Author: Aaron

Easter 7(B) – 1 John 5:[6-8,] 9-13

We’ve been reading through the letter of First John this Easter season, and it’s a hard text to read. The author of the letter doesn’t exactly work in linear fashion, arguing like Paul for a particular theological interpretation of the Christ event. Instead, he deals in images and circular reasoning, coming back to ideas he’s only touched on before, wandering off in confusing asides, and really making it quite difficult to understand what he’s talking about. We get some of the worst of it today: The beginning of our second reading today insists that Jesus came “not by the water only, but by the water and the blood.” It tells us that the “Spirit and the water and the blood” testify to Jesus as the Son of God, and they agree. And if you have no idea what all this means, well, you’re in good company.

This week began with the organization ISIS kidnapping and murdering twenty-one men from Sirte in Libya. The men’s crime was being Christian, members of the Coptic Orthodox church, native Egyptian believers in Christ. The news story saddens me. And it makes me wonder about a number of things. Would we have really noticed this story if it didn’t involve Christians—if those killed were Japanese businessmen, for example, or Mexican migrant workers? But more to the point, why does God allow this sort of thing to happen? ISIS is obviously an evil organization, so why does God let it exist? God is powerful enough to get rid of it. Why doesn’t God just fix things and take care of this problem?

22nd Sunday after Pentecost (A) – Amos 5:18-24

Well, God, normally I take my sermon time to talk to the people gathered here. But I think today instead I need to talk to you. Especially after reading today’s scripture passages. Saint Theresa of Avila once said that if this is the way you treat your friends, God, it’s no wonder you have so few of them. And to be honest, I feel like I understand pretty well what she is saying.

Second Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 7A) – Jeremiah 20:7-13

A few weeks ago, I had the doubtful pleasure of a meal with some people I don’t know at an event I didn’t care much about. I’ve never really liked meeting masses of new people, to be honest; I hide it well at church functions, but I’m really a big introvert. My idea of a good vacation is a cabin in the woods where I don’t see anybody for days on end.

Easter 5(A) – 1 Peter 2:2-10 – Preached at Christ Lutheran Church in West Boylston

Who are we?

Julia was a young woman I knew when I was in college.  Unlike most of us, she was what was known as a “townie,” a student at the college who came from the town the school was located in.  For most students at what at least called itself a prestigious and expensive institution, that in and of itself would have been reason enough for humiliation.  But Julia could only afford to attend college because of the significant discount she received because her mother worked there.  Julia and her family were poor.  They lived in a trailer park near the college, and could barely make ends meet.  Her father had left them alone long ago, and both Julia and her mother had been through a string of abusive relationships.  Now in college to learn to teach music, Julia’s biggest challenge was her own lack of self-worth.  I always felt that, with a little more confidence, she’d be a fine musician.  But nothing in her life could seem to give her that boost.  She was utterly insignificant.

Easter 4(A) – 1 Peter 2:18-25

I want to read you part of our second lesson again, because the words of First Peter today are distressing and need some interpretation.  They’re so distressing, in fact, that the passage read today leaves out the first verse.  So here it is back in, just like the Bible has it, in all its uncomfortable words:

Easter 2(A) – Acts 2:14a, 22-32; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31

A few weeks ago, I got to attend a funeral for a relative of one of our members over in West Boylston.  I don’t get to just attend very often, always stuck up front.  So I got to just look around and notice some things.  The welcoming décor of the funeral home.  The wonderful photos of the deceased.  And the many people who turned out – so many that they poured over into another room.  May I never say I *like* going to funerals, but I am always glad when they are packed.  I feel like it’s a sign that the person’s life was meaningful.

Marriage of Kelly Wrightson and Jason Gaumond
Jeremiah 31:31-34; 1 Corinthians 12:31-13:13; John 15:9-14

“I am doing something new here,” says the Lord through the prophet Jeremiah.  I don’t normally think to choose Jeremiah for a wedding.  Weddings are, of course, happy occasions, and Jeremiah is an angry guy.  He spends most of his book shouting at everyone he can think of – the king, the people, the nations nearby.  His message is simple.  “You’ve been horrible,” he says, “and so horrible things are coming for you.”  He acts out his prophecies, smashing pottery and wearing moldy clothing to get his point across.  He’s hated for it, and I can’t say I blame his audience.

Maundy Thursday – Exodus 12:1-14; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26

Do you remember that time when Adam sat in his birthday cake?  Or that wonderful story about the nativity set when I was five?  Or cousin Joey, and the cheese, and that thing Grandma said that stopped everyone in their tracks?  No?  Well, let me tell you….

Last summer, when my brother got married, the wedding reception ended around midnight and I rode back to the hotel with my mother and some of our other family members.  I was expecting to go directly to bed, as I had preached and presided over the wedding that day, and socializing with my brother and sister-in-law’s friends was an energy-sapping experience.  Instead, I found myself being drawn back to my mother’s hotel room where she and others from my extended family would tell stories until the wee hours of the morning.

Lent 5(A) – John 11:1-45

“Lazarus is dead,” Jesus says.  Thomas tells us to “go too, so we may die with him.”  And we do.  Lazarus’ death is a chance to talk about ours.

There are many parts of ourselves that are dead, or at least dying.  Those things about ourselves that make us different from others, or that make us feel ashamed.  My friend Angie – not the Angela that many of you know – Angie who is a pastor in Ohio, talks about meeting a man who happens to be blind.  “We have the same last name,” she said.  He laughed.  “How so,” he asked.  “Well, you’re Eric-He’s-Blind, and I’m Angie-She’s-Black.”