Happy Lutheran

Last week, we had a review of our outstanding preaching professor, Sam Gilmore, and in that conversation, she was talking about one of her goals for our students–which is that they develop their own theological voice and a theological imagination in their preaching. It made me reflect on my own preaching, and my own theological imagination, which maybe I don’t lean into as much as I should/could.

So, I decided to do something very different, and take a risk for my Reformation service today. Instead of a traditional sermon, I preached a Reformation fable. It was really fun, and I am glad I did it. I hope it modeled for the students a willingness to be vulnerable and try something different.

There once was a child and her name was Kristin. Or maybe it was Craig, or Linda, or Scott, or Robin.

This child was a reader. She loved books. And she had some favorite stories that she liked to read over and over. One of them was by Jeremiah, and she loved to imagine what it might mean to have something written on her heart, something that was a part of her, something she would know so well that she didn’t have to worry that she might ever forget it. What would it be, to have a heart like that?

She also liked to read books by Paul, although, if she were honest, sometimes she skimmed him a little bit! Like any child, she loved reading about gifts, and she tried to imagine the gift of grace. John was one of her favorites. That was the book she was reading today, and she was thoughtful when she closed it, wondering about truth, and freedom. It was hard to know what was true, hard to know who to trust. And, she wondered for a moment how truthful she was, and if people trusted her. But that was just something she thought to herself. She never said that out loud.

All these ideas were in her head when she opened the door of her house to step outside into the sunshine. As she closed the door behind her and looked up—there it was: the heart, the grace, the freedom—all wrapped up as a big, beautiful gift. This was it: what she had been wondering about and dreaming of; and even though she had never seen it before, and couldn’t really describe it, she knew instantly what it was. It looked like truth, it smelled like mercy, and it felt like love. And it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

As she stood still, in surprise and wonder, she felt this gift drawing her in. She was a little scared and a little excited; and just as she could almost reach out and touch it, she stopped short. An enormous, elaborately carved wooden door had appeared between her and the gift—blocking their connection. The door was locked, and over the door was the word “Pay;” and next to the door, there was a money box. She didn’t know where the door had come from or why it was there, but it was clear what she needed to do. She didn’t have any money, but she had the pretty bracelet her parents had given her for Christmas, a necklace from her grandmother and matching earrings. So, she reluctantly took them off and dropped them into the box, and then she waited. The door finally swung open, and she walked through, eager to see the gift waiting for her on the other side.

But instead of the gift, there was a long, thin bridge; and the arch over the bridge said “Work.” She looked out across the bridge and she saw it was very narrow and rickety, and the drop off on either side was vast. But, again, she knew what she had to do, and so she started to walk. And slowly, with great effort, inch by inch, staying in the center, leaning not too much to the left or to the right, she made her way across. She slipped once or twice, scraping her shins and her hands, but she was able to catch herself and keep going. She gave a sigh of relief when she got to the other side, and followed the path around the corner; surely, the gift would be waiting.

But, again, instead of the gift, there was a bare room with a sink in one corner and mirror hanging above it; and over the sink was the word “Cleanse.” She walked over to the mirror and saw that her face was filthy, and so were her hands and arms, and so she took the soap and the coarse brush beside it and began to wash off the dirt. She scrubbed and scrubbed until most of the dirt was gone, and her skin was raw and sore.

Bleeding now and exhausted, she made her way to the back of the room where there was another door, open just a crack. She took a deep breath. She had paid, she had worked, and she had purified herself. Surely now she would slip through the door, and the gift would be waiting.

But when she squeezed through the narrow opening, barely large enough for her to get by, she found she was back at the beginning, in front of the large, ornate door with the money box beside it, and the word “Pay” over the door frame.

Kristin—or maybe it was Nelson, or Dave, or Clayton, or Emma—burst into tears, threw herself on the ground, pounding her fists and weeping, until she had nothing left. She sat in front of the door and thought, “I can’t do it. I can’t go through this again. I’m not strong enough, I’m not good enough. I give up.” And, she was mad. Who offers a gift and then makes it impossible to receive? She felt betrayed and ashamed and hopeless.

So she looked around, wondering if there were some way out, out of this game that seemed rigged against her. And then, off to the side, she saw a smaller door that she hadn’t seen before. It was easy to overlook, because it was very plain—simple wood without even a doorknob. It was just hanging from the hinges. And over this door, there was also one word: “Come.”

Frankly, by this point, she was leery of any door and any word, but she thought that anything had to be better than running that gauntlet of suffering and despair again, so she got up, wiped her face and walked to the door, raising her hand to push it open.

But as she lifted her hand, the door swung open on its own, and as she began to step through, she felt herself gently embraced, lifted off her feet and drawn forward. And in her body, she knew the truth before she saw it: the gift. And then, suddenly she was there, she and the gift were united. And as she looked around, she saw others, a family, all of whom had wounds like hers, all of whom were beautiful, like her. Just when it seemed like all was lost, she had been found. She had been rescued.

Someone came up to her, took her hand and led her to an overflowing table. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was—when was the last time she had eaten? But the table was full, and there was a place that had been saved just for her. How did they know I was coming, she wondered? What happens now? But there would be time to think about that later. For now, she took the piece of bread that was offered to her, and began to eat.