help us as we do. Amen.