Pastor Glenn

Pastor Glenn

Rev. Glenn Schwerdtfeger, Pastor Maple Grove UMC
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Matthew 18:15-20

Reconciliation 101

September 10, 2017     Maple Grove UMC


          Loving and hopeful as he was, Jesus was not naïve about the church.  Or if he was, he took off his rose-colored glasses before sharing today’s gospel reading.  “When another member of the church sins against you,” he says, here’s what you should do.  And if they keep on sinning against you, here’s what else to do. . .”  Even before there was such a thing as “the church,” Jesus was already giving a process for resolving conflicts in the church.  In fact, this is the one and only time Jesus himself ever uses the word “church”—when he’s teaching how to resolve conflicts in the church.1  Blest Be the Tie That Binds we’ll sing today.  And those ties are indeed blest, but they are blest because they are not automatic, because they cannot be taken for granted.  The ties that bind our hearts in Christian love are precious precisely because they are tender and fragile.


          (As an aside before we dig in, your own Bible translation may say, “If your brother sins against you” instead of “If a member of the church sins against you.”  Literally, the Greek says “your brother.”  But it’s clear from the context that Jesus is talking not about family relationships, but church relationships.  Matthew uses the word “brother” to refer to fellow believers, both male and female.  So “member of the church” is not a perfect translation, but is probably the best we can do.  Just so you know.)


          So . . . if a member of the church sins against you . . . Jesus lays out a four-step process for dealing with it. 

  1. First, go to that person one on one, privately.  Work it out yourselves. 
  2. If that doesn’t work, take two or three others with you, as witnesses.  Maybe that will get the person’s attention. 
  3. And if that doesn’t work, Jesus says, take it to the whole church—let everyone know what’s going on.  Surely that will change the person’s behavior.
  4. And if even that doesn’t work, he says, then let that person be to you as a Gentile or a tax collector, an outsider. 

I have to admit, this whole thing sounds harsh to me.  First of all, you’re not supposed to just let stuff go?  Jesus wants you to confront folks about their bad behavior?  Yikes.  And then he wants you to involve others in that conflict and make a public deal out of it?  Double yikes.  And then you’re allowed, essentially, to kick the person out.  Excommunicate, the Catholics call it.  Shun them, the Amish say.  Big time yikes.

          The whole business just sounded harsh to me upon first reading.  And second reading.  And third.  I mean we’re talking about the possibility of putting people out of the church here.  But the more time I spent with this scripture, the less harsh and the more loving it began to sound to me.  Let me tell you why.


          First, at least in Jesus’ plan the conflict is addressed, everything is out in the open.  I’ll admit to you, and many of you already know, that I am of the “ostrich” school of dealing with conflict.  The hope is that if you bury your head in the sand long enough, when you finally come up for air, maybe the conflict will have magically disappeared.  Please don’t ask me how well that works. You already know.  At least Jesus’ plan has a chance to deal with conflict positively; not dealing with it has a 0% chance of that.


          But here’s the thing:  clearly the goal of Jesus’ process is not punishment, though it could result in that.  The goal is not to remove someone from the fellowship, though in extreme cases that could happen.  And the goal is certainly not get revenge or to shame anyone—revenge is easy; this process is hard.  No, clearly the goal of all this is reconciliation, the healing of a troubled relationship, preserving the wellbeing of the whole community by putting out little fires before they become big fires.  In my initial readings of this scripture, I got hung up on the punishment part; Jesus is hung up on restoring relationships. 

          The context in Matthew’s gospel makes this even clearer.  Just prior to this scripture is the Parable of the Lost Sheep.  If a shepherd has 100 sheep and one goes astray, what does he do?  He leaves the 99 and searches for the one until he finds it. It’s all about reconciliation.  For Jesus it’s restoring relationships that matters.

          And right after today’s scripture Peter asks Jesus, How many times do I have to forgive a “brother,” that is, a member of the church?  As many as seven times?  No, Jesus says, not seven, but 77 times.  Not even 77 offenses is allowed to come between “brothers” of the faith.  For Jesus it’s restoring relationships that matters.

          Mennonite pastor, Arthur Boers, notes three errors people make when applying Jesus’ process from Matthew 18:

  1. Focusing on punishing a person rather than reconciling with a person
  2. Concentrating on the offense rather than the person
  3. Worrying more about rules and standards than about the person.2

In other words, if you’re focusing on the person, you’re probably doing it right.  For Jesus it’s relationships that matter.


          Here’s something else about Jesus’ four-step process:  When you confront a member of the church who has sinned against you, Jesus says, “if the member listens to you, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to,” then take it to the next level.  What the offended person can expect from the other person is simply to be listened to.  Jesus doesn’t say that the other person will always agree with your point of view.  He doesn’t say they have to change everything you don’t like.  He just says they have to listen to you.  Reconciliation may be less about changing other people than about simply listening to one another.  I can’t promise you that I’ll always agree with you.  I can’t promise I can change everything you don’t like about me.  But I can listen to you.  It’s about reconciliation; for Jesus it’s relationships that matter.


          And this:  even what I took to be the harshest part of Jesus’ conflict resolution process—to let someone be to you as a Gentile or a tax collector—even that isn’t as harsh as I was making it out to be.  I took this to mean removing someone from the church community, and maybe it does mean that.  But how did Jesus treat Gentiles and tax collectors?  He invited them to dinner, and he called them down from sycamore trees, and he even asked one tax collector—Matthew--to be his disciple.  In other words, when someone sins against you and won’t listen to you, what do you to?  You love them all the more!  You go out of your way to bring them back in.  It’s about reconciliation; for Jesus it’s relationships that matter.


          Before wrapping up today on God-Centered Wellbeing and Community, I just want to point out a couple of limitations with Jesus’ model for resolving conflicts.

  • First, in Matthew 18 it perfectly seems clear who’s right and who’s wrong, who’s done the sinning and who’s been sinned against.  But we all know it’s not always quite that clear.  I can think of several times when I thought sure I was the one who’d been sinned against, and lo and behold, the other person didn’t see it that way.  Earlier in Matthew, Jesus says to first take the log out your own eye before offering to take a speck out of your neighbor’s eye.  No, you don’t need to shy away from confronting someone who sins against you.  I’m just saying, oftentimes there’s more than one sinner in any crowd of two people.  And what matters most isn’t who’s right and who’s wrong.  What matters most is reconciliation.  For Jesus it’s relationships that matter.
  • And finally this: so many of our conflicts in the church aren’t really about one person “sinning” against another.  Our conflicts are about differing points of view, different visions of the church, different cultural or political or theological assumptions.  We have conflict not just because one person treats another person badly.  That happens, of course.  But more often we have conflict, for example, because we have different understandings of human sexuality.  Or because different things make us feel safe in the church.  Or because we like to sing different kinds of church music.  We’re not so much sinners and those sinned against; we’re brothers and sisters in Christ with different points of view.  Communications consultant, Nate Regier, has offered a four-point strategy for dealing with these types of conflicts:
  1. “Share how you feel about the conflict.”  It’s okay to talk about controversial things, so long as you don’t insist that everyone think and feel the same way you do.
  2. “Suggest what you are willing to do to work on the conflict.”  It’s amazing what others are willing to do to work on a conflict if they see you working on it first.
  3. “Discern and share what is at stake for you in [the conflict].”  If you can be clear and honest about why something is important to you, others may understand you better, have more empathy.
  4. “Temporarily suspend your own agenda in the conflict and listen to the other’s agenda.”3  And now we’re back to last Sunday and putting others first. 

          In the last verse of this scripture, Jesus says, “For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”  We know that Jesus is with us everywhere, all the time—when we are pray and when we are at work, when we are sleeping and when we are awake.  But Jesus promised to be with us when we are working out conflicts in the church, when we are reconciling with one another.  The gospel is all about reconciliation; for Jesus it’s relationships that matter.  How is that for God-Centered Wellbeing and Community?


1 John Howard Yoder.  Quoted in Arthur Paul Boers, Never Call Them Jerks: Healthy Responses to Difficult Behavior (Alban Institute, 1999), 88.

2 Boers, 89.

3 The Christian Century (August 30, 2017), 9.

Matthew 16:21-28

Life Is For Others

September 3, 2017

          Today’s reading is a watershed passage in Matthew.  Up to this point Jesus has called his disciples; he has taught and healed.  But in chapter 16 he gets down to brass tacks.  He asks the disciples if they know who he is.  And Peter gets it right:  You’re the Messiah, the Son of God.  But Peter didn’t get right what it means that Jesus is the Messiah.  When Jesus starts talking about suffering and death, Peter says, “No way, Jesus.  Not you!”  So from this point on, Jesus prepares the disciples for exactly that--his suffering and death.  Oh . . . and that to be his followers means denying themselves and taking up their own crosses.  This is a watershed moment in the gospel; no passage in Matthew is more important than this one.1

          This passage has many things to teach us, depending on our questions and needs. We could have turned to this scripture during our study on overcoming fear.  In Jesus’ time, of course, the cross was not yet a religious symbol.  It was a method of execution used by the Romans to intimidate and terrorize people.  Barbara Taylor says the cross was used to reinforce the idea that pain and death are the worst things in the world and that people should do anything to avoid them.  By telling his disciples to take up their cross, Jesus defied that idea.  In fact, he says, there are worse things than death in the world, and living in perpetual fear is one of those things.  Instead of running away from what makes you afraid, Jesus says, pick it up, take it on.  Instead of surrendering yourself to fear, surrender yourself to God.  That’s one lesson from this scripture.2

          Or we might bring to this scripture the question, “What does it mean to be a Christian?” That’s a big questions. Here is Matthew’s answer:  deny yourself, take up your cross, and especially follow Jesus.  Matthew defines faith not by what you believe, but by whether or not you follow Jesus.  I know that ‘believe’ is an important word in other parts of the Bible, in John’s gospel, for example.  But never once in Matthew does Jesus ever ask anyone to believe in him or to believe anything about him.  To be a Christian, for Matthew, is to do what Jesus did, to love the way Jesus loved, to follow him. That’s another lesson from this scripture.

               So today, in this worship series, we bring to this scripture the question, What does this passage have to say about God-Centered Wellbeing and Community? What does it mean to keep God’s love at the heart, not just each of us of our own lives, but at the heart of our life together?

          And the answer is:  to put others first.  In the words of Jesus, to “deny yourself.”  I’m aware that this verse has been used in hurtful ways, especially against women and minorities.  When people of greater power use this phrase “deny yourself” to keep people of less power down, that does not enhance community and does not keep God’s love at the center of life.  But to “deny yourself” does not mean to beat yourself up, or to fail to take care of yourself, or to look down on yourself.  To “deny yourself” means to subordinate your own will to God’s will (which of course is always a loving and life-affirming will).3 In other words, to “deny yourself” is to put God’s love at the heart not just of your own life, but at the heart of our life together. 

          We can tell that denying ourselves is life-affirming because Jesus says that those who “lose” their lives for his sake will actually “find” their lives.  Self-denial is actually the way to the greatest possible fulfillment.  “Denying yourself” doesn’t mean that you don’t get to do fun things; it means being set free to do the things that matter most.

          So what does it look like, this Christian denying of self?  Let me paint you a few pictures that I came across this past week. 

  • I read about a representative of Teach America at Duke University.4 Teach American recruits graduates from prestigious colleges to go into some of our poorest public schools. She stood in front of these Duke seniors and said, “I can tell by looking at you I’ve probably come to the wrong place. You’re all headed to Silicon Valley and Wall Street. And here I am, trying to get you to go to rural West Virginia and South L.A. to teach in dangerous schools for almost no money. I’m probably in the wrong place, but if by chance, some of you happen to be interested, I’ve got these brochures about Teach America. Meeting’s over.”

              And she was mobbed by students, fighting over those brochures. Now whatever you think Teach America, and I know some educators have objections, the point is that these privileged 22 year-olds were ready to deny themselves, eager to put others’ needs ahead of their own, to put God’s love at the heart of our life together. And not because they wanted to lose their own lives; but precisely because they wanted to find their own lives.


  • Chris Anderson, a Roman Catholic deacon, tells of an elderly church member dying in a dark, fetid room. His daughter caress for him tenderly, even though he was a harsh man and abused her and her mother. He had been in combat in war, and maybe that was it. But now he is dying, and his daughter is with him.

    Anderson came to read Psalms to him it seemed to soothe and comfort the dying man. But later, Anderson reports, the man opens his eyes and croaks out two words to his daughter. You witch, he says, only it’s not really ‘witch’ that he says.

    Now who knows what going through this man’s mind. Maybe he wasn’t seeing his daughter at all. Maybe he was talking to Death or something from the war decades ago. But that’s what he said: You witch. And this is what his daughter does. She rises from her chair, leans over the bed, and whispers in his ear: Daddy, I love you. And then he died.

    The last thing this man ever said was vulgar and angry and abusive. But that wasn’t the last thing he ever heard.5 She chose, in a way, to deny herself, to take the way of love and forgiveness, for the sake of everyone, for the sake of generations to come, to rise above bitterness and revenge. But not in any way to lose her own life, but precisely to find it, to be free, to set God’s love at the heart of our life together.

  • Just this past week I heard an interview with a homeowner near Houston. Her house had not yet been damaged, but authorities had come to evacuate her because they were going to release water from a reservoir upstream. They were going to intentionally flood her home in order to save other homes. She was in tears as she carried a few treasured belongings to a truck. And here is what she said: “It breaks my heart to think of losing this home where I raised my family. But we’re in this together, and if I have to lose my home so that other people can save theirs, that’s what I’ll do.” She denied herself. She placed God’s love at the center of her entire community. But she did not lose herself—no, far from it. She found her truest and holiest self in the dirty waters of Hurricane Harvey.

    Here’s how the Prayer of St. Francis puts it:

    O, Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

    to be consoled as to console;

    to be understood as to understand;

    to be loved as to love;

    For it is in giving that we receive;

    it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

    it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

In just a moment we'll come to the table where we will rehearse the story of Jesus giving himself for us, offering for us his very body and blood. And here is the prayer that we will pray when we are finished:

Eternal God, we give you thanks for this holy mystery

   in which you have given yourself to us. 

Grant that we may go into the world

   in the strength of your Spirit,

   to give ourselves for others. 

Do I hear an Amen?

What does denying oneself and taking up one’s cross have to do with God-Centered Wellbeing and Community? Only everything.  Only putting others ahead of ourselves.  Not to lose ourselves, but to find our truest and holiest selves.


1 Douglas R. A. Hare, Matthew, Interpretation (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1993), 193.

2 Barbara Brown Taylor, “Pick Up Your Cross,” God in Pain: Teaching Sermons on Suffering, The Teaching Sermon Series (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998), 59.

3 See Hare, 195.

4 William H. Willimon, “The Journey,” Pulpit Resource (28/3, July, August, September 2000), 50.

5 Chris Anderson, Light When It Comes: Trusting Joy, Facing Darkness & Seeing God Everywhere (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2016), 50-51.

Isaiah 58:1-7

A Spirituality of Sharing

August 27, 2017   Feed the World Sunday


          On this Feed the World Sunday, the sermon is called “A Spirituality of Sharing.”  It comes from the prophet Isaiah.  His people were complaining that the old ways weren’t working any more.  Isaiah’s people went to the Temple.  They held their sacred fasts.  Eating nothing for days on end, they called upon the Lord.  And nothing happened.  It didn’t work.  And so in verse 3 they cry out to God, “Why do we fast, but you don’t see?  Why do we humble ourselves, but you don’t notice?”  They tried ever harder to get noticed by God—bowing their heads to the ground, wearing the roughness of sackcloth, lying in ashes.  These were religious practices that went back to the Babylonian exile, when in terror and anguish they sought to appease an angry God.  But now in better, more prosperous times, they couldn’t seem to connect with God.  The old ways weren’t working any more. 

          The analogy is imperfect, but we too live in relatively prosperous times, and yet people today also have trouble connecting with God.  For so many people these days, the old ways just aren’t working any more.  And their lament to God is reminiscent of Isaiah: “Why do we go to church, but you don’t see?  Why do we pray and believe, but you don’t seem to care?”

          This hungering for connection with God often goes by the name “spirituality.”  Organized religion is passé; spirituality is cool.  People try all kinds of things to satisfy this hunger—everything from Eastern religions to self-help books, everything from huge megachurches to small support groups.  I’m not trying to be judgmental; these are all fine things to try.  But they do all have one thing in common with the kind of fasting Isaiah condemns:  they’re all focused on me, on meeting my needs and satisfying my spiritual hunger, while one’s neighbor’s hunger goes unnoticed.  “Look,” says the Lord in Isaiah, “you serve your own interests on your fast day. . .  Will you call this a fast day acceptable to me?” God asks.

          Well here, says the Lord, I’ve got a spirituality for you  Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house?  When you see the naked to clothe them, and not to ignore the needs of your own flesh and blood?  Then you’ll call, and the Lord will answer.

          Your own soul is fed, according to Isaiah, by feeding others.  The eternal is discovered by tending to everyday needs.  The presence of God is found in the daily embrace of the poor, the homeless, and yes, even our own kin.1 This is a spirituality of sharing.  It is not hard to understand or complicated to comprehend; it is just, well, hard to do.  And the farther we are removed from living in poverty ourselves, the harder it is to do.

          A food pantry director once told me about a woman she knew who rented a small, rundown house for herself and her three children.  When a friend’s husband abused her, she let that friend and her children stay with her.  When she learned of another family sleeping in a car, she brought them into her home too.  This woman doesn’t go to church—when would she have time?  If she prays or believes in Jesus, she doesn’t ever talk about it.  But according to Isaiah, her fast is most acceptable to God.  She is one of the most “spiritual” people you could ever find. 

          Sometimes whole churches get in on this spirituality of sharing.  When a small African-American church building in Ferguson, Missouri, got damaged in the unrest there in 2014, the Vineyard Church here in Columbus raised money and sent teams to rebuild that church.  Now that’s an acceptable fast.  I once served a church that was part of the Interfaith Hospitality Network.  Several times a year they fed and sheltered homeless families for a week at a time.  I still remember one church member objecting, “Is this really what our church building is for?”  “Yes,” says Isaiah, “it is. What more holy purpose could a church be put to than sheltering the homeless poor?”  That’s an acceptable fast.  And today at 10 am, this entire building will be set up for food-related ministries—making sandwiches and preparing a meal for Faith on 8th homeless shelter, putting together bag lunches for neighbors at CRC, writing letters to government officials about hunger issues, packaging thousands of ready-made meals for destitute people in Haiti.  “Should we really be doing that instead of having worship?” someone asked me on time.  “No,” I replied, “doing that is having worship.”  That is an acceptable fast.  I’ll hope you will stay for this 10 am worship.


          I always feel personally convicted by this text from Isaiah.  When I served at Maynard Avenue, I overheard to neighborhood kids talking.  These were boys I was happy to have play in our yard, but I was reluctant to let come in our house, though they sometimes asked to come inside.  As I overheard them talking that day, they were discussing which people in the neighborhood were really their friends.  About one man, they disagreed.  One of them thought he was too grouchy to be their friend.  But the other child said, “Yeah, but he let me in his house.  We watched TV and he gave me a Mountain Dew.”  That settled it for them.  What I knew is that man had a frightening criminal record, and there’s no way they should go inside his house.  But their criteria for friendship was straight out of Isaiah—he let me in his house, he gave me something to drink.  After that, my door was a little more open to those boys. 


          Have you ever had trouble connecting with God?  Are the old ways just not working any more?  Well, here from Isaiah is a spirituality for you:  Is it not, Isaiah asks, to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house?  When you see the naked to clothe them, and not to hide yourself from your own needy relatives?

          It is a spirituality of sharing.  Your own souls are fed, according to Isaiah, by feeding others.  The eternal is discovered by tending to everyday needs. The presence of God is found in the daily embrace of the poor, the homeless, and yes, even your own kin. 

          Then you shall call, promises Isaiah, and the Lord will answer.  Then you shall cry for help and God will say, Here I am.  Here I am. 


          Here is one last thought for Feed the World Sunday:  After the Dalai Lama delivered a lecture, a member of the audience asked him what the answer to world hunger is.  The Dalai Lama responded, “Sharing.”2  Amen.


1 Walter Brueggemann et al., Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV, Year A (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995), 128.

2 The Christian Century (July 12, 2005), 7.


Matthew 19:13-15

Let Them Come

August 20, 2017     Maple Grove UMC


          Why, do you suppose, were people bringing little children to Jesus?  Well, Matthew doesn’t tell us why, but we can figure it out.  Surely it was because they could tell how much Jesus loved their children--that he loved them with a special love, an unconditional love, a life-changing and soul-healing kind of love.  They knew they wanted their little ones to be blessed by this man, by Jesus.

          It’s not so different today.  You brought your children here today to be blessed in the name of this man, Jesus.  You brought your grandchildren, for all I know you brought other people’s children to be with Jesus.  Today, and at least once in a while, you abandon the soccer fields, you give up sleeping in, you call off dance lessons, you kiss your one day off farewell, and you bring your children to Jesus.  And you know why—it’s that love, that unconditional, life-changing, child-blessing love. 

          That’s why they brought their little children to Jesus.  But the story isn’t that simple, is it?  Once they got there, his disciples tried to keep them away from Jesus.  Why would they do that?  Why would his disciples try to keep people away from Jesus?  Well, let’s give them the benefit of the doubt, shall we?  I’m sure they did it only for the best of reasons.  They wanted to make sure Jesus spent his limited time and energy on the right kind of people—respectable people, important people, grown-up people, you know, people like themselves. 

          They took it as their job to be gatekeepers for Jesus.  They thought it was their job to stop (the Greek word is kōluō) the wrong kind of people from hanging out with Jesus.  This is not the only time this word kōluō shows up in the New Testament.  One time one of the disciples came to Jesus and said, “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop (kōluō) him, because he was not following us” (Mark 9:38-39).  Makes sense.  But Jesus said, “No, no, do not kōluō him.”  Jesus didn’t need them or want them to be his gatekeepers.

          Jesus criticized religious scholars who heaped up moral burdens on other people.  He said to them, “You aren’t entering the kingdom yourselves, and yet you want to kōluō others from entering (Luke 11:52).

          Several times in the book of Acts, people who were outsiders to Israel—an Ethiopian eunuch (8:37), a Roman soldier (10:47), a whole herd of Gentiles—asked what could prevent (kōluō) them from being baptized.  The truth is, the disciples could think of many reasons not to baptize these unwashed outsiders.  But they Holy Spirit made Peter go ahead and do it anyway. Later Peter had to defend himself:  “If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder (that is, kōluō) God?  Well, it turns out he couldn’t kōluō God . . . as much as he might want to.  Jesus doesn’t need us or even want us to be his gatekeepers.


          Now I’m going to pick a little bit today at some of the ways disciples of Jesus still today try to kōluō others, still volunteer to be his gatekeepers.  But I want you to know that I’m not picking at you, or not only at you.  I’m just a recovering gatekeeper myself; I’ve got plenty of kōluō in me.  I used to be a stickler about baptism.  You know, a child really ought to be baptized into the church community where they will be raised.  Parents take some pretty momentous vows when they bring their kids for baptism.  So I would say to parents, “You know, you haven’t been in church the last few years, does this mean you’re going to start being in church now?”  Or I’d say, “Grandma lives here in Columbus but you live three states away?  Are you really going to raise your child in this church?”  But who am I to kōluō God?  If parents want to bring their kids to Jesus, let them come.  I’m just a recovering gatekeeper.

          Cathy Davis and I wrestle with this whenever we offer Confirmation.  Families will say, “I want my son or daughter to be in Confirmation, but she’s got soccer games half the Sundays you’re meeting, or he’ll have to leave early because he volunteers at COSI.”  And my first thought is, “Choose church for a change!”  And then I think, but who am I to kōluō God?  If parents want to bring their kids to Jesus, even just once in a while, let them come.  If I pick at gatekeepers here today, please know I’m one of them myself. 


          In the Gospel reading today, it was little children the disciples were trying to keep away from Jesus.  That may sound strange, since in the church today we practically bend over backwards to get children to come.  But back then children were not thought of the way we think of them today.  Children were a burden, to be kept quiet and out of the way, until they were big enough to work and contribute.  We know better today.  And yet . . .

          Bishop Will Willimon tells about the pastor he appointed to what was a dying urban congregation, just a handful of elderly people left.  But the new young pastor noticed children passing by the church all day, and had an idea.  She talked to one of her parishioners, an old lady who’d once played piano with some of the greats of jazz music, and asked if she’d come and play at church on Wednesday afternoons.  The pastor recruited a few other ladies to make peanut butter sandwiches. And on Wednesday afternoon she rolled the piano outside, turned on a sprinkler, blocked off the street for kickball games.  That was a year ago.  Today, the bishop says, nearly a hundred children crowd that church every Wednesday afternoon.  On Sundays, Sunday school rooms are full.  The children have brought their parents.  It’s like resurrection in that church.  And then, Bishop Willimon concludes, “the administrative board met and asked the bishop to move their new pastor.  ‘It’s just not the same church,’ they said.1

          It breaks your heart, doesn’t it?  Oh, Jesus said, let the little ones come to me.  Don’t kōluō anyone.  Let them come. 


          Of course, “little ones” aren’t just children.  It’s anyone who might get left out, excluded, turned away, forgotten.  My preaching professor says one of the best sermons he ever heard was at a service in a nursing home.  The preacher read from Matthew 19, about parents bringing their children to Jesus.  “Great day in the morning,” the professor thought, “of all the scriptures to read—the average age is 117—and she reads, ‘Bring the little children.’”

          The preacher closed her Bible and said, “I still can’t get over the fact that Jesus’ disciples said, “Get those children out of here.”  But I guess I can understand it.  I mean, they make noise.  They have to be cared for.  Sometimes you have to get up and go out with them.  They take everybody else’s time.  Besides that, they can’t give anything; they can’t teach a class; they can’t sing in the choir.  They’re mostly powerless.  I understand that, she said.  And then after a long pause she went on, “But Jesus said, let the little ones come to me.  Don’t kōluō anyone.  Let them come.2 And we all know what she meant, don’t we?  And what Jesus meant.


          For centuries the church tried to kōluō women--not just tried to, did.  Oh, women were allowed to come to church--to cook and clean and watch the babies.  But they weren’t allowed to preach, or teach, or lead, or even to be an usher.  It breaks your heart, doesn’t it?  But Jesus said, let the people come to me.  Don’t kōluō anyone.  Let them come.


          Our own Methodist Church has split, several times, over race.  In 1787 Rev. Richard Allen led black members out of St. George’s Methodist Church in Philadelphia after blacks were physically removed from worship for refusing to sit in the balcony.  That was the start of the AME, the African Methodist Episcopal Church.  And in 1844 we split into the Methodist Episcopal Church North & M.E. Church South over slavery.  And 173 years later, here we are with people parading around asserting their superiority to blacks and Jews.  And other people making excuses for them, or equating them with civil rights protestors.  And Jesus wipes the tears from his eyes and says, for the love of God, just let the people come.  I don’t need or want any gatekeepers.  Don’t kōluō anyone.  Let them come.


          So sometimes, like today, we’re the parents in this Gospel story, bringing our children to be blessed with the unconditional, the life-changing, soul-healing love of Jesus.  It’s good to bring our children to Jesus.         Sometimes, sadly, we are the disciples, volunteering as unwanted gatekeepers of Jesus, still being healed of our need to kōluō others. 

          But sometimes, we’re the “little ones,” the weary and lonely, the sick and the dying, the outcast and unwanted.  Sooner or later we’re all just “liilte ones,” aching to hear for ourselves what Jesus says to all:  Let them come, he says.  Don’t kōluō anyone.  Let everybody come.  And that is the good news of Jesus Christ.


1 William H. Willimon, ”The Danger of Fishing with Jesus,” The Collected Sermons of William H. Willimon (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 166-67.

2 Fred B. Craddock, Craddock Stories, ed. Mike Graves and Richard Ward (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2001), 148.



“Coming In to go Out”

What are you doing at Church?  Even better, why are you here?

Tom Raines (President and CEO of Lifeway Christian Resources) conducted a Twitter poll of church leaders and church goers from around the country asking them to share some of the reasons people give for not going to church.  Some were ones that you’d might expect: “The church is full of judgmental hypocrites,” “they don’t sing the music I like,”  or “the church is not relevant to my life or the world today.”  But others were perhaps more interesting:

-        We were out of peanut butter.

-        My wife cooked bacon for breakfast and the entire family smelled like it.

-        We got burned out on church so we’ve been taking a break for the last seven years.

-        Both my girlfriends attend that church.

-        I couldn’t get the lid off the peanut butter.

Before I get back to the question I initially posed I would like to address first, what or who is the church?  There are no shortage of opinions on this topic.  Some vary in forms that make the church out to be a voluntary organization or a group of superstitious people with likeminded superstitions.  St. Paul addresses this question extensively beginning in 1st Corinthians 1:1-2 St. Paul writes, “to the church of God in Corinth, to those that are sanctified (growing or becoming) in Christ Jesus, called to be Saints, together with all those, in every place call on the name of Jesus Christ.”  In Galatians 1:2 Paul writes to all of the churches in Galatia where he refers to an assembly of people, not a building or structure where they gather.  Is this an image that initially comes to your mind when we think of Church today?

More often in scripture the term is used more broadly, referring not only to a small subset or congregation but all Christian congregations across the earth.  It is in this sense that we understand it in our liturgy today.  When one is baptized into the church the pastor states that “according to the grace given to you, will you remain faithful members of Christ’s holy Church.”  This is also how Paul refers to it in Acts 20:28 where he says we are to, “shepherd the Church of God that he ordained with the blood of his own son.”

Again in Ephesians, Paul addresses the church in Ephesus calling them “the saints (or holy persons) who assemble themselves to worship God the Father and his son Jesus Christ.”  The point here is that Paul is referring to the universal church who finds its identity in Jesus Christ and purpose from the Holy Spirit.  He is not referring to one family or congregation, or dare I say denomination to use a modern term, and instead through all of Paul’s letters paints a picture of an assembly where there resides:

-One Spirit who brings life to the church (Romans 8:9)

-One Hope, that in all who receive this Spirit, know that to die is not to be lost, and to know the certainty of Christ’s presence in our world today. (1 Peter 1:3-4)

-One Lord who has taken possession of our lives and lives in our hearts (Ephesians 2:6)

-One Faith that enables every Christian to testify with Paul that, “the life which I now live, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” (Galatians 2:20)

-One Baptism, washed of our sins and born of the Spirit

-One God who is Mighty to Save and lets us know that we are his children.

To sum up the answer of who is the Church, we see in scripture that the Church is all people whom God called out of this world, who responded in faith to his Son and live with the promise of salvation both now and to come. 

Now, you may be thinking to yourself, “I’ve been to church, and all of that sounds nice, but it does not reflect a reality that I know.”  I ask you again, “what are you doing here?”

During year A of our lectionary we focus on Mathew’s Gospel and as we have seen over the past weeks you can start to pick out some themes as we progress through the year:

  1. Jesus us the fulfillment of Israel's scriptures.
  1. Jesus is the new authoritative new teacher of the law: Mathew states the upholding of Jesus and the Law.  In MT's gospel Jesus gets mad at the Pharisees not for following the law, but instead they didn't follow it well enough and is the new authoritative source for reading the law.  Jesus wants us to read the law but in Mathew's gospel trough Jesus as the new teacher of the law.  Not to dispose of it.  As Pastor Glenn has shown us, Jesus has a perspective on the world where weeds are permitted to grow with grain, where seed is scattered with reckless abandon, and abundance abounds.
  2. A third theme focuses on the coming Son of Man and judge…from a perspective only Jesus could show us.

Matthew chapters 9-13 in particular center on Jesus ministry as a healer and include:

  1. Jesus healing of a paralytic man
  2. Jesus “calls” Matthew
  3. The healing of Jarius’ daughter
  4. The healing of the two blind men
  5. And where Jesus heals the hand of a man

Our Gospel reading today (Matthew 9:9-13) is the second story in the sequence I have listed and at first is seemingly out of place. It is a story about a man that is “called out.”  The truth is we all have a call story. A binding element in Matthew’s story and Jesus’ healing of the paralytic man is 9:12, we see that sin is at the heart of Jesus’ healing ministry.  In the case of the paralytic man, sin was likely associated with the man’s physical condition.  In the case of Matthew it was his profession.  In either case they receive forgiveness from Jesus is spite of how they felt or what they were told, not because of something they did but instead because of what Jesus saw in them.  Moreover, for the tax collector, this acceptance by Jesus was not just extended to one of Jesus’ many followers but to one of the twelve.  In other words, among those commissioned by Jesus to heal others is an individual who was once “sick” and in need of a physician.  Could it be that Matthew truly knows what it means to be healed?  It is in this context that it makes complete sense that Matthew’s “call story” is placed in the middle of Jesus healing ministry.  This makes Jesus’ words in Matthew 10:8 even more real for Matthew and us today, “you received without payment, give without payment.”

Perhaps now you are asking, “what is it you want me to give?  Money, time, mission work; do you want me to volunteer for something?”  To these notions remember that “volunteers, volunteer for voluntary organizations.  Disciples of Jesus Christ offer themselves to the Holy Spirit to be used for the mission of God.”

As members of Christ’s holy Church we come into this place to see what God has for us and in turn share our story with others.  When we look at Matthew’s “call story” in context we see it is truly a healing story.  The truth is that all of our “call stories” are healing stories in some way.  We were all broken and then made whole in Jesus Christ.  Knowing now what it means to be called we can now see ourselves as a church as a people that are healed or called out, not because of what we have done but because of what Christ has done and what the Spirit continues to do through our church.  Freely we have received, so freely we share the hope, faith, and love we have as members of the Church of Jesus Christ. 

We are called to live intentionally about how we point to and reflect God’s love as people who are brought into this building to be sent out to offer healing and forgiveness to all of God’s people.  Who is the church?  We are called, we are healed, brought together in the name of Jesus Christ and sent out into the world to share God’s forgiveness with a hurting and broken world.  Share love today, tell your story…Invite someone to church.    

Matthew 14:13-21

Bread to Share

August 6, 2017


          Jesus sees things a different way from the rest of us.  After we heard his Parable of the Sower, someone told me, “No decent farmer is going to just keep throwing seed out there in places where it probably won’t grow.”  That’s true; but Jesus doesn’t see it that way.  After the Parable of the Wheat and the Weeds, someone said, “Yeah, but if you leave the weeds alone, pretty soon they’ll take over.”  I know that’s true and you know that’s true, but not Jesus.  He sees things a different way from the rest of us.  Jesus thought a yoke could be light—you saw how heavy that yoke was we had in here; he thought a cup of cold water was enough to make a real difference in the world, when we all know it’s not.  Jesus saw things a different way from the rest of us.  And his mission is to get us to see things that way too.

          In today’s gospel reading, there he goes again.  He thinks that if we will share our five loaves and two fish, it will be enough for everybody.  Silly Jesus!  He just sees things different from the rest of us. 

          Of course, as it turns out they really did feed thousands with those five loaves and two fish.  So maybe Jesus isn’t so silly.  And maybe we ought to at least try out his way of seeing things.  

          So how did it happen, that miraculous feeding?  Some have suggested everybody ate only the tiniest bites of bread and fish, that it was not an all-you-can-eat buffet but a kind of symbolic meal.  But that’s clearly not what it says.  Others suggest that once the disciples started sharing, other people were inspired to share the food they had hidden away and it turned out there was plenty there all along.  I’ve always liked that reading—after all, which really is the greater miracle, multiplying loaves or getting people to share?  And of course many people simply believe that when Jesus took the loaves in his hands, one loaf somehow suddenly became a hundred.  But that doesn’t really explain anything, does it? 

          That’s because to ask Did this really happen? or How did this happen? is to ask the wrong questions.  The real question is Do we have eyes to see how this story happens all the time?  As Megan McKenna has put it, this is not a story about something Jesus did a long time ago; this is a story about how life is for followers of Jesus in a world of need.1

          When Jesus looks at the world, he sees that if people will only share what they have, there will be enough and baskets full left over.  Jesus sees a world where abundance, not scarcity, can guide our every decision.  Now deep in our hearts we suspect Jesus is wrong about that.  But he is Jesus, after all, so let’s try humor him and see what might happen. 

          It turns out that the whole Bible is a story of abundance. In Genesis 1, God created heavens filled with stars, seas teeming with creatures, and plants producing of their own kind.  And God called it very good.  When the people of Israel were hungry in the wilderness, God provided manna to eat—they couldn’t horde it or store it up, but every day for forty years there was enough.  During a famine the prophet Elijah asked a poor widow to share her very last morsel of bread; she did, and her jar of flour and jug of oil never ran out (1 Kings 17:6-16).  Elijah’s successor, Elisha, took forty barley loaves and fed the entire country (2 Kings 4:42-44). 

          The Bible is a lesson in abundance . . . but we are slow learners.  Perhaps that’s why the Feeding of the 5000 is the only miracle story reported in all four gospels—the Bible wants to make sure we see things the way Jesus does.  And probably that’s why just one chapter after today’s gospel reading Jesus does it again—this time feeding 4000 people with seven loaves (Matthew 15:32-39).  And fresh off the Feeding of the 5000, guess what the disciples say when Jesus wants them to feed the 4000?  Do they say, “Okay, Jesus.  It worked before, so it’ll surely work again.”  No, fresh off the Feeding of the 5000, when Jesus wants them to feed the 4000, they say, “But where are we to get enough bread in the desert to feed so great a crowd?”  Jesus sees a world of abundance, but in our perpetual fear of scarcity we are such slow learners.


          Ultimately our fear of scarcity leads to unattractive consequences.  On a personal level, our fear of scarcity leads to never-ending anxiety.  I’m like the disciples—I want everybody to have enough to eat, really I do, but what if there’s not enough, I worry?  What if we run out?  What if more people show up?  What if I don’t get some? What if this, or what if that? 

          At its worst, this fear of scarcity leads to downright selfishness.  Since we’re not sure there will be enough, we’d better keep all we can for ourselves.  And once you start down that road, no amount ever feels like enough; even the fullest of pantries can’t alleviate our fear.  No one intends to be selfish, but fear of scarcity leads us to places we never meant to go.

          That’s on the personal level.  At the level of the church, this fear of scarcity leads to timidity, to a smallness of vision.  It’s hard to take on big ministries, if you’re afraid people won’t support them.  It’s hard to reach out and care for new people if we’re always worried about ourselves.  Sure, Jesus fed 5000 people with twelve disciples, five loaves and two fish, but we’re not sure Jesus can do anything like that through us . . .  Fear of scarcity leads to timidity, a smallness of vision. 


          The good news is that there’s a whole different way of seeing—Jesus’ way of seeing things. Instead of fearing a world of limited resources, Jesus invites us to see a world of God’s abundant gifts and endless possibilities.  It’s a way of seeing that leads to big dreams, bold plans, and extravagant sharing.  It’s very exciting, but also risky, a little scary. 

          Fuad Bahnan, an Arab born in Jerusalem, was the pastor of a small Christian church in predominantly Muslim West Beirut.2  In 1983 the Israeli army pushed north into Lebanon.  Leaders of Pastor Bahnan’s church were worried the Israelis would take Beirut and try to starve out any Palestinian fighters there.  So they decided to buy vast amounts of canned goods and store them at the church, just in case. 

          Their fears came to pass.  West Beirut was entirely cut off.  No one could enter or leave.  No food was allowed in.  The leaders of the church met again, to decide how to distribute their food.  Two proposals were put forward.  One was to distribute the food first to church members, then as supplies permitted, to other Christians, and finally, if any was left over, to the Muslims.  The second proposal was just the opposite:  to distribute food first to their Muslim neighbors, then to other Christians, and finally, if any was left, to members of their church.  The meeting lasted six hours.  It ended when one elderly woman, well-respected, stood up and cried out, “If we don’t demonstrate the love of Christ in this place, who will?”  The food was distributed first to Muslims, then to other Christians, and finally to themselves.  In the end, there was enough for all of them.2  They had learned to see with the eyes of Jesus, a world of abundance, in which five loaves and two fish really can feed us all.


     The question for today is not Did this really happen? or How did this happen? The question for today is not even quite Will we share our bread, our time, our money? though it has implications for our sharing.  The question is Can we see the world the way Jesus sees it?  Where seed is scattered lavishly whether it grows or not.  Where weeds are allowed to grow with the wheat.  Where yokes can be easy and even a cup of cold makes a difference.  And where five loaves and a couple of fish are enough to invite everyone to sit at our table.  Where not fear of scarcity, but God’s miraculous abundance guides our every decision. I want to learn to see the way Jesus sees.

1 See Megan McKenna, Not Counting Women and Children: Neglected Stories from the Bible (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1994), 16-17.

2 Michael L. Lindvall, The Christian Life: A Geography of God (Louisville: Geneva Press, 2001), 125-26.

Luke 4:16-21 / Mark 11:25


July 30, 2017


          What is a service of healing prayer?  The first thing to do about a healing service is to manage expectations.  So, on the one hand, will we hoot and holler here today?  Well, I’m not going to; you can if it helps you, I guess.  Will we throw crutches around?  No.  Will we sell hankies blessed by the Prayer Team?  No.  This is not a show; it’s a service of worship in which we seek God’s blessing.

          On the other hand, will we pray today for people to be healed in body, mind, spirit, finances, relationships, and any other way they are oppressed?  Absolutely!  Do we believe that prayer taps into a power beyond our understanding?  Yes! 

          In the Introduction to its healing services, The United Methodist Book of Worship says:  “Healing is not magic, but underlying it is the great mystery of God’s love.  . .  God does not promise that we shall be spared suffering but does promise to be with us in our suffering. . .  And God does not promise that we will be cured of all illnesses. . .  A Service of Healing is not necessarily a service of curing, but it provides the atmosphere in which healing can happen.”1 In other words, we come to this service with high expectations of an encounter with the healing God.  We get to share with God our deepest longings and desires.  The outcome of prayer is beyond our control, even beyond our understanding.  But one thing we know and trust—we need not leave here today without the blessing and favor of God.


          Will we pray for “miracles” here today?  I guess that depends on what you mean by “miracle.”  Some people think of a miracle as something that happens contrary to the rules of physics or outside the laws of nature.  I’m not sure I’ve ever prayed for that exactly.  But science is learning that energy and matter, mind and body, the spiritual and the rational are interrelated in ways we don’t begin to understand.  Surprising, unexplainable, praiseworthy things do happen—and I will pray for that. 

          The British theologian, Sam Wells, teaches that through the incarnation God is utterly with all of creation all the time, so there is no such thing as nature, understood as a self-sustaining system which God is outside of.  Instead there is creation, which God initiated, upholds and is perpetually with.  Thus “miracles” don’t so much change reality,” Wells says, “as make visible a different, divine reality that is always also part of creation.2

               One miracle I will absolutely pray for is the miracle of forgiveness—both to be forgiven and to be able to forgive others. There are few things in life more powerful than being set free from one’s guilt and shame.  And the action that unblocks the flow of receiving forgiveness is the act of forgiving others.   I know of no gift greater, no action more surprising, no miracle greater than forgiveness.  So yes, I’ll pray for miracles today.


               Our gospel reading is from Luke 4. It’s the scripture from Isaiah that Jesus chose for his very first public message. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,” he read, “because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”  In other words, Jesus took as his starting point, his personal mission statement, you might say, the work of healing, broadly understood:  the healing of physical ailments such as blindness, but also the healing of spiritual, economic, and social ailments—imprisonment, oppression, addiction, debt.  And Jesus kept at this healing mission all his life.  The very next stories in Luke 4 are about Jesus healing someone of an unclean spirit and healing Peter’s mother-in-law of a fever.  A summary at the end of chapter 4 says,  “all those who had any who were sick with various kinds of diseases brought them to him; and he laid his hands on each of them and cured them.  Demons,” it says, whatever that meant in those days, “also came out of many,”  Fully one-third of all the verses in Luke’s gospel are in stories of healing.  Healing was the mission of Jesus; it still is.


          When Jesus had finished reading his chosen scripture from Isaiah about release to captives, sight for the blind, freedom for the oppressed and favor for all God’s people, he preached on it what was essentially a one-word sermon.  (Don’t you wish your preachers could be so concise?)  “Today,” he said, “this scripture has been fulfilled in your presence.”  Today, he said.  God’s saving, healing power is not relegated to Bible stories long ago.  And God’s saving, healing power is not put off till we get to heaven or the End Time comes.  About release of captives and healed bodies, about freedom and God’s favor, Jesus says Today is the day.

          And in Jesus’ name, we say it too.  You are invited to come seek healing today.  No, no, I can’t know what will happen to anyone here today.  But again, one thing I do know and trust--we need not leave here today without the blessing and favor of God.


          Each week Cathy Davis and Nancy Gay add to our church’s Prayer List names and situations that you share on prayer cards, call or email to us, or tell us in person.  The Prayer Team faithfully prays for each one of these.  You probably know that.  What you may not know is that periodically the team creates what they call a Rejoice List.  These are the people who can be taken off the Prayer List because they’ve received the healing we prayed for, or they found peace of mind about the situation they shared.  It is often a long and always joyful list.  It’s difficult for us to share this Rejoice List with you because it contains such sensitive and personal information.  But suffice it to say there are surgeries recovered from, cancers gone into remission, relationships restored with sons and daughters, loved ones released from prison, people getting help with addictions, and on and on it goes.  Now, you may say these folks might have got better even without the Prayer Team.  Yeah, maybe—God is good.  But I sure am glad they prayed—aren’t you?


          So who are these poor people that Jesus reads about in Isaiah?  Who are the captives and blind ones, who are these oppressed and who is it that’s in need of God’s favor?  Well, the invitation today is to see that we are, you and I.  We are the ones in need of healing.  God’s healing power is not buried in Bible stories of the past nor do we have to wait for heaven or the End of time.  Jesus says healing is fulfilled today.


          There are several ways you can engage in this time of healing prayer, and you can choose one or all of them, as you are led. 

          In your bulletin is a card for you to use to reflect and then write down your heart’s longing for healing today.  How do you pray for healing this day—physical, emotional, spiritual, relationships, for someone else?  Write it down.  After the hymn, you can put this card in this Prayer Box up here, you can present it to the prayer partners when you move to a station, or you can take it home with you as a reminder.  But before the hymn we’ll give you a few moments to write down your prayer for healing.   

          Second, after the hymn you can come forward to the table and light a candle—lighting a candle is an ancient and moving act of prayer.

          Finally after the hymn, prayer partners will move to stations, both here at the front of the sanctuary and also at the back.  There is one set of prayer partners ready to come to you wherever you are, if that would be helpful—just signal to them.  At each prayer station, you will be invited to sit.  The prayer partners will ask what healing you long for today.  They’ll offer to anoint you with oil, if you wish.  And then they’ll simply pray for your desire and speak for you a blessing.  As you wait to be prayed for, I’d ask you to stay a ways back from the prayer station so that each encounter can be confidential.  

          Prayer partners will remain after worship in the prayer room in the back of the sanctuary.  If the 9:30 hours approaches, we may go ahead and sing the closing hymn, so that those who need to leave may do so, but don’t let the deter you.  The prayer partners will stay to pray with all who come, as long as they are needed. 

          Jesus said that God’s healing is fulfilled today. 



1 “Healing Services and Prayers: Introduction,” The United Methodist Book of Worship (Nashville: The United Methodist Publishing House, 1992), 613-14.

2Samuel Wells, A Nazareth Manifesto: Being With God (Malden, MA: Wiley Blackwell,

2015), 159.


Matthew 13:24-30

To Grow Together

July 23, 2017       Maple Grove UMC


          Last Sunday Jesus’ Parable of the Sower was meant to address questions like, If Jesus really is the Messiah, why doesn’t everyone believe in him? and Why don’t more people to come to church in his name? This week’s story, the Parable of the Wheat and the Weeds, addresses a related question: Why are some of the people who do come to church such, well, trouble-makers? Why are there weeds in our church’s wheat?

          Jesus’ response to people rejecting him, small crowds in church and disappointing results was to say, You know, that’s just the way it is. You scatter the seeds out there and the birds eat some and some don’t grow very well and some get choked out by weeds.  And some of them grow, but not all of them, not all the time.  That’s just the way the kingdom of God is.

          And today Jesus’ response to why there are so many weeds in the wheat, why there’s people we don’t get along with mixed in with the ones we do, is this:  that’s just the way it is too.  That’s not the way God wants it to be.  Things will be different some day.  But for now, that’s just the way the kingdom of God is; it’s a mixed bag, good and bad, wheat and weeds.

          And we know that’s true, don’t we?  There are people in our world, in our communities, in our churches, who are just not wheat people.  They don’t contribute, they don’t help out, they don’t share, they’re negative all the time.  In fact, writes one preacher, I have a list of them right here.1 You might have your own list.  I may be on your list!

          So we all know there are weeds in the wheat.  The question is, what do we do about that?  In the parable, the Master’s servants know what they want to do about it.  They want to go and pull the weeds, get rid of them.  They think that will help.

          But Jesus says, No, no.  That would do more harm than good.  Because when you try to pull the weeds, you’d pull up the wheat along with them.  No, just let them grow up together, he says.  Just let them grow up together, the wheat and weeds, until harvest time.  It will all get sorted out then, he says.

          So what should we do about the fact that there’s good people and bad people, people we like and people we don’t like, wheat and weeds, all mixed up together?  Nothing, Jesus says.  That’s just the way it is.  Just let them all grow together.  That’s kind of a hard lesson, isn’t it?


          Now before moving on, I want to make sure you know this parable is not some kind of moral relativism.  Jesus is not saying that it doesn’t matter how you live, or that anything goes in the church.  He’s quite clear that there really is wheat and there really are weeds, and that some day we really will be sorted out.  Here and now just isn’t the time to do the sorting.  And in Matthew 18 Jesus teaches a process for dealing with unacceptable behavior in the church.  He knows that for the unity of the church, certain kinds of behavior have to be confronted and dealt with.  But just to go around pulling weeds, that’s another matter. 


          Weeding can be such a damaging process.  A pastor in Virginia told about a nearby church where there was a girl, about fifteen or sixteen, who was wild, out of control.  She engaged in all kinds of inappropriate behavior and everyone knew it.  Well, it was an embarrassment to that church, and so they weeded her over it.  They voted not to let her come to church there any more, not to sing or worship or take Communion there, for one year.  It tore the church up, this pastor said.  It tore up two or three families.  It tore up the town.2 Even though there really are weeds, weeding can be so damaging.

          In my home church back in a tiny town in Kansas, a man who has a church member but didn’t really come to church any more had an RV.  And he parked his RV on a vacant lot the church owned across the street.  They bought the lot for parking, but no one ever parked there.  Now I don’t know why he parked his RV there--maybe an agreement with the pastor or a previous chair of Trustees.  It wasn’t really hurting anything.  But the new chair of Trustees called and told him he couldn’t park his RV there any more.  He didn’t give any reason, just said he couldn’t do it.  It hurt the man’s feelings and he said he wasn’t sure he wanted to be part of a church that would treat someone that way.  The new chair of Trustees told him, “The church doesn’t need your kind anyway.”  It tore up two or three families.  It tore up the little town.  Even though sometimes there really are weeds, weeding can be so damaging. 


          And for that matter, what makes any of us think we’re up to doing the weeding?  When I was a brand new pastor, the leader of Vacation Bible School came to me complaining that the woman who had signed up to teach one of the classes had quit at the last minute.  Bible School was going to start on Monday, and on Sunday after church she told her she just couldn’t do it.  She couldn’t find anyone else on such short notice and had to put two classes together, and it was a real mess.  The leader, who was usually a kind and patient woman, sort of snapped under the pressure.  She chewed that woman out and good, telling her that if she wasn’t going to follow through, she shouldn’t have signed up, and that she’d never wanted to work with her again.  The next day we found out that woman’s husband had left her, gone to Maine with some other woman, leaving her alone with their two daughters.  What do we know about pulling weeds?

          When I was in high school a member of our church came to Bible study one evening and shared some ideas that kind of shocked everyone, including me.  He had different views from the rest of us about the authority of the Bible and certain moral rules in particular.  He was told by several people that he was simply wrong and that he shouldn’t say such things at church.  I didn’t say anything, but I agreed with them.  Looking back, I now agree with every single thing that man said.  What do we know about pulling weeds?  There is One who will sort out the weeds from the wheat come harvest time, but it isn’t you and it isn’t me.

          There was a pastor in Tennessee, a very successful minister, except his current church was full of problems.  There was stress and division and just a mean spirit.  He got so sick of it he told a colleague, “I‘m thinking of quitting.”

          “I hope it won’t come to that,” his friend said.

          “Well, I might.”

          “Well, I hope not.”

          “You know what I’m going to do?” he said.  “I’m going to buy a little piece of land over in Arkansas, and I’m going to build my own church.  It’ll be a study where I can do my work.  No sanctuary.  No Sunday school rooms.  No fellowship hall.  No members.  Just me and God.3 Once you start weeding, that’s what you wind up with—just you and God.  Maybe not even you, on a bad day.


          Weeding can be so damaging.  What makes any of us think that we’re the ones to do the weeding?  And there’s one more thing:  sometimes weeds turn into wheat.  Sometimes leopards change their spots.  I know, that sounds like a physical impossibility.  And maybe it is.  But with God all things are possible.  I admit that I have given up on people, and I see them years later, and they’re not the same person.  They’ve quit all that drinking, or they’ve been healed of their bitterness and anger, or they’ve stopped feeling sorry for themselves.  You wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but there it is.  I suspect there are people who have seen me at certain moments of my life, and they might have good reason to say, “Well, that one should never be a pastor,” or “I can’t see him being a kind and caring sort.”  But God wasn’t done with me yet on those certain days, and God still isn’t done with me.  And God isn’t done with you either.  And God isn’t done with the person you’re ready to write off.  You start weeding, and you can get in the way of God’s work of transforming lives.


          That’s just the way the kingdom of God is, Jesus says—it’s a mixed bag.  Good and bad, people you like and people you don’t like, wheat and weeds all mixed up together.  That’s pretty messy, isn’t it?  When we invite people to come to church, we’d like to be able to promise them a place where it’s all wheat, where no one would ever hurt their feelings, everyone would be kind and accepting all the time, where the preacher would never say some crazy wrong-headed thing.  But we can’t promise that, of course.  I suppose that’s because God is so terribly patient with us, that as much as sin and evil must break God’s heart, God wants to give everyone one of us every possible chance to shine like golden waves of grain. 


          Now, I’ve taken Jesus’ parable to be, more or less, about the church.  And it is, I’m sure.  But it also has some implications for our own internal lives.  When there are things about myself that I do not like—my anger, my pride, my self-doubt—I’d like to root those out of my personality, pull them out like weeds.  But my counselor tells me, “You can’t do that, Glenn.  Because if you rip out your anger, what else might you rip out with it?  And if you just pull out all your pride, what damage might that do?  No, no, she says, you’ve got to befriend your shadow side.  Let it all grow up together, and see if some of those weeds inside you can be transformed into wheat.

          And the parable also surely has a thing or two to say to our country at this point in time.  Depending on our political inclinations, we’re all ready to weed out someone--immigrants , or rich people, or Muslims, or Republicans or Democrats.  But weeding can be so damaging.  Just let them grow together, Jesus said.  Leave it to One wiser than ourselves to sort it all out.


          The kingdom of God, Jesus said, is a mixed bag—good and bad, people you like and people you don’t like, wheat and weeds all mixed together.  That’s just the way it is, for now.  We’ll all get sorted out some day.  In the meantime, the good news—and I do think it’s good news—is that we’re stuck with each other, wheat and weeds growing together in God’s kingdom.  Oh sure, I think I could decide pretty well which of us are weeds and which of us is wheat.  You might have your own list, quite different from mine.  The task we have been given, however, is not to sort out who’s weeds and who’s wheat.  The task we’ve been given is not to get rid of the weeds.  Our task is to learn to live together and love each other, mixed bag that we are.  And that, says Jesus, is what the kingdom of God is like.  That’s just the way it is. 


1 See Fred B. Craddock, Cherry Log Sermons (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), 26.

2 Fred B. Craddock, Craddock Stories, ed. Mike Graves and Richard F. Ward (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2001), 106.

3 Craddock Stories, 106-7.


Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

Called to Keep Trying

July 16, 2017       Maple Grove UMC


          There are at least three ways of hearing this parable.  The interpretation that Matthew gives in chapter 13 invites you to ponder what kind of soil you are. 

  • We could be like soil on a path where there’s just too much going on and kingdom messages get through. One prominent preacher complains that people don’t listen to what he says. Church announcements are published in the parish paper, he says, reprinted in the weekly bulletin, and repeated orally before worship. Then during the Benediction he prays: “Lord, please help the people to remember the fellowship supper on Wednesday at 6:30--that’s Wednesday at 6:30, Lord. And invariably at the door afterwards someone will ask, “Are we going to have the fellowship dinner?”1 People don’t listen! Don’t be like that path soil.

  • We could be like shallow, rocky ground. “Whatever happened to so-and-so,” people ask, “who joined the church a year ago and was so excited about things?” “Well,” I’ll respond, “his friends gave him a hard time for going to church and he kind of let it go,” or “She was on a ministry team and a decision didn’t go her way, so she stopped coming.” Don’t be like that shallow, rocky soil.

  • Some people are like thorny ground, where the cares of the world choke seeds off. Fred Craddock tells about worshiping one time where the sermon was dynamic, the music was inspiring, the whole thing was life-changing. As he walked out he picked up a bulletin someone had dropped. On it was a handwritten conversation: “Shall we close the deal today?” it began. In another hand: “But it’s Sunday.” In the first hand again, “But if we don’t close it today we may lost it.”2 During church! Weeds choke out the Word. Don’t be like thorny ground.

  • What we want to be is good soil, where God’s Word takes root and grows, bearing fruit of 30, 60, 100 times.

There’s a good sermon in there, but I’m reading it a different way today.


          A second way of hearing this parable is to imagine ourselves not as soil but as seeds; we are how God shares the kingdom with others.  It’s not so much our mission, it’ss our identity, our privilege to be tossed out there by God.  Can you imagine yourself as God’s seed, yielding for God 100 more people, or 60, or 30 . . . or 1?  There’s a good sermon that way, too. 


          But there’s another way to read this story, perhaps the most natural way.  Remember—the main character in a parable is usually the one mentioned first.  And this parable starts out like this:  “Listen! A sower went out to sow . . .”  So who’s the story about?  The sower.

          Taken this way, the parable is about how hard, how unpredictable, frankly how discouraging this work of sharing God’s love and inviting people to church can be.  You dream of bearing fruit 30, 60 or 100-fold, and all too often what you wind up with is a grand total of nothing. 

          Remember from last Sunday--Jesus had reason to be discouraged at this point in his ministry.  His message has become divisive and unpopular, cities where he did deeds of power have rejected him, and even John the Baptist has his doubts.  The early church, where Matthew wrote his gospel, had similar experiences and disappointments.  The Parable of the Sower addresses questions like, “If Jesus is so wonderful, why doesn’t everyone believe in him?  If the Kingdom of God is at hand, why doesn’t it look like it?  And why hasn’t the Church been more successful?”3

          When we’re honest, we Methodists have similar questions.  Some of you have been hard at work sowing God’s seed in this church for fifty years, yet worship attendance is about half what it was fifty years ago. And despite well-loved pastors and dedicated members, the Methodist church has been shrinking since the 1970s.4 What’s going on?

          So many people want to blame pastors for their discouragement about church.  So many pastors want to blame their church members.  But in his parable, Jesus doesn’t feel the need to blame anyone.  It’s just the way it is, he says:  some of the seed falls on the path where birds eat it, and some falls on the rocky ground that has no depth, and some falls where thorns choke it out.  And some seed falls on good soil and bears fruit--but not all of it, not all the time.  Rejection of Jesus and small crowds in church don’t have to be anybody’s fault.  The question isn’t, who can I blame. The question is what are we going to do about it? Well, Jesus’ parable suggests a couple of answers.


  1. First, the church is based not on efficiency, but on trusting God’s abundance. Jesus does not say, Let’s appoint a Soil Analysis Committee to figure out the best place to plant our precious seeds. He didn’t say, Let’s plant only certain kinds of seeds, or only at certain times of year, so we don’t run out of precious seed. We get to thinking that resources are scarce; but Jesus’ parable has a different idea. So when times are tough we want to cut the budget; Jesus wants us to give ourselves away. When the crowd gets smaller, we want to circle the wagons and take care of the ones we’ve still got; Jesus wants us to keep reaching out. Jesus says, just keep throwing seeds out there. There’s no shortage of love to share; there’s plenty of seed. So just keep throwing it out there.

              It reminds me of the song, In This Very Room—I believe it’s Nancy Foulger who sometimes sings it for us:

              And in this very room there's quite enough love for all of us,           And in this very room there's quite enough joy for all of us,           And there's quite enough hope and quite enough power

                 to chase away any gloom,           For Jesus, Lord Jesus ... is in this very room.


              “Beneath this parable,” writes one pastor, “is a bedrock assumption of abundance. . . Grace is flung and wasted everywhere.”5 Go ahead and share! There’s plenty for everyone!


  2. That’s one lesson from this parable—the kingdom of God has an abundance of love and room for all. Share it!

              Here’s the other lesson of the parable, as I see it. Jesus’ message in the face of unresponsive cities, smaller crowds and discouraging results is this: keep trying. Don’t give up. We may or may not be granted what feels like success, but we are called to keep at it. According to the parable, at least ¾ of kingdom seeds never bear fruit, ¾ of our efforts to share God’s love and invite people to church won’t pan out. The answer to that is not to give up. The answer is to sow even more seed, to invite at least four for everyone one you want to show up, to keep trying.

    Of course, in order to keep trying you have to start trying. I read a sermon by a preacher whose church was just about to move into a new, larger facility. He ended his sermon like this: In a short while our church is going to be in our new building. We are going to be in a place in which you can finally invite your friends to come. We do not have room now, and we appreciate your keeping them away so far. But soon we are going to have a place, and then I may just say, “Scatter the seed. It will land in the most unlikely places, and some people may say, “Why did you invite him?” But you never know, because the seed is the Word of God, and once the invitation is out there, you never know what might happen.6

    Well, I’ve done an audit of available space here at Maple Grove and there’s seems to be plenty of room. So I’m saying it today—Scatter the seed, my friends. Throw it out there!

              In the face of smaller crowds and disappointing results, trust in God’s abundance and keep trying.



1 Fred B. Craddock, “God Opens the Ear,” The Collected Sermons of Fred B. Craddock (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 44.

2 Craddock, 44-45.

3 See Mark Trotter, What Are You Waiting For? Sermons on the Parables of Jesus (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1992), 17.

4 David Hempton, Methodism: Empire of the Spirit (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005), 183.

5 Brian Hiortdahl, Reflections on the Lectionary, The Christian Century (June 28, 2011), 21.

6 Fred B. Craddock, “At Random,” The Cherry Log Sermons (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), 24.


Matthew 11:25-30

Easy Yokes, Light Burdens

July 9, 2017         Maple Grove


          Jesus said, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”  Come to me, you weary.  What makes people weary?  Weary is not the same as tired.  You’re tired when you mow the grass and weed the flowers and trim the bushes.  And when you’re done your bones ache, but you pour yourself an iced tea and sit on the porch and admire how everything looks.  That’s tired.  Weary is when you get half-way done and the mower quits and no amount of pulling will bring it back to life.  So you weed the garden. go inside to brag to your wife about all the weeds you’ve pulled, and she says, “I hope you didn’t pull up the new flowers that just came up.”  “New flowers?”  Then you trim the bushes and the neighbor chews you out for leaving twigs on his lawn. That’s weary.  Tired is “worn out;” weary is “worn down.” 

          What makes people weary?  Burn-out, in my experience, is usually not about working too hard or too many hours.  It’s about working hard at things that don’t really seem to matter, that aren’t getting results any more, that no one seems to appreciate anyway. You know, weary.

          Jesus knew this weariness.  They brought someone with seizures to the disciples but they couldn’t help him.  Jesus said, “How much longer must I be with you?”  He was weary.  At the end of chapter 17 Jesus tells the disciples he’ll be betrayed and put to death, and the next thing they can think of to talk about is which them is the greatest.  It made Jesus weary.  In Gethsemane Jesus begged them to stay awake while he prayed, yet they could not stay awake even one hour.  And in chapter 11, just before today’s Gospel reading, Jesus is lamenting that cities where’d he’d done great deeds of power would not repent, and even John the Baptist had begun to have his doubts about Jesus.  He was weary. 


          Perhaps his own weariness was why Jesus prayed to God: “Thank you, Father, because you have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and have revealed them to infants.”  He knew that those who are most open to the gospel are not the strong but the weak, not those who have it all together but those whose lives have fallen apart, not the successful but the weary.  Our weariness, in other words, may not be a curse after all, but an opportunity for God.  It’s not until you get to the point you can’t do it yourself that you begin to let go and turn to Jesus.  Michael Yaconelli says:  “We know we are ready for God to work in our lives when we’re tired.”1 You know, weary.  Are you ready for God to work in your life?


          Jesus said, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” 

          Why is Jesus’ yoke easy and his burden light?  It’s not that he isn’t demanding.  He sends us out to share God’s love and invite people to church.  Demanding.  He tells us to give to every person who begs from us.  Demanding.  He says for us to forgive not seven times, but seventy times seven times.  Demanding.  He wants us to love not just our friends but our enemies.  What makes that yoke easy and that burden light?

  1. Well, for one thing, Jesus’ burden is the right burden, carried in the right way. This is what God-Centered Wellbeing and Calling means. The trick is not to find the most lucrative burden, or the most impressive, or the one closest at hand. The trick is to find the burden that’s yours, that fits the way God made you, that brings you joy and satisfaction because it is your calling.

              Another way of thinking about this is that the light burden is authentic. If you’re working hard all the time but doing it to keep up with the Jones’s or impress your friends, it’ll wear you out. If you’re nice to your family but just to keep mama off your back, you’ll come to resent them. And if you grit your teeth and fill out Maple Grove’s service commitment card because you feel like it’s your duty, where’s the joy? The light burden is the right burden carried in the right way.

          I think of Peggy Bowers whose funeral we had here yesterday.  She was a nurse for over forty years, and when she wasn’t working in the ER at Riverside, she was taking a friend to the doctor or checking on a neighbor.  No one made Peggy be a nurse, and it must have been hard, stressful, demanding work.  But for Peggy it was an easy yoke, a light burden, because it was her calling, what God made her to do.

          Sometimes, of course, we all to knuckle down and do something just because it has to be done.  Caregiving may not be your calling but your spouse is sick, overtime may not be your thing but your family needs debts paid down, I don’t love driving but my daughter lives 700 miles away.  What are you going to do?  When you’ve just got to do something, you have two choices.  You can do it bitterly, griping and complaining, making yourself and the people around you miserable; or you can accept it lightly, grateful for the ability to do it and that you don’t have to do it forever.  Even when it’s not quite the right burden, how much lighter it is when you carry the right way. 

 2. Why is Jesus’ yoke easy and his burden light? Because it’s your calling, the right burden carried in the right way. Second, the word translated as an “easy” yoke means, literally, “kind” or “loving.” There are some teachers or bosses that you’d do anything for. Why? Because they’re kind, loving. There are other teachers and other bosses that make even the simplest thing feel hard. Guess which kind of teacher Jesus is?

     Have you ever noticed how people’s attitude toward certain activities changes when they fall in love? Someone who used to hate to go to the gym is suddenly there at 6:00 am . . . if the girlfriend is there. Football games aren’t so boring, long walks aren’t as dull, even the opera is tolerable, if shared with the one you love.

     Well, what about a life lived out in love of Jesus? What about work done, sacrifices made, gifts given, indignities suffered all out of love of Jesus? The ordained ministry is sometimes called “the yoke of obedience.” Sounds delightful, doesn’t it? And it can be like that--when no one volunteers, and you fight with the Trustees, when some people call to complain you’ve done something too much and others call to complain you haven’t done it enough, and the phone rings with news of yet another death. As long as you’re carrying all that to do your job or keep people happy, it’s heavy. But Jesus says, Come to me. You’re not doing it for yourself, but out of love for me. 

     In A Chorus Line they sing: 

Kiss today goodbye and point me toward tomorrow We did what we had to do Won't forget, can't regret what I did for love.


3. What makes Jesus’ yoke easy and his burden light? Because it’s our calling, the right burden carried in the right way. Because it’s carried out of love for Jesus. And here’s one more. Look at the yoke: it’s not for one burden-bearer but for two. One commentary has Jesus saying, “Become my yoke mate, and learn how to pull the load by working beside me and watching how I do it. The heavy labor will seem lighter when you allow me to help you with it.2 Jesus is not calling you to a task. Oh, there’s work to do, but he’s inviting you into a relationship. And Jesus isn’t inviting you to come and do a duty, though again there is much to do. He’s calling you to share life with him. He didn’t say come and do a bunch of stuff; he said come to me.


          Have you ever been weary?  Maybe you’re weary today?  Jesus said,

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”


1 Michael Yaconelli, Messy Spirituality: God’s Annoying Love for Imperfect People (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2002), 98.

2 Douglas R.A. Hare, Matthew, Interpretation (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1993), 129.




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