Come and Follow

Yup, it's been a while.

I could go into a whole story about why this is, but really, it all comes down to the same thing every person deals with as they get older: some things are not as important as they used to be. This is just fine, it's okay, because we are meant to grow and change and adjust our life lens. It's actually a beautiful thing to grow and have new experiences.

That's what I want to talk about today. 

The past couple of years have been a period of extraordinary growth at the Turk household. 

• Doug's employment has changed a couple of times, he's quit smoking, and has become adept at a new hobby: woodworking
• Ollie has grown to be taller than his parents, is now in high school, and has enhanced his understanding of his mental health and personal choices
• I have taken on a new job, broadened my insight of how to be a good parent to Ollie and partner to Doug, also quit smoking, and become a lay preacher

Yes - a preacher!

Ever since I was little, I have been fascinated with God and have often thought about going into seminary. 

I have never wanted to be a pastor; I think I'm too selfish, egotistical, and performative to have my own flock. I like to drink and curse and gossip - and I do it way too much, despite always asking God's forgiveness. Plus, I think everyone knows how much this girl likes a STAGE.

Dangerous.

Enrolled in seminary, becoming enmeshed in His Spirit and learning the history, cultures and versions would bring me such immense satisfaction, though. I always had so many questions and would often lob them at my Baptist parents in the middle of dinner when I was younger. 

"When I get to heaven, will there be just God, or God and Jesus? Because isn't he one in the same?" (I remember Mom looking to Dad for help, but I don't remember the answer).

"Why are there so many religions, but we think ours is the only one?" (Mom said, "There are many roads that lead to Rome," and that as long as one believed in a higher power that taught good over evil, they'd be fine.)

I also experimented with different paths in high school and college. I went to a Methodist summer camp two years in a row and decided that I would become a Methodist. When Mom and Dad said the church I wanted to attend was too far away, I decided that Baptist and Methodist were similar enough and stayed in our home church.

My first boyfriend was a teen preacher at the town's Assembly of God, and I went there a few times, but they were all (if you can believe it) a little too excitable for me.

Throughout my formative teen years my best friends were Mormon. I still consider Luke and Ellen two of my really good friends even though we don't talk often. They would take me to LDS dances, and I even have a CTR (Choose the Right) ring that Luke found for me. I ended up dating one of the older siblings in college. When I decided I would convert, my parents spoke to my college chaplain, cried over me on the phone, and I decided it wasn't worth the adjustment. Plus, Mormons don't drink, have three hour long church services, and our dating relationship fell apart anyway.  

My seminarian itch was scratched this year when I joined five others in a monthly adult confirmation class led by my pastor. We learned about the authors of each book in the Bible, historical and cultural themes, as well as Lutheran doctrine - which was important to me as I had converted from Baptist many years earlier. It was RIVETING!

When my pastor - Pastor Ashley, or "Pash" - received a grant in which she will be using some of the funds to enable lay congregation members to take on more responsibility in the church and asked us  who might be interested in giving a sermon, I jumped at the chance. As much as I don't love to write essays or research papers, I considered this to be maybe a holier blog post - with some real information behind it. After a two-hour training and three weeks of at least ten drafts being sent to Pash and many others, I took to the pulpit on Sunday, August 9th.  

It was incredible. I didn't love the process - I tinkered way too much AND much later than I should have - but I felt very comfortable up on the dais, and in front of the congregation. They gave out so much grace, support and encouragement during the sermon. God's inspiration was unbelievable and I couldn't even imagine how anything would have been written without His guidance.

I've included it below for my posterity, but I've attached the video of the service as well. You'll notice that in addition to the regular sermon, I also give the children's sermon - which, as can be expected, went completely off the rails. It comes after the sermon and a hymn if you want to stick with the video. Little Jamie says, "I'd show him the sticker," if you can't hear that part.

Link: https://www.youtube.com/live/9-a_7lUl0dg?si=I4gFHE-F0DCZBi2Y

To finish up, yes, it's been a while - almost two years. Two years of substantial growth and understanding. I'm hopeful that it won't be another two years before I write again, but then again, I know who I am and how busy the world is. Best of luck to you and yours, remember to breathe, be open to change, love and do good. Thank you.

Good morning, everyone! I'm Blaine Turk, and I've been a member here at Prairie Lutheran for about two years. I live in Eden Prairie with my husband, Doug, our 15-year-old son, Ollie, and our black lab, Roxy. Today I have the privilege of serving as your lay preacher.

I'll be honest with you. I feel like one of the last people who should be preaching on mercy. I'm still learning it. As I prepared this sermon, my prayer wasn't simply that I'd have something worthwhile to say - it was that God would help me live it, too. So I ask for a little grace this morning as we spend some time with Jesus' words in Matthew 18. (Matthew 18:21-35)

Peter comes to Jesus with what probably feels like a pretty generous question. At that time, many rabbis taught that forgiving someone three times was enough. Peter knows the seven is Jesus' lucky number, if he was wearing a baseball jersey, it would be the number on the back. The number seven meant spiritual perfection in the Old Testament. God rested on the 7th day, sacrificial animals had to be at least 7 days old, the Israelites marched around Jericho for 7 days, you get the picture.

"Lord," Peter asks, trying to impress Jesus, "If my brother or sister sins against me, how many times should I forgive? Seven times?"

Instead, Jesus says, "Not seven times, but seventy-seven times." (Or, depending on the translation, seventy times seven times).

The point isn't the math, it's to stop keeping score. Forgive until you've forgotten how many times you've forgiven.

Then, Jesus being Jesus, he highlights this message with a story.

A servant owes his master an impossible debt. Not a large debt, not a difficult debt, an impossible debt. We're talking about the equivalent of hundreds of thousands of years' worth of wages. Jesus uses this number to make sure everyone listening understands that there is absolutely no way this servant could ever repay what he owes.

The gavel comes down, and it's exactly as everyone expects. It's the rule of the day - the master will sell off all the servant owns including his wife and family. But then the servant falls down before his judge. He doesn't care that everyone he's ever known is in the room watching him, judging him. "Please, be patient with me," he begs. "I will pay you back."

Of course he won't. Everyone knows it. He knows it. It's impossible.

But then something completely unexpected happens. The master has compassion. He doesn't reduce the debt. He doesn't give him more time. He cancels it. Just like that.

Imagine walking out of that room. Imagine carrying a weight your entire life and then, in a single moment, it's gone.

I don't know about you, but I'd probably sink to my knees with that clammy, feverish feeling of just missing a catastrophe and finding myself unharmed. You know the feeling: like when you trip down the stairs and almost fall but you right yourself, or when your car slips on ice but resets just before you get to the stop sign at the bottom of the hill.

I'd grasp my hands and thank God for that mercy. I would never forget that moment. But that's not what happens.

Instead, the servant immediately finds someone who owes him money. About three month's wages. Still significant - but tiny compared to what he'd just been forgiven.

He grabs the man by the throat. "Pay back what you owe me!"

The second servant falls to his knees and says almost the exact same words: "Please be patient with me."

Sound familiar?

You would think hearing these words would snap him out of his rage and remind him of where he had just been. But it doesn't. Or maybe it does - and he simply doesn't care.

Instead of showing mercy, he has the man thrown into prison.

The other servants are horrified and they tell the master. The master, absolutely and rightfully INFLAMED, called the servant back and says, "You begged me for patience. You begged me for mercy. I gave it to you and you didn't turn around and do the same thing?"

The debt goes back on the table. The servant goes to jail. Mercy is defined and not quickly forgotten by all on the estate that day.

When his parable is complete, Jesus eyes his disciples and says, "God will do this to anyone who doesn't forgive with their whole hearts."

Eek.

Notice Jesus doesn't simply talk about forgiveness. The title of this passage is "The Parable of the Unmerciful Servant." Not the unforgiving servant - the unmerciful one.

That's because mercy is bigger than forgiveness. Mercy is also showing grace and compassion. 

Mercy is choosing love when we have every opportunity to choose punishment.

Mercy is recognizing another person's humanity in yourself.

Mercy is moving through the world with your heart on your sleeve.

To give you context, in the Book of Matthew the author is writing to a community of Jewish Jesus-followers. These were people who had stepped away from their long-held religious beliefs and found themselves isolated from their Jewish community. In choosing Jesus, they had chosen a new way of living. They are still hurting, still fragile, still feeling as if the Jewish institutions and the Roman Empire were against them...like their whole world was against them. In order to release their past hurts and continue on joyfully in God's promises, Matthew includes this important teaching from Jesus on how to be merciful.

To forgive with their whole hearts.

Because when our hearts are laden down with grudges, it's pretty clear to see.

We become selfish, resentful, arrogant, easily offended, and mistrusting. We drive a barrier through our relationships not only with those whom we love and our communities, but we also sever our alignment with God.

That's a pretty high cost to pay for a little resentment, don't you think?

Because our alignment with God is how we, as Christians, identify. Acts 17 says that "For in Him, we live, and move, and have our being." 

What seems more aligned with God's desires? Having a contentious spirit or a merciful spirit? The answer is obvious.

But it's hard to give grace, I know! It's difficult to extend mercy to someone whom you don't believe deserves that kindness. Especially when that person is ourself.

Our minds are really good at keeping score. For all the intellect and thought and memory and ability to instruct the body they own, our brains can be pretty dumb. Our brains assume the worst because of old survival instincts. We call it "thinking errors." Our brains tell us lies about ourselves, they focus on the negative instead of the positive, they catastrophize, and they jump to conclusions. Our brains tell us not to extend forgiveness, grace and compassion for a myriad of reasons.

"You're being dramatic," they say.

"Maybe your boundaries are too limiting."

"If you forgive them they'll walk all over you."

"They'll think you're weak."

"You know they'll just do it again."

Maybe you've heard these voices? I know I have. Within myself and in the news, social media, world.

But then I remember something - shamefully.

There have been plenty of moments when I needed mercy myself. I've made mistakes. I've said things I shouldn't have. I've hurt people. Sometimes without realizing it and sometimes intentionally.

And every single one of us knows what it feels like to hope someone will give us another chance.

But how do we give mercy when we don't want to?

Well, we are absolutely allowed to feel disappointed, hurt, and angry. Mercy doesn't ignore boundaries.

It doesn't mean pretending nothing happened. Mercy doesn't erase wisdom.

And sometimes the healthiest thing we can do is step back from someone who continually causes harm.

But mercy refuses to let bitterness become our identity. 

It reminds us that every person standing in front of us is someone loved by God. Even when they're difficult. Even when they're wrong. Even when they're us.

One of the things I found fascinating while preparing this sermon is that forgiveness doesn't just help the person receiving it. It helps the giver, too. The Mayo Clinic has found that practicing forgiveness can reduce stress, improve sleep, lower inflammation, strengthen our immune system, and even improve the health of our heart.

Forgive with your heart, Jesus says.

It's almost as if Jesus knew what he was talking about all along, huh?

What keeps you from the title of "The Merciful Servant?"

Are you like me who have people I'm still struggling to forgive? Past friends, family members, exes, even myself?

I've found that when I'm compassionate, my load lightens. Mercy leads me to hope that the future will be better. Hope then leads me to peace knowing that God will be right there with me. That peace leads me to gratitude and then joy. With joy in my heart, I can joyfully forgive.

Throughout the Old Testament, people sought God's mercy through faith, repentance, and sacrifice.

Then Jesus came. He became the sacrifice once and for all. The debt we could never repay - He paid, He was our Lamb.

That's us in the story. We're the servant standing before the King with an impossible debt. And through Christ, God says, "It's forgiven." And all we have to do is ask.

Every single day we live because of a mercy we didn't earn. How could that not change the way we treat others?

We get to choose the way we want to live: according to the world's expectations, or according to Heaven's.

We can choose to live according to our brains, which are amazing but give us thinking errors, or according to our hearts, where Jesus lives.

And may I remind you, mercy doesn't always have to look dramatic. Mercy doesn't always have to be about forgiving someone.

Sometimes it's bringing dinner to a neighbor.

Sometimes it's sitting quietly beside someone who's grieving.

Sometimes it's giving someone the benefit of the doubt.

Sometimes it's simply choosing kindness when kindness would be easier to withhold.

Those little acts of mercy matter. Especially right now. Because every one of them reflects the mercy God has already shown us.

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians, "Let love be your highest goal." I think that's another way of saying: lead with mercy. Lead with your heart on your sleeve.

Not being it's easy. It's actually pretty vulnerable. Not because people always deserve it. But because that's exactly how God has treated us.

We don't give mercy because we have to, in order to earn God's love. It's actually the opposite. We've received God's mercy already and so we pass it along. Lovingly, generously, fully, and joyfully.

Yeah, it's hard sometimes. Being a human is hard. 

It may take some time. We may have to re-forgive the same offense. The mercy we've extended may lose us friends.

But let's remember the forest through the trees.

When we give mercy, our hearts are turned toward God. And when our hearts are fully invested in God's promises, others see it.

Don't waste the opportunity to show God's mercy. We may be the only "bible" some people ever see.

So today...

May our actions always reflect God's hope for humanity.,

May we remember the debt we've been forgiven.

May we recognize ourselves in one another.

May we practice what we preach.

And may God help us become people whose first instinct is mercy instead of judgement.
Amen.