We Are the Saints of the Present

Today, I’m going to try to do something that I rarely do.

I’m going to try to weave together all three readings and connect them to this All Saints’ Day.

I usually focus entirely on the gospel.

It is, after all, the good news that we come to hear.

Today, we have a lesson from Habakkuk, a book we rarely read.

Technically speaking, we wouldn’t have had one today either, but I decided to go with the alternate reading.

Habakkuk is one of the so-called minor prophets.

The tradition comes, not from Israel in exile like many of the prophetic writings, but from a time when Israel was a sovereign nation.

Habakkuk is wrestling with a question we can all identify with: why does God allow evil and injustice in the world?

Habakkuk laments about oppression, injustice, and tyranny.

He shouts, “Outrage and violence—this is all I see!”

Sound familiar?

God’s response is that the Kin-dom is coming.

God says, “If it is slow in coming, wait for it—for come it will, without fail”.

It is a promise that we hear Jesus echo in Matthew 4:17, “Change your hearts and minds, for the Kin-dom of heaven is at hand!”

We trust in that promise but that doesn’t mean that we don’t lament what is almost but not yet.

We lament that children will go hungry because SNAP benefits are discontinued.

We lament that attacks on our transgender siblings continue to mount.

We lament that some of our neighbors are being harassed, beaten, detained, and deported—not because they are criminals but simply because they are black- or brown-skinned. We have learned that some are even citizens but that hasn’t been enough to protect them.

We lament that our military is being used to police civilians and commit criminal acts in international waters.

We lament that environmental protections are being rolled back to generate profits for corporations.

We lament that a resumption of nuclear weapons testing is being considered.

God, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

Say it with me. Dilo conmigo.

Dios, ten piedad.

Cristo, ten piedad.

We trust in God.

That is our faith.

But, God have mercy, sometimes it is hard.

It can be hard for us to carry on in the face of so much despair.

So how do we do it?

We rejoice in being beloved children of God.

That seems counterintuitive but we have to find joy, despite the despair.

We have to seize the unconditional love that we receive from God.

We have to let that love fill us up to overflowing.

And we have to reflect that love out into the world—share it with all of our human siblings.

Somos hijos amados de Dios.

Necesitamos reconocer nuestro amor.

Necesitamos dejar que el amor de Dios nos llene por completo.

Y entonces, necesitamos compartir ese amor con el mundo.

In today’s second reading, the author tells us that as our faith grows, our love for each other increases.

That sums up our Christian mission in the world.

As we grow in faith, we claim our belovedness.

We open ourselves up to God’s presence in the world.

We acknowledge the belovedness of our human siblings.

We open ourselves up to the divine presence in our siblings.

Our love for the world increases.

And our willingness to accept pain and cruelty decreases.

The author of 2 Thessalonians says that God will make us worthy of God’s call to do the work of the Kin-dom.

God will fulfill our desires for goodness, lifting our despair about the evil and injustice in the world.

And God will empower to do the work that is needed.

So, what has this to do with Zacchaeus?

Zacchaeus was a tax collector—a Roman collaborator, traitor to his people, and universally hated.

Well, almost universally.

Jesus saw this short man, easy to overlook.

He saw the tax collector, hated and ostracized by his community.

Zacchaeus climbed a tree, desperate to see this great teacher that he had heard so much about.

But the important part of this story is not Zacchaeus seeing Jesus.

It’s Jesus seeing Zacchaeus.

Despite his stature, despite his collaboration with the oppressors, despite his being an outcast, Jesus saw him.

And not only saw him but invited him.

He invited Zacchaeus to be his host.

There is a lesson in there for us.

When we struggle to claim our belovedness—that knowledge that we are loved by God unconditionally.

Called by name and claimed as God’s own.

When we are overcome by the evil in the world and the cruelty we inflict on one another, remember Zacchaeus¬—a hated tax collector who was excluded from his community.

Zacchaeus—who Jesus saw and welcomed in.

Zacchaeus—whose salvation Jesus proclaimed.

Because we are Zacchaeus.

It doesn’t matter if we’re overlooked.

It doesn’t matter if we are disliked.

It doesn’t matter if our community doesn’t accept us.

Because Jesus sees us.

Jesus loves us.

Jesus calls us by name and claims us as his own.

Jesús nos ama.

Jesús nos llama por nuestro nombre y nos reclama como suyos.

Jesus challenges us to do the work of the Kin-dom.

To love one another.

To feed people who are hungry.

To welcome the stranger.

To help every person that feels excluded or doubts their worth—to help them to claim and embrace their belovedness.

On All Saints’ Day, we tend to focus our attention on the saints that have gone before us—all the faithful people who have done the work of the Kin-dom and now rest from their labors.

In our Lutheran tradition, the “great cloud of witnesses” includes all saints: past, present, and future.

Recordamos y honramos a los santos del pasado.

Pero debemos asumir nuestro papel como santos del presente.

Dios nos ha llamado dignos.

Dios nos ha capacitado para realizar la obra del Reino.

We remember and honor the saints of the past.

And, although we are also sinners, we must step up and into our role as saints of the present.

God has called us worthy.

God has empowered us to do the work of the Kin-dom

To love one another.

To include those who have been excluded.

To let the love of God fill us up to overflowing.

And then to share that love with the world.

Gratefully.

Joyfully.

And may our example—with the work of the Spirit—help us to form the saints of the future.

Amen.

May this contemplation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus.

Amen.

We Are Beloved

Today’s gospel seems pretty straightforward.

There’s only 2 people in Jesus’ parable.

One is a Pharisee—a devout Jew, who has dedicated his life to following Torah—God’s Law.

The other is a tax collector—a Roman collaborator—a traitor who cooperates in the oppression of his own people.

In Jesus’ first-century context, there are fewer clearcut examples of good guy versus bad guy.

Pharisees, if not loved, they were at least respected.

Tax collectors were universally hated.

But, in a twist from the audience’s expectation, the bad guy comes out looking better than the good guy.

How does that happen?

The simplest explanation is that being judgmental casts us in a bad light.

It’s not that the Pharisee is wrong.

He is a righteous man.

He does the things he is supposed to.

He follows the law.

He fasts.

He tithes.

But he also judges.

And judgment is reserved for God.

So, in judging the tax collector, he assumes the role of God and that hubris offsets his righteousness.

It prevents him from being in right relationship with God.

The tax collector, in contrast, is humble before God.

He acknowledges his sinfulness and asks for mercy.

And, in so doing, he returns home in right relationship with God.

So, the simplest interpretation is that we should not judge, and we should be humble.

But, if we’ve learned anything about parables, it‘s that simple interpretations are rarely the only ones.

If the only message we take away from the parable is that we shouldn’t judge and we should be humble before God, we are prone falling into the same trap as the Pharisee.

If we hear the parable and say, “Thank God, I’m not judgmental like that Pharisee”—guess what?

We’re like that Pharisee.

If we mentally tick off all the wonderful things that we do that make us better than others—we’re like that Pharisee.

You see, if we take the lesson that we’re not to judge others to heart—that the responsibility for judgment rests solely with God—then we can’t say to ourselves, “Thank God I’m not like that Pharisee” because as soon as we do, guess what?

We’re just like the Pharisee.

There is also a subliminal message in the Pharisee’s dialog that is important for us to acknowledge.

The Pharisee talks about fasting and tithing.

He implies that our right relationship with God depends on what we do.

To be sure, fasting and tithing are good.

They are things that we should be doing.

But being in right relationship with God—our redemption and our reconciliation—depends solely on God’s grace.

Jesus did not die in order for us to be loved by God.

Jesus died BECAUSE we are loved by God.

And we are not loved for WHAT we do.

We are loved because of WHO WE ARE.

We are beloved children of God.

Children who God calls by name.

And children who God claims as God’s own.

The other problem in the Pharisee’s dialog is that he sets himself apart from the tax collector.

When we set ourselves apart—when we compare ourselves to others—our value becomes relative.

Think of all the ways we do this on a day-to-day basis.

I go to church every week.

I volunteer two days a week at the food pantry.

I went to the No Kings demonstration.

I support marriage equality.

I donate to Lutheran Disaster Relief.

Those statements all sound simple.

But whether we say it out loud or just think it, there is an implied comparison.

I go to church and he doesn’t.

I volunteer and she doesn’t.

I donate and they don’t.

And that comparison is a trap.

You see, someone can always do more or give more.

When our value is relative, we can always be outdone.

But because God’s love for us is unconditional and infinite—in God’s eyes—our value is absolute.

We are beloved—full stop.

No comparison is necessary—or even possible.

The final point about today’s parable is that the Pharisee leaves the story the same as he enters it.

He was righteous and law-abiding going in.

And he was righteous and law-abiding going out.

But Jesus said when he went home, he was not right with God.

The tax collector, though—the tax collector is changed.

He came in a sinner.

He humbled himself before God and asked for mercy.

And, in so doing, Jesus says that he is raised up—he is exalted.

The tax collector came in as a sinner, and he went home right with God.

That is a life-changing transformation.

We talk a lot about the transformational power of faith—the ability for us to be changed by our relationship with God.

When we are in right relationship with God, our actions in the world are BECAUSE we are recipients of God’s unconditional love.

We react in gratitude.

We love because we are loved.

When we are not in right relationship with God, our actions in the world are FOR God’s love.

We are trying to earn something that is already ours.

We are already beloved.

If we act in anticipation of reward, our hearts are not open to transformation.

When we act out of love—the love that we first received from God—then, we will find ourselves changed.

We will know what it means to be blessed to be a blessing.

So, what does this all mean in relation to Reformation Sunday and our welcoming a new member into this congregation?

How this applies to the Reformation is fairly simple.

One of the issues Martin Luther raised in the 95 Theses was the sale of indulgences.

An indulgence was a grant that people could purchase to offset their sins or the sin of a family member.

The church was telling people that there was something they could DO to become right with God.

If you really want to force the metaphor, the pope was like the Pharisee.

The pope said, “if you buy this indulgence, you will be right with God”—similar to the Pharisee thinking that his fasting and his tithing could do that.

Martin Luther was saying, “no, we need to be like the tax collector—humble before God and asking for mercy”

We receive mercy, not because of anything WE can do, but because of who God is.

And because we are beloved.

Today, we welcome James and Fernando as members of this congregation.

The idea of membership may seem counter to the point of the parable.

Because, by making someone a member, we are setting them apart, right?

We are saying that they are a member and other people are not.

I confess, until I was writing this sermon, I thought about it that way.

But that is not how we should think about membership.

Membership is not about setting apart.

Membership is about welcoming in.

It is not about singling out.

It is about including in the whole.

By becoming members, we are saying James and Fernando are parts of this Body of Christ.

With all their gifts—and their imperfections.

We are saying we recognize their gifts—and their imperfections.

As we ask them to recognize ours.

And in that recognition, we acknowledge the image of God in one another.

We say to one another, “your value is absolute—no more or less than anyone else’s”.

We are children of God—beloved by our creator—warts and all.

God calls us each by name and claims us for God’s own.

And isn’t that just a miracle?

We are beloved.

And we are forgiven.

Thanks be to God!

May this contemplation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Wrestle the Questions

One of the things we talk about frequently in Bible Study is how Scripture came into being.

All of Scripture started as oral tradition—stories told around tables and campfires.

At some point—decades or centuries after the events happened—those stories were written down.

In the case of the Hebrew Bible—the preferred language for what was formerly known as the Old Testament—it was written down in Hebrew or Aramaic.

In the case of the New Testament, it was written down in Greek.

Then those written words were translated into Latin, German, and English—as well as every other language imaginable.

That is part of the reason why Lutherans are not Biblical literalists.

Because, like the children’s game of telephone, there are lots of opportunities for the stories to change.

On top of the stories being passed down from generation to generation and then being translated from one language to another, there is the impact of bias.

Every Bible story has a historical and cultural context.

For example, women and children were viewed as property in ancient Israel.

Our current culture does not hold that same view so we must be careful when interpreting storis involving women and children because our context differs greatly from the context in which those stories were first told.

Every Bible story also contains the bias of the author.

Paul was a Pharisee that had an experience of Jesus that profoundly affected his life.

All his writings reflect that.

And we, as readers, bring our own biases.

Some read the story of Abraham nearly sacrificing his son Isaac as an inspirational story about faithfulness and obedience to God.

Others read it as a disturbing example of the dangers of blindly following orders.

The point is that, while we believe that the Bible is the divinely inspired word of God, there are many layers of human understanding that have been superimposed on it.

Now, the reason I started out with that mini-lesson on biblical interpretation, is partly because the Bible Study group thought it was worth sharing on a Sunday morning.

Because understanding why we aren’t biblical literalists is important.

And, recognizing that simply by reading Scripture, we bring our own biases to the text, is also important.

This morning’s first lesson is about Jacob wrestling with God.

It’s an interesting story.

But I believe it becomes more relevant and speaks more to our current experience when we think about it more abstractly.

We are constantly wrestling.

We wrestle with our faith.

Particularly when faced with Scripture that conflicts with our worldview, we ask ourselves, “what do I really believe?”

When it comes to faith, most people prefer absolutes.

Absolutes are easy.

You don’t have to wrestle with messy issues and look at them from a variety of perspectives.

We want easy answers.

Not complex solutions that require investigation and soul searching.

That doesn’t make us bad people.

It just makes us human.

We wrestle with what it means to be a Christian in these times.

To be Christ-like, we have to dive deeply into our own feelings about property and stewardship.

We say we understand that all we have is a gift from God, given to us to steward.

But if we really believed that we would constantly be asking ourselves, “what would God want me to spend my time, talent, and treasure on?”

To be Christ-like, we have to dive deeply into our own feelings about who is our neighbor.

Because too often, if we’re being really honest with ourselves, our definition of neighbor is about proximity.

It’s about who is in our community.

But Jesus’ definition of neighbor is much broader.

Jesus defines neighbor through a moral lens.

Our neighbors are the widow and the orphan and the stranger.

Our neighbors are the people who need us most.

Our neighbors are the oppressed and the marginalized.

Our neighbors are the people who are poor and low-income.

People who are hungry.

People who don’t have stable housing.

We all know that the need is greater than our capability, so the wrestling continues.

Are we doing enough?

Are we prioritizing the right ministries?

And perhaps the toughest issue that we wrestle with: “how do we remain hopeful during dark times?”

Fortunately, for that, we actually have an answer.

Because, for us Christians, hope is not about blind optimism.

Hope is about faith—and trust in God.

In today’s gospel, the widow keeps petitioning the judge until she prevails.

Traditionally, the parable has been interpreted as the importance of persistence in prayer.

That is certainly an important lesson—and the prelude to the parable tells us as much.

But as you all ought to know by now, I like to twist and turn parables to try to uncover hidden meaning.

Instead of looking at the judge as God, what if we looked at the widow?

Don’t we often find God guiding us to do something, but we resist?

God tells us over and over—through Scripture and through Jesus—to love our neighbor.

But we resist.

We don’t listen.

We make excuses.

But God is not deterred.

Like the widow, God is seeking justice.

The prophet Amos tell us, “let justice roll down like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

God seeks justice—for everyone.

But especially those who are poor and marginalized and oppressed.

God keeps coming at us—will keep coming at us—urging us toward justice.

Until we relent.

Until we love our neighbors as ourselves.

Until we welcome God’s justice.

Until we embrace the Kin-dom.

So, as you go about your business this week, do your own wrestling.

Ask yourself the hard questions.

What is God’s justice?

What am I being called to do?

Am I loving my neighbor?

And not just the person next door but all the people that Jesus would say is our neighbor.

Am I showing my love for God by obeying the command to love my neighbor?

Am I doing enough?

These are personal question that I can’t answer for you.

I have to answer them for myself.

And YOU need to wrestle with those issues YOURself.

And may that wrestling be fruitful.

Because faith is like a muscle.

And wrestling is exercise.

As we wrestle with complex issues is difficult times, may our faith grow stronger.

May this contemplation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Loving the Outcast Back into Community

Today’s lessons include two stories about lepers.

I think it’s somewhat difficult for us to understand what it was like for lepers in biblical times.

First, because we have a better understanding of the causes of disease and routes of transmission.

And second, we have, to a certain extent, abandoned the concept of ritual purity and the need to banish people designated as “unclean”.

Because of this, we might miss the fact that leprosy was more than just a painful and disfiguring disease.

It also removed people from their communities.

Naaman appears to be somewhat immune to isolation, presumably because of his power and his standing in the community.

But, for the vast majority of lepers, the disease meant not only illness but also exile.

So, being healed of leprosy meant not only a physical elimination of disease but also a restoration to community.

Even the significance of that is hard for us to understand because we are culturally conditioned to value the individual over the community.

I think we can get a flavor of it by thinking back to the height of the pandemic when we were socially isolating.

We wanted to be with each other in church, but we were forced to stay in our homes.

Some of us gathered online.

But others didn’t—or couldn’t.

But, for most of us, the online worship experience paled in comparison to being together in person.

Magnify that feeling of disappointment until it is heartache and we can begin to understand the feeling of being ostracized.

So, leprosy was not only a disease of the body.

It touched the mind and the spirit.

And being healed of leprosy, not only cured the body but also restored the mind and the spirit.

Everyone knows that St. Francis had a love of animals.

We talked about it last week.

Our blessing of the animals coincides with the feast of St. Francis.

There are garden statues of St. Francis surrounded by animals as well as St. Francis bird baths and bird feeders.

But there is a lesser-known story about St. Francis—and that is that he had an affinity for lepers.

The story goes that St. Francis had a fear and abhorrence of lepers.

However, one day, he met a man afflicted with leprosy while riding his horse near Assisi.

Though the sight of the leper filled him with horror and disgust, Francis got off his horse and kissed him.

Then the leper put out his hand, hoping to receive something.

Out of compassion, Francis gave money to the leper.

But when Francis mounted his horse again and looked all around, he could not see the leper anywhere.

It dawned on him that it was Jesus whom he had just kissed.

Francis had an experience of what Jesus said in chapter 25 of the gospel of Matthew:

“The truth is, every time you did this for the least of my siblings, you did it for me.”

While Francis didn’t cure the disease, he did soothe the leper’s mind and spirit.

Francis recognized the image of God in the leper.

He acknowledged his sibling—a fellow child of God.

And thus began the ministry of Franciscans to lepers

While today’s lessons are powerful stories about miraculous healing and experiences of the divine, I believe that it may be more useful for us to look at them as metaphorical.

In our context, I believe it is valuable to look at lepers—a community that we thankfully no longer have—as some of the marginalized groups that we do have.

On this Indigenous Peoples Sunday, it seems appropriate to consider indigenous people.

White European settlers committed genocide.

That’s an ugly truth many would prefer not to face.

And the indigenous people that we didn’t kill—we pushed out of their ancestral homes and exiled to reservations.

To this day, indigenous people confined to reservations experience the highest rates of unemployment, substance abuse, domestic violence, and suicide.

In the current political climate, it also seems appropriate to look at the treatment of immigrants and trans people.

White Christian Nationalists vilify them—blame them for every ill of society.

And now, immigrants are being rounded up—without due process, separated from their families, detained under inhumane conditions, and deported—sometimes into dangerous situations in countries to which they have no connection.

Transgender people are being threatened with being characterized as Nihilistic Violent Extremists.

There are already states where they cannot access gender-affirming healthcare.

They are feeling increasingly unsafe in their own country, and many are developing exit strategies—emergency plans to leave the country quickly should the risk to their families suddenly increase.

If ever there was a time for us to ask ourselves, “what would Jesus do?”, this has to be it.

Good God almighty is there any doubt amongst you that Jesus would opt for compassion?

For recognizing the image of God in every human being?

For including, rather than excluding?

For restoring people to their families and their communities?

The sad truth my friends is that we can almost excuse first century Jews for excluding lepers because they didn’t know how the disease was transmitted.

Excluding lepers from society was seen as a way to protect the community—to prevent the spread of a disease for which there was no known cure.

It was ignorant but it wasn’t malicious.

Committing genocide, exiling indigenous people, deporting innocent immigrants, and painting trans people as dangerous is evil.

They are the actions of empire—pure and simple.

The actions of a powerful minority trying desperately to maintain status quo.

They are not actions that bring us any closer to the Kin-dom—quite the opposite.

They are actions wholly inconsistent with the Way of Jesus.

So, where do we go from here?

What does looking at the two stories about lepers have to tell us about our world and our time?

Earlier, I mentioned St. Francis and his affinity for lepers.

In his Testament, Francis wrote, “When I was in sin, the sight of lepers nauseated me beyond measure; but then God himself led me into their company, and I had pity on them.

When I became acquainted with them, what had previously nauseated me became the source of spiritual and physical consolation for me.”

St. Francis repented of his fear and his hatred.

He had compassion.

Because he saw the image of God in the lepers.

Because he knew Jesus told us, “every time you do for the least of these, you do for me.”

Because loving the lepers became a spiritual practice for him.

It became how he journeyed on the Way of Jesus.

That, I believe is the lesson for us today.

We are called by God to let go of our fear and our hatred.

And, for those of us who the ones being feared and hated—who think we have nothing to let go of—think again.

Every oppressor is themselves oppressed.

They are oppressed by their fear and their hatred.

We can hate their actions and their behavior and their rhetoric.

But they too are beloved children of God—as hard as that may be for us to admit.

No one is beyond redemption.

Everyone is a recipient of God’s abundant grace.

Because every human being is loved unconditionally by God.

Called by name.

And claimed as God’s own.

While loving someone that spews hate or commits evil is hard, it is the example set for us by Jesus.

There is a popular meme floating around the internet that says, “The test of being Christian isn’t loving Jesus, it’s loving Judas.”

There’s so much truth in that.

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.

Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

Those are words of wisdom for us.

May we always fight for justice in our pursuit of the Kin-dom.

But ALWAYS with love in our hearts.

Because love is the ultimate power.

And only love can drive out hate.

Only love can achieve true justice.

Only love can provide shalom—the wholeness and abiding peace promised to us by God.

May this contemplation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

The Many Gifts of Creation

Today winds up the Season of Creation.

So, I thought I’d spend this time weaving together three themes.

First, how creation is a precious gift, especially those animals with whom we share our hearts and our homes.

Second, how caring for creation is a sacred responsibility.

And third, how stewardship of creation relates to the second of my Franciscan vows: Chastity.

Today’s first lesson is the story of creation from Genesis.

It’s a beautiful story told from two perspectives.

In the first, the spirit of God moves over the face of the waters.

God speaks creation into being.

It is the version that today’s first lesson comes from.

It is an example of the theological concept of God’s transcendence—that God is supernatural and exists outside our world.

In the second version, from Gensis chapter 2, God gets God’s hands dirty.

God forms the “adam”—Hebrew for “of the earth”—from the ground.

And then God breathes life into the mud creature.

In chapter 3, God walks in the garden, looking for the man and his wife.

This is an example of the theological concept of God’s immanence—that God is present in creation and exists in our world.

Creation is a gift because it helps us to understand this dual nature of God.

This idea of transcendence and immanence may not seem important.

It may seem like something that only theologians care about.

But it’s actually critical to our understanding of not only God, but also our sacraments.

Transcendence explains why God is often hidden to us—why God is beyond our perception.

Transcendence also explains why God is not limited by the physical constraints of the universe.

Immanence explains those times when we experience God—whether it is feeling God’s presence in creation or feeling Jesus holding your hand in the hospital before major surgery.

Immanence explains why God chose to become incarnate in Jesus—to live among us and experience what it is to be human.

Immanence takes the abstract concept of a deity and makes it real for us.

And that duality of transcendence and immanence extends to the sacraments.

Take Communion.

The bread and the wine are immanent.

They are tangible.

We can experience them with our senses.

We can see and touch and taste them.

The body and blood are transcendent.

Their presence is supernatural.

They exist “in, with, and under” the bread and the wine.

The bread and the wine are of creation.

The body and blood are of God.

Immanent and transcendent—both/and.

Without the immanence of the bread and the wine, we couldn’t experience Communion.

Without the transcendence of the body and blood, Communion would be just another ritual—devoid of the supreme significance that we assign to it.

So, creation is a gift because it helps us to understand the nature of God.

But creation is also a gift because it enhances our lives.

Creation inspires us with beauty and with hope.

Yesterday, we had our first Divine Encounter at Davidson’s Mill Pond Park.

Earlier in the week, I walked a few trails in the park to scout the location.

As I was walking, I came upon this area of woods where there was a very large and very noisy flock of grackles.

I imagine it is a sound that would have driven Tippi Hedren to madness—if you don’t get the reference, ask me about it after church.

But it wasn’t the grackles that caught my attention.

It was the undercurrent that was beneath the cacophony.

It was the knock, knock of a red-bellied woodpecker searching for a meal in a dead tree.

It was the screech of a blue jay.

It was the occasional soft thud of an acorn hitting the ground—seeking soil with the promise of a mighty oak contained within its hard shell.

The word that best describes my experience is glorious.

God was present in those woods, and I basked in God’s immanence.

And our pets are a very special part of creation.

They are animals that we open our hearts and our homes to.

Our pets also teach us something about the nature of God.

Although Michael and I have had a couple of cats, we are partial to dogs.

Over the 30-plus years that we’ve been together, we have had 6 dogs.

Each has had its own personality, but we have cherished them all.

I can think of no better teacher about unconditional love than a dog.

Whether you have been away on a business trip for a week or come in the door two minutes after you left because you forgot your keys, you get the same greeting.

You get unbridled joy.

“Oh, thank heavens you’re back! I missed you so much!”

Our dog Montra whines with excitement.

She brings you a favorite toy.

And she wags her tail so vigorously, you think it may fall off.

That is the nature of God’s love for us.

Of course, God’s love is more expansive.

And more deliberate.

But God’s love is unconditional—just like the love of our beloved pets.

And, when we go away, God is joyful when we return.

And that joy that Montra demonstrates when we come home is infectious.

Her joy incites joy in us.

How could it not?

Similarly, we should feel joy in the knowledge that God loves us.

What I want you to take away from this analogy is not that God’s love is like a dog’s.

The takeaway is that the unconditional love that dogs show us and the joy that they experience when we return, those things give us a sense of the magnitude of God’s love—which is infinite—and so, we are able on a certain level to comprehend something that is incomprehensible.

And maybe—just maybe—we can pause in those times when we feel God’s presence and let joy fill us up because we know that presence we feel is because God loves us unconditionally and wants us to know God’s presence.

In so many ways, creation is a gift.

Like all things in our lives—family, friends, possessions—are a gift.

And, as we should with every gift, we give thanks.

We offer up prayers of thanksgiving.

We care for all the things of value that we have received from God.

We are good stewards—understanding that nothing we have is ours.

That all we have, we have by the grace of God.

So, we love, protect, and care for our family and our friends.

We safeguard and maintain our possessions.

And we care for creation.

We preserve our natural environment.

We conserve our natural resources.

We revel in its beauty.

We rejoice in God’s presence.

All these things are our sacred responsibility.

For many, stewardship has come to mean financial support for the church.

But stewardship is so much bigger than that.

It’s not only supporting the church financially—it’s also supporting the church with your time and your talents.

It’s not only supporting the church—it’s also supporting the community.

So much of our call as Christians is about how we live in community.

How we live in community is the central message of the Sermon on the Mount.

And stewardship is not supposed to just be something that we do.

Stewardship is supposed to be part of our faith practice.

We need to make it part of who we are—an integral part of our being.

Which brings me to my vow of chastity.

Now, let me first dispel a common misconception.

Chastity is NOT celibacy.

Traditionally, chastity has been associated with sexual purity.

But, for Lutheran Franciscans, chastity is a vow to “love all, without distinction”.

It is a vow to love as Jesus loves—to emulate his unconditional love.

It is a vow to see the image of God in our fellow human beings and to love them as siblings.

It is a vow to see God in all of creation and to love and care for creation.

It is a vow of fidelity in our relationship with God.

It is a vow that says that our care for one another and our care for creation are acts of faithfulness to our relationship with God.

Creation is a miracle of God’s love.

It is both gift and responsibility.

Creation can help our finite minds understand infinite concepts.

It can inspire awe and fill us with the presence of God.

The ebb and flow of creation is indicative of not only creation, but also re-creation.

It’s a reminder that God is not finished with us yet.

As the Apostle Paul writes in today’s third lesson, “we wait for our bodies to be set free—for God’s glory to be revealed in us.”

Humankind is God’s greatest creation and yet, as we are, we are an unfinished masterpiece, waiting to reveal God’s glory in God’s Kin-dom.

So, as we go about our day-to-day lives, I give you a challenge.

Take a moment each day to pause and really experience creation.

Think about how creation gives us insight into the nature of God.

Consider how the wonders of creation fill us with the presence of God.

Revel in the joy that our pets bring us and how they too can give us some understanding about God’s love.

Appreciate the beauty of creation and how it is our sacred duty to protect and care for it.

And make that care for creation a part of your faith practice—an enduring symbol of the fidelity to your relationship with God.

Let us close this Season of Creation with a special prayer:

Creator God, lover of life and of everything, help us to love in our very small way what you love infinitely and everywhere.

We thank you for showing us that everything and everyone is connected.

Nothing and no one stands alone.

To pray for one part is to pray for the whole.

Help us each day to stand for love, for healing, and for good.

Help us to revel in the diversity of the Body of Christ and all creation.

We thank you for your magnificent creation.

It is all we ever need.

On those days when we feel overwhelmed with the events of the world, let us ground ourselves in the natural lives we were created to live.

Let us spend some extra time in creation to better understand you and receive the shalom—the peace and the wholeness—that only you can provide.

We offer up these prayers together with all the holy names that you are known by.

In Jesus’ blessed name we pray. Amen

“Bridging the Great Chasm” a sermon by Rich Novak

Good morning church!

We have a unique situation today where all three readings complement and reinforce each other around a common theme. However, just like hitting that underhand softball pitch that seems so simple, but is not, these readings seem simple but they are not. And they have often been misquoted and misinterpreted.

In the first reading, Amos, an 8th-century BCE prophet, spoke during a time of wealth and expansion in Israel under Jeroboam II. The nation was prosperous, but social injustice, complacency, and religious corruption were rampant. These verses are part of his “woe oracles,” warning the elites of impending judgment. The issue was not that people were wealthy or comfortable, but they ignored the suffering of their people and he called them out on their complacency and indifference in the face of need. It is too simplistic to say that Amos is railing against the wealth or comfort of Israel.

In the second reading, the author who writes in a Pauline voice (most scholars don’t think Paul actually wrote this) writes to Timothy about how believers, especially leaders, should live in a world where wealth and status tempt them away from faithfulness. The writer reminds us that true wealth is not found in money but in a life rooted in God. “Godliness with contentment is great gain,” he writes, because possessions are temporary; we came into this world with nothing and will leave it the same way. The danger is not money itself, but the love of money—the restless desire to have more—which can pierce the soul and pull us away from faith.

Finally, today’s Gospel is one of Jesus’ most sobering parables. It tells the story of a rich man and a poor man named Lazarus. Note – this is not Lazarus, the friend of Jesus, whom Jesus called forth from the tomb. The name means “God helps”. It’s not a comfortable story, but it is a necessary one. It shakes us awake. It reminds us that how we live our lives here and now—how we treat others, how we use what God has entrusted to us—has eternal consequences. This is not a parable that says Money is Evil, but rather Love of Money is Evil because it distracts us from keeping our eyes on Christ.

This parable is not merely about wealth and poverty; it is about blindness and awareness, hardness of heart and compassion, selfishness and discipleship. It’s about how followers of Jesus are called to see differently, to act differently, and to live differently.

1. Two Men, Two Realities

Jesus paints a vivid contrast. On one side is the rich man: dressed in purple and fine linen, feasting sumptuously every day. He has more than enough, and he surrounds himself with comfort. At his very gate lies Lazarus, covered in sores, hungry for crumbs, with dogs as his only companions.

Notice: the rich man is not condemned simply because he is wealthy. Lazarus is not rewarded simply because he is poor. What condemns the rich man is his blindness—his indifference to the suffering at his doorstep. He stepped over Lazarus day after day. He saw him, but he did not really see him.

As followers of Christ, we are called to open our eyes. Who is lying at our gate? Who is being ignored in our neighborhood, our community, our society? Do we see the Palestinians who are suffering in Gaza as people, as children of God, or as expendable to the aims of a Zionist campaign? This Gospel reminds us that discipleship begins with seeing the people God places in our path.

2. Death Reveals the Truth

Both men die, as we all must. Lazarus is carried by angels to Abraham’s side—a place of comfort, dignity, and belonging. The rich man finds himself in torment, separated by a great chasm.

The reversal is stark. What was hidden in this life is revealed in eternity. The rich man’s wealth could not follow him; his comforts evaporated. But the mercy of God lifts Lazarus, who had been cast aside in life, into eternal embrace.

This is not meant to scare us with visions of fire. It is meant to remind us that the choices we make in life matter. Our faith is not abstract. It is lived in daily decisions: how we treat others, how we spend our time, how we use our resources, how we notice—or ignore—the needs around us. Rich and poor both die. That’s a fact. For all his billions, Elon Musk will not take his earthly wealth with him, nor will he avoid death.

3. The Great Chasm

One of the most haunting lines in the parable is this: “Between you and us a great chasm has been fixed.”

That chasm was not created at death. It was created during life. Every day the rich man ignored Lazarus, the chasm between them grew wider. Every time he feasted while Lazarus starved, the distance deepened. By the time death came, the separation was complete.

As followers of Jesus, our calling is to bridge those chasms here and now—chasm between rich and poor, powerful and powerless, insider and outsider. We bridge them not with words alone but with presence, compassion, and action. To follow Christ is to be a bridge-builder, to close the gap between ourselves and those in need.

4. Listening to Moses, the Prophets, and Christ

The rich man begs Abraham to send Lazarus back from the dead to warn his brothers. Abraham’s reply is striking: “They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.”

In other words: the message has already been given. God’s word is clear. The Law and the Prophets cry out for justice, mercy, and compassion. We don’t need extraordinary signs to know what God expects of us.

And yet, Abraham’s words point to an even greater truth: “Neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” How prophetic! Jesus Himself would rise from the dead, and still many would not believe.

As disciples, we do not wait for spectacular miracles to guide us. We already have Scripture, the witness of the Church, and the risen Christ Himself. The question is: will we listen? Will we let His word shape our lives?

(if time – story about the person who ignored the warnings, the rescue boat, the helicopter and then blamed God)

5. Living as Followers of Jesus Christ

So, what does this mean for us today? How are we to live as followers of Jesus in light of this parable?

- First, we are called to see. See the Lazaruses at our gates: the lonely neighbor, the struggling co-worker, the hungry child, the forgotten elderly, the marginalized in society, the Palestinians suffering in Gaza, the children in Ukraine. Discipleship begins with awareness.
- Second, we are called to act. Love is not passive. Following Jesus means responding with compassion—sharing what we have, speaking up for those who have no voice, offering time, presence, and care.
- Third, we are called to listen. We have Moses, the prophets, the Gospels, and the living witness of Christ. His words are not suggestions; they are invitations to a new way of life. We have had modern day prophets – Martin Luther King Jr., John Lewis, Scott Rush. Will we let His word reorder our priorities?
- Finally, we are called to hope. This parable ends with warning, but also with hope. Lazarus is lifted up. God’s justice prevails. And for us, the good news is this: it is never too late to change. The rich man ignored Lazarus until death—but we are still alive. We still have time to see, to act, to love.

6. Following Christ Daily

Following Jesus is not about occasional acts of charity or moments of generosity. It is about a way of life. It is about carrying our cross daily, practicing mercy daily, offering forgiveness daily, and letting Christ reshape our hearts day by day.

The saints of the Church did not become holy overnight. They became holy by following Christ one choice at a time. So too with us. Every day is an opportunity to close the chasm, to build the bridge, to follow the One who has already crossed the ultimate chasm between heaven and earth to save us.

Conclusion

Friends, the parable of the rich man and Lazarus is not a story about “them.” It is a story about us. Each of us is faced with the choice: will we live with eyes open or closed? Hearts soft or hardened? Will we build bridges or widen chasms?

As followers of Jesus Christ, let us live in such a way that when our own lives come to an end, we too will be carried by angels—not because of wealth or poverty, but because of mercy lived, compassion shown, and love made real.

So let us go forth and see, act, listen, and hope—living our lives as true disciples of Jesus Christ.

Amen.

The Joy of Being Found

TIt’s important for us to acknowledge how today’s gospel opens.

Tax collectors and sinners were among those who came to listen to Jesus—and he ate with them.

That may not seem like a big deal, but we need to give this some first-century context.

First of all, tax collectors were reviled.

They were collaborators—people who cooperated with Rome in the oppression of the Jewish people.

They were traitors.

Sinners, on the other hand, is a catchall for people who violated Torah—people who were not living a righteous life.

Eating with tax collectors and sinners was subversive.

It ignored cultural norms and violated societal hierarchy.

And because of that, it ticked off some people.

Most notably, the people in power.

The people who benefitted the most from maintaining the status quo.

Jesus had no interest in maintaining the status quo.

Jesus was all about the Kin-dom.

And God’s Kin-dom is not about power.

It’s not about hierarchy, status, or position.

God’s Kin-dom is about justice.

Jesus wanted to see hungry people fed.

He wanted to see sick and injured people healed.

He wanted to see the lost and the lonely made whole again.

In other words, he wanted to see the brokenness of the world repaired.

One of the interesting things about today’s gospel is that it comes from a trilogy of parables.

The last one isn’t part of today’s reading, but I think it’s important to point out the two from today are part of a larger set.

The first is the Parable of the Lost Sheep.

The second is the Parable of the Lost Coin.

Those two make up today’s gospel lesson.

The last is the Parable of the Lost Son—most of us are used to calling it the Parable of the Prodigal Son.

The reason I think it’s important to point out the trilogy is the theme in all three parables is the same: something that was lost is found.

That we hear the same theme three times in different settings says to me—as it should to you too—that Jesus is telling us something important.

There is a message that he wants to make sure that we get.

And, as is so often the case, it’s a message in two parts.

The first part is that God always seeks us out.

When we stray—when we are lost—God comes after us.

God doesn’t wait for us to come to God.

God comes to us.

That is the result of God’s unconditional love for us.

God comes to us.

God calls us by name.

Unfortunately, we don’t always listen.

Sometimes, God calls our name, and we don’t hear.

Pain or pride or anger makes us deaf to God’s voice.

But God still comes to us.

And God stays with us—despite whatever human frailty is keeping us separated from God.

Isn’t it interesting how, whenever we are separated from God, it’s never because God has left us.

God never abandons us.

It’s aways we who get lost.

There was a time when I was unchurched.

Some of you have heard my story.

I was injured by the church I was attending.

I was asked to resign from youth ministry because I was outed as a gay man.

It was heartbreaking and the hurt forced me to leave the church.

To be clear, I never felt abandoned by God.

It was the institution that I was disillusioned with.

But I was still lost—if not to God, at least to the love and community of a congregation.

But God remained.

The Spirit kept me connected to the divine through music.

And, when I had healed from the injury, the Spirit inspired me to seek.

Sophia gave me the wisdom to understand that I could not fully experience God without community.

And, eventually, I found—just as God promises all seekers.

I went to a new church.

It wasn’t the first one I tried.

But the first Sunday I went there, the pastor preached about letting go.

Letting go is such an important lesson for all of us.

Letting go is about giving up the hurt that burdens us.

Letting go is about giving up the fear that limits us.

Letting go is trusting that God is with you.

That God is always with you—and will never abandon you.

Letting go is about being found.

It’s about returning from the dark place where you were lost.

The second part of today’s message is about joy.

There is joy in being found.

The shepherd rejoiced at finding his lost sheep.

The woman rejoiced at finding her lost coin.

The father rejoiced at finding his lost son.

And God rejoices every time someone who has been separated from God is reunited with God.

In fact, Jesus says, when that happens, all of heaven rejoices.

And that joy is reciprocal, isn’t it?

We experience joy at being found.

We need God in our lives.

When we are separated from God, we know that something is missing.

And we need community.

We may enjoy some time to ourselves—but we do need community.

Human contact is one of our basic needs.

It’s programmed into our DNA.

Human contact is necessary for our health and our emotional wellbeing.

Human contact is also important for our spiritual wellbeing.

We cannot be Christians in isolation.

Our faith practice requires community.

So, when we have been lost—separated from God or separated from community—we rejoice at being found again.

When we hear God call our name, our heart leaps.

When we know that God claims us as God’s own—as one of God’s beloved children—it fills our heart with joy.

When I joined that new church, I was surprised at the joy I felt.

I don’t think I fully realized what a void being unchurched had made in my life.

And, even though you may not be technically “lost” or “separated” from the community, I imagine that there is a measure of joy that you all experience when you walk into this sanctuary on Sunday morning and see your church family again.

And that feeling of joy—whether it is upon hearing God’s voice or being restored to community—that joy is yet another glimpse of the Kin-dom.

So, in that spirit, let us pray:

Good and gracious God,

May that joy—that glimpse of the Kin-dom—encourage us to continue seeking you.

May it encourage us to restore relationships that are lost to us.

May it encourage us to be a beacon of your love for those who are lost.

And may it encourage us to continue working towards your Kin-dom.

In Jesus’ name we pray.

Amen.

See Every Sibling and Invite Them In

There is a thread of the Kin-dom that runs through all three lessons today.

The Psalm talks about God’s mercy and compassion.

We’re told that good people are generous; they give to the poor, doing justice always and forever.

The reading from Hebrews talks about showing hospitality to strangers and caring for those in prison.

It goes on to say how good works and sharing resources are the sacrifices that please God.

Then, the Gospel has this parable about a wedding party, seats of honor, and the invitation list.

The connection to the Kin-dom is a little less clear so let me give it some historical context.

In first-century Israel, wedding parties were banquets.

A wedding party was a big deal because the majority of first-century Jews—living under the oppression of Roman occupation—were living in poverty.

And eating—a basic necessity—was not always a given.

Hunger was pervasive.

And a banquet was not just a meal; it was an extravagant meal.

And it was a celebration.

So, it’s no wonder that the Kin-dom of God is represented by a banquet.

OK, so we have this thread of the Kin-dom running through all of today’s lessons.

But what good news are we supposed to take away from it?

We know the lesson Jesus has for us in in the form of a parable.

And we know parables are meant to be twisted and turned to reveal their hidden meaning.

So, let’s twist and turn the parable a bit and see if we can make the message clearer.

One of the things that can shed light on the meaning of a parable is to look at it from different perspectives.

Typically, I think we tend to hear this parable from the perspective of the host or perhaps, a guest.

But let’s look at it from the perspective of the uninvited—the ones who are typically overlooked—the ones Jesus said we should invite.

All the people Jesus mentions— “those who are poor or have physical infirmities or are blind”—lived on the margins of society.

If they were not outcasts, they were certainly overlooked.

But Jesus sees them.

And he encourages us to see them too.

And not only see them but invite them in.

Looking at Jesus’ command from the perspective of those who would not typically be invited, we can imagine their feeling of joy.

Joy at being included.

Joy at being able to say “oh, I see—THIS is what the Kin-dom of God is like.”

It’s a place where I am seen.

It’s a place where I am recognized as a child of God.

It’s a place where people know that I also possess the divine image of God.

The other characteristic of first-century banquets is that they were opportunities to improve one’s social standing.

But those who are poor or who have physical infirmities or who are blind, they had nothing to offer in terms of networking, relationship building, or status improvement.

Yes, that’s an awful thing to say.

And that’s a very utilitarian way of looking at people.

But remember that we’re talking about a first-century perspective.

How would have Jesus’ command sounded those people?

Shocking, no doubt.

And again, I imagine there would be joy amongst the marginalized.

Joy at being valued.

Not because of anything they could offer.

But simply because they were included.

Seen as a child of God.

And recognized as possessing the same divine image of God.

You see, the table that Jesus invites us to is a table of grace.

A table of unconditional welcome.

At my internship site, we had a man who was a frequent visitor.

He had some kind of developmental disability.

He was high-functioning but he had a hard time holding down a job.

He couldn’t afford an apartment, so he lived in his car.

He had a membership at the local Planet Fitness so he could shower.

When he came to church, sometimes he sat in the narthex and just listened.

When he did come into the sanctuary, he always sat alone.

He would come to coffee hour to get something to eat but he would usually take it to go.

He never socialized, even though he was greeted by many people and encouraged to join in.

You see, he didn’t feel Jesus’ unconditional welcome.

Not because of anything the congregation did—or didn’t do.

We loved him and cared for him.

The congregation paid for his car insurance, so he didn’t lose his only source of shelter.

We always packed food from coffee hour for him to take away.

I gave him a sub-zero sleeping bag, so he didn’t freeze to death in the winter.

But years of living on the margins—of being overlooked and unseen—made him unable to accept being seen.

Unable to see that we were offering him a glimpse of the Kin-dom.

That we saw him as a child of God and recognized the divine image that we shared with him.

And that is how we know the Kin-dom is near, but it is not yet.

Because try as we did, we could not get him to see it.

The table that Jesus invites us to is also a table of humility.

Jesus says, “what you should do is go and sit in the lowest place”.

In other words, you should assume a position of humility.

Humility was not a first-century virtue—at least not in Greco-Roman society.

Honor was the virtue.

Judaism, on the other hand, valued humility but primarily in the context of humbleness before God.

But Jesus’ teaching goes a step further.

It emphasizes humility.

In today’s Gospel, he says, “For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”

And again, in the Beatitudes, he says, “The meek shall inherit the earth”.

Humility was a cornerstone of Jesus’ teaching.

It is a characteristic of The Way—the faith practice of Jesus followers.

As a Franciscan, humility has special meaning for me.

It is related to our vow of obedience.

Humility is a joyful surrender to God’s will.

Humility is a joyful surrender of self-importance.

And that surrender of self-importance is a commitment to the service of others, especially those who are poor.

Humility is also a joyful surrender to being formed by others—to growing in faith with those who we gather around us in community.

I’d like to think that those three things—surrender to God’s will, surrender of self-importance, and surrender of self-importance—is giving oneself up to the Kin-dom—what God has ordained for us.

And it’s important to note that our Franciscan surrender must be joyful because, if it isn’t joyful, it doesn’t count.

¬The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.—and Howard Thurman before him—talked about the “beloved community”.

It’s their term for the Kin-dom on earth.

When talking about his movement, Dr. King said, “Our goal is to create a beloved community, and this will require a qualitative change in our souls as well as a quantitative change in our lives.”

The qualitative change in our souls is the ability to see each other as children of God, each of us—ALL of us—possessing the divine image of God.

And the quantitative changes are that the people who are overlooked become seen and are invited in.

Those who are poor, have physical infirmities, or are blind are valued.

And people like the man who was homeless at my internship site see the value in themselves and can receive love and acceptance from others.

In short, God’s justice—what Jesus calls us to—reigns.

So let us close with a prayer for the Kin-dom:

Good and gracious God:

We are not satisfied with the world as it is.

There is still too little of the Kin-dom.

Show us your light.

Help us to understand that we are all your children and that your image in us makes us more alike than any category we have created for each other.

Guide us to always work for your justice—which is the birthright of every human being.

Make us more loving—the unconditional love that Jesus modeled for us—because only that kind of love can overcome hate.

Make us more forgiving—as you forgive us over and over again.

And, Holy One, keep showing us glimpses of your Kin-dom so we never tire of working towards it.

In Jesus’ blessed name we pray.

Amen.

Be Like Jesus … See One Another

The traditional themes for today’s readings are the sabbath—the importance of taking time to rest—and how we interpret the law—what I would frame as the letter of the law versus the spirit of the law.

In the interest of keeping this relatively short so we can get on with the picnic, I would like to focus on a single phrase in today’s gospel:

“Jesus saw her”.

Now, there’s a lot going on in today’s gospel so you may be asking yourself, “why that phrase?”

And that’s a legitimate question.

You see, I have a mental picture of this story.

I think we all tend to do that—visualize the story that we’re reading.

When I read this story, I see the woman, bent over at the waist for almost 2 decades.

She’s unable to look directly at anyone, except maybe small children.

And they are likely afraid of her.

She sees only legs, feet, and sandals.

But Jesus sees her.

Even though she is bent over and probably lost in the crowd, Jesus sees her.

There is nothing in the text to indicate that she sought Jesus out.

But he sees her anyway.

Just as God saw Hagar in the desert, Jesus sees her.

Jesus is the God who sees.

And just as God gave Hagar comfort and hope, Jesus does the same for the afflicted woman.

And in my mind’s eye, when Jesus speaks to the woman, he crouches down to her level—to speak to her face-to-face.

That is the Jesus that we know and love.

Amidst a crowd of people, he singles out the one who has been marginalized.

The one who has been overlooked and outcast.

The one who is most in need of his help.

The one who is most in need of his love.

He does not wait for her to come to him.And he doesn’t just heal her—he FREES her.

I think this idea of seeing and being seen is central to what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

All too often, we go through life with blinders on—seeing only what we choose to see.

And, more importantly, WHO we want to see.

We may see hungry people in our own community who come to the UMC soup kitchen for food, but we choose not to see the women and children starving in Gaza.

We may see the LGBTQ+ folks that are our friends and family members, but we choose not to see the ones that are too flamboyant, too “in your face”, or that we just don’t understand.

We may see the mom with postpartum depression and the teen with anxiety but we choose not to see Deborah Terrell—a senior with mental illness¬—who was killed by New Brunswick police 2 weeks ago.

We CHOOSE who we see.

But Jesus sees us all.

Jesus commanded us to love one another.

I believe that loving one another starts with seeing one another.

And not just seeing a sanitized version of the world—but the world we actually live in.

Because the world that we live in is not the Kin-dom.

The Kin-dom is near, but it is not yet.

Some parts of this world are beautiful.

Other parts are unpleasant—scary even.

But we need to see all of it.

Because, if we don’t see the unpleasant and scary parts, we cannot work to change them.

If we don’t see children starving in Gaza, we won’t ask our representatives to vote for policies that call for a ceasefire and demand that aid gets into Gaza.

If we don’t see the Deborah Terrells of the world, we won’t fight for mental health quick response teams to de-escalate tense situations.

Like most people nowadays, I have a smart phone.

And I often relax by scrolling through social media.

Lately, I have been fascinated by videos of this guy who sings to animals and their reaction to his singing.

There are dozens of these videos.

He’s either French or perhaps French Canadian.

It’s just him and his guitar singing for animals.

I’ve watched him sing for every kind of animal imaginable—parrots, cows, horses, penguins, sea lions, giraffes, elephants, raccoons, and lemurs.

And, in every instance, the animals are drawn to him—or at least to his music.

I’d venture to say that, had he not played music, the animals would have just ignored him.

They wouldn’t have seen him.

But the music draws them.

Maybe it’s curiosity, but I believe that it’s something deeper.

There is something about music that connects us—people to people, people to God, and people to animals.

I might even go so far as to say that music—our ability to create music—is a gift of our divine image.

In a few minutes, this service will be over, and we will enjoy a picnic together.

Many of you have known each other for decades.

But there is something very different about sitting next to each other in a pew and sharing stories over a cheeseburger.

Sharing a meal together is something integral to the practice of our Lutheran faith.

We even joke about it.

“You know you might be Lutheran if potluck dinner is your favorite indoor sport” or

“You know you might be Lutheran if you count coffee hour as one of the sacraments”.

But the reason it is so important to us is that breaking bread together changes relationships.

It deepens our connection.

It helps us to see each other differently.

I would argue that it also makes us see each other more fully.

So that’s the thought I’d like to leave you with.

Just like music draws animals to see the man, let see—truly see—one another.

Just as we see each other more completely over a shared meal, let us see ALL our siblings—even the ones we might prefer not to see.

And, just as God saw Hagar and Jesus saw the afflicted woman, let us not only see our siblings in distress, but let us also offer them comfort and hope.

Because the divine image that we share binds us.

And the beacon of that image draws us together.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

We are Bound Together as Children of God

This is one of those gospel lessons where a pastor debates skipping the lectionary for a week.

Jesus lighting the earth on fire and pitting family members against one another doesn’t really evoke the Prince of Peace now does it?

But diving into a hard or troublesome text is necessary.

I would argue that the best place to do it is in small group Bible study with open discussion, but this Sunday sermon is the best we can do at the moment.

So, let’s talk about today’s gospel and try to wring some good news out of it.

First off, the opening lines were not intended to be taken literally.

Jesus did not come to earth to set it on fire.

Maybe some of you are saying that’s obvious but I want to be clear.

There was a footnote in some of the commentaries I read that said “setting the earth on fire” was a common idiom of Jesus’ time that used the image of lighting an outdoor earthen oven to mean getting things started.

So, Jesus is talking about getting things rolling.

He is anxious to get on with it.

The “baptism he must still receive” refers to his passion, death, and resurrection.

Of course it’s causing him “great distress”.

I mean how would you like having that hanging over your head?

Next comes this weird question: “Do you think I’m here to bring peace on earth?”

Like us, the disciples were probably thinking, “yeah dude!

All you’ve been talking about is the Kin-dom of God—how great it is, how justice will reign, and all people will have enough!

You mean to tell us that there isn’t peace in the Kin-dom?”

But that’s just it.

There is peace in the Kin-dom.

But the Kin-dom is only near.

It is not yet.

So, all this talk about division is about building the Kin-dom.

Because the Kin-dom is something new.

The Kin-dom requires change—and not minor change.

Significant change.

Societal upheaval even.

And guess what?

That kind of change creates division.

Division in communities, for sure.

And even division in families.

Some of you may remember that my brother and sister-in-law were here a few weeks ago.

Dan came because he was scheduled for surgery that week and he thought coming to the church where his brother preached would provide him with an extra bit of grace.

I don’t believe that’s the way grace works but I wasn’t going to argue with him.

I was glad that they came.

It was the Sunday that I preached about HR1, the bill that made the tax cuts to corporations and billionaires permanent.

The bill that greatly increased the budget for ICE.

All at the expense of healthcare and food assistance for poor and low-income folks.

The people Jesus called “the least of these”.

I knew my brother and sister-in-law would not agree with what I had to say.

A few weeks later, at a family party, Laurie said something about my having drunk the Kool-Aid.

Of course, I might have made the same comment about her.

I would have said that my Kool-Aid—if that’s what you want to call it—came from the gospel.

Whereas hers came from idealogues who were only interested in creating fear and sowing division.

But there’s one example of the division that Jesus was talking about.

Brother against brother divided by their hopes or expectations for the future.

I imagine many of you have similar divisions within your own families.

I wrestle with the dilemma of should I speak my truth or should I maintain peace within the family?

More often than not, I opt for peace.

But I do worry that makes me a bit of a hypocrite.

How do I preach the truth of the gospel on Sunday morning and then opt to hold my tongue at a family gathering?

My hope lies in the words of Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest and prolific author.

He maintains that there must be division before there can be true unity.

He says this because even good people will have differences of opinion.

Even good people will hurt one another.

He goes on to say that overcoming our differences—that is what brings the peace of Christ.

And letting go of the hurt—that is what brings the healing of the Spirit.

I confess that I would be a lot happier if I thought that all my friends and family held the same beliefs as I do.

It is difficult when people you love hold beliefs that are diametrically opposed to your own.

What makes it even more difficult is knowing that discussion is futile.

That the political rhetoric in this country has created such deeply entrenched positions that constructive dialog is not possible.

I confess that it pains me.

It pains me because my political views are defined by my morality.

And my morality has been formed by the love of God.

My love FOR God—imperfect as it may be.

And God’s love for me—that unconditional, inexhaustible love that keeps challenging me to be more like Jesus.

That keeps challenging me to keep working with God to build the Kin-dom.

I know I will never see it in my lifetime.

But I’m going to keep laying bricks one-by-one.

And I’m going to keep spreading mortar.

Because that is what I am called to do.

And that, my friends, are what you are called to do as well.

So, I guess that question for me becomes, “how do we deal with this division while we’re waiting for the Kin-dom?”

Some if us may even be asking ourselves, “how do we not only deal with the division but also the fear—the frustration—that it seems like we’re moving further away from the Kin-dom?”

That’s a good question and I’m not sure I have a good answer but I’m going to give it a shot.

I think the answer lies buried in this strange passage about Jesus coming to bring division.

All this talk about division between father and son, mother and daughter, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law—it’s all pointing us to the reality that it is not our earthly family that is important.

Jesus is trying to focus us on our divine family.

Jesus is reminding us that we are beloved children of God.

Possessing the divine image of God.

Called by name and claimed as God’s own.

That is our true identity.

That is the path to ending division.

That is the path to ending unkindness and cruelty.

That is the path to the peace of Christ.

And that is the path to the healing of the Spirit.

The path to the Kin-dom will not be uncovered by winning arguments.

The path to the Kin-dom will not be uncovered by showing that we are right and they are wrong.

The path to the Kin-dom cannot be uncovered through domination.

The path to the Kin-dom can only be uncovered by acknowledging that we are the same.

We are beloved children of God—each and every one of us.

We all possess the divine image of God—each and every one of us.

We have all been called by name and claimed as God’s own—each and every one of us.

That is Jesus’ message for us.

That is what he is hoping will be as obvious to us as the weather when we look out the window.

We are beloved of God.

And we are all siblings—alike in a way that trumps any differences.

Because we all possess the divine image of our Creator.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Avoiding Greed by Becoming Rich in God

So, for those of you that are not aware, I was away last week to attend the Annual Chapter of the Order of Lutheran Franciscans.

The Lutheran Franciscans were founded in 2011 and is the only recognized religious order in the ELCA.

I have been involved with the Order for about 5 years, and I was attracted to them because their foundations are service to the poor, care for creation, interreligious dialog, and rebuilding the church.

All four of these topics are important to me and are integral to my call to ministry.

This past Monday, I took vows of Obedience, Chastity, and Poverty as a novice in the Order.

I now begin a 5-year program of study and discernment, after which, I can become a Life-Professed member of the Order.

So, a few points of clarification:

First, this does not change my call to ministry at Emanuel.

My participation in the Order is a separate, although related, call to service that is integral to my spiritual development.

Second, as a novice, I can use the title of Brother.

I will use it in certain circumstances, when it seems appropriate.

All my Franciscan siblings will refer to me as Brother Scott.

You can call me Pastor Scott, Brother Scott, or Scott, whichever is most comfortable for you.

I will answer to any of them.

Third, the habit of novices in the Order is a Tau cross.

You will notice that I wear it every day.

I also have the brown robe that most people associate with Franciscans.

I will only wear it at OLF functions, like Annual Chapter, and for certain events that are related to my vows.

For most of you, you will likely only see it for the Blessing of the Animals service that we will have in October that also commemorates St. Francis.

Now, I share all this because I thought some of you might be curious.

I am certainly happy to talk at length about the Order and my formation experience as a novice, if anyone is interested.

I may even take an Adult Forum session to explain the foundations and vows in greater detail.

But, for the purposes of today, I thought we might take a look at the readings through the lens of the Franciscan vow of poverty.

Greed is the central message of all three lessons today.

We live in a consumer society.

We are culturally conditioned to want things.

The media we are continually exposed to is inundated with advertising whose sole purpose is to sell us things.

With the advent of social media, there are now algorithms—little computer programs—that track what we look at and even listen in on our conversations to predict the things that will interest us.

Products are designed with built-in obsolescence so, rather than repairing things, we have to replace them.

All these commercial tactics—advertising, algorithms, and obsolescence—are crafted to make us WANT things.

We are actively being programmed, not to be grateful and good stewards of what we have.

We are actively being programmed to be envious of “new and improved”.

We are being conditioned to believe that what we have is never enough.

That, my friends, is greed.

One of God’s greatest gifts to us is creation.

We were not given creation to do whatever we want with it.

We were given creation as stewards—to protect and care for it.

But what have we done?

We have depleted natural resources.

We have upset the natural balance of things and created a climate crisis.

We have driven entire species of animals to extinction.

Our consumer culture creates such massive amounts of trash that we have run out of places to put it.

So, we dump it in the ocean.

Did you know that the great Pacific garbage patch is more than twice the size of Texas?

That, my friends, is greed.

Jesus said, “Avoid greed in all its forms.”

It’s an interesting phrase, isn’t it?

Because we typically look at greed as being all about money and possessions.

But Jesus is talking about greed very expansively.

So, what are the forms of greed?

Ungratefulness.

Attachment to material things.

Consumerism.

Coveting other people’s possessions.

Abusing creation.

The “isms” and phobias that plague our society—racism, classism, sexism, homophobia, and xenophobia—are born out of fear.

And that fear has its roots in greed.

We fear that someone that we perceive to be different from us will take something that is ours.

We fear that rights gained by another group of people will diminish our own rights.

But the perception that any of our human siblings are not like us is delusion.

Because the fact that we all possess the divine image of God trumps any differences we may have.

The counterpoint to greed what Jesus called being “rich in God”.

What does that mean?

I believe “being rich in God” starts with gratitude—gratitude for all that we have.

Because all that we have is a gift from God—given to us to steward.

Stewardship is a church word that isn’t always understood.

A steward does not own.

A steward takes care of.

When we are grateful for what we have—when we see our possessions as gifts from God, given to us to take care of—we are less likely to covet the things that we don’t.

When we are grateful for God’s many blessings, we learn to trust in God.

We trust that God will provide all that we need.

That doesn’t mean we get to sit back and rely on manna from heaven.

Today’s Psalm warns about those who “trust only in their money” because “their prosperity cannot keep them from death”.

We put our trust in God, because “God so loved the world as to give the Only Begotten One, that whoever believes may not die, but have eternal life.

God sent the Only Begotten into the world not to condemn the world, but that through the Only Begotten the world might be saved.”

We trust in God because of the covenant we have with God through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus—the covenant that promises us eternal life.

God became incarnate in Jesus because God wanted a closer relationship with us.

A relationship that was only possible by becoming human and living among us.

In Colossians, we read, “put on a new self, one that grows in knowledge as it is formed anew in the image of its Creator.

And in that image, there is no Greek or Hebrew; no Jew or Gentile; no barbarian or Scythian; no slave or citizen.

There is only Christ, who is all in all.”

That is what it means to be in relationship with God:

To be re-formed and re-created in the divine image of God.

To recognize that divinity in all our human siblings.

And to recognize that that divinity is more defining of who we are than any of the categories that we’ve invented for each other.

That is the foundation of loving one another.

We are all children of God—each and every one of us—possessing the divine image of God.

When we see that—when we acknowledge it—how could we not love one another?

Jesus tells us that we should “avoid greed in all its forms”?

That is the lesson that we need to bring home with us today.

So, how do we “avoid greed in all its forms”?

We do it by living simply and avoiding attachment to material things.

We describe people that we like and admire as someone who “would give you the shirt off their back”.

I haven’t known many people for whom that was actually true, but I’ve known a few.

People who have little and are still grateful.

People who have little and still find ways to share what they have.

People who give, not out of their abundance, but out of their scarcity.

People like the widow in the gospels of Mark and Luke, who gave the last two coins in her possession.

Jesus also said we need to be “rich in God”.

We are “rich in God” when we are grateful—understanding that everything we have is a gift from God.

And we are given those gifts to steward—not to own, but to care for.

We are “rich in God” when we trust in God—in our covenant with God through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

When we trust that our wealth is not in material things, but in the love of God—the love of God for us and our love for God.

And we are “rich in God” when we are in relationship with God.

When we show our love for God through prayer and worship.

When we show our love for God by loving for our human siblings—when we recognize the divine image of God that we share with each and every one of them.

Franciscans avoid greed in all its forms by taking a vow of poverty.

Because St. Francis said, “For poverty is that heavenly virtue by which all earthy and transitory things are trodden under foot, and by which every obstacle is removed from the soul so that it may freely enter into union with the eternal Lord God. It is also the virtue which makes the soul, while still here on earth, converse with the angels in Heaven.”

I pray that we each learn to follow the example of Francis.

That we are liberated from greed in all its forms.

That every obstacle is removed from our relationship with God.

And that our souls are freed to converse with the angels in heaven.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Feeding & Being Fed as Spiritual Practice

Today’s gospel is an interesting one.

I say that because it is a story of two sisters, faced with a choice, and they each chose differently.

And I think traditionally, we are quick to judge Martha unfairly and say she chose poorly.

But hospitality is important, and meals don’t just prepare themselves, right?

Jesus and his followers had to eat.

So, Martha was doing something important—vital even.

The problem with Martha’s reasoning is that she thought her work was the most important thing.

But Jesus gently corrected her and pointed out that Mary’s listening to him teach was important—in fact, “the better part”.

And that’s what I think makes this passage so interesting.

Because we’re faced with choices all the time, aren’t we?

And, generally speaking, we tend to be very task-oriented.

What can I accomplish today?

How many things can I cross off my list?

And sometimes, we forget to ask ourselves, “am I doing the important thing?”

“Have I chosen the better part?”

“Or am I getting so bogged down in minutia or that I’m not listening to the words of Jesus?”

I think those are all good questions to ask ourselves.

There are many things that I love about our Lutheran faith and its traditions.

Paramount to our faith is the idea of grace.

Grace tells us that, as children of God, we are all beneficiaries of God’s grace.

Despite our imperfection—despite all the ways that we find to disappoint God—we are all loved unconditionally.

And we are all forgiven—over and over again.

Day in and day out.

Another thing I love is the importance of context.

We believe that we cannot fully understand Scripture without understanding the historical and cultural context in which it was written.

But the thing that I love that is particularly relevant here is the concept of both/and.

We are often faced with what we perceive to be either/or choices.

But many times, the choices are not so clear cut.

Listening to Jesus teach was important.

So, it’s easy to say that Mary choose wisely.

But feeding Jesus was also important.

Both Mary’s task and Martha’s task were important.

Martha’s error was in perceiving that her choice was either/or.

I think this story is so relevant to our faith life.

We so often face this dilemma: do I listen at the feet of Jesus or do I do something?

And the answer is not a simple one.

Going to church on Sunday is important.

Reading the Bible or going to Bible Study is important.

Having a good prayer life is important.

But so is going outside this community and serving people in need—the ones Jesus called “the least of these”.

On the flip side, working at the mobile shower deployments is important.

Volunteering your time at a food pantry or a soup kitchen is important.

Protesting injustice is important.

But so is being the Body of Christ in this community.

It’s not an either/or choice.

It’s a both/and.

Our faith—listening at the feet of Jesus—inspires us to do something.

It inspires us to pick up that mantle of shepherd that Jesus passed on to us.

And, if you’ll indulge me a little further, I’d like to continue my defense of Martha.

Because I can’t help but hear the echo of Jesus’ words, “Feed my sheep”.

Feeding people is part of my love language so “feed my sheep” resonates strongly with me.

Feeding people—breaking bread together—can be a spiritual experience.

And when I really thought about it, I was amazed at how many times in the past couple of weeks a shared meal became the work of Jesus.

At the closing ceremony of Vacation Bible School, we fed the families of our day campers.

We sat side-by-side and became family.

Language was not a barrier.

We shared love and admiration for children who learned a few songs and put their hearts and souls into singing them.

We were entertained.

We laughed.

Our hearts were filled with the Spirit.

And not one person left that celebration who wasn’t elevated by being there.

Last week, we worshipped with the African community at the United Methodist Church at New Brunswick.

We sat side-by-side with them and we were welcomed as family.

Language was not a barrier.

Neither was culture.

We were swept up in their joy and their gratitude.

We were uplifted by prayer and song and dance.

And then we were fed.

On Friday night, a group of us gathered at Tiina and Arnie’s for a Potluck Dinner.

We all already knew one another.

But there is something about sharing a meal together that draws you closer.

There is something about sharing something you made—something you made with love in your heart.

There’s something about that that binds you.

We talked.

We listened.

And we ate.

And, in the process, we grew closer.

And, in a moment, we will share the most important meal together.

It is a meal we share not only with each other but also with Jesus.

It is a meal we share not only with each other but also with all the saints that came before us and all the saints that will come after us.

It is a meal that binds us as a community of faith.

It is a meal that provides spiritual nourishment.

It is a meal that strengthens us as the family of God’s children.

There is a common thread in all those events.

And I could add others.

You see, by saying, “Feed my sheep”, Jesus made feeding something sacred.

And by sharing a table with the oppressed and the marginalized—outcasts of society—he made something equally sacred about sharing a meal.

So maybe we should cut Martha a little slack.

She was doing important work.

She was doing the sacred act of feeding.

And maybe—in our busy lives, where we are trying to be as productive as humanly possible—we try to remember to pause and ask, “am I doing the important thing?”

“Have I chosen the better part?”

And maybe also remember that not every choice is either/or.

Sometimes, the right choice is both/and.

And, my friends, I beg you to always remember that Jesus said, “feed my sheep”.

And how that makes feeding a sacred task.

And how sharing a meal binds us to one another in community and as a family.

Thanks be to God!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

We Are Shepherds

I stand before you very conflicted.

You see, I am angry—really angry.

And I am wounded.

Wounded because I know the harm that is coming to some of my siblings.

Because of the cuts to SNAP, I know my poor and low-income siblings—many of them children—will go hungry.

Because of cuts to Medicaid, I know my poor and low-income siblings will go without essential medical care and prescriptions.

I know elder care facilities will close—leaving some seniors homeless.

I know rural hospitals will close—leaving people in sparsely populated areas without essential medical care.

And I know the continued assault on immigrants will separate families, deport tens of thousands of hardworking, taxpaying people, and will do nothing to make this country safer.

One of my seminary professors once told me, we never preach from our wounds; we should only preach from our scars.

My wounds are far too fresh—they have not had time to heal.

So, this morning, I stand before you and I can only preach from my wounds.

I debated saying, “I am wounded and, therefore, I cannot preach”.

But that would’ve been dishonest.

I can preach—and I will preach.

But, I’ll say up front, it is from a raw place.

There are those who would say that talking about HR 1—I can’t bring myself to call it the “One Big Beautiful Bill”—is politics and doesn’t belong in the pulpit.

They are certainly entitled to that opinion.

But I would counter that by saying a budget—or, in this case, a spending plan—is a moral document.

It defines what we value—what we believe in.

And morality, values, beliefs—those are certainly the purview of our faith.

HR 1 says we value individual wealth more than feeding children.

HR 1 says tax breaks for corporations are more important than the health and wellbeing of poor people and seniors.

HR 1 says we believe that some people are better than others.

That only the right people deserve due process.

That rounding up people with brown skin—not criminals, but people looking for work at Home Depots, people picking fruits and vegetables in the fields, and people working in meatpacking plants—rounding up and deporting those people is more important than feeding people and making sure they have medical care.

HR 1 has increased funding for ICE to the point that their budget is now greater than the FBI, ATF, DEA, and Federal Bureau of Prisons COMBINED!

HR 1, as a moral document, says that we, as a country, are morally bankrupt.

And that saddens me.

Because I love this country—I truly do.

But this morning I am ashamed—ashamed of what we have become.

Now, that may make some of you mad—or at least uncomfortable.

You may be thinking I should stick to the gospel.

I, of course, would argue that’s precisely what I’m doing but we may just have to agree to disagree on that point.

Some of you may be thinking that I’m being negative and that I should just focus on what I am for.

Fair point.

So, here is what I am for—and, for today, I’ll confine myself to three things.

First, feeding people who are hungry—no conditions, no stipulations.

We live in the wealthiest country in the world—no one should go hungry.

Second, healthcare for all.

We have one of the highest infant mortality rates among industrialized nations—babies dying due to inadequate medical care is an absolute travesty.

And no one should have to choose between taking their prescription medications and paying their rent or feeding their children.

Third, equal treatment under the law.

No one is above the law.

And everyone is entitled to due process.

That’s MY moral document—feed people who are hungry, healthcare for all, and equal treatment under the law.

When we fail at it—be forewarned—I’m gonna preach about it.

And I’ll preach about it with the full confidence that I am doing so in alignment with the teachings and the example of Jesus.

Now, I did have a sermon mostly prepared before HR 1 passed.

And I think it aligns pretty well with what I’ve been saying.

So, I’ve pared it down a bit and will continue with it here.

Today’s second reading and gospel are both about how we live out our faith.

In the second reading, Paul is advising the community of Jesus followers that he planted how to live as the Body of Christ.

In the gospel, Jesus sends out 72 of his followers to bring good news to the surrounding communities.

The stories are different, but they have a common thread.

So, first, let’s talk about the lesson from Galatians.

Paul planted the faith community in Galatia and then he went away.

He continued on his missionary journey.

And people came in behind Paul claiming to have authority to preach to the community.

And those teachers said that Gentiles—non-Jews—must get circumcised to follow Jesus.

Paul’s letter disputes that.

Paul says that what is important is faith in Jesus.

And the living out of that faith is in community.

A united community that cares for one another.

Not a community that is divided by who is circumcised and who is not.

And that community cares for each other by “bearing each other’s burdens”.

Paul says, “Never grow tired of doing good.”

We know how early Christian communities were living from the description in The Acts of the Apostles.

In chapter 2, we read, “Those who believed lived together, shared all things in common; they would sell their property and goods, sharing the proceeds with one another as each had need. They met in the Temple and they broke bread together in their homes every day.”

That was the model.

“Those who believed lived together, sharing all things in common.”

Their belief in Jesus bound them together in community—as the Body of Christ.

It did not matter whether they were Gentile or Jew before their encounter with Jesus changed them forever.

There is a lesson for us in that unity.

In Galatia, the issue was circumcised or uncircumcised.

For us, it is rich or poor.

Black or white.

Gay or straight.

Cisgender or transgender.

Immigrant or citizen.

These are all arbitrary categories made irrelevant by the love of God and our experience of Jesus.

We are meant to love one another—to bear each other’s burdens.

Just as Jesus did—without exception.

Loving one another is an act of faith.

When we sow love, we reap love.

In today’s gospel, Jesus sends out his followers to towns that he is planning to visit.

He tells them, “Don’t carry a walking stick or knapsack; wear no sandals.”

God sends us out all the time to serve people whose needs exceed our capacity.

We serve people experiencing homelessness—even though we have no permanent shelter to offer them.

We serve people who are hungry—even though we don’t have enough for everyone.

We serve people who are sick or lonely or grieving—even though we can only offer them temporary respite.

We serve them anyway because that is what we are called to do.

We bring them a measure of God’s peace—a portion of the shalom that we have from our relationship with Jesus.

We remind those we serve that the Kin-dom of God is near—that, although the peace we offer may be temporary, the peace of God is eternal.

Jesus also said, “I am sending you as lambs in the midst of wolves.”

I will say that this week, I have never felt more like a lamb in the midst of wolves.

I listened to the Director of Elijah’s Promise lament what the future holds for people who are food insecure.

Because, despite all the great work that Elijah’s Promise does and all the generous food pantries in our community, the truth is that for every meal that those great organizations provide, SNAP provides nine.

Or at least it did.

And no amount of fundraising and hard work on the part feeding ministries can make up that deficit.

I listened to colleagues in the Interfaith Alliance and at the city’s Human & Community Services Partners Breakfast lament that people were not accessing services they desperately need because they know ICE is operating in our community and they are afraid.

I listened to community nonprofit leaders and parents of our VBS campers say that children are suffering from anxiety—they are living in a state of fear that their parents will disappear.

I hear all those voices—all that lament—so, as wounded as I am, I will keep on keeping on.

Because, although I have moments when I feel like a lamb, I am also a shepherd.

Jesus made me one.

Jesus said, “feed my sheep”.

Jesus said, “tend my sheep”.

And, God help me, that is what I intend to do.

And I pray, my siblings in Christ, that you will be shepherds at my side.

And may the wolves beware.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

We Are All Connected by God’s Love

Today’s first lesson tells us that wisdom and understanding existed before the creation of the world.

In fact, wisdom and understanding were God’s tools in creation.

To me, that begs the question: why then are wisdom and understanding so elusive to us now?

We consistently lack the wisdom to understand that God considers every human being one of God’s children.

We lack the wisdom to know that it is God’s will that we love one another.

And yet, God’s wisdom is infused throughout creation.

There are no mistakes in creation.

Not in the black hole or the supernova.

Not in the dodo bird or the platypus.

Not in the wide array of hues that our human siblings come in.

Not in all queer variations on our gender, sexuality, and romantic expression.

We are all equally loved by God—cherished, in fact.

And we are commanded by God to likewise love one another.

So why is that so hard for us to do?

In theological circles, we talk a lot about intersectionality.

Intersectionality refers to the interconnectedness of all the categories we have fabricated for ourselves—like race, class, gender, sexuality, even religion.

No human is a monolith.

We are each a combination of those categories.

And because we have diversity within ourselves, you would think it would help us to understand each other better.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t—at least, not always.

But the real lesson of intersectionality is not our interconnectedness—although that is certainly important.

The real lesson is our interdependence.

I think one of the things we can do to live into God’s command to love one another is to look into ourselves.

Is there something about the diversity within ourselves that can help us to accept the differences in another person?

Is there some common experience that we share?

Now—a word of caution.

When we talk about shared experience it is important that we not do it comparatively—as if it were a contest.

Starting from a position of “my suffering was worse” or “you had it easy”—that is the path to division, not connection.

We’re looking for things about each other or experiences we share that might be a foundation for understanding.

A foundation for relationship.

A foundation not only for interconnectedness, but also for interdependence.

A foundation for love.

I am a white, middle-class, gay, Christian man.

Because I am gay, I understand something about oppression.

But, as much as I might like to, I will never fully understand what it is like to grow up black in this country.

To suffer from systemic racism.

To fear being pulled over by a police officer because I’m driving while black.

I depend on my black siblings to share their experience of affliction.

And how that affliction produced perseverance.

And how that perseverance resulted in character.

And how that character provides them with hope.

Because that hope binds us and makes us both stronger.

Because I am gay, I understand something about marginalization.

But, as much as I might like to, I will never fully understand what is like to be a woman in this country.

To be underpaid and underappreciated in the workplace.

To have my healthcare threatened and denied.

I depend on my female and trans woman siblings to share their experience of affliction.

And how that affliction produced perseverance.

And how that perseverance resulted in character.

And how that character provides them with hope.

Because that hope binds us and makes us both stronger.

Because I am gay, I understand something about injustice.

But, as much as I might like to, I will never fully understand what it is like to be an immigrant in this country.

To be denigrated as dirty and a criminal.

To be afraid that I might be abducted by masked government agents and separated from my family.

I depend on my immigrant siblings to share their experience of affliction.

And how that affliction produced perseverance.

And how that perseverance resulted in character.

And how that character provides them with hope.

Because that hope binds us and makes us both stronger.

Being gay is just one facet of who I am.

And it gives me some insight into the experience of siblings in other social categories.

But that insight is imperfect because my struggles are not the same as the struggles of others.

We do not react to the struggles we encounter in the same way.

We do not process the lessons from those struggles the same.

And perhaps, most important of all, my personal trauma is not intergenerational.

It is not a trauma that has been suffered by my ancestors.

But it is a connection and a starting point for relationship and bridge-building.

I had the honor of officiating at the renewal of wedding vows for a lovely couple on Wednesday evening.

Robin and Frank are a straight couple who have been married for 36 years.

They heard about the Marriage Equality Celebration we were sponsoring, and they wanted to participate.

You see they have a lot of diversity in their family.

They understand how important love and support are.

They celebrate the diversity in their family.

It’s a beautiful thing to behold.

Their love for each other is so strong that it was important for them to stand up in visible support of Marriage Equality.

Even when they found out they were going to be front and center as the only couple because they were kind of hoping that they could stand up but still blend into the background.

They stood up because they understand that every human being is one of God’s children.

They stood up because they understand that it is God’s will that we love one another—and they do exactly that.

They love one another.

And they love all their human siblings

Which brings me to today’s gospel.

I confess, when I first read it, what stuck out to me was “Everything that Abba God has belongs to me.”

It’s because I was hearing it with human ears.

It reminded me of the seagulls in “Finding Nemo” or a two-year-old with a toy.

“Mine … mine … mine!”

But ownership—belonging to someone—is not always about possession.

That idea is the result of our cultural conditioning.

It is rooted in our greed and our imperfection—our sinful nature.

So hearing Jesus say, “Everything that Abba God has belongs to me.” sounded, for me in the moment, decidedly un-Christlike.

Those words didn’t sound like the Jesus I know because the Spirit had not yet spoken to me.

She had not revealed it to me.

So, I dwelled on those words and waited for the Spirit to speak to me—and finally, she did.

Belonging isn’t always about possession.

Belonging is also about love.

Belonging is also about acceptance.

Belonging is also about family and community.

So, with that new realization, I asked myself, “what belongs to God?”

What is God’s favorite creation?

What is the only creation that God called “very good”?

We are!

Each and every one of us—without exception.

Black, white, red, yellow, or brown.

Male, female, intersex, or trans.

Christian, Muslim, Jew, Hindu, agnostic, or atheist.

God love us all.

God claims each of us as God’s own.

God calls us by name.

God loves us unconditionally.

And God asks us—commands us—to love one another.

The way God loves us—without exception.

In today’s second lesson, the Apostle Paul writes, “we confidently and joyfully look forward to the day on which we will become all that God has intended.”

It’s clear to me that God intended for us to love one another.

God intended us to live in a harmonious community together.

As the family of God’s children.

In all our glorious diversity.

Let us be confident that God’s Wisdom and Understanding will imbue us with the will to live into what God intends for us.

Let us revel in the diversity of our human siblings and the many gifts that diversity brings.

And may we rejoice in God’s Kin-dom come.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Community Makes Us Better

In today’s gospel, Jesus heals the Gerasene demoniac.

It’s a miracle.

He wields his divine power to defeat evil.

Now, there are a lot of subtexts here.

We could talk about why the demoniac sought out Jesus when he hid from the townspeople.

We could talk about Luke’s choice in naming the demons Legion.

We could talk about why the townspeople were afraid.

Or why the demons asked to enter the pigs and then killed themselves.

But what I would like to talk about is how, in healing the demoniac, Jesus not only ended his torment but also restored him to community.

I think I talk a lot about community.

About how important community is.

About how God intended us to be in community.

About how this church family is a community.

And about how our worship, the various ways we learn and growth in faith together, and the way we share Holy Communion forms us as community.

About how our breaking bread together—whether it is at a coffee hour, a potluck meal, or a Lenten soup supper—binds us as a community.

In Matthew 18:20, we read, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there in their midst.”

What that means is that the bond we share in community is not only with each other, but also with Jesus.

So, when we talk about community, I hope that you keep that in mind.

Maybe you’re asking yourself why all this focus on community?

The simple answer is that we were created for community.

Community makes us stronger.

Community makes us better.

It is God’s intent for us.

But our political discourse—if you can even call it discourse—has become so inflammatory, it is dividing communities.

And people whose views differ from the majority of their community are feeling isolated and alone—not unlike the possessed man living amongst the tombs in today’s gospel.

And if we accept that community is God’s intent for us, well then, isolation cannot be.

Division is not what God intends for us.

Nadia Bolz Weber, author and Lutheran pastor, says, “Every time we draw a line between us and others, Jesus is always on the other side of it.”

And that’s where it gets confusing, doesn’t it?

Because we want to set ourselves apart as the righteous.

We want to declare ourselves as sheep and those with whom we disagree as goats.

But demonizing our human siblings is not what God intends for us.

By healing the possessed man, Jesus has freed him from the label of “demoniac”.

He is no longer set apart from the community.

How many labels do we have for ourselves?

Trumper.

Woke.

MAGAts.

Liberal.

Fascist.

Snowflake.

Name-calling divides communities.

It prevents us from having honest conversation.

It stops us from ever finding common ground.

And we already have common ground—our faith.

We believe in the gospel of Jesus.

We believe that Jesus came to “bring Good News to those who are poor, to proclaim liberty to those held captive, recovery of sight to those who are blind, and release to those in prison. To proclaim the year of our God’s favor.”

The rub is in how we interpret those words.

There will be differing opinions—because we are each a unique creation—a unique expression of God’s image.

Our uniqueness, coupled with the differences in our life experiences, makes us hear those words differently.

And we need to make allowances for differences in opinion.

Because we revel in the diversity of God’s creation.

And we are called to love not only our human siblings, but also that which makes each of them exceptional.

To be clear, that does not mean we have to be morally ambivalent to get along.

If an opinion causes harm—like one rooted in racism—then we need to call it out.

Not disrespectfully.

Not hurtfully.

But calmly—and with moral clarity.

There are some moral imperatives that will always be clear.

Bombing innocent people will always be wrong.

Allowing people to starve will always be wrong.

Separating children from their loving, caring parents will always be wrong.

But, when the issue is not so cut-and-dried, we allow for difference of opinion.

Jesus’ miracles of healing—which always includes a restoration to community—are a call to us.

A call to heal divisions.

A call to step outside our comfort zones and have tough conversations.

And, when we disagree, we seek to find common ground where we can agree.

The common ground starts with Jesus’ commandments to love God and love our neighbor.

That’s the foundation.

And then we build on it through conversation.

Honest conversation with an open heart and mind.

And when we say or do things that are hurtful to another—whether we mean to or not, we ask for forgiveness.

And when we are hurt or angry, we forgive.

And, as Jesus told us, “not seven times, but seventy times seven.”

We forgive—not because we’re weak or we’re pushovers.

We forgive because we follow the Way of Jesus.

We forgive because we are forgiven—every day—through the abundant grace of God.

This congregation proclaims to the world that we are a welcoming community.

That welcome can’t only be for people of different races, different sexuality, and different genders.

Jesus’ example calls us to invite people who are at different places in their faith journey—whether they are lifelong believers, agnostics, atheists, or someone from another faith tradition.

It calls us to invite people of differing political views.

Our welcome is guided by the example of Jesus—who welcomed all.

Even those who were marginalized.

Even those who were outcast by society.

Even those who were isolated, alone, and living amongst tombs.

In closing, let us remember that Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; but the kind of peace I give you is not like the world’s peace.”

Let us live into Jesus’ peace.

Let us always seek unity over division.

Conversation over name-calling.

Forgiveness over condemnation.

Because we are all children of God.

The divisions we have established, the boxes we have put ourselves into—they are creations of our own sinfulness.

Our own egos.

We are all one in Christ Jesus, who loves us all.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

The Emanuel 9 Calls Us to Do Better

On June 17, 2015, Dylann Roof, entered the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, SC.

He asked for Clementa Pinckney, who was pastor of the church.

He asked to participate in the scheduled bible study and took a seat next to Clementa.

He listened to the discussion, interrupting a few times to disagree.

When the participants started praying at the end of the night’s discussion, he pulled out a 45-caliber Glock from his fanny pack and opened fire.

Dylann killed nine people by shooting them multiple times at close range.

Eight died at the scene; one died at the hospital.

Three people survived the shooting, although they are undoubtedly scarred for life.

When I think about the Emanuel Nine, I cannot help but think about our own Bible Study.

Our group meets at the Somerset Diner on Thursday evenings.

It’s mostly the same people: Tiina, Susan, Pam, Janet, Amelda, and I.

Rimma started coming while we were discussing Mary Magdalene.

And we have others that come now and again.

We talk about Scripture—and books that help us in our quest to understand Scripture better—and how the overarching theme of it all is God’s unconditional love for us.

And how Gods love calls us—compels us—to love others.

To reflect that divine love out into the world.

The group has become a Thursday-night fixture at the diner—they were disappointed to hear we were taking a break until September.

They recognize us when we come in.

They give us a table where we can easily have our discussions without being disturbed or distracting the other diners.

One of our waitresses was so intrigued by our group that we shared two of the books from our studies with her.

Our time together is sacred.

Our discussions help us to grow in faith together.

And the meal we share binds as a community.

So, the thought of anyone disrupting our sacred time together with violence is terrifying.

Especially the idea of someone joining our group.

Being welcomed into our fellowship.

Even participating in our discussion.

But then bringing that holy time to a close with blood and gunfire.

And what would that do to our faith?

Would an act of violence shake our faith?

Or would it strengthen our resolve to be faithful to Jesus’ message of love and grace?

Believe it or not, the people of Emanuel church, including family members of the victims, forgave Dylann Roof.

Chris Singleton, whose mother, Sharonda, was murdered by Dylann said, "The narrative of forgiveness is submitting, and it means that you're weak, or people would think that. But I've realized that forgiving is so much tougher than holding a grudge. It takes a lot more courage to forgive.”

Talk about being strengthened by God and following the Way of Jesus!

Now, it might be easy for us to say that “the devil made him do it”.

But I think that is too simplistic an answer.

Dylann struggled as a child.

His home life wasn’t stable.

He didn’t do well in school.

He was raised in an ELCA church.

And he became radicalized online.

He found his identity in hate—and the community he lacked with white supremacists.

Many were shocked to find that Dylann went to an ELCA church—and not some ultra-conservative evangelical church that espoused Christian Nationalism.

The ELCA is one of the most progressive of the mainline denominations.

We ordain women.

We believe in full participation of our LGBTQ+ siblings.

We advocate for immigrants, people experiencing homelessness, and those living in poverty.

So, what went wrong?

Why did the foundation of his faith not protect him from rejecting Jesus’ gospel of love?

Statistics tell us that we are the whitest of the mainline denominations.

So, I think that begs the question, “Are we doing enough to welcome people of color?”

Do we incorporate black, Latinx, and Asian traditions into our worship?

Do we invite people of color who are our friends, neighbors, and coworkers to church?

Do we seek to identify and eliminate microaggressions?

Do we ask our fellow congregants who are people of color for their input and then REALLY listen?

In her book “Disciples of White Jesus: The Radicalization of American Boyhood”, Angela Denker says, “Racism and violence persist in America often because white Americans convince ourselves we have a certain distance from such ugliness.”

Hiding the ugliness of our history doesn’t make it any less true.

Slavery was a long time ago.

The Emancipation Proclamation eliminated slavery in this country.

Many people have convinced themselves that slavery has nothing to do with us.

But many fail to realize that the Emancipation Proclamation didn’t do enough.

Freed slaves were given no money to compensate them for years of unpaid labor.

They were given no land to homestead like immigrants arriving from Europe.

For those unwilling or unable to go north to find jobs, they were limited to sharecropping or domestic work, often under conditions not much different from slavery.

But many of us don’t want to face these truths.

Jim Crow laws were a long time ago.

But the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Fair Housing Act of 1968 eliminated Jim Crow laws.

So, Jim Crow laws have nothing to do with us, right?

But the effects of redlining—the collaboration of banks, insurance companies, builders, and realtors to keep neighborhoods segregated—persist to this day.

The long-term impacts of redlining have embedded themselves in the credit decision process of our financial system.

It conceals the racial aspects of who has access to money, loans, housing, and credit cards.

The GI Bill helped veterans returning from war afford housing and education.

But those benefits were denied to black veterans which has had a profound impact on the ability of black families to improve their financial situation and accumulate wealth.

But many of us don’t want to face these truths.

The election of Barack Obama proved racism no longer exists, right?

But voter suppression still exists—aided by the recent gutting of the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Gerrymandering reduces the voting power of minority communities.

Black communities are still overpoliced.

Sadly, black parents have to instruct their sons on how to avoid police violence.

According to the FBI, racially motivated hate crimes are increasing and over half of those crimes are related to race or ethnicity.

Despite incremental gains over the last 150 years, racism in this country is still strong—still thriving.

The roots of racism run deep, and those roots have become intertwined with our culture, our politics, even our religion.

And still, many of us don’t want to face that hard truth.

In 2022, the median household wealth for white families was $284K.

For black families, it was $44K.

$44K!—that’s 85% less.

Now you’ll hear some white people immediately say, “well, my net worth is nowhere near $284K”.

Or “I’ve worked hard for everything that I have. No one gave me anything.”

The thing is, when we do that—when we dismiss the problems of racism without even fully listening and absorbing what we’re being told—we perpetuate these longstanding problems.

If we allow ourselves to forget for a moment that we had nothing to do with creating those problems, then we can at least acknowledge that there IS a problem.

The median wealth of a white family in this country is $284K.

And the median wealth for a black family is $44K.

THAT is a problem.

Maybe we should be less concerned about deflecting the reasons for this situation and be more focused on how we fix it.

Now, you may be asking yourself how I got from honoring the Emanuel Nine to economic racism.

The reason is simple.

They are symptoms of the same evil.

There is racism in this country—it is systemic.

There is racism in this church.

There is racism in our hearts—all our hearts—no matter how hard we guard against it.

No matter how progressive we think we are.

How could there not be?

We are bombarded with messages of fear and hatred.

Our culture and our politics are steeped in it.

Let’s not deny it.

Let’s not let our discomfort with the ugly truth prevent us from acknowledging it.

Today’s gospel should be a familiar one.

Jesus says, “If you wish to come after me, you must deny your very self, take up your cross and follow in my footsteps.”

We all know the Way of Jesus.

It is to love God—and the image of God in every one of our human siblings.

It is to love our neighbor—especially those who are unlike us and those who are marginalized and oppressed.

We should all be able to agree that racism is evil.

We should also agree that we are all sinners and, as sinners, we are capable of that evil of racism.

If we deny that, we have no hope of ever addressing it.

So, let us remember that we are not only sinners, but also saints.

Let us rededicate ourselves, not to colorblindness, but to antiracism.

To be earnest in our desire to do better.

To pick our cross and follow Jesus.

To live into our calling as beloved children of God.

To love our neighbors—ALL our neighbors—as Jesus loves us—unconditionally and abundantly.

The voices of the Emanuel Nine demand it.

May the Holy Spirit give us the will and the strength to do it.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Diversity is a God-Given Gift

The lectionary, which is the three-year cycle that assigns readings for each week, aligns with the church seasons.

There is a cycle for each of the synoptic gospels—Matthew, Mark, and Luke—and John gets sprinkled in throughout the years.

The modern lectionary was developed in 1969 as part of the Second Vatican Council.

1969 is also the year of the Stonewall riots, which are generally considered to be the beginning of the LGBTQ+ civil rights movement.

I think it’s safe to assume that the clergy assembled for Vatican II gave no consideration whatsoever to Stonewall or the nascent gay rights movement.

But honestly, there couldn’t be a better set of readings to kick off Pride month.

Humanity is God’s favorite creation.

We are the only creation that God saw as “very good”.

When we were created, God intended us to be in relationship with God.

But God also intended for us to be in relationship with each other.

In ancient times, people were focused on the community.

They relied on group welfare for survival.

We’ve gotten away from that in our culture.

We are more focused on individualism and personal gain.

That kind of self-importance is not the Way of Jesus.

Because we were created for community.

Today’s first lesson is about the Tower of Babel.

The traditional viewpoint is that God created multiple languages and dispersed humankind as a punishment.

The idea was that humanity was becoming too prideful and were building a tower to reach God.

So God makes them speak different languages to stop them in their tracks.

The tower never gets finished.

And then humankind is dispersed to the four corners of the earth.

It’s what I was taught in Sunday school and I never really questioned it.

It just kind of goes along with the idea that we’re inherently bad.

Adam and Eve were prideful and they wanted to know what God knew.

Those early people in the valley of Shinar were prideful and they wanted to reach the heights of God.

But there’s a problem with that line of thinking.

We know that God is not “up there”.

And, even if God were, we’re not going to reach heaven by building a tower, now are we?

Now, it does sound like people may have been getting prideful—a little too big for their britches, if you will.

But there is another way of looking at God making people speak different languages.

God—the creator—was creating diversity.

Now, maybe you’re saying to yourself, “why would God do that?”

The need for diversity seems counterintuitive.

Differences separate and divide, don’t they?

It’s true, diversity can do that.

But diversity also fosters creativity and innovation.

You see, different life experiences encourage different approaches to problems and challenges.

Diverse groups containing members with different perspectives are more likely to think out of the box and arrive at more creative solutions.

Having a variety of skills and perspectives on a team makes them more resilient and more easily adaptable to changing circumstances.

Diversity in communities can increase tolerance and reduce conflict.

So, diversity strengthens.

Some people look at Pentecost as a “correction” to the Tower of Babel.

But that is simply not true.

It is also supercessionist.

Pentecost did not return humanity to one language.

Multiple languages remained.

The diversity—created by God—remained.

What differed is that each person heard the word in their own language.

The Spirit allows us to relate to each other—despite our differences.

When diversity was a stumbling block to the community, the Spirit intervened.

Because we were created for community.

Today’s story from Genesis tells us that God created diversity.

Diversity is what God intended for us.

Diversity strengthens us—whether that is diversity in language, culture, sexuality, or gender.

Diversity makes communities more resilient.

If diversity divides us—that is our doing, that is not God’s intent,

The story of Pentecost tells us that we can relate to each other—be it through faith, through the example of Jesus, or the action of the Spirit.

In 1 Corinthians, we read, “The body is one, even though it has many parts; all the parts—many though they are—comprise a single body.”

Humanity is the one body.

The many parts is the God-created diversity that we see in each of our siblings—differences in culture, country of origin, language, sexuality, gender identity, and gender expression.

God sees the diversity in creation and says that it is good.

God see the diversity in God’s human children and says that it is very good.

We were made for community, my friends.

Not a boring, cookie cutter community.

But richly diverse community, created by God.

Let us remember that our faith is not simply a belief.

It is meant to be lived out.

And, try as we might, we cannot live out our faith alone.

Jesus showed us that God intended for us to live out our faith in community.

We need each other.

We need people who are different from us.

They make us stronger.

They make us better.

I wish this beautifully diverse congregation a blessed Pentecost and a happy Pride Month.

May you see the differences in all your divinely-created siblings as the gifts that they are.

Because we were created for community.

Thanks be to God!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

No One is Free until We All are Free

Today is the last Sunday of the Easter season.

Next week is Pentecost so don’t forget to wear your red.

We’re still primarily focusing on the lessons from Acts.

And, in the Acts passage, I think our tendency might be to skip right over Paul’s casting out the spirit of divination from the slave girl and focus on the miracle of Paul and Silas’ liberation.

If we do that, I think we’re missing some important parallels in the lesson.

Now, while I really like the language of the Inclusive Bible most of the time, in today’s lesson, it does us a bit of a disservice.

You see, the girl possessed by the spirit of divination wasn’t just a “household worker”.

She was a slave.

And she—or perhaps more accurately, her demon—doesn’t just say Paul and the disciples are “faithful followers of the Most High God”, she says they are slaves of the Most High God.

At least that is how the NRSV renders the Greek.

She draws a parallel between herself and the evangelists that she follows.

The difference, of course, is that her servitude is not voluntary.

The girl follows Paul and his disciples, shouting after them about how they are slaves of the Most High God proclaiming the way of salvation.

Out of frustration from her repeated presence, Paul casts out her demon.

When he does so, he frees the girl from her spiritual torment.

There’s a good chance that he may also have freed her from her physical bondage because he removed the thing that made the girl valuable to her owners.

So, she was made free—definitely spiritually, and perhaps physically as well.

Then, in a twist of fate, Paul is made a prisoner for his action.

Now, it’s probably safe to assume that Paul was spiritually free because of his faith.

But physically, he was no longer free.

Paul and Silas make their presence known to God by their praise and their singing—much as the slave girl made her presence known to Paul.

And God responds to Paul’s imprisonment—just as Paul responded to the girl’s possession.

And Paul is made free—first from his chains, and then from his prison.

And then, there is the jailer.

He is a slave to his position—so much so that he is willing to kill himself for failure.

And—in a broader sense—he is a slave to sin.

So he makes his presence known to Paul, “what must I do to be saved?”

And Paul responds—as God responded to Paul and Paul responded to the girl.

He preaches to the jailer and his family.

He baptizes them—and he frees them sin and death by bringing them to God.

Three very different stories of bondage.

And three different stories of liberation.

But there is a thread that runs through all of them.

There are all kinds of ways to be a slave.

But freedom begins with our faith in God.

And because everyone in today’s lesson is freed from their individual bondage, I would add that the following adage also holds true:

No one is free until we all are free.

Last week, Rich told us that 12 Rutgers students had their visas canceled.

Unfortunately, this is happening all over the country.

Foreign students are finding themselves imprisoned by uncertainty.

They are uncertain whether they’ll be allowed to stay in this country.

They are uncertain whether they’ll be able to complete their degrees.

Some find themselves in this situation for daring to speak out about the injustices occurring in Gaza.

Others are undoubtedly the victims of xenophobia, Islamaphobia, or racism.

We are all slaves to the uncertainty of what in the world is going to happen next.

And I’m gonna say no one is free until we all are free.

There is economic disparity in this country.

The wealth of this country was built on the backs of African slaves.

And—while it may have started with slavery—the economic disparity didn’t end there.

Emancipated slaves received no compensation for lost wages, nor were they given land to homestead—although white settlers from Europe got plenty.

Emancipated slaves started in a financial hole that was almost impossible to climb out of.

It led many to a life of sharecropping—which wasn’t much different from slavery.

Emancipated slaves were freed from one type of bondage—only to find themselves subjected to another.

The concept of tip wages was developed to pay black waitstaff, domestic workers, and railroad porters less than minimum wage.

Redlining prevented people of color from purchasing homes—where they could accumulate wealth.

Instead, they were forced to rent—an expense that further enriched white landowners and continues to widen the wealth gap between white and black people.

Black soldiers were denied GI Bill benefits that would have allowed them to attend college—leaving them at a disadvantage in the workplace.

And then there are the various “poor taxes” that continue to adversely affect low-income families.

Food deserts force families to buy more expensive groceries at small neighborhood stores.

Lack of preventive care means more expensive medical and dental problems in the future.

Lack of local branches and restrictive bank policies, force people to use check-cashing operations, whose exorbitant fees eat away at their wages.

If you think the Emancipation Proclamation or the Civil Rights Act of 1965 or the election of Barack Obama means that economic disparity, rooted in racism, is a thing of the past—you are sadly mistaken.

We are all slaves to the financial apparatus of this country.

And no one is free until we all are free.

I had a family come to the church on Thursday.

There were three women of three generations.

And they were homeless.

They said there were seven people in two families, living in a single apartment.

They had income.

Several of the adults had jobs.

And they were evicted.

I didn’t ask why.

When I worked for Family Promise, I heard all the reasons.

The landlord raised the rent above their means.

Or perhaps the landlord wanted to cash out and sell the property.

Maybe even the families were evicted for non-payment.

But there are so many reasons why that could be.

The household breadwinner left—or died.

An unexpected expense—hospital bill, car repair, death of a loved one—meant there was no money for rent.

We live in a society where a stable place to live is seen as a privilege, not a right.

We are slaves to a system where any number of circumstances could threaten your shelter.

And siblings, hear me when I say no one is free until we all are free.

I have the privilege of knowing a good many transgender and gender nonconforming people.

Some I consider close friends.

Two of my friends are in stages of transition.

Now, to be clear, they are not transforming into something new.

They are transitioning to the gender that they deeply know themselves to be.

It’s not something new and different.

It’s not a fad or a whim.

After years of consultation with doctors and therapists, after years of hormone therapy, and after years of socially presenting as their gender—FINALLY, they will have bodies that match their identity.

It has not been without anxiety.

Both have had to deal with the uncertainty of what the administration’s “two gender” executive order means for their medical care.

And their insurance coverage.

And their ongoing medical care.

We are slaves to a system where healthcare is seen as a privilege, not a right.

Now my friends are both strong and resilient adults.

Imagine what it must be like for children and young adults—who haven’t been tested and strengthened by adversity.

Who may not have supportive communities around them.

Or what it’s like for the parents of those children who want nothing more than to protect their children—knowing full-well that gender-affirming care is suicide prevention.

We are slaves to a culture that feels empowered to dictate who we are.

God as my witness, I’ll say it again—no one is free until we all are free.

So, where does that leave us?

First, like the slave girl AND Paul AND the jailer, we must make our presence known.

We make our presence known to God through worship and prayer.

We lament oppression when we see it.

We celebrate freedom when it is won.

We make our presence known to the world through our acts of love.

Serving the least of these.

Speaking out against false witness against our neighbors.

And refusing to accept anything that diminishes the freedom that is God’s justice.

Second, it means that we have work to do.

We must continue building the Kin-dom.

We must plant the seeds of freedom wherever we can.

We must nurture freedom whenever we find it—protect it from whatever threatens it.

We must love God—the God that we know loves us—ALWAYS.

The God that loves us unconditionally.

The God that casts out the demons that hold us back from the Kin-dom—fear and hate and greed—all the things that prevent us from loving our neighbor as Jesus loves us.

The God that breaks the bonds of whatever is preventing our imago dei from shining forth and reflecting God’s love out into the world.

Last week’s gospel talked about peace.

Rich rightly pointed out that Jesus’ peace is enduring—it’s permanent—not like the peace that the world gives.

In the biblical context, peace also means wholeness or flourishing—specifically the wholeness or the flourishing that we would anticipate in the Kin-dom.

The wholeness or flourishing that we would experience under the justice of God’s Kin-dom—where we all are free.

Free from everything that limits us from living into our divinity within.

In today’s gospel, Jesus says we are one—he in us and us in him—and that we are made perfect in that unity.

May we recognize the Jesus within us—and act as we know Jesus would.

May we live into that perfect unity—with each and every one of our human siblings.

Good and gracious God, I pray that it may be so!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Peace the World Can’t Give (a sermon by Rich Novak)

Good morning, church!

I am going to take the readings in reverse order and try to make sense of them and show how they are connected.

1. Love and Obedience Go Together

The gospel reading begins with the words, “Jesus answered.” But what was the question?

Judas (not Iscariot) said to Him, “Lord, how is it that You will manifest Yourself to us, and not to the world?”

The writer makes the point that this Judas was not the Judas that betrayed Jesus, leading to his death. For us, it is a reminder that this was a popular name at that time and we should not be confused.

Judas had heard Jesus teach that all the earth would see the Messiah in His glory (Matthew 24:30). It was hard for him to understand Jesus when He now spoke of a revealing of Himself that the world would not see.

If anyone loves Me, they will keep My word: In answering Judas, Jesus repeated the themes from the previous verses. Jesus would be revealed to and among the disciples through love, obedience, and union with the Creator. These were not and are not primarily mystical or ecstatic experiences, but real life lived out in the presence and work of the Holy Spirit.

Jesus says, “Anyone who loves me will obey my teaching.” That’s simple, but not always easy. He’s telling us that love isn’t just about feelings—it’s about action. If we say we love Jesus, it should show in how we live, how we treat others, and how we follow His example.

How do we follow his example? By serving the least of these, we are told by Jesus. The hungry, the homeless, the downtrodden, the marginalized, the migrants. For me, it is hard to see obedience to Jesus teaching in the orchestrated attacks that we’re seeing daily on these, the least of us.

For us at Emanuel, we’ve tried to obey Jesus’ teaching and follow his example. For us, it has meant the historic and lasting work in founding Elijah’s Promise, of being on the ground floor with the Middlesex Interfaith Partners With The Homeless. That has happened. That is in the past. And today it means our involvement with Archangel Raphael’s Mission, Feeding New Brunswick Network, United Methodist Dinner Ministry, hosting the men’s shelter and many other examples.

We celebrate our love of God, for sure, at Sunday worship, but we live this love through following the life and commands of Jesus.

2. God Makes His Home in Us

Jesus says that if we love Him and follow Him, God will live with us. Think about that! The God who created the universe chooses to be close to you and me. Not in a temple, not just in a church building—but in our very lives.

That means we’re never alone. When life is confusing, when things go wrong, or when we’re trying to make a big decision—God is already right there with us. Frankly, for me, this is the strength and hope that keeps me going day after day.

3. The Holy Spirit Is Our Helper

Jesus knew His time on earth was almost up, and imagine how his disciples felt. But He didn’t leave His followers empty-handed. He promised the Holy Spirit, whom He calls the Advocate or the Helper or the Greek word Paraclete, depending upon the translation. In short, they all mean helper, comforter, guide, counselor and even lawyer—someone who stands by you and speaks truth into your life.

The Holy Spirit reminds us of what Jesus taught. The Spirit helps us remember to love, forgive, stay strong, and trust God when we’re afraid or unsure.

Today, we might all feel confused by the world, or we might have questions about faith. The Holy Spirit helps us grow in our understanding and gives us wisdom to walk with God daily.

I will share with you that at Rutgers we are very confused. We are very confused by the national policies that have cut life-saving research grants, that have been attacks in higher education on free speech, that have singled out enemies of the president that have unexplained revoked the visas of students that are here. They were quiet, deceptive things that are going on and not all of them are reported. At Rutgers, we had 64 grants cancelled that were multi-year grants. So, they’re into year two, year three, year four of their grants, where people are hired. This has affected 200 faculty and staff. We had the visas of 12 students revoked. No explanation. No explanation. It gets jammed up in court, it gets overturned. At least temporarily. So, yeah, confusing for sure.

The spirit is our guide, our helper, our counselor.

In the Orthodox Tradition, there is only one prayer that is addressed to the Holy Spirit and it is a prayer that is said every day, calling on the Holy Spirit.

Heavenly King, Comforter, Spirit of Truth, You are everywhere present and fill all things. Treasury of blessings and Giver of Life, Come and dwell within in us, Cleanse us of all stain, And save our souls O Gracious One.

This prayer acknowledges exactly what Jesus promised – he would not leave us alone, but rather the Spirit, that is everywhere present and fills all things, would be our companion, our guide, our helper.

4. Peace That the World Can’t Give

One of the most powerful lines in this passage is this:

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives.” Let’s unpack that.

In Jesus’ world and time, some form of “peace be with you” was the common greeting when greeting or leaving someone. In Modern Hebrew, "Shalom" is used as a common greeting and farewell, similar to saying "hello" and "goodbye", signifying a blessing for well-being upon meeting or departing. It can refer to both inner peace and harmony as well as the absence of conflict and war. The Arabic greeting "As-salamu alaykum" translates to "Peace be with you". In the Middle East, it's a common way for Muslims to greet each other, reflecting the value placed on peace and good wishes. The phrase uses the word "salam," which means "peace" in Arabic. Similar greetings with the meaning "peace be with you" are also used in other religious traditions, like Christianity, with the phrase "Pax vobiscum" in Latin.

I have many friends from the Middle East and they would always greet each other, everyone, with “the peace of God be with you”. When I was growing up, this was something that my parents always said, “Go with God.”

So, once again, Jesus uses a reference that is readily understood by many – the greeting of peace. But he goes far beyond the common usage and says, I do not give to you as the world gives. Even today as the world promises peace through success, money, popularity, or comfort, Jesus counters. Those things fade. They can be taken away. Jesus offers a deeper peace—a peace that stays, even in the middle of hard times.

This kind of peace calms your heart when you're scared. It helps you sleep at night when you don’t know what tomorrow holds. It’s the peace that knows God is in control—even when life feels out of control.

And Jesus says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” He’s not just giving a suggestion—He’s giving us a reason to trust. If Jesus has conquered death and given us His Spirit, then we can face anything that comes our way.

And as I say this to you, this is one of the toughest ones that I wrestle with. Day by day.

5. So What Does This Mean for Us Today?

Here’s how we can live this out:

• Love Jesus by following Him

• Trust that God is with us

• Ask the Holy Spirit for help

• Accept Jesus’ peace

Conclusion

Jesus spoke these words knowing He was about to leave His disciples. But He gave them—and us—everything we need: love, guidance, God’s presence, and unshakable peace.

So this week, when our heart starts to feel troubled, remember these words:

“My peace I give you. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”

Let’s live in that peace today.

Breaking Bread Together

I always thought this vision of Peter’s was very odd.

I confess that, for a long time, I put it in the same category as most of the book of Revelation—a bit too out there and I didn’t really get it.

I mean there had to be a simpler way for God to let us know that we could eat shellfish and bacon.

Don’t get me wrong.

I mean—woo hoo! I LOVE shellfish and bacon.

But is there more going on here than I realized?

First, I think it’s important to say straight off the bat that this is not about God saying that the covenant with Jews was over and it is time for a new covenant.

That is the foundation of antisemitism.

Jesus did not come to create a new religion.

He was an observant Jew.

His lessons and his style of teaching is very Jewish.

Jesus’ message about the Kin-dom—and this vision of Peter’s—is about including Gentiles.

Alongside Jews—and the rest of humanity.

That is an earmark of Jesus’ ministry—inclusion.

Jesus intentionally went to the margins.

He didn’t just preach about the Kin-dom and heal people who were broken in mind, body or spirit.

He fed them.

He sat down and broke bread with them.

Lepers and tax collectors and prostitutes.

He intentionally included people that had been ostracized.

Because that is what the Kin-dom is—true community.

In today’s gospel, Jesus says, “Love one another. And you’re to love one another the way I have loved you. This is how all will know that you’re my disciples: that you truly love one another.”

Jesus says that we are to love one another the way he loves us.

Unconditionally and without exception.

So, any time we put limits on our love for our neighbors, we are not following Jesus’ command.

We are falling short.

And, unfortunately, there is no shortage of examples of how we are falling short.

* This is the part that is missing from the recording *

Our government continues to arrest and detain people of color under the guise of public safety—protecting us from dangerous criminals who have entered the country illegally.

The only problem is that the reality just doesn’t line up with the rhetoric.

Men with no criminal record are being deported.

Women and children are being detained.

Political dissidents are being harassed and persecuted.

All without due process—a fundamental right of all people, not just citizens.

To paraphrase from today’s lesson from Acts, “don’t call illegal who God has called a citizen of the Kin-dom”.

There is also an executive order that dictates the federal government will only recognize two genders—male and female.

That unfounded position has emboldened anti-trans discrimination across the country.

Again, governments at the federal, state, and local levels are doing this under the guise of “protecting women”.

But again, the reality doesn’t align with the rhetoric.

Trans women are not assaulting other women in bathrooms.

Trans women athletes are not depriving other women of opportunities to excel nor are they causing them injuries.

The truth is trans people are at greater risk of assault and homicide.

And advocates are concerned that the current political climate will embolden extremists that would do trans people harm.

One fallout of the executive order is that all references to transgender have been scrubbed from the Stonewall National monument—despite the fact that many of the brave souls who fought back against police brutality against LGBT+ folks were transgender.

To paraphrase from today’s lesson from Acts, “don’t call an abomination who God has called one of God’s children”.

Now, the point of my saying this is not to imply that anyone here is calling undocumented people “illegal” or transgender people an “abomination”.

But when we hear these things and say nothing, it is collusion.

We are not living out our faith.

We are not speaking our truth.

Our silence reinforces the “othering”.

Our failure to stand up encourages the perpetrators—or, at the very least, doesn’t DIScourage them.

Perhaps worse, our immigrant and transgender siblings are injured by our silence—by our failure to stand with them.

* And this is where it picks back up again *

There is an oft-repeated phrase, “no one is free unless we all are free”.

I believe that Jesus would say, “no one is saved unless we all are saved”—because our salvation is bound up with our neighbor’s.

I think it’s fitting that Peter’s vision was about food.

Food is about comfort and fellowship.

Thich Nhat Hanh, Buddhist monk and peace activist, said, “Sharing a meal together is not just to sustain our bodies and celebrate life’s wonders, but also to experience freedom, joy, and the happiness of brotherhood and sisterhood, during the whole time of eating.”

I think that touches on something that is important for us to remember as we approach the Table this morning.

Sharing this meal together is about freedom, joy, and the happiness of siblinghood.

Yes, it is about ceremony and sacrament.

But it is also about inclusion and relationship.

Relationship between us and God—and also between each other and the rest of our human siblings.

When we celebrate Communion together, it is an embodiment of justice.

When Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me”, he wasn’t asking us to passively hold a memory.

He was inviting us into action.

He was asking us to love God.

He was asking us to love each other as he loves us.

To love each other unconditionally and without exception.

To seek justice for the oppressed and the marginalized.

To continue building the Kin-dom—brick-by-brick.

To continue planting the seeds of faith that will grow.

Now, some of you may be saying, “you’re reading an awful lot into a pretty simple statement”.

Perhaps.

But about the only straightforward thing Jesus said was, “Love God. And love your neighbor.”

The rest of the time he was speaking in parables and riddles.

And although, “Love God. And love your neighbor.” seems pretty straightforward, we could spend hours discussing who is our neighbor.

And a boatload more time discussing HOW do we love God and HOW do we love our neighbor.

So, should it come as a surprise that that simple statement of “Do this in remembrance of me.” might also be layered?

We place a lot of emphasis on the idea that God’s grace is free.

That there is nothing we can do to deserve it.

That we receive God’s grace in abundance every day—with no strings attached.

And yet, there is always this call to action.

And that, my friends, is the answer to how to love god and how to love our neighbor.

We show our love for God by loving our neighbor—following Jesus’ example.

By seeking out those at the margins and welcoming them to break bread with us.

And, when I say that, I’m thinking about breaking bread very expansively.

We can break bread in a physical sense by feeding people who are hungry.

But we can also break bread in an emotional sense by including people who have been “othered”—to show them that we see the image of God in them.

And we can break bread in a spiritual sense by inviting them to this table of forgiveness.

Breaking bread together is community-building.

And, in community, there is hope.

Not blind optimism—but trust in God and what we can do together.

Today’s lesson from Revelation talks about new heavens and a new earth—where we are God’s people and God will be present among us.

It’s talking about the Kin-dom.

And all this talk about including the marginalized—and feeding them: physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

All this talk about thinking expansively about how we remember Jesus.

It’s all about building the Kin-dom.

It seems so far off at this moment in time because of terrible things that are happening around us.

Terrible things that divide, rather than unite us.

But Jesus promises that the Kin-dom is near.

And we can participate in bringing it closer still.

So, let’s take away from today’s lessons that we have been given a gift from God.

The gift that we can be co-creators of the Kin-dom.

That we can be agents of God’s love in the world.

That we can be unifiers that help heal the brokenness around us.

Thanks be to God for all God’s gifts!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.