Luke 2:22-40

When the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, they brought him up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord (as it is written in the law of the Lord, "Every firstborn male shall be designated as holy to the Lord"), and they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, "a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons."

Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit rested on him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord's Messiah. Guided by the Spirit, Simeon came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him what was customary under the law, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying,

"Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace,
according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel."

And the child's father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, "This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too."

There was also a prophet, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was of a great age, having lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, then as a widow to the age of eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped there with fasting and prayer night and day. At that moment she came, and began to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem. When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.

“Pastor,” I was asked. “How often do you talk about death in your congregation?”

I was puzzled. “Death? Like metaphorical death, or actual death death.”

He clarified, “Death death - the end of life.”

“Actual literal death? I can’t say it comes up too often outside of funerals.”

He responded, “Well, I guarantee the folks in your congregation have a lot of questions about it; I’m just curious what you would say.”

At least a dozen times every week I catch myself wishing that someone would rescue me from my lonely office, or from superficial conversation and engage me in a theological discussion - ask me a question about God, or let me ask them a question. Every once in a while someone does just that...and it always catches me off guard. Like with the example I just gave, which came from a conversation I had with a casual friend a few months back.

He asked me what I would say about death. A rather vague question, I thought. I didn’t know exactly how to answer; and so, having learned at least one thing from Jesus, I answered his question with a question (as Jesus always seemed to do). I asked, “Do you think people would appreciate talking about death at church?”

He seemed to think people would find it helpful. He called death the proverbial elephant in the room - something everyone knows is there but no one has the audacity to mention it. He clarified that he wasn’t looking for a hellfire and brimstone and damnation; nor was he looking for generic assurances about heaven and halos and harps. He just wondered why it was never brought up in his church and wondered if his experience was unique or the norm.

I had that conversation tucked back in my mind, reserved for a sermon to be delivered at some later date. Ash Wednesday or Good Friday, perhaps - pretty much the only two days reserved on the church calendar when death would be an appropriate topic.

But then I heard the news that Bill Schwartz died in his sleep on Thursday. This news, combined with the Gospel message for today, led me to understand that my message on this First Sunday in Christmas would be less about snowmen, Santa, and baby Jesus; and more about death.

Here’s the Gospel context: It has been approximately 40 days since Jesus’ birth. Mary and Joseph, following the rules of their faith, bring Jesus to the temple in order to make sacrifices and consecrate their child to the Lord. An old man named Simeon comes out of the crowd comes takes Jesus in his arms. He says something so beautiful it deserves to be put to music: “Now Lord, let your servant go in peace.”

He acknowledges that he is now ready to die.

Simeon recognizes a beautiful truth when he holds the Christ Child, and he is no longer afraid. Simeon does not ask for death; rather, he accepts it courageously and confidently because he now realizes that God's promise of salvation is true. Only after seeing and holding God's promise in his hands, only after touching and feeling the promise of life which God granted to him through Christ, only then can Simeon bring himself to accept that he will die.

How wonderful it would be to hold the promise of eternal life in our hands; how wonderful it would be to see it with our eyes, to touch it and feel it. If only Christ would have left us something before he died; if only he would have given people today the promise of eternal life in some easily-accessible form. If only we had something to see and hold and touch and feel so that we too could accept death and recognize heaven in our midst.

Alas, we do have something - we have the bread and the wine of the Lord’s Supper. Elements saturated with the eternal promise and joy of Jesus Christ.

A lot of us have been raised on the erroneous impression that taking communion is something we have to do in order to make it to heaven. As if taking communion, going to church, being baptized, and trying to be a good person are all admission requirements to heaven.

But Jesus never left us any passwords, keys, secret handshakes, entrance exams or treasure maps, to help us get into heaven. Instead he left reminders throughout the world that heaven is here now and that it is as real as death. Reminders like holding a baby, singing a favorite song, a smile from a stranger, a hug from a friend, an outstretched hand of someone offering help, forgiveness of an enemy...and bread and wine given along with the words of assurance that death is not the end.

On that day over two thousand year ago, an elderly man named Simeon walked into the temple afraid of death. But while in the temple he recognized Christ, he recognized God’s promise of salvation was true; and he sang a joyful song about no longer being afraid of death.

And now, today, we prepare to receive Christ through the Lord’s Supper. At which time we too recognize that God’s promise of salvation is true. And we will gather to sing a joyful song about no longer being afraid of death.

In conclusion I wish to pass on a Christmas wish from a professor of mine from seminary.

“My wish for you on this day and in the days to come isn't simply a "merry" Christmas, but also a ‘blessed’ one; a Christmas so infused by God's promise of presence and peace that you can leave worship to go out into the world with confidence, neither denying the harsh realities of this life nor being deterred by them, but rather facing whatever comes your way in the coming week and year with courage. For you are God's beloved child, and it was for your sake that Christ was born!”

Amen.

Matthew 26:26-29

While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will never again drink of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.”

As a way to kick off a sermon series we hope will prepare us to celebrate the 500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation on Reformation Sunday, at the end of the month, even more deliberately than we’re used to in Lutheran circles, Pastor Aaron and I are working on some messages we hope will not only lift up what we think is special and unique and faithful about Lutherans, but that will also lift up and celebrate and call attention to the common ground we share with other flavors of Christians in the world these days, from whence Luther’s Reformation came in the first place.

We are letting this book “One Hope” guide and inspire what we’re up to – a book some of you spent some time with a year or so ago, in discussions led by Bernie Augenstein – and we’re beginning today with the theme of “Eating and Drinking,” which of course is meant to have us consider the place of Holy Communion, not just in our life together, but in the life of God’s church in the world, too. (Today happens to be “World Communion Sunday,” which seems like some kind of a holy accident or coincidence or something, because that wasn’t on our minds when we planned things.)

So … “eating and drinking” … makes me wonder, what’s your favorite meal? The best food you’ve ever eaten? Consider your favorite restaurant, maybe, and what you like best about eating there.

Rather than pass the microphone around – though I did consider it – I’ll tell you about a few of my favorite foods, meals, restaurants and whatnot. A few things come right to mind when I ask myself those questions. I think of Mama’s Fish House, by the ocean, on the beach, in Maui … Hawaii – a place recommended to Christa and me by several people as we were planning the last leg of my sabbatical a few years ago. It lived up to all the hype, in every way: the freshest seafood, caught by local fishermen who get credit in the menu for their work, and, of course, all the palm trees and ocean breezes you can admire while you eat.

I think about my favorite pizza place in Columbus, Ohio – Plank’s Bier Garden – in German Village. Half-priced pizza every Tuesday, and a patio full of picnic tables big enough to make room for whoever shows up made it the go-to hangout for me and my friends ever since we discovered it my freshman year. I even convinced Christa to have our wedding rehearsal dinner there – which was no small feat.

But one of my favorite meals ever, came as a total surprise to me. It happened exactly a year ago this week, actually.

Some of you might remember that I went on a hunting trip with Matt Moore (who some of you also know), my father, and some of his friends, at my cousin’s hunting resort in northern Minnesota.

Anyway, many of you know a hunting resort geared toward and designed for the express purpose of shooting to kill specific kinds of particularly beautiful birds – grouse and woodcock, in this case – is not a place you’d expect to find me. I don’t own a gun – and have no desire to. I prefer to see birds fly through the air, rather than watch them fall dead from the sky. And I haven’t eaten meat in any significant way, since sometime in 2009.

So, knowing that the point of our time at the resort was to shoot, kill and then eat these birds – which would be prepared by a professional, gourmet chef each day and night – in the company of other hunters, some of whom were there to kill not just birds but bears and deer and God-knows-what-else…you might imagine my dilemma.

I planned ahead and packed enough granola bars to sustain me over the course of my three days away, just in case, and I asked my friend and my father not to make a big deal about my meat-free diet or my bleeding heart to my cousin, to the chef, or to Paul Bunyan, Grizzly Adams, and whoever else might show up in the lodge at meal time each day. The last thing I wanted was to be the butt of all the jokes around the fire each night, or to be a pain in the butt for the chef, in charge of making all the guests happy. (Pineridge is called a “resort” for a reason. From what little I know about it, it’s as swanky as a hunting camp can or should be, as far as most people are concerned.)

Anyway, when Kevin – the chef – noticed, or was told (I can’t remember which) that I only ate potatoes and asparagus that first night, he made a point to ask me about it, privately, later, when we were out of earshot of the other guests – like we were inmates discussing the smuggle of contraband into the prison commissary, or something. Despite my request that he not bother, that he not go out of his way, that he not make a big deal about it, that he not make any special concessions or any more work for himself, on my behalf, that I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this, that I could live on side-dishes and salads for a couple of days, just fine…he assured me he would take care of me.

And the next night at dinner, he set down before me the most beautiful and delicious, gourmet vegetarian meal I have eaten to this day. Kevin made a special trip into town that morning – which is no small commute, through the woods and back roads of northern Minnesota, remember – and grilled a squash of some kind, like the rest of you would prepare a pork chop or a T-bone steak.

And as he explained what he had done and how he had prepared everything that was on my plate, he said that he knew a thing or two about cooking for a vegetarian because he had learned to do so by cooking for a good friend of his back home in Iowa. And he told me that it was his job and his pleasure to make my experience at the camp as fun and as full and as meaningful as everyone else’s. And he also explained how he didn’t just do it for me, that he made the same meal for himself that night and looked forward to enjoying it right along with me. It was like a subtle, secret, sacred show of solidarity or something.

Like I said, the food was delicious. But all of it was a most beautiful expression of Kevin’s duty and delight coming together to share kindness and generosity and hospitality and graciousness in a way that filled me – in every way – not unlike what we are meant to share and to receive when we gather around the table of Holy Communion to eat and drink as we do in this place.

It’s a little awkward that “eating and drinking” is our first theme for these days when we’re trying to lift up and to celebrate the common ground we share with others – especially our Roman Catholic friends and family in Christ. It’s awkward because we still haven’t been able to find the common ground we wish we could around the table of the sacrament.

But think again about your favorite foods, your favorite meals, your favorite restaurant, whatever. I imagine, even if your favorite restaurant became your favorite restaurant solely because of the menu, that you don’t go there alone very often and that you’ve made it a point to introduce it to a friend or two over the years, right? And think about Kevin, my favorite chef, in Minnesota.

Our call – our duty and our joy – is to keep setting the table in hope, with courage, and by faith that at this table we share the body and blood of our salvation in Jesus Christ, and that that is bigger than the signs that hang outside of our church buildings, and all the other ways we concoct to keep us sitting at different tables. And when we share that kind of meal, we are filled up – in every way – with kindness and generosity and hospitality and grace. And we will use it all to invite and to share that same sort of kindness and generosity and hospitality and grace with whoever shows up to receive it along with us.

Amen

Simeon's Song

Reformation Series: Eating & Drinking – Matthew 26:26-29