May 15 Sermon

Here's my sermon for this morning, based on the John 10:1-10 text (in which Jesus declares, "I am the Gate for the sheep."). I made use of some images, so I embedded those in the sermon text at roughly the correct places.



Grace and peace to you from our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.



"I am the gate for the sheep," Jesus says. "I am the gate." The Gospel of John is punctuated by seven famous "I AM" statements, from "I am the bread of life" to "I am the true vine." Perhaps "I am the gate" is not the most familiar, since it's not quite as dramatic as "I am the light of the world" or "I am the resurrection and the life."

When you hear our gospel reading this morning, with its talk of sheep and shepherds, bandits and gatekeepers, you may be expecting to hear another famous "I AM" statement: "I am the good shepherd." In fact, that statement comes just after the end of today's gospel reading. But this morning, Jesus does not identify himself as the good shepherd. Instead, he wants us to see him as the gate for the sheep.



I don't know about you, but I'm not very familiar with sheep farming. Perhaps some of you grew up on farms or in farming communities. Maybe you raised sheep. But I suspect that, like me, many of you are more familiar with government contractors than you are with nomadic shepherds.



For many of us, the agricultural language that would have been so familiar to Jesus' followers is worlds away from our own experience. When we think of gates, is this what comes to mind? A departure gate? Jesus saying, "I am the gate for the airline commuters?" And then maybe we could rewrite Jesus' parable: "Truly I tell you, anyone who does not enter the airport through the TSA security checkpoint but sneaks in another way is a threat and a terrorist. Please report any suspicious activity to airport personnel." That doesn't have quite the same ring, does it?



I think we often read this passage in John like it's describing airport security. You have to go through the checkpoint - pass a test - in order to get to God. When Jesus says, "No one comes to the Father except through me," we interpret that to mean that the "right people," the ones who believe in Jesus, are allowed past the checkpoint, while the "wrong people" are kept out. That's how TSA works, right? After all, the TSA, the security checkpoints, all the precautions we have to go through every time we want to fly - that's all intended to keep the wrong people, the "bad guys," out.

To be honest, I don't think Jesus would have used airport security as a way to describe himself. I don't think Jesus intended for us to focus on excluding others. I don't think the purpose of the gate was to be closed against the "wrong people." I'm not sure there were any "wrong people" in Jesus' eyes.



Maybe we do need to let ourselves sink into the language of the nomadic shepherds from Jesus' time. The sheepfold was not a permanent structure, fixed in place. Shepherds would travel with their flocks from location to location, looking for the best places to graze and for good sources of water. The shepherd would build a fence or wall of brush to enclose the sheep and keep them safe at night.



Jesus reminds us of this nomadic way of life in our gospel reading when he says, "The sheep hear the shepherd's voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out." The sheepfold is not a permanent destination for the sheep; the shepherd leads them out through the gate and on to a new pasture. Whether going in or coming out, the gate is the open door that lets the sheep follow the shepherd's caring guidance.



If we are the sheep and the Lord is our shepherd, as Psalm 23 says so beautifully, then we can learn something from this nomadic lifestyle. Jesus, the gate, isn't the way into a permanent heavenly resting place. Our shepherd is constantly leading us on to new and better pastures. Sometimes, the gate lets us in to a safe place to rest; other times, the gate lets us out into the wider world, following and trusting the shepherd.

Having God as our shepherd and Jesus as the gate is vastly different from our experiences with airport security. God is not creating a "checkpoint," to only let through those who follow the rules and to keep out undesirables. And God is not letting us in to a permanent pasture-like heaven. Being one of God's sheep means being on the move, being led out into the world. The gate is open to us both coming and going.

Above all, having God as our shepherd means we are watched over, cared for, and loved. God leads us to green pastures and still waters. God welcomes us, opening the gate for us again and again. Today, God opens the gate for a large group of our children to receive communion for the first time. God welcomes all of us to the table, to the baptismal font. God welcomes us to worship. Then God welcomes us back into the world God made, leading us out through the gate to take to others the same love and care we have received.




In the housing development where my husband grew up, there was a road that led into the neighborhood. At the entrance, there was a large sign that said "Nellie Gail Ranch" - the name of the community. On either side of the road were large metal gates, wide enough to stretch across the road. But these gates literally could not be closed - they had no hinges. They were bolted to the ground. The gates were there to make you feel welcome as you arrived. These gates were not capable of keeping anyone out - their purpose was to welcome people in.

Jesus says, "I am the gate for the sheep." Jesus is the invitation, the open door that welcomes us into God's loving care. Jesus is the gate that lets us into God's pasture, and Jesus is the gate that sends us back into the world. Amen.

Palm/Passion Sunday sermon

I'm preaching this morning for the awkwardly named Palm/Passion Sunday. There's a challenge with this festival every year - how much of the story do you tell? If people only come to hear about the palms and the hosannas, and then come back for Easter, they're missing a vital part of the story (yes, that cross thing matters). At the same time, I think it's important to respect the integrity of the festival of Palm Sunday and not steal from Maundy Thursday and Good Friday.

So, I tried to balance the royal entry with the Passion narrative. We had three gospel readings for the service. Matthew 21:1-11 was the processional gospel, telling the story of Jesus' royal entry into Jerusalem. During the Word section of the service, we read Matthew 21:23-46, emphasizing Jesus' conflicts with the religious authorities and their desire to get rid of him. (We also used Psalm 118, which tied in nicely with the "chief cornerstone" image.) Then at the end of the service, in place of a benediction, we read Matthew 26:1-5,14-25. This ends ominously with Jesus predicting his betrayal and Judas saying, "Surely not I, Rabbi?" Jesus responds, "You have said so." The congregation then leaves singing "Jesus, Remember Me." My hope is that this sets the stage for Holy Week, reminds us that the triumphal entry is not the real reason Jesus came to Jerusalem, and leaves people feeling unsettled.

Anyway, somewhere in the midst of all of that is my sermon. And here it is for your reading pleasure:

Grace, mercy, and peace be with you all in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

We celebrate many festivals and holy days in our church year. Our greatest holiday, Easter, is just a week away. We celebrate Christmas, Epiphany, the Baptism of Jesus, the Transfiguration. We have a day commemorating Pentecost and a day to celebrate the Holy Trinity. We have a Sunday to remember the Reformation and we have a Sunday to remember the faithful who have died.

Yet out of all our festivals, today's might be the most confused. The church has taken to calling this day Palm slash Passion Sunday. We call to mind Jesus' royal entry into Jerusalem, with palm branches and crowds shouting "Hosanna!" Yet we also remember Jesus' conflicts with the authorities of his time, his betrayal, his arrest, humiliation, and eventual death.


So what exactly is this festival, this Palm slash Passion Sunday, all about? Do we remember Jesus as the powerful Son of God, the heir to the royal line of David? Or do we remember Jesus as the lowly one, betrayed, going to his death? We could ask the same question about this whole week, this Holy Week, that stretches ahead of us. What do we remember about Jesus - the royal entry, the last supper, the betrayal and arrest, the cross? The empty tomb that we know lies at the end of this journey?

I think the celebration of this holiday is so complex, even confusing, because we have a God - a savior - who is complex. Jesus defies expectations at every turn. He refuses to be pigeonholed, refuses to be limited. Jesus constantly surprises us by being so much more than we expect him to be.


Look at the crowds who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem. By calling him "the Son of David" and shouting "Hosanna!" they are praising Jesus as a king. Jesus is lifted up as the heir of the royal line, stretching all the way back to King David. The crowd identifies Jesus as a political figure, a promised Jewish king in opposition to the foreign Roman rule. Yet Jesus will upset their expectations, for a royal heir should not be shamefully executed. Jesus does not come to Jerusalem as an earthly king.

Look again at the priests, the religious authorities in the Temple. Almost as soon as Jesus enters Jerusalem, he goes to the Temple - the heart not only of Jewish religion, but Jewish life. The chief priests and elders try to trap Jesus with their words, try to contain his power and authority. But Jesus will not be contained. In fact, he turns the situation around and traps them in their words instead. His parables about the two sons and the wicked tenants are clearly meant to shame the religious authorities. The priests are a like a child who claims to do the will of the parent but actually does nothing. The leaders in the Temple are like tenants of an absentee landlord, who think they can seize the inheritance by killing the heir. Their own words condemn them when they say, "The landlord will put those wretches to a miserable death, and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the harvest time."

At the end of our service today, you will hear the story of Judas, who tried to contain and control Jesus by betraying him. Yet Jesus cannot be stopped even by the authority of the Roman Empire or the very power of death itself. No limitations can restrict him. No expectations can encompass him. Jesus is a surprise to everyone, whether the crowds, the priests, or his own disciples.

Sometimes, our clearest expectations are completely reversed. The expectations of the crowds, the priests, even Judas, are turned on their heads by Jesus. I’m reminded of a Native American story about Coyote. Now, Coyote is the trickster character, the one who’s always trying to fool or ensnare others. But more often than not, Coyote gets his comeuppance. In one story about Coyote, he sees a rabbit out in the open. He sneaks up behind a log to get a closer look. The little rabbit sits there, very still, brown-grey in color. Coyote laughs to himself—this rabbit is oblivious, it has no idea what’s coming. Coyote craws quietly around the log, getting closer and closer to the rabbit. Finally, he pounces, mouth wide open—and breaks all his teeth, for it was not a rabbit but a rock he was hunting. Just when our expectations are the strongest, sometimes we are in for a shock. Perhaps the people who watched Jesus as he entered Jerusalem, the priests who eyed him in the Temple, were about to find out that he was not a humble rabbit, but a stone—the chief cornerstone, as Jesus himself says.

So today is Palm Sunday, the Sunday of the Passion. We celebrate a complicated festival today because we worship a complicated God, a God who defies expectations and breaks free from every limit. This is good news! But it should also be a word of warning to us. How do we try to contain God? How to we try to limit Jesus? What expectations do we have that will be turned on their heads?

From time to time, we are like the crowds shouting "Hosanna!" outside the city. We assume that God will solve our civil and political problems, taking charge over human affairs. We claim that God favors our nation, our people. We set God up as an earthly king.

From time to time, we are like the priests, thinking we can trap God with our words. We try to bargain with God - promising our loyalty in return for God's support. Or we act like those wicked tenants from Jesus' parable. We believe that we can behave wickedly and manage to steal the blessings that God provides.

From time to time, we are even like Judas. When God does something we don't like, something that frightens or intimidates us, we turn our backs. We refuse to follow where God is leading. We would rather betray God than accept God.

We have so many expectations of God - expectations of what we think God should do, and expectations of what we think God shouldn't do. Expectations about what God accepts and what God rejects. Expectations about what God wants - either from us or from others. Too often, we try to force God into a box of our making.


Yet Palm/Passion Sunday, this awkward festival, reminds us that God will not be contained. Whether we expect a king or a dead man, Jesus will surprise us. No matter what kind of box - or tomb - we try to force Jesus into, he will burst free in the most unexpected ways.

Jesus will always surprise us. This is good news indeed. It frees us from our limiting expectations, our petty ideas of what God can be. Because God is far greater than we can begin to imagine. The crowds welcoming Jesus into Jerusalem thought that an earthly king was the greatest possibility. The priests and elders couldn’t imagine a new reality. Yet God brings us this new reality, this new life. If we allow ourselves to be surprised by Jesus, the humble king, we will step into a new life with him.

The Future

The church seems to be worrying all the time about the future. (Has it always been this way? I don't know.) As numbers (both people and dollars) decline, enthusiasm lags, and leaders get burnt out, we wonder how this effort can be sustained. Among those in my generation, fewer and fewer are actively religious. So the church worries... how can we get "the young people" into the church?

Okay, first of all, my beloved brothers and sisters, stop talking about "the young people" like they're an alien race. And stop talking about "the young people" as if there isn't one right in front of you (that would be me, and my friends and classmates). There are young people in the church. We may be exceptions that prove the rule, but we don't like being spoken about as if we didn't exist.

Second of all, brothers and sisters, stop acting like you can fool or manipulate young people into coming to church. Having a praise band - or a facebook page - will not magically draw us in like a magnet. We are smart people, we care about things in the world, we know when we're being respected and when we're being patronized. So respect us.

Third of all, stop acting like this is up to you. The church is not our church - the church is God's church. God is in charge. (Now, that doesn't give us a pass; we don't get to do nothing.) God will preserve and sustain God's people. God will breathe new life into us, like those dry bones in Ezekiel. As people of faith, we should trust in the power and promise of the God we proclaim. Otherwise, it looks like we don't trust God enough to get the job done... and what kind of God would that be?

Fourth of all, go read this post. I can't say it any better.

Funeral Sermon - Vernon Stuart Foote, Jr.

I've decided to post the sermon that I wrote for my grandfather's funeral, which was back in February. It was my first time preaching a funeral sermon, and I was honored to be able to do this for him and for my family.




Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Let me begin by saying that I am deeply honored and profoundly saddened to address you all today. On behalf of my grandfather's family, I thank you for being here today and for your expressions of love and support.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the Foote family loves to tell stories. This fact probably comes as no surprise to any of you here today. Get two or three – or sometimes just one – of us together, and the stories will flow like water. And the stories we love to tell the most are stories about ourselves. Family stories.

Stories about Marilou's fear of heights. Stories about Lise or Stuart or Kim getting into trouble as children. Like the story about Lise running away and taking the baby Kim with her. Or about the time the kids and Stuart, my grandfather, decided to determine the relative densities of everything in the liquor cabinet, which could only be done by trial and error. Or about Stuart standing on Marilou's wedding dress but being unable to hear her whispered, “Stuart! You're on my dress!” until she said it loud enough for everyone in the wedding congregation to hear.

Funerals, I think, are the best time to tell stories. When we are grieving, when we are lonely, when we feel abandoned – then we need to remember, to share, and to laugh together. We need to tell stories. I have no doubt that everyone here today has a story to tell about Stuart. My hope and my advice for you is that you share your stories with one another today and in the weeks to come, as we all fondly remember Stuart.

The stories about my grandfather reveal who he was: an intelligent, dedicated, loyal man who loved his family. I'll tell you just one story that is special to me, because it's the story of how Stuart saved me as a baby. We were at the family house in Vermont one winter when I was only a year and a half old, and there was lots of snow in the sloping backyard. My grandfather took me on his lap as he sledded all the way down the hill - through the blueberry bushes at the bottom - and into the freezing creek. The sled tipped and he would have landed on top of me in the water. In order to protect me, he wrenched himself around and lifted me up to safety. He broke three ribs in the process, and of course he didn't go to the doctor because after all, they're just ribs.

That, to me, is a perfect story about Stuart - that was his dedication to the people he loved. He didn't hesitate to put himself in harm's way to protect others. He did what needed to be done. And we could all laugh about it later.

Story telling. It's the way we remember our past. It's the way we grieve and celebrate those we love who have died. The Foote family loves to tell family stories. And today we also remember another kind of story, a story that we are all a part of: the story of faith.



As Christians, we tell the story of our faith, the saving story of God's grace. God's mercy and love is a story that stretches from the prophet Isaiah proclaiming hope to God's people, through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, to the faithful proclamation of Paul, and down to us here today. When we read the Scriptures, when we recall the words of Christ and proclaim the Gospel, we are telling the story again and again.

As we tell this story, we are woven into it ourselves. The story of faith becomes our story. The ancient promises become our promises. When we tell the story of Isaiah's prophecy that "Those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles," we ourselves are lifted up. When we tell the story of Christ's promises that "Because I live, you also will live," we are holding onto those promises ourselves. We are wrapped up into this same story, connected like threads woven into a great tapestry.

The story of Scripture is the long story of God’s love and grace. God brought a message of salvation to the people of Israel through the prophets. Jesus brought the message of salvation to his disciples and followers. And we hear that same story today in our own lives. We can trust that Stuart is held in God’s loving care until the promised resurrection. We can trust in God’s promises and in God’s love.

Indeed, love is the heart of this great story. As Paul writes to the Corinthians, “Love never ends.” All the impermanent things of this life - sickness and death, grief and pain - will pass away, but love will always remain. God’s love for us is eternal. So is our love for Stuart and for one another. Paul reminds us that faith, hope, and love will remain; and the greatest of these is love.

Story telling: it’s a favorite family activity, and it’s a central part of our faith. As we remember Stuart, I pray that we can share our stories of how he touched our lives. And at the same time, let us remember and tell the story of God’s love, for in this story we find the comfort and hope of God’s promises. Let us celebrate Stuart’s life by telling our stories, and see how our stories are woven into the great story of God’s love for us. Let us care for one another and love one another. Let love be the story we carry forward from this place. Amen.