At Grace, we are called by God to be in the city for good! For those interested in volunteering this summer, we invite you to attend the orientation held in the North Room of Hope Hall on June 9th from 11:30a.m. - 1:30 p.m. Lunch will be served. Please RSVP at outreach@graceinthecity.com or call Clottee Hammons at 602-817-8996 if you plan to attend. View PDF flyer.
At the center of our religion, love. What heals us, love. What heals our communities, love. Also, the stated motive of most religious people, regardless of actual outcomes, love. I agree with the Beatles: “All you need is love.”
As we expectantly wait for Christmas, one persona dominates the church world, another persona our culture at large. These two prominent figures both speak of how we should act, what we should do—and the consequences if we do not. The persona of our culture at large? Who can we find everywhere at malls and on cards and sung about in songs during the month of December? Santa Claus.
How about the persona of the church world? Who is it who dominates our Advent stories? Right. John the Baptist.
Just prior to Lent and in preparation for our annual spiritual journey to the cross, all are welcome to participate in a rite of private confession on Tuesday, February 16. Pastor Sarah has times open every half an hour between 3:00 and 7:00 pm. Confession may be done over zoom or over the phone. Please email her at pastorsarah@graceinthecity.com to claim a time.
Mark 1:14-20
When we read that Simon and Andrew, James and John cast their nets into the Sea of Galilee to catch fish, we in our 21st century understanding of fishing probably glide right past these descriptive words and form instead a mental image of fishermen standing on a dock with fishing rods and reels, of men in hats sitting contentedly in boats waiting for fish to bite, of fly fishermen in tall boots standing in a flowing river. By contrast, Simon and Andrew, James and John stand on the shore or get in boats, yes, but armed with nets, nets they cast into the sea. Fish small enough to wriggle through the mesh of the nets swim on their way while larger fish remain caught inside. In the gospel of Matthew, you may recall that Jesus tells a parable about the kingdom of God, how the kingdom is like a net thrown into the sea that catches fish of every kind. Fishing by casting nets does not allow the fisher-person to discriminate. Contrary to a lure strategy with rod and reel that aims for only certain fish, a cast net captures fish of (almost) every kind. The small ones get through; it’s not a perfect metaphor. Jesus, Simon and Andrew, James and John were as thoroughly immersed in their contemporary culture as we are in ours, so when Jesus calls them to follow him and promises he will make them fish for people, he is not alluding to a rod and reel, lure-driven strategy of fishing for certain people. In a culture where fishing means casting nets, Jesus promises they will cast nets for people, dredging up people of every kind.
My whole life, I have heard many people of goodwill articulate strategies for luring certain people into the church. The intent behind such strategies is completely understandable as we seek to maintain our institutions. I too feel the pull of luring younger people, wealthier people, people who fit our definitions of vibrant and healthy into the congregations that make up the ELCA and into Grace specifically. But this week, as I hear Jesus call Simon and Andrew, James and John into a ministry of casting nets, our lure-based strategies turn sour. For they are not really consistent with Jesus’ vision of community. We know this not simply because of Jesus’ words here in Mark chapter one but because of the wide swath of people included in Jesus’ own community. Fishermen and tax collectors, common, everyday people, both healthy and sick, faithful Jews and even Gentiles, crowds of hungry and hurting people. Jesus dines not just with Zacchaeus the tax collector but with Simon the Pharisee. Nicodemus, a Pharisee, comes to Jesus at night, and religious authorities of every stripe gather close enough to hear Jesus’ teaching—and complain about his disobedient miracles and disreputable friends. Jesus casts nets in his ministry, teaches his disciples to cast nets, and calls us to also cast nets.
When we cast nets and invite people at large to join our community, people of every kind surface. We have a tendency, me along with the rest of us, to consider some people a good catch and others people we would rather throw back into the sea. You know what I mean. We would rather throw back those who are difficult, needy, and struggling for reasons we judge. We would rather throw back those who think differently than us. We would rather pass particular people onto some other community, a community more like them. Quite frankly, when we gather in certain people, we don’t even consider them part of our community even when they are here day in, day out or week in, week out.
Probably the trickiest part of Jesus’ mission for us to understand, for me personally to understand, is that Jesus neither pities people nor discounts them. In the church at large, we have seen some people as members of our church and other people as those to whom we bring the good news of Christ in many and various forms: food, water, clothing, visits in prison. We are the “real” members while others are simply recipients of our goodwill, of our “mission.” Some of us give while others receive...and never shall the two share in genuine community, giving and receiving freely between them, loving one another. This, my beloved friends in Christ, this is a false dichotomy. Jesus calls people of every kind to follow him. Jesus empowers people of every kind for ministry akin to his. Jesus loves people of every kind—just as they are. In today’s story from the gospel of Mark, Jesus calls fishermen to stand at his side, to be his closest, most intimate friends, to assist him in proclaiming and revealing the good news of God. He finds them worthy of sharing his ministry. These smelly, backwater fishermen are as “real” members of the church as any group of life-long Lutherans.
We are here, part of the church and part of the Grace community specifically, because someone cast a net, and we surfaced. The question of the day is: Who or what brought you to church for the first time? To read the community’s reflections, go to the Facebook live stream worship feed from Sunday, January 24. Someone brought us or invited us, perhaps a parent or grandparent, maybe a neighbor or coworker. Someone built a website we found. Someone held an event here that led us to come to worship. Maybe the Spirit of God worked in ways that go beyond human action. Someone cast a net, and we surfaced. We belong here, in God’s church, just as everyone else does. God has given us to each other to love and serve and share life. We are people of every kind, called to follow the One who casts nets and gathers us all in. Thanks be to God! Amen.
During the season of Epiphany, we read stories of Jesus calling people to follow him. On The GLOW Show, we hear from Phoenix area Lutheran pastors about what it means for them to follow Jesus. Today, Pastor Brent Maxwell who serves Gloria Dei Lutheran Church in Paradise Valley joins us. Enjoy!
John 1:43-51
This week, I wrote a whole sermon and then deleted it on Saturday afternoon. I wrote a sermon about coming and seeing Jesus—just as Philip invites Nathanael in our gospel story. I wrote a sermon asking us: Can anything good come out of the pandemic? to mirror Nathanael’s question: Can anything good come out of Nazareth? Yes and yes. But upon further reflection, I don’t think that’s the question this gospel story from John invites us to consider.
Because we two thousand years later get to read the gospel of John in its entirety, we know it opens with these majestic words: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. And the word became flesh and lived among us, full of grace and truth. Right from the start, we know that Jesus is the Word of God incarnate. But the people whom Jesus gathers to follow him circa 30 of the common era, they do not have the benefit of a Bible to read. Seemingly out of the blue, Jesus travels to Galilee and recruits Philip to follow him. Then, Philip finds Nathanael and reports that he has found the one about whom Moses and the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth. Why Philip declares Jesus the fulfillment of the law and prophets is really not clear as Jesus has done nothing this early in the gospel to warrant such praise. Wary of Jesus’ sketchy hometown, since that’s all Nathanael knows of Jesus, Nathanael asks: Can anything good come out of Nazareth? It is then that Philip says: Come and see, and Nathanael does come and see. Nathanael meets the man Jesus and after just a quick exchange declares Jesus the Son of God.
Who is this One Philip invites Nathanael to come and see? The further we read through the story, the more titles pile on: “him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote,” Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth, Rabbi, Son of God, King of Israel, Son of Man. Titles of honor and glory, privilege and prestige, with the one exception of son of Joseph from Nazareth. We gospel-readers two thousand years later know that these aren’t the only titles Jesus can claim. Jesus is the Word of God incarnate, the light of the world, God in the flesh. Jesus is God, according to the gospel of John, and throughout the gospel, Jesus speaks with an authority that can only be God’s own authority. Despite the majestic portrait John paints of Jesus, the portrait is complex because Jesus is not simply God but a man, the son of Joseph. More than any of the other three gospels, the gospel of John lifts up the crucifixion of Jesus as the moment of deepest significance. A deeply human moment of suffering and pain. A moment when God enters fully into the suffering of all humanity. This is the One Philip invites Nathanael to see...even if he himself doesn’t yet understand what it means.
The question of the day is: How are you feeling about the pandemic as we end month number 10? To see the community’s reflections, go to the Facebook live stream of worship on Sunday, January 17. In month ten of this pandemic and its accompanying recession, coupled with political tension and an intensified call for racial justice, we are tired. Parents are tired of trying to balance child care and work. Students are tired of screens. Folks on the street are tired of no place to be. Many are tired of isolation. We are tired of being scared and taking precautions. In these frightening and exhausting and continually unprecedented days, we may wonder when God is going to show up. We may lift up our voices with the people of old crying out: How long, oh Lord? We may feel abandoned by God. On the other hand, we may be focusing on the bright spots: vaccine roll out, economic stimulus checks in the mail, dramatically lower carbon emissions this year, the care of family and friends when we are struggling, random acts of kindness from strangers. Whether we feel stuck, isolated, and afraid OR hopeful, energized, and empowered to make positive change, we probably all would like to see Jesus revealed as a glorious savior, a divine superhero, a mighty king who boldly ends the transmission of Covid-19, puts our economy to rights, unites the whole people of this country for the sake of the common good, and establishes justice. Yet I am struck this morning by John’s portrait of Jesus, a God-man who comes not to triumph but to suffer.
Jesus comes not to triumph but to suffer—because of God’s desire to so deeply enter into the human experience with us. Yes, of course, Jesus ultimately triumphs, but according to the gospel of John, first and foremost, Jesus, the God-man, comes to be with us whatever life is like for us. Jesus is here in these difficult days even when they do not contain a shred of hope. Jesus is here in celebratory days when we are filled with hope. God comes to be with us, however we are, whatever is going on, not to change our lives through miraculous works necessarily but simply to be with us. This may not feel like enough, a God incarnate, a God who comes simply to be with us, but in our most difficult moments, we know that the only thing that makes anything better is this: to know we are not alone. And indeed, we are not. Come and see Jesus.
Come, get up, lift up your heads, see. Throw off the lethargy of these days. Rub the dreariness from your eyes. Look around you and pay attention. We are not alone in this world. When you forget or when you struggle to trust God’s presence with us, come here to Grace. I’m not kidding. Show up here and see that God is with us, that God has not abandoned us, that God is walking this difficult road with us. Day after day, I am grateful that I get to be here, to see the ways God works among us, to hear your stories of hope and also sadness. Somehow, in a way I do not entirely understand, God makes God’s presence known here. Come and see. Jesus is here. Thanks be to God! Amen.
During the season of Epiphany on The GLOW Show, pastors from Phoenix Fusion congregations are sharing about what it means to follow Jesus. This week, we welcome Pastor Kristin Rice from All Saints Lutheran Church in north Phoenix. Enjoy!
Mark 1:4-11
The Question of the Day is: How are you feeling about what happened in Washington, DC on January 6? To read the community’s reflections, go to the Grace Facebook page live stream worship feed for Sunday, January 10.
I am weary, angered, and saddened by the events of this past Wednesday in Washington, DC, the forced entry into the US capitol by citizens of this country, the violence perpetrated, the response to an election so free and fair that numerous courts served by judges of both political parties have found no credible evidence of fraud, the disproportionately lax response by capitol police to this violence compared to last summer’s demonstrations. I love our democracy, and I am inspired by our shared values of freedom, space for a diversity of opinions, and the method of debate and discussion over violence in solving problems. Those who hurt and threatened others and dishonored boundaries in the US capitol do not in any way embody the shared values of this nation. The physical assault and threat of physical assault of law enforcement, bystanders, and elected leaders is not the reasoned, peaceful articulation of a dissenting opinion.
How do we make sense of this? What is going on? Quite obviously, the answers to these questions are wide and deep, and we will not be able to completely understand until we look back 50 years from now with a more critical and objective eye. I assume these actions stem from a mixture of growing division, systemic racism, lack of trust in government, decay of community life, and our culture which allows violence (instead of ending it—because we can end violence), our culture that nurtures blame (instead of truth and accountability), and our culture that assumes punishment is the most effective strategy for making change (instead of practicing grace and solving problems together).
In addition to these causes, I wonder also what need is being articulated. I was struck by President Trump’s words to the people who entered the US capitol and perpetrated violence. While he encouraged them to go home peacefully, President Trump also said, and I quote, “We love you. You’re very special.” I wonder if we are a people yearning to hear these words—and that we will receive them with gratitude even from one who bullies and name calls and disrespects others. I wonder if we are people desperate to be loved. I wonder if the need articulated by those who perpetrated these acts is a need to be loved, recognized, acknowledged.
While I am weary, angered, and saddened by what has taken place, I understand the need to be loved. I need to be loved too. Without simplifying the complexity of what has happened, I would like to know what I can do, what force I can exert, what light I can shine in a world broken by all the aforementioned acts and long-entrenched systems.
Of course, we can write our legislators. We can work for justice in situations of injustice. We can learn and read and discuss what we do not understand. We can build relationships with a variety of people and listen deeply to them. But most of all, first of all, essentially, we can love. Because the only way is love. The only way is love.
We can go twenty rounds about what is truly loving, but friends, we know. We know love when we see it, feel it, hear it. You, the people of Grace Lutheran Church, by the grace of God, you are pretty amazing at love. During my sermon preparation, I started to list the ways I see love manifest among you, but my list got too long. I realized that I would have to include every single one of you by name in order to capture the depth and width and breadth of the love we, by the grace of God, individually and collectively exercise. In this moment when we could easily succumb to anger or fear or sadness, the good news of Jesus invites us to, instead, practice love. For this moment in our nation requires us to love others more deeply, to love ourselves fully, to love God such that we trust this way of love. Love does not mean we ignore lies and betrayals; it means we see ourselves and others as broken people who are trying to find their way. We can hold ourselves and others accountable while still showing grace and compassion.
Thanks be to God that our God is the Source of all love! In our gospel story today, people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem gather at the River Jordan to be baptized by John. John offers a baptism of repentance, invites people to renounce their sin, to turn from their broken ways, to tell the truth about what they do, say, and think, no matter how ugly or beautiful it is. The people gathered at the River Jordan are open, honest, vulnerable. They know they have fallen short. They come to the water not because they are perfect but because they know they need help. Jesus, too, comes to the River Jordan and is baptized by John. We who read this story two thousand years later probably wonder: why would Jesus come for a baptism of repentance? Of what would he possibly need to repent? And so I wonder if the reason Jesus treads down the banks of the Jordan and allows John to baptize him is that God needs to tell the truth too, to tell the truth about Jesus, to tell the truth about all humanity. When Jesus comes up out of the water, he sees the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. A voice from heaven, possibly heard by all gathered, declares: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” The truth about Jesus is that he is God’s son, and he is beloved. The truth about all humanity, even when our actions and words and thoughts are ugly and broken, the truth about all humanity is that we are God’s daughters and sons, and we are beloved. On this festival of the Baptism of Christ, I am deeply glad and rejoice that God loves us not simply when we are right and good but that God loves us when our deepest wounds and very worst traits reveal themselves. God comes to the banks of the Jordan! The Spirit descends not in the temple, not in the holy place, not at a moment of human triumph but when people are literally on their knees.
The love of God revealed on the day of Jesus’ baptism is a love we too receive from God. We are beloved. And so is everyone else. Thanks be to God! Amen.
During worship in the church season of Epiphany, we tell stories of Jesus calling disciples and inviting people to follow him. What does it mean to follow Jesus? Each week, Lutheran pastors from Phoenix-area congregations will answer this question. This week, Pastor Mary Louise Frenchmen from Native American Urban Ministry shares what it means for her to follow Jesus. Enjoy!
Isaiah 9:2-7
The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. Those who lived in a land of deep darkness, on them light has shined.
Thus begins our prophecy from Isaiah chapter 9. This passage, its despair-busting, hope-producing, singable Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace stir within us all we wish for at Christmas. Of course, this passage’s context is not the birth of a first-century messiah named Jesus even though we read it this night. And the metaphors of light and darkness, if not then, certainly now are heavily weighed down by the problematic nature of equating darkness with evil and suffering, death and injustice. Still, Isaiah’s words awaken in us the fervent hope that a baby can change everything, that a great light shines in the darkness, that joy is within our reach.
Darkness, though, is not going to be vanquished. Evil and suffering, death and injustice will continue. We know. We feel the burdens of these many months. Illness. Death. Grief. Job loss. Business loss. Isolation. Rise in domestic violence. Exhaustion—from zoom and for parents and teachers and healthcare workers. Systemic racism. Division. Darkness is not going to be vanquished in one fell swoop, not even by the messiah. We may feel betrayed by God to learn the promise of the messiah was not that the messiah would beat back the darkness. Isaiah and, later, the gospel of John speak instead of the light to come.
Several years ago, youth from All Saints Lutheran Church joined the youth of Grace to put together the Christmas gift bags we usually shared with folks at the pancake breakfast on the Sunday closest to Christmas. After eating pizza together and some rowdy name games, we gathered for a devotion. It was the Friday evening closest to Christmas and thus dark outside, but inside Hope Hall, the safety lights still glowed. Seeking a truly dark space, I directed all of us to the Sonshine Room, where we keep our heat respite water supply. At this time, the city hadn’t yet fixed the lighting problem in the alley, so the Sonshine Room was pitch black. Together in the dark, we probably 30 adults and kids, we remembered the things that were hard for us in those days. We named them, one by one. Then I lit a match. Just a tiny flame. But we could instantly see each other, nearly everyone in the room. We collectively gasped. Truly stuck in the dark, that tiny flame illuminated the space. Each person held a candle, and we silently passed the light to each other until all the room was lit up. It was still night. We still hadn’t turned on the lights. There were still shadows in the corners. But the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. Those who lived in a land of deep darkness, on them light has shined.
The promise is not an end to the darkness. The promise is a light in the darkness.
This Christmas Eve, we tell the story of a young couple traveling, of a baby born, of shepherds visited by angels, by good news of great joy for all the people. Still, Jesus’ birth does not end all suffering. There are other parts of the story: a couple without social support because of the questionable circumstances of Mary’s pregnancy, the real life pain and blood of birth, the circumstances of the Roman Empire, occupation and corruption and violence. But in a land of deep darkness, a light shines.
God entered the darkness of the world with a light to shine: God’s own presence in Jesus. And God is with us now, here, at 1124 N 3rd Street, shining in us, in word and song, in bread and the fruit of the vine. And Christ’s light shines not just here but in all and for all the world. Where have you seen the light of Christ shine? To read our community’s reflections, go to the live stream worship Facebook feed from December 24 at 7:30 pm.
My most recent glimpse of Christ’s light was not profound but mundane. Yesterday, I picked up water at Costco for our outreach at the northwest gate since we were completely out. I staggered out of Costco with my long cart loaded down with 9 large cases of water and maneuvered over to my car. I opened my trunk and lugged the first case into it. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, my cart crept into the line of traffic. You can imagine how many people were at Costco on December 23, and I had unintentionally bottlenecked traffic in the Costco parking lot. But the couple right next to me, loading boxes into their vehicle, almost immediately cried out: Whoa!, pulled the cart out of the line of traffic, and then asked me: Do you need help? We then loaded my car with the water together. In the moment I needed help, it was provided.
Christ’s birth, God’s incarnation, God’s presence among us does not vanquish darkness, but it does shine a light. We who walk in a land of deep darkness, on us light has shined. Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! Amen.
