Listen for the voice of the Good Shepherd

The lectionary cut off today’s gospel at verse 10.

I changed the gospel to include verses 11 through 18.

Verse 11 starts with, “I am the good shepherd”.

Some weeks, the readings in the lectionary make it hard to know where to go in a sermon.

Sometimes, I change the lessons.

But usually, I will wrestle with it because I figure wrestling with difficult texts can be the point.

But trying to craft a sermon about a sheep gate without the good shepherd seemed just too tall a task.

As I was preparing for this sermon, I read an interesting commentary that said, metaphorically speaking, gates determine who is an insider and who is an outsider.

That was particularly relevant to me because part of my week was spent preparing for a synod event called Faith, Hope, & Love.

Faith, Hope, & Love started as an annual event to help congregations become more welcoming to LGBTQ+ youth.

It was held for a few years and then Covid happened.

Yesterday was the first event in several years and it was billed as Faith, Hope, & Love 2.0.

2.0 because the scope expanded beyond LGBTQ+ issues to now include immigration and racial justice.

Within each of those three tracks—immigration, LGBTQ+, and racial justice—there were speakers on how faith, hope, and love touch on those issues of justice.

I was the coordinator of the immigration track and spoke about what our faith tells us about immigration justice.

I shared my remarks at Adult Forum this morning.

I also posted the text on our website so, if you are interested, you can read them there.

Teresa Vivar, who you all know, spoke about what her hopes were when she came to this country and how they differed from reality.

The day was Spirit-filled and deeply meaningful.

Adding the dimensions of immigration and racial justice strengthened the program and I look forward to many more years of exploring justice issues with congregations throughout our synod.

The reason I bring up Faith, Hope, & Love is that what became clear to me yesterday is that, where Jesus is involved, we are all insiders.

Jesus saying he is the sheep gate means no one is left outside.

Regardless of our immigration status, our sexual or gender identity, or our race, we are all part of his flock.

We are his beloveds.

We recognize his voice.

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

We do not need to fear the thieves, robbers, and wolves.

Because our shepherd has promised to protect us.

He has promised to lay down his life for us.

Because there is no limit to his love for us.

But Jesus warns us that there are those who would deceive us—lure us into a false sense of security.

Pretenders who would try to trick us into believing that they are the shepherd.

People who would lead us to believe that servants of God are “radical left, hard line Trump haters—who are nasty, boring, and uninspiring”.

That is a voice that we don’t recognize—it is a voice we should not follow.

The voice that says, “Have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are gay, lesbian and transgender children in Democratic, Republican, and independent families, some who fear for their lives. The people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings; who labor in poultry farms and meat packing plants; who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shifts in hospitals, they may not be citizens or have the proper documentation. But the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes and are good neighbors.”—that is the voice that echoes the gospel.

That is the voice of the good shepherd that we should recognize and follow.

The voice that offers prayers asking God to “make the enemy’s land a desolation,” to “break the teeth of the ungodly,” and to give American forces “unbreakable unity, and overwhelming violence against our enemies who deserve no mercy.”—that is a voice that has no resemblance to the Way of Jesus.

It is a voice we don’t recognize and should not follow.

The voice that says, “Brothers and sisters, this is our God: Jesus, King of Peace, who rejects war, whom no one can use to justify war. He does not listen to the prayers of those who wage war, but rejects them” because the prophet Isaiah says, “Even though you make many prayers, I will not listen: your hands are full of blood.”—that is the voice that echoes Scripture.

That is the voice of the good shepherd that we should recognize and follow.

The voice that excuses sacrilegious behavior and criminal conduct by saying "I think his enemies are always foaming at the mouth at any possible opportunity to make him look bad"—that is not a voice that reflects the ethics of our faith.

It is a voice we don’t recognize and should not follow.

The voice that sees an AI-generated meme of the president as a Jesus-like figure and says clearly and unapologetically that it is “heresy, idolatry, and a war on divinity that was not in line with the Gospel.”—that is a voice that reflects Christian morality.

It is a voice that we recognize and we should follow.

Some of you may know where those quotes come from and who they are attributed to.

I have intentionally left that out.

Because I think it important to focus on the words and the intent, not on who said it and whether we like them or not.

Listen to the words in a vacuum.

Don’t think about who said them or the circumstances in which they were said.

And looking just at the words, ask yourself: do I recognize the voice?

Are the words consistent with the One who defines my faith practice?

Are they the words of the Shepherd, beckoning me to follow?

I have struggled mightily with the question of how we turn back from the divisive environment we find ourselves in.

I have wondered whether it is best to spend our energy on winning people from one side to the other or if we should just find somewhere in the middle where no one is happy but at least, we are living together in some kind of détente.

And just saying, “where no one is happy”, makes me realize how unsatisfactory the latter would be.

As I wrestled with issues about migration and immigration during my trip to Mexico and issues about social justice while I prepared for Faith, Hope, & Love, something began to clarify for me.

The issue is not which human being is right.

It’s not about whether one political party has a better alignment with Christian values.

The issue is what does the voice of the good shepherd say?

You know the voice.

You recognize it.

Because you have heard it say, “you are my beloved”.

You have heard it call you by name and claim you as God’s own.

And if you remember nothing else about this sermon, then please remember this:

Every one of your human siblings hears the same voice.

The voice of the good shepherd says, “you are my beloved”.

The voice of the good shepherd calls them by name—in the language they understand and by the pronouns with which they identify.

And that same voice says, “I have laid down my life for you—and for all humankind.

You are safe and you are loved.

Follow me.”

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

What does our faith say about Immigration Justice? (A reflection from Faith, Hope, & Love 2026)

Grace and peace to you from God our Creator, Christ our companion on the journey, and the Holy Spirit who crosses every boundary. Amen.

The Immigrant’s Creed

by Rev. Jose Luis Casal, General Presbyter of the Tres Rios Presbytery – PCUSA

I believe in Almighty God, who guided the people in exile and in exodus, the God of Joseph in Egypt and Daniel in Babylon, the god of foreigners and immigrants.

I believe in Jesus Christ, a displaced Galilean, who was born away from his people and his home, who fled his country with his parents when his life was in danger, and returning to his own country suffered the oppression of the tyrant Pontius Pilate, the servant of a foreign power, who then was persecuted, beaten, and finally tortured, accused and condemned to death unjustly. But on the third day, this scorned Jesus rose from the dead, not as a foreigner but to offer us citizenship in heaven.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, the eternal immigrant from God's kingdom among us, who speaks all languages, lives in all countries, and reunites all races.

I believe that the church is the secure home for the foreigner and for all believers who constitute it, who speak the same language and have the same purpose.

I believe that the Communion of the Saints begins when we accept the diversity of the saints. I believe in the forgiveness, which makes us all equal, and in the reconciliation, which identifies us more than does race, language or nationality.

I believe that in the Resurrection God will unite us as one people in which all are distinct and all are alike at the same time. Beyond this world, I believe in Life Eternal in which no one will be an immigrant but all will be citizens of God's kingdom, which will never end. Amen.

After reading that together, I would like to pose a question to y’all: what if migration is not at the edges of our faith? What is it at its very core?

Over the course of today, we are going to dive into the issues of immigration, LGBTQIA+, and racial justice.

We often treat immigration, race, and questions of gender and sexual identity as separate issues.

But the truth of the matter is that these issues very often intersect—we all have multiple identities.

The Immigrant’s Creed reminds us that issues of justice are not side conversations but something deeper.

They are places where God is already at work.

In the creed, we read, “I believe in Almighty God, who guided the people in exile and in exodus, the God of Joseph in Egypt and Daniel in Babylon, the god of foreigners and immigrants.”

From the very beginning, God’s people have been on the move.

Abraham leaves his home.

Israel wanders for 40 years in the wilderness.

The Holy Family flees Herod’s violence and goes to Egypt.

Over and over again, God shows up when life is unsettled, when God’s children are uncertain.

And it’s particularly important for us to remember that—because many people today are living with that same anxiety.

Some cross borders looking for safety from violence or oppression; others are looking for economic opportunity.

Some are navigating systems that treat them as invisible, less than, or worse: disposable.

Some carry racial, cultural, or sexual identities that put them on the margins of society.

Their stories are different, but their experience is very similar: they are struggling to find a place where that can feel fully at home.

And the creed says: that is exactly where God is.

Not just in sanctuary.

But in movement. In vulnerability. In all the in-between spaces.

In the creed, we read, “I believe in Jesus Christ, a displaced Galilean, who was born away from his people and his home, who fled his country with his parents when his life was in danger, and returning to his own country suffered the oppression of the tyrant Pontius Pilate, the servant of a foreign power…”

Jesus is not a distant figure—he is Emanuel, God with us.

He is born away from home.

As a child, he becomes a refugee, fleeing violence with his parents.

He grows up in a place far from family and friends—a place where he is a stranger.

Jesus knows what it is to be labeled as a stranger.

He knows what it is like to be dismissed as a foreigner.

He knows what it is like to be an outsider and misunderstood.

And when we begin to see that clearly, something shifts.

Because the people our world pushes aside—immigrants, LGBTQIA+ folx, and racial minorities—are not strangers to Jesus’ story.

They understand it because they live it.

Not because their experiences are identical.

But because they share something fundamental: the experience of being told, “you are an outsider—you don’t belong.”

And the gospel speaks directly to that.

Nowhere in the gospel does it say, “you must earn your belonging.”

Nowhere does it say, “you must conform to be accepted.”

The gospel says: you are a beloved child of God.

Called by name.

And claimed as God’s own.

The creed continues, “I believe in the Holy Spirit, the eternal immigrant from God's kingdom among us, who speaks all languages, lives in all countries, and reunites all races.”

At Pentecost, the Spirit didn’t erase difference.

People didn’t suddenly speak one language.

No, the Spirit met each person where they were—and created understanding across differences.

That is God’s vision of community.

Not uniformity.

Not sameness.

But connection.

And that matters for us, because we live in a world that often responds to differences with fear.

Fear of the immigrant.

Fear of different cultures and languages.

Fear of those whose identities challenge our assumptions.

But fear builds walls and creates boundaries.

In contrast, the Spirit builds relationships.

The Spirit encourages us to think differently—to think more broadly.

The Spirit says: God is not confined to one language, one nation, one race, one identity.

Our God is a God of motion.

Our God moves freely.

Our God is not confined to a box.

The categories we assign to ourselves do not apply to God.

That realization frees us to expand our vision—to see the image of God in each and every one of our human siblings.

And, with that clarity, we can finally understand that we all belong.

The creed says, “I believe that the church is the secure home for the foreigner and for all believers who constitute it, who speak the same language and have the same purpose.”

What a beautiful encapsulation of our theology of welcoming the stranger.

But it is also a challenging one.

Because it requires us to take a hard look at ourselves.

Is the church truly a home for all?

Or is it only for a home for those who are like us—who feel familiar?

We must ask ourselves who feels fully seen, heard, and appreciated here?

Who might feel like they have to hide part of themselves in order to belong?

These are not easy questions—but they are faithful ones.

Because the church does not create belonging—God does.

And we, as God’s church, are called to reflect God’s unconditional love and create that sense of belonging.

And when we fall short, when we fail to adequately reflect that love and create that welcome, we return again to grace.

The creed says, “I believe in the forgiveness, which makes us all equal, and in the reconciliation, which identifies us more than does race, language or nationality”

Our worth is not determined by our immigration status.

Our worth is not determined by our race.

Our worth is not determined by our sexual orientation or gender identity.

Our worth is wrapped up in God’s grace.

A grace that we cannot earn.

A grace that has nothing to do with who we are, what we do, or even what we believe.

That grace has everything to do with God.

We receive grace because that is the nature of God.

And the miracle of that grace is that it transforms us.

The creed closes with “I believe that, in the Resurrection, God will unite us as one people in which all are distinct and all are alike at the same time. Beyond this world, I believe in Life Eternal in which no one will be an immigrant but all will be citizens of God's kingdom, which will never end.”

Resurrection is not just something that happens at the end of time.

Resurrection is new creation—it is something God is always doing.

Bringing life out of loss.

Hope out of hardship.

Community out of division.

For immigrants, resurrection can look like building a new life in a new place.

For those who have been marginalized because of race or identity, it can look like reclaiming dignity and voice.

For the church, it can look like becoming more fully what God has called it to be.

A place of welcome.

A place of justice.

A place of love.

So what does this mean for us?

It means that faith is not about standing still.

It is about moving with God.

Moving toward those who are pushed aside.

Moving beyond the boundaries that divide us.

Moving into relationships that reflect God’s unconditional love.

Because our God is a God in motion.

Therefore, our call as the people God is to also be in motion—to journey with our siblings on the margins.

To be people who trust that, wherever there is struggle, God is present.

Wherever there are differences that divide, there is an opportunity for the Spirit to do her work.

And wherever there is a longing to belong, Jesus is already there, waiting for us to recognize his presence.

In the stranger.

In the neighbor.

In one another.

Amen.

Openness is the Way of Jesus

I’m going to try to continue the discussion that Tiina started last week and weave in elements from today’s gospel as well as my trip to Mexico last week.

You’re going to see some slides from my trip that I hope will illustrate my points, but we’ll have to see how that works.

Last week’s gospel dealt with how the Jesus’ followers were feeling after his crucifixion.

They were anxious, uncertain, and confused.

Anxious because they feared that the religious authorities would be coming for them next.

Uncertain because they had a vision about what the coming of the messiah meant and his death called their assumptions into doubt.

And confused because their friend and their teacher promised them the Kin-dom of God was near, yet all they could see around them was Empire.

Today’s gospel continues that theme.

Luke writes that the two disciples walking to Emmaus said, “We were hoping that he was the One who would set Israel free.”

They had hopes—hopes that they were afraid were no longer possible.

And Jesus reminds them that God’s plans don’t always align with our plans.

God’s timing is often different from our expectation.

There is an episode of The Chosen when Jesus talks to Simon Peter about the word “soon”.

Jesus says, “Ah, there’s that word! Soon. It’s the most imprecise thing in the world. What is “soon”? A few hours? A few days? Years? A hundred years? A thousand years? Ask my father in heaven how long a thousand years is. Then talk to me about soon.”

I think there is a lesson in there for us.

We must be careful that we don’t get too wrapped up in our own hopes and dreams.

I’ve no doubt that Emanuel has a future—that we will be continue to be a pillar of this community.

But there are those who believe that our future must involve an Education Building bustling with Sunday school classes.

Or that our future must revolve around our current sanctuary filled with Sunday morning worshippers.

Or that we can survive as a small, majority white, middle class congregation—if only we can find the right renters for all our spaces.

I have my own ideas about what the future holds for Emanuel.

I don’t know if my ideas are right.

I haven’t heard the voice of God, and I haven’t been visited by an angel with a divine message.

My point is that we can’t be too married to a single idea of what the future ought to be.

We must be able to separate nostalgia from reality.

The church has not been constant over the last two millennia.

The church has evolved.

Jesus’ followers throughout the ages have taken the capital-T truth of the gospel and adapted to new knowledge and new cultural realities.

That’s what it means to be open to the will of God—and the work of the Spirit.

In today’s gospel, two disciples walk with Jesus without recognizing him.

I believe that there is an important parallel in there for us.

Just as the disciples fail to recognize their friend and master, there are times when we fail to recognize the image of God in our neighbors.

For most of us, it’s not a malicious thing.

We don’t do it consciously.

We are culturally conditioned to categorize people—by class, by race, by gender, by sexuality, by culture, by the language they speak, and by the clothes that they wear.

Once we put someone in a box that differs from the box where we put ourselves, we risk denying that they are a child of God—equal to us in every way that matters.

Nadia Bolz-Weber says, “Every time we draw a line between us and others, Jesus is always on the other side of it.”

We cannot deny that there is diversity in our human siblings.

It is one of the glorious gifts from our creator.

But we are infinitely more alike than we are different.

We are all beloved of God—called by name and claimed as God’s own.

This is my mission group.

What a diverse group of siblings it was!

There were men and women as well as old and young folks.

There were gay, straight, & bi folks.

There were American-born citizens, naturalized immigrant citizens, and citizens of other countries.

There were ordained folks and lay people.

Each of us came from a different background.

Each of us came with different needs and expectations.

But we all came with a desire to learn—to learn more about AMEXTRA, a small nonprofit that is making an impact in underserved Mexican communities—and to learn more about Mexican culture.

We also came with the hope that we could take what we learned back to our own contexts and make a difference in the communities that we serve.

This was our day at one of AMEXTRA’s transformative education centers in San Isidro.

There were several things about AMEXTRA that I found impressive.

First, they have been around for over 40 years, which is a long time for a small nonprofit.

Second, the children of the founders are involved in the work.

It isn’t a case of nepotism.

The people who work there could make more money in the private, for-profit world.

It is a belief in the work that they do and the impact that they have.

Third, they own their mistakes.

They talk freely about them and they learn from them.

When they first got into microlending, they would start businesses in economically depressed areas and hire local people to manage them.

All the businesses failed because the managers had no stake in the success of the business.

When they changed the model, so people approached them with ideas as owners, the businesses thrived.

One early microloan recipient who runs a chicken egg incubation business went from poverty to having over $30,000 in her savings account.

One of the highlights of the trip was this day with the children.

I am always amazed at how both different and alike children across the world are.

I bonded with a boy named Sebastian immediately.

There was just something very endearing about him.

He only spoke a little English, so I did my best to communicate with him in Spanish.

At one point, I stopped being able to understand him.

I asked him to repeat what he said more slowly but I still had no idea what he was saying.

Then, I called over one of our hosts and asked him to help me understand.

He didn’t understand either.

Then, one of Sebastian’s teachers came over and explained that he was speaking an indigenous language.

The mischievous smirk on Sebastian’s face said it all.

He had played a joke on me—just like one of my nieces or nephews might do.

Kids are kids—no matter where they live or what language they speak.

AMEXTRA’s approach to transformative education is community-focused.

They are currently operating in four locations.

They never go into a community without being invited.

They always work with community leaders and parents to understand what the needs are.

Nutrition and violence prevention are always part of their programming.

Violence prevention is something I was very interested in.

In the past year, two children in our New Brunswick community were lost to gun violence.

Fernando Buezo Diaz was shot and killed in Recreation Park in a dispute over a girl.

Jazzy Del Toro was shot and killed by her boyfriend.

We walked to the sites of their deaths on Good Friday to remember them and offer prayers.

Both lives were cut short because our young people don’t know how to cope with anger.

Both lives were cut short because our young people don’t see the image of God in one another.

Which brings me back to today’s gospel.

What do we have to do to consistently recognize that our neighbors—ALL our neighbors—are our siblings?

What do we have to do to remember that, as children of God, we are loved equally by our creator?

Walking together and listening to one another is a start.

Breaking bread together is a wonderful way for us to cement the bonds of community.

There is a beautiful diversity in this community.

We can learn so much from each other.

In today’s gospel, the two disciples are learning from a stranger they encountered on the road to Emmaus.

They didn’t know that it was Jesus, their rabbi.

The only thing they know is that their hearts burned with passion as he talked.

All pastors are required to do Clinical Pastoral Education as part of their seminary education.

The most important lesson we learn is that there is only one savior and we ain’t it.

We are not supposed to be fixers.

That is God’s job.

We are meant to accompany people on their journeys.

I’m going to say the same thing to you, people of Emanuel.

Our job is not to fix the community that surrounds us.

Our job is to accompany our neighbors—to journey with them.

And they, in turn, will accompany us on our journey—wherever it may lead.

There is much we can learn from each other.

We have a lot we can learn about what it means to be marginalized and oppressed—from our immigrant neighbors, from our LGBTQ+ neighbors, and from our poor and low-income neighbors.

But to do that we have to listen.

We must recognize our own privilege and how that privilege gives us blind spots.

Privilege doesn’t necessarily mean our lives were easy.

But it does mean we had advantages that others did not.

We also need to be open.

Open to new things, new ideas, and new ways of doing things.

Open to mission trips to unfamiliar places.

Open to a version of Jesus’ Prayer that was inspired by Māori spirituality and written by New Zealand Anglicans.

Open to a creed that was written by a Presbyterian minister who immigrated from Cuba.

Open to a creation prayer inspired by Lakota spirituality.

Openness to new things—while it may be uncomfortable—does not detract from our faith.

Openness helps us to grow in faith.

The last slide I’ll show from my trip are pictures from the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

I knew the story before I went.

Very briefly, a young peasant named Juan Diego saw an apparition of the Virgin Mary on a hill in Mexico City.

She appeared as an Aztec princess, speaking Juan Diego’s indigenous language.

She asked that a church be erected on that spot.

Juan Diego went to the local archbishop, who didn’t believe the story and rebuffed him.

Later the same day, the Virgin appeared to Juan Diego again and instructed him to try again.

He went back to the archbishop, who told him to go back and ask for a sign to prove that the apparition was the Virgin Mary.

Juan Diego asked the Virgin for a sign, and she said she would provide one the following day.

In the interim, Juan Diego’s uncle fell ill.

Juan Diego took care of his uncle and, when his condition deteriorated, Juan Diego went to get a priest to administer last rites.

He intentionally avoided the hill where he had seen the virgin three times before because he didn’t want to be delayed.

But she appeared to him anyway and chastised him for avoiding her saying, “¿No estoy yo aquí que soy tu madre?” which means “Am I not here, I who am your mother?”

She told Juan Diego that his uncle had recovered and that he should go to the top of the hill where he first saw her and gather the roses that had bloomed there as the sign for the archbishop.

The Virgin arranged the roses on Juan Diego’s cape and told him to return to the archbishop.

When he did, the roses fell, and an image of the Virgin was on the cape.

I suspect some of you were uncomfortable when the statue appeared in the sanctuary.

Lutherans have a long history of downplaying the importance of Mary, even though Luther himself was devoted to her.

We have called appearances of the Virgin superstition.

We have confused veneration of the Virgin Mary with idol worship.

My advice, my friends, is to let it go.

Let go of your preconceived notions about the “deification” of Mary.

Let us learn from the strangers who walk this road of faith with us.

The truth of the matter is that Mary was chosen by God to give birth to God’s son.

The Greek call her Theotokos or “God bearer”.

Why shouldn’t our hearts burn with passion for the mother of God?

My apologies for rambling on.

I hope I didn’t bore you too much and I hope you get the point.

Regardless of whether we are strangers to one another, we are all children of God—called by name and claimed as God’s own.

In today’s second lesson, we read, “By obedience to the truth you have purified yourselves for a genuine love of your siblings. Therefore love one another constantly, from the heart. Your rebirth has come not from a perishable seed but from an imperishable one—the living and enduring word of God.”

We are called to love one another constantly, from the heart.

And there is always something we can learn from one another—just as the two disciples on the road to Emmaus learned from the stranger that they didn’t realize was Jesus.

Being open to loving and learning is the Way of Jesus.

May our journey in this life always be along that road.

Let us pray: Welcoming and affirming God,

Open the eyes of our hearts to see as you see.

Remove the barriers of suspicion and fear.

Replace them with the openness of curiosity and compassion.

When we encounter strangers, immigrants, and those we find challenging, help us to look past superficial differences and see your holy image within them.

Remove our arrogance, our prejudices, and our narrow-mindedness all the things that restrict our ability to love.

Give us the compassion to honor the dignity of every person, recognizing them as your beloved children.

Remind us that we may unknowingly entertain angels and that you may send wisdom, kindness, and lessons through strangers.

Give us the humility to listen to their stories, the grace to learn from their perspectives, and the courage to serve them.

May every passing encounter be an opportunity to broaden our understanding of your boundless love and the diversity of your creation.

And let us always live into Jesus’ mandate that everyone will know that we are his followers because we truly love one another.

Amen.

Easter People in a Good Friday World

Grace and peace to you from Christ, the Risen One.

Today is a day of celebration.

After all, Christ is risen.

Nothing should overshadow our joy.

On this day, Jesus—betrayed and denied, then wrongly accused, convicted, and executed—overcame death and the grave.

I am grateful that, “God so loved the world as to give the Only Begotten One, that whoever believes may not die, but have eternal life.”

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

And yet, despite the joy of this day and my gratitude for Jesus’ incarnation, the phrase that continues to hold great meaning for me is, “We are called to be Easter people in a Good Friday world”.

We live in a Good Friday world, my friends.

And, because we do, sometimes it can be hard to feel joy.

But we must—because Jesus’ resurrection is cause for joy.

But that doesn’t mean we cannot also feel grief.

Humans are complex beings.

We are capable of complex emotions.

Complex emotions that sometimes mean we feel conflicting emotions at the same time.

I’ve no doubt that the disciples felt great joy at seeing their friend and their rabbi, after they thought he was dead.

But seeing him did not erase the memory of the pain and suffering he endured.

It didn’t erase the horror of his crucifixion.

Or the knowledge that Jesus wasn’t staying.

He was returning to Abba God.

His appearances to them were to let them know that Empire had no power over him.

Death had been defeated.

And still, there was joy.

Jesus spent time with them—shared meals with them

And breathed the Holy Spirit on them.

Joy and grief—both/and.

A young man came to me because he was terrified of being deported.

He said he wasn’t sleeping.

He said there was a heaviness in the pit of his stomach that would not go away.

His anxiety and his sorrow were palpable.

He said he has built a home here and he doesn’t want to leave.

But, every day, people around him disappearing—and he is afraid.

I said I would pray for him but that felt entirely inadequate.

I felt sad and helpless.

It was a Good Friday moment.

And then, on Thursday, nineteen of us gathered for an Agape Supper.

It was an eclectic group of people—some longtime members of Emanuel, some people from the community, and some friends.

There was an overwhelming feeling of fellowship and community.

For me, I could not help but feel like this is what the early Christian communities that Luke describes in Acts must have been like.

My heart was filled with joy at the opportunity to break bread with this Body of Christ.

It was an Easter moment that made me forget that we are living in a Good Friday world.

Also this week, a woman came to the church, looking for help.

Her husband had been detained and deported.

She had been injured and was unable to work.

With the loss of both incomes, she and her child were in danger of losing their home.

She was, of course, overwhelmed with concern.

I was sad that there aren’t adequate social services to protect people like her from eviction.

I was angry that immigrant families are being torn apart.

Angry because this has nothing to do with “the worst of the worst” and everything to do with racism.

It was a Good Friday moment.

And then, on Friday, a group of us marched to places where violence had occurred in our community.

Violence against one another that reminds of the violence that Jesus experienced because his message to love one another was subversive and threatened the established social order.

Our intrepid little group marched, sang, prayed, and remembered community members whose lives had been cut short by violence.

There was a sense of love and community that gave each of us hope that humanity can be better.

We can love each other as Jesus commanded us to.

We can stop the violence.

We can teach our children how to deal with their anger—how to turn the other cheek, instead of resorting to violence.

We can be Christ-like and show people struggling that the Kin-dom is near.

We can be hope for the world.

It was an Easter moment that made me forget that we are living in a Good Friday world.

I don’t post very much on social media.

What was once a platform for people to share with their family and friends has become a place of disinformation and divisiveness.

So, I mostly try to avoid it.

But last week, I shared a post of the Palm Sunday Witness in Trenton.

It was clear from the post that there were clergy participating in the event.

And yet, someone responded to that post with, “Palm Sunday is a day that is a day to celebrate when Jesus entered Jerusalem.

It is not very Christian to protest on this day or any day.”

I lament that this is not an isolated sentiment.

Our vice-president and the White House press secretary both think they have a better knowledge of Christianity than the pope.

I lament that the woman who wrote comment on my post missed the fact that Jesus’ procession into Jerusalem was, in fact, a form of protest—a rejection of the violence of Empire and the injustice of oppressive systems.

I lament that she missed the fact that Jesus overturning tables in the temple was an act of protest against exploitation.

Or that Jesus’ command to love our neighbor means that, sometimes, loving our neighbor means protesting against systems that promote injustices against those neighbors.

What made the comment even more painful is that it came from a woman who I have known my entire life.

A woman who is family to me.

A woman who considers herself a Christian but has bought into the Christian Nationalist doctrine that bears little to no resemblance to the teachings of Jesus.

It was a Good Friday moment.

But a little later today, I will baptize three children.

Three children whose mother now feels enough of a part of this church that she wants her children to be baptized here.

Three children who I will baptize with water and the Spirit.

Three beautiful children who I will anoint with oil and who will forevermore be part of this Emanuel family.

I am overwhelmed with joy at this opportunity to share the love of God with these children and their family.

If ever there was an Easter moment to help me forget that we are living in a Good Friday world, this will be it.

Praise Jesus, the Resurrected One!

The point, my friends, is not to mistake feelings of grief as the absence of joy.

These are complicated times.

Terrible things are happening.

We should feel grief at those things.

But we are called to be Easter people in these Good Friday times.

We are called to remember that we are beloved of God.

Called by name and claimed as God’s own.

We are recipients of God’s abundant grace—forgiven for all our human shortcomings.

We are followers of Jesus, the Resurrected One!

We are called to remember that every day is Easter because Jesus overcame death and the grave.

And that victory was not a one-time occurrence.

It is always and forever.

We are Easter people today, tomorrow, and every day.

Thanks be to God!

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

Extravagant Hospitality

The story of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet is familiar and a favorite of many.

But it is one that is difficult for us to completely understand because there is no modern cultural equivalent to foot washing.

In first-century Judea, the standard for footwear was sandals and roads were unpaved.

So, during the course of a day, especially a day wandering the countryside, teaching and healing—during those long days of walking, feet became very dirty.

So, having a place where you could remove your sandals and clean your feet—that was an act of hospitality.

Having the host wash your feet was an act of extravagant hospitality.

Many churches incorporate foot washing into their Maundy Thursday service.

Even the pope washes feet on this day.

Foot washing can be a very powerful spiritual experience.

But, because we lack that first-century cultural context, it can become entirely about humility.

We can miss the aspect of extravagant hospitality.

Emanuel does not have a tradition of foot washing.

So, I thought I would start a new tradition with an Agape Supper.

Now, I know there is a tradition of having a potluck before Maundy Thursday service.

But the Agape Supper is an opportunity for me to show hospitality in a way other than washing feet.

It is an opportunity for me to serve in a way that is different from the way I normally do.

And it’s also an opportunity for me to show gratitude for the love and support that I receive.

So, I hope that you enjoyed it and that it becomes a new Maundy Thursday tradition.

Now, I don’t mean to imply that the humility aspect of foot washing isn’t important.

It certainly is.

Humility is a gift of the Spirit.

It is a sign that we have been transformed by faith—that we have evolved beyond our pride and self-absorption.

It is important to be humble.

Humility reminds us that all we have is from God and we are only stewards.

Humility reminds us that we NEED God.

The God, who shows us unconditional love.

The God, who give us abundant grace, not because we deserve it—could ever deserve it—but because of who God is.

The God, who calls us by name and claims us as God’s own.

Jesus is a shining example of humility—of surrendering oneself to God.

In Matthew 20, we read, “Anyone among you who aspires to greatness must serve the rest.

And anyone among you who wishes to be first must serve the needs of all, as if enslaved—just as the Chosen One came not to be served but to serve, and to die in ransom for many”.

Humility is a characteristic we ought to aspire to.

Because, as followers of Jesus, we are called to be Christ-like.

We must be willing, not only to serve, but also to put the needs of others before our own.

But that is not an easy task for mere mortals.

So, what does a mindset of service and community look like?

It looks like feeding the hungry—as Jesus did with the 5,000—or we might do when we fight for reinstatement of SNAP and WIC benefits.

It looks like standing up for the oppressed and the marginalized—as Jesus did with women, tax collectors, and sinners—or we might do when we stand up for immigrants and transgender folks.

It looks like not judging—as Jesus did when he said, “Let the person among you who is without sin throw the first stone at her.”—or we might do by opposing the death penalty.

It looks like rejecting violence—as Jesus did when he said, “But I tell you, offer no resistance whatsoever when you’re confronted with violence. When someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn and offer the other.”—or we might do when we advocate for gun control or oppose war.

It looks like recognizing our own privilege and then using that privilege to help others with less privilege.

In the current “me first” culture, the fundamental ideas behind Jesus’ washing his disciples’ feet are more important than ever.

We must be humble AND extend extravagant hospitality.

We must humbly admit our own limitations.

Alone, we can’t make the world more just.

Alone, we can’t bring the Kin-dom closer.

We need the Body of Christ.

We need this community of faith.

And we need God.

St. Augustine said, “Without God, we cannot. Without us, God will not”.

We need God’s help to address injustice.

We need God to co-create the Kin-dom.

But that doesn’t mean we get to sit back and wait for divine intervention.

It means that we look to the words and the actions of Jesus to guide us.

It means that we look for the Spirit to work in our hearts and our minds.

And we must continue to be guided by God’s examples of extravagant hospitality—not only Jesus washing his disciples’ feet but also his welcoming us to the table of forgiveness in Holy Communion.

All are welcome to come to God’s table.

Rich or poor.

Black, white, or brown.

Whatever our gender.

Whatever our expression of gender or sexuality.

Whatever language we speak.

Whatever our country of origin.

We all possess the divine image of God.

God sees each of us with the same eyes—the eyes of a loving parent.

A loving parent that always includes us—always welcomes us—and commands us to do the same.

As we come to the table on this holy day that commemorates the Last Supper, may we remember the words of the Apostle Paul from today’s second lesson: “For every time we eat this bread and drink this cup, we proclaim Jesus’ death until Christ comes.”

We are reminded that Christ has died.

But Christ is risen.

And Christ will come again.

God’s extravagant hospitality of bread and wine comes with a gift and a promise.

The gift is the forgiveness we receive in the sacrament.

And the promise is found in Jesus’ quote from the prophet Isaiah, “This is the time of fulfillment.

The reign of God is at hand!

Change your hearts and minds, and believe this Good News!”

Believe the Good News!

Believe that God’s justice is coming.

Believe that the Kin-dom is near.

Believe that every time we show extravagant hospitality, the Kin-dom is closer still.

As we go forth from this place, may we accept Jesus’ call to be humble—as he was when he knelt at his disciples’ feet.

May we accept Jesus’ call to show extravagant hospitality—as he did when he washed and dried his disciples’ feet.

And may we accept the call “go and do likewise”—by being loving and caring for our neighbors, especially the oppressed and marginalized who need it most.

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

What Are We Called To?

Six weeks ago, the gospel lesson was Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem from the perspective of Luke.

Today, we hear the same story from Matthew’s perspective.

That may seem odd and you may wonder, what more is there to say?

The simple reason for doing it is that, by bracketing the sermon series with the same story told from two perspectives, it lends valuable context to the series.

We opened the series by showing the juxtaposition of Empire and the Kin-dom of God.

Today, we will close with a look at what the Palm Sunday story has to tell us about our walk with Jesus.

The central theme of Jesus’ teaching was the Kin-dom of God.

The Kin-dom of God is about justice.

It is God’s intent for God’s children.

In preaching about love and peace and justice, Jesus shed light on the many places where Roman social norms and Jewish law fell short.

His example of radical love and inclusion was subversive for the time and made him a threat to the status quo.

But it was also what made the general populace love him so much that they laid cloaks and branches before him and shouted “Hosanna in the Highest” as he rode into Jerusalem.

It was a display of love that unfortunately wouldn’t last—couldn’t last—because the power of Empire was too great.

We don’t need to be historians to understand the power of Empire.

We see many examples of Empire at work in our world today:

Law enforcement—whether we are talking about ICE in immigrant communities or overpolicing in minority neighborhoods—acting as cruel overlords, rather than public servants.

Disrespectful political discourse meant to humiliate opponents as a show of strength.

Racial profiling accepted as a reasonable tactic, rather than as the moral failure that it is.

An economic system that consistently harms poor and low-income folks while wealth continues to flow upward to the megarich.

And perhaps the greatest injustice of all, many claim to do these harmful practices in the name of a Christianity that has no resemblance to the teachings of Jesus.

So, what has this to do with us?

The simple answer is, as I have said before, that our country is on the wrong path.

It’s not about politics.

It’s about morality.

It’s about justice—or more accurately, lack thereof.

It’s about what Jesus actually said—not about what the Empire would like you to believe that he said.

I’m in the process of reading a book called “The Separation of Church and Hate”.

I haven’t finished it yet, but what I have read so far is pretty good.

In it, the author writes, “Christianity is under attack—but by divisive right-wing fundamentalists who publicly worship Jesus while fighting against, voting against, and legislating against his actual commandments.”

I think that’s pretty accurate.

Some would disagree with me—perhaps even some of you sitting here in these pews this morning.

I am not up here to judge you or embarrass you.

I’m not going to argue with you because I’m not sure that I can change your mind.

All I can do is point you to Matthew 25, verses 34-36.

“‘Come, you blessed of my Abba God!

Inherit the Kin-dom prepared for you from the creation of the world!

For I was hungry and you fed me; I was thirsty and you gave me drink.

I was a stranger and you welcomed me; naked and you clothed me.

I was ill and you comforted me; in prison and you came to visit me.”

Jesus said we should feed the hungry.

He did not say only feed those who we believe deserve it.

He certainly didn’t say that we should reduce or eliminate food security programs like SNAP and WIC.

Jesus said we should welcome the stranger.

He did not say that we should only welcome blond-haired, blue-eyed immigrants from Northern Europe.

He did not say that we should only welcome immigrants with technical skills that we need.

He certainly didn’t say that we should abandon refugee programs that protect people fleeing war zones, gang violence, and religious or sexual persecution.

So, the question then becomes: what do we do about it?

Do we do anything about it?

In my first sermon in this series, I posed the question: which procession are we going to follow—Jesus’ procession of love and justice or Pilate’s procession of Empire?

So, I ask you again:

Is taking action in support of our neighbors part of our calling as followers of Jesus?

Is it part of our faith practice?

If it isn’t, should it be?

I think that is a question that can only be answered by each of us individually.

For me, the answer is clear.

There are things happening in this country that are in direct opposition to my faith.

There are injustices being perpetrated by Christian Nationalists that are an affront to Jesus and his teachings.

Just as Rome corrupted Christianity in the fourth century when it became the official religion of the Empire, so too is Christian Nationalism corrupting it in the 21st century.

Opposing Empire is part of my calling and my faith practice.

I was at the No Kings protest in Princeton yesterday.

And I’ll be at the Palm Sunday Witness in Trenton this afternoon.

I was not—and will not—be alone.

Hundreds of thousands, if not millions, will join me.

We stand opposed to Empire and speak truth to power by the authority of Christ, who strengthens us.

I know some of you joined me yesterday.

I hope some of you will join me this afternoon.

Last week, we commemorated Oscar Romero.

This week, we commemorate Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

I will offer a devotional for Bonhoeffer in a few minutes.

I am inspired by their examples.

Their willingness to stand up for the oppressed and the marginalized against the overwhelming power of Empire emulated Jesus.

Jesus could have turned around before he reached Jerusalem.

He could have headed back to Galilee, where he could have lived a peaceful life.

He could have continued to heal and to teach, away from the scrutiny of the religious authorities.

He could have just kept his head down and quietly observed Passover with his students.

Instead, he went into the Temple and overturned tables.

He invited people to a different way of being—a different way of living.

He challenged people to a different kind of relationship with God.

He challenged people to love and care for one another.

Because he challenged the way things were, he was a threat to the status quo.

Because he challenged the power structure, he was a danger their wealth and their status.

And, because of that, the Empire coerced the mob to go from “Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Most High! Hosanna in the highest!” to “Crucify him! Crucify him!”.

Like Jesus, Bonhoeffer could have taken a different path.

He could have stayed safely in New York.

He could have lived out his life as a respected pastor and theologian.

He could have married his sweetheart and raised a family.

Instead, he returned to Germany.

He opposed Nazi influence on the church.

He spoke out against the injustices being perpetrated against Jews.

He organized resistance against the Third Reich.

Bonhoeffer also invited people to a different way of being—a different way of living.

He said, “If our Christianity has ceased to be serious about discipleship, if we have watered down the gospel into emotional uplift which makes no costly demands and which fails to distinguish between natural and Christian existence, then we cannot help regarding the cross as an ordinary everyday calamity, as one of the trials and tribulations of life.

We have then forgotten that the cross means rejection and shame as well as suffering.

The psalmist was lamenting that he was despised and rejected… and that is an essential quality of the suffering of the cross.

But this notion has ceased to be intelligible to a Christianity which can no longer see any difference between an ordinary human life and a life committed to Christ.

The cross means sharing the suffering of Christ to the last and to the fullest.

Only those thus totally committed in discipleship can experience the meaning of the cross.”

Bonhoeffer challenged—and still challenges—each of us to follow Jesus.

He encourages us to reject cheap grace, which he defines this way:

“Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession, absolution without personal confession.

Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ.”

He calls on us to be disciples and to incorporate following Jesus into the very fabric of our lives.

But he cautions that discipleship is costly and that it takes more than an hour or two on Sunday mornings.

Standing in opposition to Empire these days can be costly.

People are being arrested and imprisoned.

People are being detained and deported.

People are being beaten and killed.

You may hear that and think, “the cost is too high”.

It may incline you to think that discipleship is nothing but a burden.

But I beg you to think of it differently.

Our faith is a gift.

It is a gift of God’s Spirit.

And therefore, our discipleship—how we live out that faith—is also a gift.

It is a gift that empowers us to be hope for broken world.

It is a gift by which we are blessed to be a blessing.

Let us seize those gifts of faith and discipleship with both hands and hold them tightly.

Let us live in the light and love of Jesus.

And we pray that all the ways that we reflect Jesus’ love and light into the world bring us one step closer to the Kin-dom.

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

Empire or Kin-dom?

Today is the last Sunday before Palm Sunday, Holy Week, and Easter.

Most, if not all, of you know that I have been organizing an event for Palm Sunday afternoon.

People of faith from all over the state are coming together to say that we stand by Jesus’ command to love God and love our neighbor.

We will feed those who are hungry.

We will welcome every stranger—every person who is not like us—whether they are a different race, a different sexuality, a different gender or gender identity, or an immigrant.

We will care for those who are sick—in body, mind, or spirit.

We will visit those who are in prison, or homebound, or in detention.

What we are for is very important.

But what we are against is equally important.

We stand opposed to the vilification of people from different countries and faith traditions.

We stand opposed to the cruelty of family separation and mass incarceration.

We stand opposed to the ever-widening wealth gap in this country.

We stand opposed to unjust wars and the military-industrial complex that profits from it.

We stand opposed to violations of our constitution.

Some would say that I am getting into politics and politics have no place in the pulpit.

I’ll set aside my argument why politics very much belong in the pulpit for another time.

And I’ll answer the question of “where does all this ‘what we are for’ come from?”

My brother and sister-in-law came to Emanuel 8 or 9 months ago.

I suspect I know their political leanings, but we don’t talk about it, because I love my brothers and I am determined to maintain a relationship with them.

That comes at a price though—I am often conflicted about not confronting what I believe to be uninformed and dangerous thinking.

Anyway, they came to visit right after H.R. 1, the so-called “Big, Beautiful Bill”, passed.

In my sermon that week, I called out all the harm that would result from the bill—harm that we are just now beginning to see.

I called out how the brunt of harm would fall on marginalized people—women, children, seniors, and immigrants.

After the service, my sister-in-law said, “I see you’ve drunk the Kool-Aid.”

I let the comment go, partly to keep the peace and partly because I don’t think I was going to change her mind while I was shaking hands in the narthex.

What I wanted to say was my beliefs—what I am for—come from Matthew, chapter 25.

I stand by that—Jesus was very clear how we are to love our neighbors.

Feed the hungry.

Give drink to the thirsty.

Welcome the stranger.

Clothe the naked.

Comfort the sick.

And visit those in prison.

Those commandments were contained within a parable, but they were not part of it.

Jesus’ meaning was crystal clear.

It was a message that appears throughout the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament.

And after the commandments, Jesus said, “The truth is, as often as you neglected to do this to one of the least of these, you neglected to do it to me.”

And what about the “we stand opposed”?

Where does that come from?

The Kin-dom of God¬—the state of the world that we aspire to—is about justice.

Calling immigrants criminals, and drug dealers, and rapists is not justice.

Therefore, we should stand opposed.

Separating children from their families and then putting them into foster care or up for adoption so their parents have little hope of ever being reunited with them is not justice.

Therefore, we should stand opposed.

Giving tax breaks to corporations and billionaires while taking benefits away from poor and low-income folks is not justice.

Therefore, we should stand opposed.

Committing genocide against Palestinians and bombing an elementary school while the corporations who make weapons of war rake in billions of dollars is not justice.

Therefore, we should stand opposed.

Making people disappear and ignoring the balance of powers in our government is not justice.

Therefore, we should stand opposed.

In today’s gospel, Jesus hung on a cross.

His crucifixion was a warning to anyone who would oppose the status quo of the Empire.

The Empire was all about classism and peace through violence.

Jesus preached a message of community and peace through love.

That made him subversive.

That made him dangerous—a threat to the status quo.

He hung on the cross next to two thieves, although it is very likely that was a mistranslation and they were actually rebels or insurrectionists.

And Jesus invites one of them to paradise.

Paradise, which—like the Kin-dom—is a place of justice and love.

The man is a criminal.

He doesn’t recite a creed.

He doesn’t even confess and ask for forgiveness.

He just believes that the Kin-dom Jesus taught about was different from the Empire he lived in.

And Jesus extends him grace.

Jesus extends grace to a convicted criminal.

Not because the criminal asked for forgiveness.

Not because the man’s crime didn’t matter.

Jesus extended him grace because of who God is.

Our God is a God that loves us unconditionally.

Our God is a God that shows us grace—not because of anything we do.

God shows us grace because of who God is.

We are living in a time of Empire, my friends.

The wealth gap continues to get wider.

Violence is pervasive both within our country and in the world at large.

People continue to be excluded and pushed to the margins.

We are living in a time when those in power routinely perpetrate injustices.

And we are witnesses.

Like Mary and John watching from the foot of the cross, we are witnesses to the violence and the injustice.

The question is: what do we do about it?

Are we going to be the “thief” who believes in the Kin-dom and the promise of justice?

Or are we going to be the “thief” who is resigned to the violence and injustice of Empire?

This week, we commemorate Óscar Romero, a martyr of the church.

Like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, he is one of my heroes.

Both lived in times of Empire—where violence and injustice were the norms—Bonhoeffer during Nazi Germany and Romero during a military dictatorship in El Salvador.

Both spoke out against the violence and the injustice.

Both were martyred for daring to believe that their faith compelled them to act.

To oppose violence and injustice.

In one of his sermons, Romero said, “God’s best microphone is Christ, and Christ’s best microphone is the church, and the church is all of you.

Let each one of you, in your own job, in your own vocation–nun, married person, bishop, priest, high school or university student, day laborer, wage earner, market woman – each one in your own place live the faith intensely and feel that in your surroundings you are a true microphone of God.”

I hear that as a call to action—a call to preach the Kin-dom, as Jesus did.

To proclaim that justice, peace, and love are not only possible, but also God’s intent for us.

I know it is easy to be overwhelmed.

There is so much violence and so much injustice on so many fronts.

But, as I have said before, “shock and awe” is the point.

The Empire hopes that overwhelming us will lead to inaction.

The Empire hopes that the threat of violence and oppression will lead us to silence.

But Jesus was not silent and, as his followers, we shouldn’t be either.

I know it can seem hopeless.

I know you wonder what one person can do.

But never forget that God is with us.

A God who wants peace, love, and justice for us.

A God who can breathe life into dry bones.

A God who can suffer death and the cross and then rise again.

A God whose Spirit inspired a simple German pastor and a quiet, scholarly priest to oppose powerful Empires.

I hope some of you will join me next Sunday afternoon in Trenton.

And may the God of justice and mercy go with us.

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

Love & Humility

After three weeks of some pretty heavy texts, I was grateful for a break.

The passage about Jesus washing the feet of his disciples is a favorite of many people.

It raises themes of humility, anointing, and love.

So, let’s spend our time together this morning reflecting on those themes.

Jesus modeled a management style with his disciples that we now call servant leadership.

It turns traditional management on its head.

Instead of the manager dictating from above, they support their employees from below.

It prioritizes the needs of the team over the leader’s desire for power, control, and recognition.

This style is rare in this country because we are culturally conditioned to claim credit, so we get bonuses and promotions.

And the capitalist business model, at least as it traditionally practiced in the United States, is hierarchical and demands control.

As a culture, we have confused humility as submission and weakness.

But Jesus showed a way of living and leading that was very different.

He lived a humble life.

He lived in community with his followers, often addressing their needs before his own.

Jesus had great power—yet he voluntarily relinquished that power out of love for humanity and to serve our needs.

He is the epitome of humility.

Jesus also reminds us that our lives are a gift from God.

We are called to be stewards of that gift.

We can choose to live our lives in service of self or in service to the community.

Now, I don’t want to oversimplify.

It’s not that black and white.

It’s not that we can only serve ourselves or we can only serve the community.

We can serve both to varying degrees.

And some would argue that service to self is self-care and is necessary for us to effectively serve the community.

There’s also service to subsets of the community—like family and friends.

The point is where do we set our priorities?

Is it service to ourselves or service to others?

Are we concerned with money and power?

Or are we concerned with the common good?

Are our goals aligned with the common good or opposed to it?

I believe that learning to focus on the needs of the community develops out of humility.

The humility of knowing we exist because of the grace of God.

And knowing that none of us can exist on our own.

We are all interdependent.

The individualism that we Americans attribute to our “frontier spirit” obscures our dependence on one another.

Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest and author, talks about his belief that individualism is rooted in false pride.

He said, “All the truly great persons I have ever met are characterized by what I would call radical humility and gratitude.

They are deeply convinced that they are drawing from another source; they are instruments.

Their genius is not their own; it is borrowed.

We are moons, not suns, except in our ability to pass on the light.

Our life is not our own; yet, at some level, enlightened people know that their life has been given to them as a sacred trust.”

I’m going to say part of that quote again because I think it’s both beautiful and important.

We are moons, not suns, except in our ability to pass on the light.

Like the moon reflecting the sun’s light, we reflect God’s love into the world.

But the light of Christ, which exists within us, that is ours to share.

And today’s second lesson reminds us that “Light produces every kind of goodness, justice and truth.”

Today’s first lesson talks about the anointing of David.

By that anointing, a simple shepherd boy was consecrated to become the king of Israel.

In John’s gospel, Lazarus’ sister, Mary, anoints Jesus’ feet with oil.

Then, in an act of love and humility, she dries them with her hair.

Jesus says her anointing of his feet was in preparation for his burial.

As in the first lesson, it was also a consecration.

A simple rabbi of humble beginnings was consecrated as the Messiah.

A few days later, Jesus echoes Mary’s action by washing his disciples’ feet.

It was also an act of love and humility.

The Son of God knelt before flawed human beings and washed their feet.

He set aside his power as the Messiah and modeled servant leadership for them.

This too was a consecration of sorts.

Jesus took simple human beings—farmers, fishermen, and a tax collector—and ordained them as his agents on earth.

But more than anything else, Jesus’ washing his disciples’ feet was about love.

He loved these friends who he had been traveling around the countryside with for three years.

He loved without exception.

He loved the tax collector AND the fishermen.

He loved the people who came to hear him preach and the people who came to be healed.

He loved scholars of Torah and people who couldn’t even read.

And he loved without measure.

He even washed the feet of the one who would betray him as well as the one who would deny him.

And, after he washed the feet of his disciples, he gave them another commandment—a new commandment.

He said, “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.”

Love one another the way I have loved you.

Without exception.

And without measure.

That is the challenge we are face with as Christians.

Will everyone know that we are followers of Jesus because we truly love one another?

Will we love without exception?

Will we love our black and brown neighbors?

Will we love our queer neighbors?

Will we love our homeless neighbors?

Will we love our immigrant neighbors?

Will we follow Jesus’ loving example and not only love but also accept love from others?

Will we follow Jesus’ loving example and put others’ needs before our own?

Will we accept help as well as give it?

Because accepting help is a form of humility.

It says that you understand that you are not an island.

It says that you are part of a community, and you understand that, within a community, people depend on one another.

Every day, in the news, we are faced with examples of behavior devoid of humility.

People who equate humility with weakness.

When I worked for Family Promise, I assumed that families living week-to-week in motels needed permanent housing.

I was good-intentioned but arrogant.

My pride and my ignorance, born out of never having been homeless, led me to draw conclusions I wasn’t in a position to draw.

When I sat down and talked to some of those families, I learned that some did want permanent housing, but others did not.

Those that did not said that their expenses in a motel were consistent.

There was never an unexpected plumber bill.

There was never an astronomically high utility bill.

They knew what they had to pay every week.

It never changed and they could plan around that.

I didn’t make that mistake again.

Going forward, I admitted when I didn’t have enough information to form an opinion.

I realized that my privilege and my lack of lived experience as a person experiencing homelessness meant that I had to seek guidance from people without my privilege and who had lived experience of homelessness.

It was a position that felt vulnerable.

I was the Executive Director of a nonprofit serving families experiencing homelessness and I had to admit there were things about housing insecurity that I just didn’t know—in fact, couldn’t know.

I understand now that that vulnerability came from the cultural conditioning that equated humility with weakness.

We are also faced with acts of violence and cruelty that show a lack of love for God and neighbor.

But then there are people like Chef José Andrés.

I don’t know if Chef Andrés is a Christian, but he epitomizes Christian values.

He believes that food is a fundamental human right and that we all bear the responsibility to feed people who are hungry.

He founded the World Central Kitchen (WCK), which has provided millions of meals to people in need.

They mobilize to feed people in disaster areas and war zones.

They’ve worked in Haiti and Gaza and other places in turmoil where people are suffering from a lack of nutrition.

Whether or not he is a Christian, he is following Jesus’ example because everyone knows that he demonstrates that he truly loves other human beings—without exception.

I’d like to close with another quote from Richard Rohr.

“We are God’s work of art, created in Christ Jesus.

All we can do is be what God’s Spirit makes us to be, and be thankful to God for the riches God has bestowed on us.

Humility, gratitude, and loving service to others are probably the most appropriate responses we can make”.

Humility, gratitude, and loving service are the most appropriate responses we can make.

Humility like Mary anointing Jesus’s feet and Jesus washing his disciples’ feet.

Humility like admitting that you can’t know everything or do everything.

And gratitude for the life God has entrusted to us, for the gift of interdependent community, and for the unconditional grace that God showers on us.

And loving service that places the needs of others before us.

Loving service like a chef who uses his fame and his wealth to feed people in need.

God has blessed us with many gifts but perhaps the most important is our capacity to love.

May you share that gift with everyone you encounter—without exception and without limits.

Just as Jesus did and just as he told us to do.

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

Beware False Prophets

Today, we continue our journey on the path to Palm Sunday.

Today’s gospel references the destruction of the Temple in 70CE and goes on to describe what many believe to be the “end times”.

The war in the Middle East is resurfacing speculation about Armageddon and the Apocalypse.

So, let’s spend a bit of time looking at the text and trying to discern what it really says.

Biblical scholars remind us that there are three things that affect every text.

The first is what is behind the text—the historical and cultural context as well as the bias of the author.

The second is what is in the text—things like language, grammar, and style.

Is the text meant to be read as a parable? A metaphor? An allegory? A historical record?

The last is what is in front of the text—our historical and cultural context and what bias we bring to interpreting the text.

Although there is some disagreement, most biblical scholars agree that Matthew’s gospel was written down in 80-90CE—AFTER the destruction of the Temple.

The timing is important when we look at what is behind the text.

So, what was happening as the gospel of Matthew was being written?

Israel was under Roman occupation.

Most people were living subsistence lives and bore a heavy tax burden.

The persecution of Jesus followers had already begun.

Josephus, a Jewish historian of the time, recorded a bunch of messianic figures in the first century, after the death of Jesus.

It was a violent and disturbing time.

And the lesson reflects all of that—the destruction of the temple, the false messiahs, and the persecution of Christians.

The gospel of Matthew is a bit of a paradox.

Matthew is considered the most Jewish of the gospels.

He quotes passages from the Hebrew Bible often and his settings often draw inspiration from Scripture.

At the same time, Matthew is very critical of Jewish leaders, and many antisemites point to Matthew for validation.

The talk about being “handed over to be tortured and executed” and being “despised by all nations” was a reference to Christian persecution.

Underlying actual events, many of Jesus’ followers had expected him to return in their lifetime.

So, when Matthew was written down two or three generations after Jesus’ death, people were becoming disillusioned.

The community leaders—the ones who took the oral tradition of Matthew and wrote it down—they needed to reassure people.

They needed to remind people that “those who persevere to the end will be saved”.

When we shift and look at what is in the text, the passage is not presented as historical record.

It is presented as prophecy.

It also contains metaphors.

The destruction of the temple, although an actual event, was also a metaphor for the end of traditional Judaism and the beginning of a Christ-centered Judaism.

The passage also talks about war, famine, and earthquakes as the beginning of “labor pains”—a reference to the birth of a new creation: God’s Kin-dom.

So, having looked at what is behind and in the text, let’s look at what is in front of the text.

What does our historical and cultural context bring to this passage from Matthew?

Although we don’t hear much about false messiahs, there is certainly no shortage of false prophets.

Some are even claiming that political leaders have been anointed by God.

And these chosen leaders are instruments of God to fulfill a divine plan.

There are false prophets who claim that we must support Israel at all costs, even as they commit genocide against Palestinians.

These Christian Zionists believe that Jewish occupation of Israel is a prerequisite for the second coming of Jesus.

We are certainly seeing nation war against nation—Israel against Palestine, Russia against Ukraine, and the United States against Iran.

Are these labor pains that foretell the birth of God’s Kin-dom?

Or is it prophecy fulfilled that the end times are approaching?

I can’t say definitively.

But I can say that what I know about Scripture and the nature of God leans very heavily towards the former.

Those who would believe that we are entering the end times are ignoring that God’s time is not our time.

A little further into this chapter in Matthew, we read, “No one knows that day and that hour—not the angels of heaven, nor even the Only Begotten—only Abba God.”

And in 2 Peter, we read, “This point must not be overlooked, dear friends: in the eyes of the Most High, one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day.”

There is a lot that we don’t know.

Acknowledging that ignorance, we must focus on what we do know.

What we know is that Jesus told us to do two things: love God and love our neighbor.

So, I ask you, are we loving God when we claim greedy, power-hungry men are sent from God?

Are we loving God when we claim to be a nation favored by God?

Are we loving God when we say violence is part of God’s plan?

Are we loving God when Jesus is used as a political prop, instead of being seen as the savior of the world?

Yet we do all those things.

Are we loving our neighbor when we discriminate against black, brown, and indigenous people?

Are we loving our neighbor when we allow the wealth gap to continue to widen with no checks in place?

Are we loving our neighbor when we eliminate social safety net programs to give tax breaks to corporations and billionaires?

Are we loving our neighbor when we eliminate refugee programs and aid to developing countries?

Are we loving our neighbor when we rationalize the deaths of innocent children as “collateral damage” and call it acceptable because the end justifies the means?

Yet we do all those things as well.

I would say our report card looks pretty bad.

Our love has grown cold.

Our love of God AND our love of neighbor.

So, what do we do?

Where do we go from here?

The answer is simple: we follow Jesus.

It’s simple but by no means easy.

We love God, in both our worship and in our actions.

We are God’s hands and feet in this world, spreading God’s love to everyone who needs it.

We also call out language and actions that we know would be offensive to God.

Like using God’s name and God’s Holy Scripture to justify waging war.

Like using a flag-draped Jesus to rationalize xenophobia and discriminatory immigration enforcement.

We follow Jesus.

We love our neighbor without exception.

We seek out the margins as Jesus did.

We also call out false witness against our neighbors.

We don’t allow our black and brown neighbors to be cast as murderers, rapists, and drug dealers.

We don’t allow neighbors exercising their First Amendment rights to be smeared as “domestic terrorists”.

These false witnesses must be challenged.

We need to help our neighbors who are afraid to leave their homes because masked federal agents are abducting people with groceries and with completing errands.

We need to keep hospitals, churches, and schools as safe spaces.

There is plenty we can do.

We need to call out those false prophets.

We need to keep our love from growing cold.

We need to persevere until the end.

We seek the Kin-dom, not Armageddon.

And God’s Kin-dom requires justice—for all people, not just a privileged minority.

It’s a lot, I know.

But as people of God, it is what we are called to do.

Not because I say so but because Jesus does.

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

Can We Reclaim Christianity?

The story in today’s gospel is usually referred to as the “Parable of the Wicked Tenants”.

The traditional view is that the vineyard owner represents God and the wicked tenants represent the temple authorities.

The meaning of the parable is that the chief priests and scribes are cheating God because they are collaborating with Rome to maintain their positions and their power.

They are also cheating God’s people through the temple structure which extorts money from the Jewish population.

The servants that the vineyard owner sends to the tenants represent the prophets that God sent to convey his message.

God finally sends his son, Jesus, who the tenants eventually kill because they are afraid that the son will assume their wealth and power.

The irony, of course, is that the temple authorities only have wealth and power because God has given it to them.

And, rather than being good stewards, they hoard and abuse it.

In the end, they lose what they so desperately tried to hold onto.

It’s no wonder that this parable was chosen as one of the texts for the sermon series.

There is certainly no shortage of people we could point to who are hoarding wealth and power.

Who fail to be good stewards of all that God has given them.

Who ignore the teachings of Jesus and stand opposed to God.

So, let’s look at this parable through the lens of our time and our society.

And, instead of talking about the chief priests and scribes, let’s talk about the purveyors of Christian Nationalism.

Like the temple authorities who collaborated with Rome to maintain power and influence, faith leaders who subscribe to Christian Nationalism collaborate with the government to acquire and maintain power and influence.

They cherry-pick Bible verses to support the racist, anti-LGBT, anti-immigrant rhetoric that defines their movement.

At its core, Christian Nationalism is a racist ideology.

Although religious nationalism is not new, the version we are seeing now started with white evangelicals organizing to protect the ability of their private schools to remain racially segregated.

Under the guise of “religious freedom”, Christian Nationalists claimed the authority to run private schools as they saw fit.

They claimed religious persecution when segregated private schools were threatened with losing their tax-exempt status.

Racial hatred, an earmark of Christian Nationalism, killed God’s servant, Martin Luther King, Jr.

Martin was sent to be a prophetic voice against racial hatred.

He was sent to try to bring the haters to repentance.

As the Christian Nationalist movement gained influence, it became increasingly anti-LGBT.

Christian Nationalists oppose marriage equality.

Christian Nationalists oppose transgender rights.

Again, they claim “religious liberty”—that they are just trying to protect traditional families and the moral fabric of American society.

They either ignore Jesus’ call to “love your neighbor” entirely or claim exceptions—something Jesus never did.

Homophobia, another earmark of Christian Nationalism, killed God’s children Harvey Milk, Matthew Shepard, and Tyler Clementi.

Harvey, Matthew, and Tyler were sent to open the eyes of the nation to the destructive power of homophobia.

They were sent to try to bring the haters to repentance.

Most recently, Christian Nationalism has been defined by extreme xenophobia.

Although there is a racist and classist dimension to Christian Nationalism, it is also the result of an ideology that views the United States as a nation favored by God.

Christian Nationalism ignores the fact that indigenous people inhabited this country long before European settlers arrived.

Christian Nationalism ignores the fact that ours is a country of immigrants—our national identity is based on the blend of different cultures, languages, and traditions.

Christian Nationalism ignores the fact that the violence that exists in many Central- and South-American countries—violence that drives people from their home countries—that violence is the result of our CIA destabilizing their governments in the 1950’s, 60’s, and 70’s.

Christian Nationalism ignores the fact that this country’s economy creates low-paying jobs that no citizen wants—jobs that then attract people living in poverty who want only to improve their lives and the lives of their families.

Above all, Christian Nationalism ignores the fact that Jesus told us to “welcome the stranger”.

Xenophobia and the dehumanizing rhetoric of Christian Nationalists killed Ruben Ray Martinez, Geraldo Lunas Campos, Renee Good, and Alex Pretti.

Ruben, Geraldo, Renee, and Alex were sent to put names and faces on the violence being perpetrated in the name of immigration enforcement.

They were sent to try to bring the haters to repentance.

So, what has all this to do with today’s gospel and where do we find good news in it?

Well, first, Christian Nationalism is a problem.

Christian Nationalists are like the wicked tenants.

They defy God and pervert Christianity.

But we can find the appropriate response to Christian Nationalism is in the parable.

Jesus is “The stone rejected by the builders that has become the cornerstone of the building.”

Christian Nationalists have rejected Jesus, which might be funny if they were not so dangerous.

Christ is right in their name and yet they reject Jesus’ teaching.

They do not love God.

Because, if they loved God, they would have seen the image of God in Martin, Harvey, Matthew, Tyler, Ruben, Geraldo, Renee, and Alex and mourned, rather than celebrated, their loss.

Every one of those people died because someone with hate in their heart failed to acknowledge that they were children of God—possessing the divine image of God.

Christian Nationalists don’t love their neighbor—at least not ALL their neighbors.

Because, if they did, their words would not encourage hate, and their actions would not commit violence against the marginalized.

God calls us to repentance and, the good news is that God promises forgiveness.

But there are many in this country who are deaf to that call.

Who double-down, rather than repent.

So, what are we to do?

We need to remember who we are and what we stand for.

Our foundation is in Christ.

He is the cornerstone of our faith.

We must reclaim Christianity from those who clearly are not followers of Jesus.

And we must love, following Jesus’ example.

We must love without exception.

And our love must be louder than the hate.

Because that is what our God and our faith tell us to do.

I close with a prayer that was offered by Bishop Eaton after the January 6 insurrection:

Mighty God, our great help in trouble, as distrust, fear and violence threaten our nation and its peoples, we come to you in prayer, seeking your wisdom, strength and peace.

We pray for the health of our democracy and its leaders, that those elected to serve may utilize government structures and processes to promote human flourishing and the common good…

We pray for those who risk harm to ensure the safety of others: police officers, security guards, the National Guard and other military personnel…

We pray for an end to the evils of white supremacy, Christian nationalism, and racial violence that threatens, destroys and kill…

We pray for those experiencing trauma induced by the public display and use of hateful language and symbols, including Confederate flags, anti-Semitic language and images, and nooses…

We pray for Black, Indigenous, People of Color and historically marginalized groups traumatized by violence stemming from white supremacy: lynchings, bombings, vandalism and church burnings…

We pray for clergy and church leaders, especially for those burdened by mistrust and painful divisions in their communities. Give them and all people the courage to confront white supremacy, Christian nationalism and racist rhetoric with messages of truth, sustained by the power of your magnificent love…

We pray for people and communities struggling to discern your voice amid competing voices clamoring for attention. Direct us to listen deeply and celebrate the diversity among us. Freed in Christ, we dare to witness to your promise of abundant life and abiding peace…

In this time of great uncertainty, we pray without ceasing, trusting that your word, Holy God, never returns empty and your mercy never fails. We pray in the name of Jesus and by the power the Holy Spirit. Amen.

WWJD

Today is the first Sunday on Lent.

For the season of Lent, I’ll be preaching a sermon series called “Walking the Palm Sunday Path”.

The series is meant to encourage us to follow Jesus along the path he walked into Jerusalem and eventually to the cross.

The series is one of several actions that are being planned by a broad coalition of clergy, congregations, denominational leaders, and faith-based organizations who stand for the message of Jesus.

Who stand for feeding the hungry and giving drink to the thirsty.

Who stand for welcoming the stranger and clothing the naked.

Who stand for healing the sick and freeing the oppressed.

Who stand for telling the truth and honoring the dignity and worth of every child of God.

Who stand opposed to the politics of hate, fear, greed, and division, that disregard our values and are tearing this country and our democracy apart.

The Palm Sunday Path is a national movement.

In New Jersey, I am helping to organize interfaith clergy and lay leaders at the state level.

Several of my colleagues in the synod are also doing the sermon series.

And on Palm Sunday afternoon, the interfaith coalition in New Jersey will gather in Trenton for prayers and singing.

The action is to stand in solidarity with folks in Minnesota, Maine, and elsewhere, who are opposing unjust immigration enforcement.

It is also to show our love and support for our immigrant neighbors.

Then, on July 3rd, groups from across the country will gather for a mass action in Philadelphia.

The action is intended to counter the military parade that is being planned for Washington D.C. on July 4th.

It will be a loud proclamation of the gospel to emphatically state that there is another way—Jesus’ Way.

But today, I preach the first sermon in the series.

We begin today with a look at the procession into Jerusalem from Luke’s perspective.

We will end in 5 weeks on Palm Sunday with a look at the procession from Matthew’s perspective.

So, why begin and end with the Procession into Jerusalem?

That’s a reasonable question.

We start with the Procession to show the contrasts between Empire and the Kin-dom.

As we progress through the Lenten season, we will examine the text through this lens of conflict.

And, hopefully, it will give us new insight into an old story.

And maybe shed some light on what is happening in our country now.

On the west side of Jerusalem, Pilate was also processing into the city.

But he entered on a warhorse with an army at his back.

It was a display of Roman power meant to intimidate and thus maintain order.

But Jesus procession was different.

His was a rejection of the usual symbols and privileges of power.

He rode into the city on a young donkey, accompanied by a crowd of peasants, who were waving branches and laying down their cloaks.

The two processions were a study in contrasts.

Pilate represented the Pax Romana—a peace achieved through violence.

The Roman peace was maintained through top-down, oppressive power.

Jesus represented the Kin-dom, where peace achieved through love.

The reign of God is the alternative to Empire and is maintained by the common good.

So, let’s dive in a little deeper into this contrast between empire and the Kin-dom.

The most obvious difference is displayed in the two processions into Jerusalem.

Empire uses displays of power to control people.

The Kin-dom uses displays of lovingkindness to encourage people to do likewise.

Empire uses military might to expand.

In the Kin-dom, people serve to improve the lives of others.

Empire uses violence, whereas Jesus encouraged nonviolence.

He told us to “turn the other cheek”.

And he told Peter, “Put your sword back where it belongs. Those who live by the sword die by the sword.”

Our country has the most formidable military in the world.

It is a source of national pride.

But what does it say about us as a country when we spend $1.2 trillion on our military and just $268 billion on educating our children?

Another difference is that Empire and the Kin-dom have different goals.

Empire seeks conformity.

Empire wants to maintain the status quo and the hierarchical structure

The Kin-dom seeks to transform lives.

Jesus said, we should take up our cross and follow him.

The idea being that we should die to our old way of being and rise again in him—forever changed.

So, what does it say about us as a country when we eliminate diversity programs?

When we legislate that transgender people must conform to a gender binary, rather than live as their authentic selves?

Empire and the Kin-dom operate in different spheres.

Empire is exclusive.

There is always one race, one culture, one religion, or one political affiliation that is favored.

And the favorite group must defend itself against all others.

The Kin-dom is inclusive.

All people are children of God—possessing the image of God.

There is no reason to defend against others because, as siblings, we are to love one another.

So, what does it say about us as a country when we deny entry to black and brown refugees from war-torn countries but encourage the immigration of white South Africans?

Empire always seeks revenge.

Any perceived transgression is met with violence.

The Kin-dom’s response to wrongdoing is always love.

Jesus said we are to love our enemies.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, “l can no longer condemn or hate a brother for whom I pray, no matter how much trouble he causes me.”

We love our enemies and pray for those who have wronged us because they are entitled to the grace that God has shown to us.

So, what does it say about us as a country when political enemies are badmouthed, harassed, and even prosecuted?

In Empire, the enemy is always people.

But in the Kin-dom, it is systems that are the enemy, not people.

Systems divide.

Systems oppress.

Systems prevent people from living to their full potential.

So what does it say about us as a country when the top 1% earn 139 times more than the bottom 20%.

When the rate of poverty has stayed relatively flat while the top 1% is on a steady upward projection?

I’ll tell you what it means—it means we are on the wrong path.

It means we have aligned ourselves more closely with empire than with the Kin-dom.

I am not anti-American.

I love this country just as much as anyone.

But we cannot delude ourselves into thinking that all is well.

We are on the wrong path.

We are not feeding the hungry—the wealth gap keeps widening.

We are not welcoming the stranger—we are harassing, detaining, and deporting them.

We are separating families.

We are making people live in fear.

We are on the wrong path.

So, what do we do?

First, I think we have to ask ourselves much more frequently, “what would Jesus do?”

When our elected officials act as we know Jesus would want them to, we should thank them and encourage them to keep doing so.

And when our elected officials act contrary to the way we know Jesus would want them to, we have to tell them—unequivocally.

We have to say, “I am a person of faith, and my faith tells me that we are on the wrong path.”

And we have to say what we think is the right path.

We have to stop thinking that people smarter than us are making the decisions.

We have to stop thinking that we can’t make a difference.

We have to be followers of Jesus.

And we have to be clear about what would Jesus do.

Let us pray. Good and gracious God, hallowed be your name.

Your Kin-dom come.

Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

Holy One, establish your reign in our hearts, in our homes, and in our communities.

Help us to reject the power, greed, and corruption of empire.

Empower us to be ambassadors of your Kin-dom, living with compassion, integrity, and love—demonstrating your grace in all that we do.

We look for the second coming of Jesus and the fulfillment of the Kin-dom, where justice and peace reign forever.

In Jesus' name we pray.

Amen.

Listen to Him!

Today ends the season of Epiphany.

And I realize that I did you all a disservice.

We talked about the coming of the Magi—the day of Epiphany.

But Epiphany is a season.

It’s a season of revelation and enlightenment.

Revelation of God’s incarnation in Jesus—God’s taking human form to live among us.

And also, the revelation that his coming was for everyone—not just for Jews like himself, but also for Gentiles like the Magi.

The season of Epiphany is bracketed by two important events: Jesus’ baptism and his transfiguration.

Both events feature the voice from heaven.

Jesus’ baptism is important because it marks the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry.

It is also a nod to his humanity.

Baptism is something that we share with him.

Jesus’ transfiguration, which we celebrate today, signifies his divinity.

So, the season of Epiphany—with Jesus’ baptism and transfiguration—also reveals his dual nature.

Our Lutheran doctrine says that Jesus is 100% human and 100% divine—a claim which I’m sure makes mathematicians skin crawl.

But it is meant to signify that Jesus is both things simultaneously—he is both human and divine.

Last year on Transfiguration Sunday, we spent a lot of time unpacking what it means to be transfigured.

To be transfigured means to be elevated, to become dramatically more beautiful.

I gave the example of Rachel Held Evans, who turned her hate mail into art by folding the paper into origami.

She turned something ugly into something beautiful.

And she realized something in the process.

She realized that the act of transfiguration was about more than the hate mail..

She came to realize that we are meant to remake this world together—to co-create the Kin-dom with God.

We are called to heal together¬—to put trauma behind us.

We are called to forgive together—to share the grace that God has shown us.

And we are called to create together—to bring the Kin-dom, which is near but not yet, closer still.

And, while we may experience frustration, there will also be joy.

After Jesus’ transfiguration, they hear a voice from heaven, “This is my Own, my Beloved, on whom my favor rests. Listen to him!”

It’s very similar to what the voice says at Jesus’ baptism, “This is my Own, my Beloved, on whom my favor rests.”

The difference is the voice at the transfiguration adds, “Listen to him!”

Listen to him!

The implication being that Jesus has something important to tell us.

A message that God endorses.

So, what is Jesus’ message?

We could say it is summed up in Matthew 25, “‘Come, you blessed of my Abba God!

Inherit the Kin-dom prepared for you from the creation of the world!

For I was hungry and you fed me; I was thirsty and you gave me drink.

I was a stranger and you welcomed me; naked and you clothed me.

I was ill and you comforted me; in prison and you came to visit me.”

There are no qualifiers.

There is no pre-assessment of race, religion, or political leanings.

There is only the community—the Kin-dom that is near, but not yet—helping those in need.

But there’s another way we could look at Jesus’ message.

We could look for instances where Jesus spoke in the imperative voice.

The imperative is a verb form that is used to indicate a command.

We don’t have a direct parallel in English.

In English, imperatives are handled with context and punctuation, like putting an exclamation point after “Stop!”.

But in Greek, it is an actual verb conjugation.

Looking at the original Greek text, Jesus’ most frequent use of the imperative is, “Follow me”.

The second is “love”—love God, love your neighbor, love one another, love your enemies.

So, let’s talk a little bit about Jesus’ commands—the ones that God said we are to listen to.

Jesus said, “Follow me”.

For his disciples there was a dual meaning.

Jesus wanted them to physically follow him on his journey.

But he also wanted them to follow his example.

It’s the second meaning that is relevant to us.

So, what does it mean to follow Jesus’ example?

He fed the 5,000 because they were hungry.

And he preached that we are to feed people who are hungry.

There is no “feed only the people who meet the work requirement”.

There is no “feed only the children whose cafeteria accounts are up-to-date. The others can have a cold cheese sandwich.”

Yet, we put conditions on which hungry people we will feed.

Jesus also said to give drink to people who are thirsty.

There is no “unless they are crossing the desert to avoid Customs and Border Protection. Then you can dump out the water that was left for their survival.”

What do you think Jesus would say about letting people needlessly die of thirst in the desert?

In a few minutes, we’re going to sing a hymn called “The Summons”.

It is part of almost every ordination.

It’s about following Jesus, which is the foundation of every pastor’s call.

It goes, "Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?

Will you go where you don't know and never be the same?

Will you let my love be shown, will you let my name be known,

will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?”

As followers of Jesus, our answer should be a resounding, “Yes!”.

The second most frequent command from Jesus was to “love”.

Love God, love our neighbor, love one another, and love our enemies.

Jesus said we are to love God.

And yet, Christian Nationalists seeks to remake God in their own image.

The god of Christian Nationalism is white.

The god of Christian Nationalism is American.

The god of Christian Nationalism is violent, vengeful, and greedy.

Make no mistake, the god of Christian Nationalism is an idol.

A false god that has no resemblance to the God of today’s Psalm “who loves justice, who established honesty, justice and righteousness”.

Jesus also said we are to love our neighbor, love one another, love our enemies.

For the sake of wrapping things up, I’ll lump them together and say Jesus said we are to love others.

We’re not very good at that, especially when the others are different from us.

We get so focused on our differences, we become unable to see our commonalities.

Regardless of our skin color, or the language we speak, or who we love, we are all children of God.

Possessing the divine image of God.

It begs the question, why then do we seem incapable of acting like it?

A special case of others is strangers.

Jesus said we are to welcome them—that is how we show them love.

In Matthew 25, the word that is translated as “stranger” is xenos in the original Greek.

Xenos is where we get the word xenophobia—fear and hatred of strangers or foreigners.

If we look at stranger expansively, it can mean not only foreigners but also people not like us.

Welcome strangers—no caveats.

There is no “welcome only white strangers from Northern European countries”.

There is no “welcome only cisgender people because trans people make me nervous”.

We are constantly coming up with reasons for straying from Jesus’ command to love.

These are trying times, my friends.

In the current environment, being a follower of Jesus is exhausting.

There are so many things that need fixing.

It’s hard to know where to focus—or if anything we do will make a difference.

But I assure you, the fatigue is intentional.

So is the feeling of being overwhelmed.

But Jesus says, “Follow me”.

He never said it would be easy.

We know what we’re supposed to do—because he told us.

We know what is right.

So, damn the fatigue and damn the distress.

In Philippians, we read, “I can do all things through the One who gives me strength”.

Jesus strengthens us.

Jesus restores us.

And we also have this awesome community right here to draw strength from.

Thanks be to God!

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

Salt & Light

It should come as no surprise that today’s lessons reflect many of the same ideas as last week’s.

Today’s gospel is also part of the Sermon on the Mount.

More talk about the Kin-dom.

More talk about justice.

The Psalm spoke about generosity, honesty, and justice.

The second lesson talked about wisdom.

Like last week, there is a thread that winds its way through all three lessons.

All of them talk about how we are supposed to live together.

How we are to sustain this community—this Body of Christ.

How we are to model the Kin-dom.

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus tells his followers, “you are salt and light”.

Not you will be salt and light.

Not you could be salt and light.

You ARE salt and light.

And we are salt and light because we possess the image of God.

I think it’s important for us to remember that.

We already have everything we need.

Salt and light were valuable commodities in first-century Israel.

Salt was made by evaporating sea water.

It was a time-consuming, labor-intensive process.

Salt was so valuable that it shares a root with the English word salary.

Light was also precious.

Darkness was prevalent in Jesus’ world.

When the sun went down, it got dark—really dark.

There were no electric lights.

Starlight and oil lamps were the only sources of light.

So, in saying “you are salt and light”, Jesus was telling his disciples that they were valued.

Salt is also transformational.

Samin Nosrat wrote a wonderful cookbook that was a NY Times bestseller and won a James Beard award.

In it, she claims there are four things that can transform a dish.

They are salt, fat, acid, and heat, which also happens to be the title of her book.

If you’re a cook, I highly recommend the book.

But I mention it because I think there is a message in there for us.

Salt enhances—salt improves.

If you’re skeptical, I offer you this simple test you can do for yourself.

If you’re a baker, you already know that cakes and cookies all contain salt.

Usually just a little bit, like a quarter teaspoon or two pinches.

That little bit of salt enhances sweetness and makes chocolate chocolatier.

If you don’t believe me, make a batch of chocolate chip cookies with and without that little bit of salt.

You’ll be surprised at the difference that it makes.

Jesus tells us that salt can lose its flavor.

We can lose our saltiness if we isolate ourselves—literally or figuratively—from the community.

We can lose our saltiness when we are distracted by things like materialism, sexism, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, and transphobia.

We can lose our saltiness if anger, greed, fear, or hatred creep into our hearts.

Jesus says salt without flavor is fit for nothing except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.

Fortunately for us, we can regain our saltiness if we lose it temporarily.

We simply have to let the love of God refill us—restore us.

Remind us that we are children of God.

Called by name.

And claimed as God’s own.

As is every one of our fellow human beings.

Salt also preserves.

It was used to treat meat and fish so that it did not spoil.

We are salt when we preserve peace—when we model nonviolence.

We are salt when we preserve justice—when we demand equity.

We are salt when we preserve love—when we include the oppressed and the marginalized

There are a whole lot of people out in Minnesota that are being that kind of salt.

Preserving is about stewardship—maintaining the value of something.

So, we are salt when we preserve this community of siblings that God has created for us.

Like salt, light is also transformational.

Light dispels darkness.

It makes shadowy, foreboding places less scary.

It allows us to see the wonders that surround us.

Marcus Borg, New Testament scholar, theologian, and author, shared an experience he had.

While driving his car, he came around a bend and he saw, “The light suddenly changed.

It became yellowy and golden, and it suffused everything I saw.

Everything glowed. Everything looked wondrous. I was amazed.”

He said it was the richest minute of his life because it was filled with wonder and a strong sense of knowing that he was seeing more clearly than he ever had before.

He was transformed.

He was enlightened.

In that moment, he gained both knowledge and comprehension.

In a few minutes, during our Black History minute, I’m going to tell you about Fannie Lou Hamer.

She was an important figure in the civil rights movement.

She loved this passage in Matthew that is today’s gospel.

She loved the song “This Little Light of Mine” because it reminded her of it.

In one of her speeches, she said, “I don't mind my light shining; I don't hide that I'm fighting for freedom because Christ died to set us free.

And he stayed here until he got thirty-three years old, letting us know how we would have to walk.”

Fannie Lou knew she had a role to play in the Kin-dom.

Despite beatings and threats to her life, she let her light shine.

This little light of mine. I’m gonna let it shine.

Won’t let Satan blow it out. I’m gonna let it shine.

Hide it under a bushel? NO!. I’m gonna let it shine.

She walked the Way of Jesus—fighting for justice and mercy and peace—by letting her light shine.

So, what does it mean for us to be salt and light?

For that, we need only look to Jesus’ prayer:

“your Kin-dom come,

your will be done,

on earth as in heaven.”

What are we doing to make God’s Kin-dom come?

Are we loving our neighbor—sharing the love that God first gave to us?

Are we promoting justice—sharing the grace that we receive unconditionally?

We are called to be a loving, grace-filled community.

A community that is governed not by self-interest, but by mutual care for one another.

A community that fulfills God’s intent for us.

As we go forth from this place, I pray that you will remember that we already have everything that we need to be salt and light.

We possess the divine image of God.

We only need to open ourselves up and let the light of that image shine.

That light—that love—has the capacity to transform the world.

To dispel the darkness of ignorance that makes us fear one another.

To drive out the hatred of difference that divides us.

To take the Kin-dom that is near, but not yet, and make it closer still.

That is our call.

That is the Way of Jesus.

To BE salt and light.

Let us pray. “God, go with us. Help us to be an honor to the church. Give us the grace to follow Christ’s word, to be clear in our task and careful in our speech. Give us open hands and joyful hearts. Let Christ be on our lips. May our lives reflect a love of truth and compassion. Let no one come to us and go away sad. May we offer hope to the poor, and solace to the disheartened. Let us so walk before God’s people, that those who follow us might come into his kingdom. Let us sow living seeds, words that are quick with life, that faith may be the harvest in people’s hearts. In word and in example let your light shine in the dark like the morning star. Do not allow the wealth of the world or its enchantment flatter us into silence as to your truth. Do not permit the powerful, or judges, or our dearest friends to keep us from professing what is right. Amen.”

Blessed Community

Today’s gospel lesson is the Beatitudes.

It is part of the Sermon on the Mount.

The Sermon on the Mount is comprised of 3 chapters of the gospel according to Matthew.

Although the sermon is very compact in Scripture, it is widely believed to have been given over a longer period of time, sometimes to a large audience and sometimes just to Jesus’ disciples.

The sermon encapsulates Jesus’ teaching—the message he was trying to convey during his public ministry.

Many people read the Beatitudes and think it is Jesus’ musings on people with certain characteristics.

But it would be more accurate to say that the Beatitudes are a guide.

A guide to how we are meant to live in the world.

The thread that runs through all of today’s lessons is the Kin-dom of God.

In Micah, we read, “simply do justice, love kindness, and humbly walk with your God.”

In 1 Corinthians, Paul writes that our life in Christ is about wisdom, justice, sanctification, and redemption.

And the Beatitudes also talk about peace, mercy, and justice.

Each passage talks about ideal characteristics.

Characteristics of the Kin-dom.

Characteristics of a covenantal life.

A covenant between us and God and a covenant between each other.

A covenant that is timeless and transcends generations.

Although I haven’t counted for myself, I’ve read that Jesus mentions the Kin-dom of God over 100 times in the gospels.

That includes all the variations of kingdom or reign and God or heaven.

So, clearly, the Kin-dom is important to Jesus.

As his followers, it should be important to us as well.

The Kin-dom is important, not because it speaks of paradise and life after death.

The Kin-dom is important for us now—in our time.

The Kin-dom is a blueprint for how we are supposed to live together in community.

We can go through the Beatitudes one-by-one and see what they tell us about living in community.

The first one begins “Blessed are those who are poor in spirit.”

The poor in spirit is not concerned with wealth.

It’s not about faith.

Jewish New Testament scholar, Amy-Jill Levine says the poor in spirit are those who recognize their dependence on others and others dependence on them.

That may seem like a leap from what you have traditionally thought but she bases it on how the original text was worded in Greek and how it would have been heard by a first-century Jewish audience.

The poor in spirit are those who enjoy privilege and use it to help others without the same privilege.

In our context, the poor in spirit could be upper- and middle-class people who use their resources to help those who are struggling financially.

Or Americans who use their citizenship to protect immigrants from being persecuted.

The poor in spirit understand interdependence within the community.

The poor in spirit understand that we need one another.

And, to those people, belongs the Kin-dom of God.

The second Beatitude refers to “those who mourn.”

Mourning does not just mean grief over death.

We can mourn the loss of a job, a home, or a marriage.

We can mourn the rise of injustice, the departure from the ideals of the country we love, or the pain inflicted on a neighbor.

But in a community, that mourning is shared.

We console one another.

We bring food when the grief is too overwhelming to shop or cook.

We are Jesus—the Comforter—for each other in our pain.

The Beatitudes go on, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice.

Blessed are those who are merciful.

Blessed are those who work for peace.”

It’s important for us to recognize that each of those blessings is focused outward.

Justice, mercy, and peace have no meaning for individuals.

Justice, mercy, and peace exist only in community.

They are characteristics of relationships.

They refer to how we treat on another.

They are the properties of an ideal community.

God’s intent for us is to live in community.

Jesus modeled that community with his disciples.

They traveled together.

They ate together.

They taught and they healed and they served together.

But most important of all, they were united in love—love for Jesus and love for one another.

Early Jesus followers modeled the same kind of communal living.

The Apostle Paul also talks a lot about community.

He calls it the Body of Christ.

We are reading about Paul in Bible Study right now.

You may not know it but much of our Lutheran doctrine is based on Paul’s letters.

And all his letters—except one—were written to communities.

For Paul, the community is familial—we are part of the family of God.

That is why he often refers to people as brother or sister.

It’s the same reason that I say Kin-dom instead of Kingdom.

It is meant to reflect our relationship as siblings—united in love as children of God—in stark contrast to the hierarchical nature of Empire.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor who also happens to be one of my heroes, also wrote a lot about community, specifically the church community.

He says, “The church must participate in the worldly tasks of life in the community—not dominating but helping and serving.”

He clarifies that helping and serving is our Christian vocation—how we are to emulate Jesus.

But he cautions that the church must beware the vices of pride and envy as well as the worship of power.

They were the sins of the Reichskirche then and they are the sins of Christian Nationalism now.

Instead, the church must act with authenticity to build trust, faithfulness to remain true to God, and humility to acknowledge we are fallible.

For a long time, I’ve thought that it’s not all that important for people to come to church.

I know good, faithful people for whom church is just not necessary.

Maybe it doesn’t fit their schedule.

Maybe they were harmed by a past experience with a church.

Or maybe it is too structured for them to sit through.

But, while writing this sermon, I have come to realize that the church has an important role to play in building and maintaining community.

Church is where closed people can become open—where isolated people can become open to this idea of community

And that transformation—from closed to open—is the work of the Spirit.

Bonhoeffer says we may come to Jesus alone, but the Spirit calls us into community.

People in community not only exist with one another, but also for one another.

Living with one another means we experience each other’s pains and joys.

Living for one another means we pray on behalf of our neighbor and selflessly act on their behalf.

In a thriving church community, where people live not only with one another but also for one another, the Spirit transforms individuals into a cohesive assembly that takes care of one another.

If there was a silver lining to the pandemic, it is that it taught us how to be church outside the walls.

I’m going to ask you to go a step further—to think about our church community even more expansively.

Not only is this community not about the building, but it is also not just 25-30 people that come to church every Sunday.

We need to think about the church community in broader terms.

We need to cast a broader net.

For us, it’s not just the people that come to worship on Sunday.

It’s also the community members who come here for Vacation Bible School or Dia de Muertos or photos with Santa.

It’s also the folks in recovery who come here for meetings.

It’s also the people experiencing homelessness who go across the street for shelter.

Our church community is big, it’s diverse, and it’s messy.

But we are all connected.

I’d like to close with some Beatitudes of my own.

Blessed are the selfless; your reward is in your service to others.

Blessed are the kind and the compassionate; you will heal the wounded and that healing will make your own hearts full.

Blessed are the shelter monitors, the pantry workers, the recovery sponsors, the therapists, the social workers, and everyone that works in service to the community; you are God’s hands and feet in this world and we appreciate you.

Blessed are the migrants; you will find the better life that you seek.

Blessed are the trans people; you will find joy in your uniqueness—and teach others about authenticity in the process.

Blessed are the righteously angry; you will seek justice and nurture the seeds of the Kin-dom.

And blessed are the peacemakers; you remind us what we so often forget—we are all saint and sinner, capable of both good and evil.

I pray that we are each a blessing to one another.

That we understand that, as a community, we are interdependent.

Blessed are those who are a blessing to others.

And blessed are those who accept blessings from others.

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

Are You Living into Your Baptismal Vow?

This has been a really difficult week.

I am, by nature, an optimist.

I attribute that to my faith and an abiding belief that, although the Kin-dom is not yet, it is near.

I see my faith practice as a journey.

It is following the Way of Jesus.

It is a journey that brings us ever closer to the Kin-dom.

We may never reach that destination in this lifetime.

But that doesn’t really matter.

Because that is our faith practice.

Following Jesus is dynamic.

It requires action.

That is why Jesus said, “Follow me”.

We humans are imperfect beings.

We make mistakes.

We ignore and misinterpret scripture, and it distances us from God.

We take detours, dead ends, and sometimes even backtrack on our journey with Jesus.

But, as faithful people, we hope that the progress forward always exceeds the detours backward.

When we distance ourselves from God, we pray that it is temporary.

That we come to our senses and repent.

That we remember we are beloved children of God, endowed with the image of God.

That we are loved unconditionally by our Creator and nothing we do can separate us from the love of God.

I never thought that we would live in times where people would take that as a challenge.

Where there would be people who say, “You think nothing can separate me from the love of God? Here, hold my beer.”

I take very seriously Jesus’ command to love my neighbor—and not just the people who I like and think like me, but ALL my neighbors.

I am far from perfect but, generally speaking, I think I do a pretty good job of it.

But good God almighty, I confess that this week it has been hard.

I said to Tiina earlier in the week that I’m not in the right frame of mind to preach.

I’m too discouraged and too angry.

But then I remembered the story of Esther and how she was told by Mordecai that she was made “for just such a time as this”.

And how she went on to save her people.

We don’t get to choose the times that we live in.

We don’t get to curl up into the fetal position when things get tough, as much as we might like to.

I was called to preach the word of God.

Some of you like the way that I do it.

Some of you don’t.

Some of you believe that politics have no place in the pulpit.

There, we will have to agree to disagree.

Partisanship—favoring one political party over another—has no place in the pulpit.

But politics has its root in governing the community and Scripture, particularly the Gospel, has a lot to say about how we are supposed to treat the community.

We can distill the message of the gospel to two simple commands: love God and love your neighbor.

When the government violates either of those two commands, it is our duty, as followers of Jesus, to call it out.

Similarly, to fulfill my ordination vows, it is my responsibility to say, “This is wrong. This is not what God intends for us.”

Today, we commemorate the baptism of Jesus.

It marks the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry.

The beginning of Jesus ministry—to our knowledge, he had not yet done anything remarkable.

And yet, the sky opens up and God says, “This is my Own, my Beloved, on whom my favor rests.”

It is a reminder to us that we don’t need to do anything to be loved by God.

We receive God’s love, not because of who are or what we do, but because of who God is.

The nature of God is to love us—unconditionally and without measure.

And because we possess the image of God, we also possess that capacity.

So, for me, that begs the question, “then why is there so much hate in the world?”

Lutheran theologian and seminary professor Craig Koester says, “evil can seem so pervasive as to be unstoppable.

And watching the evening news would seem to support that idea.”

He goes on to say, “evil rages on earth not because it is so powerful, but because it is so vulnerable.

Evil rages on earth because it has already lost and it is desperate.”

Helpless is exactly how evil wants us to feel.

Discouraged and paralyzed by our anger is the point.

The forces of evil are desperate.

Because Jesus has already won.

He defeated Satan in the desert.

He overcame death and the grave.

Darkness cannot win against the light of the world.

I’m guessing most of you don’t remember your baptism.

If you’re like me, you grew up in a time when babies didn’t even leave the house until they were baptized.

That practice is based on the dogma that babies that weren’t baptized couldn’t go to heaven.

It has no scriptural foundation and isn’t part of our current doctrine.

But nevertheless, baptism was important to all Christian families, whether they were actively practicing or not.

Even if you don’t remember your own baptism, you undoubtedly remember the baptism of a child, whether your own or the child of a family member, friend, or fellow congregant.

During the ceremony, the baptismal sponsor is asked, “Do you renounce all the forces that defy God, the powers of this world that rebel against God, and the ways of sin that draw you from God?”

They respond, not only for themselves, but on behalf of the child.

They are the promises that the child makes for themselves at their confirmation.

Our baptismal vow is to renounce all the forces that defy God, the powers of this world that rebel against God, and the ways of sin that draw us from God.

We also promise to proclaim Christ through word and deed, to care for others and the world God made, and to work for justice and peace.

So, I ask you children of God:

Do you renounce all the forces that defy God?

Do you renounce the powers of this world that rebel against God?

Do you renounce the ways of sin that draw us from God?

Do you proclaim Christ through word and deed?

Do you care for others and the world God made?

Do you work for justice and peace?

Our denomination recognizes two sacraments: baptism and holy communion.

Our baptism is a covenant—it is reciprocal.

We make promises to God and God makes promises to us.

The prophet Isaiah calls us “a covenant people, a light to the nations: to open the eyes of the blind, to free captives from prison, and those who sit in darkness from the dungeon”.

He says we are endowed by God with the Spirit “that we may bring true justice to the nations”

He goes on to say, “faithfully we will bring forth true justice. We will neither waver nor be crushed until justice is established on earth.”

That justice is the Kin-dom.

Where mothers don’t get shot and killed in the street.

Where our black and brown neighbors are not profiled, detained, separated from their families, and deported.

Where people don’t die because they are denied food, shelter, and healthcare.

We must not waver or be crushed.

We are a covenant people.

We have made promises to God.

Promises that we need to keep.

You have been baptized by water and the Spirit.

You are the beloved of God.

Open yourself to the presence of God and allow yourself to BE LOVED.

And when that love has filled you to overflowing, reflect it out into the world and BE LOVE.

Let us pray.

O God, because we feel your presence when we are suffering or in pain, we call you Comforter.

Because beyond our pain lies your promise of all things made new, we call you Hope.

Because you are the way to freedom, we call you Deliverer.

Because you have chosen to come among us, making impossible choices, suffering and dying; because you rose victorious, bringing the promise of new life, we call you Redeemer.

Give us strength to reject the powers of oppression in this world, the systems that marginalize and degrade human beings, and the cultural norms that are at odds with your Way.

Help us to recommit to the covenant of baptized life, the cost and joy of discipleship, and the community of the Body of Christ

We are your beloved.

We are baptized.

We pray that we always remember.

We pray that we will always live into that promise.

Amen.

Will You Be Light?

On the first Sunday in Advent, we began Year A in the Revised Common Lectionary.

What that means is that the majority of gospel readings this year will be from the book of Matthew.

You may have heard me say that Matthew is not my favorite.

The reason is that Matthew talks about a lot about judgment and exclusion from the Kin-dom, using the phrase there will be “weeping and gnashing of teeth” five times.

Personally, I just prefer my Bible to be a little more grace-filled.

Also, the book of Matthew, although considered the most “Jewish” of the gospels, has been used to justify persecution of Jews throughout the Christian era.

What I hadn’t heard before I began preparing for this sermon is that Matthew is also considered the “Gospel of the Outsider”.

When I thought about it, of course it made sense.

After all, Matthew was a tax collector—a Roman collaborator who was ostracized from the Jewish community.

But Jesus gathered him as one of his disciples.

It gave me a new appreciation for Matthew and what he had to overcome as a follower of Jesus.

Which brings me to the Magi.

They were also outsiders.

They were Gentile astrologers.

They were not faithful Jews, but they were educated in the Hebrew scriptures.

They didn’t use prayer or prophesy to find the Messiah.

They used a star.

Despite being outsiders, they play a part in Jesus’ story.

Just like the tax collectors, sinners, and outcasts that were his followers.

I don’t know about you, but I take great comfort in that.

You see, being church isn't about everyone believing exactly the same thing.

It’s not about everyone following the same path.

It’s about us all being part of the same story—Jesus’ story.

You see, Jesus was a teacher.

And the lesson he wanted his followers to understand is there is another way of being.

A way that is not tainted by our human weaknesses—not corrupted by greed or anger or pride or hate.

It’s the way that is grounded in our divine essence—it springs out of hope and peace and joy and love.

It is the way to the Kin-dom

Today’s first lesson from Isaiah talks about darkness—"darkness still covers the earth and dense clouds enshroud the peoples”.

Have you ever been in total darkness?

Darkness so extreme that it didn’t matter if your eyes were open or closed, you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face?

It doesn’t just affect your vision; it affects your whole sense of being.

It affects your ability to orient yourself to the world.

And it doesn’t take much light to make a difference.

Just a tiny pinprick of light can dispel darkness.

Many people living in first-century Israel were living in metaphorical darkness.

All were living under the oppression of Roman occupation.

For everyone but the client kings and tax collectors who collaborated with their authoritarian occupiers, it was a hard, subsistence life.

For those on the margins—widows, orphans, the physically and mentally ill, sinners, and foreigners—life was even harder.

Jesus is the light that dispelled their darkness.

And his isn’t a tiny pinprick of light.

Jesus is a shining beacon to those who were living in the darkness of oppression.

That is why we call him the light of the world.

The story of the Magi—whether you think of them as literal or metaphorical characters in Jesus’ story—is a story about light.

They followed a star—a bright light in the dark sky.

And it led them to Jesus—God’s light made human in a helpless baby.

Jesus brought hope to people living in despair.

He preached about peace and truth and justice.

He offered us a better way of being.

He challenged us to also be light.

Although John wrote that Jesus said, “I am the light of the world”, Matthew wrote that Jesus said, “YOU are the light of the world”.

He challenged his disciples to be light.

And, as followers of Jesus, I believe we are also challenged to be light.

There are many ways for us to be light.

We are light when we demonstrate God’s love to others through our ministries.

We are light when we exhibit our love for creation by recycling, by caring for animals, and by advocating for better stewardship of our natural resources.

We are light when we share our faith—and our doubt; when we open ourselves up to others and witness how we are part of Jesus’ story.

We are light when we show compassion for others, especially when we share personal stories of our own trials and weaknesses.

We are light when we allow our gifts to shine, especially when it is in service to others.

And remember, it only takes a tiny bit of light to dispel the darkness.

And we each have within us the light of Jesus just waiting to burst forth.

So much about being light is about sharing.

Sharing God’s love with others.

Sharing bits of ourselves.

But I also believe that part of being light is calling out darkness.

Much the same way that Jesus challenged the status quo.

He challenged cultural norms of exclusion.

He challenged patriarchy.

He flipped tables—both literally and metaphorically.

So, if you accept this idea that the story of the Magi is about light, I think it begs the question: do we accept Jesus’ challenge to the “the light of the world”?

Do we accept the challenge to be part of his story?

To be better? To lay a foundation of truth and justice for the building of the Kin-dom?

Do we accept his challenge to hope? To console those who despair?

Do we accept his challenge to love? Not only those who are like us but also those who we might consider our enemies.

Do we accept his challenge to call out darkness when we see it? To flip the tables that need flipping?

The Magi were trailblazers.

We don’t need to be so bold.

We only need to follow the path that Jesus has set before us.

The world began with, “Let there be light”.

Let it begin anew with, “You will be light”.

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

Amen.

Don’t Let the World Diminish Your Joy

I love Christmas—I always have.

As a child, I was captivated by the wonder of Christmas.

The Christmas lights, the music, the TV specials—it all evoked a sense of joy that lasted throughout the season.

A part of me will always be a child at heart, especially at this time of year.

That includes an abiding belief in Santa and the spirit of gratitude and joy that he embodies.

I had the great joy of playing Santa for a bunch of children on Sunday.

It was one of my life’s ambitions fulfilled.

Each child that sat on my lap reminded me to be grateful for the many gifts I have and for the profound privilege I had to share a bit of that Christmas wonder that I know so well.

Each child that hugged me filled my heart with an indescribable sense of joy.

By the end of the day, I had seen over 200 children.

My heart was absolutely overflowing with gratitude, joy, and love.

But it didn’t last.

Events stole my joy.

I guess that’s the price we pay for growing up.

The prophet Isaiah talks about “people walking in darkness” and “those who dwell in a land of deep shadows”.

We live in a complex world.

Very few things are cut and dried or black and white.

Both/and is a reality that we Lutherans are supposed to embrace.

Although our faith provides hope, we acknowledge there is also despair.

Although God grants us peace, we often face conflict.

Although the birth of Jesus brings us great joy, sometimes the world brings us sorrow.

Although we are commanded to love, we often fall short.

On Monday, I joined some of my clergy colleagues at Delaney Hall for a prayer vigil.

If you are unaware, Delaney Hall is the ICE detention center in Newark.

Regardless of what your political views are on immigration, I would hope we could agree that the moral foundation of this country prohibits us from violating human rights.

It pains me that in these divisive times, I have to qualify what I am going to say with, “I hope we could at least agree on that”.

Because I grew up in a country that welcomed refugees.

I grew up in a country that was a beacon of freedom for people living under dictators.

I grew up in a country that called out human rights violations when we saw them.

And yet, we are living in times when people are being disappeared by masked government agents.

And those people are being denied legal counsel.

Their families are being denied visitation.

The government is playing a shell game with human beings to prevent their families and their lawyers from finding them.

Not criminals.

Innocent people.

Over 800 people were transferred from Delaney Hall in the past few days.

Civil rights organizations are fearful that the movement of detainees is to make room for planned raids.

Massive sweeps in immigrant communities as families gather for Christmas.

And there are no longer protections for sensitive locations like schools, hospitals, and churches.

So, those raids may target the very locations where people gather to worship—to celebrate the birth of the Christ child.

For those of you who think I’m being paranoid or unnecessarily alarmist, I honestly and truly hope that I am.

But there was an ICE agent photographing the clergy assembled to offer prayers—myself among them.

The media is documenting people without criminal records being detained and deported.

They are reporting the government using deceptive practices to capture people—picking them up at immigration court appointments and food pantries as well as lying and using invalid warrants to gain access to residences and businesses.

Watch organizations are documenting human rights violations in detention centers here in the United States—never mind the state-run torture facilities that we now use through contracts with other countries.

Is it any wonder that I say events have stolen my joy?

Merry Christmas, indeed.

I am forced to remind myself that the baby Jesus was born into an occupied country.

A country without justice for its citizens, especially the poor and the marginalized.

A country where peace was maintained through violence.

A country where the powerful were so determined to maintain their grip on authority, that they threatened the life of a newborn.

Forcing his family to flee to another country.

Where they were refugees.

We know precious little about Jesus’ childhood.

But we can be fairly certain it was difficult.

Mary, Joseph, and Jesus were strangers in a strange land.

Removed from their families and their community.

Separated from the seat of their faith.

And yet, that faith sustained them.

What we know about Mary and Joseph is that they were people of great faith.

Mary’s faithfulness led her to bear God’s child.

Joseph’s faithfulness led him to stand by Mary, despite his own fear and confusion.

He stood by her to protect and provide for her and her child.

Together they raised Jesus to adulthood—raised him to be a faithful Jew.

To love God and love his neighbor.

They raised him to be a brilliant light to people walking in darkness and to those who dwell in a land of deep shadows.

The raised him to be Wonderful Counselor, the Strength of God, Eternal Protector, Champion of Peace.

They raised him to provide hope, peace, joy, and love to the world.

And there, my friends, is the both/and.

Despite being born into poverty in an occupied land, Jesus was born to be the light of the world.

Despite being forced into exile by a violent despot, Jesus was born to be the Champion of Peace.

Despite being beaten and crucified for the crime of proclaiming the Kin-dom, Jesus was born to be the Strength of God.

Both/and.

Jesus is hope amidst despair.

Peace amidst conflict.

Joy amidst grief.

And love amidst hate.

We live in a complicated world.

No matter how deep our faith is, it is hard to always live in hope, peace, joy, and love.

Because we live in a both/and world.

The Kin-dom is both now and not yet.

So, when you feel despair, remember that hope is of God.

Despair is fleeting but hope endures.

When you are feeling unsettled, remember that shalom is of God.

That inner feeling of discord is temporary but the wholeness we receive from God is permanent.

When grief is overwhelming, remember that joy is of God.

It is human to grieve but we carry within us that divine image in which there is joy.

And when the hatred of this broken world makes you want to cry out, remember that tiny baby born in a stable two millennia ago.

A helpless infant born into a harsh world.

God’s unconditional love enfleshed.

Come to live among us as our Redeemer.

For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given!

Hallelujah! Glory be to God!

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

Amen.

Love Transforms Us

The last Sunday in Advent is about love.

Of course, the incarnation—God becoming human in Jesus—is the most obvious demonstration of God’s unconditional love for us.

God coming to earth is one more instance of something that happens over and over again in the Hebrew Bible—God always comes to us.

God doesn’t wait for us to be prepared or perfect.

God comes to us where we are.

And that is often lost, broken, and afraid.

But God comes to us still—even though we often resist or are just unaware of God’s presence.

And God demonstrates God’s special love for those on the margins—those who are overlooked or even oppressed.

Because God comes as a defenseless child—a brown-skinned child born into poverty in an occupied nation.

But that divine love is not the only kind of love we see in today’s gospel.

Even before Joseph is visited by the angel, he intends to quietly divorce her.

He doesn’t want to embarrass her, subject her to being ostracized by the community, or perhaps even risk potential violence against her.

He could have made a stink.

He could have told everyone that Mary was pregnant with a baby that wasn’t his.

In the patriarchal context of first-century Israel, it would have been his right.

But he doesn’t.

He protects her.

He shows love for her, even though he is probably hurt and confused—or perhaps even angry.

And together, Mary and Joseph demonstrate their love for God.

Joseph listens to the words of the angel.

They get married—ensuring Jesus suffers no stigma in the community.

They name him Jesus.

And they raise him together.

They show a faithfulness to God’s plan for them.

But the amazing thing about love isn’t the many different kinds of love—or myriad ways that love is demonstrated.

The amazing thing about love is its power to transform us.

When we are young and naïve, we change ourselves to earn love.

We lose weight.

I’ve heard some people even try to gain weight.

We change our looks—get a new hairstyle or change the way we dress.

We pretend to like things we don’t—or dislike things that we do.

But those are superficial changes, not transformation.

The world can be an ugly place.

Most of us experienced trauma of one kind or another.

Trauma causes pain.

But it’s what we do with that pain that matters.

Some people transmit their pain.

They lash out in anger.

They do mean things because they want everyone to feel as bad as they do.

Others turn that pain inward.

They sabotage their relationships.

They abuse drugs or alcohol.

They overeat or starve themselves.

They cut themselves or attempt suicide.

But rather than transmitting pain, love can allow us to transform it into action.

Sometimes, it is our love for ourselves that transforms us.

Sometimes, it is the love of others.

Still others, it is the love of God.

Some of you know that I was unchurched for a time.

I had been an active member of the Lutheran church in my town, where I was active in their youth ministry.

I was scheduled to be a chaperone for a Youth Gathering in Washington, DC.

The night before the retreat, I got a call from the pastor.

Someone in the congregation had outed me.

The pastor asked me, “are you gay?”

I never hid who I was, but this was the mid-90’s.

It was before Will and Grace, before effective treatment of HIV was commonplace, and way before marriage equality seemed possible.

Although I never hid being gay, it also wasn’t something that I broadcast.

It was one facet of who I was, and I only shared with people who I became close enough to for it to be relevant.

But, since he asked and I was by no means ashamed, I answered, “yes”.

He responded that I could not chaperone the Washington trip and I could no longer do youth ministry.

I was devastated.

I tried to stay but eventually it was a wound that wouldn’t heal so I left.

That was a traumatic event.

It caused me pain.

I could have let that pain consume me.

I could have lashed out at the pastor or the person that outed me.

I could have closed the door on organized religion forever.

But I still loved myself.

And I still loved God—and knew God loved me.

And eventually I found my way to another church where people loved me.

And all that love—love of self, love of God, and love of others—was transformative.

It changed me.

And it transformed my pain.

It turned my pain into action.

It called me to ministry.

It brought me to seminary.

It gave me mission.

Mission to help others who have been harmed by the church to heal.

Mission to serve others who have been pushed aside, silenced, or oppressed.

Mission to free those who are captive to their own hate and prejudice.

Mission to reform the church.

I am a radically different person than I was back when I was ousted from youth ministry.

The fundamentals of who I am was there.

But I could not do back then what I can do now.

I had not yet been transformed—transformed by the power of love.

Some of you may find me too radical—too anxious to reject the status quo and embrace change.

Others may find me not radical enough.

For those that find me too radical, it may disturb you to know that I actually hold myself back.

As someone who enjoys a lot of privilege as a white, middle-class, educated, cis-gender male, I try to hang back and let others with less privilege lead.

For those of you that think I am not radical enough, speak up.

Know that I will support you—especially if you lack the privilege that I benefit from.

And know that I will use my privilege to magnify your voice.

But, whether you think I am too radical, not radical enough, or just right, know that Jesus was way more radical than I am.

I just follow his example.

And he didn’t have to be transformed.

He was radical from the start.

The passage in Matthew before today’s gospel lesson contains Jesus’ genealogy.

And it contains 5 women: Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, Bathsheba, and Mary.

And each of those women were countercultural in some way.

Not to mention that, in a patriarchal society like Jesus’, including women in a genealogy was countercultural in itself.

So, Jesus was radical from birth.

Jesus loved without expecting anything in return.

He forgave his enemies.

He led by serving.

He rejected wealth and power.

Each one of those characteristics were radical and countercultural for his time.

And they all have their foundation in love.

A love so intense that God came to live with us on earth.

A love so intense that Jesus wanted to show us a better way of being.

Through his words and through his actions, he tried to show us how to love.

How to love God and feel God’s presence always.

How to love our neighbors and see the divine image in them that we all share.

And how to be transformed by that love.

Transformed into the Body of Christ.

Transformed into citizens of the Kin-dom.

Let us pray:

Good and gracious God, send your Holy Spirit to open our hearts to your divine presence.

Fill us with your unconditional love, transforming our pains and our traumas into acts of compassion.

We love you.

Help us to demonstrate that love by loving our neighbors as radically as Jesus showed us to do.

As we celebrate the coming of the Christ child—your divine light in our darkness—may our actions reflect that light into the world and be a beacon of your hope, peace, joy, and love for all.

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

Amen.

Joy is of God

The third week of Advent is about JOY.

The connection to today’s gospel may seem a bit elusive.

I mean I’m sure that there was joy amongst all those people that Jesus healed.

The blind recovered their sight.

Those who could not walk were able to walk again.

Those with leprosy were cured.

Those who were deaf could hear again.

And the dead were raised to life.

HALLELUJAH!

I’ve no doubt that there was joy among all those people who Jesus touched and healed.

But, other than being happy for them, how does that bring us joy?

Today’s gospel begins with John the Baptizer in prison.

John, a prophet ordained by God, is expressing doubt—doubt that Jesus is the Messiah.

Now, you and I, we experience doubt all the time.

But John was raised to prepare the way for the Messiah.

By all accounts, John never doubted his mission.

His parents raised him for it.

He preached boldly and confidently, even calling religious leaders a pack of snakes.

Doubt just doesn’t appear to be part of his DNA.

And yet, he asks Jesus, “are you the One?”

Jesus’ reply isn’t a direct response—as he often likes to do.

His response is, “report to John what you see and hear”.

What John’s disciples report back to him is, “‘Those who are blind recover their sight.

Those who cannot walk are able to walk.

Those with leprosy are cured.

Those who are deaf hear.

The dead are raised to life.

And the anawim—the “have-nots”—have the Good News preached to them.”

These are glimpses of the Kin-dom.

It is God breaking into the world.

It is Jesus being Emanuel—God with us.

Meeting us where we are—broken, hurting, and afraid.

And therein, I believe, is the joy.

It’s God breaking into the world.

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

God always makes the first move.

God comes to us—just as you expect a loving parent to do.

Sometimes, God comes Godself, like when the Christ child was born in Bethlehem.

Other times, God works through us.

I’d like to share a few of my experiences of God breaking through.

My mom spent the last couple of days of her life in a coma.

By that point, she had been on and off hospice 3 times.

We had gotten so used to her bouncing back, we expected her to do it again.

Her name was Kathleen, but she went by Kitty and we started to joke that she really must have 9 lives.

Anyway, when we realized that she wasn’t going to pull through again, we took her off the medications that were artificially elevating her blood pressure.

On the last night of her life, I sent everyone home.

I was the oldest and I was always closest to my mom.

So, it was something that I wanted to do—to be with her in these final hours.

I spent the night talking to her, reading the Bible to her, and praying with her.

She never responded.

She was in the interstitial space—the in-between place—between life and death.

Scientists say that hearing is the last sense to fail.

I don’t know how they know that but that’s what they say.

So, I’m pretty sure that my mom heard me.

I was a voice in the darkness of that space between life and death.

God used me to break through into her world.

And, although there was certainly grief, there was also joy in knowing that I was God’s instrument in those moments.

Many of you know that shortly after I started here at Emanuel, a good friend of mine nearly died.

I drove Jim to the hospital for what was supposed to be minor outpatient surgery.

Unfortunately, he had a severe reaction to a medication he was given.

His heart and breathing never stopped but his blood pressure got so precipitously low that his brain was deprived of oxygen.

He was in a medically-induced coma for a day.

When he regained consciousness, it was clear that something was wrong.

He couldn’t see.

We later learned that his eyes were perfectly fine, but his brain no longer knew how to interpret the signals it was getting.

One of his arms was paralyzed.

He couldn’t walk.

He could speak but he couldn’t think clearly.

I became Jim’s medical advocate.

For weeks, I fed him and I helped him go to the bathroom.

He denied help from others, preferring to wait for me.

I was Jim’s hands when his wouldn’t work.

God used me to break through into his world.

And, although I felt a great weigh in those days, there was also joy—a great joy, in fact—knowing that I was God’s loving hands in those weeks.

few weeks ago, I organized a candlelight vigil to commemorate Transgender Day of Remembrance.

Doing the research to prepare for it was brutal.

Reading the stories of people whose lives were cut short by violence—for having the audacity to want to live as their authentic selves—made me both sad and angry.

But seeing a group of trans women at the vigil, I was struck by their bravery.

I admired their strength to be who they are—despite the hateful things that get directed at them.

Despite the constant risk of violence from ignorant people who fear what they don’t understand.

We read the names of the trans people who were murdered in the US.

People from the community shouted out the names of others who were lost.

We lit candles.

And God broke through.

God was light in the darkness of hate and violence.

And there was joy in that light.

There was joy in the Gay Men’s Chorus singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”.

And it occurred to me while I was writing this sermon that somewhere over the rainbow is the Kin-dom.

Where the dreams that we dare to dream really do come true.

Dreams like the prophesies of Isaiah that we heard in today’s first lesson.

Dreams like the signs and wonders Jesus was performing in today’s gospel.

Dreams of God breaking through and giving us a glimpse of the Kin-dom.

You see, God always come to us—breaks through into the world.

And, while it might be tinged with grief or sadness, there is joy in that presence of God—if only we are open to being aware of it

We can experience joy in the most challenging of circumstances.

Despite his incarceration, I have no doubt that John experienced joy on hearing the reports of Jesus’ signs and wonders.

Reports that gave John a glimpse of the Kin-dom and dispelled his doubts about whether Jesus was the Messiah.

Despite the grief of my mother’s passing, there was joy in accompanying her through that sacred transition.

Despite the weight of being Jim’s primary caregiver, there was joy in being his lifeline and serving God’s purpose for me at that time.

Despite the sadness of lives cut short by violence, there was joy in a community bravely carrying on, honoring the memory of victims, and shining the light of hope for the world to see.

Grief cannot overcome joy.

Neither can sadness or anger or doubt or any of the myriad emotions that we experience.

Because joy is of God.

We experience joy because that is God’s intent for us.

It is a gift of the Spirit.

We experience joy when God breaks into the world to give us a glimpse of the Kin-dom.

Joy because God breaking through is a fulfillment of God’s promise.

Joy because God breaking through is a demonstration of God’s unconditional love for us.

God breaking through truly is “Joy to the World”.

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

Amen.

True Peace (Shalom) Requires Change

It’s interesting that this second Sunday of Advent is about Peace and the gospel is about John the Baptizer antagonizing the Pharisees and Sadducees.

I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t expect calling a group of people a “pack of snakes” to be a precursor to Peace.

In fact, I’d imagine that that might rile those people up a bit.

And, to no one’s surprise, it does.

But that is John’s role in the New Testament.

He is an agitator.

His role is to prepare the way for the Messiah.

Change rarely happens without conflict.

Because most humans resist change.

They prefer consistency.

But John understood that change was necessary.

He understood that they needed to change the way they thought about the world.

They needed to change the way they thought about their relationship with God.

They needed to “change their hearts and minds” in order to prepare for the Messiah.

John’s practice of agitating—his propensity for “poking the bear”—was precisely about peace.

The source of our confusion is that we misunderstand what peace means.

In our cultural context, peace means the absence of conflict.

However, in a biblical context, “peace” actually has its roots in shalom.

And shalom has a richer meaning with broader implications.

Our understanding of peace is the absence of conflict.

It is the work of humans and is almost always temporary.

Shalom, on the other hand, is not just the absence of conflict but it is also a deep sense of wellbeing and wholeness.

It is a permanent frame of mind and has a divine association with it.

It implies being in right relationship with God.

So, viewed in that context, John’s actions were about the shalom kind of peace.

He didn’t care about creating some temporary conflict because the end game was welcoming the Messiah and the coming of God’s Kin-dom.

Change was necessary.

Humans needed to change their hearts and minds to get in right relationship with God.

And change creates conflict.

Because people don’t like change.

It can be uncomfortable.

It upsets our normal routine.

But John knew—he understood—that the one who was coming after him—Jesus—would bring about the Kin-dom of God.

And the Kin-dom of God means true shalom—everlasting peace and authentic wholeness.

In corporate speak, John was a change agent—as was Jesus.

For those of you that have been watching The Chosen with me, you know Jesus often says, “Get used to different”.

It means that not only that they did not fear and resist change but also that they celebrated and implemented it.

I am also one of those odd people that likes change.

And back when I was an executive in corporate America, I too was called a change agent.

In fact, one of the biggest adjustments I’ve had to make as a pastor is that not everyone is as comfortable with change as I am.

Although I haven’t called out anyone as a pack of snakes, I imagine I’ve made a few people upset.

Changing how we do communion.

Introducing a new hymnal and new music to our services.

Speaking a language during worship that some of you don’t understand.

Now, I don’t mean to imply that those things are on the same level as what the Baptizer was doing in the Judean wilderness.

But there is a parallel.

Several times, I have shared this quote that’s been attributed to St. Augustine, “Without God, we cannot; without us, God will not.”

I believe it has particular relevance for us today.

True peace—of the shalom variety—can only exist in the Kin-dom.

While it may be true that the Kin-dom will only be realized in the Second Coming, we can work towards the Kin-dom now.

But it takes change.

I would even say that it takes becoming comfortable with change—or at least more comfortable.

In Isaiah, we read, “Forget the events of the past, ignore the things of long ago! Look, I am doing something new! Now it springs forth—can’t you see it? I’m making a road in the desert and setting rivers to flow in the wasteland.”

And again, in Romans, we read, “Don’t conform yourselves to this age, but be transformed by the renewal of your minds, so that you can judge what God’s will is—what is good, pleasing and perfect.”

I don’t know what changes lie ahead for us.

All I know for certain is that there will be change—and probably many of them.

Because who we are today is not sustainable.

That’s the bad news.

The good news is that the opportunities before us are unlimited.

We are embracing the people in the neighborhoods around this church.

We are emulating Jesus and living out his message of good news to the oppressed and marginalized.

We are loving our neighbors as Jesus first loved us by welcoming people and inviting them to make Emanuel their faith home.

That is WONDERFUL!

We are also investigating possibilities for converting unused or underused spaces in our church buildings into affordable housing.

We are trying to become better stewards of the many gifts that God has provided to this congregation by making sure all of our spaces are efficiently utilized.

We are heeding Jesus’ command to feed his sheep by helping some of our neighbors into more stable living arrangements.

We cannot solve homelessness, but there is freedom in knowing we don’t have to do it all.

That freedom will enable us to do this one small thing.

And maybe follow it up with an even larger thing across the street.

It will be an incomplete solution, but it is a beginning—a step along the way and an opportunity for God's grace to enter and do the rest.

The good news for us today is that our Emanuel family is a vibrant community.

The opportunities before us are unlimited.

But seizing those opportunities will require change.

And with change comes discomfort and, sometimes, even conflict.

Our determination to preserve tradition can be very strong.

There are strong emotional ties to tradition—happy memories of childhood or our younger selves and longing for friends and family members who have moved away or passed on.

But what holds this church family together is not tradition.

It is the love we have for God and for one another.

That is what will carry us forward.

That is what will help us weather the challenges ahead.

John the Baptizer said, “Change your hearts and minds, for the reign of heaven is about to break in upon you!”

I’m going to say the same to you.

Don’t fear change.

Change is inevitable.

While you may never be able to embrace change, at least do your best not to resist it.

Maintaining the status quo—trying to preserve things they way they always were—does not move us along the path to the Kin-dom.

Keeping things the same is about us—and our comfort level.

Helping God co-create the Kin-dom—that is about our neighbor.

That is about feeding Jesus’ sheep.

We cannot become the Kin-dom without change.

Because we aren’t there yet.

The Kin-dom is a community of truth and justice, where “the wolf will dwell with the lamb, and the leopard will lie down with the young goat; the calf and the lion cub will graze together, and a little child will lead them.

The cow will feed with the bear; their young will lie down together.

The lion will eat hay like the ox.

The baby will play next to the den of the cobra, and the toddler will dance over the viper’s nest.

There will be no harm, no destruction anywhere in God’s holy mountain; for as water fills the sea, so the land will be filled with knowledge of YHWH.”

And, in that Kin-dom, we shall find the peace that passes all understanding.

The shalom promised to us by God.

The peace that is not only an absence of conflict but also an innate sense of wholeness.

The peace that comes from knowing we are always in the presence of God.

The wholeness that comes from knowing we are loved unconditionally by the One who created us.

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

Amen.