June 26th, 2022

Sermon by Rev. Joel Crouse

While reading up on the gospel story this week, I came across an excerpt from a book called The Power of Focus. The goal of the book was to teach people “how to hit their business and personal targets with certainty.”

Online, someone had distilled down the eight lessons. I want to give you a sampling of what they are. To improve focus, the writers propose the following behaviours. Number One: Take one day completely off each week. Two: Spend time with your family. Three: Before going to bed, think about what you want to accomplish tomorrow. Number Four: Find one thing to make your day better. Five: Take a nap. Six: Ask for help. Seven: Be persistent. And Eight: Keep your promises.

I love reading lists like this. They sound so familiar. Perhaps, we have heard them before?

Perhaps, in one version or another, they have been spoken by the same guy who is giving us the gears in this morning’s gospel.

Jesus is certainly playing Bad Cop in the gospel text. He is in a moment of his ministry when he is making discipleship sound hard. So hard, we might be squirming in our seats a bit.

Someone says to Jesus: I will follow you anywhere. And Jesus basically says, come if you want, but we’re pretty much homeless, and foxes live better than we do.

He encounters another person and extends an invitation. This person agrees, but can he first go and bury his dad? Jesus fires back: let the dead take of themselves, he says.

A third potential disciple says, “I’m coming; just let me go and kiss my family good-bye.” “Whatever,” Jesus answers. “No one who puts a hand to the plow and look back is fit for the [Reign] of God.”

Was Jesus being a bit of a heavy? Absolutely. But his point was clear: discipleship is hard. In his day, it meant leaving your family, giving up a home and a comfortable bed, facing uncertainty, including the risk of arrest and death by the authorities. It was not a decision to be made lightly. We have it easier, living in Canada. But in our day, as the teachings of Jesus become less prominent in society, being disciples of the gospel also has its challenges. It is easy to lose focus.

But keeping focus, staying the course, and persisting is what Jesus is talking about today. What happens to the person pushing the plow if they get distracted and look backwards? They till a crooked line, or maybe the plow runs into a rock and gets stuck. If you are always looking to the life you wish you had, how can you truly live the one you have chosen? Faith requires Focus.

The gospel is never so lacking in nuance, even when the words of Jesus seem to be. The gospel is meant to be read as a complete story, and in context, and by lifting bits here or there. We can read the whole thing on a Sunday, so I get to preach on snippets, on themes. Today, Jesus is talking about focus, but he is also telling stories that highlight, in another context, the benefits of being open to distraction. And there have been plenty of times when Jesus lifted up memory, and family connection, and an awareness of ourselves as being bigger than one moment, as important parts of faith.

But, in this instance, he is talking specifically choosing discipleship when it is tough to do so, about the importance of deciding to be all-in, so you don’t waver at the first sign of trouble. It was going to be hard for the group he was gathering during the time in our story; and it is hard for us today to stay on that plow, never looking back. When we falter in those moments, when our plow goes off-kilter, Jesus reminds us to stay focused on God, on the gospel. Don’t worry about unfinished business you cannot make better. Don’t worry about what you don’t have. Don’t worry about mistakes you made you can’t fix. Look to what you can make better now, to what you can fix now.

So Jesus is talking about a singular focus, like following with thought. He is referring to the kind of focus that gives us energy, purpose and direction. Focus is a trait to adopt so all the other parts of our lives are more content, have more meaning, more love and space. And so it is interesting to hear those 8 points mentioned in a business book about focus.

Because - what were they again? Take off the Sabbath, care for your community, pray as you look to the next day; do something good that brings you peace; practice mindfulness; be open to support and wisdom; have the faith to keep going; and, as much as you can, do what you say you will.

We don’t need to buy a book for those rules; they are written here in the gospel. They are principles of focusing on a life that serves a greater good, a higher calling. Do not look behind, Jesus says, so that you become stuck among the things you cannot change; look ahead, with intention, and live well and honestly. Focus on the gospel, Jesus says, keep your hands on the plow of the faithful, and your harvest will be large indeed. Amen.

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.