Easter sermon, Holy Communion S:t Pauli 2015

There is power in a name.

The story, in John, reads almost like a Shakespearean comedy, except that it's so tragic. They walk, they run. They don't dare to look, they look. They leave, they stay. There are people there who weren't there before. There's even a servant, a gardener, who is not what he seems.

As Paul would say later: I believe, help my unbelief.

My husband asked me yesterday what the point of all that running was, and I had to read the text again. There is indeed a lot of back and forth going on, and a lot of names. And yet, the protagonist is simply named with a phrase: "The one the Lord loved". A hash tag if you like. And yes, I would claim John is the protagonist in this text. Here, as during the crucifiction scene, he is special, singled out. Because this is his story, his gospel. This is his narrative crescendo, his moment of transformation. Look at John, the most beloved of disciples.

But it is another that shines.

Maybe I am reading John the wrong way. Maybe he isn't interested in presenting his closeness with the Lord, maybe he doesn't brag just a little. Maybe he is merely setting the stage for the real star of the story. Because that's what happens. The supporting actors leave the stage, and there is only one person left. Weeping, desolate. Without any hope at all.

Maybe John needed to tell the world he was the most beloved of disciples, because deep down he knew there was another who was closer to Jesus' heart? Someone who couldn't count, someone who shouldn't be there? A woman, a nobody, an outcast. A person without voice, without power. Sure, they could take her money, and use her house. She was handy when clothes needed mending or food had to be cooked. But she was not, ever, in their eyes, a disciple.

No, not a disciple. Just a friend.

The disciples ran away. They hid. The disciples lied and betrayed, denied and were ashamed.

But the women stayed. The women saw him die, and the women went to see him dead.

Now, Jesus is not one to judge people for their shortcomings. He chose the weak, the greedy, the vain and the needy. He chose the disciples for their weaknesses, because through the cracks the light shows through. They, in just being themselves, let the truth and love shine all the more. But when it came to sheer trustworthiness, it had to be the women. The faithful ones. And most of all, Mary from Magdala.

It is said that women are stronger than men. Not in muscle force, but hardier, more enduring. More female children survive, and women grow older than men. There is something stubborn about the female body, a refusal to give up. That is why women give birth, and women, often, nurse. Our bodies are made for never giving up.

So Mary doesn't. Or a least her body refuses to give up. She follows through, from the feast to death, from death to the grave. And it is only when all hope seems lost, when there isn't even a body to care for, that her body collapses. She hits rock bottom. She has nothing more to give. The strange gardener asks her why she cries. And the simple truth of nothingness comes out. There is nothing more she can do. She is helpless, hopeless. All alone.

But there is power in a name.

There is life in a name.

She might not have been dead. But she was without life. Until he saw her, called her.

And she might have not been dead, but she was without meaning, without purpose. Until he sent her.

And this is the moment when the Shakespearean comedy falls apart. Wild, beautiful, unbelievable reality tears the stage curtains away. The theater we thought was life breaks down, and the sky outside is bluer and wider than we ever imagined. He lives. And he calls her. And us.

You, who have waited for so long, I am here now.

You, who have cried for so long, I hear your pain.

You, who have not dared to believe, I know you.

You, who had no name or place, I call your name.

He lives. We live.

The one the Lord loved most lives.

The woman who refused to let go lives.

We who have waited for so long live.

No matter what happens. No matter the hurdles and mistakes. No matter all the horrors evil send us, all the crimes and violence we cause each other. No matter all the despair, the hunger, the pain.

Life wins. In the end, life wins.

Do not stay by the grave, do not hold the risen Lord so tightly that nobody else might reach him. Run. Shout. Proclaim.

We are called by name. In the name of the risen Lord. And there is power, glorious power, in a name.

Sermon Sunday January 25 2015

(texts: 1 Kings 8:41-43, Romans 1:16-17, Matthew 8:5-13) 

The kingdom of God has no borders, and no native inhabitants. We are all immigrants there, but at the same time, we are also all citizens of that Kingdom.

Now, a text like the end of the gospel for today has often been used to demean the Jewish people. Christian theologians of all times have taken great pleasure in explaining how God has cast the Jewish people aside, and chosen the Christians instead. Drawn to its conclusion, a statement like that could lead, and has led, to horrors like the Holocaust.

On Tuesday we observe the international day of remembrance of the victims of the Holocaust. Jews, Roma, people with physical and mental disabilities, Communists, nuns, Social Democrats, resistance fighters... Many died in the camps of the Axis powers. But Roma and Jews were especially targeted simply for being born into an ethnicity that the Nazis and Fascists considered unclean and undesireable. And it is a source of shame and great regret for us as Christians that there were people of the church cheering the murders on, often with Biblical quotes like the one in our gospel today.

There is nothing Christian in killing people. Ever.

There is nothing Christian in declaring the exclusion of certain people.

In the Kingdom of God we are all immigrants, and all worthy of citizenship.

If we instead shift focus to the first part of the gospel, a different story emerges. A Roman officer, someone who is well and truly a stranger and a heathen in the land of Jesus, comes to him and asks for help for his servant boy.

Not only does one of the occupying forces ask for help from one of the occupied, he does it for his servant's sake. The powerful man asks the one without power for help, for the sake of the powerless. The world turns upside down.

Jesus does not ask for any declaration of faith. He does not ask for a church membership, nor for tithing or volunteering. He does not demand baptism. He simply offers to come with the officer to cure his servant.

Because the foundation of the Kingdom of God is not our pious statements. It is not our membership rolls or even the kind acts we do to and for each other.

The Kingdom rests on grace willingly and lovingly offered by God. To everybody, Jew and gentile, Roman or Roma, Swedish or Danish or Indian or Greek.

This means that when Christians are using the Bible to exclude others, they are acting in opposition to Jesus himself. If a Roman officer from a culture scorned and feared by righteous Jews of Jesus' time can be used as an example of faith simply on the grounds of his asking for help, then there is nothing stopping anyone of us, or anyone else, from being an example. If this Roman's way of life, background, intentions or family did not matter to Jesus, why should anyone's matter to us?

God builds no borders or fences. The Kingdom of God is wide open for anyone who wants to enter in. And for anyone who would like to leave and then come back. There are no visa requirements, no limits to how many are allowed to enter. Everyone that wants to get to be a citizen.

Now, does that mean Jesus was happy with the occupation of his homeland? Assuredly not. Just as he is not happy with the state of the world today. But just as true love isn't earned, but leads to the lovers wanting to be worthy of that love, so God's love for this world and us who live here is completely unrequited, but should light in our hearts a desire to be better, to be worthy of all this love, this life, this grace. Through us this world can be better.

The Kingdom of God has no borders. It reaches around the world, encompasses it, lives in the hearts of all who believe. It touches all, serves all, loves all. It bothers not with your past. It asks not for eloquent words or declarations of faith. It only asks ”Do you want me to come with you?”

Sermon Poulsbo July 20 2014

When I was eleven my real father came into my life. Not the one who actually made me, together with my mom, but the one who acts like a father. Of course, my sister and I loathed him right from the start. When my mother asked what we thought about him, we snapped ”He's ugly, he's stupid, and he's Danish!”. But we soon came around, mainly because he really is a wonderful man, and also because he promised us a kitten and gave us lots of candy.

The candy giving continued on for many years. He commuted from Denmark, and every Friday he would stop by the tax-free store on the ferry boat and buy us a huge bag of Bassett's winegums. We would divide it up equally, and eat all of it, as only children can eat tons of candy without getting really sick.

After a while we got a sister. Little Maj was the whole family's darling, a funny little monkey faced baby, who grew to be a cute little blonde, and quite strong willed, toddler and child. The candy was no longer just for me and Eva, my other sister. We had to share with Maj. So each Friday we sat down after dinner, opened the bag, and began the painstaking process of dividing the candy up into equal shares. One for me. One for Eva. And one for Maj. As soon as we tried to trick her, she told on us. So she got exactly as many winegums as we did. Only, she got only green ones.

The green ones are pretty disgusting. And it took my mom ages to understand why the kid smelled so bad.

Now, the point of this story is not to make y'all fell bad for my little sister.

The point is that justice and fairness seem to be so clearcut and easy to recognize, but they really aren't. We were completely fair to Maj, she got exactly as many candies as we did, but we were actually favoring ourselves. On the surface justice, but under it not. And this, my friends, is what happens almost every time humans attempt fairness and justice.

That is what makes us confused and anxious about this text I just read.

It is one of the clearest and most well explained parables Jesus gives. There is no real room for ambiguity. There are two kinds of people: good ones and bad ones, and at the end of days the bad ones will burn and the good ones will reside with the Father. Easy peasy.

Except that this justice, this absolutely clear cut view on how things will be, risks becoming the kind of justice that gives some of us yellow and red winegums, and others green ones. But that is not God's kind of justice.

What happens if we look at what the slave suggests with other eyes?

He comes to his Master questioning how the field looks. We don't know who the slave is supposed to represent, but it is easy enough to recognize him among ourselves, even in ourselves. ”Why does the world look like this, God? Why do you allow evil people to exist?” And on a smaller scale perhaps ”Why does the church allow this or that person to come to services dressed like that, smelling like that, without ever giving, volunteering?” ”Why does the city allow those people to live here, why does the country allow those people to enter, why why why?”

And Jesus answers that in God's time, all will be set right.

It is not possible to tell evil people from good people. To root out evil, there is always the risk of collateral damage, and that, causing harm to innocents, is not God's way. God does not, ever, sacrifice some for the good of others. God does not, ever, condone the killing of innocents in the search for terrorists or enemies. There is nothing holy, or good, or God-like, or even acceptable about killing children in the name of God, safety, rules or whichever reasoning there might be. Not here, not in Gaza, not in Israel, not in Afghanistan or Ukraine or Sweden or wherever.

But because of how our world looks, we read the text in fear of the burning of the weeds, when we instead should read it with gratitude to our God who refuses to sacrifice even a single oar of wheat.

Even then, it's a difficult text. Because there is not a singe one of us here today who is without sin, and not a single one who is without virtue. We are all sinners and saints. That makes this text truly tricky, because it's so black and white, and our experience of reality is that it's pretty much made up from shades of grey instead. Even if we find comfort in the thought that God does not want to sacrifice even a tiny speck of good to uproot evil, how does that help us when we are both?

Jesus tells this parable together with a few others from a boat by the beach in Galilee. He's been walking and talking and fighting with pharisees for days, over among other things what is allowed to do on the Sabbath and what is not. Humans longing to control God and the Son of Man, setting up rules for who is holy and who is not. Jesus tells them in no uncertain words that judgement belongs to the Father and no one else. And at the same time, Heaven is reachable for ordinary people, just like a pearl found in a field or a mustard seed sown, and only God decides who goes where.

And we need not fear, because God is a judge of infinite mercy and justice. Even though this parable paints people as either weeds or wheat, there are plenty of other times in Matthew's gospel, and the others, when one who has been worthless is found worthy, when one who has sinned is forgiven, and when one who was broken is made whole.

I am overwhelmingly grateful that I am not the one on whom justice and judgement rests. The temptation to keep the red winegums to myself is just too great. I try to be better, because I know I feel better when I am just and loving. We are all created that way. But it is not on my behavior that my salvation rests.

God, who does not want to see even a single speck of good get lost, is the one who will make all evil go away. No more green winegums. No more injustice. No more war, no children lost. No more violence, no more hostility towards strangers. All the bad will go away, and the Kingdom will reign. Forever.

Doubting Thomas (2nd Sunday in Easter time 2014, Lund Cathedral)

By now you're probably wondering who this woman preaching is.

My name is Maria Bergius Krämer, and I'm the associate priest in Church of Sweden Brussels. In Belgium. So I'm an ex-pat, just like you guys, only doing my best learning French and still worshipping in my mother tongue. Sort of like here, but in Swedish.

When I lived in Sweden, however, I lived and worked in Malmö, just a few minutes away from here. I got my degree in Theology from Lund University, so this feels a lot like home to me.

I want to tell you a little about the Malmöites. Most of you live here, I assume, and may interact more or less with people from Lund. There actually are a few of those. I never really met any during my time in Lund, but I hear they exist. People in Malmö are a little bit different, at least if you go by sterotype.

The typical Malmöite is very hard to impress. The classic Malmö saying is ”Have you seen Malmö you've seen the world”, which actually is increasingly true. My husband and I once saw Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, the Chinese movie, in the theater, and next to us sat a classical, middle-aged Malmöite. Every time one of the characters in the movie ran through the tree tops och jumped between roofs, he said ”Suuuuuure.”, ”Yeah, right.” or ”As if.” very loudly. It started out really annoying, but in the end we were just waiting for him to speak out against the unrealism of the film, giggling hysterically.

I imagine Thomas in today's gospel being a little like that guy.

He comes back from doing whatever it is he's been doing when the others met Jesus, and they're all fired up and happy and probably babbling and laughing from joy. And Thomas goes ”Mhm. Riiiight. I'll believe it when I see it.”

Actually, I think all of us has a malmöite inside us.

During a lot of my time in ministry I have worked with children and youth. It's super challenging, because children and youth can feel dishonesty and deception like we grown-ups feel the smell of coffee – from a mile away. They crave realness, honesty. And they work so hard on making sense of the world and everything around them, that they expect us to have done the same work.

One of the most common children's ministry things we do in the Church of Sweden is interactive theater stuff around Christmas and Easter, often referred to as Christmas or Easter walks, when children are invited to participate in a re-enactment of the Christmas or Easter story. And every year I've done this, there's this one kid that turns to me or someone else in the cast, and say ”I know you're not really from that time, you're only acting.”. Because he or she needs to make sense of it all, needs to tell him- or herself that it's all fiction.

I imagine Thomas in today's gospel being a little like that kid.

All of them want to believe, everybody seems so happy, but still he can't really get into it, he needs to make sense of it. He must have felt so alone, being the only one not believing, must have felt like he's not been let in on the secret, like he was the only one who could see the mass hysteria.

And, you know, I think we all have one of those kids inside us, too.

This believing thing is hard. Sometimes people seem to assume that people of faith believe to make life easier, but it's not. It's just as difficult living with as without faith. People of faith doubt, people of faith feel alone. People of faith ask big questions, demand answers, and sometimes, people of faith don't find them. In a way, I think being a person of faith demands even more courage than just believing in a world run by chance, because we risk so much more disappointment.

And God knows this. More, God even approves of those questions.

The Bible is full of people questioning God, raging against God, disagreeing with God and running away from God. These are the heroes of faith. They're the ones to whom nothing was given easily. They're the ones who struggled. Thomas. Job, Jonah. The Virgin Mary, Peter the Apostle, to name but a few. All of them questioned. Even with Jesus right beside you, this faith thing is difficult, and God knows this.

Thomas never got his wish. There is no account of him ever touching Jesus's wounds, in spite of what all the paintings might show. But his heart was touched instead, and he is one of the first people identifying Jesus with God. After this, according to tradition, Thomas went on to found the earliest church in India.

Your brain, your mind, is a gift from God. Using it is not against God's wishes. Some people might want you to think that questions and doubt are threats to faith, but they're not. They temper it, they strengthen it. Thomas' gift of sound scepticism allowed him to spread the gospel into places where a mere accepting of status quo might never have gone.

So don't fear your questions.

Don't fear your scepticism.

Embrace your inner Malmöite, your inner kid, your inner Thomas.

Who knows what worlds you will encounter? Who knows what hearts you will touch?

Sermon on Luke 11:1-13, St Mary's at Penn, Philadelphia

(texts: Hosea 1:2-10; Colossians 2:6-15, Luke 11:1-13)

Scorpions. Really? I had to get the text about scorpions?

I hate scorpions.

Whenever they happen to show up on TV, I switch channels. If I see them online, I close my computer. My daughter delights in showing images of them for me, and I shudder each time. I really, really don't like scorpions.

A couple of years ago, my husband and I went to Morocco. It was an amazing trip, and the highlight of it was a journey out in the Saharan desert. We climbed up a sand dune (well, I tried and got a third of the way. Those things are high! He made it.), we rode camels and we slept under the stars. On thin mattresses, with thin blankets. And right as I lay down I sat up again and asked one of our bedouin guides ”Are there scorpions here?”. He looked at me and said with as much sincerety as he could muster ”Noooo, no scorpions”. Liar. I didn't sleep much that night, because every time a hand or foot strayed from that mattress onto the sand, I woke up, thinking ”Scorpions!”.

I have a really hard time thinking God would hand us scorpions.

So, here we have this image of a man knocking on his friend's door at night, being really obnoxious and waking him up, just for bread, and the guy inside is probably looking for a suitable scorpion to hand him. It would have been one thing if his friend needed a ride to the hospital or was almost murdered or something that makes this whole knocking in the middle of the night-business less annoying. But no, he wants some bread. And our sympathies are of course clearly with the poor man who's been driven out of his bed by this inconsiderate friend of his. Makes us think this friend might have been drunk, doesn't it? The kind that texts you in the middle of the night. But no. Jesus paints this picture to a crowd that knows nothing about drunk texting. For them, that man who refuses to get out of bed is the villain of this story.

Yes. He really is a distributer of scorpions, that one.

The laws of hospitality in Jesus' time were so strong that his listeners probably groaned with embarassment when they heard his sorry excuses. That kind of behavior was simply unacceptable, shameful, like giving your poor kid a scorpion. And Jesus says here, loud and clear:

God does not give you scorpions.

God is not like the selfish friend who refuses to help.

And God will not surprise you with nasty things.

There are many people who would like to tell you that bad stuff that happens is a result of God's wrath. Many so-called Christians will blame violence and hate and natural disasters on people who, in different ways, according to these Christians, deserve punishment. But in this text, Jesus puts it unusually clearly:

God will not send you a scorpion instead of an egg. God sends good.

Now, you might not get that egg. You might get Holy Spirit.

When we pray for God's name to be hallowed, we pray that it will be a name that gives life to all.

When we pray for God's kingdom to come, we pray for a world in which justice and peace and mercy reigns.

When we pray for our daily bread, we pray for that which will sustain us, body and soul. It might not be a lavish feast or that ever so desirable new Apple computer.

When we pray for forgiveness of our sins, we do so knowing they might be too many to remember, and we do so knowing it takes some soul-searching and some generosity to even dare to ask.

And when we pray for not being tried, we do so remembering all of those brothers and sisters who are tried and convicted each day, by themselves, by society, by our courts.

It's difficult to see any easy message here. Bad stuff happens. Accidents and sicknesses and disasters, they happen, but they are NOT, and let me repeat that again, NOT sent by God.

God is our loving parent, dedicated to nourishing us, to making us grow, to lift us up. God is longing for our love and our willingness to be all that we could be.

That kind of love will not keep us away from all evil. It will not protect us from everything. But it will be there when we cry. God will cry with us. God will comfort us, walk with us, stay closer than anyone else dares.

There is so much horror in this world. There always has been, as the text from Hosea shows us. But we are carried by our parent, we are the children of a living God.

We are the ones who foolishly claim life in the face of death,

hope in the face of despair,

joy in the face of sorrow.

Do not let anyone condemn you,

do not let anyone disqualify you.

Because our God is a living god,

the God of fish instead of snakes,

and eggs instead of scorpions,

and death has no power over you.

Sermon Poulsbo First Lutheran 10th after Pentecost

I have heard that this is a Norwegian town, and a Norwegian congregation. That's a bit on the funny side, since I am Swedish, and we Swedes, well, we think Norwegians are funny. Cute, and a bit silly. 

Not, you know, the sharpest tools in the shed, so to say.

Where I come from, in the extreme south in Sweden, we live right across Öresund from Denmark. Constantly exposed to and used to the strangeness of Danes and Danish, Norwegians become even funnier. We tell stories about Norwegians. I thought I'd share one with you all:

A Swede, a Dane and a Norwegain decided to compete in swimming. They found a good place, right across the sound from Denmark where the sound is only about a mile wide, and agreed to swim across. Whoever did it the fastest would be declared the winner.

The Dane got in first. He swam for his life, thinking of all the good Danish beer that awaited him on the other side. He was fast, really fast, and when he waded ashore, he was sure he would be the winner.

The Swede was up next. He, too, thought of all the good Danish beer on the other side, and swam faster than ever before. When he saw the pier on the Danish side, he put in some extra effort and managed to finish just a minute ahead of the Dane.

The two men sat on the pier and waited for the Norwegian. But they waited and waited and waited, and finally they became worried for their friend and got in a boat back to Sweden to see what had happened. Back on the Swedish side of the sound they found their friend in a deck chair, eating icecream in the sun.

”What happened?” they cried. ”We were waiting for you!”

The Norwegian answered: ”Well, I started swimming and the water was kind of choppy and rough and I got tired. I almost made it over, but when I saw that pier, and the two of you waiting for me, I realized I was too tired, so I turned and swam back.”

Yeah, I know. It's a silly story. I have heard the Norwegians tell these kind of stories about us Swedes, which is funny, since they are obviously about them...

Anyway. The animosity between the Nordic peoples has gone on for centuries. We used to fight each other, and the part where I live used to be Danish. Norway was Swedish until the start of the 19^th century, and before that it was Danish for a very long time. These days, we are not so much enemies as siblings, constantly ribbing and teasing each other. In very many ways, we are extremely alike. We almost speak the same language, we almost look the same, we almost eat the same food. We are Lutheran, and secularized, and have strong welfare states. But we can't help teasing each other and sometimes even looking down on each other.

The disturbing thing here for me, as a Swede, is that Jesus is Norwegian.

You didn't know that, did you? I bet you thought he was from Galilee, right?

The thing is, to the people of Judaea, the people of Galilee was a little bit like the Norwegians to the Swedes. Not the brightest, you know. A little less cultured. Some weird customs, a bit on the strange side, even though the language was almost like the Arameic the Judaeans spoke. Ate a lot of fish. And this semi-barbaric, despised people was the one God chose for bringing up Jesus.

Had it been today, there are surely other peoples that would have been chosen. Maybe for us, in Sweden, it would indeed have been Norwegians, but much more likely is that Swedes of African or Roma descent could have been the ones. I am sure all of you know who are the most despised and questioned people in your country and your local community. And that is where Jesus would be found. Because if there is one thing we can be sure of regarding Jesus, it is that he does not chose to live with the popular crowd. He chooses to walk right next to the sad ones. Right next to the despised and oppressed and marginalized. And this gets a little bit tricky when it's us who are the modern day Judaean self-righteous Pharisees, right? Jesus is with the others, the annoying, disruptive, un-orderly ones.

But Jesus would not be Jesus if all was lost. God would not be God if there was but one chance to get it right. And we would not be Lutherans if we could not embrance change, and our own identity as both sinners and saints.

Jesus walks with us too. He came to Zacchaeus and to the Roman officer. He talked to prostitutes and lepers. He accepted a drink from a woman of another faith, and healed the daughter of another. If we truly believe that he dies for all people, then that means all. Norwegians too. And the only thing that we need to do, he says himself, is to believe in him.

Easy.

About as easy as swimming back across the sound when you're so tired you don't think you can make another stroke.

To simply declare that one believes is easy enough, but that belief has to be hardened and proven true. We cannot and may not treat others badly. If we truly believe Jesus dies for all, that means he dies for them too. That means, even worse, that he is among the people that we treat badly.

Jesus is never ever on our side when we oppress and despise other human beings.

There is a richness in our diversity, a God-given opportunity for us all to cherish all aspects of life and humanity. We are all one body in Christ. We have different tasks, but to us all, without exceptions, is given the task to build each other up in love until everyone has reached the kind of spiritual maturity Paul speaks about in his letter to the Ephesians. A humble acceptance of not being at the center of the universe, of not being the one everything else measures up to. An acceptance of not understanding everything, but trusting in God's love. Bearing with each other in love, and knowing, deep in our hearts, that God is above all, through all, and in all. Even Norwegians.

Because Jesus is Norwegian. He is Swedish and Somali. He walks the mountain paths of the Rocky Mountains, and the steep hills in Afghanistan. He speaks Spanish and Korean.

One God, one baptism, one cup spilled for all. And one bread with life for all.

Sermon Sep 18 2011

(Texts: Jonah 3:10-4:11, Matthew 20:1-16)

There are times in the Bible when Jesus is very logical. Times when what he says is crystal clear and undisputable. This is not necessarily one of those.
There are times when the Old Testament prophets make perfect sense. They are righteous and full of wrath, rightfully so. This is not one of those times.

Jonah... I just don't understand why God picked that guy.
Not only does he run away from his duties. He is also seriously upset when God decides to spare the great city of Nineveh. He can't deal with the repentance of others and would prefer them to receive punishment instead of mercy. Man, did he pick the wrong God to serve. But I guess that's just the point, he didn't really pick God. God picked him. Sometimes we are so deeply steeped in a culture that believes certain things that we don't remember the reality behind those beliefs. Like God. Jonah was a faithful member of the community, did his chores, paid his dues, but had somehow not gotten to the ”personal accountability”-part. When God calls him, Jonah decides to run away, which only proves how little he knows about God, how little attention he had paid to the history of his people's relationship with God. There is no running from the Lord. As the author of the psalm puts it: If I went to sleep in the deepest ocean, you would find me there.

And not only does God find him, he puts him to use. Jonah preaches to Nineveh, a city that he detests so thoroughly that he kind of looks forward to seeing it buried under a huge pile of burning brimstone. I suspect his preaching wasn't very enthusiastic. But he is disappointed. God works through him, and the king and the people of the great city repent. No brimstone. No fire. Jonah cannot see that the same grace that God extended to him, in spite of him not doing a thing to deserve it, God also extends to the people of Nineveh. He cannot see that he also is a late-comer to the feast, but equally as loved as the ones who have loved God from their very first breath. And just as Jonah is loved and cherished, the sinning citizens of the great city get another chance. And another. Because that's (just) the way God works.

Jonah would be one of the workers in the vineyard grumbling about the late-coming workers getting equal pay. It's a little like people who have immigrated to a country, found a place, and then resenting that others come after them. But in the Kingdom there are no immigration laws, no restrictions on who has the right or is allowed. There are no demands for visas or permanent residence permits. No green cards needed. The borders are open.

Jesus seems to say, in this parable, that the person who has barely lifted a finger for the church or for the faith is worth just as much as those who have toiled their whole lives. He seems to say that the reward is as equally great for the returning sinner as for the faithful servant, and boy, does this provoke people. The righteous long time member of the congregation looks at the person distributing communion, with mistakes and a certain amount of fumbling, for the first time, and wonders why that person is suddenly considered as valuable as the one who has spent hours cleaning the albs and sweeping the church floor. It seems a waste of time, all of those things, if it doesn't at least result in some kind of recognition, some kind of position. But that person does not seem to know God very well. In the Kingdom of God there are no ranks of merit. There are no titles or special positions for those who have been serving for a long time. There are no gold watches for dutiful workers. There is only grace and mercy, for all.

So, the question remains: are you the late-coming sinner, or the faithful servant? Are you Jonah, begrudging the repentant person his or her salvation? Are you a prophet trying to run away? You see, God has use for you. God wants you for his Kingdom. Whether you think you have nothing to offer, if you believe you have nothing to say, or are not worthy enough. God wants you for his Kingdom. And God wants your neighbor too. There is plenty of space in God's house, and Jesus came to prepare room for us there. With all of our insecurities and un-charitable ways. There is room. The vineyard needs workers, there are Ninevehs to speak to. There are places all over our world and our city that need God's grace, and you're the voice God has. Your hands are God's hands. Your eyes and your ears are the only ones God has. And God needs you to do his work.

Yes. That is why God picked Jonah. He gave him purpose and call. He showed us, through an unwilling and, to be honest, pretty petty man, that grace is not dependent on merit. Grace is not something God gives as a reward. It is God's sign of his love. Undeserved and beyond understanding, it is given to us. Jonah is the sign. Jesus is the proof. And you are the next chapter.

Sermon 5th Sunday in Easter

John 14:1-14
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. 2In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? 3And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.
4And you know the way to the place where I am going.” 5Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” 6Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. 7If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.” 8Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” 9Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? 10Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. 11Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves.
12Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. 13I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. 14If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.

Friends, I am truly sorry to see you here. Let me explain.

I am guessing you have heard about a certain American pastor that predicted the Rapture to happen yesterday, starting at 6pm, New Zeeland time.
Now, what it this Rapture thing anyway? This is what Wikipedia says about it:
In Christian eschatology, the Rapture is a reference to the being caught up referred to in the Biblical passage 1 Thess 4, when in the End Times the Christians of the world will be gathered together in the air to meet Jesus Christ.
... and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.

Now, pastor Harold Camping has received a lot of attention for his predictions. 3 million faithful Christians are supposed to be brought up to Jesus at the first coming, the day of Judgement. Yesterday, according to Camping. The second one, the end of the world, will be in five months. The time until then will be a torment, a time of chaos and horror. Starting today, apparently.

Hence my sadness in seeing you here today. You, like me, have not made the cut. We are all doomed, according to Harold Camping. I do not know if pastor Camping himself made it. This is not his first prediction, and there are many like him. Somewhere, sometime, someone is always predicting the end of the world. Sometimes it's one of those famous sign-carrying lunatics known from American movies. Sometimes it's an Internet savvy pastor. Sometimes it's worried environmentalists. Sometimes amateur astronomers. The end is near.
Our text today seems to agree. Jesus says goodbye to his friends, and tells them that he will return and bring them with him, when the time is right. If pastor Camping is right, that is what happened yesterday. We were left behind, and also according to Camping, it is now too late for our redemption. We missed the boat. No Heaven, no salvation.
This is where this whole sensational story becomes personal to me, and I get angry.

Who is he, to put restrictions on God's grace?
Who is he, to claim to know God's plans?

Oh, the end is near. Of course it is. We do not know what tomorrow brings, we do not even know what happens after this service is over. The end of each one of us, of me, of you, and by all means, the end of the world could happen anytime. And there is not a single thing we can do about it.
Jesus knows this. Jesus knows how frightening the unknown future is, and therefore his words resound through centuries: Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. Don't be afraid. Don't be frightened.

Pastor Camping and the likes of him might not scare you. Maybe you're not even afraid of an ecological collapse or terrorists. But somewhere there is something that makes you afraid, and Jesus tells you: Do not let your heart be troubled. He knows, and he cares. Are these the end of your days, he will listen to your final breath. Are your nights haunted by images too scary to remember, he will share them with you. Are you sometimes paralyzed with fear for your loved ones, rest assured Jesus is too.
And that is how you know that pastor Camping and the others are not Jesus' messengers. He would not send anyone to scare you to obedience or rightousness. Jesus loves people to grace, to mercy, to life. There is no set number, there are many many rooms. Do not let your hearts be troubled.

Sermon Easter 2011

It is not all a bad dream. It all happened.
For Mary Magdalene it seems like she is waking up. There he is, standing right before her, talking to her, just like before. She is crying, tears flowing down her face, and she so desperately wants him to hold her and tell her that everything will be like it was, that everything is alright. She moves to embrace him.
And he sets her straight.
"Do not cling to me."
It must have felt like a slap in her face. He's back, and she can't hold him? But this, my friends, is important. Because however much Jesus loved Mary Magdalene, he did not come back for her sake. He did not come back for Peter's sake, or for the beloved disciple's sake. He came back for your sake. For my sake. And that is why he cannot let his friends cling to him, cling to their dreams and ideas of what he was to become. One person's idea about who Jesus is cannot be allowed to be the only idea. One congregations reading of what happened there by his tomb count be the only one for the whole of Christianity, and one church's interpretation should never be the rule for everyone else. But we want it to be. We so desperately want Jesus to make sense to people the way he makes sense to us, and so we cling to what he was, what we think he is, and our images.
But the message to all of us, when he stands there in front of Mary Magdalene, is: Do not cling to what he was. Do not cling to your old dreams of what he would become. Do not cling to your images and ideas. Jesus is something, someone completely different.

The other disciples get the same message. All of a sudden he is right there, in their midst, in spite of doors and walls. Smiling and offering Thomas, the doubting disciple, his wounds.
It could have been different. He could have proclaimed it all a bad dream, telling them that all was ok now, that evil can't touch him, or them, that they all are safe from harm and that he was ready to take over the reign of Palestine. But he doesn't.
His scars were real, just like his death was real. And he will not take away all your hurt, all your scars and wounds. He will share them, just like he shares your death. And it is through that, that he changes everything.
Jesus is something, someone completely different, and he makes everything different.

From here on everything is different. Mary is no longer "just" a female disciple like the other female disciples, she becomes an apostle. Peter has had to face his biggest failure ever when he denied knowing Jesus, and now realizes that Jesus is alive to talk to him about it. I can only imagine how devastated and deeply afraid he must have been, how small this the greatest of the disciples must have felt. Thomas makes a complete turn and becomes one of the great evangelizers.

Because Jesus call them, and call us.
To not search for the living among the dead, but instead the dead among the living.
To go places we would never have dared.
To not fear life, and not death.
From here on, everything is different.

Jesus is hard to hold on to…Always has been. Ever since he was a boy and slipped away from his parents to go to the temple all alone, he never did what was expected.
Every time we think we have hold of Jesus, he won't stay long because he has places he wants to take us, people he wants us to meet. Jesus is free of the grave and roaming at large in the world now. He will not let himself be held, confined, clung to. And he offers you, and me, freedom. Freedom from fear, from confinement in our ideas, from other's expectations of who we are supposed to be.
But if Jesus is going to free us from the grave of fear, we have to let go of it ourselves. We have to die to it first. If we are intent on holding onto our fear, Jesus will not be able to lead us to a future of hope.

Don't cling to fear. Don't cling to your images of Jesus, of the right church, of the right way to believe. Don't cling to death.
But cling to hope, to love, to life, and offer it to everyone you meet. From now on, everything is different. Christ is Risen! Alleluia.

Christmas sermon w children 2008

I'd like your help to tell this story.

Those of you on this side – whenever I mention sheep, could you say ”baaaaah” loudly? OK? Shall we try? Sheep! Excellent!

And you on this side, when I say cow or cows, can you ”mooooo” really loudly? Let's try: Cow! Brilliant!

And you children in the choir, who sing so prettily for us, can I ask you too a favor? When I mention angel or angels, can you sing ”aaaaaaaah”, just like an angelic choir? Testing: angel! Wow. Thanks!

And finally, something for us all together. I will say star at one point. Can you then put your hands up in the air, all of you, and twinkle with your fingers, like this? Let's try it: star! Cool! Very, very good.

Then, let's tell this story!

...............................................................

Bethlehem was absolutely packed full with people. There were people sleeping everywhere. The inns were full. The hotels had been completely booked for months. Everyone who knew anyone in Bethlehem had arranged to stay in their homes, sleeping in livingrooms, on floors, in kitchens, terraces and even hallways. Even the good places outdoors were occupied, and visitors slept under trees and bushes.

Even the stables were full. And in one specific stable the most important thing in history was about to happen.

In that stable, there might have been a couple of horses and donkeys. Some that belonged there, and some that belonged to visitors. There probably lived some hens, and of course cows! (mooooooo) The cows (mooooo) probably lived there all the time, but most of the animals were strangers to each other. Maybe they were standing there in silence, glaring at each other, wondering who the others were. The horses munched their hay and made an effort not to talk to the cows (mooooo), the donkeys flapped their ears and disturbed the hens that tried to sleep. The atmosphere was kind of tense.

And suddenly, the door to the stable opened, and two humans and a donkey entered. The donkeys refused stubbornly, 'cause donkeys are stubborn, to make room for the new donkey, so she had to stand with the cows (mooooooo). The hens flapped their wings in a displeased manner, and the horses kept really quiet, hoping no one would move them.

The humans sat down in the hay among the cows (mooooooo). And there, in the middle of the night, it happened. A child was born, right there among the hay and straw. The hens stopped cackling. The donkeys all of a sudden found they had room for more, and the horses put their soft muzzles down to smell the little baby. And the cows (moooo) backed away from their crib so that the baby could have somewhere to sleep. The stable was at peace.

Outside Bethlehem, there were not nearly as many people. Maybe the shepherds that were huddling there on the field wished to be with all the others in the warmth. Maybe they had already been taxed, maybe they didn't count. In any case, they were alone with their sheep (baaaaah) in the dark and cold. They sat around the fire, and the sheep (baaaaah) lay around them, not sharing their body heat.

But all of a sudden, the sky was full of angels (aaaah). The sheep (baaaah) must have been as scared as the shepherds. The darkness gave way for light, the silence and baahing of the sheep (baaaah) – yeah, just like that, gave way to the song of the angels (aaaaaaaah). And right there they got the message from the angel (aaaaaaaah), and decided to go into Bethlehem, sheep (baaaaah) and all.
Imagine them bustling though the narrow streets of Bethlehem, looking for the stable the angels (aaaah) had been talking about.

The little stable was filled to bursting. There were donkeys, cows (moooooo), hens, sheep (baaaaaah), horses, people and angels (aaaaaah). And in the middle of it all a baby was sleeping, in spite of all the noise. A baby that gave them all hope. Maybe the sheep (baaaaah) dreamed of juicy leaves, maybe the cows (moooo) dreamed of green pastures, maybe the angels (aaaaah) dreamed of eternal song, maybe the humans dreamed of peace.

But the child, that made Gods dream of love and faith real, slept. The animals hushed. And over them all the star (twinkle) shone, as a sign telling everyone that now there was light in the darkness, now there was hope and faith in the future. Now it was clear that God was in the midst of creation, and drew it back through love. And the cows (moooooo), and the sheep (baaaaah) and all of the others slept.

Betraktelse på skolavslutning (internationell + svensk skola) Sermon on an end of semester cerenomy for a school

Some people, and I’m not sayin’ you are those people, think that what is on the surface of a person is a correct description of what’s underneath.
And this might actually be true. In a few, very rare cases. But most of the time the surface only reflects a tiny, tiny portion of the person, and sometimes, not at all.

Vi människor envisas med att bedöma varandra efter utsidan. Vi tror att en människas sanna jag finns där, avslöjas där. Till exempel tror min femåriga dotter att alla tjuvar har svart- och vitrandiga kläder, och att de emellanåt tar på sig andra kläder över dessa, för att luras. Jag har en svart- och vitrandig halsduk, och jag undrar vad hon tänker när jag tar på mig den.

(We humans insist on judging others by the way they look on the outside. We believe that a person's true self is there, revealed there. For example, my five-year-old daughter believes that all thieves wear black and white striped clothes, and that they sometimes put on other clothes on top, to cheat others. I have a black and white striped scarf, I wonder what she thinks when I put it on.)

As we all are aware of how much impressions matter, we dress accordingly. Today, I wear this fancy cope, because this is a big day for all of you, and I want to celebrate along with you. I wear white, which is the church’s color for feast. There are others here too that have special clothes.

Många av er har på sig sina finaste kläder idag. Andra har det inte. I en del fall är det svårt att avgöra – N har slips och kostym, vilket skulle kunna vara finkläder, men nog är närmast vardag för honom, eller hur?
Men oavsett hur vi är klädda, är det personen inuti som är viktig.

(Many of you have your finest clothes on today. Others have not. In some cases it's hard to tell - N has a suit and tie, which could be finery, but for him is almost every day wear, right?
But no matter how we are dressed, it's the person inside that is important.)

I could remove this cope and this surplice, and still be a priest, still be Maria.
N will still be N when he comes home tonight and takes off his tie.
And all of you guys will still be you when you are in your pj’s and go to bed.
Maybe even more you.

Våra kläder och uniformer säger något om vilka vi är och vilka vi vill vara, men innerst inne är det sanna jaget gömt. Även tjuven tar av sig sina svart-vitrandiga kläder och kramar sitt barn innan sängdags. Och det är där julens budskap kommer in. Vi önskar en massa saker, men glömmer ibland bort vad vi verkligen behöver – att bli sedda och uppskattade för de vi verkligen är.

(Our clothes and uniforms say something about who we are, and who we want to be, but deep inside the true self is hidden. Even the thief takes off his black and white striped clothes and hugs his child before bedtime. And that's where the message of Christmas comes in. We wish for a lot of things, but sometimes we forget what we really need - to be seen and appreciated for who we really are.)

So, this Christmas, I ask you to remember need instead of want. What do you need? What does your family and friends need? What does the stranger and the ones who have nothing need?
I don’t need this cope. But there is one baby here, who needs me to think of him, and thru him all the others without clothes or home. Today, I give my cope. Tomorrow, let’s all think of the ones without. Let’s think of need and want. And let’s remember that it’s the person and not the surface that matters in the end.

(took off my cope and put it over baby Jesus in the Nativity)

God Jul allihop!
Merry Christmas everybody!

Sermon on the 1st Sunday in Advent, 2008

(Zechariah 9:9-10, Romans 13:11-14, Matthew 21:1-9)

I will tell you a fable today. Do you know what a fable is? It's a fairytale, but with animals as protagonists, and usually it's about important things. Sometimes it can be about being helpful or humble. This fable is about hope.

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, an old donkey lived in a village. It was a pretty wise old donkey, who came from a long line of wise donkeys. And these donkeys were wise because they carried their wisdom on to their foals through stories. That way, their foals, got all their parents' wisdom, and added their own, each generation becoming more filled with stories and tales, thereby becoming wiser than the last.
Anyway, this donkey was telling her foal, who was actually a colt, almost grown, the story of her life. She was a really old donkey, and had had a rich and interesting life. But, the foal had, to be honest, heard many of the stories before, and actually thought his mother was repeating herself quite often, as many half-grown children often think of their parents.
But there was one story the colt loved to hear over and over again.
”Mom”, he said, ”please tell me the story of your first journey!”
The mother also thought it was the best story of all, and she told it happily.
”As you know, my son, I was not born here in Bethphage (that was the name of the village where they lived). As a matter of fact, I come from a village in the north, called Nazareth, in Galilee. There, the grass is always fresh and green, because there is a great lake there, and the grass, and the leaves are more fragrant there than anywhere else.”
The foal closed his eyes and tried to imagine the green grass and the water. He had never seen a lake, and tried to picture it in his mind. Maybe it was like a really big puddle.
”In Nazareth I lived with Anne and Joachim and their daughter Mary. My mother lived there too, and my grandmother. Our people were kind to us, they gave us good food and did not make us work too hard. Mary, especially, I liked a lot. She used to scratch me behind the ears.”
The foal smiled. He too loved to be scratched behind the ears.
”One day I was sent with Mary and one of the neighbor boys, Joseph, on a long journey. Mary was heavier than before, and at first I did not understand why. But after a while I found out that she was with child. Child, that's what humans call their foal.”
The colt laughed. Child...what a silly word!
”Only a short distance from here, in Bethlehem, the child was born. And what a child it was! I have seen many babies, both before and after that baby, but he was special. There was something about him. I was there when he was born, he was born in my stable! And I got to carry him to Egypt and all it's wonders, and I carried him back to Palestine after many years. And I tell you, my son, there has never been a human like him.”
And the son asked, as always:
”What was his name, mommy?”
”He is called Jesus.”
”And where did he go?”
”I do not know, my son. We lost touch. But I know we'll meet again. There is something about him, he is special. I long to see him again, I do. He is worth waiting for, of that I am sure.”
The colt shook his long donkey head. He had not lived for very long, but he had never met a human that was that special. Some of them were kind, yes, but to long for one? Unless, of course, there would be honey involved.
The spring sun warmed their backs as they were standing outside their master's house in Bethphage. All of a sudden, they heard noise. They looked in the direction of the sound, and saw two men approaching. To the donkeys' extreme surprise, the men untied them and led them away. They were so surprised, they did not even put up a fight, and if one knows how donkeys work, that must have been a great surprise indeed!
The men, who had kind eyes and soft hands, put their cloaks on the donkey and her foal. And then, the animals saw another man approaching. The donkey jolted, there was something about him...something familiar... When he put his hand on her muzzle, she remembered, she felt his scent. He also greeted her son, the colt. And when the donkey saw her son prance and dance with joy, she smiled.
”See? Did I not tell you he was worth waiting for?”
The man, who she now knew was Jesus, who she had carried as a baby, sat up on the colt. It was the first time the young donkey carried a human, and he moved ever so carefully. The donkey mother's heart swelled with pride.
Then she held her head up high, as much as a donkey can, and started walking towards Jerusalem. There were people everywhere, there was a din and a noise, and under her hooves she felt cloth and leaves. It felt like her son was carrying a king. He, a simple donkey from Bethphage! But the memory of the warmth of his hands and his smile erased every doubt. This was what she had been waiting for her whole life, What a story to tell!

The whole world has been waiting. The city of Jerusalem, also known as Zion, has been waiting. The donkeys, the sparrows, the bees, the cat fish and the snow leopards have all been waiting. The bluebells and the corn cobs have waited. And we have been waiting. We have waited for Jesus to come, with peace, and justice, and life for all. For him to come to us and make the world and nature whole again. The night is far gone, the day is near. Christ is coming, the Son of David, and at the beginning of each new church year, this day, hope is lit anew. One day the weapons of war shall be destroyed, one day terrorist acts and environmental distasters will end. He is worth waiting for and just like the donkeys in my fable, which might be true, we can carry that hope in our hearts. He will come back, in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest heaven!

Sermon on the 14th Sunday after Trinity (from the preaching conference)

John 17:18-23
As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them. And for their sakes I sanctify myself, so that they also may be sanctified in truth.
I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me, through their word, that they may be all one. As you, Father, are in me, and I in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me.
The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.
This is sustainment. This is nourishment. Knowing this makes it all alright.
But the hurt does not go away.

/Talk about different ways families can be dysfunctional…/

We are a family divided by centuries of hate, misunderstanding, greed and simple stupidity. We are siblings too hurt to talk, mothers and fathers absent. We are children abused by loss of hope.

So we bring our hurts with us. We carry our differences proudly, wear them like badges on our different robes and albs. Sometimes we write them with bold letters on our church bulletin boards, other times we badmouth each other all over the Internet. The Christian community. A family divided.
You know it all…/different ways to create/sustain differences/

For me, being Church of Sweden Lutheran, is so important, a decision so major in my life, that I cannot let go of that sense of rightness. I really do believe we got it right. How then do I meet another? How do I acknowledge her sense of rightness? How do I see sisterhood and not sibling rivalry?

And yet. Jesus tells us we should be one. Not as one. But to the world, we are not. And among ourselves, we find it so hard to acknowledge that unity.
How then can I say that this is nourishment?

Because Jesus tells me he loves me. And he tells me he has sent me into the world. Straight through centuries of editing and canonizing, Jesus talks to me. And just like he talks to me, he talks to you. Because we, sister, are one. One in the Spirit, one in vocation, one in womanhood and humanity. We breathe the same air.

This is not a text about ecumenism. It is a text about family.
It’s not about structures merging, it’s about breathing together, living together.

So there. This is sustainment. We are to become one, because the Lord God already is in us. We already are one, because Jesus loves us. And we are called to go out in the world.

So tell them this, sister, because these are the words of God, through you, the prophet:

I am your sister. I am your mother and daughter. I am in your wounded pride and your failings. I am in your dancing joy. I am the one that was and is and shall be. I am in you and all around. I am heaven and earth. And I join you together. I make you one in my image.
Because I love you with all of my heart, with all of my mind.
Know this. I am God. And I love you.

Tell them this, sister. You are the prophet. And we are one.