Author: Aaron

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.”

Transfiguration Sunday (A) – Matthew 17:1-9
Preached at Christ Lutheran Church in West Boylston

Today’s Gospel story is one of those really memorable events that leaps off of the page and into our imaginations.  Most Christians, hearing one of the Gospel’s versions of the transfiguration every year, are well-familiar with it.  But despite that familiarity, I wonder if we’re really all that comfortable with it.  To be sure, the transfiguration is a strange story, relating events that are far outside of our usual day-to-day experience.  It’s a mystical, almost supernatural encounter with the Lord, and love it though we may, I’d bet most of us don’t quite know what to do with it.

The confusion begins even earlier, in the chapter just before this one in Matthew.  Jesus tells his disciples that they, too, will have to carry their own cross, and then he gives us that enigmatic sentence:  “Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in His kingdom.”

The Baptism of Our Lord (A) – Isaiah 42:1-9

One of my favorite novels is Christopher Moore’s Lamb.  It’s a tongue-in-cheek look at the story of Jesus, as told, the book says, by his childhood friend, Biff.  It’s mostly a work of pure fiction, and it’s at times inappropriate, and can even be downright blasphemous.  But occasionally inspires real insight into the Gospels, and I can’t help but delight in the author’s sense of humor.

The scene of Jesus’ Baptism is one of those more memorable bits in the book.  It happens this way:  Jesus is plunged down into the water by John the Baptist, and just as in the Gospel, a voice booms across the plain for all to hear:  “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

Festival of St. Michael and All Angels – Revelation 12:7-12, Luke 10:17-20

It had been about a year since Mark’s wife had passed away, and life wasn’t getting any easier. Life without her required a lot of adjustments, and he’d tried to make the best of them, but it was starting to be too much. Now their three daughters had to spend a lot of time after school on their own, waiting for him to come home from work, being responsible for themselves. Their oldest was able to take some of that responsibility, but not quite old enough to drive, which meant that their extracurricular activities were limited. He felt guilty for making them choose, but what else could he do? Finding another job, closer to home, would likely mean even bigger cutbacks as finances became tighter, and work wasn’t exactly easy to come by these days. Without his wife, Mark was starting to feel lonely, too, and even his daughters seemed to be more and more distant. He needed help, he needed hope, but he was losing the battle.

Wedding Sermon – Adam Decker and Katherine Geeseman – John 4:5-30
Preached at the Episcopal Chapel of St. John the Divine in Champaign, IL

So, there is a danger in having your brother do your wedding.  As I was thinking about what to say in this sermon, I had some trouble deciding whether I should make some sort of metaphor about music, or if maybe I could just get away with standing up here and telling embarrassing stories about Adam.  I certainly know which of those two options I’d LIKE to take.  But since I want my brother to talk to me again someday, I’m going to talk a little bit about the Finnish composer, Jean Sibelius.

Funeral of Edith Pierson – Psalm 121

Have you ever sat and watched the sun going down, been struck by the beauty of the sunset, the purples and reds and blues painted across the sky as the day that God has made comes to an end and the quiet of night takes over? There are few things more beautiful than that moment when the sun’s rays suddenly flourish into the sky and then disappear over the horizon. Edith, I think, would have liked to think of her death as beautiful like that, a last bit of artwork in the painting of her life as it came to a close. A long, summer day, filled with joy and warmth, sometimes oppressively difficult but always progressing on in the beauty of God’s creation, a work of art that overwhelms the senses and shines out to all. Edith was privileged to live until the shadows of the setting sun had lengthened and the evening had come; the business of the world was hushed, the fever of life was over; the artist put a few final brushstrokes on the painting of her life, and then the work was done. How beautiful is the sunset of a life like this.