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.

What it Means to Hope

Today is the first Sunday in Advent.

I remember being told that Advent was a season of preparation—preparation for the coming of the Christ child—much like Lent is the season of preparation for Holy Week and Easter.

But Advent is actually more than that.

Advent is, above all else, a call to full awareness.

That is why we sang, “Awake, Awake and greet the new morn” this morning.

Because, as Christians, we live in a time of perpetual Advent.

Only now, we’re not waiting for the coming of the Christ child.

We await the second coming of Christ.

That is what the gospel lesson for today is about.

It may seem an odd passage for Advent.

But, in this parallel context of waiting for the Christ child and waiting for the second coming, it fits.

So, we are called to be awake—and if you’ll forgive the alliteration—aware, attentive, and alert.

Awake to the injustices that are occurring around us.

Aware of signs and wonders we are witness to every day.

Attentive to the words of Jesus and the example that he set.

And alert to the Hope that this season of Advent brings.

The Hope of the Messiah fulfilled in the first coming of Christ.

Mary, the mother of Jesus, said, “For you, the Almighty, have done great things for me, and holy is your Name.

Your mercy reaches from age to age for those who fear you.

You have shown strength with your arm; you have scattered the proud in their conceit; you have deposed the mighty from their thrones and raised the lowly to high places.

You have filled the hungry with good things, while you have sent the rich away empty.”

She was speaking about promises to the Jewish people, fulfilled by YHWH.

We can also say it as promises kept to us, as followers of Jesus.

But this season of Advent is also about the Hope of the second coming of the Messiah.

We live in this time of waiting—waiting for the second coming of Jesus.

Where the Kin-dom is both already and not yet.

Where we are called to have hope—hope in the face of events that sometimes appear hopeless.

Hope that is not based in blind optimism.

But rather, hope that is based in faith and trust in God.

Hope that is sometimes juxtaposed against despair.

Because the Kin-dom is both now and not yet.

So, I would like to try to shed some light on this duality by sharing a few of my despairs and hopes.

I despair that churches care more about tradition than relevance and, in a staggering display of hypocrisy, care more about political power than adherence to the words of the One they claim to follow.

And yet, those same churches all lament the loss of young people.

However, I find hope in the group of 80 young people who gathered at the Synod Youth Retreat to explore their faith rather than play Minecraft or binge watch TikTok videos.

I despair that young people are being denied gender-affirming care, despite every major medical association saying it is “suicide prevention”.

But I find hope in the brave children who say, “My pronouns are ‘they’ and I am exactly who God intended me to be.”

I despair that “smash and grab” is no longer about criminals breaking a showcase to steal jewelry.

“Smash and grab” has become about breaking car windows to snatch, detain, and deport brown people.

But I find hope in the group of Midwestern pastors who are organizing a nationwide Palm Sunday action to drive change in the country—to mirror Jesus’ radical procession into Jerusalem and reclaim what it means to be Christian.

I despair that Spanish-speaking immigrant children are not going to school because they fear their parents won’t be there when they get home.

My heart breaks with the knowledge that this gap in their education will have a lasting impact on their entire lives.

But I find hope in the group of nine New Jersey pastors who throw their egos and their comfort levels to the wind to learn Spanish so they can communicate with their neighbors and serve them better.

I despair that, in the past year, 240 transgender people were murdered, 25 of them in the United States.

I lament that both numbers are undoubtedly an undercount and don’t include the those who died by suicide or those whose lives were forever changed by nonfatal violence.

But I find hope in the group of 40 people who huddled against the cold while we lit candles and read the names murdered transgender people out loud.

I despair that transgender servicemembers are being told they are not worthy to serve in the armed forces.

I despair that some who have already served are being denied their retirement benefits.

But I find hope in the twelve transgender young people who came to our Name Change Clinic and said, “no one gets to define me but me. I will be my authentic self whether you like it or not.”

I despair that our military is being used to attack boats in international waters without authorization from congress or transparency to the public.

I despair that we have become a nation that kills survivors of an attack instead of rescuing them and taking them into custody.

But I find hope in the six veteran members of Congress who stood up to remind service members that their duty is to the Constitution, not to administrations, and it is not only their right, but their duty, to refuse illegal orders.

I despair that babies are dying from whooping cough and measles because their government is pushing misinformation about vaccines.

And yet, I continue to have hope.

My hope lies in a love so deep that God became incarnate—as a helpless brown baby—born into poverty in an occupied nation.

My hope lies in the resurrection of Jesus—and the promise of his second coming.

My hope lies in the knowledge that God never disappoints—God’s promises are always fulfilled.

Hope reminds us that there is nothing in life we have not faced that we did not, through God’s grace, survive.

Hope is our collective memory of good in the past.

That is the foundation of our expectation of good in the future.

Regardless of how troubling—or how hopeless—the present might seem.

Hope sifts through the pieces of our broken hearts to find those memories of God’s promises fulfilled.

To those times when God miraculously brought good out of evil—brought joy out of grief.

That is the foundation of our hope for the future.

Our hope for the Kin-dom.

When the Kin-dom is no longer “not yet”.

When the Kin-dom is a promise fulfilled.

And we can say, “Awake, awake and greet the new morn” with brand new meaning.

And sing out for joy that the Kin-dom is here!

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

Amen.

Let us be Grateful as well as Thankful

Today is Volunteer Appreciation Sunday so I’m going to focus my sermon on that, instead of the lectionary.

I am truly grateful to all those people that contribute to making this a vibrant and productive community.

I say “grateful” intentionally.

Because it is important to make a distinction between thankfulness and gratitude.

Gratitude is the realization that our lives—and every aspect of them—are a gift of God’s grace.

Etymologically, "gratitude" and "grace" have the same root.

It makes sense, doesn’t it?

Grace is the gift of forgiveness that we receive from God.

We cannot earn it.

It is the gift we receive because of God’s unconditional love for us.

Gratitude is the response that we are supposed to have to God’s grace.

In contrast, thankfulness is generally quid pro quo.

We usually say “thank you” for the things people do.

It is task-oriented.

I am thankful for whoever set up Communion for this morning.

Whereas gratitude is more of an attitude—it’s a way of thinking.

I am grateful for the dedication of the altar guild and the traditions at Emanuel that guide our worship.

I am grateful that people understand that, if I forget to break the big wafer, it is not the end of the world.

God is still present.

We are still beloved.

Our sins are still forgiven.

That is not to say that we shouldn’t be thankful for all the good work that is done here.

In the book of James we read, “My siblings, what good is it to profess faith without practicing it?

Such faith has no power to save.

If any are in need of clothes and have no food to live on, and one of you says to them, “Goodbye and good luck. Stay warm and well-fed,” without giving them the bare necessities of life, then what good is this?

So it is with faith.

If good deeds don’t go with it, faith is dead.

Some of you will say that you have faith, while I have deeds.

Fine: I’ll prove to you that I have faith by showing you my good deeds.

Now you prove to me that you have faith without any good deeds to show.

You believe in the One God.

Fine.

But even the demons have the same belief, and they tremble with fear.

Don’t you realize, you idiots, that faith without good deeds is useless?

Be assured, then, that faith without works is as dead as a body without a spirit.

Good works are important.

They are a faith practice.

It is one of the ways that we put our faith in action.

I am thankful for all the donations of warm clothing that we have received.

But I am grateful that, as a congregation, we are lucky enough to have excess clothes that we can share.

I am grateful that we have partners at United Methodist Church and Elijah’s Promise that can distribute what we collect to those in need.

I am grateful that we have opportunities to be God’s hands and feet in the world.

To feed the hungry.

To clothe the naked.

To give comfort to those who feel forgotten or unloved.

To feed Jesus’ sheep as he asked us to do.

If you remember a couple of weeks ago, the gospel lesson talked about a Pharisee that said, “I give you thanks, O God, that I’m not like others—greedy, crooked, adulterous”.

He was thankful, but he was not grateful.

Theologian and author Marcus Borg wrote, “Gratitude is a virtue with ethical consequences. When we feel most grateful, it is impossible to be cruel or callous, brutal or indifferent. And gratitude as the awareness that life is a gift precludes the hard-heartedness that often accompanies the ideology of "the self-made person." The latter often leads to, "God, I thank you that I am not like other people."

That resonates.

Gratitude is deeper and more spiritual than simple thankfulness.

Gratitude is often transformational.

The experience of being deeply grateful can change us.

That is the message of A Christmas Carol.

Scrooge learns gratitude.

The spirits show him the things he should be grateful for.

They shift his thinking from transactional thankfulness to deep gratitude.

He is change—transformed.

He becomes a new man.

Sometimes gratitude is the product of transformation.

I’ve talked before about Richard Rohr’s two halves of life concept.

The first half is about “stuff”—relationships, job, security.

The second half is about meaning.

Often, the first half of life is centered around thankfulness.

But, age, wisdom, or some life event transforms us and we begin the second half of life.

We become more centered around gratitude.

Grateful people understand that our life is a gift.

It is not about holding on to what we have.

It’s not about seeking even more.

It is about living as grateful people.

It’s about being joyful about this gift of life.

Yesterday, a man named Joseman gave us a taste of Taizé.

He drove all the way from Williamstown to be here.

His van was loaded to the gills with all sorts of things to transform the sanctuary into a reflection of a monastery in central France.

It took us 2 hours to set up and another hour and a half to take down.

For 11 people.

Some would’ve been annoyed.

Some would’ve thought it was a waste of their time, energy, and money.

But Josemon only said, “when we do it next year, more will come”.

Because he lives in gratitude.

His faith is huge.

And he is grateful that he can share with others a style of worship that is deeply meaningful to him.

He is grateful for the opportunity to invite others to experience God in a new way.

Today, we recognize and celebrate all the people who contribute to the life of this church.

Let us be thankful for all that they do.

It is right that we should do so.

But let us also be grateful for this Body of Christ.

For this assembly of faithful people that do their best to heed those words of Jesus: Feed my sheep.

Let us be thankful for the time, talent, and treasure that people donate to our ministries.

But let us also be grateful for this family—imperfect though it may be.

For the myriad ways that we try to live out the gospel:

“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.”

May we always remember to be grateful as well as thankful because both are important.

It is important to recognize and lift up good deeds done.

But it is gratitude that changes us.

Makes us holier.

Not so we receive grace.

But because we already have it.

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

Amen.

Worry Less About Heaven and Be More Present

I thought about skipping the lectionary this week because the gospel is problematic.

It is a discussion about the Jewish tradition of levirate marriage, this idea that it a man’s responsibility to marry his brother’s childless widow in order to produce an heir.

It’s very patriarchal and highlights the first-century cultural idea of women as property.

The woman in the gospel had no say in this arrangement.

She was passed from brother to brother like a hand-me-down.

But, as I have said before, we can’t just ignore Scriptural passages that we don’t like.

It’s important for us to talk about them.

And, as he often does, Jesus tries to guide his students—or, in this case, religious leaders trying to trap him—into thinking about things differently.

He doesn’t tell them they have incorrectly interpreted the Law.

But he redirects them.

He tells them, in the age of resurrection, this hypothetical situation is irrelevant.

In our tradition, Luther talks about right-hand and left-hand kingdoms.

The left-hand kingdom is the secular or earthly realm which is governed by law and authority.

Where questions about who you marry matter.

The right-hand kingdom is the heavenly realm which is governed by grace.

Where only spiritual things matter.

In Lutheran terms, Jesus is telling the Sadducees that left-hand kingdom problems are not relevant in the right-hand kingdom.

Because we live in the left-hand kingdom and we have limited capability to understand the right-hand kingdom, this passage is confusing.

Reading something we don’t understand is uncomfortable—especially where our faith is concerned.

We’d much rather things were black and white.

Unfortunately, in matters of faith, there is ALOT of gray.

Worrying what heaven will be like is a useless endeavor.

Because we cannot compare this life to resurrected life.

Most of you know that I like to read.

When I’m reading for pleasure, I will often read Stephen King or Dean Koontz.

Dean Koontz wrote a series of books about a character called Odd Thomas.

Odd is able to see dead people.

Odd’s soulmate is a woman named Stormy Llewellyn.

Stormy refers to this life as “boot camp” because it prepares us for what is next.

But just like the boot camp that prepares soldiers for war, the preparation is incomplete.

Boot camp gives survival skills to soldiers.

But it cannot prepare them for the sights, sounds, and psychological trauma of war.

Similarly, this life can only do so much to help us understand resurrection.

Jesus says in the age of resurrection, we can no longer die.

But so much of our life is defined by our mortality.

It is nearly impossible for us to comprehend what it will be like to no longer die.

Our lives are defined by our finiteness.

We are born, we live, and we die.

In the age of resurrection, we can longer die.

We become infinite, existing outside of time as we know it.

And our human minds cannot grasp all that that entails.

Because finite minds are incapable of understanding infinity.

What we know about the age of resurrection is that it will be wonderful beyond our imagining.

In Revelation, we read “Then I saw new heavens and a new earth. The former heavens and the former earth had passed away, and the sea existed no longer. I also saw a new Jerusalem, the holy city, coming down out of heaven from God, beautiful as a bride and groom on their wedding day. And I heard a loud voice calling from the throne, ‘Look! God’s Tabernacle is among humankind! God will live with them; they will be God’s people, and God will be fully present among them. The Most High will wipe away every tear from their eyes. And death, mourning, crying and pain will be no more, for the old order has fallen.’”

God will be fully present among us.

We will be immersed in divine presence.

And, although we believe in God’s presence is all around us now, we are frequently unaware of it.

The difference is, in the age of resurrection, we will be aware of God’s presence—ALWAYS.

We will revel in it, and it will be like a celebration that never ends.

And death, mourning, crying and pain will be no more.

In the age of resurrection, the thing that can so often dominates our lives—our mortality—no longer exists.

There will be no death—not our own and not our loved ones’.

No mourning our losses.

No pain—physical or emotional.

Only the joy of being in God’s presence.

And we will finally be able to understand the enormity of God’s love for us. 

Now there are some—perhaps even some here—that may be troubled by Jesus’ response.

We want to be with our loved ones in the age of resurrection.

Our idea about resurrection is that we will have all the good things of this life and none of the bad.

I’m not going to stand up here and tell you that you won’t.

All I am saying—all the text is saying—is that the age of resurrection will be different.

We cannot grasp WHAT WILL BE from the perspective of this life and WHAT IS.

And it is futile for us to try to.

I think the real danger in spending time wondering what resurrection will be like is we risk missing the here and now.

I am a planner.

It is hard for me to be in the moment.

Michael is a Disney fanatic and I guess it’s fair to say that he turned me into one as well.

We’ve easily been to WDW over 30 times, sometimes going more than once a year.

Until I met Michael, I was never really a parade person.

But he introduced me to the Disney parades.

I can remember the first one we saw together.

It was called “Mickey Mania”.

In addition to the usual character floats, there were skateboarders and cast members on scooter doing all sorts of acrobatics.

It was quite a spectacle.

Now, I love Disney parades.

I appreciate the creativity and the performance.

But because I am a planner, I have trouble being in the moment.

As much as I enjoy the parade, I’m thinking about the next ride we’re going to go on.

Or where we have dinner reservations that night.

I think worrying about heaven can be like that.

If we spend too much time worrying about what it’s going to be like and who is going to be there, we risk missing out on the present.

Our life in this world is a miracle.

We are witness to the wonders of creation every single day.

But many of us miss them.

We get wrapped up in the minutiae of the day.

So, I challenge you, as I have before, to try to live in the moment.

Don’t spend too much time planning for the future.

It’s not bad to plan but it can become a distraction—or even an obsession.

Be grateful for everything that you have.

Trust that God will provide your daily bread—physical, emotional, and spiritual—everything that you need.

And revel in God’s presence now—in the creation all around us and in our human siblings.

See the divine image in them.

Love them—as God loves you—unconditionally and beyond measure.

And know that, as wonderful as this life can be, the resurrection will be better.

Because when we are God’s people and God is fully present with us—when we are so immersed in the divine presence that we are always aware of God’s presence—we will experience joy beyond our comprehension.

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

Amen.

We Are the Saints of the Present

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

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

I usually focus entirely on the gospel.

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

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

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

Habakkuk is one of the so-called minor prophets.

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

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

Habakkuk laments about oppression, injustice, and tyranny.

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

Sound familiar?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

Say it with me. Dilo conmigo.

Dios, ten piedad.

Cristo, ten piedad.

We trust in God.

That is our faith.

But, God have mercy, sometimes it is hard.

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

So how do we do it?

We rejoice in being beloved children of God.

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

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

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

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

Somos hijos amados de Dios.

Necesitamos reconocer nuestro amor.

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

Y entonces, necesitamos compartir ese amor con el mundo.

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

That sums up our Christian mission in the world.

As we grow in faith, we claim our belovedness.

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

We acknowledge the belovedness of our human siblings.

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

Our love for the world increases.

And our willingness to accept pain and cruelty decreases.

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

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

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

So, what has this to do with Zacchaeus?

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

Well, almost universally.

Jesus saw this short man, easy to overlook.

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

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

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

It’s Jesus seeing Zacchaeus.

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

And not only saw him but invited him.

He invited Zacchaeus to be his host.

There is a lesson in there for us.

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

Called by name and claimed as God’s own.

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

Zacchaeus—who Jesus saw and welcomed in.

Zacchaeus—whose salvation Jesus proclaimed.

Because we are Zacchaeus.

It doesn’t matter if we’re overlooked.

It doesn’t matter if we are disliked.

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

Because Jesus sees us.

Jesus loves us.

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

Jesús nos ama.

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

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

To love one another.

To feed people who are hungry.

To welcome the stranger.

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

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

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

Recordamos y honramos a los santos del pasado.

Pero debemos asumir nuestro papel como santos del presente.

Dios nos ha llamado dignos.

Dios nos ha capacitado para realizar la obra del Reino.

We remember and honor the saints of the past.

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

God has called us worthy.

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

To love one another.

To include those who have been excluded.

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

And then to share that love with the world.

Gratefully.

Joyfully.

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

Amen.

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

Amen.

We Are Beloved

Today’s gospel seems pretty straightforward.

There’s only 2 people in Jesus’ parable.

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

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

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

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

Tax collectors were universally hated.

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

How does that happen?

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

It’s not that the Pharisee is wrong.

He is a righteous man.

He does the things he is supposed to.

He follows the law.

He fasts.

He tithes.

But he also judges.

And judgment is reserved for God.

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

It prevents him from being in right relationship with God.

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

He acknowledges his sinfulness and asks for mercy.

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

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

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

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

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

We’re like that Pharisee.

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

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

We’re just like the Pharisee.

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

The Pharisee talks about fasting and tithing.

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

To be sure, fasting and tithing are good.

They are things that we should be doing.

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

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

Jesus died BECAUSE we are loved by God.

And we are not loved for WHAT we do.

We are loved because of WHO WE ARE.

We are beloved children of God.

Children who God calls by name.

And children who God claims as God’s own.

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

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

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

I go to church every week.

I volunteer two days a week at the food pantry.

I went to the No Kings demonstration.

I support marriage equality.

I donate to Lutheran Disaster Relief.

Those statements all sound simple.

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

I go to church and he doesn’t.

I volunteer and she doesn’t.

I donate and they don’t.

And that comparison is a trap.

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

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

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

We are beloved—full stop.

No comparison is necessary—or even possible.

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

He was righteous and law-abiding going in.

And he was righteous and law-abiding going out.

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

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

He came in a sinner.

He humbled himself before God and asked for mercy.

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

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

That is a life-changing transformation.

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

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

We react in gratitude.

We love because we are loved.

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

We are trying to earn something that is already ours.

We are already beloved.

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

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

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

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

How this applies to the Reformation is fairly simple.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And because we are beloved.

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

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

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

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

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

But that is not how we should think about membership.

Membership is not about setting apart.

Membership is about welcoming in.

It is not about singling out.

It is about including in the whole.

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

With all their gifts—and their imperfections.

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

As we ask them to recognize ours.

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

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

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

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

And isn’t that just a miracle?

We are beloved.

And we are forgiven.

Thanks be to God!

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

Wrestle the Questions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Every Bible story has a historical and cultural context.

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

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

Every Bible story also contains the bias of the author.

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

All his writings reflect that.

And we, as readers, bring our own biases.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s an interesting story.

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

We are constantly wrestling.

We wrestle with our faith.

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

When it comes to faith, most people prefer absolutes.

Absolutes are easy.

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

We want easy answers.

Not complex solutions that require investigation and soul searching.

That doesn’t make us bad people.

It just makes us human.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s about who is in our community.

But Jesus’ definition of neighbor is much broader.

Jesus defines neighbor through a moral lens.

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

Our neighbors are the people who need us most.

Our neighbors are the oppressed and the marginalized.

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

People who are hungry.

People who don’t have stable housing.

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

Are we doing enough?

Are we prioritizing the right ministries?

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

Fortunately, for that, we actually have an answer.

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

Hope is about faith—and trust in God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But we resist.

We don’t listen.

We make excuses.

But God is not deterred.

Like the widow, God is seeking justice.

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

God seeks justice—for everyone.

But especially those who are poor and marginalized and oppressed.

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

Until we relent.

Until we love our neighbors as ourselves.

Until we welcome God’s justice.

Until we embrace the Kin-dom.

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

Ask yourself the hard questions.

What is God’s justice?

What am I being called to do?

Am I loving my neighbor?

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

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

Am I doing enough?

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

I have to answer them for myself.

And YOU need to wrestle with those issues YOURself.

And may that wrestling be fruitful.

Because faith is like a muscle.

And wrestling is exercise.

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

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

Loving the Outcast Back into Community

Today’s lessons include two stories about lepers.

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

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

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

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

It also removed people from their communities.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some of us gathered online.

But others didn’t—or couldn’t.

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

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

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

It touched the mind and the spirit.

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

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

We talked about it last week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Out of compassion, Francis gave money to the leper.

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

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

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

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

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

Francis recognized the image of God in the leper.

He acknowledged his sibling—a fellow child of God.

And thus began the ministry of Franciscans to lepers

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

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

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

White European settlers committed genocide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For recognizing the image of God in every human being?

For including, rather than excluding?

For restoring people to their families and their communities?

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

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

It was ignorant but it wasn’t malicious.

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

They are the actions of empire—pure and simple.

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

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

They are actions wholly inconsistent with the Way of Jesus.

So, where do we go from here?

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

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

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

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

St. Francis repented of his fear and his hatred.

He had compassion.

Because he saw the image of God in the lepers.

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

Because loving the lepers became a spiritual practice for him.

It became how he journeyed on the Way of Jesus.

That, I believe is the lesson for us today.

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

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

Every oppressor is themselves oppressed.

They are oppressed by their fear and their hatred.

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

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

No one is beyond redemption.

Everyone is a recipient of God’s abundant grace.

Because every human being is loved unconditionally by God.

Called by name.

And claimed as God’s own.

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

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

There’s so much truth in that.

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

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

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

Those are words of wisdom for us.

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

But ALWAYS with love in our hearts.

Because love is the ultimate power.

And only love can drive out hate.

Only love can achieve true justice.

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

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