Looks Like a Duck?

Scripture Passage: John 13:21-32

Today’s Gospel comes from St John’s account of the evening of Jesus’ betrayal. In this account, Jesus doesn’t institute the supper as a memorial or sacred meal in the way that Paul records it in 1 Corinthians 11:23-26, nor does it look like the meal described by the other Gospels. Rather, in John’s account the meal is the setting for the washing of his disciples’ feet, his betrayal by Judas, his commandment about loving one another, and so forth. What is so striking about this reading, though, is that the act that Jesus commands in the other accounts of the last supper – to receive bread – is the act by which Judas is singled out as the one who will betray Jesus. “[The one who will betray me] is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.”

In what ways do we betray Jesus even as we go through the motions and gestures and practices of faith that seem so right and holy? How can the signs and symbols of our faith become signs and symbols of betrayal, or at the least empty gestures that do little point us to Christ? Rather than reject traditional gestures and practices, in these holy days commit yourself more deeply to them, so that you might find in them meaning and through their practice draw closer to Christ.

Let us pray:
Father in Heaven, as we prepare for your Son’s Holy Passion, prepare our hearts by your Spirit to receive Him with genuine faith and earnest hope for the coming of his Kingdom. Through your Son Jesus we pray. Amen.

A Prayer Tinged with Question

Scripture passage: Habakkuk 3:2-15

This passage is a prayer, offered by the prophet Habbakuk, recounting during a time of national suffering God’s work in delivering the people Israel from slavery and into the Promised Land. And though the first few verses of the passage reveal a sense of awe and praise, the overall tone of the prayer is bit more muted. God’s power to destroy is described in great and disturbing detail – earth shaking, land trembling, mountains writhing; anger, wrath, fury. Though all this divine power is framed as serving God’s people over generations – vs. 13, “You came forth to save your people, to save your anointed” – the raw descriptions of God’s power makes me wonder if some of this sense of devastation didn’t hit close to home for the prophet and the people to whom he preached. That is, I wonder if this prayer is tinged with a question: could what God doled out to our enemies in years past be what we’re suffering now? Even if we continue reading the last few verses of this book, we see that the prophet is afflicted with doubt. “I tremble within; my lips quiver at the sound” (vs. 3:16).

I think of the doubt that Jesus felt in the garden, asking that his Father take this suffering away from him. Or on the cross, when Jesus prays the psalm, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” Surely Jesus knew of all the great things that God had done for his people over the generations … yet, yet in this hour, he suffered. How could any of this make sense?

One of the easiest, yet most irresponsible things we can do in response to suffering is to say, “God has a plan.” As if God inflicts suffering as part of his work in the world, and as if we could interpret such things! All we can do is cry out, with Jesus, with Habakkuk, with all the suffering of the world, recalling the great things that God has done in history, and living in hope that God continues to do great things … such as delivering his people from slavery to freedom, releasing them from captivity, and bringing them from death to life.

Rottenness enters into my bones, and my steps tremble beneath me. I wait quietly for the day of calamity to come upon the people who attack us. Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vines; though the produce of the olive fails and the fields yield no food; though the flock is cut off from the fold and there is no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will exult in the God of my salvation.
- Habakkuk 3:16-18

Prayer:
Gracious heavenly Father, enter into the world’s suffering and bring about new life. Grant to all who struggle strength and patience. By your Spirit give them your hope; renew them by the inspiration of your past deeds; and come to their aid, making the mountains of sin writhe and the firmament of oppression tremble. Through your Son Jesus Christ, whose promised coming will fulfill your vision for a just creation, we pray. Amen.

The God who ignores our excuses

Scripture text: Luke 9:10-17

“On their return the apostles told Jesus all they had done.” Today’s Gospel text beings with the excitement, perhaps giddiness, of the twelve returning to Jesus with great tales of healing the sick, casing out demons, and proclaiming the Kingdom of God. I can imagine their reports: “Jesus, you should have seen the look on her face when I healed her son!” or, “Hey guys, I can’t believe it! I opened my mouth and it was like God’s Spirit spoke through me!” It must have brought Jesus great joy to hear the chatter at that reunion. Perhaps that’s why Jesus took them privately to Bethsaida, to debrief their first solo missions and share in the wonder of what God was doing.

But their “private” retreat wasn’t private for long. The crowds learned where Jesus and his disciples were heading, and they followed. Jesus “welcomed them, and spoke to them about the kingdom of God, and healed those who needed to be cured.” And as the day was coming to a close, the apostles urged Jesus to send the crowd away, so that they could get something to eat and find someplace to sleep.

“You give them something to eat,” Jesus said.

We can be forgiven for assuming that a band of preachers who had just healed the sick and proclaimed the good news of God would be up to the challenge of feeding thousands of people with just a five loaves of bread and two fish. What’s bread and fish compared to sickness and human frailty? But the apostles balked. Though they had the faith and power to heal intangible sickness and to lead people to faith through preaching good news, when it came to tangible, in-plain-sight things such as bread and fish, they were impotent. The calculus of scarcity was too much for them. They clearly didn’t have enough food for such a crowd, nor money or time to go and buy food thousands of people.

Like the apostles, one minute we’re faithful, performing wonderful works in Jesus’ name, and the next we’re doubtful, able to do little more than say, “there’s not enough. We can’t do it.”

This story ends with Jesus blessing the bread and fish, and giving it to his disciples to distribute to the people. All are fed, and more is left over than the apostles even had at the beginning.

God sends us off to do impossible things. When we balk, he ignores our excuses and sends us out again, giving us what we need to carry out his mission. Look in your basket, see what he’s given you. All you need to do is share.

Let us pray:
Dear heavenly Father, our faith wanes, but yours does not. We tire, but you are always awake. Keep ever present with us, O God, and let your abundant grace be known – through us and in spite of us. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The Storm Before the Calm

Scripture Text: Numbers 13:18-21

I can’t help but find a bit of irony in this text, yet not being a Hebrew scholar I cannot tell you whether this irony is intended or not. Here we have spies being sent into the land of Canaan, the Promised Land, to scout out the prospects for a Hebrew invasion and seizure of the land. They go in and check out the land, note a number of peoples who inhabit the land, and come back with a single cluster of grapes, some pomegranates and figs. Their report? “It’s a land flowing with milk and honey, and this is its fruit.”

Here ends the reading.

Flowing with milk and honey? An allusion to the promise given to Abraham (Exodus 3:7-8), perhaps, but not what the spies saw on their scouting exhibition. In fact, the small amount of fruit they brought back to Moses and Aaron stands in pathetic contrast to the abundance that is suggested by their “flowing with milk and honey” language. But if we keep reading past verse 27, we see that their report, which up to this point seems over-inflated, becomes a bit more realistic. “Yet the people who live in the land are strong, and the towns are fortified and very large … there we saw the Nephilim, and to ourselves we seemed like grasshoppers, and so we seemed to them” (vss. 28, 33).

Promised Land or not, it ain’t gonna be easy to live into the promise. Not for the ancient Israelites, and not for contemporary Christians, either.

The church teaches that all baptized Christians receive a promise in baptism, a promise of eternal life. Jesus preached of a Kingdom of God filled with promise, hope, joy. Yet all we have to do is look around to see that these promises are not immediately fulfilled. Just as the promised land was to the people Israel a future hope, so too are God’s Kingdom and the promise of eternal life realities to which we look forward and on which we depend with every fiber of our faith … but which, nonetheless, are not attained in the here and now. And, just as with God’s people in Numbers 13, we anticipate some rough going until the Day of the Lord comes when Christ to makes all things complete. Until that time, we are called to live in hopeful anticipation of God’s coming Kingdom, sharing the love and joy of God’s grace in all that we do, and keeping watch for the fulfillment of all of God’s promises. Pray that we might stay awake (Matthew 35:36-46)!

Prayer
Lord Jesus, give us the peace of the new Jerusalem. Bring all nations under your rule, that they may render thanks and come with joy to your eternal city, where you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and forever. Amen.
(Psalm Prayer for Psalm 122, Evangelical Lutheran Worship)

“We are powerless.”

Scripture passage: 2 Chronicles 20:1-22

2 Chronicles? Really?

One of the beauties of the daily lectionary is that it mines so much more of the scripture than we can on Sunday mornings. In all of the three year Sunday lectionary cycle, readings from 1 or 2 Chronicles appear only once – on the festival of Stephen, Deacon and Martyr. Thus it is rare that the people in our church’s pews hear the tales of the people Israel told in these books.

Today’s Old Testament reading is filled with promise. Yes, there is a bit of warfare, a longer-than-normal list of names and peoples whose pronunciation just doesn’t flow from our lips, and a bunch of characters with whom most Christians are just not familiar. Our modern “sensibilities” (if you can call them such) might lead us to wrestle with and agonize about the warfare found in this passage, but such a focus would lead us astray from the promise found within it. Just get over it and read the passage.

This story takes place during the period of the divided kingdom (after David and Solomon, before the exile in Babylonia), and it sure looks as if Judah is going to get their butts kicked. We have the Moabites, the Ammonites, and some Meunites all gathering for battle. It is a “great multitude,” and King Jehoshaphat was afraid. The King stands in the house of the Lord and pleads with God by recalling all that God had done and promised to his people … promises that seemed to be fading as enemy armies prepared to attack. “We are powerless,” he says to God.

How many in our world feel this powerlessness, entrapped by forces hell-bent to destroy! The newly homeless, widowed, parentless, childless and lonely sufferers in Haiti and Chile. Victims of violence, be it domestic, gang-related, or government-orchestrated. Those who are addicted to life-sapping drugs and habits. The poor who do without even the basic necessities of dignified living. The list goes on. The throngs cry out, “We are powerless!”

In 2 Chronicles 20 the passage from misery to deliverance took place within a only a few verses, a day within the story. For many who suffer in our world today, a lifetime will pass before they see their enemies – be they poverty, abusers, corrupt governments, disease, or the destruction of a volatile creation – routed. Yet we hold onto the word of God given to the people of Judah: “Do not fear or be dismayed … this battle is not for you to fight; take your position, stand still, and see the victory of the Lord on your behalf.”

Truly we are not called only to stand still. The Bible is full of stories wherein God’s people engaged in courageous, merciful, and sacrificial acts in service to the powerless of the world. Yet, even amidst all the good and just work we might do, the battles are not ours to fight as much as they are ours to witness, for “let us realize that the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice” (Martin Luther King, Jr.). Indeed, the Lord’s command to his people to “stand still and see the victory of the Lord” is a call to trust that God is at work in the world; do we dare to stand still and watch?

Standing at the foot of the cross, being still and watching is a pretty hard thing to do.

Let us pray:
Lord God, our light and our salvation, grant that your servants who seek your face in times of trouble may see your goodness in the land of the living, and that we may be set safely on the rock of our faith, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen.
Psalm Prayer for Psalm 27, Evangelical Lutheran Worship

Lord, I am not worthy … or am I?

Scripture Passage: Luke 21:34-22:6

Just a week into our Lenten fasts and observances, we encounter Jesus exhorting a crowd of his followers to “be on guard,” to not be weighed down by drunkenness or worries, but rather to be alert and praying for strength. Advice to those who are suffering from and struggling with fasts? Not quite (though it surely could apply!). Rather, these are words of warning that Jesus offers to his followers just prior to his Passion, when his disciples will famously let down their spiritual guard and succumb to worry, fatigue, and weakness. And after chapters of proclaiming the coming of the Kingdom of God, with all its righteousness, justice, and mercy, Jesus here invokes the much more apocalyptic Son of Man imagery. Something is a-stirrin’.

Luke doesn’t leave us wondering for long what precisely might be stirring. We read in Luke 22:2 that “the chief priests and the scribes were looking for a way to put Jesus to death,” but that is nothing new. On several occasions Luke has told us of the feathers that Jesus has ruffled among the religious elite who want nothing more than his elimination. But what is new is the return of Satan – whom we saw tempting Jesus in Sunday’s Gospel text from Luke 4. Luke 22:3 tells us that Satan entered into Judas, who “conferred with the chief priests … about how he might betray [Jesus] to them.” Having failed with Jesus, Satan goes after the low hanging fruit of human weakness.

One minute Jesus is exhorting his followers to be strong. The next minute one of his followers is betraying him. A day later Peter, the one whom Jesus called a rock, denies Jesus, and the other disciples scatter. But the Good News is – am I getting ahead of myself? It’s only the first week of Lent, after all – the Good News is that it ain’t about us. We’re going to fail.

But still. Jesus bids us to pray for the strength to escape persecutions and trials, and to stand before the Son of Man. How could we ever find such strength to do such things, to stand before our Lord?

He is the one who, handed over to a death he freely accepted,
in order to destroy death, to break the bonds of the evil one,
to crush hell underfoot, to give light to the righteous,
to establish his covenant, and to show forth the resurrection,
taking bread and giving thanks to you, said:
Take and eat; this is my body, given for you.
Do this for the remembrance of me.

In the same way he took the cup, gave thanks,
and gave it for all to drink, saying:
This cup is the new covenant in my blood,
shed for you and for all people for the forgiveness of sin.
Do this for the remembrance of me.

Remembering, then, his death and resurrection,
we take this bread and cup,
giving you thanks that you have made us worthy
to stand before you and to serve you as your priestly people.

- from Eucharistic Prayer XI from Evangelical Lutheran Worship, a translation of the Eucharistic Prayer of Hippolytus, 2nd century

“Worthy to stand before you,” the prayer contends. Us, worthy? Yes, us, but not because of our own strength, or our ability to stay awake, sober or faithful. Rather, we are worthy only because our Lord Jesus Christ – who destroys death, breaks the bonds of the evil one, crushes hell underfoot and establishes his covenant – makes us worthy. Our worthiness is his work, his gift, his grace.

Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.
(Traditional liturgical formula said by the congregation in response to the invitation to receive the sacrament, derived from Matthew 8:8)

Lent, a Season of Life

Scripture reading: Isaiah 58:1-12

This is this traditional focus of Lent: to look back at ourselves, to admit our sinfulness, our brokenness, to confess those things that separate us from God and from one other, for when sin separates us from God and from one another we suffer the death of our wholeness, the death of our relationships, the death of our community, the death of our humanity.

Sin is death.

And so this season is not just about looking at the conduct of our lives and confessing sins in a good vs. bad, black vs. white, moralist kind of dichotomy. No. It’s much more than that. If sin is death, then our confession of sin, our season of repentance, our ashes . . . are about life.

This is a season of repentance, of self-denial, of discipline that draws us closer, into a deeper understanding of and relationship with the God who denies himself for us, the God who gives up his life so that we would have life.

Life. That’s what this day, that’s what this season is all about.

I spoke those words two years ago in an Ash Wednesday sermon that reflected less on the appointed texts and more on the traditional Lenten practices of imposing ashes, receiving the sacrament, and engaging in spiritual practices. It is a shame, perhaps, that I neglected the texts in that sermon, for we see our Lord’s commitment to life clearly come alive in the words of the prophet Isaiah, who calls the people Israel to fasting that is defined not by ashes (ahem!) or sackcloth or humbly bowed heads, but by life-giving acts of sharing bread with the hungry, inviting the homeless to live under our roofs, and providing clothing to the naked.

This season starts with the words “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” and it leads us to the death of the cross. Yet despite the dust and death, this is a season of life … for in Lent the church takes an honest look at sin and death and dares, nonetheless, to speak a word of life. We can’t proclaim new life without also speaking about death. We can’t seek to draw close to God without first confessing our self-alienation from God. We can’t proclaim forgiveness without acknowledging the reality of sin.

May this day’s observances draw you closer to the God who draws close to the world, the One who approaches sin and death with holiness and life.

Gracious God,
out of your love and mercy you breathed into dust the breath of life,
creating us to serve you and our neighbors.
Call forth our prayers and acts of kindness,
and strengthen us to face our mortality
with confidence in the mercy of your Son,
Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord,
who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and forever. Amen.
- Prayer of the Day for Ash Wednesday, alternate, from Evangelical Lutheran Worship

Hello. My Name Is Chris Duckworth.

My name is Chris Duckworth.

I am a husband, father, Lutheran pastor, political junkie, baseball fan, and on-again, off-again, on-again blogger.

After a 12+ year process that led me through seminary, public school teaching, church supplies sales, youth ministry, fundraising and hospital chaplaincy, I was ordained to the ministry of Word & Sacrament on December 20, 2008, and installed as Associate Pastor of Resurrection Evangelical Lutheran Church in Arlington, VA.  At Resurrection I have particular responsibility for education, youth, family and young adult ministries, though I am involved in nearly every aspect of our parish’s ministry.

My wife, Jessicah, is an ordained Lutheran pastor serving as Assistant Professor of Christian Formation and Teaching at Wesley Theological Seminary in Washington, DC.  Wesley is a seminary of the United Methodist Church, a full-communion partner with the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.  We have three children – Talitha, age 6; Cana, age 3; and Naaman, age 2.

I note with enthusiasm that the baseball season begins this year on April 4, which happens to be Easter Sunday – a clear sign of hope, new life, and joy.