Seed Lottery: the Youth Sermon for Matthew 13: 1-9, 18-23

Sunday's Gospel reading was Matthew 13: 1-9, 18-23, the sower throwing seeds in every sort of landscape.  It's a reading that always takes me back to Godspell and the ways the wacky clown disciples acted out the parable.  

With a different set of kids, I might have suggested some improv instead of a youth sermon.  But the youth of Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee are not drama club kids, and I didn't want to put them on the spot like that.  So I created something different.

I usually invite the youth to come forward for the youth sermon, while the congregation sings.  Yesterday I invited them up to play "Seed Lottery."

I had created slips of cardstock, and on each slip, I wrote one of the types of ground:  "rocky ground," "a path where people walk," "a thorn patch," "a place with no sun,"  "ground with no rain," "ground where birds live," and "good soil with enough water and sun."  I had each youth draw a slip of cardstock, and then said we'd see which seed won the seed lottery.

They pointed to the one who drew that last slip.  I talked a bit about how the other growing spots might not be as bad as we think:  a bird can eat a seed and give it a chance to grow in a different place, complete with a bit of fertilizer (did every youth understand I was talking about poop?  who knows).

And then I concluded with the important piece:  God isn't running a seed lottery, with one clear winner and everyone else with lesser options.  God can take all sorts of situations, like rocky ground or thorns, and turn them into something good, something beyond our imagining.  

I was pleased with how it turned out.  My youth sermons are often just me chatting; I like mixing it up by doing something different.  Not every Gospel lends itself to something different, so I'm happy when they do--and happy when I can figure out a different approach while there is still time to do it.

Recording of Two Sermons for Sunday, June 7, 2026

Yesterday was a good day in worship at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  I preached on the true miracle that Jesus performs across the linked stories in the Gospel reading, Matthew  9:9-13, 18-26, the ability to rescue us from the living death of isolation--and it's a miracle we can perform too.

You can view the recording of the sermon here on my YouTube channel.  If you want to read along and see where I went off script, I posted the sermon manuscript in this blog post.

My spouse also captured the youth sermon, where I reminded the youth that like the father in the Gospel, God will never give up on us, even in death.  You can view it here on my YouTube channel.

Sunday and Salt

I was pleased with my sermon yesterday--it was a tighter composition than I'm always able to pull together.  And I feel like both sermons went well.  I preached on Matthew 5:  12-20, and I decided to focus on salt alone.  The believer as light metaphor is fairly easy to understand, and I feel like I've done that several times before.  But I didn't see any references to salt in my past sermons.

Yesterday morning, for the youth sermon, I made a big bowl of popcorn.  I left some of it unsalted and put it in sandwich bags.  I salted the rest and made more bags of popcorn.  

I'm not crazy about all the sandwich bags, but it's the easiest way for me to do my youth sermon on salt without getting popcorn all over the place, the way we would if I just passed around two big bowls.  Plus it minimizes germ spreading--no hands in the same bowl of popcorn.

As I divided the popcorn, I thought about seminary, about my Foundations of Preaching class.  In that class, we had a lot to do in a very short time, so I don't fault the professor for not talking about children's sermons much.  I'm glad that I'm old enough to have seen plenty of examples of both good and bad children's sermons through the years.

I did check with the parents before giving out popcorn--no allergies to popcorn or salt.  If I preach on this passage in the future, I might do the same for the adults.

To read a manuscript of my adult sermon, see this blog post.  To see the recording, I uploaded it here on my YouTube channel.

Recording of Sunday Sermon

Yesterday was a good day at church to celebrate the baptism of Jesus.  My youth sermon focused on God's message of being well-pleased with Jesus, even before he's done anything, which is so different from much of our experience in the world.  I put this idea in the context of going back to school.  It is likely the same youth sermon I preached last year, and it's a theme I return to periodically.  I am not worried about the repetition.  I want the youth to remember.

My adult sermon went in interesting directions.  I had the idea of ending with the monks walking for peace yesterday morning, the morning of the Sunday I was to preach the sermon.  That's not unusual for me; I often create the last paragraph the morning of the sermon.  But yesterday, it was a whole new page.  I was happy with it.  I referenced the picture below in the sermon, a picture posted by Sandra Cline, which she titled "Buddhist Monks with a Lutheran Monk."  It's a picture of the monks walking across the now-closed campus of LTSS, more commonly known as Southern Seminary:

The recording of my sermon is here, on my YouTube page.  The manuscript is in this post on my theology page.

Youth Sermon and Recording of Adult Sermon for January 5, 2026

Yesterday was a great day at church.  My sermon for adults went well, and more on that in a moment.  I was pleased with my youth sermon, which really pleased me, since I find the Gospel for the second Sunday of Christmas, John 1:  1-18, to be a tough one for adults and youth alike.

For the youth sermon, I talked about our experience playing Charades with my family, and I suggested we do a version of that for our youth time together.  I said, "Now don't worry.  I'm not going to make you act."  I suggested that we look at the church, so beautifully decorated for Christmas, and think about how we might act out "Jesus," if we had to act it out so that people would guess we were talking about Jesus.

One girl pointed to the top of the Chrismon tree, which is a crown in our congregation.  We also talked about the cross and the baby in a manger and bread and wine.  Because it's the one time that we have real flowers in the church (the poinsettias), I also talked about the Eastern Orthodox idea that we know and understand God, and therefore Jesus, in any part of creation or the natural world, like the poinsettias.

Then I got to the Gospel--would we act out "Word" for Jesus?  Are they similar?  I talked about the Greek idea of Logos, the way that Logos or Word or Jesus would be order instead of chaos.  It was a theme from my adult sermon too.

Overall, the youth sermon went well, as did the adult sermon, which talked about Logos and Legos and Pythagoras and order out of chaos, the words I prefer for light and darkness in the John passage, and I don't think that substitution does damage to the text.

I was glad that the recording of the sermon worked yesterday, even more so since my spouse stayed home to keep his cold germs to himself.  Some of the ideas in the sermon, like Pythagoras and the connection to Legos, came from him, and I'm glad that he could see it.

You can view the recording of the sermon here on my YouTube channel.  If you'd like to read along, the manuscript is in this post on my theology blog.

Sunday Sermons: Faith and Magical Powers

 My sermon for yesterday went well.  I wish I had a recording of my youth sermon to go with the recording of the adult sermon.  For the youth sermon, I gave them each mustard seeds and said I was sure that they had that much faith.  I said, "So, instead of going outside to move a tree with our faith, let's move this piano over to the baptismal font with just our faith alone."

I then crouched beside them in the aisle and said, "Ready?  Let's say it together:  'Move piano!' Ready?  Move piano!"

My voice was loudest, and I said, "Hmmm.  Does this mean we don't have enough faith?  Do I not have enough faith?  Do I need to go back to seminary?"  The youth shook their heads.  I then talked about faith not being a matter of magic powers.  I ended by talking about the time a few weeks ago when faith did move the piano--when a group of people stayed after church and moved the piano, and then the next week moved it back.  Faith in community can do marvelous things.

I did also acknowledge that I myself did not help move the piano--and that's what's great about community. We don't all have to have the same measure of faith to get things done.  Community can get things done that will seem like miracles to future generations.

In some ways, the adult sermon was much less dynamic.  But that's O.K.  I try to create the two sermons to go together, so that there's Good News for everyone, whether they prefer it in a youth sermon or a more cerebral adult sermon.

The recording of my sermon is here on my YouTube channel.

You can read the manuscript in this post on my theology blog.

A Children's Sermon on Wealth and Bigger Barns

For these Gospel texts on wealth, I've had some trouble figuring out a good approach for a children's sermon, which is actually a youth sermon.  I'm the Synod Appointed Minister at a small, country church.  I don't have a solid sense of how parents are training their children around issues of finance.  I don't know if they get an allowance or have some sort of small jobs for extra money.  I don't know if they're allowed to spend their money however they please.

I came up with an idea in the hour before church started.  I had wanted to do some sort of blessing for people who work in the school system, and I thought about having the youth bless those folks.  But that's only 2 people, and what if they didn't come to church?

For the youth sermon, the youth come to the first pew.  I told them the parable of the rich man who decided to tear down barns to build bigger ones to hold all of his bounty.  And then I said that Jesus says that's not the kind of wealth we should count on.  And I said I had a demonstration of a different kind of wealth.

I asked the people who work in the school system to stand up.  The two people did.  Then I asked the people who have a biological connection to the youth on the front pew to stand up. 

About half the congregation was standing by this point, and the youth were facing me in the front.  I asked the people in the congregation who had pledged to support these youth with love and prayers to stand up.  I said, "And that should be most of you, because that's what we pledged to do last week when we blessed the backpacks."

Everyone in the congregation but the two visitors were standing at this point, and I had the youth stand and look back at the people standing:  all these people who love these youth!  I pointed that out, and then I said, "And here is true wealth, the kind of wealth that matters, the kind you can count on."  It was a stunning visual reminder, and I hope that the youth remember it, in the days that will come when they don't feel as loved; most of our youth are in middle and high school, and I remember the unloved feeling that can come with those grades.

I was pleased with how the youth sermon unfolded and pleased that it was a slightly different approach than the adult sermon.  It doesn't always work out that way, and I'm always happy when it does.

And here's a bonus:  one of the parents of the youth wrote to me to tell me how much she loved the youth sermon.  Hurrah!

Epiphany 2025

I am one of those people who always checks the weather.  In part, it's because I want to make sure I'm dressed for whatever is coming, and in part, because I want to be prepared in other ways.  On Saturday, the church council president texted me to ask if I was concerned about the weather.  On Saturday, the weather service for Bristol, TN was forecasting the wintery mix to begin falling in the middle of the afternoon.  I thought we had plenty of time to clear out of town before that happened, and I wasn't too worried about travel across the mountains.  Plus I knew that the forecast for our side of the mountains didn't call for any moisture at all.

I had a great Sunday planned, and the energy in the church was wonderful.  The church was still decorated for Christmas, and during the children's sermon, I gave them each a fabric angel.  

We talked about how God speaks to us, through angel choirs and stars, and that the most important thing to remember is that if you hear a voice telling you that you're worthless, it's not God talking, but someone else.  If they remember nothing else from our time together, I hope they remember that one message that I bring up periodically.

Then I had the youth help pass out the Epiphany stars:

My sermon talked about our Christmas to Epiphany journey, how God spoke to people then and how God still speaks to people now.  I thought it went well.  You can view it for yourself and decide; it's posted here on my YouTube channel; you can also read a version in this post on this blog.

As we processed out to "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," I looked out the plate glass door to the church and realized it was snowing.  I wasn't really concerned, since it had just started.  

We had planned to take communion to a parishioner in the hospital on our way back, but I became more and more concerned about how rapidly the weather conditions were deteriorating.  So we decided to just keep pressing ahead.  We got onto I 81, and then I got really concerned about how the conditions were deteriorating, how much slush there was on the interstate, which had been treated with a de-icing agent, but was still slick in places, with icy rain/sleet/snow falling from the sky.

Happily, we were headed south, so even though we climbed in elevation to get across the mountain range, the wintry mix changed to rain.  We stopped at the welcome center on the NC/TN border to chip away at the ice that had formed on the windshield and wipers.  The whole front of the car was cased in ice, something neither one of us had ever seen before (and my spouse grew up in Indiana in the snowy 70's).

It took much longer than our usual commute home, but we made it home safely.  We made a stir fry and settled in to watch Street Gang:  How We Got to Sesame Street.  The documentary of the early days of Sesame Street was just what we needed for Epiphany Eve.  It was wonderful to be reminded of the magic that can happen when people are set free to experiment, to try something new, to see what happens.

And here we are, another Epiphany.  It makes me sad that for many people, this date will be associated with violent domestic attack on the U.S. Capitol, instead of a day of thinking about insights and new information.  Of course, the Epiphany story has always had a shadow side, a jealous ruler (Herod) and insecurity that leads to a bloodbath.

Today and every day, we would be wise to think of our own power, our own feelings of inadequacy, how we attempt to control the elements of our lives or how we don't.  We would be wise to think about all the strangers who show up to tell us of a different way, a different paradigm.  We would be wise to keep our eyes trained to larger vistas.

A Youth Sermon for All Saints

When I got to Faith Lutheran Church yesterday, I had one idea for the youth sermon.  I had a braided bread, and I was going to talk about how we're braided together with the people who came before us and the people will come after us.  And that was part of the youth sermon.

But when I got to the sacristy, I saw a basket of autumnal gourds, and I decided to enlarge the sermon.  I moved the basket to the piano that's in front of the pew where the youth come sit for the sermon:

We talked about saints and how we only hear about their good aspects.  But saints come in all varieties, like the gourds. I talked about Saint Paul, how if there had been no Paul, we probably wouldn't be here as Christians, that's how important he was to spreading the faith.  And yet, what did he do before God knocked him off his horse?

I was a little surprised that the kids didn't know.  But that's fine, I'm happy to be the one to break the news:  Paul was killing Christians.  I could see the surprise in their faces.

I talked a bit about the variety in gourds and how it's like the variety in humans--how glorious!  And then the braided bread, and then we were done.  I think it went well.

In fact, as with many days, I thought the youth sermon was better than the adult sermon.  Some weeks, that depresses me.  But most weeks, I'm grateful to have ideas for both, and I'm hopeful that one or the other speaks to the congregation.

Prayer Squares

Before we get too far away from Sunday, let me make a post about the prayer squares that I made for the youth on Sunday.

In some ways, it began 2 weeks ago, when I didn't want to create a children's sermon about the beheading of John the Baptist.  I decided to create a 3 week series on prayer practices that would culminate in the Blessing of the Backpack service.

Two weeks ago, I talked about prayers we already knew, like the Lord's Prayer.  On July 21, I came prepared with bags of beads and yarn and lanyard plastic.  I talked about prayer beads and rosaries and gave them each a sandwich bag of supplies to make their own set of prayer beads, and I talked about prayer being a friendship bracelet with God.

On July 28, I brought the prayer square that I got earlier this summer when I was at LTSS for the last onground intensive that would be held at Southern.  

I talked about the square reminding us that people are praying for us, along with threads so that we could add our own prayers, maybe with a knot to remind us, and to remind us of how prayer stitches communities together.

And then I offered the basket to have each youth pick a square, and we talked about ways they could be used.  I talked about the symbols they would see on the front and back of the squares:  life preservers, fish, lighthouses, and compass points.  Each square has long strands on each corner; they can be knotted or braided together or cut off the quilted square, if it was too distracting.

My spouse and I talked about whether or not any of our childhood churches had talked about prayer practices or other types of spiritual disciplines, and we couldn't remember much that was practical.  To be fair, we really couldn't remember much at all, and it is getting to be a long time ago.  In Confirmation class, we talked about the Ten Commandments and the Lord's Prayer and the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds, but we didn't spend much time thinking/talking about what it meant to our everyday lives.

I do realize that the children I encounter may not remember the tools I'm trying to give them, but that's O.K.  Hopefully they'll remember that there were adults along the way who stressed God's love for us and ways we could remember that love when the world doesn't always make it easy.

A House Divided: A Visual for the Children's Sermon

For yesterday's children's sermon, I thought about a variety of approaches, but went with one of the more obvious options offered by Mark 3: 20-35.  I decided to go with verse 25:  "And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand."

I thought about Lincoln Logs, creating a house that way.  But I don't have Lincoln Logs.  I know that there are probably people in the neighborhood who could hook me up, but I didn't want to spend time searching.  My spouse suggested that we do something with a chainsaw.

We experimented with the chainsaw, which led me to decide that we wouldn't actually use the chainsaw.  But it provides a great visual:

I had the children use their imaginations.  I stood the log up on the flat end, and I had us imagine it as a house.  We talked about how solid the log is.  I brought the unplugged chain saw over and said, "Now, what would happen if I cut right through this log?  Would it stay together?"  We agreed that it would not.

We talked about what the house represents when Jesus talked about it, about what happens when we work together as a group and when we don't.  We talked about how to know if someone is trying to get you to act in good faith or not.  I reminded them, as I try to do every week, that God loves them and wants them to flourish.

I think that it went well.  As with most Sundays, I think that the children's sermon went better than the adult's sermon, where I preached about Mary in the middle of her spiritual journey.  But overall, I was pleased with both sermons.  I like that between the two, everyone might hear the message that God needs them to hear.  Often my children's sermon has a visual or a hands-on element.  It's a different approach which I know can appeal to adults as well as children.

Metaphors for the Holy Trinity

Last year for Holy Trinity Sunday, I brought an extension cord, an electric tea kettle, and water for a demonstration for the children's sermon.  This year, we had something even better:  dry ice!

It wasn't my idea.  I've been afraid of dry ice since learning of its damaging qualities; my uncle was bullied by bigger kids holding him down and burning his stomach with a chunk of dry ice.  A Sunday School leader was much more bold than I, and she was up for a quest.  She arrived with dry ice in the cooler.

We had fun before church pouring water on the ice and moving our hands through the resulting steam.  The adults did discuss whether or not the youth would remember the larger lessons of the Triune God.  Who can say?

In some ways, the rest of the day was downhill.  It's hard to compete with dry ice.  I came prepared with a different metaphor:  braids of bread, the same dough with different add-ins (red hots, chocolate chips, and butterscotch chips), same essence/substance but different experiences.

At one point, I thought about having bread braids as part of the adult sermon too.  I thought about having the congregation pull the strands apart while we talked about the different ways we perceive the Divine.  In the end, I decided it would be too messy, for both youth and adults.  I decided that those who wanted to could take a loaf home with them.

I ended up with a lot of bread, and based on what was left, everyone who really wanted a loaf was able to take one home.  

Will congregation members remember the bread or will it inspire deeper thoughts about the Trinity?  I think about the words of Jesus in the Gospel for the day, John 3:  8:  “8The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

The Bread Braid of the Holy Trinity: A Sermon for Youth (and Adults?)

Last year, Trinity Sunday, the Sunday after Pentecost, was the first Sunday where I was the Synod Appointed Minister at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  I knew I needed to do a children's sermon, but I hadn't met any of them yet.  I thought about all the ways of explaining the idea of a Triune God.  I finally settled on water-ice-steam as a good demonstration (for more on last year's sermon, see this blog post).

I still think it was a good sermon and a good way to introduce myself to the youth and to the congregation.  It was more than just me droning on; although some of my youth sermons are just me, droning on, that wasn't the first impression I wanted to give.  But I no longer think it was as original as I might once have thought.

But maybe originality isn't the goal.  It certainly isn't this year.  This year, we'll be thinking about the Trinity as a braided community.  I thought about fabric, about something for everyone to take with them.  Then I thought about bread.  My church community seems to love the homemade bread that I bake and bring for communion, the youngest ones most of all.  And it's easy to make different colored bread dough.

I could make three different doughs:  pumpernickel, oat, and white/egg.  Or I could use food coloring for something dramatic.  I could have different flavorings, maybe made with chips like chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, and red hots--and those would also color the dough.

Three bread doughs, one substance--if I created a Systematic Theology, it would be anchored in bread dough.

Hearing Voices--Or Not--A Children's Sermon Success Story

 My day is quickly filling up as the various ends of semesters all come into sight.  But let me record a moment from yesterday's worship service at Faith Lutheran that went really well.

Yesterday's Gospel was John 10:  11-18, which talks about the sheep hearing the shepherd's voice.  For the youth sermon, I wanted to demonstrate how hard it can be to hear individual voices when there's so much noise, and how hard it can be to hear God's voice in the midst of all the noise.

Before the service started, I wrote statements on paper slips, like "Hey, sheep, come here and I'll make you a star."  "Hey, sheep, I can make you rich."  At a moment in the sermon, I orchestrated the adults in the background to say all their lines at once, and if they didn't have a line, they could say, "Hey, sheep, over here."  The youth would listen and try to decide which voice to follow.

I was surprised by what a cacophony happened when everyone spoke/shouted at once.  When I had the congregation stop, I asked the youth which voice they would follow, and then I asked if they could hear any individual voice.  They could not.

It worked beautifully to demonstrate my message.  And then, we were able to talk about how we hear God's voice:  in silence, in church, in songs, in reading, in being in community with people who want the best for you, in prayer.

I felt like my adult sermon went well too, and what makes me happier is that I was feeling very stymied on Saturday morning.  By evening, after much prayer and thought and writing and discussing with my spouse, I had two sermons that worked.

It won't always be that way, I know.  But I'm always grateful when inspiration comes, even if it's at the eleventh hour.

Children's Sermon for Baptism of Our Lord

Yesterday, I knew what I wanted to say in my children's sermon.  We had had a baptism on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, and for the children's sermon that day, I told the children that in about 6 weeks, we'd see Jesus get baptized and amazing things would happen.  

Yesterday we talked about the amazing thing, the skies opening up and a voice proclaiming love for Jesus as he got baptized.  We talked about how that didn't happen when we had the baby baptism back in November.  Or did it?

Well, no, the skies didn't open over our church.  If that had happened, we'd still be talking about it.  Like with Jesus--we're still talking about it.  And yet, God proclaims that same love for us, that love that Jesus heard.

I talked about Martin Luther and his idea of how we can remember our baptism whenever we wash our hands or wash our faces, whenever we're in contact with water.  I taught them what "Baptismo sum" means.

I ended with what I think is most important, that they'll hear many voices throughout their lives, and hopefully, some of those voices will tell you how wonderful you are and how much you are loved.  But there are lots of voices out there, even religious voices, who might tell you how God doesn't love you, at least not until you do certain things.

I told them that throughout their lives, if they hear a voice that tells them that they're worthless or that God doesn't love them, then that's not God's voice.  God will always proclaim love for us, and that's one way we can know that we're hearing guidance from God.

I feel fortunate in that I'm fairly sure that these children come from loving homes with parents and grandparents who won't object to my theology of God's deep love for us all.  I have heard of parents who use the idea of a punishing God to control children--those parents would not have liked my children's sermon.

After the service, as I changed out of my robe in the sacristy, I got positive feedback about both my sermon for the children and my sermon for the grown ups--both had the same message about God's love for us, about how humans are consumed with the idea of sin and improving ourselves, but God might not be.  We talked about the current time period we're living in, how hard it is to ignore the messages constantly bombarding us, messages that tell us how awful we are.  And those who are close to the worlds/lives of children know that they are not O.K.

I know that a children's sermon can't fix that--but hopefully week after week of positive messages about God will help us all withstand the poison beamed at us from other sources. 

Children's Sermon, Advent 3: Stay Alert for Stars

Yesterday, instead of giving a second children's sermon on John the Baptist, I skipped ahead to Epiphany, sort of.  I looked back to last Sunday's sermon about John the Baptist and talked about what points us to God.  

Sometimes what points us to God is something noisy, like John the Baptist.  I talked about angel choirs--if an angel choir appeared, that would be something obvious.  But often what points us to God is something quieter.  I passed out glow in the dark stars.  I'd gotten a box of 100 for about $6.00 for Amazon and divided them into sandwich bags.

I talked about the wise men who noticed a new star because they had been paying attention.  I said that it's easy to pay attention to what points us to God in a time of Advent--there's lots of beauty to remind us.  I gestured to the tree behind me.

But more often, we're going to have to be paying attention--and that's what our texts have been telling us, to stay alert, even when we don't have beautiful trees and lights to remind us.  I suggested that they take the stars and hang onto them, maybe keep them in a pocket or by their bed, where maybe they'll glow in the dark, and remember to keep watch for God at work in the world.

After the service, we stayed to help decorate the church for next Sunday; we are doing one service at 2 p.m.  One of the children's mothers told me how much she loves the children's sermons that I do and how her daughter loves them too and finds so much richness in them.  It is a moment I will treasure--I feel less sure about my children's sermons than other elements of being a minister.  I like the children's sermons that I give, but I've never had formal education in children's intellectual and moral development, so I don't know if they're at the correct level.  This encounter helped me think that maybe I'm doing OK.

Advent Eve

I have ordered some Happy New Year headbands for the children's sermon tomorrow.  It's a good time to talk about how the lectionary year works and to think about all the ways a new year can work and not work (but I'll probably talk about how it does work).

It's a strange Advent this year.  It starts very late, because the 4th Sunday in Advent is also Christmas Eve--my least favorite way of having Advent and Christmas Eve.  At the church where I serve, we will have a 2 p.m. service, and I'm fine with that.

Once I would not have been; I would have been insistent that we must have Advent 4 in the morning and Christmas Eve later in the day.  I have always loved a Christmas Eve evening service, so that candles look more beautiful, but I am aware of how many people are not going to be able to join us at night.  These days, I may be that person myself.  My night vision is not what is used to be.

It's also a strange Advent because we're at that time in the lectionary cycle where we have more John the Baptist and apocalypse than other years.  When I thought of being a SAM and leading the church through Advent, I had forgotten about this set of readings.  But given the world events, I think I'm up to the task.

In some ways, it feels like Advent has already started, the way that it usually does, with the Sunday after Thanksgiving, or even earlier.  I wonder if that could be a starting point for a sermon?  

As you can see, I'm still not ready with sermons for tomorrow, either the children's sermon or the adult sermon.  Let me go for a walk and ponder it all.

Children's Sermon for a Baptism Sunday

I am a Synod Appointed Minister at Faith Lutheran, a small country church near Bristol, Tennessee.  When I look at the population who comes to church each Sunday, I don't anticipate many baptisms or weddings; it's an older population for the most part.  But there are 5-9 children every Sunday, mostly grandchildren of members.  

We did have a baptism on Sunday--we baptized the grandchild/great grandchild of family members who attend.  The parents live in Nashville and were in town for the week-end.  Back in early autumn (late September?  early October?) the church members asked if I could do a baptism, and I treasured the look of joy on their faces when I said yes.  We began to plan for a baptism on the Sunday of Thanksgiving week-end.

I offer a children's sermon every week, so I didn't want to let this opportunity pass.  I knew that this baptism might be the only one the children see.  My sermon talked a bit about sacraments, in a less mystical way than I might have presented the ideas to adults; as I reflect on it now, I realize that children might be able to grasp the mystical ways in a more capable way than most adults.

I wanted to talk about the other aspect of baptism in the Lutheran (ELCA) church--that we're making promises that later the child will decide to continue with or not.  I also talked about the fact that we as a congregation are making promises too--we will promise to support the child and pray for our new sibling in Christ.

I had a family tree chart that my mom made for our September family reunion.  I saved it and brought it to our smaller family reunion at Thanksgiving.  I showed them the chart and added my name to it and Stephen's name to it--he and I are people they know, and we are part of this family tree as the generation goes on.  I added our names on sticky notes.

Then I talked about the Christian family--imagine a family tree that contained the name of every baptized Christian.  Imagine how we are all connected.  We are individuals in different times, and yet our baptism connects us.

I could have done more, of course.  There's the interconnectedness of literal trees through root systems and the fungi that support them.  There are ways that older trees protect younger trees (for more on this fascinating research, read this article from Smithsonian Magazine).  There's always more I could have done and so much church history that I always decide not to include.

I think it worked well, but I often think that.  It's a sobering fact of both teaching and being a minister that I will rarely know whether or not I've been successful in what I hope I am passing on to others.  But I'm also aware that this preaching and teaching feeds my soul too; I'm lucky to be able to do it.

Marshmallows and the Parable of the Talents

Yesterday's Gospel was the Parable of the Talents in Matthew (Matthew 25: 14-30).  It's not the best parable for a children's sermon.  I've had more luck with parables about seeds or yeast.  My spouse came up with a good approach for yesterday's sermon.

It started with inspiration from a fellow seminarian who mentioned the experiment with marshmallows and children, which you may remember from Psychology or Early Childhood Ed classes.  Give a child a marshmallow, tell them that they will get another marshmallow if they don't eat it until a deadline in the future, and see who has impulse control.

We had a bag of marshmallows left over from last Sunday's Harvest Festival at the neighborhood lake, so we divided them into bags that held 1 marshmallow, 5 marshmallows, and 10 marshmallows.  I gave each child a bag with one marshmallow.  I told them that they could keep the one marshmallow--but what if they had a chance to win 5 additional marshmallows if they called a coin toss correctly?  If they knew they would chance losing the marshmallow, would they place the bet?  Would the chance to win 10 marshmallows make a difference?

I decided not to actually do the coin toss--gambling and church groups don't always go together.  I talked about the God of abundance who doesn't require us to give up our marshmallows but does encourage sharing.  And even though we might question the wisdom of sharing, because then we'd have even fewer marshmallows, God will multiply abundance in ways we can't even imagine.

It doesn't exactly fit the message of the parable--and I did try to make some connections to the parable--but I think it worked well as a children's sermon.

Foolish and Wise Virgins, Apples and Guests of Honor

Yesterday's lectionary gave us Matthew 25:  1-13, the parable of the foolish virgins and the wise virgins, the lamp oil and the late bridegroom (late as in not on time, not late as in dead).  I was not preaching the adult sermon yesterday--we had a pastor staff member visiting from the Southeastern Synod, and he took the adult sermon.

I wasn't sure how to approach the parable--I didn't want to discuss marriage customs in times of antiquity in a children's sermon.  I decided to talk about the strangeness of the parable, but to do it from a bit of an angle.  I gave each child an apple, a real apple, with the instructions not to eat it.

I said that we would each need to have an apple for a party that we were going to have, that the guest of honor wasn't here yet, and that the guest of honor would want us each to have an apple.  Now what happens if this half of the group eats their apples?  What should the people with apples do?

We talked about the possibilities, and we started with the most obvious:  the people with apples should share their apples.  Isn't that what Jesus has been telling us to do, week after week?  But that's not what this parable says.  

What are our other options?  The ones who ate their apples could go buy more apples.  And that's what the parable tells us happens.  And what's the risk?  That the guest of honor comes while they're gone--yup, that's what happens.  The door is locked, the party goes on inside, and the ones who ate their apples are out of luck.

It's a strange parable.  It seems so different from what Jesus preaches in other times, that there's enough, that God will give us what we need, that it's safe to share.  Jesus is telling us a different message, that we need to stay awake and alert, because we don't know what will be required.  We've got our apples, which can represent our spiritual strengths, and we should conserve them.

It's not a perfect approach to the parable, but I'm pleased with how it went.