Luke 21:5-19

When some of them were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, Jesus said to them, “As for these things that you see, the time will come when not one stone will be left upon another. All will be thrown down.” They said to him, “Teacher, when will this be? What will be the sign that this is about to take place?” Jesus answered them, “Beware that you are not led astray. Many will come, in my name, and say, ‘I am he,’ and ‘The time is near,’ do not go after them.”

“When you hear about wars and insurrections, do not be terrified. These things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately. There will be great earthquakes and, in various places, famines and plagues. There will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.”

“But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you. You will be handed over to synagogues and prisons. You will be brought before kings and governors, because of my name. This will give you an opportunity to testify, so make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance, for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. You will be betrayed by parents and brothers, friends and relatives, and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair on your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.”

This reading usually shows up in the most untimely way for us around here. I mean, it always shows up in November, on or around the Sunday when we are supposed to be praying about and planning for our financial commitments to the Building Fund – which we will do next week, if you haven’t read or heard about that, yet.

So what I mean is, around this time of year, during this season of our life together, we very often get this bit from Luke’s Gospel where Jesus warns the disciples about making too much of their temple. As I’m typically hard at work stewing about prayer vigils, capital campaign packets, mortgage payments, and financial commitments, Jesus says, “As for these things that you see, this stuff that you’ve built – these beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God – the day is coming when not one stone will be left upon another. All will be thrown down.”

And that’s usually a hard pill to swallow. Like, Jesus is laughing at, if not straight up, flat out, judging our efforts to build what we’ve built here over the years. I mean, there’s nothing like trying to build a thing, investing in everything it takes to build a thing, and have someone remind you that it won’t last for long; maybe that you’re wasting your time; that it’s all going to amount to nothing but rubble in the grand scheme of things anyway. Jesus is like a guy who shows up to the beach to find that a little kid has just built his most prized, perfect, glorious sand castle and, instead of marveling at the hard work and majesty of it all, points out that high tide will be rolling in any minute.

But this year, for the first time, things are different. I can’t disagree with Jesus, of course. Maybe, in some very worldly ways … or from a cosmic kind of perspective … all of this BUILDING is for naught. It won’t last FOREVER, in a physical sense. It will, indeed, crumble to dust, in the end. I get that.

But this year – as we think about praying and planning for our “Building and Outreach Fund” commitments – we get to do that with even more than just our own bricks and mortar on the brain. We get to do that with even more than just mortgage payments and interest rates and financial debt reduction in mind, than we’re used to. We get to think differently about all of this because, for the first time ever, we don’t have a mortgage to pay and because we plan to give 50% of these funds away to mission and ministry outside of our walls; 50% beyond our own bricks and mortar; 50% over and above these stones that will, indeed, someday, all be thrown down, as Jesus promises.

But what’s so exciting and full of hope about things this time around – again, for the first time ever – is that we can’t possibly measure who or how our generosity will change the hearts and lives of others, by the grace we’ll share in the days ahead.

And at the 24 Hour Prayer Vigil next weekend, we’re going to have a chance to share, very plainly and prayerfully what we hope we’ll be able to do in this regard. (Please, please, please sign up to be part of that, if you haven’t already.) We’re going to be able to make prayerful suggestions about the tangible, real-world ways, we hope we’ll use our financial resources to do God’s work in some really new, very meaningful, truly faithful ways.

First, we’ll get to be practical with our prayers. We’ll share the scoop about what we would, could should be saving money for in our rainy day, repair and emergency bucket – stuff like HVAC repairs, parking lot resurfacing, roof replacements, exterior painting, and boring, but necessary, responsible stuff like that.

Second, we’ll be selfish and have some fun as we pray, too, by dreaming about what we might add to or renovate around here – like sanctuary expansion, an outdoor pavilion, better video projection and online technology. Someone I know wants a cement pad for a basketball/pickle ball court of some kind, for instance. Of course, when I say “selfish” I don’t really mean “selfish,” if what we build for ourselves allows us to share grace and good news with more people, in different ways. There’s nothing selfish about that.

And third, we’ll get to offer up ideas, too, about the 50% of it all we plan to give away. Over the years we’ve suggested everything from supporting mission churches and missionaries, to helping people reduce medical debt, to giving more regularly to some of our Mission Sunday organizations, like the Talitha Koum Women’s Recovery House. Someone even has the notion to help fund a Baby Box, somewhere in our community where infants – who would otherwise be abandoned – could be left, safely, to be rescued instead. The possibilities – large and small – really are endless and inspiring.

And all of this is nothing more or less than the testimony Jesus asks of us in today’s Gospel. With our ministry, whether it’s what we preach, teach, or support with our money we tell the world who we are. We tell the world who God is. And we show the world what we’re up to together. With our ministry, whether it’s what we preach, teach or support with our money we welcome the sinner, we tend to the sick, we love those who others refuse to see. It means we tend to sex workers on the east side. It means we fight racism in our midst. It means we support our LGBTQIA brothers, sisters and siblings. It means we build houses in Haiti and churches in Noblesville. It means we are generous and faithful and gracious to a fault – as if that were possible in the Kingdom of God.

We may not be called before kings and governors, in our little corner of the Kingdom. It may not get us killed, these days, in our neck of the woods. But it may mean – as Jesus promises and warns – that some won’t like, or may even hate, what we’re up to. There are people out there who think we’re too generous, too bold, too outspoken about the gospel and grace and good news we share, after all. And I kind of like that. I believe it’s how we endure – and help others endure, too – the hardships of life in this world. And it’s how we find our souls, in the midst of it all, too.

Because, whatever we do and wherever we give and however God leads us, we’re just trying to do what God’s been calling believers to do ever since that day Jesus was milling around in the temple with those very first disciples – reminding them about what really matters on this side of heaven:

Which is to use all of this as our opportunity to testify to what we know of God’s call and God’s kingdom among us: to work for justice; to stand for peace; to repent, ourselves, and to forgive others, too; and to use every blessing at our disposal to bless the world around us with the same grace that we have first received. That’s the Kingdom of God alive and well in this place, for the sake of the world. And it’s what will matter – to us and for others – and it’s what will last, long after all of this and all of us are turned to dust.

Amen

John 8:31-36

Jesus said, to some of the Jews who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples and you will know the truth and the truth will make you free.” They said to him, “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free’?”

Jesus answered them, “Everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. The slave does not have a permanent place in the house, but the son has a place there forever. So, if the Son makes you free, you will be free, indeed.”

I found myself playing Foosball recently with one of my favorite 9 year-old boys, who shall remain nameless. (It’s questionably for pastors to invoke their own children as sermon illustrations, and even moreso where other peoples’ kids are concerned. So I will refrain.) Anyway, when he asked me if I played foosball, I gave him the same answer I give when someone asks me if I golf or play pool; something like, “I have played foosball, but I don’t play foosball.” Which really just means, I’m terrible at foosball – and golf and pool, for that matter.

But, since he’s one of my favorite 9 year-old boys, I agreed. And, first came the rules. And, since I’ve only played foosball, but don’t play foosball – and as with golf and pool, I’m usually holding a beer in one hand and a pool cue, golf club, or foosball rod in the other – I didn’t know the rules, didn’t think there were, really, rules to foosball, so was utterly at the mercy of my 9 year-old friend, who had LOTS of rules about how to play foosball.

I couldn’t keep track of them all at the time and can’t possibly remember them, now. But there was an “off-sides” rule somehow. And he seemed to have very official-sounding names for very particular offenses and penalties, like “tripping” I think. Maybe “tackling” was another. I was mystified by how little plastic figures, with immovable arms and legs, permanently attached to a metal rod could “trip” or “tackle” anything, but I was in no position of authority to argue with my 9-year old opponent. It was his table, his house, his rules, after all.

There was also a rule about whether my foosball players would, could, or should be upside down or right-side up at particular times. I think some of the foosball players could kick the ball backwards but others could not. I never did get to drop the ball back onto the playing field after a score, either – that was always his job. AND, of course, after I scored a time or two, my favorite 9 year-old seemed to suddenly remember more rules he’d forgotten to tell me about before we started. (I’m certain by the way, that he comes by all of this naturally. See, my favorite nine year-old’s father is a lawyer.)

But I played along, confident that I would and could and should win – no matter how many rules he threw at me – because he’s 9. But, as you might have guessed, I lost that freaking foosball game to my favorite 9 year-old.

And it makes me think about what we’re up to on Reformation Sunday: what Martin Luther was challenging in the Church of his day, and something like what Jesus meant when he talked about being a slave to sin, and about how we could be freed from that kind of bondage.

See, I think God’s people on the planet are called “children” for some very good reasons. Since the beginning of time, we’ve been pretending that the rules can save us. So we’ve messed with the rules – creating our own and breaking God’s – in ways that work to our advantage, in ways that disadvantage others, and in ways that make winners and losers of God’s people. And I think, like my favorite 9 year-old, we’ve convinced ourselves that by fudging the rules, by bending the rules, by making up and massaging the rules for our benefit, by playing by the rules at all – we can come out on top; that we can win, in the end.

In other words, we have convinced ourselves that our best chance for salvation, our best chance at freedom, as Jesus says it this morning, our only hope for victory is wrapped up in the Law of God’s rules.

Which is what people were up to in the days of Martin Luther – back in the 16th Century. They were keeping score with rituals and rules and restrictions and riches. You could pay cash for salvation, by way of something called an Indulgence, for example. The church was acting like a bunch of children, convincing people they could buy their way out of purgatory and into heaven, for the right amount of money. People were told they could make a spiritual pilgrimage or visit a holy shrine to earn favor and forgiveness in God’s eyes. We call this “works righteousness” nowadays – the notion that we can behave our way into God’s good graces.

And all of this made Martin Luther sad. It made him angry. It made him want to change and reform so much of what was happening to God’s Church in the world.

And it wasn’t much different than what was going on in the days of Jesus, either. The followers of Jesus were screwing up even while he was still walking around on the planet. The Pharisees were pointing fingers, the Sadducees throwing stones, the Scribes were scribbling down their rules, and the disciples were doubting that the grace Jesus proclaimed, promised and embodied, could really be true. And the faithful were falling for it.

All of it was about who was right and who was wrong; who was earning God’s favor and who was reaping God’s judgment; who was playing by the rules and who wasn’t; and who may or may not win, in the end.

God’s children were under the impression that following the rules – keeping the Law, at all costs – was the only way to win… the only way to be free …the only way to be saved. And, like me against my favorite 9 year-old, people fell for it – people fall for it – all of the time, thinking they could out-smart it all by following the rules.

But like those people listening to Jesus in this morning’s Gospel, we forget, don’t we? We forget that we have been – and are, still – slaves to Sin, slaves to the rules, slaves to the Law. And as slaves, like our confession reminds us, we cannot free ourselves. There is no amount of rules to follow… there is no correct Law to abide… there is no way, even, to tweak or twist the rules or the Law so that it leads to our victory.

Because we need more than the Law. We need the Son. We need the grace of a God, who isn’t keeping score; who isn’t dangling the rules before us like a carrot; who isn’t twisting the rules so that we’ll keep playing at this thing called FAITH, as though it were a to-do list for some cosmic task-master, rather than a grateful response to a generous God, which our faith is meant to be. We need the grace of a God who already loves us – and who always, always, always will – because we are, indeed, children of God. Nothing more and nothing less.

See, I imagine God watching all of us children – you and me and all of creation, I mean – like my favorite 9 year-old’s parents watched him kick my butt at the foosball table. Smiling and laughing. Not at all surprised. All of us knowing it was never about the rules or the score or the winning or the losing, anyway.

All that matters – God knows, and wants us to believe – is that we’re all set free, each and every one of us. That we all win, in the end. That God holds no grudges – and neither should we – until we learn to live differently and to love more radically and to hope more earnestly, and to play more fairly … for our own sake and for the sake of the world … thanks to the grace that belongs to each of us, that frees every one of us, that makes us all winners, in Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Amen

(…and for the record, I did Google “Foosball Rules” in preparation for this sermon and found nothing about “tripping,” “tackling,” or “off-sides.” And the rules I did learn about were not in my favorite 9 year-old’s repertoire, so I’m totally kicking that 9 year-old’s butt next we play.)

Buildings, Outreach and What Really Matters

Reformation Foosball