Sermon Audio – Cross of Grace

Cross of Grace Lutheran Church
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Weekly audio of sermons preached at Cross of Grace Lutheran Church in New Palestine, Indiana

  1. 1D AGO

    Welcoming the Holy Family

    Matthew 2:13-23 Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.” When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah: “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.” When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, “He will be called a Nazorean.” Three years ago, this commercial was released on Christmas Eve. Take a look. It was not well received. It managed to anger people from across the political spectrum, from Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez to Charlie Kirk. When that happens, I think a cord has been struck. Rarely do we see anything that unites people so quickly, even if it’s in shared frustration. One of the outcomes of the commercial, intended or not, was a flurry of arguments about Jesus and the holy family. The most central question was whether Jesus was a refugee. People fixated on that word, that label. Some said yes, absolutely. The text could not be clearer. Mary, Joseph, and Jesus fled persecution from a violent ruler who threatened their lives. Under cover of night, they made a dangerous escape to another land. How could that not describe a refugee? Others so badly wanted—and still want—to refute the claim and make sure Jesus does not wear the name refugee. The argument goes Egypt was under Roman control, just like Bethlehem. So technically, they didn’t cross a national border. Therefore, Jesus was not a refugee. At most, the holy family could be called internally displaced persons. Which… ah yes, that sounds so much better. What a pointless, trivial argument, for several reasons. First, Matthew knew nothing of our modern categories: refugee, internally displaced person, asylum seeker, or anything else. He is not interested in our labels. Instead, Matthew is doing something much bigger. He is positioning Jesus as the new Moses, the chosen one of God who will save Israel and lead God’s people into freedom once again. That’s why this story echoes the exodus: a power-hungry ruler threatened by a child, violence against the innocent, a flight to and from Egypt, and finally a settling in the land promised by God. But most of all, Matthew is showing us the providence of God. God warns. God directs. God protects. From the very beginning, this child’s life is carried by God’s faithful care, revealing him as the fulfillment of God’s promises to Israel. All of that matters for Matthew’s audience and for us. But equally important to the theological claim, and something easily overlooked by people like me who haven’t had this experience, is the fact that Jesus’ life and ministry were shaped by forced migration. By being on the run. By a dangerous journey away from violence and toward whatever safety could be found in a foreign land.Most of us have no idea what that is like—to leave everything behind, to be that vulnerable, to live at the mercy of strangers in a strange land. There are all sorts of stories that tell us about the dangers migrants face on their journeys. One of the most illuminating I’ve read comes from Caitlin Dickerson’s cover article in The Atlantic called “Seventy Miles in Hell.” Dickerson and a photographer, Lynsey Addario, traveled alongside families as they crossed a perilous jungle passage known as the Darién Gap: a stretch of wilderness between Colombia and Panama that, in recent years, has become one of the most common and dangerous routes toward Central America and, eventually, the United States. Dickerson introduces us to a family she meets at the beginning of the journey. Bergkan and his partner Orlimar are from Venezuela, not yet married, parents to two children: Isaac, who is two, and Camila, eight. This was never the life they imagined. Their dream was to build a future in Venezuela, but poverty and persecution forced them to leave. So they formed a new dream and took drastic measures to make it possible.The night before they set out, Bergkan voiced his fear: What if someone gets hurt? What if a child gets sick? What if someone is bitten by a snake—or worse? On the very first day, sharp inclines tore their shoes. After carrying his two-year-old all morning, along with his partner’s bag, Bergkan collapsed to the ground, already exhausted, physically and mentally. He emptied the bag, leaving behind what little they had: old headphones, sandals, a couple pairs of shoes. Along the way, porters offered goods and services at steep prices: five dollars for a bottle of water, a hundred dollars an hour to carry a bag or a child. The journey had already cost the family a thousand dollars per person, with no guarantee they would survive it. Each day brought new threats. The camps were riddled with scams, fear of sexual assault, and the risk of kidnapping. The family eventually made it out of the jungle, but what they witnessed stayed with them: hungry travelers begging for food, nearly naked people desperate for clothing, sick children unable to go on. We don’t know what ultimately happened to this family. The last update placed them in Mexico City, unsure of what came next. It was a dream that drove Joseph and Mary to drastic measures too. We’re given no details about their journey. But if stories like Bergkan and Orlimar’s tell us anything, it could not have been easy. Were porters offering their services along the way? Were they robbed of the gold, frankincense, and myrrh they had just received? Did Mary face the threat of sexual assault? Did Joseph collapse from exhaustion, carrying his child and his partner’s belongings? We’re told nothing about the years the holy family spent in Egypt. No details. No stories. Just silence. Did Joseph struggle to find work? Did people resent him for it—muttering that he was taking jobs that belonged to someone else? Did they struggle with the Demotic language and told to just learn it? To adapt faster? To be grateful they were there at all? I have to believe that all of that shaped Jesus’ life and ministry—that when later he spoke about feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, caring for the sick, and welcoming the stranger he was not speaking in abstractions. “What you do—or fail to do—to the least of these, you do to me. Because it was me and my family.” All of it presses the same truth into us: the holy family did not just flee danger—they also lived the hard, unseen reality of being immigrants. If we had been there—if we had seen the holy family on the road to Egypt—I think we’d like to believe we would have helped them. That we would have offered water. Food. A place to rest. Somewhere safe to stay along the way. We imagine ourselves as the ones who would welcome them in, who would protect a frightened mother and a vulnerable child, who would offer dignity after such a perilous journey. So why do we not do the same now—for the struggling, suffering migrants who, following a dream, flee violence and traverse hell to get here, just as the Holy Family once did? Today, instead of recognizing them, we scapegoat people like them. We call them garbage and their countries hellholes. We create policies not just to deter migration, but to make it harsher, more painful, more dangerous. Matthew forces us to see Jesus and the holy family in every family that follows a dream, that flees persecution, that escapes some kind of hell, and is forced to settle in a new land. Arguing about whether Jesus was a refugee or not is a waste of time. What matters is how we treat the people today who find themselves in the same situation the hol

  2. 5D AGO

    History Rhymes, Grace Repeats

    Isaiah 11:2-9 The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him,the spirit of wisdom and understanding,the spirit of counsel and might,the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord. His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord. He shall not judge by what his eyes see,or decide by what his ears hear;but with righteousness he shall judge the poor,and decide with equity for the meek of the earth;he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth,and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked. Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist,and faithfulness the belt around his loins. The wolf shall live with the lamb,the leopard shall lie down with the kid,the calf and the lion and the fatling together,and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze,their young shall lie down together;and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp,and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den. They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain;for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lordas the waters cover the sea. A friend suggested a repriseof a sermon I gave years agoShe called it a rap, but I’m not that cool.It was a poem, at best, it read like a slam.I thought I’d give it another go. But history never repeats itselfIt often rhymes, they say.So I won’t do a re-run, that would be lame,But I’ll try something new– in the same vein –about this baby who’s on the way. I’m no Andrea Gibson or Maya AngelouNo Shel Silverstein or Doctor SeussI’m a preacher whose preached Christmas, 24 years plus oneSo something a bit different seemed like something more fun. I could preach and pontificate, I’ve done that beforeI could rant, rail, and scare – you can get that next door.Maybe this will inspire both your heart and your headAnd keep you from dreaming of sugar plums and bed. The last time I did this –rhymed my way through Christmas Eve –My youngest – Max – had just been bornMy oldest – Jack – wasn’t yet 3. So much has changed, since then, for sure18 years back, where’d you do Christmas Eve?Think of what’s different in your life and our worldDid you celebrate something? Or have something to grieve? And how have things been in just the last year?More joys than sorrows, I pray.As we gather again, with our candles and carols,Are you counting your blessings? Or just surviving the day? Whatever it is, this time around,I hope God meets you in this placeThat’s the message of Christmas: Immanuel – God with usAnd among us, come what may. And again, history doesn’t repeat itselfBut they say it often rhymesThat seems to be true where faith is concernedAnd how God shows up in real time So let’s see what rhymes this Christmas EveLet’s turn back the clock to hearSomething old that could be new againIf we let God’s love come near. The history of faith’s peoplebegan in a garden long agoWhere God breathed life into dust and bonesBut God’s children just couldn’t say “no.” They refused to keep their hands offof a tree that promised liesThey heard God in the sound of the evening breezeAnd hid from angry eyes But God’s eyes of righteous judgementEnvisioned hope in equal portionThe Creator could see, beyond their Sin,A future of salvation. Soon there was that awful floodbut God saved the family of Noahand made a promise to love without endAnd sealed it with a bow. Then there was that Babel tower – Humanity tried to reach the divineTheir sins of Greed and Pride and PowerGot them scattered far and wide Generations laterGod’s Chosen Ones were slaves set freeLost and afraid, but guided,By clouds and fire their eyes could see They were passed over and sparedAnd they crossed through the Red SeaThey wandered the wilderness,And they followed God’s lead And there were tablets and tabernaclesSerpents, wonders and signsAll proof of God’s presenceThe same, but different, each time Because history doesn’t repeat itself,But like God’s grace, it rhymes.And across generations this history rhymedAs God’s people mastered losing their wayThey counted their sins and hid from their GodLetting judgement and shame win the dayBut God was never into just counting our SinFor the sake of proving us wrongGod was all about leading with mercy and loveSo we’d make a world that sounds like a song A song of hope for those with noneA song of faith when fear has wonA song of peace when wars still rageA song of love that might turn the page A song that rhymes, not repeats, in beautiful waysthat started anew with a SonWho was born so we’d see just what grace could dowhen we walk in the way of God’s love Because it’s not about you and it’s not about meIt’s all about “us” and about “them”It’s about how – together – we’re part of this planTo love one and all to the end Because God may still show up in rainbows and cloudsIn signs, in miracles, in dreamsBut Jesus showed up to show God revealedin people like you and like me We’re alike and we’re different in beautiful waysWe live and we move and we breatheWe walk common ground, we fear, long, and needBut still forget who are neighbors can be Like Jesus they don’t have a safe place to landLike his was, their world isn’t safeLike Jesus they rely on the kindness of strangersLike him they’re dependent on grace He’s the gay kid that’s bulliedHe knows about poor, single momsHe’s the Dad with no papersHe hides underground from bombs He shelters-in-place in the classroomHe takes cover beneath pewsHe’s on both sides of our borderAnd he’s exhausted by our news His nights aren’t as silent As we pretend they should beHis future’s not certainAnd he looks to you and to me In Jesus God shows up, draws close, comes nearIn Christ, God comes down from on highIn Jesus we’re called to do more of the same:To get off our cloud and no longer deny That grace isn’t just ours,it’s ours to share at all costsThis Gospel’s only good newsWhen it’s shared with the lost And God knows what it is to be utterly lostThis boy showed up and got lost on the CrossHe died there for our sake, so that we could seeWhat “once and for all” actually means. If you need it today, then take it, for sureIf you’re hungry then, please, have your fillBut let this grace find, free, and change youuntil your life overflows with goodwill Goodwill not just for men, but for women, tooAnd for everyone else in-between.Goodwill for the ones who are broken and hurtingFor the hopeless, the loveless, the mean. So, what might make Christmas rhyme once again?We can’t repeat the coming of this ChildBut if God stepped into skin once way back thenGod can surely take root in our lives Because we’ve seen it time after time beforehistory rhymes it doesn’t repeatSo let God show up this Christmas, once moreMaking us Love’s voice, hands, and feet. Amen. Merry Christmas.

  3. DEC 21

    Joseph, Jesus, and What’s in a Name

    Matthew 1:18-25 Now the birth of Jesus, the Messiah, took place in this way. When his mother, Mary, was engaged to Joseph, but before they were living together, she was found to be with child by the Holy Spirit. Being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, he planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, Son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife. The child conceived in her womb is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” All of this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the prophet: “Look, the virgin will conceive and bear a Son and he will be called ‘Emmanuel’ which means ‘God is with us.’” So Joseph did as he was commanded. He took Mary to be his wife, but he had no marital relations with her until after she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus. We all know names are a thing. I’ve gone by several over the years, depending upon my age, my station in life, and who it is that’s addressing me. My parents have called me by my initials – M.R. – short for Mark Randall – for as long as I can remember. I realize “M.R.” isn’t a thing at all, really. BJ, TJ, AJ, CJ, sure. JD is a good one. But “M.R.” is strange. It’s not shorter than Mark. It saves no time. And it doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, either. In High School, I was “Little Havel,” because I have an older brother. In college, I was “Long Hair,” or just plain “Havel,” because 95% of my circle of friends were known exclusively by our last names. My wife calls me “Schmoops” or “Schmoop-Dog,” courtesy of a random Seinfeld episode from years ago. To most of you I’m “Pastor Mark,” or just plain “Pastor,” which I find endearing in a way that surprises me, still. And my latest, favorite – which some of you may have read about in our daily, digital devotion this Advent – is courtesy of Clive Blackmon who calls me “Pastor Goofy.” I love it because he’s 2. And because his parents swear it has nothing to do with however in the world they talk about me at the Blackmon house, or when I’m not around. Anyway, I suspect some of you are wondering – like Joseph must have, had he known about what had been “spoken by the prophet” – what was he supposed to name this baby, “Jesus” or “Emmanuel?” “Jesus,” like the angel said, because he’s going to save his people from their sins? Or should it be “Emmanuel,” like the prophet predicted, because ‘God is with us?’ So, real quick … a little Bible study. It helps to know that “Jesus” is the linguistic, vernacular evolution of Yeshua … Joshua … the Old Testament hero … the successor to Moses … the guy who ultimately led the Israelites into the Promised Land. Joshua was Moses’ side-kick and protégé; the mighty military warrior; the brave and faithful leader of God’s chosen ones. And very early on in his story, from the Book of Joshua, he is promised – over and over and over again – that God would be a faithful presence, for him and with him, as he led God’s people to safety and security into that Promised Land. Joshua 1:5 – “No one shall be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you.” Joshua 1:9 – “I hereby command you: Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:17 – “Just as we obeyed Moses in all things, so we will obey you. Only may the Lord your God be with you, as he was with Moses!” So, God’s promised presence with Joshua was an encouragement for him and a measure of validation for his calling as a leader of God’s people. So Matthew conflates and connects that prophecy from Isaiah about Immanuel – “God with us” – with the naming of Yeshua … Joshua … Jesus, which means something like “Yahweh helps” or “Yahweh saves,” because the story of Joshua is covered up with this notion and promise that God accomplishes that help – God does the work of salvation – by way of God’s ever-faithful presence for and with God’s people. And the thing is, “Jesus” – as a name – wasn’t really all that special. It was a pretty common name actually, as you might imagine, once you know Joshua’s story. Lots of parents, apparently, had named their little boys after Joshua – this hero of their people. So, what we’re supposed to notice as much as anything – what’s really special about this story of Jesus’ naming – is that Joseph named him at all. We know about the drama and back story of Mary becoming pregnant in the first place – while she and Joseph were planning to be married, but before they had sealed the deal. We know that Joseph would have, could have, should have – by some standards – punished and abandoned Mary for what was sure to bring judgment, shame, and skepticism upon them both. So, Joseph’s act of naming this child was a bold, defiant, faithful, loving, brave act of adopting Jesus into his life, into his family – and into the family and line of David. It’s no mistake that Matthew reports the angel as having addressed Joseph so formally and completely: “Joseph, Son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife…” Names are a thing, after all, remember. Now, I’ve talked often about how much credit I like to give Mary for Jesus’ worldview … about his concern for the poor … about his call to do justice … about his passion for railing against the rich, the mighty, the oppressors of the world and the powers that be. I love, in these days of Christmas, to imagine Mary teaching and singing the words of her Magnificat as a quiet, holy, strange, rebellious lullaby to her little boy – while she carried him in her belly; in the manger on the night of his birth; and every time he wouldn’t sleep or needed to nurse; and all throughout his childhood, too. I imagine she sang something like that song she first sung upon learning of her pregnancy; that song about God’s mercy being for those who fear him; about a God who scatters the proud in the thoughts of their hearts; about a God who brings down the powerful from their thrones; who lifts up the lowly; who fills the hungry with good things and who sends the rich away empty. It’s no wonder Jesus grew up with a clear picture of what it looked like to do justice, to love his neighbor, to care for the poor, to forgive his enemies, to walk humbly with God, to flip some tables every once in a while, and all the rest. But this morning, we get a glimpse of – and a reminder that – Jesus learned some of that from Joseph, too. And it begins with this seemingly simple act of naming. Because naming a child was the father’s responsibility in Jesus’ day, and by doing that, Joseph was claiming Jesus as his. And it was no small thing – it was a bold, defiant, humble, loving, faithful act to welcome this Jesus into his family – the family and House of David. Joseph could have “dismissed her quietly,” remember. Or he could have had Mary cast out or killed, even, for claiming to be pregnant with the Holy Spirit’s baby; because who would believe that?! But what Joseph shows us – and what Jesus surely realized in time – was that his Dad chose righteousness and faithfulness and loving-kindness and grace over the law and over public opinion and over and above his own self-interest, his own self-preservation, his own pride, ego, and well-being. And to put it plainly, we need more Josephs in the world, these days. We need men – like Joseph and his little boy – who listen to and who believe women. We need men who stand up for and protect women and girls – like Joseph and his son did – when men in power would sooner doubt, disgrace, and demean them. We need men – like Joseph and Jesus – who don’t just go along to get along. We need men – like Joseph and Jesus – who break the rules – and maybe even the laws, on occasion – when they are unjust, unfair, and unkind. We need men – like Joseph and Jesus – who look for ways to sacrifice, to be generous, to be unapologetically vulnerable to God’s claim on their lives and to trust the difference they can make in the world, when they do. And we can – and we are called to do this – men, women, and everyone in between – no matter the names by which we are known in the world. We can – and we are called to do this – because of the name we share as baptized children of God, bound by love for one another and bound by love for the sake of the world, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

  4. DEC 14

    Too Good to be True

    Matthew 11:2-11 When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’ Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he. “Don’t get your hopes up; it sounds too good to be true.” T\p.hat’s what Katelyn said to me as I waved the gift card in the air. It was March of 2020 and we had just bought our first home. We were overjoyed and broke. But then one day shortly after moving in, a very official looking piece of mail came from what sounded like a reputable company. Curious I opened it up and to my delight there, in the letter, was a $150 gift card. “Congratulations on your new home. Here is a small gift from us.” It didn’t exactly cover our new mortgage but I was stressed about money and suddenly here was a small token of relief! The letter simply said to call this number to activate the card. So I pull out my phone, call the number, and someone actually picks up; not a machine! This is good I think. Then I hear what are either other call center workers or a TV in the background… That’s odd, but, ever the optimist, I say, “I got your letter and I’m calling to activate the card.” The person on the other end said “Great! I just needed your social security number and”... Before she could finish the sentence I hung up; irate, and embarrassed. Katelyn turned to me and said those four words you hate to hear, “I told you so..” She was right. The gift card was indeed too good to be true. Yet, isn’t that how scams, or just marketing in general, work? Preying on folk’s needs, desires, and insecurities by promising something that fixes their problems. You’ve been there or felt that way. Stressed about money when suddenly you get an email saying you’ve won the sweepstakes. Struggling to do all that needs to get done in a day when you see an influencer taut a new device or appliance that promises to give you hours back. Or you're lonely, feeling like you’ve got no one there for you when you see an online ad that promises your loneliness will go away with this new app. We want to believe these things will work, that they’ll do what they say, and offer relief, if even temporarily. I imagine John the Baptist was in search of some relief too as he sat in prison. He’s in there because he told Herod not to marry his own brother’s wife, that’s against Jewish law. Herod did it anyway and then threw John in jail. We don’t know how long John had been in prison. But if it were me, it wouldn’t take long at all before I felt alone, afraid, and desperate to get out. So I can only assume John felt the same way. But then comes the news of all that Jesus was doing. Over the last few chapters in Matthew, Jesus was on the move, doing all sorts of miraculous deeds:Healing the sick, calming storms, casting out demons, giving sight to the blind, voice to the voiceless, and even raising a young girl from the dead. All of this spread through the towns, the countryside, even to the dark prison where John sat, growing more desperate with each passing day. I can’t help but think John heard these reports and remembered Isaiah’s promise — the blind seeing, the lame walking, the deaf hearing. John knows the world is full of false hopes and empty promises. People have claimed to be the messiah before — but could this one be real? Could this be the One who brings a new kingdom, who sets the captives free, who fulfills everything I’ve prayed, preached, and prophesied? Hope rises, but doubt remains. … so he sent some of his disciples to ask the question… “are you the one? Or are we supposed to wait for another”. Notice John says we, not I… meaning his concern isn’t only about himself. Even though he’s in a terrible situation, he worries about all the other people who are struggling too. It’s as if John asks, “Are you too good to be true Jesus, I need to know not only for me but for everyone in need of relief from the darkness they endure.” Hopefully I’m not the only one who’s asked that question — or wondered, especially in Advent, if it’s all too good to be true. That God would leave heaven and become human, be born to poor, unwed parents, live under occupation, suffer betrayal, and willingly die a terrible death, all so that he could forgive you and me and all the world, and we could live with the assurance of his grace, a grace that we could never earn but is freely given, with no strings attached? That certainly sounds too good to be true. Jesus responds by saying: “Go tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive sight, the lame walk, the lepers cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead raised, and good news brought to the poor”. It’s not exactly a straight answer. It would have been so much easier for John, his disciples, and even for us, if Jesus gave a direct answer and said “yes, I am the one you’ve been waiting for. I am the Messiah”. But he didn’t. And to complicate things further, John’s disciples didn’t only see miracles. Pain and suffering, oppression and death were all around them — just as they are in our own time. Look at what’s happened in the last 24 hours… We never know if John received this answer from Jesus or if he was satisfied with it. But what about you? Does it satisfy you? We, like John, sit in our own prisons. They may not have bars, but they entrap us just the same: a quiet house filled with loneliness, a mind crowded with worry at 2 a.m., grief that quietly overwhelms, a world that feels too heavy to bear. From that darkness, we ask the same question, “Are you the one Jesus? Are you the one who’s come to set all this right? To set me right? How can we know? Well this may come as a shock, but we can’t know, at least not on our own. Luther puts it this way, “I believe that I cannot by my own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ” but the Holy Spirit has called me by the Gospel, leads me to faith, and keeps me in faith.” It is a gift, not something we come up with on our own, thanks be to God. And because of this gift, we can trust in the promises of Jesus. When we doubt, when we struggle, when we feel overcome by suffering in the world, the Holy Spirit helps us trust that God is at work in places we wouldn’t expect! That’s what Jesus tells John and his disciples. Jesus says to them, “If you want to come to believe that I am the One, look at the places where there is suffering, in your own life and in the world around you. That’s where I am at work.” Jesus is the one — not because everything feels fixed, but because he is already at work in the darkness. Faith gives us not certainty, but trust in that promise. I love what Bonhoeffer wrote to Maria, his fiance, while sitting in his prison cell during Advent in 1943. He wrote: “Just when everything is bearing down on us to such an extent that we can scarcely withstand it, the Christmas message comes to tell us that all our ideas are wrong, and that what we take to be evil and dark is really good and light because it comes from God. Our eyes are at fault, that is all. God is in the manger, wealth in poverty, succor in abandonment.” Christmas, the promises of Jesus, grace… it all sounds too good to be true. But the truth is, it’s even better. Amen.

  5. DEC 7

    Sledding Repentance

    Matthew 3:1-12 In those days, John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea proclaiming, “Repent for the kingdom of heaven has come near. This is the one about whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, ‘The voice of one crying out in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord, and make his paths straight.’” Now, John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all along the region of the Jordan, to be baptized by John in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. But when John saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming to him for baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance and do not pretend to say about yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor.’ For I tell you, from these stones, God could raise up children to Abraham. Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees and every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. “I baptize with fire, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me. I’m not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hands to clear the threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” Well, last week Pastor Cogan gave us the Grinch who stole Christmas – and terrorized some small children by bursting into their homes and stealing Christmas gifts, right before their eyes and right out from under their Christmas trees. So, not to be outdone, I give you John the Baptist, with his camel’s hair and leather, his locusts and wild honey, those axes, threshing floors, winnowing forks, and unquenchable fire. Merry Christmas. But seriously, if you heard Pastor Cogan last week and took advantage of his homework assignment – to make an Advent List of things you’d like for God to remove from your life in preparation for the coming of Christmas and beyond – then I hope the words of John the Baptist aren’t as scary as some have made them out to be over the years. I mean that it’s deeply faithful and profoundly meaningful to see John the Baptist as less of a Grinch and more of a harbinger of hope. It can be life-changing to see that the trees being chopped and the threshing floor being cleared and the chaff being burned don’t have to represent people, for crying out loud, which is what too many have believed for too long in this world. We don’t have to fear the Lord who’s on the way, in those ways, any longer. Instead, we are invited to look forward to and prepare for God’s coming in Jesus by getting ready for this unquenchable fire of God’s grace as a good and holy thing, instead, that means to lovingly burn away the chaff of our lives – to rid us of the bad stuff like our pride… the sinful stuff like our selfishness… the faith-stealing stuff of our fear, the light-dimming stuff of vengeance and war and more. John calls us to be rid of it all by way of a good bath, or a thorough pruning, or maybe by setting it out like so much trash at the curb on garbage day. And while this is all good news – and not nearly as terrible or as scary as many have made John the Baptist’s words out to be – it may not always come easy; there’s some tough love in what John offers up today, too. And it has to do with this call to repentance. And, my favorite story about repentance is one from my own childhood. When I was a kid – about seven or eight years old – I was sledding in the winter with my neighbors and very best friends – on a hill not far from where we lived. Our sledding hill was great. It was in the yard of some members of our church, and complete with a creek of running water at the bottom. The creek was small, but deep enough apparently, that it didn’t always freeze in the winter. Anyway, during an afternoon of sledding and snowmen and snow ball fights, I got into a real, actual fight with one of my best friends, who was and is more like a second big brother to me. (I told this story at his wedding, at which I presided, just a couple of weeks ago, which is why it came to mind again this week.) Anyway, there was yelling and screaming and pushing and pulling and, even though he was 3 years older than me – and bigger and stronger in every way – I somehow managed to push him into the icy water of that creek at the bottom of the hill. As surprised as I was by whatever strength, good luck, and gravity had worked in my favor, I was just as instantly ashamed and scared and consumed with guilt over what I had done to my friend. I felt bad for whatever fluke had allowed me to win the fight. I felt terrible that my friend was cold and wet and embarrassed by it all. And I was worried, too, about what would happen to both of us once our parents found out. So, in all of my shame and guilt and fear and regret – and with all the wisdom of my seven or eight years – I shouted out my apologies as I did my own wintry version of the Nestea plunge right next to him in the icy water of that creek. And, even if my repentance was cold and wet and unhelpful in so many ways, it was heartfelt. It was honest. And it came from a real and deep desire to make things right again between my friend and me. I would have undone my transgression altogether if I could have, but that wasn’t possible. So, all I could do was apologize and begin a long, soggy, very cold, frozen walk home. And I think the tough love of John the Baptist was – and is – an invitation to this kind of repentance. Not that we have to jump into the cold, unforgiving waters of our sinfulness – or that that would accomplish anything more than my Nestea plunge was able to accomplish. But that we would recognize the fullness of our sins in the light of God’s willingness to do that for us – and more: to jump into the world, I mean … to enter into the cold, frozen waters of our transgressions, I mean … to climb onto the cross and out of the tomb for our sake, I mean. And that once we recognize the fullness of that kind of sacrifice and love, we’ll resolve to do better and different in response to God’s grace. So, what does that mean for you in these days leading up to Christmas? What does it mean for Christians, waiting on the birth of Jesus, to “bear fruit worthy of repentance?” After all, we’re just as flawed, broken, scared, insecure, imperfect, and hard-hearted as those Pharisees and Sadducees who showed up at the Jordan to be baptized by John. And while repentance is one of the most faithfully Christian things we can practice, it’s not something that comes easy for most of us. I think to “bear fruit worthy of repentance” means we give ourselves over to grace; we let our guard down; we open our hearts up; we let the cracks of our brokenness show; and we let those cracks be filled with all God has to offer as a loving fix. Repentance is about letting ourselves be vulnerable to the love of God, so that we might be changed by the good news that comes in Jesus. When we buy that… When we let that Truth into our heads and into our hearts… When we allow that reality to shape and influence our actions and our behavior… that’s when true, deep, faithful repentance will happen. Repentance will come because we will be changed and we will change the ways we live in this world. Then, I believe, the chaff of our lives – our greed, our pride, our selfishness, and all the rest – will fall away and we’ll be happy and blessed to watch it burn in the unquenchable fire of God’s amazing grace and be drowned by the waters of God’s unrelenting love, until we’re able to share more of the same love, mercy, and forgiveness in Jesus’ name. Amen

  6. DEC 4

    Delight in the Darkness: Sharing Stories of Hope as we Wait - Advent 2025

    December 17: Mary Graham - Sunflowers Off Prospect St. December 17: Dave Baker - It Gets Better Each Year Dave and Dan at eight months old. Can you tell who is who? December 10: Dan Julian - Ashes and Rainbows The sun dogs seen by Dan and Deb on their way home after “spreading” her parents’ ashes. December 10: Jesse Keljo - Bunny, Joe Bob, and Strange Grace Jesse with Joe Bob Riggs Bunny December 3: Dianne Kaucher - Your Prayers Were My Prayers December 3: Susan Oxley - It’s the Climb

  7. NOV 30

    What's On Your List?

    Matthew 24:36-44 But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. For as in the days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so, too, will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken, and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken, and one will be left. Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect. What’s on your list? That’s the question I asked and got asked most over the past few days. If your family is anything like mine, Thanksgiving weekend is when we trade Christmas lists and start imagining what we hope to unwrap. Maybe you do something similar. Or maybe you’re one of the brave ones who heads out into the crowds to score the deals on those lists. I like going out not so much for the sales, but to soak in the spirit of the season. Lights are up, people are dressed up, bells are ringing outside while Christmas music blares inside. Santa waves between photos. And at this point, people look happy—not yet crushed by the unrealistic expectations we all put on this season. There’s something energizing about it. But then you show up to worship this morning… only to be shocked by what we just heard. We come to church in December expecting stories of hope from a pregnant Mary, the quiet faithfulness of Joseph, or the peace of a cooing baby Jesus.And instead — we get none of that. What we always get on the first Sunday of Advent are these strange, end-of-the-world texts. This morning, Jesus compares his return to the days of Noah—people going about their lives, unaware, until the flood came suddenly. He says his coming will be just as unexpected. Then it gets even more unsettling: two men working in a field, and one is taken. Two women working in a home, and one disappears. When I first read that this week, all I could picture was two pastors in the office; one taken, one left behind. I’ll let you decide which. And finally, perhaps most troubling of all, Jesus compares his coming to a thief breaking into a house at an unknown hour and robbing it. A thief?! What is going on here? It’s strange, unsettling, and so out of step with our cultural Christmas expectations, where a certain man arrives right on time and leaves us piles of wonderful things. What we get in this passage feels a lot less like Santa… and a lot more like this: That’s hilarious and terrible, and I’m definitely not recommending you do that to your children. Though if you do… please send the video. But the Grinch showing up at an unexpected moment to take things away isn’t all that different from the metaphor Jesus uses about himself in today’s passage. He says the day and hour of his return we cannot know; not even he knows. But when we least expect it, in a way we won’t anticipate, Jesus promises to return. If we imagine ourselves as the homeowner in this metaphor, it sounds like bad news — because a thief breaking in means we’re about to lose something. But what if this sudden, unexpected loss isn’t a threat at all. Maybe we need someone to break in and take certain things away; not like the Grinch stealing presents, but like a holy thief who steals what we don’t need, what harms us, what we can’t let go of or get rid of on our own. After all, some of the greatest gifts in life aren’t the things we receive… but the things we’re finally freed from. Just ask Sir Anthony Hopkins. The famous actor sat down with the New York Times for one of their installments of The Interview. The first question David Marchese asked him was: “Can you tell me about what happened on December 29th, 1975, at 11 o’clock?” Hopkins responded: I was drunk and driving my car here in California, blacked out, no clue where I was going, when I realized that I could have killed somebody — or myself, which I didn’t care about — and I realized that I was an alcoholic. I came to my senses and said to a friend at a party, “I need help.” It was 11 o'clock precisely — I looked at my watch — and this is the spooky part: some deep powerful thought or voice spoke to me from inside and said: “It’s all over. Now you can start living.” And suddenly the craving to drink was taken from me. When asked later about that voice, Hopkins simply said, “It came from deep inside, and I don’t have any other theories except divinity — what I call God.” Like a thief in the night, God broke into Anthony Hopkins’ life when he least expected it and took from him a desire he couldn't take from himself. What a gift. And is that not a gift you want, maybe even one you desperately need? Wouldn’t it be great for Jesus the holy thief to break into your life and take what you’ve never been able to let go of yourself? Not your Christmas presents, but the things that truly rob you: an addiction you can’t shake, the fear that grips you, the worry that wakes you at night. What if Jesus stole away your self-doubt? Or absconded with your love of money and stuff? Or slipped off into the night with your anxiety, your despair, your perfectionism? We make all these lists of things we want, and buy presents for each other thinking they’ll finally help us “start living.” If only we had the right clothes, the new bag, the latest tech — then we’d feel whole. But not one thing under the tree can actually do that. Yet if Jesus takes even one of those burdens from us? Then we might sound a lot like Anthony Hopkins: Now I can start living. This may sound like a new way of talking about what Jesus does for us, but it really isn’t. His entire life is an in-breaking into our world in ways no one expected: a poor peasant baby born in Palestine. And through his death and resurrection, he took from us what we could never take from ourselves, our sin, our shame, our separation, so that we could start living, here and now. It is a beautiful exchange. Another Lutheran pastor once suggested that instead of making Christmas lists, we should make Advent lists, writing down the things we want Jesus the holy thief to take from our lives. Because the Gospel today tells us that Christ will come again. And if it’s anything like the last time, he’ll take away what we cannot remove on our own. So what are you holding on to? Or maybe, what’s holding on to you, keeping you from living the life God wants for you? Our culture loves to tell the lie that following Christ will give us more blessings, more stuff, more comfort. But the truth is often the opposite. Throughout the Gospels, he breaks into the lives of his disciples and takes things from them: safety, certainty, old identities, fears that defined them. And sometimes that taking is the very best gift. In the welcome area, you’ll find small sheets of paper titled Advent Lists. As you leave today — before you go back to checking off the gifts you’ll give — take a moment to write down the things you want Jesus to take from you this season. And as you write, consider this: Are there things you can help lift from the lives of those around you: guilt, shame, pressure, loneliness? When we ease those burdens for one another, we share in Christ’s liberating work. We help grace break-in to our lives so that we might live fully here and now. Maybe the next time someone asks you, “What’s on your list?” you’ll have a different answer. Amen.

  8. NOV 23

    Toilet Paper, Payback, and Christ the King

    Luke 23:33-43 When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by watching, but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.” One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingdom.” He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” In fifth grade, my house was toilet papered. Waking up that morning, it looked like there had been a blizzard—but only at my house. And the worst part is it took a solid two hours to clean up. We got word the perpetrators were coming back, so my brother made a plan. We hid in the bushes with the hose, firecrackers, and an air horn at the ready. As soon as the first roll hit the tree, we unleashed it all. It was some of the sweetest revenge I’d ever tasted. But here’s the thing—I wanted more. Now I am not proud to admit this, but for the next two years, I was a serial toilet-paperer. I went TP-ing with my friends every chance I got. I don’t think to this day my parents know this. Finally, one fateful night a police officer stopped our fun and we dropped our rolls of toilet paper for good. He could have called our parents, ordered community service. But he just made us clean up the mess, giving us mercy we didn’t deserve. If I asked you what the most deadly addiction is, you might say smoking, alcohol, fentanyl, or maybe Facebook. But no, it’s none of that. This addiction is far more common and not a substance or drug at all. The deadliest addiction is revenge. That’s the argument put forth by James Kimmel Jr., a professor at Yale. He says nearly every form of violence childhood bullying, domestic violence, police brutality, war—begins with someone convinced they’re a victim seeking justice. And for the first time in human history, we have some scientific insight into how we can stop this deadly addiction. Revenge is that feeling, sometimes subtle, sometimes intense, to return the pain someone first gave you. Through scans and research, Kimmel and his team have found that a brain on revenge looks a lot like a brain addicted to drugs.Grievances of any kind—real or imagined, disrespect, betrayal, shame— they all light up the brain’s pain center. Our brains don’t like that and so it quickly starts reaching for pleasure. We could reach for anything after we’ve been wronged—a tub of ice cream, an intense workout, a few drinks—and those might help for a moment. But the uncomfortable truth is that we humans get the most satisfying pleasure from hurting the very person who hurt us. It’s not our best trait. Neuroscientists have shown that when someone wrongs us and we even imagine retaliation, the brain’s reward centers wake up. The parts tied to craving and habit-building fire just like they do when addicts feel stressed or see something associated with getting a fix. Revenge isn’t just an idea; it’s an addictive action. Yet, unlike other addictions, revenge is addiction turned outward. Instead of harming ourselves to get a fix, we harm someone else. And like any addiction, the thrill is short-lived, the pain returns leaving one feeling even worse, and the craving only grows. Perhaps you know how this feels. As a kid, it’s the punch you throw when the roughhousing gets too rough. In marriage, it’s the sentence you say that you know will cut deeper than any knife. As an adult, it’s the desire to slash the tires of the buffoon who cut off everyone in the school pickup line. We all know that impulse. It’s part of being human. And it certainly isn’t limited to individuals. Right now, it feels like our whole nation is running on it. Childish name-calling, dangerous threats, the endless churn of angry rhetoric: vengeance seems to be the most animating force in public life. It shows up across the political spectrum, where the goal is clearly not about solving problems but more about scoring points or making “the other side” hurt. I see it too in the Christian Nationalist movement, which grows out of a perceived assault on Christianity, by which they mean a very narrow version of Christianity defined as white, straight, and evangelical. The response is to attack back through laws and power in public life. We’ve built a society—a kind of kingdom—where hurt is expected to be met with greater hurt, and the loudest voices insist the only way to win is to strike back harder. Christ the King Sunday, which began 100 years ago today, was created to celebrate a king and kingdom that operates in the opposite way. If there was ever someone innocent who endured great harm—someone who could have, maybe even should have, returned the pain—was it not Jesus Christ, the King of the Jews? The one crucified between criminals while the very people who once followed him stood by and watched? Surely he had every right to act with vengeance, to call down the wrath of God, to save himself from that cross and rule like every other king tries to do. That’s exactly what the crowd urged him to do. Three times people said to Jesus, “Save yourself.” It’s what we humans know best. But that’s not the kind of King Jesus is. His first words from the cross were not a declaration of innocence or a plea for pity, but a favor from his Father: “Forgive them.” It’s fascinating that Jesus speaks to God in this moment. He doesn’t say I forgive you to the ones nailing, flogging, and scoffing at him. That wouldn’t have made any sense. They didn’t think they were doing anything wrong. In their minds, they were doing exactly what they should be doing: executing a sentence of execution for a man charged with treason. And here’s the part that always stops me: Jesus isn’t only speaking about the people at the foot of the cross. His words reach beyond that moment. It’s as if Jesus is saying, Father, please forgive them—because I already have. And the “them,” the object of that forgiveness, is me and you. Jesus came preaching and presenting a different way to be in the world, an alternate kingdom to reign over our lives—one of mercy, kindness, forgiveness—and we killed him for it. And every time we long for revenge, every time we save ourselves, every time we reject mercy, we put him back on that cross, crucifying the voice that tells us there’s another way. Yet just like he did then, he says to us again, “Father, forgive them; they don’t know what they are doing.” God, in Jesus, meets our violence with grace; our anger with forgiveness; our revenge with reconciliation. Always and only. The way of Jesus and his kingdom is what neuroscience now tells us is the best way to stop the dangerous, deadly pull of revenge: forgiveness. Research shows that even picturing yourself forgiving someone triggers something powerful: the brain’s pain center settles, the craving for revenge loosens, and the part of your mind that helps you think clearly and choose wisely lights back up. Forgiveness is not saying what happened was okay or pretending the wound never happened. It means letting God begin loosening revenge’s grip on your mind but more importantly on your heart. In other words, forgiveness acts like a kind of wonder drug. It eases the hurt, dead-ends the desire to strike back, and breaks the hold pain has on you. And best of all, it’s free, always available, and you can take another dose whenever needed. Try it this week. Call to mind one person who has hurt you and, in prayer, quietly just begin to imagine forgiving them. You don’t have to tell them. You don’t have to have it all figured out. Just imagine it, and let Christ the King meet you there. You can do this. We can do this. We don’t have to keep hurting each other. You don’t have to live with the pain someone else has inflicted on you. We can drop our rolls of toilet paper or whatever your retaliation is, once and for all, and stop the harm being done, big or small. There is a way out of this addiction and we didn’t need scientific research to prove it. Christ the King has been showing us how all along, giving us a mercy we don’t deserve. Amen.

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Weekly audio of sermons preached at Cross of Grace Lutheran Church in New Palestine, Indiana

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