Gimpy Faith Year C, Pentecost 19, Genesis 32:22-31, Luke 18:1-8,

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.  Amen

Wrestle with God, if you must, hold fast throughout the night, and when morning comes don’t be surprised that you come up wounded from the battle.  One does not prevail against God and remain unscathed.  Yet cling to the promise, nevertheless.

When I went into ministry, one of my biggest concerns was prayer.

I had idealized notions of what prayer was all about, and very overwhelming sense that other people’s piety afforded them a prayer life that I simply didn’t have.

My sense was that my father, for example, was richly blessed with an ability to pray that escaped me.

He would pray as though God was just around the corner in the next room.  Raise your voice a little, which he did, and God will hear you.

I had heard others talk about their lives of prayer and devotion, and it often seemed like they had an admirable ability to be in conversation with God as though God was their best friend.  The words just flowed. 

This struggle remained with me throughout my years in ministry.

Of all the questions I’ve been asked during interviews by call committees, the one that gave me the most trouble was “Tell us about your personal life of prayer.”

If I had to tell you about it in an interview it was no longer my personal life of prayer.

That was one objection.

But the other was a sense of inadequacy.

I wish I could pray like my father.

But I can’t.

It’s not that I don’t pray.  I do.  You know that.

I’ve prayed with people from birth to the grave.

Sometimes my prayers are eloquent.

Sometimes they are labored and cumbersome.

Still, at other times I’ve felt inspired to pray.

At one such time I composed this prayer, which remains my favorite:

Hold me tight, most precious Lord,

                That I might follow you.

Grant me grace to live each day,

                May I be born anew.

Lift me up whenever I fall,

                And never let me fade

From the grace filled light

                Of your own sight

                That turns the night to day.

Yet prayer remains a struggle.

One of the issues I’ve had to deal with is the philosophical one.

I’ve questioned as a philosopher, the effectiveness of prayer.

My struggles philosophically with prayer are similar to the “problem of evil” that philosophers debate.

If God is all loving, and God is all powerful, then why is there evil?

Evil continues, so either God is not all loving, or God simply isn’t able to stop it.

That’s the problem of evil for philosophers.

My philosophical problem with prayer was similar.

When we pray for something good, like a cure from a deadly disease, and the person we are praying for dies anyway, then we ask why.

Perhaps we didn’t pray ‘right’.  It’s our fault for not praying as we ought.  But what a burden that is for us to bear.  I’ve prayed with moms and dads whose children were dying, and they did die.  Do I really want to believe that the reason they died was because of my inadequacy in prayer???  That if I had just been better at it, they would have lived???  That’s it’s my fault???

Maybe God just doesn’t hear our prayers.

You know, God has a lot on his mind, what with being the Lord of the Universe and all.  Perhaps he just doesn’t have time to worry about my surgery next week. 

Well, if God doesn’t have time to listen, why pray?

Or perhaps, God does care and listen to our prayers, but he just can’t do anything about it.

Babies will die.

Tragedies will happen in spite of our prayers, because God can’t or won’t intervene.

That’s a philosophical problem with prayer.  And it eats away at our faith.

But then there are other times when prayer seems to work like magic. 

Healing happens.

Doors open.

It’s just a clear as day.

And when it’s all over everyone involved just really senses that the hand of God was all over it.

As a bishop of mine once said:

“Dave, this is a God thing.”

Sometimes, you just know that.

As I’ve struggled with prayer over the years there are two passages from the Bible that have become most dear to me.

The first is from Romans 8:

26 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. 27 And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

Over the years, I’ve prayed eloquent prayers, and not so eloquent prayers.  Sometimes I’ve know just what to say and how to say it.  At other times I searched for the right words.

But more times than not, I’ve learned to sigh.

“Sighs to deep for words” has become for me a model for prayer.

And as I sigh, I also cling to the promise that the Spirit is helping me in my weakness and that those deeply felt sighs are actually the Spirit’s own intercessions.

The second passage is today’s Old Testament lesson.

4Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. 25When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. 26Then he said, “Let me go, for the day is breaking.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” 27So he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” 28Then the man said, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.”

There may be a lot of things I haven’t done well with respect to prayer.

But, I can tell you this much, I have spent many a sleepless night wrestling with God.

This story about Jacob is amazing.

He wrestled all night.  All night.

And it was not just another man with whom he struggled, but God.

And having prevailed against God throughout the night he received God’s blessing at the break of day.

With a catch.

A dislocated hip.

Gimpy.

He prevailed in his struggles with God, but was left with a limp when it was all over.  It took its toll.

Jacob had feared for his life as he anticipated meeting up with his brother Esau the next day.

You remember the story.

He had cheated Esau out of his birthright, and had been on the run ever since.

Now was the day of reckoning. 

Jacob had tricked his father Isaac into giving him Esau’s blessing, and now he had the audacity to wrestle with God until God blessed him as well.

Jacob often is looked upon as a despicable character, a cheat.

Yet there is another dimension to him.

A faithful dimension.

As evidenced by his wrestling through the night and prevailing, Jacob had a persistent, resilient, and unwavering faith.

He wrestled through the night and prevailed, and for that, God blessed him. 

In today’s Gospel lesson Jesus tells us as his disciples to “pray always and not to lose heart.”

And he tells the parable about the woman who persisted in her appeals to the judge for justice, and finally was granted her wish because of that persistence. 

A stubborn, persistent, demanding even, faith.

Do not lose heart.

Do not give up.

Wrestle through the night but never let go.

Never let go of God.

Wrestle with God, struggle with God, but hold fast to God and the promise of his blessing.

That’s the epitome of faith.

To struggle through the night, and to prevail until morning when the promise is fulfilled.

The struggle may not be easy.

We may come up limping as a result.

But in the end God will be faithful to his promise.

Amen

Year C, Pentecost 7, Luke 11.1-13, Prayer Changes Life

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.  Amen

In Romans the 8^th Chapter it is written:

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. 27 And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

“Tell us about your personal life of prayer.”

That is a question that I’ve was asked in my interview for the position in Sandpoint twenty years ago.

I actually rather resented the question.

The reason being, that if I have to tell a call committee in an interview about my “personal” life of prayer, and be judged on that basis, then it is no longer a “personal” life of prayer, but a “professional” practice.

It’s not that I don’t have a personal life of prayer.

I do.

But it is quite private.

Over the course of my life and ministry I am often called upon to offer prayers, many times at the most critical moments in their life.  There have also been those times that I would pray for a person who is dying, knowing that my words may very well be the last words that person hears in this world.

Whether I’m asked to pray before a congregational meal, or in a hospital room, there is a bit of a performance about it.  At least I can’t help but feel the necessity of doing a “good job” at it, after all, I’m a pastor and pastor’s ought to be able to pray well.

The truth is that sometimes the words flow easily, as naturally as a conversation with someone we love.  That of course is what prayer is.

At other times, though, finding the words is just difficult.

More times than not, this is where I find myself in my personal prayer life.

Professionally, I’m paid to find the right words.

Personally, I don’t always know how to pray as I ought.

But I’m very good at sighing.

“What did you say?” Karla will ask.

“Nothing.”  I reply. 

“You sigh and groan a lot.” She responds.  “A lot.”

And that, I believe, is truly the Spirit interceding for me, with those sighs too deep for words.

“Teach us how to pray.” The disciples asked.

And so Jesus taught them what has become known as the Lord’s Prayer, a prayer that has been on the lips of nearly every Christian since.

Teach us how to pray.

I’ve had another struggle with prayer over the years.

It’s the whole “the rain falls on the just and the unjust alike” thing.

Does prayer work?

I pray that people will be healed.

                Sometimes they are.

                Sometimes they are not.

The same can be said for people who never pray at all.

Some of them live, some of them die.

What difference does prayer make?

I don’t know the answer to that question.  What I do know is that Jesus did teach his disciples to pray, and so we do.

Prayer, in this regard, is a most basic act of obedience.

We pray because Jesus taught us to pray and told us to pray. 

Not only does he tell us to pray, he tells us to be persistent.  Almost as though he is saying that we can wear God down and get him to do what we want by just continuing to nag him time and time again.

And yet our experience is that often, even when we persist, our prayers are not answered as we like.

“God always answers prayer,” people say, “it just that sometimes the answer is ‘Yes’, sometimes it is ‘No’, and sometimes it is ‘Not yet.’”

But again, my cynical side struggles with such a response.  How is that any different than not praying at all.

So if we’re sick, and don’t pray, we will either get well, or not, or maybe it will take some more time.

You see those three possibilities cover all the bases. 

And so what difference does prayer make?

Sometimes, the reason that it’s hard to come up with a satisfactory answer is because we are asking the wrong question.

Often, when we ask if prayer works, what we are actually asking  is if I always get what I want when I pray.

The answer to that is quite simple.  “No.”

No, I don’t always get what I want when I pray.  Nobody does. 

But there is something that always happens when we pray.

When we pray, we develop a faithful relationship with our Lord and God.

Prayer is no more about asking God for one thing after another, than a conversation with our spouse is just about getting our own way.

We don’t just talk to our spouse when we want something.

We talk to them because we love them, and that’s what lovers do.

We talk to them because we care for them, and that’s what caring entails.

We talk to them because we enjoy it.

We talk to them because our day is not as good without it.

And sometimes, we simply sit in silence, yet know that they are still there at our side.

That’s the way it is with prayer.

We talk to God because we love him, and care, and enjoy it, and benefit from it.

And sometimes, we simply sit with God in silence, knowing that even then, he is still there.

“3If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

Here I’m going to tell you what is most important.

If you were confirmation kids taking sermon notes, I say, “Write this down”.  It’s the main point.

Prayer is about the Holy Spirit, not about our getting what we want.

Prayer always involves the Spirit.

Without the Spirit we cannot even so much as say “Our Father.”

And so to pray is to experience in a first hand, concrete way the presence of God’s Spirit in your life.

Sometimes when people pray they talk about “praying in the Spirit”, and by that they mean praying in tongues or other such charismatic practices.

What I’m saying is that all prayer is ‘praying in the Spirit’ because whenever we pray the Spirit is there.

And whenever the Spirit is present in our lives, we are drawn into a relationship with the Father and the Son.

Finally, there is one thing that prayer ALWAYS does.

Prayer always changes us.

I may not be able to change you with my prayers.

I may not be able to change God with my prayers.

But always, I am changed.

As I pray, I will grow and mature in my faith and relationship with God.

It’s that simple.  It will happen.

Every time.

And one of the changes that will take place is that I will develop a sense of gratitude toward God, and an appreciation of all that God’ has done for me.

Amen.

Year B, Pentecost 6, Mark 5.21-43, Unfailing Hope

Grace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus, The Christ.  Amen

Desperate Hope,

Resilient Faith,

And Healing—

                These are the words that come to me today.

We believe in a God who is the author and giver of all life, and Jesus, the Son who came to redeem and heal.

Powerful stories of healing dot our lives.

We’ve heard them, perhaps even experienced them.

And also, there are those times of disappointment, of longing for a healing that did not come.

This is the stuff, the important stuff, of faith and life.

A father is desperate.

His daughter is at the point of death, and so, he reaches out to Jesus, begging him to lay his hands on his daughter and make her well, so that she might live.

Many people have prayed the prayer.

Sometimes we pray because we believe it’s the first thing we should do.  We pray at the first sign of trouble, a diagnosis we did not want, and yet we pray with a degree of confidence in the prognosis, believing that God can heal us through the various gifts of the medical profession.

And indeed, there are so many times when those prayers do not disappoint, when healing comes, and when life is fully restored.

Thinking of my own life, I am reminded of having heart surgery.  My mitral valve had failed.  In time, it might have killed me.

Prayers were offered.  And a skilled surgeon sought out, and healing happened.  A time of thanksgiving.  And then life goes on.  It’s been over fifteen years now and everything is fine.

Such healings come so frequently these days, we hardly even think of them as an answer to prayer.  We tend to think that healing occurred because we had a gifted surgeon.  And a well trained medical staff. 

Yet, we pray because that’s what we do as people of faith, and whether Jesus gets the credit or not, we are healed.

Thanks be to God.

When Jairus came to Jesus, it was not the first thing he had tried.

His was not a prayer of reverent and confident piety offered as a matter of course.

Everything he had tried had failed.

His daughter was at the point of death.

And his prayer was now one of desperation.

Brad was my doctor, the one who had diagnosed my heart problem.

A few years after that, tumors were discovered in Brad’s  brain.  Such news sets all sorts of things in action.  Surgery was not possible, but radiation was, and so the journey began.

Prayers, week in and week out.

But as the weeks and months passed by, those prayers became increasingly desperate, and even hopeless.  At the point of death we prayed more for peace, than healing, and in anticipation of the resurrection.

That’s likely where Jairus was, hoping against all hope, desperate, but also realistic. 

What could it hurt, this one last try.

There was no time to waste.

And so he turned to Jesus.

Here’s where a curious turn of events happened.

On the way, as the crowd pressed in upon Jesus, a woman who had suffered many years from hemorrhaging, snuck up behind Jesus and touched him, hoping that by doing so she might be healed.

And in that moment, she was.

“Who touched me?” was Jesus response.

What ensued was a conversation that Jairus probably found both hopeful and disturbing all at the same time.

That Jesus had healed this woman undoubtedly gave him hope.

And yet time was running out and here they were caught in the crowds, delayed.  And his daughter was at the point of death.

There is a subplot going on here, that we might note.

Jairus was a leader of the synagogue.

The woman, due to her ailment, her bleeding, was an untouchable.  To touch her made one unclean.

Jesus, feeling her touch, would have become unclean himself according to the Law. 

At any rate, it was an outcast that had delayed Jesus going to Jairus’ daughter.  An outcast who was healed.

Imagine if your heart surgery had been delayed because a homeless person had been brought in that day. . .

And then, Jairus’ friends arrived from his home.

It was in fact, too late.  His daughter had died.

So often, this is where we find ourselves.

We are left to offer care and compassion at the time of death.

One morning I received the phone call from my colleague at hospice.  Brad had indeed died.

And so we go, intent on only one thing, doing what needed to be done at the point of death.

A different prayer would be offered.

A funeral would be planned.

We try to find words to comfort one another, but there really are none, grieving is the agenda for the day.

“Your daughter is dead.  Why trouble the teacher any further?”

We have resolved to accept death as a part of life.

Gathered together in Brad’s living room with his wife, and his doctor friends, we dealt with reality that day.

The prayers for healing had long since fallen silent.

As a pastor the scene is all too familiar.

Every time I experience it, I’m reminded of the many times before.

Despair, though, is not the emotion of the day.

There is a resilience of hope, and we do not grieve as those who have no faith.

“Take off your shoes, Moses, for you are standing on Holy  Ground.”

The time of death is a sacred time and a sacred space.

Holy.

My own ministry was shaped early on by the experience of death, some far too soon, some delayed so long.

I began to see my ministry as “walking people to the gates of heaven.”

We speak of that ultimate hope in the face of death.

We might have preferred that healing had come, but we still have hope.

And yet, as holy as those times are, there is a yearning.

I wish that I had the power to say two words.  Just two words in those moments.

Especially when death comes too soon, like it did for Alison, a fifteen year old, or Paul, a nine year old, or for the Benton’s baby, just five days old, all people who died within a few weeks of each other in my first parish.

Two word I wish I could have spoken.

“Talitha Cum.”

“Little girl, get up!”

But only Jesus can speak those words.

Not I.

Not You.

Not the greatest surgeon in the world.

Just Jesus and him alone.

Prayer has its limits.

That’s what I’ve come to believe.

And this is the limit.

No matter how desperate, no matter how resilient our faith, no matter how hopeful – we cannot pray ourselves out of our own mortality. 

Talitha Cum.

Oh that we could speak those words, oh that Jesus would speak those words, to all the Alisons, or Pauls, or dying babies of this world.

Death, however, will never be defeated this side of the grave. 

This is a mystery hidden in God’s wisdom.

We will never know or understand why some are healed, and others die far too soon.

Oh, we know the basics.

Brad died because of the tumors that grew uncontrollably in his brain.

Alison, because she was thrown from a car going about 80 miles an hour.

Paul, because of a blow to his head.

And the Bensons baby because it had been born before its lungs had developed enough.

What we understand though, is merely the cause of death, not the why.

But even more so, Life’s ultimate victory will remain for us a mystery until that day dawns in heaven.

But what we have is a deep, resilient faith, that will not be defeated in the face of the reality of death.

Jesus will speak the words “Talitha cum!”

And we will arise and experience what is spoken about in Revelation:

"See, the home of God is among mortals.

He will dwell with them;

they will be his peoples,

and God himself will be with them;

4 he will wipe every tear from their eyes.

Death will be no more;

mourning and crying and pain will be no more,

for the first things have passed away."

Amen, Come, Lord Jesus.  Amen and Amen.

Year A, Proper 12, Romans 8:26-39, Sighs to deep for words

The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.

One of my seminary professors told us about his father's prayers.  He had a way of praying as though God was standing in the next room, so conversational and natural were his intercessions.  The professor went on to relate how one day they had taken his father out to Charlies Cafe in downtown Minneapolis, an upscale restaurant there.  His dad said grace. before their meal.  When they lifted up their heads and looked around they noticed that everyone within earshot had been moved to pause in their meals, and bow their heads as well.  Such were the prayers of this faithful servant of God.

I've always envied those people who can pray that way.  It's not that I don't pray.  I'm paid to pray.  It's part of my vocation as a pastor.  Prayers of the Church during worship- which I'm comfortable doing spontaneously, or using prepared prayers.  And then of course there are all those occasions when one is called upon to pray for ones parishioners.  In our home we routinely offer prayers before meals.

But often, away from the demands of my profession, words escape me in my prayers.  Sighs seem to be the norm.  Deep groans from my inmost being.  Sometimes the moaning of one's soul as though gasping for air.  

I find myself drawn into a life of prayer without words.  Bypassing the head, and communicating with God directly from the heart.  This is deeply private for me.  It is a sacred place that I have never been able to let others into.  Holy Ground.  A soul singing, often  in lament.  I'd speak more specifically about this, except there is a fear, a vulnerability, a risk that I am unwilling to take.  If someone knew, and critiqued this practice, or worse, derided it, it would be a violation.  And I'm not willing to risk it.

The Spirit intercedes for us.  To put it differently, prayer is a two way conversation and sometimes it is God that not only takes the lead, but draws us into a holy conversation that we cannot enter by ourselves.  

There is another side to this prayer without words.  Whenever I get too verbal in my prayers I cannot help but ask God to answer my prayers in very specific ways.  God has often not taken my advice. In the end, when the dust has settled, I am aware that though the course of my life was not as I had charted, it was an answer to those prayers.  God had a better idea.  

Often too, are the occasions when the circumstances that compel me into prayer are simply beyond words.  Some of that comes from shear exasperation.  The events in Washington this last week surrounding health care legislation are a prime example.  Sigh!  Be careful what you ask for. . .

And then there are the times when I simply do not know what to ask for.  I pray a lot for my children.  And speak very few words.  My hopes, my dreams, my concerns for them all pale in comparison to my love for them.  This I hope is reflected in those prayers without words.  Sigh.  

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Nestled in a divine embrace we coo like babies at their mother's breast.  A soft and gentle murmuring of our souls in the arms of God as we are fed from her very being.  All that we need for life is there, a mother's gift of herself to us.  Those arms are an extension of the womb's embrace that never lets go.  

This is my body, this is my blood, given, shed, for you.  It is our umbilical chord, never cut, always the source of our life.  Love divine, all loves excelling.  And from this there is no letting go.  Sigh!

Year C, Proper 24, Luke 18:1-8, Do not lose heart

Grace to you and Peace from God our Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  Amen

“Pray always.”

“Do not lose heart.”

“My help comes from the Lord.”

“The Lord shall preserve you from all evil;
it is he who shall keep you safe.”

“I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them.”

On the one hand these are incredibly comforting words.

At least they would be if life always worked out like that.  But life doesn’t always work out that way.  And because of words like these, it can leave us wondering if there is simply something we are doing wrong. 

Do we not have enough faith?

Did we not pray enough?

Are we being punished for some sin, known or unknown?

One quick response, that is used all too often, is that God always answers our prayers, it just that the answer is sometimes yes, sometimes no, and sometimes wait.

And yet, when one is in the midst of a grave crisis in their life such an answer is inadequate.

Philosophers have put the issue this way:

Evil exists.

If God is Good,

                Then he must be unable to stop evil.

If God is all powerful, yet allows evil to continue,

                Then he must not be Good.

But if God is both Good, and All powerful,

                Why does evil continue???

That’s how the philosophers phrase the problem of evil.  But we’re not philosophers.

Our struggles get very real, personal, and tragic.

Jerry and Susan were excited.

They were expecting their third child.

And when Spencer was born they had all the hopes and expectations of any couple that just had a new baby.

But something was wrong.

Susan noticed that Spencer just could not nurse like his brother and sister had.

Subsequent testing revealed that Spencer had been born with a rare genetic disease, Spinal Muscular Atrophy. 

Our congregation surrounded them with prayer and support, but the disease is what the disease is, and as predicted, Spencer slowly deteriorated until he lost all muscle function and died, about a year later.

Jerry and Susan had another baby, Andrew.

Andrew lived a little longer, in part because of some choices Jerry and Susan made which kept him healthier.  But just a little bit longer.  He too,  died.

“Pray always.”

“Do not lose heart.”

Those words are easy to say,

                That is until you are watching your second baby die of a disease for which there is no cure. 

Why?  Why does God allow such things to happen?

I’ve buried far too many children.

Some died in the womb.

Some died as new borns.

Some were killed in tragic accidents.

Some died of incurable diseases.

All of them were surrounded with prayer, fervent prayer, and yet they died.

And their parents will grieve for a lifetime.

And yet at other times prayer seems to “work”.

Yesterday I celebrated four years of sobriety.

I first became addicted to a drug called Ativan, or lorazapam.  I had been prescribed it to help with my chronic insomnia, and also, anxiety.  The downside of this drug is that it works on the same receptors in your brain as alcohol does, and like alcohol, is addictive.

I quit taking Ativan.  But I substituted alcohol for it.

I discovered that a couple of Scotch’s before bed would help me overcome the stresses of the day, and enable me to sleep.  But as always happened, I needed more and more to have the same effect.

Toward the end of my drinking, I had been prescribed Ativan, again.  And on October 14, 2012, I made the mistake of taking the Ativan after drinking heavily.

The combination of too much alcohol and Ativan almost killed me.  I entered a treatment center.

I prayed for help. 

Actually, what I would have preferred at the time is for God to help me through the crisis, but allow me to resume my pattern of drinking.  I enjoyed unwinding with a drink at night.  I didn’t want to give it up.

But instead of giving me what I wanted, God helped me to recognize that I was an alcoholic, and then he removed from me the compulsion to drink.  In place of the compulsion was a revulsion.  I couldn’t walk through the grocery store and see all the displays of wine and beer, without having a strong negative reaction.  Serving communion was a real struggle. 

But in the end, what happened is that I was set free.

It was an answer to prayer. 

There are many things we pray for.

In the wake of 9/11 our country collectively prayed that those who were behind that attack would be brought to justice.

It took time, and two wars.

Eventually though, Bin Laden, was killed, and in our mind, justice was served.

An answer to prayer.

At other times we pray, and yet find ourselves waiting and waiting for an answer. 

Our country has experienced too much gun violence.

Mass shootings have occurred in schools, and churches, military bases and night clubs, to name a few.

Sometimes there seems to be a motive.  Like racism.

At other times these killings seem to occur with no rhyme or reason whatsoever.

And they continue to happen.  In spite of our prayers.

Does God not care?

I don’t know all the answers.

Nobody does.

But it seems to me that there are some things we can say.

The first is the hardest.

You cannot pray yourself out of your own mortality.

Even Jesus died.

Some will have the good fortune to live to a ripe old age.

Others will die tragically, and too young. 

But we will all die. 

No getting around that.

But having said that, we also need to acknowledge that there is an incredible amount of healing in the world.  We probably will never know or appreciate all the times that we were saved from death by the healing hand of God. 
Sometimes it’s obvious.

I had open heart surgery to repair a failed mitral valve.  A hundred years ago I might have died.  Today I’m alive.  Healing happens.  And I thank God.

When we get the flu, or pneumonia, we don’t fear for our lives the way people once did. 

Healing happens.  Everyday.  An answer to prayer.

Another thing I’ve come to believe is that prayer is not a substitute for responsibility.

St. Augustine put it this way:

“Pray as though everything depended on God.

Work as though everything depended on you.”

Sometimes the prayer that we need is for guidance.  We need God’s help to determine what WE can do to combat the forces of evil in our world.  The struggle is that on our own we simply cannot agree on the answers.

I think one of the clearest examples of this is how we react to and respond to the violence that plagues our society.

·         Some suggest that if no one had guns, then these mass shootings would stop.

·         Others argue that if everyone had guns, then the shootings would stop.

·         God will probably have to help us through that one.  But our actions, or lack of action, will impact this issue and many others like it.

The final thing I’ve come to conclude, is that though suffering in one form or another will always be with us, so also will God be with us to lead us through this suffering.  The promise is that God will deliver us from suffering, not exempt of us from it. 

The clearest case of this is as we face our own deaths.

We are going to die.  That is true.

But God has promised not to leave us in the grave.

God’s final answer to death is not resuscitation, but resurrection. 

And so we live in a “Good Friday world” but with an “Easter faith”.  Death will not have the final word.

And for this reason, we do not lose heart.

May this peace that passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus our Lord.  Amen

Year C, Proper 24, Psalm 121:1-2, Help!

I lift up my eyes to the hills; *
from where is my help to come?

My help comes from the Lord, *
the maker of heaven and earth.

I am struggling to preach on the texts for this Sunday.  Pray.  Do not lose heart.  My help comes from the Lord.  These texts seem to be saying to me that if we simply have enough faith, God will, without delay, quickly grant justice to those who call on him.  The same, I would suppose, could be said for those whose prayers are for healing, or peace, or.  .  .  

The problem with such a promise is how does it not turn on the faithful when their prayers are not heard, when justice does not come, when the battle is lost to a devastating disease, when in spite of our prayers our world  continues to be embroiled in one conflict after another.  In the starkest terms, how many of our Jewish brothers and sisters died in the holocaust with prayers on their lips?

And how many, then, come away with the conclusion that they simply did not have enough faith, did not pray fervently enough, or were in some other way inadequate and hence, God simply did not choose to respond to their request?

But this  morning, I'm also thinking about my experience in AA.  AA is founded on the principle that freedom from alcohol can be achieved, not by our own power, but with the aid of a "higher power".  There is a truth in AA that I hate to speak, but is witnessed to time and time again.  Failure to embrace the help that comes from a higher power almost always results in the failure to succeed in program.

Total submission and admitting defeat is the starting point.  When one recognizes one's own failings and powerlessness over alcohol, then that opens the door for God to provide that which we cannot achieve ourselves.  And however we might understand that, many of us can only look back with gratitude that God did what we could never do, which is to remove from us the desire and compulsion to drink.  This was my experience.  This is the experience of the bulk of those  who have been freed from the power of alcohol through AA.

To what extent do these same lessons extend to other problems that we face?  

On the one hand, I still find myself confronted with the reality that the faithful suffer, and die, with prayers for deliverance on their lips.  On the other hand I cannot abandon the belief that if we surrender entirely to the power of God that we will experience the grace of God.

Perhaps the key is that the experience of God's grace comes to us in oft unexpected ways.  

Year C, Proper 22, Psalm 137, Curse You, Red Baron!

"Happy shall he be who takes your little ones, *
and dashes them against the rock!"

So the Israelites had an issue with the Babylonians.  They had been captured.  They were in exile.  They suffered greatly.  They were angry.  And so they wrote this Psalm that we now have in the Bible.

The Lutheran Book of Worship, our previous hymnal, omitted this Psalm from its pages.  We skipped right from 136 to 138.  It was censored out.  Something seemed incredibly wrong about including a Psalm in  worship that spoke about bashing, or dashing, babies against a rock.  

Yet, in another way, the fact that this Psalm is included in the Bible says something about God, and, wait for it, his grace.  

First, a couple observations.  Clearly the author of the Psalm was overcome with anger toward Israel's captors, the Babylonians, and the slavery which they were being subjected to by the Babylonians.  The tipping point in the Psalm was the taunting by the Babylonians, expecting their slaves to entertain them with the songs of Zion, even while they were captive in a foreign land.  It was salt on an open festering wound.

But also, this Psalm is an indirect cursing directed at God.  The Prophets of Israel had made clear that the Babylonian exile was more than just a tragic episode in Israel's history.  It was seen as a judgment by God of the unfaithfulness of the nation.  And so in saying "Curse you, Babylonians!" the Israelites were also saying "Curse you, God?" for bringing this judgment upon us.

Which is where God's grace comes in.

God allows for us to cry out in our  anguish and anger, even against him.  And he listens.  He not only allows it.  Tolerates it.  But it would seem, he welcomes the honesty and forthrightness.  And he answers.

God's judgment happened.  But his deliverance also followed.  Cyrus was called in from the east and Israel returned home.  

Psalm 137 is the precursor to Isaiah 40:

Comfort, O comfort my people,

says your God.

Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,

and cry to her

that she has served her term,

that her penalty is paid,

that she has received from the Lord 's hand

double for all her sins.

Perhaps, when everything is said and done, the truth is simply this, that God invites our honesty, even if that involves feelings of rage, more than he demands our politeness.  

Year C, Proper 20, 1 Timothy 2.1-7, Praying for the President

"First of all, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, for kings and all who are in high positions, so that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity."  1 Timothy 2:1

"Preserve our nation in justice and honor, that we may lead a peaceable life of integrity.  Grant health and favor to all who bear office in our land especially to the President of the United States, the Governor of this State, and all those who make, administer, and judge our laws and help them to serve this people according to your holy will."  (Lutheran Book of Worship, page 52)

This is one of the petitions of "The Prayer of the Church" that used to be offered every Sunday in our congregations.  If I recall correctly from my youth, the variation used at that time specifically named the President and the Governor.  There is something to be said for this discipline of prayer that the Church used to observe.

Today, I miss that discipline.  I fear our partisan politics have crept into our worship such that to even offer prayers for the President by name would be considered a political statement and unwelcome.  Worse yet is a sentiment that causes us to be hesitant at times to pray for the "health and favor" of the President, and that he/she might "serve this people according to your will".  This is true, I believe, of both sides of the isle.  Liberals are likely to be as hesitant to offer prayers for Donald Trump, as conservatives will be to offer prayers for Hillary Clinton.  

Shame on us.  

The historical backdrop of the early Christian Church was that of persecution from the State.  Imagine the early Christians following this mandate from 1 Timothy and lifting up the Emperor Nero in the midst of the first persecutions of the Christians.  There would have been a self serving motive:  We pray for them, that WE may lead a quiet and peaceable life. .  ."  And we might add, not be subject to death by lions in the coliseum.

That said, I wonder if one of the most important public ministries that we have as a Church is the prayers we offer on behalf of our President and our nation.  And yes, I believe that even the  most conservative among us should pray fervently for President Obama, as the most liberal among us should have prayed for President Bush.  

It is for the sake of the office that they hold, that we lift them up in prayer, not because of our agreement or disagreement with their political positions.  In offering our prayers, we do so remembering also Paul's word to the Romans:  "Let every person be subject to the governing authorities; for there is no authority except from God, and those authorities that exist have been instituted by God."  There are Presidents, because it is in accord with his will and by his institution.  They serve a divine purpose.  And our prayers are that they may be effective in carrying out that purpose.

In this Spirit, our prayers should be that each President be as effective in office as they can possibly be, for the sake of the nation, without regard to our personal political positions.  This runs entirely counter to the partisan politics of today, where every effort is made to thwart and impede the work of an opposing party President.  And again, I am convinced this is true of both sides of the isle.  

We are in an election year and many across our land despair regarding the choices.  For the Christian this concern ought to motivate us to be even more fervent in prayer on behalf of whomever is elected.  Again, it is our ministry to pray that they may "serve this people according to your holy will".  

Year C, Proper 4, Second Sunday after Pentecost, Luke 7:1-10: "Such Faith"

"As I stood there at the foot of his hospital bed, there was a part of me that desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, even his toe, and declare with complete confidence, 'Be healed!'"

"Such faith" I believe is largely lost among us.

More on that, but first, an observation:  In spite of nearly 500 years of evangelical preaching in the tradition of the reformation, and for that matter, nearly 2000 years of hearing the Gospel, we still cannot get over our obsession with sin, morality, and the works we do.  Works righteousness is alive and well among us.  "He is worthy. . ."  Even as we proclaim the "Gospel" we do so within the context of behaviors that are right or wrong.  Our focus is almost exclusively on what we do, and forgiveness is proclaimed as the remedy for our sinful actions.

And yet as we read through the scripture, those grace filled moments that define the Gospel often have nothing whatsoever to do with our "works", but often with our "situation in life".  Healing is central to the Gospel Jesus lived.  How much of his time was spent devoted to this?  What if instead of "Confession and Forgiveness" being the standard rite for the beginning of worship, we considered focusing on healing?  The "Gospel" for one who has Stage 4 cancer does not focus on their "works", but on their need for healing.  But we are more confident in God's willingness and ability to forgive, than we are in his willingness and ability to heal.

"Go." and he goes.  "Come." and he comes.  "Do this."  and he does this.  Such faith.  Dare we to believe any more that Jesus does indeed have the power, not only to forgive, but to heal?

Do we dare believe that reconciliation is possible with those from whom we are estranged?  Dare we believe that the lonely and isolated in this world might, through the Gospel, find love and community?  That wars might cease?  That liberation is the work of God's hand.  That the goodness of all creation might be restored?  Dare we believe that Jesus has the authority to say "Go.",  "Come.", and "Do this."  Do we have such faith as to lay hands on the sick and heal them in the name of Christ Jesus?

My head is not right.  Bipolar they call it.  When I sit down for worship in the fits of depression, the last thing I want to hear about is 'my sin'.  In those moments I'm much more focused on the 'wrongs' God has done to me, than the wrongs I have done.  And how quick I am to believe that this is an incurable life long malady, and how little hope I have that full healing can occur.  It can be managed, perhaps, but healed, no.  "I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith."

A charismatic Christian that I am quite fond of took me aside one day and shared that she had discerned in me the gift of healing.  And that I needed to use that God given gift for the sake of my parishioners.  "No you don't, your not putting that onus on me." was the response deep in my heart.

You see, I am much more comfortable telling people that we cannot pray ourselves out of our own mortality, than I am saying, "Rise, take up your mat and walk, for your faith has made you well."  Oh, I have stood at the foot of many a hospital bed, like the seminary professor that I quoted above, and wished, just wished, that I could lay my hands on them and heal them.  Would that Jesus had given me that authority.  It is the fear of failure, or perhaps better put, a lack of hope, that prevents me from even trying.  The focus is admittedly on my own inabilities.  But it carries over to a lack of faith in what Jesus can do.

When a couple in my parish had not one, but two children born with spinal muscular atrophy, desperately I wished that I could call upon the name of Jesus and heal those children.  But they died according to the timeline of that disease's progression.  All very predictably.

"Such Faith".  Does it exist anymore?

There is part of me that would like to conclude this meditation with a wonderful story of healing and hope, and the promise that this is possible for all of us, if we but believe.

But instead, perhaps because of my own struggles for healing, I'm simply left with a question.  Can we still believe that the God who commanded light to come out of darkness, who breathed life into the dust of the earth, can say "Be healed", and we will be healed?