18 Pentecost

 

October 12, 2025

Luke 17:11-19

 + Do you ever find yourself obsessing over a word.

 Sometimes, it seems, there are certain words that just get stuck in your brain.  

 Maybe it’s just me.

 Maybe it’s just a poet thing.

 But, I do find myself obsessing over words on occasion.

 Often there are words I find myself examining like a little jewel, turning it around and weighing it and considering it like it’s a brand new word.

 A few weeks ago, Cathy McMullen and I gave a talk at the NDSU Memorial Union at the display for the 75^th anniversary for the Institute for Regional Studies.

 One of our colleagues from Concordia College, Scott Olsen, was there, and during the question and answer period, Scott brought up a word that I had never heard before.

 The word was ekphrasis.

 A beautiful Greek word.

 Ekphrasis.

 Ek meaning “out” (or we could say “recourse”)

 Phrasis meaning “tell”

 To tell out essentially.

 Ekphrasis is then a literary device used to describe in a written way visual art.

 In other words, it is what we do when we write a poem or an essay or a story about a visual piece of art like a panting or a photograph or a sculpture.

 In other words, it means writing about visual art in a literary way.

 As in writing a poem about a visual piece of art.

 It was a great word.

 And it has been jumbling around in my head ever since.

 Another one of those words I’ve recently enjoyed re-examining is the word “Mercy.”

 It’s a beautiful word!

 It flows!

 And I love the fact that, in French, the word for “Thank you” is “merci.”

 Mercy is something we tend to overlook.

 Certainly in regard to others.

 But let me tell you, it is not something we overlook when it comes to us.

 To be on the receiving end of mercy is a wonderful thing!

 Mercy is like a fresh wonderful breeze on our face, especially if it is something we are being granted after a hardship in our lives.

 Mercy is not something we think of too often in our lives, certainly not on a daily basis.

 But for Jesus and those Jewish people of his time, mercy was an important part of their understanding of the world and their relationship with God.

 Tomorrow, at sundown, the week-long Jewish feast of Sukkot ends

 Sukkot is an important feast in Judaism.

 It is also called “The feast of Booths,” which refers to the tents the Israelites lived in during their 40 years in the desert.

 In fact, in some Jewish homes, a tent is often set up during this high holy day as a commemoration of the feast.

 On the Feast of Sukkot, the “Great Hallel” is prayed.

 Hallel means “praise,” and refers to the group of psalms recited at the time of the new moon, as well on feasts like Sukkot, which commemorates the period of time the Tribe of Israel spent in the desert on their way to the Promised Land.

 “Hallel” is the refrain from Psalm 136 that says,

“for God’s mercy endures forever.”

 It is believed that Jesus himself would have sang the Great Hallael with his disciples when they went to the Mount of Olives after the Last Supper on the night before his death.

 Now, mercy in this context, means more than just forgiveness or some kind of reprieve

 Mercy also means, in a Jewish understanding of the word, such things as God’s enduring love for Israel and the mercy that goes with that love.

 Mercy also means, in this context, behaving in a particular way.

 It means being ethical and being faithful to God’s will.

 Mercy.

 It’s an incredible word.

 And it is so packed with meaning and substance!

 And it’s one that I think sums up so many of the prayers we pray.

Certainly, the prayers I pray.

In those moments in which I am overwhelmed or exhausted or anxious or simply don’t know what to pray, I often find myself just praying, Please, God, have mercy on me, or on the person for whom I’m praying.

Today, in our Gospel reading, we find that word, Mercy, in a very prevalent place.

In fact the petition the leper makes to Jesus is a powerful one.

“Jesus, Master, have mercy on me!”

And what does Jesus do?

He does just that.

He has mercy on him. 

And, by doing so, Jesus sets the tone for us as well.

Just as Jesus showed mercy, so should we show mercy again and again in our own lives.

We see, in our Gospel reading today, mercy in action.

And it is a truly wonderful thing! 

These lepers are healed.

But, before we lose track of this story, let’s take a little deeper look at what is exactly happening.

Now, first of all, we need to be clear about who lepers were in that day.

Lepers, as we all know, were unclean.

But they were worse than that.

They were contagiously unclean.

And their disease was considered a very severe punishment for something.

Sin of course.

But whose sin?

Their own sin?

Or the sins of their parents?

Or grandparents?

Probably all of it together.

So, to even engage these lepers was a huge deal.

It meant that to engage them meant to engage their sin in some way.

But, the real interesting aspect of this story is one that you might not have noticed.

The lepers themselves are interesting.

There are, of course, ten of them.

Nine lepers who were, it seems, children of Israel.

And one Samaritan leper.

Now a Samaritan, for good Jews like Jesus, would have been a double curse.

It was bad enough being a leper.

But to be a Samaritan leper was much worse.

Samaritans, as we also know, were also considered unclean enemies.

They didn’t worship God in the same way that good, orthodox Jews worshipped God.

Good, orthodox Jews worshipped God in the Temple in Jerusalem.

Samaritans however had turned away from the Temple in Jerusalem.

And they didn’t follow the Judaic Law that Jews of Jesus’ time strived to follow.

But the lepers, knowing who they are and what they are, do the “right” thing (according to Judaic law).

Again and again, throughout the story they do the right thing.

They first of all stand far off from Jesus and the others.

That’s what contagious (unclean) people do.

And when they are healed, the nine again do the right thing.

They heed Jesus’ words and, like good Jews, they head off to the priest to be declared clean.

According to the Law, it was the priest who would examine them and declare them “clean” by Judaic Law.

But they do one “wrong” thing before they do so.

Did you notice what thing they didn’t do?

Before heading off to the priest, they don’t first thank Jesus.

Only the Samaritan stays.

And the reason he stays is because, as a Samaritan, he wouldn’t need to approach the Jewish priest.

So, he turns back.

And he engages this Jesus who healed him.

He comes back, praising God and bowing down in gratitude before Jesus.

After all, it is through Jesus that God has worked this amazing miracle!

But Jesus does not care about this homage.

He is irritated by the fact the others did not come back.

Still, despite his irritation, if you notice, his mercy remained.

Those ungrateful lepers—along with the Samaritan—remain healed.

Despite their ingratitude, they are still healed.

That is how mercy works.

The interesting thing for us is, we are not always so good at mercy.

We are good as being vindictive, especially to those who have wronged us.

We are very good as seeking to make others’ lives as miserable as our lives are at times.

If someone wrongs us, what do we want to do?

We want to get revenge.

We want to “show them.”

After all, THAT is what they deserve, we rationalize.

But, that is not the way of Jesus.

If we follow Jesus, revenge and vindictive behavior is not the way to act.

If we are followers of Jesus, the only option we have toward those who have wronged us is…mercy.

Still, even then, we are not so good at mercy, especially mercy to those who have turned away from us and walked away after we have done something good for them.

 It hurts when someone is an ingrate to us.

 It hurts when people snub us or ignore us or return our goodness with indifference.

 In those cases, the last thing in the world we are thinking of is mercy for them.

 Of course, none of us are Jesus.

 Because Jesus was—and is—a master at mercy.

 And because he is, we, as followers of Jesus, are challenged.

 If the one we follow shows mercy, we know it is our job to do so as well.

 No matter what.

 No matter if those to whom we show mercy ignore us and walk away from us.

 No matter if they show no gratitude to us.

 No matter if they snub us or turn their backs to us or ignore us.

 Our job is not to concern ourselves with such things.

 Our job, as followers of Jesus, is simply to show mercy again and again and again.

 And to seek mercy again and again and again.

 Have mercy on me, we should pray to God on a regular basis.

 God, have mercy on me.

 Please, God,  have mercy on me.

 Please, God, have mercy on my loved ones.

 Please, God, have mercy on St. Stephen’s.

 Please, God, have mercy on our country. 

 Please, God, have mercy on our planet.

 This is our deepest prayer.

 This is the prayer of our heart.

 This is the prayer we pray when  our voices and our minds no longer function perfectly.

 This is the prayer that keeps on praying with every heartbeat within us.

 And by praying this prayer, by living this prayer, by reflecting this prayer to others, we will know.

 We will know—beyond a shadow of doubt—that we too can get up.

 We too can go our way.

 We too can know that, yes, truly our faith has made us well.

 Amen.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

The memorial service for Brook Wilson

 

                  The Memorial Service for

Brooke Ann Wilson

(Feb. 20, 1976-Sept 20, 2025)

Bethlehem Lutheran Church

Fargo, ND

 

+ For those of you who might not know me, I have known Ann and her family for over 25 years.

In those 25 years, I have become very close with this family.

Ann is like a sister to me.

Her sons are like nephews to me.

And Brooke was like a niece to me.

I didn’t know Brooke as well as I did the rest of her family.

By the time I got to know her family, she was married and was living in Kentucky.

But every time I saw her, we were family to each other.

In fact, the last time she was in Fargo, she wanted to get together for lunch.

And I have thought a lot about that last lunch at the Tavern in these last few weeks.

How I never in a million years would’ve thought that would be the last time I would ever see Brooke.

And how sobering and shocking that realization is to me.

So, I’m just going to say it:

I will say it bluntly.

I will say it honestly.

I don’t want to be here.

I don’t want to be here today doing this.

None of us do.

We shouldn’t be here today.

We shouldn’t be here on this Saturday morning, gathered together in this church, saying goodbye to Brooke of all people.

In these days since we all heard the news, Ann and I talked quite a bit.

And one of the things I kept repeating over and over again is, “this is so unreal.”

It’s SO unreal.

THIS is unreal.

I don’t understand any of this.

 I know people expect Priests and Pastors to have some kind of answer to things like this.

But the fact is: we oftentimes don’t.

And today, and over these last few weeks, I can definitely say I don’t have anything close to an answer.

I don’t know why this happened.

Why Brooke of all people was taken so quickly.

I will never understand.

At least on this side of the veil.

But I’ll say what you all have been saying no doubt...

….there should’ve been more.

There was so much life ahead of her.

In addition to all the other feelings I have been feeling—shock, disbelief, gut-wrenching pain, I am also feeling a weird kind of anger.

Not at God or at any thing in particular.

Just a general anger.

Anger at death.

Anger at this situation.

Anger at the unfairness of this all.

And it is unfair.

This should not have happened to someone like Brooke.

Not yet.

Not this soon.

This should not have happened to Brooke or to her children or to her parents or to her brothers or to all Brooke’s family and friends.

And that makes me very angry!

I’m really angry that there wasn’t more time.

I’m angry that it’s  so unfair.

And we could leave just it there.

We could just be angry and frustrated and helpless.

But, we—those of who have faith, who believe there is more to this life and this world—we don’t just get to leave it there.

For those of us who have faith—for us, even in the face of this gut-wrenching pain we feel today, even in the face of our frustration and anger and sadness, we know…

…we know that this goodbye today is only a temporary goodbye.

We believe in a God of love.

We believe in a God who knows us and loves and who only wants the very best for us.

And because we believe in that God, we know that this—all of this—is not the end of the story.

 All that we knew and loved about Brooke is not gone for good.

It is not ashes.

Is not grief.

It is not loss.

Everything that Brooke was to those who knew her and loved her and who are now left to her miss her is not lost forever.

All we loved, all that was good and gracious in Brooke—all that was fierce and strong and amazing and beautiful and kind in her—is not lost.

It lives on.

It lives on with all of you who experienced that kindness and generosity and love from Brooke in this life.

And for those of us who have faith, faith in more than this world, we know that somehow, it will all be made right.

I don’t claim to know how.

I don’t claim to know for certain what awaits us in the next world.

But I do believe that all that is good and gracious and loving in Brooke now dwells in a place of light and beauty and life unending.

And I do believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that you will see her again.

And on that day every tear will truly be wiped from our faces.

And there will be no more tears.

And it will be beautiful.

We will all miss her so much.

And that’s all right.

This is the price we pay for love.

The more we love, the more pain we will feel when the one we love dies.

But today, even amidst of our sadness and loss and pain and shock, we take comfort in the fact that her strength, her dignity, her beauty  lives on in her children and in her parents and in her brothers and in all of who knew her and loved her.

And we can even, in our sadness and loss, rejoice, this morning.

We can rejoice in the fact that she is there in that place of light and beauty and unending life in this moment.

Still, that doesn’t make it any easier for those of us who are left behind left behind.

For those of us who cling to our faith, we know that our faith truly can and does sustain us in these moments.

Our faith is a faith that promises us, despite our frustration and sadness and anger and pain, somehow, in some amazing way, it all does work out in the end.

 

It is a faith that promises us that although we can’t fully understand things now, we will one day.

 

And that when we do, it will be beautiful.

 

So, today, although we might be tempted to give into our sadness, we really cannot.

 

Yes, we are sad and overcome with sorrow for this temporary separation.

 

But we are not despairing.

 

Because we know that it will all be well.

 

It will all be well.

 

Death has not swallowed that up.

I will miss Brooke.

We will all miss her and will feel her loss for a long time to come.

But, on this day in which we bid her this temporary goodbye, let us also be thankful.

Let us be thankful that God has been gracious to let us know her and to love her.

Let us be thankful for all she was to us—a caring and loving presence in our lives.

Let us be thankful that even in these moments, we can still cling to hope and know that we will not, in the end, be defeated.

 

And, most of all,  let us be grateful for all that love and the care Brooke has given us in our own lives.

Let us cling to that love, and hold it close to us—now and always.

Into paradise may the angels lead you, Brooke.

At your coming may the martyrs receive you, and bring you into the holy city Jerusalem.

Amen.

 

 

17 Pentecost

 

October 5, 2025

 

Luke 17.5-10

+ I always joke that in my time as your priest here at St. Stephen’s , I have felt  like I have been pastor of three different parishes.

 

By that, I mean, I mean St. Stephen’s has transformed into something very different than it was let’s say 20 years ago.

 

As I thought about that, I found myself pondering what St. Stephen’s means to me.

 

I was thinking about the fact that one thing I am very proud of here is that when we say we are truly welcoming and inclusive.

 

We welcome everyone and we include everyone, even people who might not believe the same things about certain issues.

 

There truly is a wide spectrum of belief here at St. Stephen’s.

 

We encompass many people and beliefs here.

 

And I love that!

 

And, even people who don’t believe, or don’t know what they believe, are always welcome here.

 

And included.

 

That includes even atheists.

 

I love atheists, as many of you know.

 

And I don’t mean, by saying that, that I love them because of some intent to convert them.

 

No.

 

My love for atheists has simply to do with the fact that I “get” them.

 

I understand them.

 

I appreciate them.

 

And I have lots of atheists in my life!

 

Agnostics and atheists have always intrigued me.

 

In fact, as many of you know, I was an agnostic, verging on atheism, once a long time ago in my life.

 

As you have heard me say many times, I still consider myself an agnostic to a large extent.

 

Now to be clear, agnosticism and atheism are two similar though different aspects of belief or disbelief.

 

An agnostic—gnostic meaning knowledge, an “a” in front of it negates that word, so no knowledge of God—is simply someone who doesn’t know if God exists or not.

 

An atheist—a theist is a person who believes in a god, an “a” in front of it negates it, so a person who does not believe a god—in someone who simply does not or cannot believe.

 

You have heard me say often that we are all agnostics, to some extent.

 

There are things about our faith we simply—and honestly—don’t know.

 

That’s not a bad thing.

 

It’s actually a very good thing.

 

Our agnosticism keeps us on our toes.  

 

I think agnosticism is an honest response.

 

But atheism is interesting and certainly honest too, in this sense.

 

Whenever I ask an atheist what kind of God they don’t believe in, and they tell me, I, quite honestly, have to agree.

 

When atheists tell me they don’t believe in some white-bearded man seated on a throne in some far-off, cloud filled kingdom like some cut-out, some magic man living in the sky from Monte Python’s Search for the Holy Grail, then, I have to say, “I don’t believe in that God either.”

 

I am an atheist in regard to that God—that idolatrous god made in our own image.

 

If that’s what an atheist is, then count me in.

 

Dorothee Soelle, one of my all-time favorite theologians, one described herself as “atheist who believes.”

 

And I think many of “get” that statement.

 

But the God I do believe in—the God of mystery, the God of wonder and faith and love—now, that God is a God I can serve and worship.

 

And this God of mystery and love that I serve has, I believe, reached out to us, here in the muck of our lives.

 

And has done so in the person of Jesus.

 

Certainly that is not some distant, strange, human-made God.

 

Rather it is a close, loving, God, a God who knows us and is with us.

 

But there are issues with such a belief.

 

Believing in a God of mystery means we now have work cut out for us in cultivating our faith in that God of mystery.

 

“Increase our faith!” the apostles petition Jesus in today’s Gospel.

 

And two thousand years later, we—Jesus’ disciples now—are still asking him to essentially do that for us as well.  

 

It’s an honest prayer.  

 

We want our faith increased.

 

We want to believe more fully than we do.

 

We want to believe in a way that will eliminate doubt, because doubt is so…uncertain.

 

Doubt is a sometimes frightening place to explore.

 

And we are afraid that with little faith and a lot of doubt, doubt will win out.

 

We are crying out—like those first apostles—for more than we have.

 

But Jesus—in that way that Jesus does—turns it all back on us.  

 

He tells us that we shouldn’t be worrying about increasing our faith.  

 

We should rather be concerned about the mustard seed of faith that we have right now.

 

Think of that for a moment.  

 

Think of what a mustard seed really is.  

 

It’s one of the smallest things we can see.

 

It’s a minuscule thing.

 

It’s the size of a period at the end of a sentence or a dot on a lower-case I (12 point font).  

 

It’s just that small.

 

Jesus tells us that with that little bit of faith—that small amount of real faith—we can tell a mulberry tree, “be uprooted and planted in the sea.”  

 

In other words, those of us who are afraid that a whole lot of doubt can overwhelm that little bit of faith have nothing to worry about.  

 

Because even a little bit of faith—even a mustard seed of faith—is more powerful than an ocean of doubt.  

 

A little seed of faith is the most powerful thing in the world, because that tiny amount of faith will drive us and push us and motivate us to do incredible things.  

 

And doing those things, spurred on and nourished by that little bit of faith, does make a difference in the world.

 

Even if we have 99% doubt and 1% faith, that 1% wins out over the rest, again and again.

We are going to doubt.

 

We are going to sometimes gaze into that void and have a hard time seeing, for certain—without any doubt—that God truly is there.  

 

We all doubt.

 

And that’s all right to do.

 

But if we still go on loving, if we still go on serving, if we still go on trying to bring the sacred and holy into our midst and into this world even in the face of that 99% of doubt, that is our mustard seed of faith at work.

 

That is what it means to be a Christian.  

 

That is what loving God and loving our neighbor as ourselves does.

 

It furthers the Kingdom of God in our midst, even when we might be doubting that there is even a Kingdom of God.

Now, yes, I understand that it’s weird to hear a priest get up here and say that atheists and agnostics and other doubters can teach us lessons about faith.

 

But they can.

 

I think God does work in that way sometimes.

 

I have no doubt that God can increase our faith by any means necessary, even despite our doubts.

 

I have no doubt that God can work even in the mustard-sized faith found deep within someone who is an atheist or agnostic.

 

And if God can do that in the life and example of an atheist, imagine what God can do in our lives—in us, who are committed Christians who stand up every Sunday in church and profess our faith in the Creed we are about to recite together.

So, let us cultivate that mustard-sized faith inside us.

 

Let’s not fret over how small it is.  

 

Let’s not worry about weighing it on the scale against the doubt in our lives.  

 

Let’s not despair over how miniscule it is.  

 

Let’s not fear doubt.

 

I think a lot of Christians do, in fact, fear doubt.

 

Let us not be scared of our natural agnosticism.

 

Rather, let us realize that even that mustard seed of faith within us can do incredible things in our lives and in the lives of those around us.  

 

And in doing those small things, we all are bringing the Kingdom of God into our midst.

 

Amen.