Sunday, March 19, 2023
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Fourth Sunday in Lent
watch this service online (readings start around 17:16; sermon starts around 27:45)

In our Wednesday evening gatherings for Training Disciples, we have been engaging in bible study and reflection and prayer, all centered around the theme of “blessing the Lent we actually have.” It’s a Lenten curriculum inspired by this book: The Lives We Actually Have: 100 Blessings for Imperfect Days – and boy, there is a lot of goodness in here. Both the book and the curriculum were written by a bestselling author named Kate Bowler, who is a professor of religious history at Duke Divinity School. 

The book Bowler is probably best known for, though, is this one, called: Everything Happens for a Reason, And Other Lies I’ve Loved. It’s a memoir of sorts. When Bowler was 35 years old, she was unexpectedly diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer and told that she likely only had another two years to live. Thankfully, it’s been eight years since then, and she is in remission now, thanks be to God! But Bowler wrote this book about the kind of toxic positivity and terrible theology that we tend to reach for in times of trouble – especially this idea that everything happens for a reason – this idea that suffering and pain and loss are somehow part of what God plans and intends for us. 

It’s a terrifying thing to believe, when you stop and think about it. But I suppose it’s comforting to believe that there is something divine or redemptive about our suffering – that it’s all according to plan, even if the plan is terrible. It also tends to give us permission to distance ourselves from the suffering of others – because that, too, is “all part of the plan.” 

But, contrary to this idea of God, what Bowler shows through her writings is a God who walks beside us, a tender, caring God who comes down right into the middle of the mess and chaos and disarray of our daily lives to give us the strength and comfort to keep on going. She gives us an image of God that is actually much more in line with what we know of God from scripture – especially from scripture like Psalm 23, which we read today. There we see that God is one who gives us rest and brings us beauty, one who anoints us and comforts us, one who goes with us all the way, even into the darkest valley.

Sunday, March 12, 2023
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Third Sunday in Lent
watch this service online (readings start around 19:57; sermon starts around 30:08)
(another 2020 throwback)

Our gospel text for this morning picks up about half a chapter after our gospel reading from last week. Last week, you might remember, Jesus was in Jerusalem, where he received a nighttime visit from our friend Nicodemus, the Pharisee. 

Well, now, in the first few verses of John 4, Jesus learns that trouble might be brewing with the rest of the Pharisees, who are feeling a lot less friendly toward him than our pal Nicodemus. So Jesus and his disciples decide it’s time to hit the road. In verses 3 and 4 of chapter 4, John writes that “[Jesus] left Judea and started back to Galilee. But he had to go through Samaria.” And that is where our story begins.

John writes that Jesus “had” to go through Samaria to get from Judea to Galilee – and if you look at a map of the area, that seems totally logical. These three regions were all right next to each other: you had Galilee to the north, Judea to the south, and right in between them, you had Samaria (with mountains to the east and the Mediterranean sea to the west).

Sunday, March 5, 2023
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Second Sunday in Lent
watch this service online (readings start around 23:40; sermon starts around 30:18)
(another revamp)

For all his good intentions, Nicodemus just really doesn’t get it. In our gospel reading for this morning, he shows up on Jesus’ doorstep in the middle of the night, wanting to have a conversation. I’m not sure why he came by night – it might be that he didn’t want the other leaders to see him there; or it could be that there was something weighing on Nicodemus’ heart, keeping him up at night. Light and dark are motifs that feature prominently in John’s gospel, and one thing that seems pretty clear here that Nicodemus is in the dark about Jesus.

Whatever the case, he comes to Jesus, eager to talk. Nicodemus starts off by acknowledging Jesus’ authority, saying that “we” – not just “I,” but “we” – “know that you are a Rabbi, a teacher like us, one who has come from God.” He acknowledges that even the other Pharisees have to admit the evidence in front of their eyes, because “no one could do the signs you do apart from God.” 

And before Nicodemus can continue, Jesus says to him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” 

Sunday, February 26, 2023
Zion Lutheran Church, Lincoln, NE
First Sunday in Lent, Installation of Pastor Jacob Krueger
watch this service online (readings start around 14:32; sermon starts around 22:04 (children’s sermon) 27:43)

[I prefaced this sermon with a children’s sermon in which I asked the kids to tell me what they knew about the ocean; we talked about how people find their way when they’re sailing across the sea and about how easy it would be to get lost in a storm; I brought a little anchor and talked about how it keeps ships grounded so that they’re not blown off course, and how as Christians, Jesus is our anchor when life gets stormy]

In our gospel reading for today, we find Jesus wandering in the wilderness – in the ἔρημος/eremos, a Greek word which can also be translated as “desert.” And considering that our gospel reading for today takes place entirely in the desert, I imagine that you might be thinking to yourselves that it’s a pretty weird move to start off my sermon(s) talking about the ocean!

But the feeling of being lost at sea is something that was often on my mind over the last few years of ministry – especially during the time when we as a church were still wandering through the wilderness of the Covid-19 pandemic. It was such a strange experience to all collectively have absolutely no idea what we were doing. I was barely a year into ministry when the whole world shut down, so I especially had no idea what I was doing! 

Wednesday, February 22, 2023
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Ash Wednesday
watch this service online (readings start around 6:22; sermon starts around 15:10)
digital bulletin

Since this evening has already been kind of an evening of honest self-disclosure on my part, I will also share with you that I have a terrible toothache – or if I’m being really honest, a teethache. It’s been bothering me since sometime in mid- to late- December. It has made eating kind of a painful challenge, because biting down in just the wrong way or trying to eat something too crunchy or too chewy instantly lands me in a world of hurt.

I feel very embarrassed to admit this, but the reason for my dental woes is that, prior to last month, it had been over eleven years since I last went to the dentist. 😬😬😬  I didn’t mean for it to be that long. I chalk it up to the fact that for many years, I didn’t go because I didn’t have dental insurance; and also, with my ADHD, that’s just one of those things that’s hard for me to remember consistently to do. 

But also, the truth is that I put it off because I knew it would most likely be uncomfortable and unpleasant, probably even painful. And the longer I neglected to go to the dentist, the harder it got to even think about going. My embarrassment and the potential for pain both only grew as time went by.

Sunday, February 19, 2023
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Transfiguration Sunday
watch this service online (readings start around 21:59; sermon starts around 28:24)
(and just for funzies, watch the annual burning of the palms here)

I have to admit that I don’t really have a lot of experience with literal mountaintop moments. Like most – if not all – of you, I am from Nebraska: a state famously not known for its mountains.

I have only made it to the top of one mountain, and that was many years ago now. Back in the days when I was working as a camp counselor out at Carol Joy Holling, a bunch of the other summer staff and I planned this big backpacking trip at the end of my first summer. We spent about a week hiking around the Medicine Bow Mountains in southern Wyoming, and close to the end of the week, we climbed up to the top of Medicine Bow Peak itself. 

I really enjoyed the trip as a whole, but I’ll admit that there were times that it became a bit of a slog. It was hours of walking every day, plus each one of us had a sixty-pound backpack on our backs. And even though we went in August, the mountain range we were in was just north of a Colorado range known as the “Never Summer Mountains” – so you can imagine how absolutely freezing cold it still was at night, sleeping on the ground inside our tents. 

Sunday, February 12, 2023
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Sixth Sunday after Epiphany
watch this service online (readings start around 20:35; sermon starts around 27:41)

When I was a child, I had a pretty wide variety of different interests and hobbies (which, I guess is still true of me as an adult, haha). One of my longest lasting fascinations was with geology. I had an extensive rock collection that I had gathered from all over the place – I’d often buy cool stones as souvenirs when we went on family trips, and I collected interesting rocks that I found all around Nebraska, including a whole little sub-collection of marine fossils preserved in limestone. 

The rocks I prized most in my collection were often ones that looked like these – rocks that were smooth and shiny and highly polished. Some were semi-precious stones like rose quartz and amethyst and onyx. Many others, though, were just regular old rocks – the kind of ordinary rocks you could find in any field. But when polished, these ordinary rocks became surprisingly and uniquely beautiful. With the rough exterior worn away, these rocks revealed their true colors, full of subtle details and inclusions and layers. 

It takes a lot of time to turn a rock like this into one that looks smooth and polished like this one. Getting there requires at least a good three to four weeks of tumbling the rocks together in a rock tumbler. Usually there’s some kind of abrasive grit that gets added to the tumbler to help sand stones down – but a significant part of what makes this process work is actually the rocks themselves, tumbling against each other over and over. Through this constant contact and friction, the rough edges of each stone are gradually worn away; and eventually, you’re left with these nice, smooth, polished stones. Being tumbled together with all of these other rocks brings out the unique beauty of each stone and literally makes it shine.

Sunday, February 5, 2023
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Fifth Sunday after Epiphany
watch this service online (readings start around 24:59; sermon starts around 33:58)

When you grow up as the oldest kid in a single parent family – like I did – you tend to end up taking on a little more responsibility than the average kid does, earlier in life. You have to learn how to do certain things around the house in order to help out. In our house, one of the things that I learned to help out with was cooking. I wasn’t always very good at it though. I don’t know if you know this, but it turns out that food actually tastes a lot better when you follow the directions! Who knew?

Thankfully, I usually wasn’t in charge of making the whole meal – just helping. Usually what would happen was that Dad would call home from work after my siblings and I got home from school and he’d give us instructions for getting supper started before he came home. It was usually simple stuff, like buttering bread for garlic bread or chopping vegetables for a stir fry, or sticking a pan of lasagna in the oven – nothing terribly complicated. 

One day when I was in maybe late elementary school or so, Dad called home and asked me to put a pot of water on to boil for spaghetti – a very simple request. So I dug the great big pot out of the cupboard and I filled it with water in the sink and I set it on the stove and cranked up the knob to high heat. And that was it. It was sort of anticlimactic. Even as a kid, I really liked helping, so I wanted to do more than just stick some water on to boil. So I got out the dishes and set the table. And I went up in the cupboard and got the big cannister of spaghetti noodles and set it on the counter next to the stove so that they’d be right there, ready to go, whenever Dad got home.

But as I stood there, watching that pot (which hadn’t boiled yet), and looking at those noodles, I started to think, “Well, this is silly. Why would Dad only have me boil the water? Surely if he trusts me to heat up water to boiling hot, trusting me to stick some noodles in a pot should be no big deal, right? So without consulting Dad – or the instructions on the packet of spaghetti itself – I did what my heart told me to do and dumped an entire fistful of spaghetti noodles into that pot of lukewarm water… 

Sunday, January 22, 2023
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Third Sunday after Epiphany
watch this service online (readings start around 13:55; sermon starts around 19:55)
(originally preached 1/26/20)

The first verse of our gospel reading for this morning quickly glosses over a very serious bit of news: John the Baptist has been arrested. This news doesn’t exactly send the same shiver of fear down our spines as it would if we lived in the first century instead of the twenty-first century. For one thing, it’s not news – we already know very well that John’s arrest is part of the story. And for another thing, our modern conception of things like “arrest” and “imprisonment” is a very far cry from what these things would have looked like in ancient Rome. 

Being arrested and thrown into jail in Roman times was not like being thrown into jail today. Unlike us today, Romans didn’t really have a practice of putting people behind bars to serve out a certain number of years before being released. In most cases, there were only two ways out of a Roman prison: either succumb to starvation and die in prison, or survive prison long enough to be executed. And as an added bonus, the practice of torture wasn’t considered a form of punishment, but rather just a standard interrogation technique.

Sunday, January 15, 2023
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Second Sunday after Epiphany
watch this service online (readings start around 25:39; sermon starts around 33:43)

When I was around middle school age, I used to volunteer sometimes down at the nursing home in my hometown. I don’t remember now if it was for school or church or Girl Scouts or whatever, but a few other kids and I would go down every so often and play cards and other games with the residents. 

There was one woman I played cards with on several occasions – let’s call her Bev (it was so long ago now that I don’t actually remember her real name anymore). Bev was a friendly, chatty woman; she liked to play Kings in the Corner and she had some pretty pronounced dementia. She asked me lots of questions about my life, curious to get to know me better, and I would answer her – I told her all about school, about my art projects and my love for reading, and about playing softball in the summertime. But as we talked, I noticed that she’d ask me a question, and then a few minutes would go by, and then she’d ask the same thing again – sometimes two or three more times. As a kid, that was new to me; I’d never encountered it before.

The day I told her I played softball, I think she asked me probably half a dozen times: “Are you on Richie’s team?” And each time, I kept replying, “No. I have no idea who Richie even is!” Until finally, I just said, “Okay, sure. Yes. I’m on Richie’s team.” “Ah, that’s nice,” she said, “He’s a nice boy, that Richie.” And I said, “Sure, yep. A very nice boy.” And then she finally moved on to a new question! It was kind of like she had already decided in her head the story that she wanted to hear, and she would just keep asking me questions over and over until I gave her the “right” answer.

Sunday, January 8, 2023
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Baptism of Our Lord
watch this service online (readings start around 17:36; sermon starts around 23:44)

Over the weekend, I got the chance to really give my house-blessing muscles a workout, haha. You may have seen the little Facebook Live video I shot on Friday, in which I blessed our house of worship here – or if not, you probably noticed the chalk blessing over the front doorway as you came in this morning. The practice of chalking this inscription over the door of a house is a form of house blessing that Christians have been practicing for centuries. I also did a blessing of the parsonage in the same way.

But Friday evening, we went all out with the blessing. My friends Jacob and Coco just moved into the parsonage house for Jacob’s first call, down by Lincoln; and on Friday they invited a bunch of clergy friends and several members of the congregation over to the house, and they asked me to lead them in a special service of blessing. We did the traditional door chalking, of course. But one of the gifts of our very liturgical ELCA tradition is that we actually have a much, much fuller and longer service of house blessing that we used for the occasion. In this service, you don’t stop at just blessing the house as a whole; you actually go through and bless each individual part of the house from top to bottom – everywhere from the front door to the mud room to wherever it is your pets hang out. 

Sunday, December 18, 2022
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Fourth Sunday of Advent
watch this service online (gospel reading starts around 26:44; sermon starts around 28:18 (audio was weird and skippy for some reason this day))

Thomas Anderson was a regular guy, just living his life. He worked in a mid-level job as a computer programmer, and pretty much every day for him was just get up, go to work, come home, go to bed, repeat. The spiciest thing about him was that he enjoyed hacking in his spare time. But one day, in the midst of his mundane life, Thomas is approached by a couple of mysterious people who tell him that basically everything he thinks he knows about the world is a lie – that there is much, much more to the reality of this world than what he has known.

One of the two people he meets, a man named after the Greek god of dreams, offers him a choice – two different pills that he can take: a blue pill that will return him to his life as he’s known it, where he can forget any of this ever happened; or a red pill that will wake him up to see the world around him as it truly is.

Most of you have probably clocked by now that I’m talking about the late 90s hit movie The Matrix. Heh, it’s not at all the most up-to-the-minute pop culture reference, but it’s still a great story. Thomas Anderson – AKA Neo – is pulled out of his ordinary life and “down the rabbit hole.” This choice he makes draws him into this whole epic adventure he could never have imagined.

Nowadays, this whole idea of being “red-pilled” has taken on some really unfortunate associations in popular culture, not intended by the filmmakers. But this is still a powerful scene. And I find that this choice that Neo makes resonates with our gospel reading for this morning in some interesting ways.

Sunday, December 11, 2022
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Third Sunday of Advent
watch this service online (readings start around 30:09; sermon starts around 36:24)

I went to a barbecue this summer that some old friends of mine were hosting to celebrate the fourth of July. Some of you might remember my friend Jacob, who was just ordained last weekend – this gathering was out at his folks’ place. It was a really fun time – we ate hamburgers and hotdogs and ran around their yard playing croquet. We all discovered together that even if a game only barely qualifies as a sport, I will still be terrible at it. We lit off a whole mess of fireworks and just generally had a good time hanging out together. 

However, what most sticks in my mind from the event is sitting and talking all evening with my dear friend Coco, Jacob’s wife. Coco is ordained as a deacon, and our conversation was particularly memorable, because while everyone was gathered there to celebrate and to blow stuff up and have a good time, Coco and I spent several hours talking almost nonstop… about funerals – and death. Heh, chalk that up to occupational hazard, I guess. 

Sunday, December 4, 2022
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Second Sunday of Advent
watch this service online (readings start around 25:00; sermon starts around 31:58; and yes, video is sideways and I don’t know how to fix it)

John has such harsh-sounding words for the Sadducees and the Pharisees in our gospel reading for this morning. He calls them out for being a bunch of hypocrites – calling them a “brood of vipers” which is even saltier in the original Greek – not exactly what you expect to hear in this joyful season leading up to Christmas!

However, the bulk of what John has to say isn’t actually about these leaders themselves; it’s a warning to them about what’s coming. It’s a warning about the radical changes that the kingdom of God will usher in – changes that will massively upset the balance of the status quo. 

Sunday, November 27, 2022
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
First Sunday of Advent
watch this service online (readings start around 25:52; sermon starts around 31:08)

I was having dinner recently with my good friend Heidi – and she was giving me grief because I spent a good 20 minutes digging through my bag, trying to get my hands on something I absolutely could not find. I tend to carry a lot of junk with me. But, you see, I have this goofy theory – which I had shared with Heidi – that at the end of the day, there are really two kinds of people in this world: there are the people who always walk around with their handbags and their pockets overflowing with stuff that might be useful… and there are the people who depend on the people with the pockets and the bags to be carrying the useful things that they need. Heh, I definitely belong to the first group – and so does Heidi, for that matter! – we’re sort of like aspiring Mary Poppinses, and I suppose it takes one to know one. 

Sunday, November 20, 2022
St. John’s Lutheran Church, Schuyler, NE
Reign of Christ Sunday
watch this service online (readings start around 32:06; sermon starts around 38:32)

What comes to your mind when you hear a word like “power”? What is power? What does power look like? What does it look like to be powerful?

When we think about being powerful, most of us probably think about power in terms of authority and money, control and strength. We think about people who have the ability to impose their will on others, perhaps by persuasion, but usually by force – in the same vein, we probably think immediately of military might, people who have access to the nuclear codes. We see the leaders of nations as powerful: presidents and prime ministers, kings and queens and so on. 

Power is a major theme for us this morning, because today is the Sunday we celebrate the Reign of Christ – the last Sunday of the liturgical year. We celebrate that Christ is the king of all creation – now that’s some serious power! That’s a heavy business card right there. And our texts all reflect this power in various ways: