Freedom For

I had the pleasure of preaching at Augustana Lutheran in Hyde Park this Sunday.  It's good to be back in the saddle.

Matthew 5:21-37, Deuteronomy 30:15-20, 1st Corinthians 3:1-9, Psalm 119

Epiphany 6A, February 13th 2011

Augustana Lutheran Church, Chicago, IL

Pr. Katie Hines-Shah

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

Before some of you start wondering how Pr. Palmer managed to grow a few inches taller and get a little blonder, let me introduce myself.  My name is Pr. Katie Hines-Shah.  I am most recently from Berkeley, California.  And yes, in case you're wondering, my family moved here for the weather. 

In California I was pastor of Shepherd of the Hills Lutheran Church, the congregation closest to Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary, which seems very appropriate since my teaching parish training was here at Augustana Lutheran.  I graduated from The Divinity School at the University of Chicago.  Before that I went to college in a little town called Northfield, MN, although, I must confess, I did not go to the Lutheran School that Pr. Gorder, Pr. Palmer, and Cantor Schwandt attended.  I went to the other school.

There are many other ways I could supply my credentials, many other ways I could establish my authority, my detriments, or our common ground.  Here in Hyde Park, I'm sure you all know the drill.  You have all had these conversations, where you were born where you were confirmed, where you attended school, where you have taught, where you have published, what Lutheran persons of renown you can share anecdotes about, which fiord or village or stadt your forefathers and mothers hail from, perhaps even which Superbowl team you rooted for last week.  But now that we've gone to all that trouble, when we come to the epistle, it quickly becomes apparent. 

None of these things really matters.

The people of Corinth were as good at this game as I am, and as good as you are too, and Paul chides us for it.  "What is this Apollos?"  "What is this Paul?"  "What is this St. Olaf"  "What is this Martin Marty?"  There is only one name that defines us, and that is Christ.

We are all, first and foremost, children of God.  And as children of God we are freed by grace from all the ephemera that ruled us before.

We are children of God.  And as children of God we are freed by grace. 

Let me say that one more time.  We are children of God.  And as children of God, we are freed by grace.

My sisters and brothers, this is so important to remember, especially in light of Gospel texts like today's.  Because if you don't keep that subtext in mind, you might take today's Gospel reading the wrong way.

Now I know that most of you, blizzard or no, have been in church the last two Sundays, and so you are aware, today's gospel is just a small part of a greater whole.  But in case you weren't able to come, here's the brief recap: For the last two weeks and for two more after this one, we are in the midst of Jesus' great teaching moment, his Sermon on the Mount.

I'm not going to get into whether Jesus actually preached this all in one marathon session or whether this is series of sayings collected later into a cohesive whole, but this much is clear, in the two week's previous, the overall theme of Jesus' teaching has been grace.

Two weeks ago we heard the beatitudes.  "Blessed, blessed, blessed, Jesus says, eleven times in a row, assuring us of God's love for us.  No matter if we are poor or mourning, meek or persecuted, our primary identity is blessed by virtue of God's grace.

Last week we heard Jesus say, "You are the salt of the earth".  Last week we heard Jesus say, "You are light for the world."   Jesus did not equivocate here.  He did not say, "You could be salt, if only you got to church more."  Jesus did not say, "You might be light, if only you did more good deeds."  No, for light still shines, even under a basket.  And salt still functions, even if it is tramped under foot, as many of us know on these blizzard days.

Our primary identity as children of God cannot be taken away by tragedies and travails of the world.  Our identity as children of God cannot be thrown away by our own works or deeds.  Nothing and no one can take away the fact we've been freed by grace.  Thanks be to God!

But let's not get too comfortable here.  As the martyr Dietrich Bonheoffer reminds us, there is no such thing as cheap grace.  We have been freed for a purpose.  Our rights as children of God call us to responsibility as well.  And that's where today's Gospel, and its voice of Law, comes in.

I like to think that I know a thing or two about the law.  My husband Jay, baptized here at Augustana, is a lawyer, but only barred in California.  He's currently studying for the Illinois Bar, coming up at the end of this month.   So as Jay studies I've been overhearing some of the bar review lectures and some of the questions he's been working on.  And sometimes I like to "help."  Most of the questions are pretty technical and, to tell you the truth boring, but one scenario Jay listened to recently stands out on this Sunday.  Here goes:

In a state park rangers have clearly posted that fires are not to be left unattended.  A camper starts a fire just as a bear charges into his campsite.  The camper runs and, by the time he returns, his neighbor's tent and car have been destroyed by fire.  Can the fire victim sue the camper who ran?

I couldn't help it, I yelled out my answer, "Sue the bear!"

Jay gently explained to me that suing the bear is not an option in the multiple choices given.  You can't sue the bear for charging any more than you can sue a tree for falling.  We can't blame God 's good Law for our own failure to follow.  And I think this is important for this Gospel lesson. 

I think that while there are some mentally disturbed people who read, "If your eye offends you, cut it off," and then, literally do so.  But I know many more of us read these hard prohibitions against anger, lust, and oaths, and think something akin to "sue the bear."  We think that these are just the sorts of words Luther was referring to when he says that the second use of the law drives us to know our need for grace.  (And, conveniently enough, this absolves us of any and all responsibility).  But I think there's a way between these two.  A middle way.

Deuteronomy can be a help. I know, you've probably never heard that one before.  How can the Law be a help?  Particularly to us Lutherans?  But Law doesn't mean just regulation and limitation.  Law can mean a new kind of freedom as well.

Remember, context is everything.  Today's Old Testament text comes at the end of the presentation of the Law in its total, Law given to the Hebrew people after their escape from Egypt.   I once read an interpretation of the Ten Commandments, the heart of Deuteronomy's Law as "Instructions on how to be free."  Remember, the Hebrew people had been slaves as far back as they could remember.  Being free is harder than it sounds.  It is easy to fall back into slavery.  Being freed we can easily fall into slaveries like self-righteousness on one side or hedonism on the other.

Can you see how that might be?  We readily understand the self-righteousness problem, after all, isn't that what the scribes and Pharisees seem to always be about following the letter of the law irrespective of its spirit.  These are the people who read Jesus' words about divorce at literally think this text condemns those who divorce.  They are like confirmation students calling each other "raca" (fool in Hebrew) to play along the edges of hellfire. 

I am here today to boldly proclaim, that the Law means something more than this.  If you have been divorced, know that God does not forsake you.  If you, like Jimmy Carter, have "lusted in your heart," know that God will not abandon you.  Wherever you feel convicted in this text, for I promise you we all do, you are not damned.  I want you to know that God's covenant of mercy and grace given in your baptism still stands.  God is not trying to catch us up by the Law.   God wants more for us all.

But that doesn't mean we should "sin all the more so that grace may abound."  The hedonism thing is a little trickier for those of us who look to a new freedom.  Think of it this way:  It might be in my best interest to bear false witness, but it certainly isn't in the best interest of a free society.  It might be in your best interest to steal, but it isn't best for us all.  To be free entails new responsibility, a new life where we are tied one to another. 

After all, that's what "religion" means.  Far from just a set of codes, the word "religion, "in at its Latin core, means "connected."  "Ligament" shares the same root.  We are connected, one to another, by means of a law given in grace.  We are freed to be united in a whole new way.

As people of faith, as a religious people, what then, will we do with our freedom?

Will we choose ways that bring us closer together with our brothers and sisters in Christ, fellow children of God?  Will we work together, as Paul says, as God's servants?  Will we choose a way of life that refrains from anger? Will we respect people's bodies as well as their minds and spirits?  Will we be people that speak truth? 

God tells us straight, there are consequences.  Not just consequences in some heaven or hell by and by.  Consequences for here and now.  For our nations, for our churches, for our schools and workplaces, for our families, for ourselves.  Now that we are free, what will we choose?  God urges us to choose life.

I've been thinking of the responsibilities of freedom this whole week as the news from Egypt comes over the radio and through the paper.  As Mubarak finally resigned on Friday, the world waits to see what the Egyptian people will do with freedom.  Will they choose a path of rigid righteousness where religious law limits freedom for all?  Will they fall into a self-indulgent hedonism where the privileges of a few outweigh the needs of the many? 

Or will they choose another way? 

Will the Egyptian people choose way that the Gospel offers?  Will they choose a way that embraces the bond of all free people?  Will secret killings and imprisonments stop?  Will women and minorities, including Christians, have rights?  Will truth be spoken or will secrets and lies pervade?  Will they choose life?

This is up to the Egyptian people.  Yet as they take their first steps of freedom, as a nation we can reflect on the same question.  Are we a nation of self-righteous pride where the poor and unfortunate are considered deserving of their suffering?  Are we a nation of hedonism where anything goes in the name of liberty?  Or will we choose the life-filled way?

Will the US stand for life and freedom for all people, inside and outside our borders?  Will we work, as a people, for equal rights for all?  Will we speak truth in our legislative halls, in our courtrooms, in our classrooms, in our churches?  Do we choose life in the fullest sense?

And in our own lives, what do we do with our freedom?  Are our lives reflections of our identity as children of God?  Do we act in ways that link us to our sisters and brothers here in Chicago and around the world?  Do we gather in places, like this one, where we can be reminded of our identity and its call?  Do we read the Bible and delight in the life its Law brings?  Can we use the promise of the Gospel to release ourselves from self-righteous bigotry and self-defeating hedonism?

We may be many things to many people, we may claim a host of identities, but do we live our live first and foremost as Christians?  We are beloved children of God freed by grace.  It is up to us what we will do with our freedom.  Let us choose life and by doing so, extend life to others.  This is our responsibility and our call.

Thanks be to God.

Amen

John Documents the Blizzard

This is a picture John drew for his kindergarten in Berkeley.  It says "I had a snow day.  I miss you.  Hat.  I am 6 six  24 inches of snow about.   From 918 Michigan Ave IL

Then there are helpful descriptions of the picture (for Californians who might not know what things are).  Hat.  Mitten, Mitten (on each side) Coat. and Snow (marked at) 12 inches 24 inches.

I'm sure this drawing is based on this picture:

Nice job, John!

Snowpocalyspe

When we first announced our move to Chicago people asked us if John had ever seen snow.  While it doesn't snow in Berkeley, John has traveled fairly extensively (a trip to Tahoe is almost a birthright in Berkeley), so John had seen snow.  But, as far as I could recall, all the snow John had ever seen had already been there when he witnessed it.  In other words, John had never seen snow happen.

This is a crucial distinction.  I have learned as the parent of a kindergartener to take nothing for granted.  The whole world is so mysterious, so magical, so downright confusing that his expectations of how things work can be (are often) completely off. 

For example, this year John enjoyed Christmas break and was fully prepared to go back to school on the first Monday of the New Year.  Come Tuesday I was shocked to discover that he was still in his pajamas watching cartoons while I was finishing packing his lunch.  "John - you've got to get ready for school," I urged.   "But I went yesterday!" he wailed.  I had to sympathize.  How would John know that after break you go to school on Tuesdays?  We'd only explained the Monday part.

Consequently I wasn't sure what John thought about where snow comes from.  He could think that it grew out of the ground or was brought by magic fairies, or even fell from the sky for all I knew.

Rest assured, over the last two months John has seen it snow plenty of times.  Yesterday was a prime example.

The historic storm started around 2PM on Tuesday and raged all day and all night and well into Wednesday.  The wind blew so hard that our storm windows shook and the exhaust fan on the stove whistled.  Drifts formed around cars and fences, enveloping fire hydrants, shrubs, and staircases.  Sometimes the snow was coming down so hard and heavy we couldn't see to the end of the block.  It snowed and snowed and snowed and when over 20 inches had fallen, it suddenly stopped.

We threw on our coats and hats and grabbed our cameras and snowshoes.  The back stairs were completely blocked, so we headed for the front door.  When we got to our entry the front door opened onto a solid 18 inches of snow (good thing the door opened inwards!).  We sat on the mound that had been our stairs, put on our snowshoes, and braved the great outdoors.

Our street (a minor side street) had not yet been plowed.  Snow was at least 18 inches deep; in many places it was actually much deeper.  We live just blocks from Lake Michigan and the lake effect plus high winds made for deep drifts.   Where there had been bear ground and lightly frosted lawns there was now a sea of white.  To tell you the truth, it wasn't much like the snow had come from the sky, more like it had grown out of the ground or been brought by magic fairies or the like.

You could see the delight on the faces of all the people who had come out after the storm, at least those who weren't trying to shovel or move their cars. Thank goodness we are renting!  Children were sledding on snow wherever it was heaped - on stairs, at the ends of alleys, in the middle of roads where stalled snowplows had given up the fight.  College students roamed in packs, cell phones held out as cameras to document their day.  Intrepid adults on cross country skis and snowshoes (we weren't the only ones) gave tips on where the snow was best.

We trekked toward Lake Michigan.  I quickly got the hang of the snowshoes; John seemed to misunderstand their purpose, finding them cumbersome and thinking them unnecessary. ("John, have you noticed that you are walking ON TOP of the snow and Daddy is up to his knees in drifts?")  Blocks of apartments (including our own) had cleared sidewalks.  Homeowners seemed to be making difficult choices - free their cars or the sidewalk before the snow ices over (this morning it is 5 degrees with negative wind chills).  At the lake we discovered what one friend has termed "the volleyball court at the end of the world."  John and I pretended to play on the frozen sand with the iron-grey lake behind us.

John ran out of steam, "It is too snowy. I am too sweaty. Mommy is too fast (to throw snowballs at).  I need to rest.  (And when his snowshoes came loose for the third time) I never want to wear snowshoes for the rest of my life ever, ever again!"  (I did adjust his foot beds last night with a screwdriver.)  It was time to come in.

When we came home our stairway had been shoveled and we were able to head upstairs for a well-earned hot cocoa and a warmer view of the snow from the window.

Snowtaster!

In Northern California the primary natural disaster concern is earthquake.  The major earthquakes are legend - the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake during the World Series when the Bay Bridge collapsed, the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake when much of San Francisco burned are two prime examples.  During the decade I lived the Bay Area there was never an earthquake of such magnitude, but I did experience several smaller ones.  I remember during a 3.0 racing upstairs to grab baby John, only to find the quake had stopped before I got there.

We were always warned to "be ready" for a big one.  Whenever a major earthquake happened anywhere in the world, whenever an anniversary of a big earthquake in California occurred, the media would run speculative stories.  Everyone had helpful directions from the preschool to the gas company, and yet I never seemed to quite get my full earthquake kit together.  There is something difficult about getting ready for a disaster at a time you cannot name.

The second coming of Christ is commonly thought of as a sort of disaster akin to an earthquake.  In Matthew's Gospel Jesus warns, "Therefore keep watch, for you do not know the day or the hour."  Radio theologians and televangelists use this as a threat - "Have you accepted Jesus in your life?  Do you know where you are going to spend eternity?"  They might as well ask where the gas turn off valve is.  This kind of readiness in the face of possible panic has appeal only for a limited audience, apparently the sort that doesn't include me.

Now that I'm back in the Midwest, I am reminded that there are other kinds of disasters, more the sort you can plan on. 

This week the airwaves have been buzzing.  "Blizzard of historic proportions!"  "Up to 24 inches of snow"  "Worse that '79, worse that '67!"  So far the warning didn't seem so different from California disaster scenarios.  But there was one more announcement, "Blizzard watch Tuesday 3PM-Wednesday 3PM."  Now there was something I could wrap my head around.  I could get ready.

I went out and bought groceries.  The stores were "packed."  I put that in quotation marks because my experience on Monday and Tuesday shopping was more akin to a regular day at the Berkeley Bowl than a panicked frenzy.  Still, the shoppers couldn't help but comment.  Sometimes the only parking spots were FIFTY FEET! away from the stores.  Sometimes the lines were FOUR CARTS! long.  Can you imagine?  People had no idea how to queue in such circumstances, and I tried my best to model good Berkeley technique.

Since we have steam heat, I want too concerned about cold.  Even if the electricity goes out, the boiler will still continue on. I did buy a "trunk load" of wood for entertainment.  John helped me stack in the garage which is also steam heated. 

On Monday John and I also got fitted for snowshoes, again, not so much because I fear not being able to get out - the trains are running - but for entertainment's sake.  John wanted to walk around the apartment in them.  Noting the ice cleats on the bottom of the shoes, and imagining our landlord's probable response, I told John we'd have to wait until we got outside to try them out.

Overnight there was snow and thunder snow.  I'd never heard of "thunder snow' before, but can now tell you that thunder and lightning are not just for the rain.  The kitty slept very close last night - John slept straight through.

This morning there's a good 12-18" on the ground with more snow coming down.  It's too windy to try out our snowshoes, but the magic coffee machine is a hummin', Jay has Bar Review to do, and John is enjoying the glories of the first snow day in Chicago since 1999.  I can blog freely knowing that I am prepared.

And it makes me wonder; perhaps we need less the dire warnings of a "someday" coming of Christ and more of a present realization.  Old Testament readings these last few weeks have centered on the needs of the poor and the weak who, Matthew reminds "will be with us always."  Instead of focusing on getting ready for some kind spiritual war to end all wars ala Left Behind we should focus on the disaster in our midst even now.  There are many people who's larders are not so surely stocked as mine.

But it isn't all about disaster, its about joy too.  Later in Matthew Jesus tells his disciples, "I am with you always, even to the end of the age."  Jesus means these words as a comfort and an aid to the disciples.   It is a comfort and aid to us too.  Recalling that Jesus is always with us, not just sometime unknown in the future, or even "Tuesday from 3PM-Wednesday 3PM," means that we have a constant call to prepare because opportunities to serve are around ever corner.   By doing such work in the day to day we will be ready no matter what happens - snowstorm, earthquake, or their life equivalents - job loss, illness, etc.  We can be ready is happiness, health, or sunny afternoon.  Being ready in faith is more than reading the Bible on Sunday (or when preping a sermon) or singing on Sunday or even working in a soup kitchen when the church group does.  It is living faith in the day to day, for yourself, for your family, and for the world.

On this snowy day in Chicago there is work for me to do.  And when the sun comes out again I'll post pictures of John in snowshoes.

John Turns 6

Thanks for the cards and calls.  It was a great day.

Saints

Last Sunday I did something I haven’t done in a very long time.  I taught Sunday School.

Now I love Children’s Ministry and Sunday School has a  special place in my heart.  But Sunday School at Shepherd of the Hills was scheduled during the worship service physically precluding me from teaching.  While I occasionally switched out the sermon for an extended children’s lesson in worship, mostly I relied on others to teach.

So when Grace, Evanston, was looking for a teacher for Sunday I volunteered. 

I decided to write a new lesson about Martin Luther King, or Saint Martin Luther King, as I called him. Thinking over Kings story I included elements about race, Christian faith, lunch counter sit ins and bus boycots, the march on Washington, and the fact that King went to jail.

I taught the lesson to preschoolers and kindergarteners on Sunday.  And while they had heard a lot about King  (one child seemed concerned that I didn’t talk about ALL The marches), the part about him going to prison seemed pretty foreign

One child insisted, “Only bad people go to jail.”  I said that lots of Christians have gone to prison, including most of the disciples.  But the kids didn’t seem to by it.

The car is always a primary place for theological discussion.  “Mama,” John said, “You must be wrong.  Only bad people go to jail.”

Having not succeeded with examples like Peter and Paul I mentioned a pastor back in California who John adores.  “Pr. Jeff was arrested,” I said, “when he was protesting laws he thought were wrong, just like Dr. King.”

John thought silently.  Everything seemed to sink in.  “Then I guess Pr. Jeff must be a saint like Dr. King , because saints fight for justice and peace.”

Its good to be back teaching Sunday School.  I learn so much.

Sledding

John has been pretty excited about snow. 

Growing up in Berkeley and having made only a few short trips to the mountains, Jay and I figured out that while John had seen snow, he had never actually seen it snow.  For all he knew snow grew out of the ground, was imported by fairies, or appeared only for a few short hours before disappearing again.  So when it November as we walked to school the first flakes of the season started to fall John turned to me excitedly and said, “I’ve been waiting my whole life for this!”

There is something to be said about the joys of a real winter.  Skiing and skating, snowman making, and snowball throwing are all joys John is about to know.  And of course, there is sledding. 

It seems to be the trend nowadays for communities, in the name of safety, to outlaw sledding, or to, at least, require helmets and post warning placards.  I must admit, I can remember a few harrowing incidents from my own sledding youth – I won’t even mention the things Jay’s older brothers used to do in the hills of Pennsylvania.   But John really wanted to go sledding and I was eager to take him.

The few flakes of November multiplied to a few inches by December.  And over Christmas week a major storm blanketed the hills.  John and I went out in search of a sled during the post-Christmas sales.

Sledding, it seems, has changed a bit.  While radio-flyer runner sleds are still available – they seem to be more of a nostalgia item.  Kids seem to be sledding more on hard plastic covered foam boards – much like short surfboards.  Which isn’t to say I could find any.  Everywhere we went the shops were sold out.

Thank goodness for LLBean!  Our local shopping mall has an LLBean outlet that had just gotten in a new shipment of 50 saucer-style sleds – a staple of my childhood.  The new and improved design includes rope handles and a non-skid padded interior.  John daunted his mittens, hat, snow pants, boots, coat, and we were on our way to Mt. Trashmore.

Mt. Trashmore was once the town dump of Evanston and has, in recent years, been converted to a park sporting a small sled run, a medium sled run, and a GREAT BIG SLED RUN.

When I checked out the Evanston web site for St. James Park (as Mt. Trashmore is formally known) I was warned in no uncertain terms that the hills were “Not maintained for sledding” and that sledders do so “at their own risk” and that anyone found sledding down the big hill will be “ticketed and fined.”  Duly noted.

When John and I arrived at Mt. Trashmore there were at least 150 kids and their family already there.  We started at the small run where kids of all ages and all descriptions were headed down the icy sloped on every kind of sled imaginable.  An Indian family with three daughters in helmets took turns on a foam sled, an Italian father in high heeled pointy toed leather boots urged his son on his intertube, a pair of Asian men filmed as a two year old made her first solo run.

John and I first went down together, but quickly he built up the confidence to go it alone, first sitting, and lying on the saucer.

And then the question came.

“Mama, can we try the big hill?”

We walked over the base of the big run, the illegal, forbidden, the run where park rangers, “Will issue tickets” where 50+ were actively, uninhibitedly sledding.  We watched while sledders came down, shattering sleds, wiping out, and rolling into fences.  “I don’t think we want to do this, John – how about the medium-sized hill?”

The walk up even the medium run was treacherous.  A thousand trips up had left the path almost as icy as the run itself.  John only reached the top by clinging to the fence.  At the top we surveyed the view, climbed on our sled (me first, then John on my lap), took a deep breath, and went for it.

Things were going well, if fast and sometimes backwards, until we hit a bump.  John, apparently wasn’t holding on to anything, so as I continued down the hill, he stayed put, hitting his head hard on the decent.

I climbed up the hill to retrieve John.  There were tears in his eyes and snow on the back of his hat.  “Do you want to do home?” I asked tentatively.

“No,” John sniffled, “I want to go down the big hill.  Can we please try?”

John is normally so cautious, so reticent to try anything, that I figured we’d better go for it.  I thought I saw one little portion of the giant hill, far to the right, relatively free of bumps.  If we could hit it right, we might be okay.

We climbed.  As we climbed we passed the signs.  “Warning, no sledding!”  “Warning, sledding may be hazardous!”  “Warning, sledding at your own risk!!”  As we got to the top of the run we noticed that while sledders occasionally made their way down, most were huddled at the top, working up the courage to sled, or finding the wisdom to make their way back down.

Right in front of my chosen path a father counseled his eight-year-old daughter on the finer points of making the run.  “Now this is the only safe path.  Don’t let go.  Keep your head down.  Good luck.” 

Seeing us, he asked, “First time down the big run?”

“Yes,” I said, “Any advice?”

“Going to use a saucer?” he asked incredulously.

“Uh, I guess so,” I replied.

“You’d better ditch before you get to the bottom.” He offered.

Gulp.

But really, there was no going back.  The walk down would be at least as dangerous as sledding.  So John and I boarded the sled, and, this time holding on to each other, we took flight.

I dragged my feet at first, hoping to slow us down, but mostly succeeded in kicking up a great deal of snow.  Soon enough we were going backwards, and I focused more on staying in our track than attempting to defy gravity.  We were very fast, and very bumpy, but, in the end, we did not need to ditch, and, I think we traveled farther than anyone else.  We were pretty proud.

So proud that we didn’t have to do it again.  Back to the baby hill for us.

Next week – ice-skating!