Sermon for Sunday, December 20

Luke 1:26-38

The Question of the Day is: We inevitably forget or fail to see certain people or certain groups of people.  Share a time when your eyes were opened to really see a particular person or a particular group of people. 

For me, when I read the book Nickeled & Dimed about low-wage workers in the US, I began to see hotel workers.  On a more personal note, as I got older and learned more about history, I began to see my great grandmother who was born in 1899, emigrated to the US from Sweden, and witnessed all the massive change of the 20th century before she died at the age of 100. So often, we see our family members only through our deeply personal lens, who they are to us, but my great grandmother had seen so much of life, had lived through such change! To consider her this way helped me more fully see her. 

To find the community’s reflection, go to the Grace Facebook page live stream worship for Sunday, December 20.

We’ve probably all gone to children’s Christmas programs, dance recitals, soccer games, or the like.  Whether we are a parent or grandparent, an aunt or uncle, a friend or simply an onlooker, we have witnessed small children find their parent or grandparent, friend or teacher in the crowd and furiously, continuously wave.  Music or dance or athletics momentarily forgotten, the child sees the person who means the world to them and points themselves out to that one.  The child wants to be seen by the people they love.  Children want to be seen.

As an introvert and on the shy side, for many years, I tried to enter and exit groups of people as quietly as possible.  While on internship during seminary, I would enter my office and simply start working.  Twenty feet from my office, two administrative staff and sometimes the worship coordinator would be sitting in an adjacent office, but rarely did I greet them or in any way acknowledge their presence.  Each day, though, I watched my supervisor, the pastor, come in and, first thing, check in with everyone.  How are you doing?  What’s going on today?  How’s your family?  When I finally asked him about what was clearly an intentional practice, he told me: Everyone wants to be seen.

I too know the draw of wanting to be seen.  While preparing for an ecumenical worship service here at Grace a few years ago, I found myself playing host and orienting a leader equivalent to our bishop but from a different church body.  I had met him several times, and more than once before, we had helped lead the same ecumenical worship services.  During our brief discussion, I suddenly realized he had absolutely no idea who I was.  For he asked me: You’re a pastor? Where?  You’re a Lutheran?  Yes, I serve here at Grace.  I couldn’t help myself; I added: We’ve met before.  I too want to be seen.

Just like everyone else, I imagine Mary from our gospel story today wanted to be seen.  A girl from a Jewish family, living two thousand years ago in ancient Israel, a person without power or prestige.  We know little about her, save her own description of “lowly” later in Luke chapter one.  The angel Gabriel shows up and announces to Mary that she will give birth to a son who will be named Jesus, the Son of the Most High, a child given her by the Holy Spirit.  Mary questions the words of the angel Gabriel but then accepts them and enters into partnership with God.  Of course, upon first seeing the angel Gabriel, she is perplexed, and she ponders his opening words which are “Greetings, favored one!”  I can just imagine Mary wondering: Who am I that an angel calls me favored?    And probably all the readers of the gospel of Luke wonder too.  Mary is an obscure choice for the mother of the savior of the world, yet God favors her, chooses her, sees her.  Out of all the other possible women who could have carried the Incarnate One into the world, God chooses Mary.  Why would God do such a thing, to choose, to favor, to see a lowly girl?  Who is this God who chooses, favors, sees the lowliest of us? 

The God who comes to earth as a baby.  The God who lifts up the lowly and leads the captives out of bondage, the God who fills the hungry with good things and shows mercy from generation to generation.  This God chooses a lowly girl to bear Jesus...and not because God pities her and not because God is making a point about inequities in society and not because God is making Mary an example.  Rather, God sees Mary, a lowly girl without power or prestige but a young woman of faith and courage and hope who says, in response to the wildest of announcements: Here am I, the servant of the Lord.  Let it be with me according to your word.  God chooses Mary because God knows her, because God truly sees her and sees she will partner with God for this wildest, holiest of journeys. 

So too does God see each of us.  God sees you.  As you are.  Loves you.  Turns toward you with grace as God has done for generations of God’s people. 

And God sees each person.  Knows every name.  Does not proverbially “walk by on the other side” to avoid anyone.  God regards each person everywhere, in every nation, speaking every language, practicing every religion, each person in particular.  The particularity of God in seeing each person wakes me up to the particularity of each person who crosses my path.  Each member of the Grace community, each of my family members, each one of my Facebook friends, every stranger at the grocery store, every one of my co-workers and colleagues, each one of my neighbors.  God sees each person, in particular, knows them intimately, loves them.

There are no throw away people, no nameless, faceless bodies, no strangers, even.

There are only people seen, known, and loved by God. 

In this pandemic, a season of isolation, we may feel forgotten.  We may have forgotten others.  But God sees us all.

The announcement of Jesus’ imminent birth through Mary tells the story of a deeply particular God who sees each one of us, a God who sees you.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

The GLOW Show: Blue Christmas

Christmas during a pandemic is likely, for many, a Blue Christmas. In today’s GLOW Show, we take a few minutes for a simple Blue Christmas service. We pray, sing, hear scripture, remember all those we love who have died, and remember the good news of great joy, the news of Christmas.

Sermon for Sunday, December 13

John 1:6-8, 19-28

Today, John the Baptist testifies to the One coming after him.  John prepares the way for the light.  John points not to himself but to the One whose sandal he is unworthy to untie.  John testifies to and prepares the way for and points to Jesus.  John gathers followers, not because John wants people to follow him but rather because he, by divine insight, knows who Jesus is, what Jesus will do, what Jesus’ life and death and resurrection will mean.  John is compelled to testify and prepare the way and point to Jesus because he knows the depth of the good news—and wants to share it.  John is the first and chief witness of Jesus.  He is the primordial godparent who brings their godchild to the baptismal font, the grandparent who takes their grandchild to church, the parent who teaches their child to pray, the neighbor who helps out in times of trouble, the church member who quietly goes about doing good. 

As the first and chief witness of Jesus, we are indebted to John’s testimony.  But there are many who have testified since then.  Our question of the day is: Who pointed you to Jesus, either in word or deed?  To find our community’s reflection, go to the live stream worship feed from Sunday, December 13.

In thinking about those who pointed me to Jesus, I think not of those who are particularly righteous or particularly religious.  Instead, I think of those who know their lives are not just about them, who know the world does not revolve around them, who see that they are part of something larger than just themselves and their family.  So, I give thanks to God for the ways my parents pointed me to Jesus, how we as a family prioritized first not our own pursuits but the pursuit of the common good.  I think of my confirmation mentor, Pam, who, despite having four of her own children, a husband, and a full time job, spent time with me reading scripture, discussing life, and co-teaching Sunday school with me.  I think of my high school principal, Mr. Moerke, also our National Honor Society mentor and a member of the local Roman Catholic parish, who fashioned our National Honor Society to be a community service organization, teenagers serving the larger community.   

In the story of the first and chief witness of Jesus, notice that John the Baptist is asked to identify himself.  Those sent by the religious leaders ask him: Are you the messiah?  No.  Are you Elijah?  No.  Are you the prophet?  No.  Who are you?  What do you say about yourself?  Nothing.  Even after this hard-court press, John only identifies himself as the one meant to prepare the way of the Lord, one unworthy to untie the thong of Jesus’ sandals.  John’s testimony is only about Jesus, not about him, not about his greatness, not about his insight, not about his work.  Similarly, to witness to God and the work of God, for us, is not in any way about us. 

Notice also that we receive no detailed account of John’s success, no report on his number of converts, no list of his devoted followers.  There is no statistical analysis of the impact of John’s witness.  The gospel does not tell stories of lives changed by John’s foray into the wilderness, save one, Jesus’.  John just goes and does what he is called by God to do.  Similarly, to witness to God and the work of God is not to convince anyone else of any particular belief about God.  Rather, for us to witness to God and the work of God is to see what God is doing and join in.  We serve others.  We seek justice.  We work for peace.  We love each person God puts in our path.  We listen.  We help when and where we can.  We live with joy and hope.  We don’t follow Jesus perfectly, and we don’t flatter ourselves.  We are not God.  But by the grace of God, sometimes our hands and feet and voices do the work of God, and in the ways our hands and feet and voices do the work of God, we point to Jesus.  It’s not about us, but we get to participate.  And in participating, we witness.   

As Lutherans, we don’t talk much about that word “witness.”  In spiritual contexts, the word “witness” has often meant “talking about God,” and this is something we often don’t feel qualified to do.  I have heard people say: What do I know?  I’m not a pastor.  I myself have said: What do I know?  I am only a pastor.  But consider how, in a courtroom, witnesses tell a story about the situation at hand.  They remember what happened on a particular day, at a particular time.  Witnesses share who was where and when and why.  Because we value truth in a courtroom in a way unparalleled, witnesses are not only free to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  They are required to do so.  In the ideal world of our justice system, the witness does not weave a story to convince or manipulate the jury.  Instead, the witness simply tells the truth, and if it moves the jury, well and good. 

This is what it is to witness to God.  We tell the story of our lives, and as people of faith, that means we tell a story of God at work in our lives and the life of the world—in whatever words make the most sense to us.  We look around this world, and where we see suffering and injustice, we also see love and generosity and people who care.  And not only do we tell the story, we join the story.  We join in what God is doing.  We love and serve, work for justice and peace.  We hold onto hope and faith.  We tell the truth and live the truth we know in Christ. 

If the story of John the Baptist’s testimony feels short on gospel and long on law, if we feel pressured to be witnesses, the sweetest news of this story lies in its center: that we witness only because there is truly good news to share!

I remember being 16 years old and standing in my pew at the front of the sanctuary with the green hymnal in my hand singing the opening hymn in my home congregation in Pelican Rapids, Minnesota.  Surrounded my whole life by people who had pointed me to Jesus, I suddenly got it: what others had been saying and showing me all that time, all 16 years of my life.  I saw God working in my life and the life of the world.  I saw that my life wasn’t just about me but about something, someone larger than myself.  And I couldn’t believe that the 400 Lutherans standing behind me singing from the green hymnal that morning could just stand there and sing, not passionately enough for my teenage taste given the enormity of God’s good news.  What good news it is: the true light which enlightens everyone was coming into the world.  Jesus is coming.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

The GLOW Show: Grieving our Losses

This Advent and Christmas, we are, as a nation, grieving the many losses of 2020. Christmas is typically difficult for those grieving the loss of a loved one, a job, or a home, and this Christmas may be particularly challenging. In this episode of The GLOW Show, we name the losses of this year and walk through the stages of grief common to all losses.

Sermon from Sunday, December 6

Mark 1:1-8

Our question of the day is: What does Advent mean to you in this strange and difficult year?  I invite us to reflect on this first before we consider today’s story from the gospel of Mark.  To read our community’s reflections, go to the live stream worship feed from December 6, 2020.

For me, entering the church season of Advent feels, finally, like we’ve landed in the right place.  I feel like we’ve been in Advent ever since March 15, and now, we’re finally, officially, in the right season.  I think it’s because Advent is a season of hope and anticipation and not a season of fulfillment...which is partly how I’ve experienced this pandemic time. 

Our Advent hope is that Jesus is a ‘comin’.

Mark’s gospel opens thus: the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  We know, from the first moment, that everything ahead of us will be about Jesus.   Mark’s gospel and all of the gospels, Matthew, Luke, and John, are about the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.  When we consider the basic structure of the Bible, our sacred text, we see two parts: the part before Jesus, the Old Testament, and the part after Jesus, the New Testament.  While all Christians believe God shows up in the world in Jesus, Lutherans in particular focus on the gospels, the good news of Jesus, as the very center of the Christian witness.  We are Jesus people.  But in Mark’s opening story, Jesus is nowhere to be found. 

But Jesus is a ‘comin’. 

Mark begins his good news Jesus story by recalling the words of the prophet Isaiah from the Old Testament, a promise that God would send a messenger ahead of the messiah, someone to pave the way for God’s entrance into the world.  Who is this messenger?  It is none other than the locust and honey-eating  camel’s hair and leather belt-wearing John the Baptist.  A fiery preacher, a charismatic leader, an effective baptizer by the metric of pure numbers.  For people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem go out to him, confess their sins, and are baptized in the River Jordan.  But instead of reveling in his own glory, John points to someone else who will come after him, someone far more worthy, far more powerful, someone endowed with the Holy Spirit.

Jesus is a ‘comin’.

John appears in the wilderness of ancient Israel, a desert place, a dangerous place, a place of wild animals and thieves.  John appears in the wilderness to urge repentance, to baptize, to announce the coming of One greater than he.  John appears not in local synagogues, not in the temple in Jerusalem, not even in city squares.  John appears in the wilderness to make a way for the coming of God.  Couldn’t John’s ministry have been done more effectively elsewhere?  Apparently not.  By God’s design, the first place, the only place John the Baptist announces God’s coming into the world is the wilderness.

Jesus is a ‘comin’--first to the wilderness.

John the Baptist draws people into the wilderness to announce God’s coming, to call them into repentance, to baptize them in the River Jordan.  People from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem gather with him at the banks of the river.  Likely all Jewish, likely men and women and their children, whole households together.  In a day and age of great social and economic disparity, just a small fraction of the population claim social privilege, so the masses gathered on the banks of the Jordan are surely common people, carpenters and fishermen, people of many trades, people familiar with great hardship.  In the heyday of the Roman Empire, John’s wilderness crowd is an occupied people living under the tyranny of Rome.  Instead of drawing the noble and the rich, instead of attracting religious leaders, John announces the coming of God to those marginalized and ignored, people hungry enough for good news they are willing to enter the wilderness to hear it.

Jesus is a ‘comin’.

In the season of Advent, we are eager for the beauty, the joy, the sparkle of Christmas.  But the spartan, gritty, even dangerous circumstances of the real-life Advent of Christ are strikingly dissimilar.  To be clear, I’m with you.  I listen to 1940s sentimental Christmas music on repeat on YouTube.  I’ll be home for Christmas...  It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas...  I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…  But the way God sets up the great reveal, the way God says: “I’m a ‘comin’” is an Advent story more similar to a dystopian science fiction novel than a heart-warming book you read in an armchair with a cup of cocoa watching snow fall next to a roaring fire.  Which makes this Advent story of John the Baptist the perfect story for Advent 2020.  An Advent more dystopian in nature than the heart-warming, cocoa-drinking kind.  Because this year’s Advent and Christmas seasons feel different, with warnings from scientists, doctors, and leaders about the even greater possible surge in Covid-19 deaths through the holidays.  The cozy feelings of Christmas and all the associated events are cut sadly short by the grim news and the gloomy predictions.  Like the ancient Jews who gathered on the banks of the River Jordan, we cannot know exactly what the future will hold.  Maybe we are scared or anxious.  Maybe we are simply uncertain.  Maybe we find ourselves in the wilderness with John the Baptist eager to hear good news of any kind.

And that good news is the same for us as it was for the ancient people: Jesus is a ‘comin’.  Not in the sparkly, beautiful, joyous way that perhaps we would prefer but in ways gritty and spartan and real.  When John announced the coming of Jesus, the people didn’t really know what that meant, but they knew it was hopeful. 

In the process of my sermon writing, I wanted to conclude my sermon with a hopeful promise, to tie up the loose ends of this dystopian Advent.  But real-life Advent is all anticipation and hope, not fulfillment.  Even more, Advent is not about what was but about what will come.  Yes, Jesus came 2,000 years ago, but we know: Jesus is still a ‘comin’ one day and forever.  Amen.

The GLOW Show: Open Ears, Open Hearts with Stories from the Talmud

We conclude our series Open Ears, Open Hearts with two stories from the Talmud, writings from the Jewish tradition, told by our friend Caleb Winebrenner. These stories speak to the power of listening and speech. Enjoy!

Men's Wednesday Morning Bible Study

All Saints Lutheran Church has invited us (and all Phoenix Fusion congregations) to participate in their men's Wednesday morning Bible study, each Wednesday at 8:00 am via zoom. If you are interested, please contact Pastor Sarah (pastorsarah@graceinthecity.com, 602-318-6876) to receive the link and contact information of the coordinator. This study follows the Revised Common Lectionary, the scripture passages read in worship, and includes time for prayer and connection. All Saints is excited to welcome any and all who want to join!

Hear My Voice: A Prison Prayer Book

In this COVID-time, our opportunities to volunteer and visit with those incarcerated in our local prisons and jails have come to a standstill. But the prison ministries of our congregations need not stop. The ELCA has published a prayer book for God’s people in prison: Hear My Voice: A Prison Prayer Book. This book would make a marvelous Christmas gift not only for people in prison but also for your loved ones and friends. Read more about this resource, and how it has supported prisoners and their loved ones, on the ELCA Worship Blog.

December Celebrations

During the month of December, we celebrate with members & friends of Grace.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Barbara B

Chelsea B

Lori C

Jayden L

Clinton R

Nicolas H

Helen M

Fran F

Sabrina P

Stephanie R

Leiana H

Dezi W

Shiley W

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

Scott M & Molly C

Grace's Christmas Eve Schedule

Grace will have in-person services on Thursday, December 24 in the courtyard.

There will be 3 Christmas Eve Services:

Thursday, December 24 at 4:00 pm

Thursday, December 24 at 5:00 pm

Thursday, December 24 at 6:00 pm

If you would like to join, please RSVP by sending an email to officemanager@graceinthecity.com with the number of people in your party and the time that you would like to attend. Attendance will be limited to 25 people per service.

Face masks and social distancing will be strictly enforced.

Facial coverings will be provided if you do not bring one.

A live stream Christmas Eve Service will be offered at 7:30 pm on Facebook Live.

 We will not meet on Christmas Day.

Grace's New Sunday Schedule

On Sundays at Grace:

9:00 am-4:00 pm Water & Food Outreach 

9:00 am-9:30 am In-Person Courtyard Worship

For our regular Sunday in-person courtyard worship, there is no need to RSVP

9:30 am-9:45 am Sunday Spirit via zoom

10:00 am-11:00 am Grace Time via zoom

11:00 am-11:45 am Facebook Live Stream Worship

12:30-1:00 pm Community Building Coffee via zoom

Sermon for Sunday, November 29

Mark 13:24-37

Advent, the church season upon which we have just embarked, a season of uncertainty.  Advent is a season for our day.  Though humanity has found itself mired in uncertainty many times even in recent history, during World War II, the Bay of Pigs, the cold war, and the Spanish flu pandemic, we feel uncertainty afresh these days.  Earlier in April, I enthusiastically declared we would celebrate Easter on whatever Sunday we were back in church.  The middle of August, I had the audacity to predict we would restart the pancake breakfast in October.  I was going to say: I know better now, but we did reschedule the prayer retreat for the end of April.  We can make all the predictions and plans we want, but one thing I’ve learned from our prolonged Advent is that uncertainty cannot be planned away.  I like control maybe more than the average person, and I really did believe that, if I were spunky and positive, I could outsmart uncertainty.  I haven’t.  I won’t.  Advent, the season of uncertainty, a season for our day.

We may not see Advent this way, we who know the quote-unquote “end” of the Jesus story.  We may see Advent as simply the prelude to a foregone conclusion.  After Advent comes Christmas, every year.  We light the 3 blue candles.  We light the 1 pink one.  We sing Prepare ye the way of the Lord.  We sing O come, o come, Emmanuel, and right on the dot, December 24 comes, with Silent Night, Holy Night.  That’s the way Advent rolls.  But that’s not how the first Advent worked, and that’s not where Advent actually points us.

The gospel of Mark, from which our reading comes this morning, was written in about 70 of the common era, about 40 years after Jesus’ death, resurrection, and ascension.  At this time and for many years later, the Roman Empire persecuted Jesus followers.  Rome occupied Israel, and in 70 of the common era, the temple in Jerusalem, the center of Jewish religious life in the first century, was destroyed in the Roman-Jewish war.  Thus, Mark was written right at the time of this incredible devastation, a devastation described in Mark chapter 13, today’s reading.  Unlike his earlier healings and feedings, miracles and teachings about giving up possessions and loving our neighbors, Jesus’ sermon in Mark 13 strikes an eerie tone.  Today, we only hear the second half of it, the half describing chaos in the natural world and then the coming of the Son of Man.  But the first half speaks of wars, earthquakes, and famines, of desolating sacrilege, suffering, betrayal, and of course, the destruction of the temple.  Jesus warns the disciples to be on the lookout for false saviors who will lead them astray—for the ancient Jews were waiting for a savior, a Messiah, a king who would end their present suffering and usher in an era of everlasting peace right after the king killed all their enemies. 

Suffice it to say: Life for ancient Jews was incredibly uncertain.  Life for ancient Jesus followers was incredibly uncertain.  Life for us is incredibly uncertain.  Of course, we like to pretend it’s not.  We makes plans and schedules.  We set up routines that provide comfort and structure.  Living in an erratic world, we numb our emotions with a variety of vices.  We tell ourselves that certain things are for certain, never to be questioned.  Actually, this is not the way life is, and even Jesus acknowledges it. 

Given our season of pandemic, especially at this particular time when we seem to be on the cusp of the beginning of its end because of the promised vaccines, how very appropriate that we find ourselves in Advent.  Perhaps we want to rush to the end, skip Advent and move right to Christmas, to find the baby in the manger, find a savior, find, perhaps, a saving vaccine.  I do.  But for right now, Advent is where we are.  Advent teaches us that while our uncertainty is real, so is our hope. 

Our Question of the Day is: Where do you find hope during uncertain times?  To find the community’s responses, go to the live stream worship feed on the Grace Facebook page for Sunday, November 29

In all the eerie language of Jesus’ sermon, in all his doomsday prediction, in my consistent avoidance of this portion of the gospels, I have missed this one piece of good news.  Jesus describes to his disciples a future of hardship and suffering and uncertainty, and no doubt, they come to experience it.  But the one piece we forget is that the Son of Man does come in power and glory.  One day, somehow, the Son of Man will come.  That is why Jesus commands his disciples: Keep awake—for your hope is certain.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

Wilbur the Pig is back!

Wilbur the Pig is back!  During the month of December, Wilbur is receiving funds for Bibles that will be shared with Together for Hope, a rural development coalition in Mississippi.  You may share a financial gift for them in all the ways you normally share financial gifts; just make a note of “Wilbur” on your gift. Thank you!

For those who may be unfamiliar with Wilbur the Pig, here is Wilbur’s history.

Charlotte's Web is a book by E.B. White, about a pig named Wilbur and his adventures on a farm. A spider named Charlotte saves Wilbur from being butchered by putting words in her webs.

“A miracle has happened on this farm... in the middle of the web there were the words 'Some Pig'... we have no ordinary pig." ― E.B. White, Charlotte's Web 

The pig was molded in a glass factory with many other pigs in Reading, PA. He was chosen from a factory outlet store to live in a Harrisburg home for several years. Over the years, he contained flowers or ribbons or a match book collection. He and his owner eventually moved to Phoenix, AZ in April 1987.

Like many of us, he came to visit Grace Lutheran and stayed several years. That first summer he was introduced as a focal point for collecting ‘noisy’ and ‘quiet’ donations for one community project and sat in the Sanctuary. That fall, he was still at Grace, so the children of Grace’s Sunday School named him Wilbur, after the pig in Charlotte’s Web. Sometimes, Wilbur sits in the entrance of the sanctuary, near the other greeters to the second church service.

Wilbur has participated in so many collections during his years at Grace Lutheran, he even has his own financial account. The recipient of the account varies by month or by several months, but the purpose is always to collect funds to benefit others.

So when you hear that ‘Wilbur is collecting’, you know that this ‘some special pig’ is asking us to think of others with prayerful and cheerful ‘noisy’ and ‘quiet’ donations.