Reverend Amy Zalk Larson – Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, Decorah, Iowa

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Beloved People of God, grace to you and peace in the name of Jesus.

Hope is woven in and peeking out of our readings today, hidden but so very present. The stories of Jesus’ ascension into heaven are wondrous, yet strange and troubling for us and for the first disciples. As Jesus ascends, they’re left asking, are we on our own here? Will Jesus ever bring in God’s kingdom of mercy and justice? For a while, they’re paralyzed by his absence. They stand staring up into the sky. Jesus has promised the Holy Spirit and has told them to wait. They are to wait with hope. Yet, what is hope? What does it do? Is it helpful, or does it leave us just gazing into heaven, rather than tending to the here and now?

This week I got a text message from a friend whose son is struggling with school and life, as are so many kids these days. He’s whip smart. also, while not a great student. A year of online school was brutal for him. This school year is ending with more worries for his future. My friend shared the newest concerns and then wrote, “We are trying so hard, but it feels hopeless, we are so weary.” Her text came in as I was sitting in a conference with the theme of  “Preaching Hope for a Weary World”. Her message colored everything I learned this week.

What does hope look like for this family, for so many families these days? What does hope look like for you, you who are weary for whatever reason? Will things get better? Will Jesus ever bring in God’s kingdom of mercy and justice? Thanks to that text and to what I learned in the conference, I’ve started noticing how often I say, “I hope that … “I hope that he will graduate.” “I hope that this treatment works.” “I hope that you get the job.” My sense of hope is often tied to the “that” of a particular outcome: hoping that life will improve, that things will work out. Yet several of the conference preachers, especially those from marginalized communities, encourage us to untangle hope and outcome, to unlink hope from our expectations.

If our hopes are tied to things working out, then when things are hard, we may start to worry that something is wrong with us. Did I just not hope enough, did I not pray hard enough? Or, maybe the problem is God. Doesn’t God hear? Doesn’t God care? When we entwine hope with expectations, we so often feel abandoned by God. We stand gazing into a seemingly empty sky, paralyzed by apathy.

Hope that does not disappoint is less about expectation and more an orientation – a way of being in the world. Hope is living in God’s kingdom ways as we wait, practicing courage, kindness, love and joy. Hope is playing our part, doing what is ours to do – continuing to show up with and for others, loving God and people no matter the circumstance. “We are trying so hard, but it feels hopeless,” my friend texted. Even when she doesn’t feel hopeful, I see my friend practicing hope. Hope looks like parents who keep on trying with and for their kid, even when the outcome is not what they would prefer.

We see this kind of hope in the biblical story of three guys with funny names, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, told in the apocalyptic book of Daniel, chapter 3. They’re living under a brutal dictator who has ordered them to bow down and worship one of his gods, a golden statue. They refuse; they will only worship the living God. The dictator says they’ll be thrown into a fiery furnace.

He taunts them, asking “Who is the god who will deliver you out of my hands?” They answer, “If our God whom we serve is able to deliver us … let him deliver us. But if not … we will not serve your gods and we will not worship the golden statue that you have set up.” If God delivers us, so be it! But if not, we will not bow down to false gods. These three men can’t topple a dictator, but they can act according to God’s kingdom values: refusing to bow to brutality, refusing to let evil define and control them. Their hope is less expectation and more orientation.

The disciples in our readings today are focused on their expectations. After 40 days with the risen Jesus, they ask him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom?” They are fixated on things beyond them, things they cannot control. Jesus turns their attention to what they’ve experienced with him and to work that is theirs to do. Jesus does the same for us today, You are witnesses, Jesus says, and you will be my witnesses.

We are witnesses of how God’s kingdom is breaking into this world. The kingdom is often hidden in unexpected things, yet it is everywhere present. We see it in bread and wine, in new life coming through water and the word, in the beautiful and broken church on earth, in congregations that pray and hope for us during the times we can’t, in a humble, suffering savior who cannot be stopped from loving the world. We see it in families and communities continuing to show up for kids and elders, in people refusing to bow to the gods of consumerism, in meals shared, burdens lifted, when joy arises within us even while all looks bleak.

“You are witnesses of these things”, Jesus says. And, “You will be my witnesses”, he continues. By the power of the Spirit, you all will bear witness to this kingdom by how you live in these kingdom ways, by how you practice hope together. Jesus assures those first disciples that even when he is no longer with them in the ways they’ve come to expect, they will receive power from the Spirit. 

Together, they will have all that they need to practice hope.

That Spirit is poured out upon the church, upon all of us at Pentecost, which we’ll celebrate next week. It is poured out upon us every day because of our baptism into the risen Christ who fills all creation. 

Together, we have what we need to sustain one another, to practice hope together, to live as witnesses of God’s kingdom.

Reverend Amy Zalk Larson

Good Shepherd Lutheran Church   

 Decorah, Iowa

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Beloved People of God, grace to you and peace in the name of Jesus.

My mom was an early adapter of just about every health and safety measure that is now standard practice. My sister and I had car seats and wore seat belts during the era when my friends were climbing into the back windows of their cars to nap in the sun. Mom would slather us with thick white zinc oxide and make us wear t-shirts over our swimsuits to guard against the sun. Meals in our house were mostly “nutritional opportunities”. 

Mom also prioritized relationships with other people. I’ve been thinking about her as I’ve been reading the Surgeon General’s recent report, “Our Epidemic of Loneliness and Isolation.” I  wonder if mom knew, intuitively, about the link that science now confirms – the link between social connection and our physical health.

The Surgeon General of the United States, Dr. Vivek Murthy, wrote a beautiful letter of introduction to this report. He says that when he was first appointed to his position, back in 2014, he didn’t view loneliness as a public health concern. But then he embarked on a cross country listening tour. He kept hearing stories from people that highlighted the ways they felt “isolated, invisible, insignificant.” People from all walks of life, of all ages, from every corner of the country would tell him, “I have to shoulder all of life’s burdens by myself,” or “if I disappear tomorrow, no one will even notice.”

Murthy says this was a lightbulb moment for him, when he saw how many of us are struggling with social disconnection. The scientific literature confirmed what he was hearing. One in two adults in the United States reported experiencing loneliness, and that was before the COVID-19 pandemic hit. Murthy then describes the impact of all this, writing, “Loneliness is far more than just a bad feeling – it harms both individual and societal health. It is associated with a greater risk of cardiovascular disease, dementia, stroke, depression, anxiety, and premature death. The mortality impact of being socially disconnected is similar to that caused by smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day, and even greater than that associated with obesity and physical inactivity.” 

In his letter, our nation’s doctor translates these troubling scientific findings into a stirring mes- sage of conviction and hope. Parts of his letter sound downright biblical. The letter is grounded in story – his own story of a listening tour and “lightbulb moment”, the stories he heard of brokenness and need. Murthy also issues a prophetic warning: “If we fail to [tend to social connection] we will pay an ever-increasing price in the form of our individual and collective health and wellbeing.  And we will continue to splinter and divide until we can no longer stand as a community or a country. Instead of coming together to take on the great challenges before us, we will further retreat to our corners—angry, sick, and alone.”

He summons us to act, calling us to reimagine how to shape community and saying, “We are called to build a movement to mend the social fabric of our nation.” Finally, Murthy offers words of assurance writing, “We have the power to respond … we can rise to meet this moment together.” I hear, in Dr. Murthy’s letter, a very clear call to us as followers of Jesus. Our faith speaks directly to this epidemic of loneliness and isolation.

Our Triune God IS relationship, relationship between three unique yet interconnected persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, who is mother of us all. God is relationship, giving, receiving, loving, abiding. God longs for us to be in life-giving relationships with God and each other. God knows how much it hurts us to be disconnected, isolated, and lonely.

So, the Word of God became flesh and lived among us. That is, God showed up for us, becoming a down-to-earth relationship with us. In Jesus, God became what we needed to reconnect us with God. All our brokenness, all our sin led to Jesus’ death. Yet even death cannot hold God back, cannot stop God from reaching us, loving us, forgiving us, raising us to new life. Jesus gave us the Spirit to be our advocate, the comforter who will not leave us orphaned, who empowers us to love.

We are not alone. You are not alone. We have all that we need for life-giving relationships in the world. We are given all this not just for our own well-being, but for the sake of this world that God so loves. Scripture and our nation’s doctor are calling us to use what we’ve been given now to help heal our country. Can we rise to this moment of need? Yes! Because of the Spirit, our advocate.

By the power of the Spirit, we too can listen to others and offer words that connect, that build bridges. We can offer and receive help. We can keep showing up in relationships, in community, in public discourse even when it is hard. When others do and say things that harm, that disparage, that seek to deny our humanity or the humanity of those we love, the Spirit assures us that our identity is not up for debate. No one’s identity is. All people are made in the image of God, beloved of God. No one can take that away no matter what they do. The hatred of others hurts but it cannot harm what matters most.

We are loved and forgiven. We can love and forgive by the power of the Spirit, and this forgiveness releases us from being tied to those who would harm. I see the Spirit at work among us now: helping us to build deeper relationships in this congregation through the new Flock Ministry, through the way guests are welcomed, through the work we’re doing to dismantle our own White Supremacy, and through changes to our council and committee structure.

The Spirit also propels us all to work beyond the congregation for the sake of the common good. The Spirit of our self-giving, living, mothering God raises up all within us that is stuck in sin and death, loneliness, and isolation. The Spirit empowers us to reimagine, to rebuild, to mend.

The Spirit is as close as our breath and as mighty as fire and wind.

Let’s take a moment to breathe in the Spirit together.

Reverend Amy Zalk Larson – Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, Decorah, Iowa

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Beloved People of God, grace to you and peace in the name of Jesus.

We bump into stones and rocks everywhere in our scripture readings today. In the Acts reading, stones become a weapon used against the apostle Stephen. As we sang the Psalm, we prayed to God, “be my strong rock.” Then there’s the reading from 1 Peter, Peter a name which means rock. In that one we’re called to, “Come to [Christ], a living stone” and “like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house.” Christ is described both as a cornerstone of faith and as a stumbling block for those who don’t believe. There are no stones mentioned in the Gospel reading yet since the passage is so often a part of funerals, it may bring you to a time you stood in a cemetery tent facing a casket or urn and a pile of dirt, surrounded by gravestones, rocks as memorials.

Rocks and stones have other associations for each of us as well. I love standing on the banks of the Upper Iowa River with my family skipping rocks. Many in Decorah paint and hide rocks to surprise others with joy. A stone played a prominent role in the coronation of King Charles yesterday. The rocks here in Decorah and in the mountains out West play a role in some of my most lovely and some of my most fearful memories.

Stones can provide shelter, comfort, beauty, and honor. They can cause us to stumble and fall. We can use them for evil and for good. 1 Peter calls us living stones. This speaks to me of the capacity we all have: to harm others and to shelter; to tear down and to honor; to obstruct and to build up. What will we, as living stones, do with such weighty power and responsibility? We’re called to come to Christ and to let ourselves be built into a spiritual house. That sounds to me like a beautiful description of a congregation, a spiritual house made up of all us living stones.

There is room here for all of who we are to be welcomed, embraced, healed, transformed. Within this spiritual house we rest, we are nourished. We’re also convicted and challenged.

There are mirrors that both reflect back our intrinsic goodness and reveal our sins. We en- counter those mirrors in worship and in relationship with one another. We’re assured that our sins cannot hold us down, that we belong to Christ who releases us from the press and weight of them.

Together we learn to pray and act in the name of Jesus, in ways that are in line with his liberating work in the world and his humility. Together, as part of the whole church on earth, we can do even greater works than Jesus did to liberate humanity because we are empowered by Christ’s Spirit and, because we are not bound to the rocky roads of ancient Palestine. 

I’m so grateful for the spiritual house that is Good Shepherd. We’ve done a lot of important work recently on the physical house for the mission of this congregation. Back in 2017, we engaged in a process of listening, asking, “How do our buildings and spaces help us serve God and others? How could they help us serve God and others in new ways?” Since then, we’ve done several important physical projects to help us live out our mission. We also had to spend a lot of time thinking about how best to reopen the building safely amid COVID.

All of this has been essential and important work. Yet I’m grateful that we’ve also had many opportunities to let ourselves be built into a spiritual house, to tend to how we live together in Christ. The racial justice work we’ve been doing is one example of this. Our Racial Justice Statement holds up a mirror of the intrinsic dignity of all God’s people. It also names the ways all Americans are shaped by white supremacy. Americans of all races are harmed by a lie. The good news of Jesus works to liberate us all from this crushing lie and to rebuild us into a home for all.

Within Good Shepherd, we’re also addressing how we live out our mission together. Changes to the council and committee structure, made through a congregational vote last November, are al- ready strengthening the foundation of this house. Now the whole congregation gets the chance to live into new ways of being a spiritual house as we launch the Flock Ministry.

Being part of a flock will allow us to care for one another in a smaller group. Shepherds will help to facilitate that care and connection. Flocks will also get to care for this spiritual house together by sharing in the congregation’s worship and hospitality ministry together one month at a time. Being part of a flock and part of a spiritual house, asks us to let go of focusing on our own piles of rocks, whatever those may be, and to instead offer ourselves for something larger. I’m excited to see how this Flock Ministry unfolds for us all. There will be some rocky patches, some bumps along the way, but that will help us to grow.

You and I, all of us, are living stones. We need not fear the weight of this responsibility. It is Christ who grounds our lives, Christ who builds us into something more, Christ who holds us together. Christ promises that he prepares a place for us in the house and heart of our triune, relational God, now and forever.

He makes a way to us and a way for us always.

We have all that we need.

Thanks be to God, our strong rock. 

Reverend Amy Zalk Larson

Good Shepherd Lutheran Church   

 Decorah, Iowa

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Beloved People of God, grace to you and peace in the name of Jesus.

Today on Good Shepherd Sunday we celebrate that Jesus is our shepherd. Every year on the 

fourth Sunday of Easter we hear part of the 10th chapter of John in which Jesus talks about shepherds and says that he is the Good Shepherd. Except, he doesn’t say that today. If we read one more verse Jesus would say that, but this reading cuts off just before then. We’ll hear the actual “I am the Good Shepherd” part next year. What we do get today is Jesus saying, “I am the gate.”

This metaphor of Jesus as the gate is not a well-loved metaphor; it’s much less popular than the image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd. There are no Gate Lutheran Churches. We never celebrate Gate Sunday or sing hymns like The Lord’s my Gate. Good Shepherd does draw on this image of the gate at the front of our sanctuary. These weavings were inspired by this Gospel passage today.

Each weaving has a “gate”– open sections for pieces that change with the seasons of the church year. I love these weavings.

Still, until a few years ago, I struggled with the image of Jesus as a gate. It felt narrow and exclusive, as if Christianity is some kind of gated community. But then, our Good Shepherd Sunday School had a powerful experience with a shepherd, a sheep and a gate – an experience that has stayed with me ever since and given me a deep appreciation for the image of Jesus as a gate. 

Our Sunday School took a field trip to visit shepherd Barb Kraus and her sheep at Canoe Creek farm. During our visit, we got to help lead the sheep from the barn, up a little hill and into a sheep pen. The sheep didn’t really listen to us and things got pretty wild and wooly for a bit. The sheep did listen to the voice of their shepherd, Barb, and eventually the sheep and the kids got safely in- to the sheep pen.

Well, all but one of the sheep got safely into the pen. There was one little guy who went the other direction out of the barn. He wandered around awhile until he made it to one of the fences on the other side of the pen, but he wasn’t at the gate so he couldn’t get in. To get to the gate he would have to go down a hill, around the barn, and back up a hill. He couldn’t see the way in, and Barb was busy helping the kids and other sheep, so he was stuck outside the pen for a while. There were no visible wolves or thieves or bandits, but that little sheep looked so vulnerable outside of the protection of the sheep pen. 

And he clearly wanted to be inside. He kept making this very loud crying, bleating sound over and over and over again. He kept running along that part of the fence, butting his head against it, trying to get in. The other sheep would come over to him and you could tell they wanted him inside with them. The kids and all of us wanted him in too, but he wasn’t at the gate and we couldn’t get him there.

We see that little sheep everywhere in our world today in people desperate to get into places of rest, safety, and community. Sometimes each of us is that little sheep. Sometimes we feel cut off from others and from God, at the mercy of thieves that steal and kill and destroy the abundant life that God longs for us to have – thieves like cancer, anxiety, grief, heart break, our own white supremacy. All of God’s people, all God’s sheep, should have a resting place where they can go in and out and find safe pasture, yet there are so many barriers, so many obstacles. We run ourselves ragged trying to find a way into nourishment, to peace, to well-being for all, into community.

Is there some gate, some path, some answer that we’re missing? Something we just haven’t found that could help us and the world we love. Of course, there’s always something that might help, but it can feel like a long way around a winding path to get there; and we’re not always sure if we have enough energy or commitment.

Jesus says he has come so that all may have abundant life. Yet how do we access that? How do we make it available to others? How do we get to the gate ourselves and help others find it? Jesus says, “I am the gate.” That means that the gate is not a spot we have to find. The gate isn’t a thing that sits just waiting for us to take the right path, overcome the obstacles, and get to the correct spot in the fence.

The gate is the Good Shepherd who is always searching for all of us, always working to draw us all into God’s abundance. The gate is not a fixed, rigid place but a living shepherd who is alive and on the move, always opening space for us all to experience the life God wants us all to have. The gate is Jesus’ own body which is broken open for us all.

Jesus meets us, meets you in his body and blood to let you taste and experience forgiveness and love and rest and nourishment. Jesus offers his very body as space for reconciliation with God and one another, as space for us to enter into abundant life. Jesus draws us into his body so that we be- come an access point for others, so that we can make God’s abundance available to others.

Today, Jesus our living, moving shepherd meets you here, under these gates.

He has prepared a feast before you.

He gives his very body for you so that you can give of yourself.

He calls us to the feast today, so that all may be fed.

Let’s take a moment for silent prayer.

Reverend Amy Zalk Larson

Good Shepherd Lutheran Church   

 Decorah, Iowa

Click here to read scripture passages for the day.

Beloved People of God grace to you and peace in the name of our risen Savior Jesus.

The women leave the empty tomb with fear AND great joy. One does not negate the other.
They’re fearful AND they’re joyful at the same time.

Today, we might experience Easter joy AND fear about the state of the world. We may grieve AND feel hope arise within us. We can doubt AND embrace wonder. Two seemingly disparate things can be true at the same time. We live in an either/or world of sharp distinctions. A world that encourages us to judge experiences and others as either good or bad, happy or sad, right or wrong, fearful or joyful. Yet such judgements can constrict, confine, entomb us into rigid, soul killing ways of being.

Today as we ponder the power of the resurrection, let’s consider the power of the word and. In an either/or world, a simple AND can help us experience newness; it can help us claim and practice resurrection in daily life. We don’t often give a lot of thought to the word and or to any of the other coordinating conjunctions like so, or, but, yet. The words can seem minor AND the one we choose can make a big difference.

Imagine you’re running a marathon. I know, the resurrection seems more realistic than imagining myself doing 26.2 miles, but stay with me, just a little thought experiment. At mile eighteen you say to yourself, I want to finish the race but I’m exhausted. When you say but I’m exhausted, you give much more weight to the exhaustion, and you diminish your desire to finish. Imagine saying instead, I want to finish the race AND I’m exhausted. Two things are true. How do I honor them both? Maybe I could slow down, walk for a bit, maybe I need more water. That little word “and” can open new possibilities within us. 

Listen to how it sounds in these situations. “I’m feeling burned out AND I really care about this project.” That invites you to tend to both your weariness and your passion, rather than diminishing one. As you do that, a new way forward might emerge. “I feel devastated that he died, AND I know he was in a lot of pain,” is a way of honoring both your grief and your loved one’s peace. “I have lots of questions about this church thing AND I value the community,” helps you pay attention to all of what matters to you.

The word and can also open new possibilities in relationships with others, helping us to honor what we value and honor the other. “I’m sorry AND I’m hurt by what you said.” “I don’t agree with that decision AND I’m feeling really grateful that you tried.” “I hear what you’re saying AND I see things differently.”

The Christian story embraces both/and in a world of either/or. Jesus is fully God AND fully hu- man. We have new life in Christ AND things are still hard. The kingdom of heaven is at hand AND not yet fully present. We are saint AND sinner, broken AND beloved, fearful AND joyful, like the women at the tomb.

Mary Magdalene and the other Mary have so many reasons to be afraid that first Easter morning.

The past week has taken so much from them: their beloved teacher, the community he’d created, their hopes for the future. As if that isn’t enough, when they go to the tomb, there is a terrifying earthquake. An angel who looks like lightning appears. It’s so frightening that the guards shake and become like dead men. The women see the same things that the guards see and certainly feel the same fear. Yet they aren’t overcome by fear. They’ve been in relationship with Jesus who em- bodies both/and – both human and divine, justice and mercy, sorrow and trust.

The years with Jesus seem to help the women remain open to something more than fear at the tomb. They’re able to hear the words of promise and hope from the angel. “He is not here.” “He has been raised as he said.” “Go quickly and tell the disciples.” Joy, hope, and trust arise within them, alongside the fear and grief. The guards remain entombed in fear, but the women are able to move through all the emotions. They leave that place of death knowing Jesus is not there. Death cannot contain him. And now death cannot contain them. They go to tell the good news.

On their way, the risen Jesus meets them. “Do not be afraid,” Jesus says to them. “Do not be afraid,” Jesus says to you, to me, to us, today. And the word of Jesus creates what it declares. As if to say, you may fear, but you are not afraid. Fear does not define you. Fear is not who you are. You are not the sum of your fears. You are not the weight of your tears. You are beloved of God, joined to the one who has risen from the grave, free from soul killing ways of being. You are a witness to new life emerging from death.

The Risen One who holds multitudes, meets you, holds you. Held in this life-giving love, you can move through all the emotions of this day and every day.

You can experience and practice resurrection in how you speak and act.

You are a witness to the good news in your fear AND your great joy.

Let’s take a moment for silent prayer.