Sermon from First UMC, Delmar

  Deuteronomy 34:1-12, Matthew 22:34-46

          When my oldest son was in kindergarten, there was some sort of school issue on the ballot, I can’t remember if it was a mill levy or a bond issue. I attended an informational session about it and after hearing about how long it had been since any school support issue had passed, how underpaid the teachers were and how many building repairs were needed, I became passionate about it. I told my son about it and he too felt strongly so we signed up to canvass an area of our town (which was then in Colorado). He took a backpack of snacks and together we knocked on doors and gave people information about the school issue that would be on their ballots. As anyone who has ever done any kind of door-to-door work knows … you hear a lot of things when you do that. But one thing that I heard repeatedly that baffled me was from people who were retired and casually said “I don’t have kids in the district anymore so it doesn’t matter to me.” It surprised me. I have always thought of education of the young as an important foundation for a society and essential to a strong future for everyone. We all want educated doctors as we age and an overall better world … right? And who knows what people’s stories are and I don’t pretend to know what it is like to live on a fixed social security income as a retired person, but I did find myself thinking about that as I read the Old Testament lectionary text for today from Deuteronomy. In the story we find Moses looking ahead, at a future he will not get to see but is for a community he has deeply invested in.

          We enter the story at the end, when Moses is standing at the threshold of the Promised Land. He can see it. This is everything he has worked for, risked for, suffered for, longed for. At home, we have an evening ritual with our kids of reading a passage of scripture and sharing prayers together before bed. At some point we decided to go to the very beginning of the Bible and read a bit each night. When you read the Bible like this, you encounter the story of Moses at the beginning of the book of Exodus. Then follow it through 40 chapters of Exodus, 27 chapters of Leviticus, 36 chapters of Numbers and to the end here in the 34^th and final chapter of Deuteronomy. As many of you may know, those chapters are not what I would call “easy reads.” There is a lot about goat and grain offerings, skin diseases, battles, counting of tribe members and difficult to pronounce names. It’s a lot of interesting things with a lot of wisdom to be sure, but not exactly an easy to follow narrative bed time story. So it was exciting to get to the end of Deuteronomy, a build-up of all we have read, the climax of this lengthy narrative that has paused and twisted and turned through several books and many chapters … Here it is … the precipice of Mount Nebo, the viewing of the Promised Land. So many lives lost along the way, so many heart breaks and disappointments for Moses, also so many intense and intimate meetings with God face to face … an unbelievable journey.  All to here, this moment. The Promised Land. And so … after all that buildup … Moses sees it … and then he dies … and the chapter ends. It’s a bit of a heart breaking end.

 

          He never gets to go there, and of course we know that’s coming and he knows that’s coming but if you had never heard the story before- you might think, something will change. God will intervene and surely Moses will get to go to the Promised Land. The closing credits of Deuteronomy can’t be on a mound of dirt over a dead Moses, instead, they should be of a frolicking Moses happily consuming milk and honey and celebrating the end of the journey, celebrating the culmination of all they worked so hard for. But no … when you turn the next page you find the book of Joshua … the guy who gets to take them to the Promised Land and gets a book of the Bible named after him … Moses didn’t get either of those things.

          I wonder what that was like for Moses. I wonder if he felt it was all worth it. I wonder if it broke his heart to see it just outside of his reach. But of course I wonder that as a person living thousands of years later and thousands of miles away from where he stood. I live at a time when the world has become much more individualistic and much less communal. When long time communal institutions like schools, churches and organizations are declining and even communal workspaces are disappearing in favor of working from home. When property lines and closed doors are erected to make us feel safe, but also hold others at a distance. And that is not all bad. Individuals should be valued and people should have rights and a person’s story should matter, but I wonder if the world has changed so much that it is hard for us to even imagine the kind of communal thinking that people had during the time of Moses. Maybe … Moses wasn’t disappointed and heartbroken like I imagine, maybe Moses was happy to have done his part for the continuation of the community, maybe it never even occurred to him to feel robbed of an opportunity that his people would enjoy. Maybe he got to die with a heart full of hope … hope of a beautiful future of life in a Promised Land.

          Hope is not always easy to come by. I don’t know about you, but I hear a lot of hopelessness. And it isn’t without reason. There is horrible suffering in the world, there is oppression, poverty, sickness and addiction. And we hear on the news about the degradation of our environment, the destruction of the earth and what feels like a rise in apathy. We all feel the effects of a more divided country, where the distances between us seem only to grow, as perspectives and politics become more deeply entrenched. And on top of all of this there is the looming threat of things like A.I. And fears of how that might be bad for or even the end of humanity. All of this does not instill a lot of hopefulness for the future.

 

          And it may feel cathartic or protective or even rational to throw our hands in the air and say “we are cooked” as young people say today or “we are done for” or “it’s all going to go downhill.” Because disappointment hurts and sometimes caring hurts. So it may feel good to try to not care.

          But that’s not what I see God doing in today’s readings. In the reading from Matthew, Jesus is put to the test as the Pharisees ask “which commandment in the law is the greatest?” And Jesus answers not with a parable or a long speech but straightforward “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” And the second is, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Clear and to the point. Love God and love your neighbor … both are about connection. Connecting and devoting our hearts to God and to others. Both are about caring, investing ourselves and our hearts in God’s creation and in others. Both invite us to invest in something beyond ourselves … a different kind of Promised Land where thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Following a God who cares so deeply that God became incarnate through Jesus and touched the sick, loved the lonely, championed the oppressed.

          And in that last chapter of Deuteronomy, after Moses looks out on the Promised Land he searched so long for and will not set foot on … God buries him. In some translations it says in verse 6 “He was buried” but in the original Hebrew it states “He buried him.” Which, the New Oxford Annotated Bible says is a “clear indication that God himself buried Moses.” Biblical scholar Kat Armas writes, “In Deuteronomy, after Moses dies, God takes him to a hidden place and buries him. I don’t think we sit with that image often enough. Like in Genesis, when God takes the time to sew clothes for Eve and Adam, Empire doesn’t know what to do with this kind of God … [but] give me the seamstress God- the one who bends low to stitch together clothing. The one who digs a grave and prepares a beloved body for burial. Give me the embodied God. The one who weeps and comforts and labors and nurses …” This is a God who cares, deeply. Moses may not have reaped the milk and honey benefits of the promised land that his people would see and taste, but he was lovingly laid to rest by the creator of the Universe. And I can’t pretend to know how it felt for Moses to be cared for so tenderly, but having a relationship with our tender and caring God stirs my heart and calls me to care. 

          There are promised lands or expectations or hopes or utopian visions we may never get to set foot in. But we are loved and called to live that love into the world and I think that may be better than even milk and honey

Photo is from the top of Mt. Nebo

Sermon from Celebration of New Ministry 10/8/26 St. Andrew’s Scotia

 

John 15:9-16

          The sun was shining on that Sunday when my two boys and I accompanied my husband, Bishop Jeremiah, on his visitation to St. James, Oneonta. I remember that it was sunny because we processed outside with a bagpipe at the beginning of the service. It was an exciting and full worship service followed by a luncheon with new faces, introductions and delicious food. The kids and I had become accustomed to these visitations, but what we were not used to was what happened next. We were invited to hop in a car and go to Fr. Dean and Olga’s home while Fr. Dean, Bishop Jeremiah and others had a meeting.

         We found ourselves sitting around the kitchen table, in their beautiful home, with their children, talking about everything … life, home, God, Jesus, backgrounds … everything. They were so kind and encouraging when I tried out my elementary level Spanish. The differences in first language meant that we were completely focused on hearing and understanding each other and soon we had easily and warmly transitioned from strangers … to new acquaintances … to friends.  And when Fr. Dean and Bishop Jeremiah returned they joined right in as we comfortably sat in the living room like familiar friends.

 

          This is the memory that came to my mind as soon as I read the Gospel reading for today. “Friends” is the word Jesus uses to refer to his followers. This is part of a longer section where Jesus is teaching the disciples everything he wants them to know before he leaves them. He knows what will happen … everything will change. There will be difficult times, they will make mistakes, they will disagree, they will miss him and they will also do great things in his name, they will spread his word like fire across the earth, they will experience his presence in a new way and they will be filled with the Holy Spirit … and so he instructs them.  And he calls them “friends” and tells them to love one another. The love of Christ is what brought me to the kitchen table of someone I had never met before that day in Oneonta, and what made us friends. The love of Christ is what brings us together today, to celebrate this coming together of not just a new priest, but an open-hearted family with not just a new church but an open-hearted community of believers.

          And it is that love of Christ that my family experienced here when we visited with my husband and listened as you all excitedly talked about a future you hoped for, and showed us around the rectory hopeful about what it could be, as so many of you worked hard together to make it a place of welcome, a place of love, a place where God’s love could turn strangers into friends. And then again when I came here and preached on a Sunday morning. You were able to see this Methodist pastor not as someone passing through accompanying my husband, but a friend in Christ, and so you welcomed me to your worship service.

          Perhaps that’s why when I heard that Fr. Dean was coming here, I was excited. It made sense. I was excited for the love and warmth I felt in their Oneonta home to fill the rectory I toured here and I was excited as I remembered the hopefulness and love I felt here- excited that you could now start a new chapter. When we left here after our official Bishop visit, my husband and I both left feeling hopeful for the ways the Holy Spirit can work through this place. As we walked through the closet full of Christian education supplies, we saw a place where people get excited about welcoming and guiding young people in the faith. There is an energy here, an energy that has brought you through difficult times, united together by the love of God, working as friends in Christ to live out your baptismal calling as faithful witnesses to the world even when you did not have a priest. Finding ways to bring together your callings and your gifts even when building repairs seemed endless and newcomers felt limited.

          But energy and hopefulness alone is not always sustainable. In this Gospel passage, Jesus is not talking about the kind of easy and innocent friendship that comes with exchanging best friend necklaces and calling it quits when things get hard. Jesus is using the word “commandment.” He says “This is my commandment, that you love one another” … and “I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.” He talks about laying down one’s life for one’s friends as he stands firmly in the direction of the cross where he will suffer and die. His words are not light or easy. This is a command. You must love one another as Christ has loved us. And we know … that is not always an easy command. It requires wisdom. The wisdom to discern what is of love and what is not. The wisdom to find ways to be the body of Christ in the world at a time when the world isn’t exactly interested in that. A wisdom that is gained from facing the difficulties and changes of life with a heart leaning on Christ. A wisdom this congregation has gained from division and uncertain future. A wisdom that Fr. Dean brings from church experience, education, a wide array of diverse living experiences and also an open heart that is not afraid to take risks or make changes when the Holy Spirit is leading.

          Sometimes I look at the world in all of its pain, hatred, war and fear and I think, “what are we doing?” What is even happening, where do we go from here, how do we carry on as followers of a justice-seeking, love-commanding, peace-seeking Savior? And sometimes I hear things about the state of the church, I see reports about the decline of church, churches closing. And as a hospital chaplain I encounter many people who are not interested in church, or don’t even really know what church is or are even angry at the idea of church. I see buildings falling apart, congregations not knowing what to do and a shortage of clergy and I think, “what are we doing?” What is even happening, where do we go from here, how do we carry on as a people instructed to gather together for worship, to take the body and blood of Christ and go forth and make disciples?

         But then I remember. I remember what the church has done in my life, I remember the many many amazing acts of love and witness and faith I have experienced and seen through the church. I remember why I love it so much. And I remember all of the ways the Holy Spirit is at work in the world in and through and around us. Softening hearts, creating friends from enemies, hope from despair and peace from chaos. And I see it. I see it every day. I see it in deep and profound conversations through my work at the hospital, these beautiful moments of connection and divine presence in the midst of pain and suffering that take my breath away. I see it in the beauty of the earth that keeps changing the colors of the leaves and shining in the sun. And I remember. That’s what we are doing. We are doing what we are commanded to do. We are loving one another. This is what Jesus tells us to do and this is what we keep doing because in that love, Christ is made known.

          And so today we celebrate. We celebrate knowing that we carry wounds and scars. We celebrate with a wisdom that comes from knowing life is not easy. We celebrate because we serve a God who loves us deeply and never leaves us. We celebrate because we know what we are commanded to do. Let us love, let us hope and let us celebrate friendship in Christ.