June 19th, 2022

Sermon by Rev. Joel Crouse

Our gospel this morning can fall prey to distraction. It is about people’s being possessed by demons, and Jesus’s commanding those demons out. As gospel stories go, it is one story that naturally gives our modern thinking pause. Theologians and pastors, me included, have tried to reconcile the stories of demon possession with the science we know today. Were the demons in the story actually bad habits – like drinking too much? Were they diseases, such as schizophrenia? If we agree that demons – like vampires and werewolves – are a fantastical idea – then what was Jesus commanding out of the person?

It also gets tricky if we go one step further: did Jesus believe in actual demons, or was he just speaking in a language that the people of the day could understand? And if Jesus did believe in actual demons, must we as well?

In the end, this is one of those coffee conversations about the gospel that can be entertaining, even revealing, but don’t really help us very much. Not, at least if our goal is to be gospel-bearing in 2022. The reason why the gospel lives on today is not because of its anachronisms, but because of its eternal truths, the ones that speak across time and place, to reach us here, even now.

So, I want you to decide for yourselves what those demons are. Maybe they are a bad habit or a pattern of behavior that is causing conflict between you and those you love. Maybe they are, indeed, an illness plaguing you, a mental illness or a physical one, that is putting you at a distance from your community of support. Maybe, in the moment, you want to imagine that the man in the gospel was possessed by a legion of actual demons. The image is yours.

But it is not the core truth of this gospel story.

Let us consider our demon-possessed man. When we meet him, he is not wearing any clothes, and hasn’t for a long time. He does not live in a house anymore, but in the graveyard. We are told, in a rather dramatic side reference, that he had been chained and guarded, but that he would break free from time to time and run into the wild.

Based on what we know at this point; we have two options: we can be afraid, as his neighbors clearly were, terrified of this dangerous, demon-possessed man.

Or, we can remain open to a different perspective: we can consider that he broke his chains from a desire to be free. We can overlook the fact that if we, like him, were shunned from our community, and left naked among the dead, after a while we might not act exactly like ourselves either. And if we were struggling before with an addiction or an illness, it might, under such circumstances only get worse.

What happens when the man meets Jesus? He does not attack him or shout out at him; as far as we know, his demons do not spin his head around and make claws grow from his hands. Instead, what happens is this poor, naked man, living in the tombs, falls to his knees and begs for Jesus to help him.

And suddenly, we have another challenge: how many times had he asked the same of his neighbors, his former friends, and was refused?

Now we come to the core truth of the gospel, as told in this story. And it no longer matters what kind of demon you or I or anyone else is wrestling with. Even when the language of the gospel trips us up, it is the actions of Jesus that translate across time and space. This is true, each and every time, in every story: peel away the wording, the framing, the social context, and you will find the actions of Jesus to teach us everything we need.

What does Jesus do? He does not run, or recoil. He goes to the man. He helps him. The demons, we hear, are pulled out of him, and asking not to be sent into the abyss, are put by Jesus into some pigs who then run off and drown in the river. Again, a high drama moment. But don’t be distracted. Where is Jesus? He is still with the man, and the man is still with him.

This is where the villagers find him, dressed and speaking normally, and by all appearances, better. Do they rejoice? Do they throw a party? No, they are afraid; and their fear costs them dearly. Because they do not invite Jesus among themselves; they send him away. Their fear has not made them wiser, or safer, or stronger. It has made them weaker, and smaller. It has isolated them.

Our gospel ends with Jesus’s sending the man back to his home, to reclaim his life.

The question we might ask ourselves now is this one: who is the real demon of the story? Is it whatever, or even whoever, was afflicting the man? Or is it the fear that caused people to abandon another person, to show him no love or kindness, and to leave him to die? That fear, as we see, was its own legion, for even when the demons in the man were gone from him, it still possessed the villagers. It blinded them to Jesus so they could not see him.

So what happened in this gospel story? What core truth was upheld? When everyone was afraid and judging, Jesus reached out with acceptance. When we judge ourselves, Jesus does not back away from our demons, but reaches out. When everyone is saying things are one way, Jesus calls us to ask: what is another way to see this situation? Is there some way to help?

When we respond blindly out of fear, we miss the chance to see all kinds of healing miracles happen in the world. We may even miss Jesus in our midst. Amen.

June 12th, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse

This week, a Facebook friend posted something interesting about religion. So that we would know where they were coming from, they led off by saying that they don’t believe there is a God. The post quoted a Rabbi, and apparently it has made the rounds on social media. In the post, the Rabbi is asked why God created atheists. The rabbi answers, saying that atheists set an important example for people who believe in God: When they do something good, it is not because they believe they were commanded by God, or are afraid of God, but just because they saw a need and acted. So, the rabbi said, when someone is in need, we shouldn’t settle for things like “I will pray for you,” but we should act like an atheist, as if there is no God, and help. Now I always find posts like this interesting because they are often a backhanded way to take shots at organized religion. And let’s be clear: organized religion is an easy target. But those mistakes are human, not divine. Also, the rabbi’s joke is in the question, which assumes God created atheists. And let’s also remember that Paul made a similar observation in a recent gospel lesson when he posed the question, “What is faith without action?” This morning our second lesson includes the point that we are justified by faith – an idea captured in the Augsburg Confession, and highlighted last week by our four confirmands. This idea of acting in good ways because are told to do so, or because we are afraid of what God will do to us if we don’t, is not part of our Lutheran faith; and it is not part of the gospel. Jesus sets an example of a giving life so that we might follow. People who are afraid, or cowed, or trod upon, have trouble making choices and initiating action. This idea of a judging, commanding God is not just the opposite of what we hear in the gospel; it is counterproductive. To risk action when we are needed, we must be empowered. Our faith is that power. I guess I feel the need to push back because too often faith finds its way into the public square in ways that make me, as a pastor, as a progressive Christian, and as a Lutheran, uncomfortable. When a mass shooting happens, and instead of people’s finding earthly ways to fix the problem they talk again and again about saying prayers, I feel angry: that is not faith: it is a deflection of responsibility, an acceptance that evil happens to some people and we live with it. When a belief in God is used by one side to condescend to or condemn another side, that makes me cringe: faith is not a tool for human judgment. Indeed, when people find out I am a pastor, one of two things usually happens: The conversation ends, or the conversation takes off. Usually, it is the latter. People want to talk about meaning and purpose and the point of life - all subjects that are central to the gospel of Jesus. We don’t talk about those things enough in the world. It is not enough to expect us to know what to do when the moment of crisis arrives, when doubt hits, when uncertainty paralyzes us. How much better able we are to act in those moments if we have already considered them. That is a journey our faith takes us on all our lives: a consideration of purpose and meaning. Faith is complex: that is why we have a Triune God – a Creator, a redeemer, and a sanctifier. For God is complexity; God is many things to us at the same time. God is a guide, God is a teacher, God is inspiration. And at different times in our lives, those images of God serve different roles. We don’t need to put God anywhere – not in heaven, or on earth, or in the air – but if we need to in the moment, we can centre God in one place. In fact, what fascinates me about our idea of the Trinity is that it is a lesson in nuance, in an ability to see beyond ourselves, to not require certainty to believe: God is many things and one thing. That is why this passage from Proverbs deserves particular attention. What was placed at the side of God, at the very beginning when the world came to be? Is it judgement or shame? Is it fear? No, it is wisdom. And according to the writer’s description, what is wisdom? The lines that answer that question are missing from our reading, which is unfortunate, because they are profoundly important. They speak of a wisdom that came before everything else.

June 5th, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse

Article IV of the Augsburg Confession: We are justified by God’s Grace through our faith. To our newly confirmed, I say, “Well done!” This article they have been studying, is, for us as Lutherans, not merely any test we have to pass, but the most important summation of our belief that God loves us first and foremost for ourselves, And as they are confirmed on this Pentecost Sunday, as they become adults in your church community, we are, all of us, reminded about our own understanding of faith. We often think of faith as a way of being, something that exists like a flame inside us. Have faith, we say: believe that things will work out. Go in faith, we say: take God with you in your life. Faith is like hope and love - a feeling, a knowing, a way of being, that keeps us going through hard times. But faith is something else as well. Faith is an intellectual exercise. Faith enables us not only to feel, but also to think. The Lutheran church, after all, was founded by a scholar -- Martin Luther - who wrote thousands of pages on all kinds of issues, including the role of leaders in the pandemic that happened in his time. Martin Luther was far from perfect – indeed some of the mistakes he made require God’s forgiveness and ours as well. But he saw faith as something you both felt in your heart and thought through in your mind. In fact, the gospel you heard this morning went unheard for many centuries in the Christian church. It was read only in Latin, which most people didn’t understand, until Luther translated it into German, because he wanted people to hear it for themselves, to debate and reflect on the words with their own minds. And since then it has been translated into every language in the world. But, of course, long before Luther, we have Jesus, the teaching carpenter who sets our first, and foremost, example. Jesus posed the gospel as a series of questions and thought exercises. Faith wasn’t something that he just threw out like candy, for us to enjoy. It was an intellectual challenge, to force people to think. The questions Jesus asked, in his day, were not only good debate material; they were dangerous. Because Jesus asked: Is the way we have always done things the right way? What do you – as an individual – think of what this person is saying? Jesus was not afraid to be challenged by those who followed him; he encouraged it. Because to believe in something, enough that you will fight for it, you must know why you believe it. Now, we live in a world where we get all sorts of ideas thrown at us. We are told “This is truth, believe me,” by so many voices, especially ones that are online. The Internet is a wonderful source of information – and misinformation - and it is hard to tell fact and fiction apart. You may know people, as I do, who believe the COVID-19 vaccine was a way for the government to inject nanobots in people to track them. This conspiracy spread on social media, and it convinced a lot of people not to get a vaccine that would keep them, and others, safe from the worst of the virus. Of course, once you think about it, the whole idea falls apart. Is it reasonable that this technology even exists? Is every scientist and doctor and journalist in on it? Why would someone want to spread this fiction? But there are many more conspiracy theories drifting around on Tik Tok, and they are hard to tell apart from fact. Watch one too long, and you are flooded with more of them. It takes a lot of energy to critique each one, to pause and think: Does this match the truth I see? Is this the world I want? Is it what I believe? And yet, that is the journey of questions we are called to live. Confirmed into our faith, we face the intellectual challenge of deciding what that means for us, as individuals. That may not always be clear. That’s okay. These gift of faith takes on new meaning as we move through life, and it is up to us to find that meaning for ourselves. One of the first things we might have learned in Sunday School is the story of Jesus as the Good Shepherd, who protects the sheep. The sheep in the metaphor are us, the flock of the faithful. But sheep get a bad rep as mindless followers; and sometime people who believe in God get called sheep as an insult. I hope you will never accept that version of events. In fact, your faith – and the history of your church – is one of questioning, challenging, and debating. We follow Jesus to be those questioners and challengers. There are many ways we become sheep in this world: when we chase money at all costs, when we get caught up in having the best things, when we blindly accept the word of political leaders, our peers, and our bosses. But our faith lives are meant to make the sheep of Jesus into Shepherds for the World. We are meant to lead in faith, and to ask tough questions of others, and of ourselves. Today is Pentecost - this story in the Bible, when people of many different languages were able to understand one another, as they spoke of their faith. This story is not meant to say that people all thought the same. But it reminds us that in the gospel is a common language that all people hear, that all humans desire - teenagers and adults. It is a common language of love, and tolerance, and kindness. A language that says: I hear you. I see you. I will help you if I am able. This is also how we make faith an intellectual journey – how we use our brains to shape and sustain our faith. We remain open to listening to people who speak a different language – whether they actually speak a different language, or just believe different things. We reflect on the words and the wisdom of others. We talk rather than shout. We seek common ground. In the end, though, what God want for us is that we always come back to ourselves and to the gospel. Think about the stories we have all learned about Jesus – debating the leaders of his time, listening to people who were often ignored, challenging us over and over again to think about what kind of world we want. We are called to do the same, guided by our faith, confident that God loves us, knowing that we are free - that, in fact, we are called - to ask these tough questions. Does this match the truth we see? Is this the kind of world we want? What do we believe? Amen.