Sermons and Reflections:

Tuesday after 14 Pentecost
September 7, 2004
Opening Eucharist
Lutheran Theological Seminary Chapel
Dr. Elizabeth Huwiler

Deuteronomy 30:15-20; Luke 14:25-33

This is what it comes down to. "Look: there’s life and there’s death. There’s obedience and there’s idolatry. There’s blessing and there’s curse. Choose life."

We’re at a transition point too, at the threshold of a new land, this new semester, and maybe it looks a little bit like promise. Especially if you are a new seminarian, you may be feeling as though in the decision to come here you did choose life, you have been obedient. And so you are crossing the threshold gladly, rejoicing in the blessings you have already experienced and fully expectant that there are more in store.

But others of you, especially if you’ve had Confessions already, may not trust the optimism of the Deuteronomist. Oh, sure, you think: this would be a perfectly fine text if it weren’t for that whole "fallen world" thing. Yes, there would be blessing in front of us if only we had the purity of heart to choose life. But we don’t. And so there are all those curses. (If you’ve forgotten just how thorough the curses are, read chapter 28 of Deuteronomy.)

Still others of you, maybe coming from traditions that do decision theology, may want to say, "Oh, Lutherans, get over it." You may think we Lutherans are crazy not to recognize it: when we make good, responsible choices, life goes better.

What’s more, even those of us who are Lutheran to our core may have to admit, in an embarrassed way, that sometimes it rings true to life. I mean, even if you have the theological conviction that we human critters are so thoroughly fallen that we always make bad decisions: haven’t there been times when you’ve seen people close to you doing really stupid things that you thought would have disastrous consequences, and you pleaded with them to wake up and act responsibly?—almost as if you really believed it was possible to choose life? What’s more, haven’t there been times in your own life when you faced an important decision and made it—and it turned out that you chose wisely and whaddaya know, life was better? I mean, aren’t there times when, much as you hate to admit it, the Deuteronomist seems to have a point?

==

Daunting as that may be for those of us who are Lutherans, it’s not the worst of having these texts for opening day at this seminary. Because it’s not just the Deuteronomist. In our gospel lesson, it sounds as though even Jesus is calling for a decision. If you want to be a disciple, you have to relinquish father and mother, spouse and children, brothers and sisters, and even life itself, to carry a cross and follow Jesus. "None of you can become my disciple," he says, "if you do not give up all your possessions."

Trouble is, it’s difficult to accept Jesus’ challenge with the same optimistic cheer we may have felt with Moses at the threshold of the holy land. After all, the central call of our first lesson is to be faithful to Israel’s God and to avoid idolatry. That doesn’t sound impossible. But giving up family, even if you finesse the language of "hate," seems far more difficult. And that "carry the cross" clause is seriously daunting if you don’t sentimentalize it into putting up with a nagging parent or learning the Hebrew alphabet. I mean, the cross isn’t about inconvenience or hard work. Jesus died. Jesus so embodied that parallel universe we call the realm of God that he did not cling to his own life, but emptied himself and was obedient to the point of death.

And in so doing he chose life, life abundant, life for all this dying world.

This is not what we want Deuteronomy to mean. But in the tradition of Jesus’ sayings about the cross, that is what it comes to mean. It didn’t sound all that difficult: don’t worship other gods. But if idolatry is giving central importance to someone or something other than God, it happens. And it’s not that impersonal: we do it. Even if you believe that you’ve resisted the consumer mentality that characterizes our culture—where is your heart? If you listen to the speeches around the presidential campaign, you can see where political advisors think the United States has hung its heart. There’s safety in a world scarred by terrorism. There’s employment security, or confidence in one’s finances in retirement, or national honor in the world, or human dignity however configured. If any of those is enough to gain your whole confidence, enough for you to hang your heart on, you’re not fit to be a disciple. And if none of those does it, what about family—or life itself? Jesus demands absolute allegiance.

It’s a dangerous teaching. In our world, when we hear about people willing to offer their lives for the sake of a cause, we think of suicide bombers. But Jesus’ risk of self goes not to killing but to life. And that’s not our problem anyway, is it? It’s not that our single-mindedness is misdirected, but that our hearts are divided. We are not fit to be disciples. We cannot carry the cross.

How odd it is, then, that we’re here. I mean, in this community of the inadequate, gathered to follow the one whose disciples we do not know how to be. This morning we began our worship with the sign of the cross we are not fit to carry. It doesn’t make sense.

I would like to explain it. But frankly, it’s a mystery to me. One way or another, we have all demonstrated our inadequacy, our inability at the threshold of the land we call holy, to choose life. And yet, Holy Living One has chosen us, and has chosen life for us. Holy Incarnate One carried the cross for us, who are unable to carry it. That same cross was inscribed on us in baptism, indelibly marking us for life. Even now, we who bear the sign of the cross still find that cross carrying us, from death to life.

You’d think something like that would be entirely memorable. But in the busyness of the semester, I will forget it—and I’ll bet you will too. Remind yourself. The water of the life you could not choose is in the font: you can use it to remind yourself.

And—oh, dear inadequate one: look across this space to your sisters and brothers. They know the truth about you. But you need not fear their judgment: it’s true of them too. All of us keep choosing the way of death, and all of us have been marked for life. When those others seem to be forgetting, remind them please; and when they remind you, believe them. Ever and again, the cross of Christ will keep carrying all of us from death to life.

AMEN.