The Risk of Not Coming

Sermon on Acts 4:32-35 and John 20:19-31

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, April 19, 2009,

Second Sunday of Easter, Year B

(word count: 974)

The Risk of Not Coming

“I don't need to go to church. I'm spiritual but not religious. I can have an encounter with God out in the woods. What do I need to go to church for?”

We have all heard people make statements like these. It is true that we can encounter God anywhere, but in the Church we are guaranteed to encounter God. Jesus teaches us in Matthew, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” When we eat and drink Holy Communion, we encounter Christ. Jesus says of Holy Communion, “This is my body; this is my blood.” The Book of Concord teaches us that, when we eat and drink Holy Communion, we are eating and drinking the real body and blood of God himself. You can't get that by walking in the woods.

You might encounter God out in nature. Mary Magdalene does on Easter Day. Of course, what does Jesus tell her when she meets him? He says, “Go and tell the others.” In fact, over and over, when people encounter the risen Jesus, he urges them to go and tell. Don't keep it to yourself. Go, tell it on the mountain that Jesus Christ is alive. I wonder how many people who encounter God in the woods go and tell people about the encounter.

You might encounter God in nature, but you will definitely encounter God when you are with the believers, the Church. That's what happens to Thomas. The risen Jesus appears to the group of disciples. Thomas misses out because he is not there, not with the group. Where was he? Maybe he was in the woods. Maybe he was at work. Maybe he was sleeping in. We don't know. What we do know is that, wherever he was, he did not encounter Jesus there. Otherwise, Thomas would not have said, “I will not believe until I can see and touch him.” Wherever Thomas was, he did not encounter God there.

But he does encounter God when he is with the group, with the believers. Do you understand? It is only when he is with the other believers, with the Church, that Thomas meets the risen Christ. When you're alone, you might meet up with God, just as Mary Magdalene does, or you might end up like Thomas, who did not encounter God when alone. But when we are with the other believers, we will definitely meet up with God, just as Thomas eventually does.

“I don't need to go to Church. I can meet God in the woods.” Maybe. Come to Church, and God will be here. Guaranteed. Despite all our flaws, when we, the baptized, gather, God is here. Guaranteed.

So what? When I come to church I encounter God; so what? What benefits come from encountering God at church?

I wonder how Thomas would answer that question. What if Thomas had stayed away? What if Thomas had never encountered the risen Christ? Thomas would have continued to doubt, but when he does encounter Christ, he goes from being doubting Thomas to being devouting Thomas. When he sees the risen Jesus, Thomas declares, “My Lord and my God!”

Sunday worship may not dispel all our doubts, but attending worship Sunday after Sunday does strengthen us, thanks be to God. When we gather for worship and come face-to-face with our Lord and our God, Jesus Christ, we learn anew that evil will not win. It is easy for us to doubt, easy to get discouraged, tempting to think that evil will win, that Satan is the victor. “Yup, that's right. The world's going from bad to worse. People are shooting each other, politicians are corrupt and getting worse, the world is sick with violence, the economy is derailed and plummeting off a cliff.” Satan puts his arm around you and says, “That's right. Be pessimistic, be cynical, give up. Evil has won. It's all hopeless. Why even bother going to Church? Doesn't do any good. Just stay home. What's the point?”

It is tempting to think in this rotten, smelly way, but then the Spirit compels us to drag ourselves to worship. The risen Christ shows up. He shows you his scars. He says to you, “Do you see? Yes, sinful people crucified me. Yes, I died, but now I am alive. Good has won. God has vanquished Satan. Don't listen to the doom-sayers. Don't listen to the pessimists and cynics. Sure, the world has problems, but I am still risen. I am still your Lord and your God. I am here to feed you, fill you, teach you, strengthen you, challenge you. I breathe the Holy Spirit into you.” Do you see? The risen Christ means hope, new life.

April 20, tomorrow, reminds me of this truth in a special way. April 20 is Hitler's birthday. April 20 is also the birthday of my best male friend, Glenn, who is Jewish. Hitler's plan was to eliminate all Jews, but he failed, thanks be to God. Despite Hitler's efforts, Glenn and millions of other Jews are alive. Hitler lost; evil lost. Evil is strong; God is stronger. Christ was crucified, but Christ is alive. Do not doubt, but believe. Do you see? [have Christ statue]

We come to worship with our doubts, broken-hearts, weariness, sharp pains and dull aches, fears. We bring all of this to worship, and being in worship does not erase all of that. But in worship, Christ comes to us through Scripture, Holy Communion, one another. Christ comes to us, the baptized, and says, “See the scars. See the marks from the nails in my hands. Put your hand in my side. Evil did its worst to me, but look: I am alive! I am alive. I have won, and so you will, too. You are the baptized. Do not doubt, but believe!”

Rock Part Three: Easter

ROCK PART THREE

(word count: 743)

I cannot believe it. I don't know whether to be hopeful or terrified or both. Right now I'm just shocked. Jesus used to call me Peter, which means Rock, but I feel more like jell-o.

He died. The women saw the whole thing, the crucifixion. The centurions took the body down from the cross, all bloody and battered. John saw. Others saw. He was dead. Not sleeping. Dead.

I went to the viewing at the funeral home. I saw his body in the casket. I dropped to my knees and sobbed right. My wife put her arm around me. I looked up and saw Jesus lying there, in the casket. It was him. His rugged face, swarthy skin, square jawline. I've looked into that face a million times. There was no mistake. It was Jesus. He looked like he was sleeping, but he was dead.

We thought Jesus might have a closed casket because he had been beaten so badly, but he didn't look too bad. The funeral director, John Lopatich, had done an excellent job with the makeup and clothes to hide the wounds. I stood up, reached out, touched his face.

I spoke with John Lopatich. “Is he really dead?” I asked him. John nodded. “Yes, Peter. He's really dead.” “Are you sure?” I asked. John said, “Yes, I drained all the blood out of him myself. I worked on his body. He didn't move, didn't breathe. I've been doing this job a long time. I know a dead body when I see one, and Peter, I am afraid to say that Jesus is really dead.”

I nodded and walked away, still nodding. My wife guided me to a chair.

Then they had the funeral. I don't remember what the pastor said in the homily; I'm sure it was fine. We all drove to the cemetery. Jesus' casket was placed in the upper cemetery here at St. James. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. There stood the casket containing Jesus' poor, dead body. After the service, I leaned in and gave the casket a kiss. I walked away, crying, my wife holding me close. Then we went to the church basement and ate fried chicken, halushki, and gob cake.

Last night I came back to the grave site by myself. The casket had been lowered. Back fill had been shoveled in. Now there was a mound of dirt, and, at the end of the mound, a temporary grave marker that read: JESUS OF NAZARETH, REST IN PEACE.

That all happened yesterday, Saturday. At the end of the day, I went to bed, cried, did not sleep well. This morning, when the sun came up, I was wide awake, thinking about all that I had experienced with Jesus. I recalled how I had denied him three times. As I lay there, I prayed, “God, if I could do it all over, I would not deny him. I wish I had another chance. Please give me another chance.”

The phone rang. Who was calling at 7 on a Sunday morning? My wife didn't wake up; she was just snoring away. The phone kept ringing. I looked at the caller ID. It was Mary Magdalene's cell.

“Peter, something happened,” she said. “We went to the grave this morning to place some flowers there, and it was all dug up. We looked down into the hole. The casket was there, but it was open, and sitting in the casket was a young man, probably about eighteen, wearing a white robe. He told us that Jesus has been raised from the dead and that we were to go and tell you and the other disciples that he will meet you in Galilee.”

I said, “Mary, what are you talking about?” She told me everything again, and I thought this could not be right. I said I'd have to call her back and hung up. I needed a moment to think.

My wife rolled over. “What's going on, honey?” she asked. I told her, and she said, “Well, that makes sense. Didn't he used to tell you that he would die and come back to life?”

My wife was right, of course. I got dressed and drove to the cemetery. I looked into the hole in the ground. The open casket was there, but there was no young man.

I'm so confused. This is all frightening, strange. Could he truly be alive? Look! There he is! Do you see him?

Rock (Part Two)

ROCK PART TWO

word count: 397

Where are we headed? God, hold me up. I am falling.

Just a few hours ago, we were celebrating Passover. During the seder, he held up a pita and tore it in half. He said, “Take, eat; this is my body, given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” I didn't understand. I just stared at him. We passed the bread around and ate. The room was quiet from bewilderment tinted with holiness. I chewed the bread. The wheat flavor was rich, the texture gritty. I thought, “This is his body. This is his body.” What does that mean?

Later, he held up the chalice. He said, “Take this; drink. This is my blood given for you and for all for the forgiveness of sins. Do this in remembrance of me.” He passed the chalice. We each drank. The tart wine warmed my chest. His blood. Drinking blood. How strange. What does that mean? I could spend a lifetime thinking about that. I will.

“Do this in remembrance of me,” he said. I will do it in remembrance of him. At least I can get that right, I hope.

Maybe I can somehow make up for the horrible sin I committed against him. Can I? Will I? Can I ever do enough to make up for what I did against him this morning?

This morning, this morning, I denied him. To protect myself, I said three times that I did not know him. The first time was in response to a servant girl. What a weakling I am, letting a servant girl intimidate me. Some rock. A little while later, I denied him again. An hour after that, I denied him a third time. I got defensive. I swore an oath. I hissed, “I do not know him!”

Then I heard the rooster. I remembered what he had said: “Before the rooster crows twice you will deny me three times.” In response, I had said, “Never. Even if I have to die for you, I will never deny you.” Blah, blah, blah. Empty talk. Typical me. A whole lot of talk, but, when the pressure's on, I crumble. I'm not a rock. I denied him. To save myself, I said I did not know him. I chickened out. I failed. I'm a coward. O!

God, forgive me. [Lean over font.] Hold me up. Hold me up.

ROCK (Part One)

Rock

(a three-part homiletical monologue)

Part One

(word count: 1077)

I don't know what to think. I love him. I don't understand him. Who is he? One minute I swear I know, the next minute I have no idea. Maybe I have a demon in me driving me insane. God help me. I feel as sure and dependable as sand.

I do love him. I know that. I cling to that, cling to my love for him.

I also know that he has changed me forever. He started changing me three years ago, when we first met. I had just docked our boat. Andrew and I had a net full of carp, all shiny, wriggling and flipping. It was a huge catch. Business was good.

Then he came walking along the shore. He was muscular, dark-skinned, with large, rugged hands. His eyes were dark and intense. He came walking up to us. Andrew and I dropped our net. He waved. He called out, “Hey, you guys. Come on. Drop everything. Follow me, and I'll teach you how to do some real fishing. I'll teach you to fish for people.”

We heaved the net back into the sea so all the fish could swim away. Then we dragged the net back into the boat and followed him. We didn't know what we were doing or who this guy was. But he had power, charisma, and we did not want to say no. I remember thinking, “I'll take a couple hours off and follow this guy, see what happens.” Three years later, and the biggest fish I have caught is myself.

We followed him, listened to his teachings as often as we could. We have families and other responsibilities, but we're with him as much as possible.

He's addictive. He does astonishing miracles. He healed my mother-in-law of a fever. He drives out demons. In fact, demons would scream in terror at his presence. I've seen wonder workers and faith healers before. Every town has someone who claims to do miracles, but no one like him. Every day he cures someone of leprosy or causes a blind person to see. Incredible. Imagine spending your whole life unable to see. You're reduced to begging, you never marry. Then a man touches your eyes, and now you can see. Overwhelming.

He is astonishing. One time, we were all out on a boat. he had gone off to pray. A storm kicked up. Demons, probably, were knocking our boat about.You get that on the water sometimes. Wind howled. I've spent my whole life on the sea, but I thought for sure we were going to capsize. Then we saw someone out in the water, walking toward us. It's a ghost! “No,” the man shouted. “It's I AM.” It was him, actually walking on the surface of the waves. He invited me out. I stepped onto the surface, my stomach tense, my heart rapid. Soon I was actually standing on the waves, looking at him. It was unreal. The water felt like wet skin. I kept my eyes on him, kept my eyes on him. But the wind was so loud and the waves were so high, I thought, “I can't do,” and I started to sink. I screamed, “Save me!” and he grabbed me with a strong, tight grip. So strange and powerful.

That's how it's been with him. He has shown incredible power. He has done wonders that only, well, only God could do. He must be the Messiah.

In fact, I even said as much to him. “Who do you say that I am?” he asked, his eyes locked on me, his face dark and a bit sunburned.

I cleared my throat. “You are the Messiah.”

He put his hand on my arm, smiled, and said, “Simon you are Peter, Rock, and on this rock I will build my church.” He calls me Peter, which means rock. I am his rock. I guess. I feel more like sand than rock. Such a title is humbling to the point of heartache, but also exciting.

Right after he said that, he started talking about how he would suffer. “They're going to arrest me, beat me, kill me, and then, three days later, the Son of Man will rise again.”

I glanced at John and James. What crazy talk was this? What is he saying? Being killed, rising again? It was like he had suddenly lost it. I wondered if he somehow had a demon in him, so I tried to drive the demon out. “Get out of him!” I shouted.

But then his eyes narrowed and his mouth became taut. He said, “Get behind me, Satan! You don't know what you're talking about. You are setting your mind, not on divine things, but on human things.”

I felt punched in the stomach. I walked off by myself so that he would not see me weep.

He is a confusing one, this man, or whatever he is. One minute it seems like he will save the world. The next minute he is talking about being murdered. I don't get it. Who is he?

A couple weeks ago, he led James, John and me up a high mountain. While he was up there, he became blazing white. It hurt to look at him. I thought, “What is this? Death? Life? A vision? What?” Then two men started talking with him, and I somehow knew that they were Moses and Elijah, who have been dead for hundreds of years. It was like a dream. I thought I might die any minute. I said, “Uh, this is great. How about we make three dwellings, one for each of you?” What a stupid thing to say. Why would we make dwellings, and what were we going to make them out of?

A fog moved in, and a voice boomed, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him” The voice of God, hard like iron, piercing like a nail. A second later, everything was back to normal. Did I imagine it? “Don't tell anyone about this until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead,” he told us.

Son of Man? Raised from the dead? The dead. God, help me. I do not understand. Is this man, the greatest being I have ever known, the Messiah, maybe even God himself – is this wonderful being whom I love more than anyone really, is he really going to die? Where are we headed?

Away, Satan!

Sermon on Mark 8:31-38

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, March 8, 2009,

2^nd Sunday in Lent, Year B,

(word count: 899)

WAIT, Part Two: Away, Satan!

We humans work hard at avoiding suffering, reducing suffering. If we have a headache or back pain, then we often take medicine, lie down, do something to reduce the pain. We strive to get relief, and that makes sense. Of course we want freedom from suffering.

However, a crucial component of being a Christian is suffering. For us Christians, the baptized, suffering is inevitable. In our gospel, Mark 8:31-38, Jesus teaches us that if we want to be his followers then we need to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow him.

Take up the cross. Meditate on that wisdom. Taking up the cross, in Jesus' day, meant being crucified, and crucifixion was ruthless and sadistic. So when Jesus says, “If you want to follow me, you need to take up your cross,” his first hearers would have pictured all that torture and humiliation ending in death. The point is that following Jesus, taking up your cross, will hurt, will demand suffering. In effect, Jesus is saying, “If you want to be my follower, you must be ready to suffer.”

What does it mean to suffer as a follower of Christ? Many of us get confused about taking up the cross, about suffering for Christ. When considering suffering, it is crucial to understand that there are at least two types of suffering. There is pointless suffering, and there is Christian suffering. Pointless suffering is suffering that happens to us but that does no good. Christian suffering is suffering that we take on for Christ.

It is crucial for us Christians to understand the difference. For example, if a so-called loved one is beating you, that is horrible suffering, but it is not Christian suffering. It is not Christian suffering, because it does not serve Christ. That person will not get better through your allowing the person to beat you. Rihanna is wrong to go back to Chris Brown. If someone claiming to love you is abusing you, get out of the relationship. You wouldn't put up with a stranger abusing you; do not put up with a so-called loved one abusing you. You wouldn't let a so-called loved one abuse a child. Do not let someone abuse you. Some suffering is just evil, does not serve Christ. Get away.

By contrast, Christian suffering serves Christ. Christ is love. Christian suffering serves that love.

We can see both types of suffering in the life of Harriet Tubman, who died on March 10. Harriet Tubman was an African American born into slavery in the 1800s. As a child, she endured the first kind of suffering, the pointless suffering. Her masters whipped and beat her. When she was a teenager, her master accidentally hit her in the head with a weight he had thrown at another slave. As a result, she had seizures for the rest of her life. Her suffering was savage, shocking. It was pointless suffering.

Eventually, Harriet Tubman managed to escape to the free states. Then she sneaked back south repeatedly to liberate dozens more slaves. Harriet was deeply religious, so you can bet that she saw her dangerous work as part of being a Christian. The abuse she endured as a child was pointless suffering, but her efforts to liberate other slaves was Christian suffering. Harriet Tubman took up the cross.

How about you? How do you take up the cross as part of following Christ? How do I? How do we at St. James engage in Christian suffering? What sacrifices do we make? Do we sometimes take the easy way out as Christians? Give, but not too much, so that we are not uncomfortable? Make little sacrifices, but nothing too hard? How can we push ourselves a little harder as Christians for the sake of Christ and the good news? What changes can we make?

Last week, we began a four-part sermon series based on the word WAIT. Last Sunday, we had a W-word, wilderness. Today, we need an A-word, to go with the second letter in the word WAIT. Actually, we have an A-phrase. The phrase is, “Away, Satan!” Away, Satan.

Part of taking up the cross, part of suffering for Christ, is pushing Satan away. Do not let him block your path. When Satan tries to talk you into being stingy or complacent, you snap back, “Away, Satan!” Satan says, “Give up on God. Stop waiting for him to help you. God's not going to help you,” and you reply, “Away, you snake!” Satan coils around you and says, “Don't take up the cross. Don't embrace suffering for Christ. Take the easy way out. Take it easy. You deserve the easy way.” You break loose. “Away, Satan!” Follow Christ. Take up the cross.

Taking up the cross can be excruciating, but it's for Christ, the one who has bought us freedom, not with silver or gold, but with his precious blood, as the Book of Concord says. Christ took up the suffering, took up the cross, so we shall live forever. Christ has liberated us from slavery to sin. Christ has carried us through the Underground Railroad and into the Promised Land, all by way of his suffering. Christ has emancipated us. Christ took up the cross to save us. Now we take up the cross to thank him. Carrying the cross, we announce, “Away, Satan!”

Wilderness Questions

Sermon on Mark 1:9-15

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, March 1, 2009,

1^st Sunday in Lent, Year B,

(word count: 688)

Wilderness Questions

Renowned Bible scholar N.T. Wright writes, “You are never far from the wilderness when you're in the Promised Land . . . When you're in Jerusalem, the wilderness is just over the next hill.”

Such is the case with Jesus in our gospel, Mark 1:9-15. Jesus is in the Promised Land, in Israel, when John baptizes him. While standing naked in the water, God's voice booming with loving pride, the Spirit swooping upon him, Jesus is in the Promised Land. Then, immediately, the Spirit hurls Jesus out into the wilderness. Forty days he is out in unblinking sun, among lions, snakes, and vultures, Satan hissing and shrieking temptations at him, badgering him to break him down. Sure, angels wait on Jesus, but he is still in the wilderness, in danger, temptation hitting him in the face like a hot, relentless wind.

The Good News is that, after those forty days, Jesus walks out of the wilderness, ragged, hungry, tired, but victorious. He escapes temptation. Satan cannot break him. Jesus is stronger. After forty days in the wilderness, Jesus returns to the Promised Land to proclaim the good news. Christ is back from the wilderness, full of authority. From Promised Land to wilderness, back to Promised Land.

We, too, sometimes find ourselves in the wilderness. In the Promised Land, the wilderness is never far off. It's just over the next hill.

When were you in the wilderness last? Perhaps you are there today. The wilderness is that place, that time, when your soul feels weak, temptation is strong. Satan prowls like a roaring lion, sniffing you out, hungry to devour you. The wilderness, that hot place, stinking of decay, where temptation tries to swallow you whole – we all end up there eventually.

Someone you love has died. Your soul is slumped over. You cry, “God, why me? You took her from me. Maybe there's no point in praying. Maybe I should give up on you.” You're in the wilderness.

You know you shouldn't drink, but your body is screaming for alcohol. Satan says, “Just one drink. No big deal. Come on. Just to help you relax.” You're in the wilderness.

When have you been in the wilderness? What tempts you? What's your weakness?

One of my weaknesses is thinking that I am not good enough. Some nights, I feel stupid, weak, hypocritical, ugly, over-weight, and I want to give up, want to run away. I am in the wilderness.

When we are in the wilderness, it is tempting for us to feel sorry for ourselves. It is tempting for us to ask, “Why me?” Poor me. Why is this happening to me?

Thanks be to God that Jesus' victory over Satan in the wilderness teaches us that, when we are in the wilderness, we are not weak. We are not alone. Deep in the howling, stifling wilderness, by the Spirit's power we cling to the Good News. Christ is the mighty fortress. Christ is stronger than Satan. Christ dies and rises, pinning Satan to the sand. Christ dies and rises, so we have power even in the wilderness. We are baptized. Christ teaches us through Scripture. Christ feeds us the body and blood. Christ gives us one another for strength.

So then, when we are in the wilderness, let's not ask, “Why me?” Instead, let's ask, “How is God helping me?” Instead of “Why me?” we ask, “What kind of person am I in the wilderness?” Instead of “Poor me,” we stand up taller, shove Satan aside, and we declare, “I am strong, and Christ is with me.” We say, “I will not let the wilderness defeat me. Because of Christ, the Promised Land is never far off. It is closer than the next hill.”

Sometimes Luther, when he felt Satan breathing down his neck, would shout, “But I am one of the baptized!” In the wilderness, the promises of God are never far off. God is our mighty fortress.

This Lent, meditate on these two questions: When you are in the wilderness, what kind of person are you? When you are in the wilderness, how is God helping you?

Eternal Hello

Sermon on 2 Kings 2:1-12

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, February 22, 2009,

Transfiguration of Our Lord, Year B,

(word count: 899)

Eternal Hello

In one of his songs, Billy Joel declares, “Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes.” Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes. We meet people. We know them for a while. Sooner of later, however, we must say goodbye to the person. We break up, we move away. We die.

In the movie The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Benjamin keeps saying hello and goodbye and hello to his life's love, Daisy. They are together for a few days, then some event separates them. Then they are back together, then apart. Finally they get to live together as lovers for a few years. Eventually Benjamin decides that she would be better off without him, so he disappears. Years later, as Benjamin is close to death, the two reunite. Daisy takes care of him until goodbye.

In our first reading, 2 Kings 2:1-12, God is taking away to heaven the prophet Elijah, and his protege, Elisha, is not happy about the matter. He hates the thought of Elijah leaving him. Elisha keeps saying to Elijah, “I will not leave you. I will not leave you.” When Elijah is finally gone, Elisha, to express his grief, tears his own clothes. Goodbye.

Such is the case with us. None of us will be here forever. We will let that truth scrape against our minds on Wednesday night, won't we? Part of the gritty truth of Ash Wednesday is that, eventually, each one of us will die. Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes, and Ash Wednesday reminds us in a black way that all of us will have to say goodbye.

The goodbye of death can cut the heart. People can console us all they want, but all the kinds words and casseroles in the world do not change the naked reality that someone we love is no longer alive, and we will miss having that person with us. Death hurts.

Thanks be to God that death is not the last word. Because of Christ's transfiguring power, you and I have the eternal hello. In heaven no one says goodbye, because we never have to leave each other. In heaven there is no death, no sickness, no moving away, no divorce, no separation, no break-ups. In heaven we are always together, and we are always happy to be together. In heaven we do not get sick of each other. We are together, one, with God, forever, and no one ever has to say goodbye again.

Christ has made this eternal union a reality. By climbing upon the cross and locking with death to defeat it, Christ has given us the eternal hello. Christ lifts us dogs out of the slums to make us into trillionaires. Christ's dark and shadowy death generates the supreme light brighter than anything on earth, the light that the darkness cannot overcome or comprehend. We, the baptized, stand at the foot of the cross, inhaling the light shining through the darkness, and we declare, “Lord, how good for us to be here! Thank you for baptizing us, for saving us, for shining your light on us, for making us into wisemen and wise women. Lord, how good for us to be here! Alleluia!”

Because of Christ on the dark, bleak, shining, bright cross, God has transfigured you and me. God has saved us, so that one day we shall be in heaven and we shall never have to say goodbye again.

In the meantime, we do say goodbye to each other, and those goodbyes can lacerate us with heartache. That sadness is strong, and even stronger is the perpetual presence of God. We do have to say goodbye to each other, at least for now. We never have to say goodbye to God.

God is with us always. Jesus says in Matthew 28, “I am with you always.” No matter how scary the economy; no matter how sick we get; no matter what wars we fight; no matter what, God is with us. When someone we love dies, we might yell and sob, full of furious fear. We might wonder, “How am I going to survive without her? How am I going to survive without him?”

A friend of mine who serves a congregation in New Jersey had someone in his congregation who lost her husband on 9-11. A few months later, she killed herself. When someone we love dies, sometimes being without that person feels like more than we can endure.

Such loss can be overwhelming, but do not give up. Just as God was with Elisha, just as God was with Mary on Good Friday, so also God is with you always, even to the end of the age. God is here, never says goodbye. God comes to us through the Bible and sermon. God comes to us through prayer. God comes to us at every baptism. God is your food at every holy communion. The presence of God does not fix every problem, but it is a strong, comforting presence, and God never says goodbye.

Alleluia! No matter how dark the world, no matter how dark our hearts and minds, God the light shines, scatters the darkness. Feel the holy heat. The light transfigures us. Because of Christ, we never have to say goodbye to God, and, one day, we will bask in the eternal hello, reunited. Hallelujah!

Prize for Others

Sermon on 1 Corinthians 9:24-27

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, February 15, 2009,

Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany, Year B,

(word count: 994)

The Prize for Others

Exercising demands discipline. Exercising is something you need to do even if you don't feel like doing it. Some days, as you're sweating, burning and aching, you may say, “What is the point of all this? Is this exercise really doing me any good?” However, even though, at any one moment, the benefits of exercise may not be obvious, we have faith that a steady, persistent regimen of exercise does make us healthier. The research has shown over and over that exercise has large benefits for body and mind. So we keep plodding to the gym, keep walking, keep doing sit-ups, keep lifting weights, keep feeling the burn, because we have faith in the huge health benefits of exercise.

In some ways, living as a Christian is like exercise. We show up for worship, even if we don't feel like it. We pray, even if we doubt that prayer is beneficial. We read the Bible, attend Sunday school, even if we do not understand what we are reading or learning. We keep helping people, striving to do the right thing, even when there is a part of us nagging us to do the wrong thing. We keep living as the baptized, repenting, attending, praying, doing, over and over, day after day.

At any given time we may want to sigh and mutter, “What's the point? Is all this Christian stuff really beneficial? Does living as a Christian truly make a difference? Does God care? Does God even exist?” We have unbelief pacing inside us, but we keep going, because we believe that all of this is worthwhile, even priceless. Just as we trust that exercise is beneficial, we also have faith that the Christian life is beneficial.

Of course, even if living as a Christian weren't beneficial to us, we would do it anyway, because God deserves it. God, who has makes us, saves us, and sanctifies us, deserves our constant dedication as Christians, even if such living does not benefit us.

Nevertheless, it turns out that the Christian life, the life of the baptized, like exercise, does indeed benefit us. In fact, Paul talks about the benefits of the Christian life in our second reading, 1 Corinthians 9:24-27. In this short passage, Paul uses athletic language to describe the Christian life. He writes, “Do you not know that in a race the runners all compete, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win it.” Later, in verse 27, Paul states, “[ . . . ] I punish my body and enslave it, so that after proclaiming to others I myself should not be disqualified.” Did you hear that? Paul uses athletic imagery to talk about the Christian life, and he indicates that, like exercise, the Christian life is beneficial. Paul preaches, “Run in such a way that you may win [the prize].” In other words, sweat, pant, and push yourself as a Christian, as the baptized, so that you can win the prize. Just like athletes racing to win the gold medal, live as a Christian, as the baptized, so you can win the prize.

What is the prize? For us Christians, what is the prize that we are racing for? Many Christians would say that the prize is eternal life. “Run the race of being a Christian so that, when you die, you can go to heaven, right?” Wrong. The truth is that we Christians do not run the Christian race to win eternal life, because Christ has already won that race for us. As Luther and the Book of Concord teach us, illuminating the Scriptures, you and I, the baptized, have eternal life in heaven waiting for us, but not because we are good at running the Christian race. We have eternal life for one reason and one reason only: Jesus died and rose for us. Period. All the racing in the world will not earn us the prize of eternal life. Christ won that prize for us when he died on the cross and came back to life. It is finished.

So then, what are we Christians straining, aching, and sweating for? What is the benefit that comes from being a Christian? If we are not racing for the prize of eternal life, then what is the prize, the benefit, that we are racing towards?

Maybe part of what we are racing for is, not a prize for the self, but a prize for others. Think about it. When a runner wins a race, that victory is often for her own glory, for her own prize, but maybe the Christian race rewards us, in part, by rewarding others. As I run the race of the baptized, the Christian race – as I attend worship, read the Bible, pray, eat and drink holy communion – one of the great prizes is that my running the Christian race leads to victory for others.

Picture this. You come to worship Sunday morning. You say hi, and your friendliness helps others feel better, even people you don't know well or who you think don't like you. You pray, and your prayer helps people have hope and healing. You attend Sunday school, and your presence and contributions help other people around the table to grow in wisdom. You place money in the offering plate, and that money helps to support the Church and people in need. The Holy Spirit uses us, the baptized, members of Christ's body, to build each other up.

“Oh, not me, Pastor.” “Yes, you. All of us.”

We, the baptized, run the amazing grace-race, the race of the Christian life. On any given day, we may slouch and sigh, wondering if any of this matters, feeling like we cannot trudge one more step. So tired, but we keep running the race, exercising, living as Christians, to win the prize, and part of that prize is that our racing helps others. When we win, others win, and God cheers.

Steelers and Exorcism

Sermon on Mark 1:21-28

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, February 1, 2009,

Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany, Year B,

(word count: 649)

The Baptized are Exorcists

Why are the Steelers addictive? One reason is that the Steelers make us feel powerful. The Steelers are big, fast, talented, and strong, and when they win, we win. Their victory is our victory. Their speed, strength, and skill are, in a way, our speed, strength and skill. They are our team. One reason we obsess over the Steelers is that they make us feel powerful, special.

There is nothing wrong with adoring the Steelers, with drawing power from them. Granted, we don't want to get carried away. If our devotion to the Steelers interferes with our well-being or our relationships with others and God, then we have a problem. For the most part, though, sharing in the Steelers' power can add enjoyment to our lives. Go, Steelers!

If the Steelers can give us so much power, think about how much more power Christ gives us. After all, Christ is stronger, faster, more powerful, and, best of all, more loving than Hines, Ben and Troy combined. Christ has the ultimate authority, the highest power, and Christ shares that with us.

We have a dramatic picture of that power and authority in our gospel, Mark 1:21-28. In the middle of the worship service, a man possessed with an unclean spirit, a demon, yells at Jesus. Jesus yells back, “Be silent, and come out of him!” The demon convulses the man, cries with a loud voice, and leaves the man. Jesus is so powerful that even unclean spirits from hell are afraid of him and must leave when he commands them to.

This story does not guarantee that Jesus will protect us from all evil, from all demons. Unclean spirits spin and howl throughout this world, and we Christians will sometimes suffer because of them. What this story does guarantee is that, ultimately, Jesus Christ is stronger, mightier, more powerful, and has greater authority than evil.

Further, Jesus shares his power with us. His power is our power. Jesus has given us eternal life. Jesus Christ has given us the Holy Spirit. Jesus has assured us that we shall do wondrous works of power because of him [support]. Just as the Steelers help us to feel powerful and special whenever they win, even more so Jesus Christ gives us the highest power, the power of God.

Therefore, because of Christ's power, we do not need to cower when the world's evil scares us. We do not need to wave the white flag of surrender when hatred seems to rule. When Satan holds us at gunpoint, we can retaliate with the perfect love that exorcises fear. We are exorcists who, by Christ's power, can say no to evil, no to Satan, no to despair, no to injustice, no to racism, no to abuse, no to alcoholism, no to poverty. We are the baptized, the saved, the holy. By Christ's power, we can refuse to surrender to Satan. We must not be overcome by evil but must and shall overcome evil with good.

Just as the Steelers give us victory through their power, Christ gives us a far greater victory through his powerful authority. Through Christ's powerful authority, we, the baptized, are exorcists. We are the ones who can, must and shall drive away evil, drive away the Devil.

Let's do something from the baptismal service. I am going to ask you a series of questions. In response to each question, say, “We renounce them.” Here we go.

“Do you renounce the devil and all the forces that defy God?” If so, say, “We renounce them.”

“Do you renounce the powers of this world that rebel against God?” If so, say, “We renounce them.”

“Do you renounce the ways of sin that draw you from God?” If so, say, “We renounce them.”

By Christ's power and authority, we renounce evil and the Devil. We are exorcists.

Theovolution

Sermon on 1 Corinthians 7:29-31

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, January 25, 2009,

Third Sunday after the Epiphany, Year B,

(word count: 1157)

Theovolution

Our second reading, 1 Corinthians 7:29-31, is weird. In those verses, Paul writes, “Let those who have wives be as though they had none. [A] nd those who mourn as though they were not mourning, and those who rejoice as though they were not rejoicing, and those who buy as though they had no possessions, and those who deal with the world as though they had no dealings with it.”

“What? Paul, are you saying that, if I am married, I should act like I'm not? I don't think Kim would take kindly to that. And if I am grieving, am I supposed to put on a phony smile and pretend that I am fine? That's dishonest. Aren't we Christians supposed to be honest, genuine, not phony? Paul, why do you urge us in this passage from 1 Corinthians to act the opposite of the way we are?”

Paul replies, “Dave, you're misunderstanding my poetry. Of course I want you to be faithful to Kim. After all, I write elsewhere in 1 Corinthians that a married person should care for her or his spouse. Likewise, if you are grieving or rejoicing, of course you are not be phony. Christians are to be genuine, truthful.”

“Okay, Paul, so what do you mean when you tell us to act the opposite of the way we are?”

Paul puts his large, rough hand on my shoulder. He holds up an index finger and says, “What I mean, David, is that you and I, the baptized, need to focus on God. Don't let marriage, grief, joy, possessions, or worldly dealings get in the way of concentrating on God.” He nods. I nod. We both nod. Then he adds, “And one crucial reason for focusing on God is that the end is near. The end is near.”

When I hear Paul say that, I remember him writing in 1 Corinthians 7, “The appointed time has grown short [ . . . ] the present form of this world is passing away.” The time is fulfilled, so focus on God first. Get ready. Repent and believe. Drop everything. Put Christ first. Don't procrastinate. Don't put Christ off to tomorrow. The time is now. The end is near.

I say to Paul, “Sir, no offense, but the Church has been announcing for two-thousand years that the end is near. You wrote 1 Corinthians two millennia ago, but the end has not come. Why should I continue to believe that the end is coming, that the present form of this world is passing away?”

Paul clears his throat. He says, “We simply must have faith that the end will arrive. In the meantime, the present form of this world is passing away. It may be passing away slowly, but it is still passing away. God is today working on making all things new. The new creation is a work in progress.”

I recall Revelation 21:5, in which, indeed, God declares, “I am making all things new.” We don't know when the end will come, but we do know that God is working in the present to erase the old world, to make all things new. The deletion of this world and the final renewal will not happen in a blink at the end. The renewing process goes on yesterday, tomorrow, and today, right now.

God is causing creation to evolve into a new world in which sin and death will be extinct and new life will stand upright. God is making all things new. God is causing the world to evolve.

By using the term “evolve,” I don't mean evolution in the sense of Darwin, although Darwin's theory is sound. Darwin was a genius who gave us an understanding of nature that scientists have verified over and over. Further, a Christian can believe in Darwin's theory and be a Christian. In fact, Darwin himself writes in The Origin of Species, “I see no good reason why the views given in this volume should shock the religious feelings of any one.” Moreover, in 2005, 10,000 clergy signed an e-letter that states, “[ . . . ] the timeless truths of the Bible and the discoveries of modern science may comfortably coexist” (in Peters, Martinez, Can You Believe in God and Evolution, p.88). I agree.

I agree with much of Darwin's theory, too, but I am not talking about Darwin here. Here, when I use the word “evolution,” I mean simply that God is working right now, today and every day, to make the old world pass away and to make all things new (Peters, Martinez, p.130-1).

Many of us Christians talk as if the opposite were the case. We speak as if the world is getting worse, not better. It is indeed tempting for us to believe that good is losing to evil.

However, the Bible declares otherwise. Granted, Scripture, such as in Revelation, warns us of terrifying disasters and unprecedented evil. At the same time, the Bible holds before us fragrant, blooming hope. In essence, Revelation and other passages announce, “Yes, there will be horrors, but do not give up hope. Even when Satan spits in your face with his claws around your throat, do not give up hope.” God assures us, saying, “I am making all things new. Trust me. I really am. You'll see.”

Hm. Technology and medical science have never been better. Maybe those improvements are part of God making all things new. What other improvements are there? Could it be that we can see, hear and feel evidence of God making all things new, of God making the world better? I wonder.

In any case, whether we can see evidence or not, we have the promise that sin will not win; Satan will not survive; death will die; wickedness will wither. Christ will return to end evil. We have the scrumptious promise that today, right now, God is working, sleeves rolled up, making all things new. By God's power, the world is evolving away from evil and toward love eternal. In fact, maybe this week, God will use you, one of the baptized, to help make the world new.

Now Jesus stands face-to-face with you. He says, “I have won a place in heaven for you. You are the baptized, the saved. So then, drop everything. Follow me. Help make the world new.”

Stand Up

Sermon on Theodicy and St. James' Mission

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, January 18, 2009,

Second Sunday after the Epiphany, Year B,

(word count: 979)

Stand Up

The number one reason people give for rejecting God is suffering. “If God is all-powerful, all-knowing, and supremely loving, then why is there suffering?” Why? Some people say, “I can't believe in a god who allowed the Holocaust and 9-11. I can't believe in a god who allows cancer, Alzheimer's and drunk drivers to kill people I love. God, we're through. As of now, you and I are no longer on speaking terms.”

Why does God permit misery? That's a legitimate question, and it is difficult to answer. The Bible, such as in Psalm 22, gives us permission to ask why, but there is no guarantee we will receive an answer. I have yet to hear an answer to the why question that puts to rest all doubts and follow-up questions. Why does God permit misery? I don't know.

Part of the answer is free will. God does not want us to be robots. God wants us to be free. God has granted us free will, and free will means that we humans have the freedom to sin. Free will means that people have the freedom to fly planes into buildings or shoot strangers at school. Free will means that people have the freedom to lynch people because of their skin color. Why does God allow suffering? One reason is that God allows free will, and free will includes the freedom to do evil.

Further, sometimes that freedom to do evil has a far-reaching effect. Think about it. A little girl is hit by a car and killed. We are angry with God. We want to know why he let this happen. We demand answers. What we don't know is that she had raced into the road to try to catch her cat. Her cat had escaped from the house because the girl's older brother had left the screen door open. He had left the screen door open because he had been moving his stuff out of the house. He had been moving his stuff out because he had just had a fight with his parents and had decided he wouldn't live at home anymore. He had fought with parents because he had come home drunk the night before. So the girl's brother's free will resulted in the girl running into the street after her cat.

On top of all that, the driver didn't see her until the last instant because he had been driving too fast. He had been driving too fast because he was mad at his wife. He was mad at his wife because she had cheated on him. So then, the wife used her free will to cheat on her husband, and the husband used his free will to drive too fast. As a result, he did not see the girl until it was too late, and the girl was in the road chasing her cat, who had escaped from the house due to the brother leaving the door open while moving out of the house after having been yelled it for coming home drunk. Why is there suffering? Part of the answer is the web of free will in which we are entangled.

So what can we do about suffering? Get mad at God and stop talking to him? Get mad at humanity and declare the world no-good? We could, but we Christians are a people of hope. Indeed, our mission this year at St. James is to be the voice of God proclaiming hope in Christ, the Holy Light.

By the Holy Spirit's power, we at St. James can and shall use our free will to be the voice of God proclaiming hope in Christ, the Holy Light.

When a child lies dead, we may lack a good explanation why, but we can be the voice of God for the bereaved. We can visit, pray, bring food, and donate money to help the family, not just in the days after the death, but in the months and even years to come.

When a family has lost its home to a fire, by the Spirit's power we can use our free will to be the voice of God proclaiming hope. We can raise money to help that family. We can assist those people in finding housing. We can pray for them.

When we worry that our children aren't learning proper values, by the Spirit's power we can use our free will to be the voice of God proclaiming hope in Christ. We can make sure our Sunday school program teaches our kids the values we believe they need to know.

We can worry and fret, complain and grumble, full of doubt and pessimism, or we can, by the Spirit's power, use our free will to be God's voice proclaiming hope in Christ, the Holy Light.

That's what Martin Luther King, Jr. did. Racism and violence surrounded him, but he refused to give up. He refused to let doubt and darkness overpower him.

Who kept King going? God. One night, someone called King on the phone and threatened to blow his brains out and blow up his house. King hung up, sat alone in the kitchen late at night. He prayed. He then heard an inner voice say, “Martin Luther, stand up. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth, and I will be with you, even to the end of the world!” By God's power, King was a man of hope, full of the voice of God.

So also with us, the people of St. James, the baptized. Stand up for hope. Stand up for the Good News. The Spirit gives us power, so we can use our free will to be God's voice proclaiming hope in Christ, the Holy Light. Stand up. Stand up.

“Lord, speak to us that we may speak,” and God says, “I AM.”

Personalized Voice Proclaimng Hope in Christ, the Holy Light

Sermon on the Voice of God

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, January 11, 2009,

Baptism of the Lord, Year B,

(word count: 868)

Personalized Voice of God Proclaiming Hope in the Holy Light

In our readings, we hear about the voice of God. In Genesis 1, God's voice causes light to exist. In our psalm, we feel the voice of God shaking the world with power. In our gospel, Mark 1:4-11, as Jesus stands naked in the Jordan, God tears the sky in half, the Holy Spirit swoops down to penetrate Jesus, and the voice of God announces, “You are my son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

The voice of God – I have heard it. So have you.

Jesus teaches in Matthew 25, “Whenever you minister to the least of my brothers and sisters, you minister to me.” Therefore, when you visit a person in the hospital and he says through his oxygen mask, “Thank you,” you are hearing the voice of God. When you talk with a prison inmate, even if she has committed disgusting crimes, you are hearing the voice of God. An illegal alien begs for food for his starving daughter, and we hear the voice of God. Whenever we minister to a person in need, we minister to Jesus Christ, to God himself.

When else do we hear the voice of God? We hear it when we listen to someone read the Bible, for the Bible is the Word of God. Sure, humans wrote down the Bible. The book is not perfect, because there is a human influence. Even so, the Bible is still God's Word. Therefore, when we hear the readings, we are hearing from God.

We hear the voice of God in the sermon. Granted, we preachers are flawed. We are often boring, irrelevant, even heretical. Still, the sermon arises from Scripture and the Spirit. So then, despite its flaws, the sermon contains the voice of God.

We also may hear the voice of God inside our head. You've heard that voice. It's hard to know for sure the origin of the inner voice. Sometimes the inner voice is the devil, and sometimes that voice is just us. Then there are instances when that inner voice is from God. Figuring all that out, of course, is challenging. We can help each other with that discernment.

It can indeed be a struggle to hear the voice of God, not only in our selves but also in the world. Last Wednesday at Bible study, Nancy and I lamented the death of children in the Gaza strip. That carnage has slain many. All that absurd violence – where is the voice of God in that?

Then Nancy told me about a doctor over there working to save as many lives as possible. On TV he mourned the slaughter and spoke about how there were many more casualties than there were people to tend to them. Nevertheless, that doctor was doing whatever he could to help those victims, and there are others doing the same. That doctor, telling us of the horror, is the voice of God. That doctor, speaking comfort to Israeli and Palestinian children, is the voice of God for those victims.

In other words, sometimes God uses us to be his voice for the sick, the broken, the hopeless. After all, he Bible tells story after story of God using people to accomplish his work. For example, God uses King Cyrus of Persia to liberate the people of Israel. God uses us, too. We can be the voice of God.

We the baptized, God's adopted children, like Devin, have a holy calling to love God and love the neighbor. Part of loving God and neighbor is being God's voice for a world struggling to hear harmony over the cacophony of clanging, crashing sin. God says to you, the baptized, “Because of my dear son, your king, you are among my beloved. Because of my son, with you I am well pleased. So now, go. Be my voice for all the unloved, soulbroken, war-beaten.”

Last Sunday, I proposed that, in 2009, St. James focus on being a congregation of hope in Christ, the holy light. Let me add that St. James focus this year on being the voice of God. We, St. James, in personal ways, are the voice of God that proclaims hope in Christ, the holy light.

Indeed, the Spirit has blessed our congregation to excel at being God's voice. One of the beautiful features of St. James is that our moderate size makes it easy for us to get to know one another. Knowing one another well makes it that much easier to be the voice of God for and with one another. There are many benefits to a large congregation, but one of the benefits of a smaller congregation like ours is that personal touch. We can speak a personal word to each other because we have a size that enables us to get to know each other. Our size makes it easier for us to speak a personalized word as we strive to be the voice of God proclaiming hope in Christ, the holy light.

Picture it. You and I, St. James, part of the baptized, the beloved, will find new ways in 2009 to be the voice of God which proclaims hope in Christ, the holy light.

Not Black Hole, But Holy Light

Sermon on John 1:1-18

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, January 4, 2009,

2^nd Sunday Of Christmas, Year B,

(word count: 893)

Not Black Hole, But Holy Light

If someone asked, “What is St. James?” what would you say? “Well, we're a small, country church, and we're friendly.” Actually, statistically we are medium-sized, and we're located, not in the country, but in a small town near a large city. We are friendly, though. What else? What is St. James? What is our identity? We're Christian, Lutheran – ELCA, to be exact. We're largely Caucasian, blue-collar, in the shadow of Pittsburgh. What else? What is St. James?

John 1, our gospel, points us to a crucial, crucible part of the answer: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” We hear that statement in our gospel, in verse five. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” The light is Christ. Christ, the Word, born in the Bethlehem-barn, is the light who shines in the darkness.

Note that the verse does not declare that there is no darkness. We still feel the gravity of darkness: denial, betrayal, abuse, mockery, injustice, thorns, nails. The verse from John one does not claim that the coming of the light means the end of darkness, at least not yet. For now, darkness persists. The Good News is that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

The light is Christ. He shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not, cannot, and will not overcome Christ. Romans 8 tells us that nothing can separate us from love in Christ. Revelation 21 and 22 present a sparkling, flourescent portrait of Christ reigning forever. Christ, the born, crucified, risen and returning one, shines in our darkness, cuts through it, and the darkness has no chance of overcoming him, of overcoming the Light.

Because of this truth, we Christians, red and yellow, black and white, all of us, the baptized, always have hope. No matter how strong the fierce pull of Satan's black hole, the gravitational pull of the holy light is stronger always. Because of the Light, we have hope.

What is St. James? St. James is a place of hope in Christ the Light. Such is the case with all the baptized, but many of us are quick to forget. Have you noticed? Legions of us baptized mope around with our shoulders slouched as if we have no hope, as if a black hole of evil is sucking up our world. We gripe, whine, and grumble. We rant about how kids today are no good, all politicians are crooks, people are more violent than ever, and the future for our grandchildren is dismal. There is some legitimacy to our complaints, but we obsess over the gloom, ignoring the hope. We forget those fragrant phrases: “The light has shined in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

What if we at St. James chose to be different from the majority of others? I have a vision. I have a vision of St. James as a place of hope in Christ the Light. We acknowledge the darkness, but we know, believe, and profess that there is something stronger, something greater. Satan's black hole will collapse. The holy light of Christ is stronger. Because of Christ, we have hope. Because of Christ, we shall advance beyond complaining, whining and grumbling to hope. Because of Christ, we have the strength to resist the black hole and show with our words and actions that grow from our belief in the hope of the holy light.

So then, when people fret about violence, we can reply, “Yes, there is the darkness of violence, and there is also the light. Millions of people of all colors and religions help one another and do kind deeds every day, including you and me, and the light of Christ makes all that goodness possible. We are mightier than the black hole; we have the holy light.”

When people gripe about corrupt politicians, we can say, “You're right. There are corrupt politicians, but Christ's light is brighter than corruption. Throughout history, God has accomplished miracles, despite cruel dictators, perverse kings, and stubborn pharaohs. Herod is dead, Hitler is dead, Hussein is dead; Christ lives. We are mightier than the black hole, because we have the holy light.”

When we see our neighbors letting Satan's black hole suck them into a give-up mentality, you and I, the baptized, can recall the words of Gandhi, “You must become the change you wish for.” You and I, full of Christ's light, walking in Christ's light, shall become the change we wish for. We shall lead others, even if only a little each day, away from the black hole toward the holy light.

During this year, 2009, let's as a congregation make a resolution to be a people of hope in Christ's light. As you eat and drink the body and blood – as you eat and drink the Light of God, feel the Light of Christ fill you, warm you, heal you – as we eat and drink the Light, let us resolve to be a congregation of renewed hope in Christ. “We are a congregation of hope, moving away from the black hole toward the holy light.”

Then, when people hear of St. James, Youngstown, they will say, “Oh yes, St. James. That's the congregation full of hope in the holy light.”