Ubuntu

We spend a lot of time talking about community.

About how this congregation is a community.

About the importance of engaging the community around us.

I chose today’s gathering song with a purpose.

It was certainly beautiful all on it own and beautiful music has a way of uplifting us—of opening our hearts and minds to the presence of God and one another.

But the Zulu philosophy of Ubuntu is yet another way for us to look at community.

Ubuntu says, “I am because we are”.

We cannot live in isolation—that was not God’s intent for us.

God intends for us to live in community.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus tours towns and villages, proclaiming the Good News and curing all kinds of diseases and sicknesses.

Jesus travels with the community of his followers to other communities throughout Galilee.

And Matthew says, “At the sight of the crowds, Jesus’ heart was moved with pity because they were distressed and dejected, like sheep without a shepherd.”

Jesus wasn’t above the crowd.

He wasn’t emotionally detached from the suffering he saw.

He was moved by it.

The verse doesn’t say that he blamed them for their troubles.

It said he was “moved with pity”.

He felt compassion for them.

He suffered with them in their pain.

Another layer of Ubuntu is the greeting “Sawubona”, which means “I see you”.

But it is more than a simple greeting.

Sawubona is intimate.

It doesn’t just mean I observe your presence.

It means I see you in your entirety.

I acknowledge your circumstances—your lived experience.

I recognize your dignity.

I accept our interconnectedness.

How beautiful is that?

I also frequently talk about our cultural conditioning—attitudes we have without even realizing it.

Think about how we greet people—"Hey, how ya doin?”

Maybe a head nod thrown in for good measure.

It’s something automatic.

We’re taught it’s polite.

But, unless it is a family member or close friend, it’s unlikely that we’re making a serious effort to connect.

We don’t necessarily expect to hear an honest response to how they are doing.

We’re unlikely to notice if they look tired or have bloodshot eyes from crying or lack of sleep.

We’re certainly not thinking about our interconnectedness.

Now, to be fair, I don’t think we do this maliciously—or because we don’t care.

We do it because we’re always busy.

We’re always focused on the next thing we’re supposed to be doing.

We do it because we are culturally conditioned to think about ourselves and our families first—not the wider community.

But that is the lesson of Ubuntu.

Ubuntu teaches that we are interrelated.

Looking through our Christian lens, we are bound together as children of God.

Ubuntu says I become myself precisely through my relationship with the community.

And that is the Good News of the gospel: there is no justice for me unless there is justice for everyone.

Either we all thrive or no one does.

Our success is not individual because my flourishing cannot be separated from yours.

That is a tough lesson for us to hear.

Because our culture tells us to focus on individual success.

“Get the promotion!”

“Buyer beware!”

“Pick yourself up by your bootstraps!”

But that is not the way of Jesus.

Jesus looks at the crowd and sees suffering.

It’s not a superficial survey.

It’s intimate—because he is Emanuel, God With Us.

Because our God is the God who sees.

And how does Jesus respond?

He gathers his community of followers together.

He gathers his followers—a ragtag group of people who had little in common until they became students of Jesus.

There were fishermen—working class people on the lower economic rungs of society.

There was a tax collector—a group universally reviled as traitors to their people and Roman collaborators.

There was a Zealot—a political fanatic outside of mainstream Judaism.

And there were women—so overlooked in first-century Judea that they aren’t even counted.

But Jesus made them a community.

And Jesus doesn’t complain and say there aren’t enough of them to do the work that needs doing.

He doesn’t say they aren’t smart enough or strong enough or capable enough.

He empowers them.

And he sends them out.

To other communities—communities where there is need.

A need for healing—healing of bodies, minds, and spirits.

Because what we often fail to realize is that, particularly in first-century Judea, illness isolated people.

Healing not only restored bodies, minds, and spirits—it restored relationships and brought outcasts back into community.

When others ignore or reject community, Jesus restores it.

In today’s gospel, Jesus also says, “The harvest is bountiful but the laborers are few.

Beg the overseer of the harvest to send laborers out to bring in the crops.”

I am not a farmer.

But I don’t have to be a farmer to know that harvesting is communal work.

It takes a community to bring in a crop.

Whether you see Jesus’ talk of harvesting as a metaphor for evangelism or healing or service, it’s clear that he sees it as communal work.

The work of serving our neighbors is communal work.

It is our work to do.

It is our calling—whether we heed that call or not.

Ubuntu says, “My humanity is tied to yours.”

Jesus says: “You received freely—now freely give.”

The two are closely related.

Both reject the idea that we can live in isolation.

We receive unconditional love from God.

Jesus says, “Now freely give”.

See one another.

Don’t be blind to suffering.

Be compassionate.

Be a healing force in the world.

Restore people in body, mind, and spirit.

Restore relationships and gather in the outcasts and the marginalized.

Today, we also commemorate the Emanuel 9.

They were a community and also part of a larger community.

They were diverse—like Jesus’ disciples.

There were pastors, a politician, a librarian, and a recent college graduate.

They practiced Ubuntu.

When a stranger came in to join their Bible Study, they said, “We see you.

We acknowledge you as a fellow child of God.

We are because you are.”

Unfortunately, Dylann Roof did not practice Ubuntu.

He did not see the humanity of his hosts.

Despite being raised as a Lutheran, he did not acknowledge them as siblings in Christ.

He believed that white people could live in isolation.

He rejected the Kin-dom of God.

My friends, we live in a complicated world.

One that encourages independence, rather than interdependence.

One that relies on self-sufficiency, rather than the common good.

One that focuses on scarcity, rather than abundance.

Jesus and Ubuntu offer an alternative:

We are intended to be in community.

We are supposed to understand that we cannot thrive as a species unless we ALL thrive—including people experiencing poverty, hunger, and homelessness.

None of us have justice unless ALL of us have justice—including people of all races, cultures, genders, and sexualities.

We ARE the body of Christ.

In 1 Corinthians, we read, “The body is one, even though it has many parts; all the parts—many though they are—comprise a single body.

And so it is with Christ.

It was by one Spirit that all of us, whether we are Jews or Greeks, slaves or citizens, were baptized into one body.

All of us have been given to drink of the one Spirit.

And that Body is not one part; it is many.”

That is the crux of Ubuntu AND the gospel.

I am because we are.

We are because Christ is.

Give freely as we have received.

See one another—not superficially but in our entirety.

Stop being blind to the suffering of our siblings.

For the sake of all that is good and holy, stop killing one another.

Love one another as God first loved us.

Because when we love one another, that is how we build the community that God intended for us.

That is how we co-create the Kin-dom.

My friends—my siblings in Christ—let it be so.

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

Remember Your Baptism

In today’s second lesson, the Apostle Paul recounts the story of Sarah and Abraham.

God made promises to them that seemed impossible.

Both of them were old.

Sarah was well beyond her childbearing years.

It would seem that their bodies were incapable of creating new life.

Yet Abraham trusted that, through God, all things were possible.

He believed in God’s faithfulness.

Today’s Gospel tells the story of two miracles interwoven with each other.

In one, a “synagogue official” comes to Jesus because his daughter had died.

The official asks Jesus to lay his hands on his daughter so she will live again.

In the second story, a woman who had suffered from hemorrhages for twelve years touches the hem of Jesus’ cloak, knowing she would be healed.

Like Abraham, both the synagogue official and the bleeding woman trusted in God’s faithfulness.

They believed that, through God, all things were possible—even miracles of healing and resurrection.

Trust in God’s faithfulness is integrally tied to baptism.

The sacrament of Baptism is a covenant with God.

We make promises to God and God makes promises to us.

Many Christian denominations practice adult—or believer’s— baptism.

Their rationale is that the person being baptized must understand the promises being made.

Lutherans, like Catholics, practice infant baptism.

In our practice, the sponsors—or godparents—make those promises on the infant’s behalf.

That’s a pretty weighty responsibility.

That’s why being a godparent is not just an honor.

It’s also an obligation.

For our part, we promise, amongst other things, to proclaim the Good News of Jesus and to be fellow workers in the Kin-dom of God.

God promises us forgiveness—unconditional grace.

God promises us belonging—the community that comes from being a child of God.

God promises us “that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, neither heights nor depths—nor anything else in all creation—will be able to separate us from the love of God that comes to us in Christ Jesus, our Savior.”

And therein lies the foundation of baptism.

God promises to love us forever—unconditionally.

Now, to be clear, God already loves little CJ.

Whether we go through this ritual of words and water, CJ is a beloved child of God.

The sacrament is not for God.

The sacrament is for us—to remind us.

To remind us that we are beloved children of God.

Who God calls by name.

Who God claims as God’s own.

Because we need to be reminded.

We need to be reminded because we get wrapped up in the minutiae of life.

We get so busy with careers and to do lists and the noise of everyday life that we sometimes forget what’s important.

We need to be reminded because of the inner voice that tells us we’re not worthy.

Truth be told: we aren’t worthy.

But baptism reminds us God’s love isn’t about worthiness.

God’s love is unconditional.

In today’s gospel, Jesus also says, “People who are in good health don’t need a doctor; sick people do.

Go and learn the meaning of the words, ‘I desire compassion, not sacrifices.’

I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.”

We are imperfect people.

Jesus acknowledges that and says he doesn’t care.

He is there for us anyway.

He is faithful to us—whether we are faithful to him, or not.

We have no confirmands this year.

But I confirmed three young men last year.

I think we have done ourselves a disservice by calling that milestone confirmation.

Because actually—what those young men were doing—they were affirming their baptism.

They were saying that they were now mature enough to understand the promises that were made on their behalf when they were infants.

And they were assuming the responsibility for those promises themselves.

Of course, it’s important for them to acknowledge their responsibility to proclaim the Good News of Jesus and be fellow workers in the Kin-dom.

But what I told those young men is, if they remember nothing else from confirmation class, remember that God loves them and nothing they do can make God not love them.

Because we need to be reminded.

We are beloved children of God.

Who God calls by name.

Who God claims as God’s own.

On Friday, I presided at my first quinceañera.

I knew it was an important milestone in a young woman’s life.

What I learned is that it is also an affirmation of baptism.

So, I chose first John chapter four as the second lesson.

It’s the passage that starts, “Beloved, let us love one another because love is of God; everyone who loves is begotten of God and has knowledge of God.

Those who do not love have known nothing of God, for God is love.”

John goes on to say, “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God in them.”

I thought that passage was perfect for an affirmation of baptism.

Because, in addition to remembering all the promises made on her behalf at her baptism and acknowledging that she was now responsible for living up to those promises, she needed to be reminded.

Because it’s tough to be a young adult these days.

They are immersed in social media.

They are pressured to wear the right clothes, listen to the right music, and be in with the right crowd.

So they need to be reminded.

Reminded that they are beloved children of God.

Who God calls by name.

And who God claims as God’s own.

So rejoice with me.

Rejoice with me because baptism is a cause for celebration.

Rejoice with me because God is faithful.

Rejoice with me because, through God, all things are possible.

Rejoice with me because God’s love is unconditional.

Rejoice with me because, today, in CJ, we welcome another sibling to the Body of Christ.

My hope for each of us as we go forward from this place is that we remember our own baptism from time-to-time.

I try to never pass a font without dipping my fingers in, crossing myself, and remembering my baptism.

Maybe you could make a practice of remembering your own baptism when you take a shower, or wash the dishes, or take a dip in the pool.

It doesn’t even have to be about water.

You could remember your baptism while you have your cup of tea or coffee in the morning.

Or while you take that walk in the splendor of God’s creation.

But I encourage you to pause and remember—through water and the Word, we are made new.

Through baptism, God reminds us.

“You are my beloved child.

I have called you by name.

And I have claimed you as my own.”

Thanks be to God!

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

What the Trinity Can Teach Us About Community

I almost decided to skip Holy Trinity Sunday and just call this the First Sunday after Pentecost.

Part of it is simple logistics.

For the First Sunday after Pentecost, we are back in Ordinary Time with green paraments, which stay green until Advent.

For Holy Trinity Sunday, we are supposed to have white paraments—for one week.

The other reason is that the concept of “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit” is deeply entrenched in Holy Trinity Sunday and that is challenging for a congregation like Emanuel that strives to use inclusive liturgy.

But never one to shrink from a challenge, I figured, “what the heck?”

Let me start out by saying, if Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are integral to your faith, that’s OK.

I would never tell you that you need to give it up.

What I will say is that the concept of a Holy Trinity is not biblical.

The first mention of the word “Trinity” was not until the late second century and it was not codified as church doctrine until the Council of Nicaea in 325.

Now, if I were you, my first question would be, “well, then what about today’s gospel: ‘Baptize them in the name of Abba God, and of the Only Begotten, and of the Holy Spirit.’

It is widely believed by theologians, that the text in Matthew was more a reflection of first-century Christian practice than actual words of Jesus.

Their rationale is that way baptizing and teaching are worded, it sounds very much like the creation of a new religion and, as you have heard me say many times before, Jesus was a faithful Jew and he sought to reform Judaism, not break from it.

That may be disturbing to some and I reiterate, if you chose to believe that Jesus said those words, it’s perfectly fine.

I’m not here to challenge your faith.

I only present opportunities to expand it.

I will ask you to remember that God is a spirit and, as a spirit, gender is irrelevant.

So, calling God “mother” or “parent” has as much meaning as “father”.

They are all constructs to help our finite minds grasp the idea that our Creator loves and cares for us—as a father, mother, or guardian would.

Jesus was human, so he had a gender and, at least as we understand it, he was male.

So, calling him the Son of God makes some sense.

But remember, in Luke 13:34, Jesus says, “How often have I wanted to gather your children together as a mother bird collects her babies under her wings”.

So, Jesus is comparing himself to a mother hen—no toxic masculinity there.

And our church doctrine says Jesus is 100% human and 100% divine.

Well, the divine part is spirit and, there again, gender has no meaning.

No one seems to care too much about the gender of the Holy Spirit.

Many use feminine pronouns to describe the Spirit, presumably to try and balance out the Trinity.

But traditionally, the Spirit has also been linked to Sophia—Wisdom—who is female.

All of which is to say that our ideas about God are just that—ideas.

God is an infinite being.

As finite beings, we are incapable of completely understanding the mysteries of God.

The best we can do is to use concepts with which are familiar—male and female, father and son, king, judge, savior, and wisdom—all these help us understand that which is beyond our grasp.

For the sake of this morning’s sermon, I’d like to propose another metaphor to help us in our understanding of the Trinity—the Trinity as community.

God is not solitary.

God is an eternal, loving community of three distinct entities.

Community is a concept that we will come back to again and again.

Because our faith practice as followers of Jesus was meant to be observed in community.

Community is about belonging.

One way of thinking about the first person of the Trinity is to think about them as the source of belonging.

The Creator is our beginning in whose image we were formed.

Our identity as children of God gives us belonging.

Community is also about relationships.

One way to think about Jesus is to think about him as the source of relationship with God.

God became incarnate in Jesus to be in relationship with us.

Jesus modeled empathy, compassion, and service—to show us how God intended us to be.

When we emulate that same empathy, compassion, and service, it is a bridge to God.

And, as a bridge, it flows in both directions.

The incarnation not only helps God relate to us, but also for us to relate to God.

Community is also about unity—it’s right in the word!

One way to think about the Spirit is to think about her as the source of our unity.

The Spirit flows through us, binding us.

She breaks down our barriers and inspires us.

She opens our hearts and our minds so that we can experience unbridled joy, extend unqualified welcome, and share unconditional love.

So, if you’ll indulge my metaphor: the Trinity is a community—a community with entities who are the source of belonging, the source of relationship, and the source of unity.

And perhaps, when we realize that Jesus’ followers were a community AND we think about the Trinity as a community, it will help us to recognize the importance of this community as well as the community that surrounds us.

Because our future as a congregation hinges on our embracing community—not just that which is comfortable and familiar but community in our most expansive imagination.

I had no idea that we would have 13 people join our congregation last week until a few days before.

For me, Pentecost last week was a Spirit-filled, joyous event.

But perhaps it was not so for everyone.

For some, change is difficult.

For some, their faith is an anchor in a world that is simply changing too fast.

I think of my faith more like a boat than an anchor—something that holds me up and carries me through the torrents of change.

My faith is constantly evolving.

I have moments of doubt that lead to soul searching.

I learn new things and have encounters that make me experience God in new ways.

I’m not saying that faith like a boat is better than faith like an anchor—it’s only different.

But I will say that, if you resist change, your faith will be static.

If you embrace change, your faith has an opportunity to grow in ways you may not expect.

As the saying goes: if you do what you always did, you’ll get what you always got.

I am reminded of a quote from Rachel Held Evans, one of my favorite authors.

She wrote, “…church isn’t static. It’s not a building, or a denomination, or a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization.

Church is a moment in time when the kingdom of God draws near, when a meal, a story, a song, an apology, and even a failure is made holy by the presence of Jesus among us and within us.

Church was alive and well long before we came up with the words relevant and missional, and church will go on long after the grass grows through our cathedral floors.

The holy Trinity doesn’t need our permission to carry on in their endlessly resourceful work of making all things new.

That we are invited to catch even a glimpse of the splendor is grace.

All of it, every breath and every second, is grace.”

The church of Christ is alive—and it always will be.

It is a dynamic organism that is driven by the Trinity of belonging and relationship and unity.

This congregation can choose to embrace change or be static, wither, and die.

I say that, not to be harsh or unkind, but only to be a truthteller.

Rachel also said, “I often wonder if the role of the clergy in this age is not to dispense information or guard the prestige of their authority, but rather to go first, to volunteer the truth about their sins, their dreams, their failures, and their fears in order to free others to do the same.

Such an approach may repel the masses looking for easy answers from flawless leaders, but I think it might make more disciples of Jesus, and I think it might make healthier, happier pastors.

There is a difference, after all, between preaching success and preaching resurrection.

Our path is the muddier one.”

I love that.

I’m sure that doesn’t surprise most of you.

The guy that says he loves change and isn’t bothered by chaos wants to lead you down the muddier path.

All I can say is, “I’m up for an adventure!”

How about you?

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

We Are Chosen Family Somos familia eligida

Two short weeks ago, we talked a little about the Spirit.

How the Spirit opens our hearts and our minds.

How the Spirit expands our boundaries—so we can experience unbridled joy, extend unqualified welcome, and share unconditional love.

How the Spirit is often “holy chaos”—really challenging those of us that like control and order.

Hace solo dos semanas, hablamos un poco sobre el Espíritu.

Sobre cómo el Espíritu abre nuestros corazones y nuestras mentes.

Sobre cómo el Espíritu expande nuestros límites, para que podamos experimentar una alegría sin límites, dar una bienvenida total y compartir un amor incondicional.

Sobre cómo el Espíritu es, a menudo, un «santo caos», desafiando de verdad a aquellos de nosotros a quienes nos gusta el control y el orden.

I chose Pentecost to welcome new members to our congregation.

My reasoning was that Pentecost has a significant relevance to extending boundaries and radical inclusion.

In the reading from Acts, Paul quotes the prophet Joel, saying, “I will pour out my Spirit on all humankind. Your daughters and sons will prophesy.”

Now, you may not realize the significance at first because we use inclusive language at Emanuel and our lessons come from The Inclusive Bible.

But even in the King James version, it says, “I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy.”

That is unusual wording because in the patriarchal culture of the first century, it would have been more common to say, “I will pour out of my Spirit upon all mankind: and your sons shall prophesy.”

The inclusion of women would have been subversive at the time—inclusive in the way we would expect Jesus to be.

Elegí Pentecostés para dar la bienvenida a los nuevos miembros de nuestra congregación.

Mi razonamiento fue que Pentecostés tiene una relevancia significativa para la expansión de fronteras y la inclusión radical.

En la lectura de Hechos, Pablo cita al profeta Joel, diciendo: «Derramaré mi Espíritu sobre toda la humanidad; nuestros hijos e hijas profetizarán».

Quizás no comprendan la importancia al principio, ya que en Emanuel usamos un lenguaje inclusivo y nuestras lecciones se basan en La Biblia Inclusiva.

Pero incluso en la versión Reina Valera, dice: «Derramaré de mi Espíritu sobre toda carne; y nuestros hijos e hijas profetizarán».

Esta es una formulación inusual, ya que en la cultura patriarcal del primer siglo, habría sido más común decir: «Derramaré de mi Espíritu sobre toda la humanidad; y nuestros hijos profetizarán».

La inclusión de las mujeres habría sido subversiva en aquella época, una inclusión en el sentido que esperaríamos de Jesús.

You may ask yourself why that is important.

Inclusion was a foundation of Jesus’ ministry.

He didn’t just preach to pious Jews.

He preached to sinners and Gentiles.

His followers included women—which was at least countercultural and perhaps even contrary to Jewish law.

One of his disciples was a tax collector—a reviled person in first-century Judea because they were viewed as Roman collaborators and traitors to their people.

He traveled with, taught, and healed a diverse group of people that included the marginalized of Jewish society.

He even ate with them.

The result was that Jesus’ followers were not just his students.

He formed a community—a community that we try to emulate in our congregations.

Quizás te preguntes por qué esto es importante.

La inclusión fue un pilar fundamental del ministerio de Jesús.

No solo predicó a judíos piadosos.

Predicó a pecadores y gentiles.

Entre sus seguidores había mujeres, lo cual era, como mínimo, contracultural y quizás incluso contrario a la ley judía.

Uno de sus discípulos era recaudador de impuestos, una persona despreciada en la Judea del primer siglo, pues se les consideraba colaboradores romanos y traidores a su pueblo.

Viajaba con un grupo diverso de personas, entre las que se encontraban los marginados de la sociedad judía, les enseñaba y los sanaba.

Incluso comía con ellos.

Como resultado, los seguidores de Jesús no eran solo sus alumnos.

Formó una comunidad, una comunidad que intentamos emular en nuestras congregaciones.

This idea of a radically-inclusive community is an idea that resonated strongly with the women liberation theologians of Latin America.

The idea that the Holy Spirit would descend upon a diverse group of people: “Parthians, Medes and Elamites, people from Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya around Cyrene, as well as visitors from Rome—all Jews, or converts to Judaism—Cretans and Arabs” and allow them to hear the gospel in their own language was inspirational.

What was particularly revolutionary was that the Spirit did this, not by assimilation or making everyone the same, but by creating a new community.

Each person had their own lived reality—just as the marginalized women of Central and South America had their own lived reality.

Whether they were marginalized because they were indigenous, poor, LGBTQ+, or politically oppressed, they found meaning in the story of Pentecost.

It helped them to realize that they had power.

And they derived that power through community and organizing.

Esta idea de una comunidad radicalmente inclusiva es un concepto que resonó con gran fuerza entre las teólogas de la liberación de América Latina.

La idea de que el Espíritu Santo descendiera sobre un grupo diverso de personas: «partos, medos y elamitas; habitantes de Mesopotamia, Judea y Capadocia, del Ponto y de Asia, de Frigia y Panfilia, de Egipto y de las regiones de Libia cercanas a Cirene, así como visitantes de Roma—todos ellos judíos o conversos al judaísmo— cretenses y árabes» y les permitiera escuchar el Evangelio en su propia lengua resultó sumamente inspiradora.

Lo verdaderamente revolucionario fue que el Espíritu obró de este modo no mediante la asimilación ni haciendo que todos fueran idénticos, sino creando una comunidad nueva.

Cada persona poseía su propia realidad vivida, tal como las mujeres marginadas de Centroamérica y Sudamérica tenían la suya propia.

Ya fuera que sufrieran marginación por ser indígenas, pobres, miembros del colectivo LGBTQ+ o por padecer opresión política, todas ellas hallaron un profundo sentido en el relato de Pentecostés.

Este les ayudó a tomar conciencia de que poseían poder.

Y ese poder lo extrajeron de la comunidad y de la organización colectiva.

You may notice that I try to always use the phrase “Kin-dom” of God, rather than “Kingdom” of God.

That phrase has its origin in that feminist liberation theology—also known as mujerista theology—that evolved in the unrest in Central and South American countries.

Kin-dom of God combines the divine concept of a radically inclusive, just community with the importance of family in latiné culture.

But sometimes family dynamics can be at odds with inclusion and justice.

Although not unique to LGBTQ+ folx, the concept of chosen family is fundamentally important to our community.

If you are not familiar with the term, chosen family are the people you claim as your family because they love and support you as your authentic self.

That is in contrast to biological family which, for too many LGBTQ+ siblings, may not fully accept or even reject us.

So, when I use the term Kin-dom, I am thinking of family in the broadest, chosen family terms.

Quizás noten que siempre intento usar la frase «Familia de Dios» en lugar de «Reino» de Dios.

Esta frase tiene su origen en la teología de la liberación feminista—también conocida como teología mujerista—que surgió durante la agitación social en países de Centroamérica y Sudamérica.

La Familia de Dios combina el concepto divino de una comunidad radicalmente inclusiva y justa con la importancia de la familia en la cultura latina.

Pero a veces la dinámica familiar puede entrar en conflicto con la inclusión y la justicia.

Aunque no es exclusivo de las personas LGBTQ+, el concepto de familia elegida es fundamental para nuestra comunidad.

Si no están familiarizados con el término, la familia elegida son las personas que consideramos nuestra familia porque nos aman y nos apoyan tal como somos.

Esto contrasta con la familia biológica que, para muchos hermanos y hermanas LGBTQ+, puede no aceptarnos plenamente o incluso rechazarnos.

Así que, cuando uso el término Familia de Dios, me refiero a la familia en su sentido más amplio: la familia elegida.

Which brings me back to the connection between Pentecost and new members.

As we welcome new people into this congregation, we are welcoming them into our family—our chosen family.

And, in every family, there is drama.

This one will be no different.

When I think about the people I am called to serve—whether you have been here for 50 years or today is your first day with us—I am reminded of a reality that I have never heard expressed better than by Nadia Bolz-Weber.

She writes, “This community will disappoint them.

It’s a matter of when, not if.

We will let them down or I’ll say something stupid and hurt their feelings.

I then invite them on this side of their inevitable disappointment to decide if they’ll stick around after it happens.

If they choose to leave when we don’t meet their expectations, they won’t get to see how the grace of God can come in and fill the holes left by our community’s failure, and that’s just too beautiful and too real to miss.”

Lo cual me remite a la conexión entre Pentecostés y los nuevos miembros.

Al dar la bienvenida a nuevas personas en esta congregación, las estamos acogiendo en nuestra familia: nuestra familia elegida.

Y, en toda familia, hay drama.

Esta no será diferente.

Cuando pienso en las personas a las que estoy llamado a servir—ya sea que lleven aquí cincuenta años o que hoy sea su primer día con nosotros—recuerdo una realidad que nunca he escuchado expresar mejor que por Nadia Bolz-Weber.

Ella escribe: «Esta comunidad los decepcionará.

Es cuestión de *cuándo*, no de *si*.

Los defraudaremos, o yo diré alguna estupidez y heriré sus sentimientos.

Por ello, los invito—desde este lado de su inevitable decepción—a decidir si se quedarán una vez que eso suceda.

Si eligen marcharse cuando no cumplamos sus expectativas, no llegarán a ver cómo la gracia de Dios puede intervenir y llenar los vacíos dejados por el fracaso de nuestra comunidad; y eso es, sencillamente, demasiado hermoso y demasiado real como para perdérselo».

My prayer for us on this day is this:

May the Spirit open wide our hearts and minds.

May she expand our boundaries so we can extend unconditional welcome to all and warmly embrace those who chose us as family.

When we make errors, may the grace of God heal any harm done.

And, when others make errors, may we forgive as God first forgave us.

In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

Mi oración por nosotros en este día es la siguiente:

Que el Espíritu abra de par en par nuestros corazones y nuestras mentes.

Que ella expanda nuestros límites para que podamos brindar una bienvenida incondicional a todos y abrazar con calidez a aquellos que nos han elegido como familia.

Cuando cometamos errores, que la gracia de Dios sane cualquier daño causado.

Y, cuando otros cometan errores, que perdonemos tal como Dios nos perdonó primero a nosotros.

En el nombre de Jesús oramos. Amén.

Holy Chaos

I do not preach about Mother’s Day because, although we honor those who fill a maternal role, Mother’s Day is problematic or even painful for some.

So, I stick to the lectionary and the lessons for the day.

This could be my own bias, but I don’t think we talk about the Holy Spirit enough.

So, let’s take some time this morning to talk about the Spirit.

I may regret stealing my own thunder when Pentecost rolls around but I think I’ll risk it.

Today’s gospel begins with a reminder for Jesus’ disciples—and those of us who claim to be his followers:

“If you love me and obey the command I give you, I will ask the One who sent me to give you another Paraclete, another Helper to be with you always …”

The first thing to note is that Jesus says that, if we love him, we will follow the command he gave us.

It is not an if/then statement.

It is an if/and statement.

And what is that command?

Love God and love our neighbor.

These are not arbitrary rules for us to follow.

They are invitations to participate in God’s mission.

And Jesus promised to send us a helper in fulfilling that mission.

That helper is the Spirit—our Paraclete.

“Paraclete” is a Greek word that can be translated as Advocate, Comforter, or Helper.

Each of those meanings captures a facet of the Spirit’s role.

The Spirit’s primary function is to deepen our understanding of Jesus’ message.

As we incorporate that message into very being, we see that we are instruments of God’s love and we fulfill that role through service to our neighbors.

The Spirit also sustains us through adversity.

She enables us to persevere when faced with doubt.

She strengthens us to overcome challenges.

But, despite that explanation, I suspect the Spirit still remains something of a mystery.

We have heard the Spirit described as breath, as wind, and as fire.

The work of the Spirit often sounds a lot like inspiration.

A “Spirit-filled” event is one where ideas and emotions flow freely.

Similarly, one of my favorite euphemisms for the Spirit is “holy chaos”.

Some of you may have heard me say that I love chaos because there is joy in it.

To be clear, there is not always joy in chaos.

Disorder isn’t inherently joyful.

However, if order becomes our primary concern, we become repressed.

And joy requires us to be open—to let our guard down.

Joy requires us to embrace the moment.

Even if what’s happening is not the way that we would do it.

Even if it tests our boundaries.

That is what makes Pride parades a beacon of joy for a marginalized community.

I remember the first Pride parade I went to.

It was New York City in the early 1980’s and I was between my junior and senior year in college.

Because it was the early days of the AIDS crisis, the Pride parade was a big deal, and it was HUGE.

But there were three groups I remember very clearly.

The first was a snake charmer and kazoo band.

They were exactly what they sounded like—a group of men, most of them people of color, many of them with pet snakes around their necks, all of them playing kazoos as they marched.

The second were the dykes on bikes.

They were lesbians on motorcycles, most of them Harleys.

The third were teachers.

They marched with bags over their heads because, at the time, they could’ve lost their jobs for being identified as queer.

As a kid from the suburbs who had led a very sheltered life, each one of those groups challenged my perception of the world.

They tested my boundaries.

I knew my world growing up had been very small.

But my education had tested beliefs I took for granted.

It helped to clarify my core values.

I gave me knowledge and tools that allowed me to take in new information and experience new things without dismissing them as foreign or abnormal.

There are those who would call my education indoctrination.

That would say being open to new experiences and withholding judgment is harmful and a threat to society.

I couldn’t disagree more.

That ability to open myself to some holy chaos allowed me to feel joy at that first Pride parade.

And not only joy but also pride.

The variety of people who marched that day—lesbians on motorcycles, black men in leather, drag queens, parents and grandparents marching to support their loved ones, people of faith marching to let queer people know that God loves them¬—all those people taught me something about joy.

Joy—like God—has no limits.

You can’t put it in a box.

And, if you try to, it only diminishes it.

I think there are a lot of things in life that are like that.

Like welcome.

Welcome is all or none proposition.

You can’t welcome someone a little bit.

You can’t say, “I welcome you but” because “but” negates the welcome.

In the same way, you can’t love someone a little bit.

That’s the problem when people say, “hate the sin and love the sinner”.

Once you say, “I love you but”, your message of love is lost.

The Spirit can help us to eliminate the “but”.

The Spirit opens our hearts and our minds.

The Spirit expands our boundaries—so we can experience unbridled joy, extend unqualified welcome, and share unconditional love.

The Spirit can do this because she is holy chaos.

The Spirit blows where it will.

She cannot be confined.

We read in 1 John chapter 4 that we are given the Spirit so God’s love can be brought to perfection in us.

Divine love is brought to perfection in us.

It binds us to God and each other.

And when we share it, it spreads.

Divine love is contagious.

I think it’s safe to say that there’s a little bit of holy chaos in the way that love spreads.

It spreads, not so much in grand gestures but in small acts of kindness.

It spreads, not so much through familiar faces but through strangers whose lives we touch.

It spreads, not so much through the things we always do, as through the times we extend ourselves a bit beyond our comfort zone.

So, open yourself up to some holy chaos.

Do something out of the ordinary.

Challenge yourself to expand your boundaries a bit.

And let the Spirit do her thing to help you welcome without limits, love unconditionally, and experience joy that might just be a little overwhelming.

Let us pray.

Come, Spirit who is the light that dispels the shadows within.

Warm and transform our hearts.

Reveal what we do not know.

Come, Comforter who makes a home in us.

Fill our emptiness.

Heal the wounded. Soothe the anxious.

Be consolation for all who grieve and ache.

Come, Helper who opens our hearts to divine love.

Accompany us on our journey.

Fill us with enthusiasm for your vision.

Magnify our desire for truth.

Bless our quest for justice.

Come, Spirit, joy of our souls.

Inspire us to dance, not only during life’s ups but also during its downs.

Embrace us with the delights of your holy chaos.

Amen.

The Way of Jesus

People tend to zero in on verse 6 of today’s gospel: “Jesus told him, ‘I myself am the Way—I am Truth, and I am Life. No one comes to Abba God but through me.’”

They focus on that one verse and misinterpret it to make salvation all about their perception about belief.

Removed from its context, they think it is a repudiation of all belief systems other than their version of Christianity.

Further, they think that being a follower of Jesus is simply about belief.

I suppose, on a certain level, it is.

But, if we believe that Jesus is the Way, Truth, and Life and are not simultaneously transformed by it—then I’ve got some bad news for you.

Belief is not enough.

If we believe in Jesus but do not follow him—do his work—then our faith is only a shadow.

It has no substance.

Now, before any of you misunderstand what I’m saying, I am not talking about works righteousness.

If that term is unfamiliar, works righteousness is the belief that our actions can help us to earn salvation.

But it is fundamental to our Lutheran faith practice that there is nothing we can do to earn God’s favor.

Grace is free and is the product of God’s unconditional love for us.

Grace is about the nature of God and has nothing to do with anything we do or say or believe.

What I mean when I say, “belief is not enough” and that we need to do Jesus’ work is that belief—true belief—is transformative.

If you truly believe, then actions follow—because you have been transformed.

If you don’t do the work of Jesus, it is a symptom that your faith is not real or not complete or hasn’t taken root within you.

That is why the Apostle James says, “So it is with faith. If good deeds don’t go with it, faith is dead.”

Jesus earliest followers called their faith practice the Way.

In Matthew 22, Jesus summarizes it this way: “’You must love the Most High God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your mind.’ That is the greatest and first commandment. The second is like it: ‘You must love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments the whole Law is based—and the Prophets as well.”

Jesus had a lot to say about loving our neighbor.

In Luke 10, he tells the parable of the Good Samaritan.

And in Matthew 25, he says, “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.”

That is what “I am the Way, Truth, and Life” means in context.

I worry that I sound like a broken record.

Love God.

Love your neighbor.

You are a beloved child of God, called by name, and claimed as God’s own.

I repeat those messages because they’re important.

It’s important for us to hear them.

It’s important for us to internalize them—to believe them.

To live them out.

I sometimes worry that I say them too much.

But I also worry that some people take them for granted.

They think, “I’m a good person.

I go to church every week.

I’m a follower of Jesus.

I walk the Way as best I can.”

I feel all of that.

I also love God.

I also love my neighbor.

I try to be the good Samaritan when presented with the opportunity.

I feed people who are hungry.

I give drink to people who are thirsty.

I welcome strangers.

I donate clothing to give to people who need it.

I pray for people who are sick in body, mind, or spirit—and visit them when I can.

I say this, not to toot my own horn.

I’m not holding myself up as an example.

In reality, I feel like I’m hardly scratching the surface of all that needs to be done.

In Washington state this week, an evangelical couple won the right to proceed with a lawsuit against the state.

The lawsuit alleges that Washington’s policy that requires foster parents to respect a child’s sexual orientation and gender identity is an infringement on the foster parents’ freedoms of religion and speech.

LGBTQ+ children are already overrepresented in the foster care system because of biological families’ disowning them.

Now, a court has ruled that foster parents, “Christian” foster parents, can inflict mental pain and anguish upon children who are already traumatized—now get this: as part of their faith practice.

The case is still wending its way through the courts, but this is an example of how “I am the Way, and Truth, and Life” can be twisted.

Christ, have mercy.

This week, I had to make copies of powers of attorney for children so, if their parents get detained or deported, they are placed in the care of relatives.

It used to be that we only had to worry about whether a child had enough to eat.

That they had the opportunity to go to school.

Now, we have to worry about children being detained and deported.

Children—not the “worst of the worst”—children.

No criminal record.

Children, who not so long ago, only had to worry about reading, writing, and arithmetic.

And even the ones not being detained or deported have to worry about being placed in foster care because their parents were abducted.

Christ, have mercy.

And this week, the Supreme Court has ruled that racism is over.

We no longer have to protect people’s right to vote because the structural racism that necessitated the passage of the Voting Rights Act in 1965 is a thing of the past.

The state of Louisiana has been given a green light to gerrymander to their heart’s content.

Praise God!

Silly me! I thought we still had work to do.

Of course, I’m being sarcastic.

If you feel a tremor in the earth, it is the heroes of the civil rights movement collectively spinning in their graves.

Christ, have mercy.

I bring all these things up, not to depress you—although, to be perfectly honest, it’s been a battle for me this week.

I bring it up because it’s important that we know what is happening.

Sometimes we avoid the news to protect our mental health.

But it’s important that we know we have work to do.

In today’s gospel, Jesus says, “The truth of the matter is, anyone who has faith in me will do the works I do—and greater works besides.”

As followers of Jesus, we have work to do.

We cannot afford to be handcuffed by grief.

We cannot afford to be a deer in the headlights because we are overwhelmed by the atrocities and the cruelty.

Because, as I’ve said before, that is precisely the point.

They are using shock and awe to overwhelm us.

Well, excuse my French but, screw that!

We know the Way—Jesus has shown it to us.

The Way is not about a destination.

The Way is about how we are supposed to BE.

And the Way is where Jesus IS.

And, in addition to being aware of the pain and injustice around us, it is also important to be attentive to the joy.

Finding joy in the midst of all this injustice is critical to our wellbeing.

So, we find joy in doing the work of Jesus—and feeling his presence beside us as we do it.

We find joy in family and friends.

We find joy in baptism.

We find joy in the bread and the wine—and in sharing that meal with our siblings in Christ.

We find joy in the knowledge that God always has the last word.

The Kin-dom is near, my friends.

It may be not yet but there is plenty we can do—as individuals and as a community—to bring it nearer still

Damn the torpedoes and to God be the glory!

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

Listen for the voice of the Good Shepherd

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

I changed the gospel to include verses 11 through 18.

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

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

Sometimes, I change the lessons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shared my remarks at Adult Forum this morning.

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

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

The day was Spirit-filled and deeply meaningful.

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

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

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

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

We are his beloveds.

We recognize his voice.

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

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

Because our shepherd has promised to protect us.

He has promised to lay down his life for us.

Because there is no limit to his love for us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have intentionally left that out.

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

Listen to the words in a vacuum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The issue is not which human being is right.

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

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

You know the voice.

You recognize it.

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

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

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

Every one of your human siblings hears the same voice.

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

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

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

You are safe and you are loved.

Follow me.”

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

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

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

The Immigrant’s Creed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are places where God is already at work.

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

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

Abraham leaves his home.

Israel wanders for 40 years in the wilderness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not just in sanctuary.

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

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

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

He is born away from home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They understand it because they live it.

Not because their experiences are identical.

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

And the gospel speaks directly to that.

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

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

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

Called by name.

And claimed as God’s own.

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

At Pentecost, the Spirit didn’t erase difference.

People didn’t suddenly speak one language.

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

That is God’s vision of community.

Not uniformity.

Not sameness.

But connection.

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

Fear of the immigrant.

Fear of different cultures and languages.

Fear of those whose identities challenge our assumptions.

But fear builds walls and creates boundaries.

In contrast, the Spirit builds relationships.

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

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

Our God is a God of motion.

Our God moves freely.

Our God is not confined to a box.

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

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

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

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

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

But it is also a challenging one.

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

Is the church truly a home for all?

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

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

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

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

Because the church does not create belonging—God does.

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

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

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

Our worth is not determined by our immigration status.

Our worth is not determined by our race.

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

Our worth is wrapped up in God’s grace.

A grace that we cannot earn.

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

That grace has everything to do with God.

We receive grace because that is the nature of God.

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

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

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

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

Bringing life out of loss.

Hope out of hardship.

Community out of division.

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

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

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

A place of welcome.

A place of justice.

A place of love.

So what does this mean for us?

It means that faith is not about standing still.

It is about moving with God.

Moving toward those who are pushed aside.

Moving beyond the boundaries that divide us.

Moving into relationships that reflect God’s unconditional love.

Because our God is a God in motion.

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

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

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

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

In the stranger.

In the neighbor.

In one another.

Amen.

Openness is the Way of Jesus

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

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

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

They were anxious, uncertain, and confused.

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

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

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

Today’s gospel continues that theme.

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

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

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

God’s timing is often different from our expectation.

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

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

I think there is a lesson in there for us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t know if my ideas are right.

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

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

We must be able to separate nostalgia from reality.

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

The church has evolved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

We don’t do it consciously.

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

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

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

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

It is one of the glorious gifts from our creator.

But we are infinitely more alike than we are different.

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

This is my mission group.

What a diverse group of siblings it was!

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

There were gay, straight, & bi folks.

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

There were ordained folks and lay people.

Each of us came from a different background.

Each of us came with different needs and expectations.

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

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

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

There were several things about AMEXTRA that I found impressive.

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

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

It isn’t a case of nepotism.

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

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

Third, they own their mistakes.

They talk freely about them and they learn from them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I bonded with a boy named Sebastian immediately.

There was just something very endearing about him.

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

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

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

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

He didn’t understand either.

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

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

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

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

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

They are currently operating in four locations.

They never go into a community without being invited.

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

Nutrition and violence prevention are always part of their programming.

Violence prevention is something I was very interested in.

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

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

Jazzy Del Toro was shot and killed by her boyfriend.

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

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

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

Which brings me back to today’s gospel.

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

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

Walking together and listening to one another is a start.

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

There is a beautiful diversity in this community.

We can learn so much from each other.

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

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

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

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

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

We are not supposed to be fixers.

That is God’s job.

We are meant to accompany people on their journeys.

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

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

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

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

There is much we can learn from each other.

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

But to do that we have to listen.

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

Privilege doesn’t necessarily mean our lives were easy.

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

We also need to be open.

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

Open to mission trips to unfamiliar places.

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

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

Open to a creation prayer inspired by Lakota spirituality.

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

Openness helps us to grow in faith.

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

I knew the story before I went.

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

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

She asked that a church be erected on that spot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have called appearances of the Virgin superstition.

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

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

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

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

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

The Greek call her Theotokos or “God bearer”.

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

My apologies for rambling on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let us pray: Welcoming and affirming God,

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

Remove the barriers of suspicion and fear.

Replace them with the openness of curiosity and compassion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

Easter People in a Good Friday World

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

Today is a day of celebration.

After all, Christ is risen.

Nothing should overshadow our joy.

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

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

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

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

We live in a Good Friday world, my friends.

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

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

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

Humans are complex beings.

We are capable of complex emotions.

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

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

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

It didn’t erase the horror of his crucifixion.

Or the knowledge that Jesus wasn’t staying.

He was returning to Abba God.

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

Death had been defeated.

And still, there was joy.

Jesus spent time with them—shared meals with them

And breathed the Holy Spirit on them.

Joy and grief—both/and.

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

He said he wasn’t sleeping.

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

His anxiety and his sorrow were palpable.

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

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

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

I felt sad and helpless.

It was a Good Friday moment.

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

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

There was an overwhelming feeling of fellowship and community.

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

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

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

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

Her husband had been detained and deported.

She had been injured and was unable to work.

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

She was, of course, overwhelmed with concern.

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

I was angry that immigrant families are being torn apart.

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

It was a Good Friday moment.

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

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

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

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

We can love each other as Jesus commanded us to.

We can stop the violence.

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

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

We can be hope for the world.

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

I don’t post very much on social media.

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

So, I mostly try to avoid it.

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

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

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

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

I lament that this is not an isolated sentiment.

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

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

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

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

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

A woman who is family to me.

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

It was a Good Friday moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Praise Jesus, the Resurrected One!

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

These are complicated times.

Terrible things are happening.

We should feel grief at those things.

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

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

Called by name and claimed as God’s own.

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

We are followers of Jesus, the Resurrected One!

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

And that victory was not a one-time occurrence.

It is always and forever.

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

Thanks be to God!

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

Extravagant Hospitality

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

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

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

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

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

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

Many churches incorporate foot washing into their Maundy Thursday service.

Even the pope washes feet on this day.

Foot washing can be a very powerful spiritual experience.

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

We can miss the aspect of extravagant hospitality.

Emanuel does not have a tradition of foot washing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It certainly is.

Humility is a gift of the Spirit.

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

It is important to be humble.

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

Humility reminds us that we NEED God.

The God, who shows us unconditional love.

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

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

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

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

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

Humility is a characteristic we ought to aspire to.

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

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

But that is not an easy task for mere mortals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We must be humble AND extend extravagant hospitality.

We must humbly admit our own limitations.

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

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

We need the Body of Christ.

We need this community of faith.

And we need God.

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

We need God’s help to address injustice.

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

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

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

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

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

All are welcome to come to God’s table.

Rich or poor.

Black, white, or brown.

Whatever our gender.

Whatever our expression of gender or sexuality.

Whatever language we speak.

Whatever our country of origin.

We all possess the divine image of God.

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

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

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

We are reminded that Christ has died.

But Christ is risen.

And Christ will come again.

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

The gift is the forgiveness we receive in the sacrament.

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

The reign of God is at hand!

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

Believe the Good News!

Believe that God’s justice is coming.

Believe that the Kin-dom is near.

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

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

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

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

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

What Are We Called To?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Kin-dom of God is about justice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, what has this to do with us?

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

It’s not about politics.

It’s about morality.

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

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

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

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

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

I think that’s pretty accurate.

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

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

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

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

“‘Come, you blessed of my Abba God!

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

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

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

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

Jesus said we should feed the hungry.

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

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

Jesus said we should welcome the stranger.

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

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

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

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

Do we do anything about it?

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

So, I ask you again:

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

Is it part of our faith practice?

If it isn’t, should it be?

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

For me, the answer is clear.

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

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

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

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

I was at the No Kings protest in Princeton yesterday.

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

I was not—and will not—be alone.

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

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

I know some of you joined me yesterday.

I hope some of you will join me this afternoon.

Last week, we commemorated Oscar Romero.

This week, we commemorate Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

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

I am inspired by their examples.

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

Jesus could have turned around before he reached Jerusalem.

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

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

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

Instead, he went into the Temple and overturned tables.

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

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

He challenged people to love and care for one another.

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

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

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

Like Jesus, Bonhoeffer could have taken a different path.

He could have stayed safely in New York.

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

He could have married his sweetheart and raised a family.

Instead, he returned to Germany.

He opposed Nazi influence on the church.

He spoke out against the injustices being perpetrated against Jews.

He organized resistance against the Third Reich.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Standing in opposition to Empire these days can be costly.

People are being arrested and imprisoned.

People are being detained and deported.

People are being beaten and killed.

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

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

But I beg you to think of it differently.

Our faith is a gift.

It is a gift of God’s Spirit.

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

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

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

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

Let us live in the light and love of Jesus.

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

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

Empire or Kin-dom?

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

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

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

We will feed those who are hungry.

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

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

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

What we are for is very important.

But what we are against is equally important.

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

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

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

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

We stand opposed to violations of our constitution.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Feed the hungry.

Give drink to the thirsty.

Welcome the stranger.

Clothe the naked.

Comfort the sick.

And visit those in prison.

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

Jesus’ meaning was crystal clear.

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

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

And what about the “we stand opposed”?

Where does that come from?

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

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

Therefore, we should stand opposed.

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

Therefore, we should stand opposed.

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

Therefore, we should stand opposed.

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

Therefore, we should stand opposed.

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

Therefore, we should stand opposed.

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

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

The Empire was all about classism and peace through violence.

Jesus preached a message of community and peace through love.

That made him subversive.

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

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

And Jesus invites one of them to paradise.

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

The man is a criminal.

He doesn’t recite a creed.

He doesn’t even confess and ask for forgiveness.

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

And Jesus extends him grace.

Jesus extends grace to a convicted criminal.

Not because the criminal asked for forgiveness.

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

Jesus extended him grace because of who God is.

Our God is a God that loves us unconditionally.

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

God shows us grace because of who God is.

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

The wealth gap continues to get wider.

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

People continue to be excluded and pushed to the margins.

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

And we are witnesses.

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

The question is: what do we do about it?

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

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

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

Like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, he is one of my heroes.

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

Both spoke out against the violence and the injustice.

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

To oppose violence and injustice.

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

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

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

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

I know it is easy to be overwhelmed.

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

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

The Empire hopes that overwhelming us will lead to inaction.

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

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

I know it can seem hopeless.

I know you wonder what one person can do.

But never forget that God is with us.

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

A God who can breathe life into dry bones.

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

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

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

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

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

Love & Humility

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

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

It raises themes of humility, anointing, and love.

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

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

It turns traditional management on its head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He lived a humble life.

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

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

He is the epitome of humility.

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

We are called to be stewards of that gift.

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

Now, I don’t want to oversimplify.

It’s not that black and white.

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

We can serve both to varying degrees.

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

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

The point is where do we set our priorities?

Is it service to ourselves or service to others?

Are we concerned with money and power?

Or are we concerned with the common good?

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

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

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

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

We are all interdependent.

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

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

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

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

Their genius is not their own; it is borrowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was also an act of love and humility.

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

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

This too was a consecration of sorts.

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

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

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

He loved without exception.

He loved the tax collector AND the fishermen.

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

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

And he loved without measure.

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

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

He said, “Love one another.

And you’re to love one another the way I have loved you.

This is how all will know that you’re my disciples: that you truly love one another.”

Love one another the way I have loved you.

Without exception.

And without measure.

That is the challenge we are face with as Christians.

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

Will we love without exception?

Will we love our black and brown neighbors?

Will we love our queer neighbors?

Will we love our homeless neighbors?

Will we love our immigrant neighbors?

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

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

Will we accept help as well as give it?

Because accepting help is a form of humility.

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

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

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

People who equate humility with weakness.

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

I was good-intentioned but arrogant.

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

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

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

There was never an unexpected plumber bill.

There was never an astronomically high utility bill.

They knew what they had to pay every week.

It never changed and they could plan around that.

I didn’t make that mistake again.

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

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

It was a position that felt vulnerable.

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

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

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

But then there are people like Chef José Andrés.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beware False Prophets

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Israel was under Roman occupation.

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

The persecution of Jesus followers had already begun.

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

It was a violent and disturbing time.

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

The gospel of Matthew is a bit of a paradox.

Matthew is considered the most Jewish of the gospels.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is presented as prophecy.

It also contains metaphors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I can’t say definitively.

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

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

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

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

There is a lot that we don’t know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet we do all those things.

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

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

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

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

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

Yet we do all those things as well.

I would say our report card looks pretty bad.

Our love has grown cold.

Our love of God AND our love of neighbor.

So, what do we do?

Where do we go from here?

The answer is simple: we follow Jesus.

It’s simple but by no means easy.

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

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

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

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

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

We follow Jesus.

We love our neighbor without exception.

We seek out the margins as Jesus did.

We also call out false witness against our neighbors.

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

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

These false witnesses must be challenged.

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

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

There is plenty we can do.

We need to call out those false prophets.

We need to keep our love from growing cold.

We need to persevere until the end.

We seek the Kin-dom, not Armageddon.

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

It’s a lot, I know.

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

Not because I say so but because Jesus does.

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

Can We Reclaim Christianity?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At its core, Christian Nationalism is a racist ideology.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christian Nationalists oppose marriage equality.

Christian Nationalists oppose transgender rights.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, first, Christian Nationalism is a problem.

Christian Nationalists are like the wicked tenants.

They defy God and pervert Christianity.

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

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

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

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

They do not love God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who double-down, rather than repent.

So, what are we to do?

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

Our foundation is in Christ.

He is the cornerstone of our faith.

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

And we must love, following Jesus’ example.

We must love without exception.

And our love must be louder than the hate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WWJD

Today is the first Sunday on Lent.

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

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

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

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

Who stand for welcoming the stranger and clothing the naked.

Who stand for healing the sick and freeing the oppressed.

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

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

The Palm Sunday Path is a national movement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s a reasonable question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Jesus procession was different.

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

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

The two processions were a study in contrasts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Empire uses displays of power to control people.

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

Empire uses military might to expand.

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

Empire uses violence, whereas Jesus encouraged nonviolence.

He told us to “turn the other cheek”.

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

Our country has the most formidable military in the world.

It is a source of national pride.

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

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

Empire seeks conformity.

Empire wants to maintain the status quo and the hierarchical structure

The Kin-dom seeks to transform lives.

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

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

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

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

Empire and the Kin-dom operate in different spheres.

Empire is exclusive.

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

And the favorite group must defend itself against all others.

The Kin-dom is inclusive.

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

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

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

Empire always seeks revenge.

Any perceived transgression is met with violence.

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

Jesus said we are to love our enemies.

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

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

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

In Empire, the enemy is always people.

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

Systems divide.

Systems oppress.

Systems prevent people from living to their full potential.

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

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

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

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

I am not anti-American.

I love this country just as much as anyone.

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

We are on the wrong path.

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

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

We are separating families.

We are making people live in fear.

We are on the wrong path.

So, what do we do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to be followers of Jesus.

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

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

Your Kin-dom come.

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

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

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

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

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

In Jesus' name we pray.

Amen.

Listen to Him!

Today ends the season of Epiphany.

And I realize that I did you all a disservice.

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

But Epiphany is a season.

It’s a season of revelation and enlightenment.

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

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

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

Both events feature the voice from heaven.

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

It is also a nod to his humanity.

Baptism is something that we share with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She turned something ugly into something beautiful.

And she realized something in the process.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Listen to him!

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

A message that God endorses.

So, what is Jesus’ message?

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

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

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

I was a stranger and you welcomed me; naked and you clothed me.

I was ill and you comforted me; in prison and you came to visit me.”

There are no qualifiers.

There is no pre-assessment of race, religion, or political leanings.

There is only the community—the Kin-dom that is near, but not yet—helping those in need.

But there’s another way we could look at Jesus’ message.

We could look for instances where Jesus spoke in the imperative voice.

The imperative is a verb form that is used to indicate a command.

We don’t have a direct parallel in English.

In English, imperatives are handled with context and punctuation, like putting an exclamation point after “Stop!”.

But in Greek, it is an actual verb conjugation.

Looking at the original Greek text, Jesus’ most frequent use of the imperative is, “Follow me”.

The second is “love”—love God, love your neighbor, love one another, love your enemies.

So, let’s talk a little bit about Jesus’ commands—the ones that God said we are to listen to.

Jesus said, “Follow me”.

For his disciples there was a dual meaning.

Jesus wanted them to physically follow him on his journey.

But he also wanted them to follow his example.

It’s the second meaning that is relevant to us.

So, what does it mean to follow Jesus’ example?

He fed the 5,000 because they were hungry.

And he preached that we are to feed people who are hungry.

There is no “feed only the people who meet the work requirement”.

There is no “feed only the children whose cafeteria accounts are up-to-date. The others can have a cold cheese sandwich.”

Yet, we put conditions on which hungry people we will feed.

Jesus also said to give drink to people who are thirsty.

There is no “unless they are crossing the desert to avoid Customs and Border Protection. Then you can dump out the water that was left for their survival.”

What do you think Jesus would say about letting people needlessly die of thirst in the desert?

In a few minutes, we’re going to sing a hymn called “The Summons”.

It is part of almost every ordination.

It’s about following Jesus, which is the foundation of every pastor’s call.

It goes, "Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?

Will you go where you don't know and never be the same?

Will you let my love be shown, will you let my name be known,

will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?”

As followers of Jesus, our answer should be a resounding, “Yes!”.

The second most frequent command from Jesus was to “love”.

Love God, love our neighbor, love one another, and love our enemies.

Jesus said we are to love God.

And yet, Christian Nationalists seeks to remake God in their own image.

The god of Christian Nationalism is white.

The god of Christian Nationalism is American.

The god of Christian Nationalism is violent, vengeful, and greedy.

Make no mistake, the god of Christian Nationalism is an idol.

A false god that has no resemblance to the God of today’s Psalm “who loves justice, who established honesty, justice and righteousness”.

Jesus also said we are to love our neighbor, love one another, love our enemies.

For the sake of wrapping things up, I’ll lump them together and say Jesus said we are to love others.

We’re not very good at that, especially when the others are different from us.

We get so focused on our differences, we become unable to see our commonalities.

Regardless of our skin color, or the language we speak, or who we love, we are all children of God.

Possessing the divine image of God.

It begs the question, why then do we seem incapable of acting like it?

A special case of others is strangers.

Jesus said we are to welcome them—that is how we show them love.

In Matthew 25, the word that is translated as “stranger” is xenos in the original Greek.

Xenos is where we get the word xenophobia—fear and hatred of strangers or foreigners.

If we look at stranger expansively, it can mean not only foreigners but also people not like us.

Welcome strangers—no caveats.

There is no “welcome only white strangers from Northern European countries”.

There is no “welcome only cisgender people because trans people make me nervous”.

We are constantly coming up with reasons for straying from Jesus’ command to love.

These are trying times, my friends.

In the current environment, being a follower of Jesus is exhausting.

There are so many things that need fixing.

It’s hard to know where to focus—or if anything we do will make a difference.

But I assure you, the fatigue is intentional.

So is the feeling of being overwhelmed.

But Jesus says, “Follow me”.

He never said it would be easy.

We know what we’re supposed to do—because he told us.

We know what is right.

So, damn the fatigue and damn the distress.

In Philippians, we read, “I can do all things through the One who gives me strength”.

Jesus strengthens us.

Jesus restores us.

And we also have this awesome community right here to draw strength from.

Thanks be to God!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus.

Salt & Light

It should come as no surprise that today’s lessons reflect many of the same ideas as last week’s.

Today’s gospel is also part of the Sermon on the Mount.

More talk about the Kin-dom.

More talk about justice.

The Psalm spoke about generosity, honesty, and justice.

The second lesson talked about wisdom.

Like last week, there is a thread that winds its way through all three lessons.

All of them talk about how we are supposed to live together.

How we are to sustain this community—this Body of Christ.

How we are to model the Kin-dom.

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus tells his followers, “you are salt and light”.

Not you will be salt and light.

Not you could be salt and light.

You ARE salt and light.

And we are salt and light because we possess the image of God.

I think it’s important for us to remember that.

We already have everything we need.

Salt and light were valuable commodities in first-century Israel.

Salt was made by evaporating sea water.

It was a time-consuming, labor-intensive process.

Salt was so valuable that it shares a root with the English word salary.

Light was also precious.

Darkness was prevalent in Jesus’ world.

When the sun went down, it got dark—really dark.

There were no electric lights.

Starlight and oil lamps were the only sources of light.

So, in saying “you are salt and light”, Jesus was telling his disciples that they were valued.

Salt is also transformational.

Samin Nosrat wrote a wonderful cookbook that was a NY Times bestseller and won a James Beard award.

In it, she claims there are four things that can transform a dish.

They are salt, fat, acid, and heat, which also happens to be the title of her book.

If you’re a cook, I highly recommend the book.

But I mention it because I think there is a message in there for us.

Salt enhances—salt improves.

If you’re skeptical, I offer you this simple test you can do for yourself.

If you’re a baker, you already know that cakes and cookies all contain salt.

Usually just a little bit, like a quarter teaspoon or two pinches.

That little bit of salt enhances sweetness and makes chocolate chocolatier.

If you don’t believe me, make a batch of chocolate chip cookies with and without that little bit of salt.

You’ll be surprised at the difference that it makes.

Jesus tells us that salt can lose its flavor.

We can lose our saltiness if we isolate ourselves—literally or figuratively—from the community.

We can lose our saltiness when we are distracted by things like materialism, sexism, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, and transphobia.

We can lose our saltiness if anger, greed, fear, or hatred creep into our hearts.

Jesus says salt without flavor is fit for nothing except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.

Fortunately for us, we can regain our saltiness if we lose it temporarily.

We simply have to let the love of God refill us—restore us.

Remind us that we are children of God.

Called by name.

And claimed as God’s own.

As is every one of our fellow human beings.

Salt also preserves.

It was used to treat meat and fish so that it did not spoil.

We are salt when we preserve peace—when we model nonviolence.

We are salt when we preserve justice—when we demand equity.

We are salt when we preserve love—when we include the oppressed and the marginalized

There are a whole lot of people out in Minnesota that are being that kind of salt.

Preserving is about stewardship—maintaining the value of something.

So, we are salt when we preserve this community of siblings that God has created for us.

Like salt, light is also transformational.

Light dispels darkness.

It makes shadowy, foreboding places less scary.

It allows us to see the wonders that surround us.

Marcus Borg, New Testament scholar, theologian, and author, shared an experience he had.

While driving his car, he came around a bend and he saw, “The light suddenly changed.

It became yellowy and golden, and it suffused everything I saw.

Everything glowed. Everything looked wondrous. I was amazed.”

He said it was the richest minute of his life because it was filled with wonder and a strong sense of knowing that he was seeing more clearly than he ever had before.

He was transformed.

He was enlightened.

In that moment, he gained both knowledge and comprehension.

In a few minutes, during our Black History minute, I’m going to tell you about Fannie Lou Hamer.

She was an important figure in the civil rights movement.

She loved this passage in Matthew that is today’s gospel.

She loved the song “This Little Light of Mine” because it reminded her of it.

In one of her speeches, she said, “I don't mind my light shining; I don't hide that I'm fighting for freedom because Christ died to set us free.

And he stayed here until he got thirty-three years old, letting us know how we would have to walk.”

Fannie Lou knew she had a role to play in the Kin-dom.

Despite beatings and threats to her life, she let her light shine.

This little light of mine. I’m gonna let it shine.

Won’t let Satan blow it out. I’m gonna let it shine.

Hide it under a bushel? NO!. I’m gonna let it shine.

She walked the Way of Jesus—fighting for justice and mercy and peace—by letting her light shine.

So, what does it mean for us to be salt and light?

For that, we need only look to Jesus’ prayer:

“your Kin-dom come,

your will be done,

on earth as in heaven.”

What are we doing to make God’s Kin-dom come?

Are we loving our neighbor—sharing the love that God first gave to us?

Are we promoting justice—sharing the grace that we receive unconditionally?

We are called to be a loving, grace-filled community.

A community that is governed not by self-interest, but by mutual care for one another.

A community that fulfills God’s intent for us.

As we go forth from this place, I pray that you will remember that we already have everything that we need to be salt and light.

We possess the divine image of God.

We only need to open ourselves up and let the light of that image shine.

That light—that love—has the capacity to transform the world.

To dispel the darkness of ignorance that makes us fear one another.

To drive out the hatred of difference that divides us.

To take the Kin-dom that is near, but not yet, and make it closer still.

That is our call.

That is the Way of Jesus.

To BE salt and light.

Let us pray. “God, go with us. Help us to be an honor to the church. Give us the grace to follow Christ’s word, to be clear in our task and careful in our speech. Give us open hands and joyful hearts. Let Christ be on our lips. May our lives reflect a love of truth and compassion. Let no one come to us and go away sad. May we offer hope to the poor, and solace to the disheartened. Let us so walk before God’s people, that those who follow us might come into his kingdom. Let us sow living seeds, words that are quick with life, that faith may be the harvest in people’s hearts. In word and in example let your light shine in the dark like the morning star. Do not allow the wealth of the world or its enchantment flatter us into silence as to your truth. Do not permit the powerful, or judges, or our dearest friends to keep us from professing what is right. Amen.”

Blessed Community

Today’s gospel lesson is the Beatitudes.

It is part of the Sermon on the Mount.

The Sermon on the Mount is comprised of 3 chapters of the gospel according to Matthew.

Although the sermon is very compact in Scripture, it is widely believed to have been given over a longer period of time, sometimes to a large audience and sometimes just to Jesus’ disciples.

The sermon encapsulates Jesus’ teaching—the message he was trying to convey during his public ministry.

Many people read the Beatitudes and think it is Jesus’ musings on people with certain characteristics.

But it would be more accurate to say that the Beatitudes are a guide.

A guide to how we are meant to live in the world.

The thread that runs through all of today’s lessons is the Kin-dom of God.

In Micah, we read, “simply do justice, love kindness, and humbly walk with your God.”

In 1 Corinthians, Paul writes that our life in Christ is about wisdom, justice, sanctification, and redemption.

And the Beatitudes also talk about peace, mercy, and justice.

Each passage talks about ideal characteristics.

Characteristics of the Kin-dom.

Characteristics of a covenantal life.

A covenant between us and God and a covenant between each other.

A covenant that is timeless and transcends generations.

Although I haven’t counted for myself, I’ve read that Jesus mentions the Kin-dom of God over 100 times in the gospels.

That includes all the variations of kingdom or reign and God or heaven.

So, clearly, the Kin-dom is important to Jesus.

As his followers, it should be important to us as well.

The Kin-dom is important, not because it speaks of paradise and life after death.

The Kin-dom is important for us now—in our time.

The Kin-dom is a blueprint for how we are supposed to live together in community.

We can go through the Beatitudes one-by-one and see what they tell us about living in community.

The first one begins “Blessed are those who are poor in spirit.”

The poor in spirit is not concerned with wealth.

It’s not about faith.

Jewish New Testament scholar, Amy-Jill Levine says the poor in spirit are those who recognize their dependence on others and others dependence on them.

That may seem like a leap from what you have traditionally thought but she bases it on how the original text was worded in Greek and how it would have been heard by a first-century Jewish audience.

The poor in spirit are those who enjoy privilege and use it to help others without the same privilege.

In our context, the poor in spirit could be upper- and middle-class people who use their resources to help those who are struggling financially.

Or Americans who use their citizenship to protect immigrants from being persecuted.

The poor in spirit understand interdependence within the community.

The poor in spirit understand that we need one another.

And, to those people, belongs the Kin-dom of God.

The second Beatitude refers to “those who mourn.”

Mourning does not just mean grief over death.

We can mourn the loss of a job, a home, or a marriage.

We can mourn the rise of injustice, the departure from the ideals of the country we love, or the pain inflicted on a neighbor.

But in a community, that mourning is shared.

We console one another.

We bring food when the grief is too overwhelming to shop or cook.

We are Jesus—the Comforter—for each other in our pain.

The Beatitudes go on, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice.

Blessed are those who are merciful.

Blessed are those who work for peace.”

It’s important for us to recognize that each of those blessings is focused outward.

Justice, mercy, and peace have no meaning for individuals.

Justice, mercy, and peace exist only in community.

They are characteristics of relationships.

They refer to how we treat on another.

They are the properties of an ideal community.

God’s intent for us is to live in community.

Jesus modeled that community with his disciples.

They traveled together.

They ate together.

They taught and they healed and they served together.

But most important of all, they were united in love—love for Jesus and love for one another.

Early Jesus followers modeled the same kind of communal living.

The Apostle Paul also talks a lot about community.

He calls it the Body of Christ.

We are reading about Paul in Bible Study right now.

You may not know it but much of our Lutheran doctrine is based on Paul’s letters.

And all his letters—except one—were written to communities.

For Paul, the community is familial—we are part of the family of God.

That is why he often refers to people as brother or sister.

It’s the same reason that I say Kin-dom instead of Kingdom.

It is meant to reflect our relationship as siblings—united in love as children of God—in stark contrast to the hierarchical nature of Empire.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor who also happens to be one of my heroes, also wrote a lot about community, specifically the church community.

He says, “The church must participate in the worldly tasks of life in the community—not dominating but helping and serving.”

He clarifies that helping and serving is our Christian vocation—how we are to emulate Jesus.

But he cautions that the church must beware the vices of pride and envy as well as the worship of power.

They were the sins of the Reichskirche then and they are the sins of Christian Nationalism now.

Instead, the church must act with authenticity to build trust, faithfulness to remain true to God, and humility to acknowledge we are fallible.

For a long time, I’ve thought that it’s not all that important for people to come to church.

I know good, faithful people for whom church is just not necessary.

Maybe it doesn’t fit their schedule.

Maybe they were harmed by a past experience with a church.

Or maybe it is too structured for them to sit through.

But, while writing this sermon, I have come to realize that the church has an important role to play in building and maintaining community.

Church is where closed people can become open—where isolated people can become open to this idea of community

And that transformation—from closed to open—is the work of the Spirit.

Bonhoeffer says we may come to Jesus alone, but the Spirit calls us into community.

People in community not only exist with one another, but also for one another.

Living with one another means we experience each other’s pains and joys.

Living for one another means we pray on behalf of our neighbor and selflessly act on their behalf.

In a thriving church community, where people live not only with one another but also for one another, the Spirit transforms individuals into a cohesive assembly that takes care of one another.

If there was a silver lining to the pandemic, it is that it taught us how to be church outside the walls.

I’m going to ask you to go a step further—to think about our church community even more expansively.

Not only is this community not about the building, but it is also not just 25-30 people that come to church every Sunday.

We need to think about the church community in broader terms.

We need to cast a broader net.

For us, it’s not just the people that come to worship on Sunday.

It’s also the community members who come here for Vacation Bible School or Dia de Muertos or photos with Santa.

It’s also the folks in recovery who come here for meetings.

It’s also the people experiencing homelessness who go across the street for shelter.

Our church community is big, it’s diverse, and it’s messy.

But we are all connected.

I’d like to close with some Beatitudes of my own.

Blessed are the selfless; your reward is in your service to others.

Blessed are the kind and the compassionate; you will heal the wounded and that healing will make your own hearts full.

Blessed are the shelter monitors, the pantry workers, the recovery sponsors, the therapists, the social workers, and everyone that works in service to the community; you are God’s hands and feet in this world and we appreciate you.

Blessed are the migrants; you will find the better life that you seek.

Blessed are the trans people; you will find joy in your uniqueness—and teach others about authenticity in the process.

Blessed are the righteously angry; you will seek justice and nurture the seeds of the Kin-dom.

And blessed are the peacemakers; you remind us what we so often forget—we are all saint and sinner, capable of both good and evil.

I pray that we are each a blessing to one another.

That we understand that, as a community, we are interdependent.

Blessed are those who are a blessing to others.

And blessed are those who accept blessings from others.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus.