Extravagant Hospitality

The story in today’s gospel has the distinction of appearing in all four gospels.

Not many stories have versions in all four gospels.

The feeding of the 5,000 is one.

Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday and the events of Holy Week—Jesus’ passion, death, and resurrection—are another.

And then there is this odd little story about the woman anointing Jesus.

There are disagreements between the gospel accounts about whose house the anointing took place at, which woman did the actual anointing, and who objected to the use of expensive perfume.

But in every gospel account, a woman anoints Jesus, there is criticism, and Jesus dismisses the criticism.

When a story appears in all four gospels, I believe that’s an indication to us that the story is important—and perhaps there’s something very unique about it that distinguishes it from other stories.

There are two primary functions of anointing in first century Judea.

One is to honor a king—or Messiah.

The other is to prepare a body for burial.

We can’t say whether the woman in all the gospel accounts was doing one or the other—or both.

But certainly, both functions were applicable.

Jesus was the Messiah—the Anointed One.

Anointing him after all that had transpired—his baptism, the transfiguration, and all his signs and wonders—anointing him after all that may have been redundant.

But it was an honor that no one else had thought to offer Jesus.

In fact, to hammer home that point Jesus tells a parable in Luke’s account of the story.

Jesus said, “Two people owed money to a creditor.

One owed the creditor the equivalent of two years’ wages; the other, two months’ wages.

Both were unable to pay, so the creditor wrote off both debts.

Which of them was more grateful to the moneylender?”

Simon answered, “I suppose the one who owed more.”

Jesus said, “You are right.”

Turning to the woman, he said to Simon, “See this woman? I came into your house and you gave me no water to wash my feet, but she has washed them with her tears and dried them with her hair.

You gave me no kiss of greeting, but she covered my feet with kisses.

You didn’t anoint my head with oil, but she anointed my feet with oil.

For this reason, I tell you, her sins, which are many, have been forgiven—see how much she loves!

But the one who is forgiven little, loves little.”

So, certainly, Jesus appears to have appreciated the gesture.

Luke goes so far as to incorporate repentance and forgiveness into the woman’s action.

That dimension is absent from today’s lesson from John.

But Jesus raises up the woman who has fallen at his feet.

That is the essence of the Kin-dom of God.

The lowly are raised to high places.

The mighty are deposed from their thrones.

The hungry are filled with good things.

And the rich are sent away empty.

Jesus raises up the woman who anoints him as an example of extravagant hospitality.

She cleans his feet and anoints him.

And she does this as an act of love.

We talk a lot about Jesus’ practice of radical inclusion.

What I think we sometimes miss is the need for extravagant hospitality.

Extravagant hospitality is how we take our words of welcome and translate them into actions.

In the church’s journey to LGBTQ+ acceptance, Anthony Venn-Brown, an Australian evangelist, says that churches go through four stages.

The first stage is anti-LGBTQ+, where the church condemns queer folks as sinful.

In the second stage, the church welcomes queer folks but prays for God to change them.

In the third stage, the church accepts queer folks but doesn’t understand them and just leaves the issue up to God’s grace.

In the final stage, the church affirms queer folks and proclaims the rich diversity of God’s Kin-dom.

I would argue that, while we may display hospitality in stages two and three, that hospitality doesn’t become extravagant until stage four.

So, what does extravagant hospitality look like?

In today’s gospel, it looks like washing someone’s feet, drying those feet with our hair, and then anointing those feet with perfume.

We don’t really have a cultural equivalent to foot washing.

In Jesus’ time, where roads were unpaved and sandals were the norm for footwear, foot washing was a common ritual.

But, because of this story of Mary washing Jesus’ feet and then Jesus repeating the ritual with his disciples, foot washing has become a tradition on Maundy Thursday.

However, because it is a ritual with no modern equivalent, the focus for many of us becomes entirely about humility.

To be sure, humility is an important dimension to the ritual.

But it is not the only dimension.

 In today’s lesson from Isaiah, we hear God say, “Look, I am doing something new!”

In fact, Jesus is indeed doing new things.

Throughout his ministry, he has been proclaiming the Kin-dom of God—a kingdom unlike any other.

A kingdom where power means nothing and love means everything.

In two of the four accounts, Jesus had just performed a resurrection.

In Luke, he has just raised the son of the widow of Nain.

In John, he has just raised Lazarus.

He is on his way to Jerusalem—a journey from which Jesus knows there is no turning back.

And the anointing is also part of this “new thing”—his suffering and his death.

The anointing prepares his body for his eventual burial.

So, Jesus is indeed doing new things.

Paul writes, “I’m running the race in order to grab hold of the prize if possible, since Christ Jesus has grabbed hold of me.

Siblings, I don’t think of myself as having reached the finish line.

I give no thought to what lies behind, but I push on to what is ahead.

My entire attention is on the finish line as I run toward the prize—the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.”

Paul’s life was changed on the road to Damascus.

Through Christ, he is doing a new thing.

The prize—the finish line—is the Kin-dom of God.

And, as Paul is rightly pointing out, this enterprise of the Kin-dom is a journey.

He likens it to running a race—a race, mind you, where he may never reach the finish line.

This enterprise of the Kin-dom is about co-creating a community with God.

A just community where all God’s children have enough.

Where no one is hungry.

No one is homeless.

No one is marginalized or oppressed.

And one of the earmarks of the Kin-dom is extravagant hospitality.

So, perhaps God is inviting us to consider how we show extravagant hospitality.

Me, I’m a hugger.

But that can sometimes be challenging in these times of social distancing and respecting personal space.

But I confess that, up to this point, I haven’t thought of hugging people in terms of hospitality.

For me, it’s more of an expression of joy at seeing someone from my community—my family.

But I think I may, as a new spiritual practice, use it as an opportunity to remember Mary washing Jesus’ feet—and Jesus washing the disciples’ feet.

Much the same way as I now try to remember my baptism when I dip my fingers in the font.

I think it’s a worthwhile exercise for each of us to ask ourselves how we show extravagant hospitality.

And I think it’s a good spiritual practice to pause and reflect for a moment on Mary—and Jesus—and their actions of extravagant hospitality.

Because extravagant hospitality changes relationships—and communities.

In closing, and perhaps in preparation for Holy Week, I’d like to point out that, in both Luke and John, the woman anoints Jesus’ feet.

Typically, it is a king’s head that is anointed—and that is precisely what happens in Matthew and Mark.

I would argue that the significance is that Jesus is a different kind of king.

Not a king of pomp and circumstance.

But a king of humility.

A king of liberation.

A king that restores people from exile and welcomes them home.

A king who enters triumphantly on a colt, not a warhorse.

A king with anointed feet, not an anointed head.

A servant king.

One who would gladly wash our feet—or just hug us—to say, “You are welcome here.

I am overjoyed that you are here.”

Let us heed Jesus’ command to “go and do likewise”, offering extravagant welcome to all who enter this community.

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

Lost & Found

It’s interesting to me that the story in today’s gospel lesson is called the Parable of the Prodigal Son.

The son is not called prodigal anywhere in the story.

The story became known as the Parable of the Prodigal Son quite late—after the bible had been translated to English.

Prodigal—strictly speaking—refers to wasteful spending.

And it focuses the reader on the younger son.

But what do we already know about parables?

Well, first, they had meaning beyond the obvious.

And, second, they are meant to be twisted and turned—looked at from different angles—to uncover hidden meaning.

So, let’s do that.

The obvious meaning is that it is never too late to repent.

The younger son, recognizing the error of his ways, repents of squandering his inheritance and returns home.

He acknowledges that he is a sinner.

His father—ecstatic that he has returned—welcomes him home.

The message—which plays right into our Lutheran understanding of grace—is that we are never beyond redeeming.

If you remember, I told you once before that this is the interpretation I thought would resonate with my dad.

Although my dad was never a regular churchgoer, by the time he died, he identified as a Lutheran.

Even though he had been raised Catholic, there were things about the Catholic church that bothered him.

What had the greatest impact on him was our Lutheran practice of an open Communion table.

You see, a God that welcomed everyone—that was a God that resonated with my dad.

And, although we never discussed Scripture, I’ll bet the parable of the prodigal son would have been a favorite story of my dad’s.

Because a father that loved unconditionally—a father that would welcome a son who ran away and came back—that’s a story that I believe my dad would get.

Maybe he wouldn’t have seen the connection to his own faith story of drifting away from God and finding his way back to a faithful life.

And maybe he wouldn’t have seen the connection to the open table.

But unconditional love of your sons—my dad would’ve been all in.

One way of twisting a parable is to look at it from the perspective of different characters in the story.

What if we looked at the parable from the perspective of the older son?

Some would argue that he is the Lost Son—at least, metaphorically speaking.

Because he is bitter.

He can’t bring himself to forgive his brother.

In fact, he can’t even acknowledge that he has a brother, referring to him only as “this son of yours.”

He is so wrapped up in his perception of what is fair— “I’ve done every single thing you asked me to do … But then this son of yours comes home after going through your money with prostitutes, and you kill the fatted calf for him!”—that he is incapable of feeling the joy that his father does.

We see examples of this all around us.

People complaining about student loan forgiveness because no one helped them pay off their student loans.

Or people complaining about reparations for people of color.

Instead of gratitude for the gifts that God has blessed them with.

Instead of gratitude for the good job that they have.

Instead of gratitude for the help—or the inheritance—they received from their family.

Maybe the message we are supposed to take away from this parable is that we should focus less on coveting what other people have or what other people get and more on what we have and the blessings that we’ve received.

In Judaism, there is a concept called tzedak, which is justice and charity combined.

In our culture, there is no equivalent—justice and charity are very different things.

If I give someone $100 because I owe it to them, that is justice.

If I give someone $100, not because I owe it to them but because I think they need it, that is charity.

In our culture, an act can be justice or charity, but it cannot be both.

I believe that the problem we need to wrestle with is that this idea of tzedak—a concept that Jesus was undoubtedly familiar with—is necessary for the Kin-dom.

In the parable, both sons are acting out of a sense of entitlement.

The younger son believes he is entitled to his inheritance.

The older son believes he is entitled to his anger—and some reward for his righteous behavior.

Had their starting point been that their family’s wealth is a gift from God that had been entrusted to them to steward, I’m pretty confident that the outcome would have been very different.

Something else that’s interesting to consider about this particular parable is that we don’t know what comes after.

Does the older son ever forgive his father? His brother?

The path to reconciliation is complicated.

The older son feels his resentment is justified.

Maybe he will come around—or maybe he won’t.

The lesson for us is to forgive as God forgives.

To focus more on the grace that we receive abundantly from God and worry less about perceived injustices.

I also wonder if the younger son’s repentance permanent—or does he revert to his way of loose living?

Maimondes, a 12th-century rabbi and biblical scholar, wrote that the final—and many would argue the most important—step in repentance is, when faced with the same situation, do you make a different choice?

The lesson for us to learn from our mistakes—to not repeat them.

Maybe the purpose of this parable is for us to speculate about what comes after.

What should each of the characters in the story—father, older son, and younger son—do to exemplify a righteous life?

How should they treat each other to permanently reconcile?

Maybe the question we need to ask ourselves is are there relationships in our own lives where reconciliation is incomplete?

So, I imagine some of you are sitting there saying to yourself, “If there’s a message in there, I’m not getting it.”

“I’m hearing possibilities but no answers”.

And you’re absolutely right.

But that is the nature of parable storytelling.

There are no single answers.

They are meant to be twisted and turned.

They are meant to be looked at from different perspectives.

My hope is that I am helping you to do that.

My hope is that you’ll have your own interpretation of this parable.

One that is relevant to you and your life.

That’s what makes parable storytelling so powerful.

That’s what makes it timeless.

In closing, I’ll share one more thought with you.

The parable from today’s gospel is actually the third in a trilogy of parables: The Lost Coin, The Lost Sheep, and The Lost Son.

If we step back and look at the entire trilogy, then I think we might focus less on today’s lesson being about sin and repentance.

Because in the context of the trilogy, think about it—coins and sheep don’t have the capacity to “sin”.

I think, when taken together, the three lost parables could simply be stories about the joy of being found.

In a few minutes, we will sing “Amazing Grace” as our Communion hymn.

“Amazing grace!

How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me!

I once was lost, but now am found”.

There is joy in being found.

We worship a God that always seeks us out—no matter how lost we are.

Even if we are dead, God brings us back to life.

No matter how lost we are—God always finds us.

We know God’s voice.

And God calls us by name.

And God that says, “You are mine”.

Know that every time God finds you, God rejoices.

May we also rejoice at being found.

Thanks be to God!

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

Seek out the Fig Tree

This morning, I thought we’d focus on the parable of the fig tree.

Remember that parables are supposed to give you pause.

They are not supposed to be obvious—or at least to have meaning beyond the obvious.

Because the meaning of parables is meant to be wrestled with and discerned, they are supposed to withstand the test of time.

A parable is meant to be twisted and turned and looked at from different angles.

So, for the sake of twisting and turning this parable, I’d like to propose a play in three acts.

In all three acts, the part of the vineyard owner will be played by The Accuser.

You can decide for yourself who The Accuser is.

For some, it will be Satan—or at least an agent of Satan.

For others, it will be the voice of insecurity we hear in our own heads.

For still others, it will be some other villain of the story.

The part of the vine dresser will be played by Jesus—or the Jesus that resides in each of us as members of the Body of Christ.

Act One: the fig tree is an African American female pastor.

The vineyard that our fig tree finds herself in is overwhelmingly white and dominated by men.

She hears comments like, “St. Paul says that women shouldn’t speak in church.”

“Are you going to get pregnant and leave us without a pastor again?”

“You only got into seminary because they had a DEI quota”.

And “we only called you because we didn’t have any other options”.

Our fig tree is understandably angry, and her anger comes out in her preaching.

Because she isn’t accepted, she fails to develop relationships with her congregants.

She is talented, has a great love of God, and a strong sense of call but, because she is a fig tree in a vineyard, she fails to flourish.

The Accuser tells her she is an imposter and doesn’t belong there..

But the vine dresser knows better.

The vine dresser knows of her talent and her love of God.

Jesus rebukes the Accuser and tells our fig tree, “Child of God, I love you.

I have called you by name.

You are mine.”

The fig tree hears these words and the healing begins.

So, that pastor and her congregation flourish.

Act Two: the fig tree is an undocumented immigrant.

The vineyard that our fig tree finds themself in doesn’t speak their language and is unfamiliar with their culture.

They hear comments like, “You’re in American now, speak English!”

“You’re here to steal jobs from Americans.”

“You just want the benefits of being an American without having to work for it”.

And “you’re just here to have an anchor baby so you can stay here”.

Our fig tree is understandably disillusioned.

They only came here to make a better life for themselves and their family.

Because they aren’t accepted, they withdraw into their immigrant community and fail to learn English and assimilate into the larger community.

They are hard-working, proud, and family-oriented—all characteristics that American culture prizes—but, because they are a fig tree in a vineyard, they fail to flourish.

The Accuser tells them they don’t belong—they will never belong.

But the vine dresser knows better.

The vine dresser knows their value.

Jesus rebukes the Accuser and tells our fig tree, “Child of God, I love you.

I have called you by name.

You are mine.”

The fig tree hears these words and the healing begins.

So, the undocumented immigrant flourishes and the community begins to recognize their value.

Act Three: the fig tree is a transgender boy.

The vineyard that our fig tree finds himself in is overwhelmingly cisgender and heterosexual.

He hears comments like, “You are not a boy and will never be a boy.”

“You are the sex you were at birth—it’s basic biology.”

“You have been corrupted by a woke ideology and the gay agenda”.

And “you are a freak”.

Our fig tree is understandably scared and depressed.

Because he isn’t accepted, he looks desperately for community—for family.

He is amazingly strong and passionate but, because he is a fig tree in a vineyard, he fears what the future holds and wonders if he will ever feel safe.

The Accuser tells him he will never fit in—that being transgender is an affront to God.

But the vine dresser knows better.

The vine dresser knows that he is just living into the amazing fullness of his authentic self.

Jesus rebukes the Accuser and tells our fig tree, “Child of God, I love you.

I have called you by name.

You are mine.”

The fig tree hears these words and the healing begins.

So, the transgender boy comes to know the power of God’s love and the world benefits from the awesomeness of his authentic self.

It’s important for you to realize that these stories could have had a very different outcomes if they hadn’t clearly heard God for themselves—or if there hadn’t been a vine dresser to share the love of God with them.

You see words have power—the power to fertilize and power to wither.

We must be vigilant—always—about whether we are speaking with the voice of the Accuser or the voice of Jesus.

You may have meant to say, “I don’t understand what it is like to grow up black in America”, but if it comes out as “I don’t see color—all people are equal to me”, you are denying that person‘s life experience.

And, as a result, the intergenerational trauma of prejudice continues.

You may have meant to say, “I want to communicate with you, but I don’t understand your language”, but if it comes out as “you’re an American now, please speak English”, you wind up burning bridges instead of building them.

You may have meant to say, “I don’t understand gender dysphoria”, but if it comes out as “you are the sex, you are assigned at birth”, you are no closer to understanding the nuances of gender and you’ve hurt the child of God in front of you.

My point in sharing these little vignettes—all of which are based on people or composites of people that I actually know—is that we have a choice.

We can be the vineyard owner—the Accuser—saying and doing things that prohibit people from flourishing.

Or we can be the vine dresser—Jesus to those we encounter—being kind and helping people to ensure that they live up to their fullest potential.

One way leads to the Kin-dom—the other does not.

One way emulates Jesus—the other does not.

One way shares the love of God that we so generously receive—the other does not.

The transgender boy from Act 3 once told me that the negative voices—the Accusers of the world—don’t hesitate to spew their venom.

He challenged us, as faith leaders, to love louder.

I’ve always loved that—love louder.

Whether you consider yourself a faithful follower of Jesus, an ally of the oppressed, or just wish there was a little more kindness in the world, I think that boy’s challenge is a good one—love louder.

So, as we go from this place—when we are out in the world:

Seek out the fig tree in the vineyard—the people who feel lonely and isolated.

Say to yourself, “I am a child of God—loved unconditionally.

This fig tree before me is also a child of God—and maybe they not feeling that unconditional love.

So, I will be Jesus for this fig tree—I will love them unconditionally—not only through my words but also through my actions.

I will do whatever I can to help this fig tree flourish and bear fruit.”

Amen, amen, may it be so!

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

Blessings & Woes

Everyone knows Matthew’s account of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.

In fact, much of progressive Christianity is rooted in the Sermon on the Mount and Jesus’ call to lift up the poor and the marginalized.

Luke’s account, which is today’s gospel lesson, is similar but not identical.

In Luke, Jesus gives his sermon on a plain instead of a mountain.

The number of “blessed are’s” is shorter.

And Luke includes a list of “woe to’s”.

The “woe to’s” are actually directly contrasting to the “blessed are’s”.

I’m going to read them again but this time, coupled together.

“You who are poor are blessed, for the reign of God is yours.

But woe to you rich, for you are now receiving your comfort in full.

You who hunger now are blessed, for you’ll be filled.

Woe to you who are full, for you’ll go hungry.

You who weep now are blessed, for you’ll laugh.

Woe to you who laugh now, for you’ll weep in your grief.”

It’s Matthew who’s usually fond of talking about “weeping and gnashing of teeth”.

Why does Luke feel the need to juxtapose woes to blessings?

Being rich is not a sin.

Being rich and not sharing your blessings with those in need—THAT’S a sin.

Having a full belly is not a sin.

Having a full belly and deriding people who receive TANF, SNAP, or WIC assistance—THAT’S a sin.

Laughing and having a good time is not a sin.

Laughing and having a good time and doing nothing to oppose the violence that claims the lives of young black men—THAT’S a sin.

The sin, and its corresponding woe, comes when put ourselves first.

It’s not entirely our fault.

The fault primarily lies with our cultural conditioning.

The frontier spirit that we are so proud of emphasizes the individual over the community.

It’s the foundation of the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality.

It’s why we instill in ourselves and our children the value that we are supposed to make the lives of our children and grandchildren easier, rather that ensuring that the basic needs of our neighbor are met.

It need not be either/or.

It can be both/and—in balance.

But have no doubt, when we put ourselves first—before God and what God commanded us to do, which is care for our neighbor—it is sinful.

Blessings go to people living in poverty, to people who are hungry, and to people who are grieving because they look to God.

They don’t trust in human ways.

They don’t rely on things of the flesh.

They put their trust in God.

And they look to God for their hope.

Woes go to people who trust in human ways.

Woes go to people who rely on things of the flesh.

Woes go to the ungrateful and the greedy—the ones who forget that they have what they have by the grace of God.

Woes go to the people who put themselves first.

Don’t get me wrong—it’s not wrong to satisfy the basic needs of ourselves and our families before we assist others.

But maybe before we indulge in luxuries, we should make sure the basic needs of our neighbors are met.

That’s a hard message for many of us to hear.

We’ve worked hard for what we have.

We’ve worked hard and deserve to treat ourselves to those dinners out, to that nice car, to that expensive vacation.

Yes—yes, you do.

And yet, our neighbors also deserve to survive.

I’d even go so far as to say they deserve, not only to survive, but to thrive.

So, I think we need to ask ourselves—are we doing enough?

When we get a raise or a windfall, do we keep it all for ourselves?

Do we advocate for that tax break—knowing full well that it comes at the expense of cuts to social services?

When the impact of the money we give to the church and to charity gets whittled away by inflation, do we increase our giving?

The wealth gap in this country is widening.

Under the current administration, the widening will accelerate.

That is not a partisan comment.

That is a stated position of the administration.

They say we need to provide more tax breaks to corporations and the wealthiest Americans because the benefits will trickle down to the lower and middle class.

We have been hearing that rhetoric for over 40 years now and the wealth gap continues to widen.

Woe to those for whom more is never enough.

I keep hearing shouts of America First.

That mindset has so distorted the gospel that I don’t even know where to begin.

America First has come to mean that we value the lives of brown immigrants less than the lives of powerful white men in Washington.

Never mind that we are a nation of immigrants—founded on the principle that the great melting pot of this country is our strength.

Never mind that the influx of people fleeing their homes in Central America is because our CIA destabilized their governments in the mid-20th century, which allowed corrupt politicians and organized crime to gain footholds there.

Never mind that many American businesses, particularly in the agricultural sector, rely on paying subminimum wage to undocumented immigrants.

To be clear—I do not hate this country.

But nor do I ignore its shortcomings.

We are the wealthiest country in the world, but we are not the happiest. That distinction belongs to Finland.

We don’t have the highest life expectancy—in fact, we rank 33rd out of 38 developed countries in infant mortality.

Neither are we the best educated.

With this country’s great wealth comes great power.

And with that great power comes great responsibility—global responsibility.

Woe to those who shout America First.

I confess that this has been a tough week.

The confirmation of Robert F Kennedy as Health & Human Services Secretary nearly broke me.

I will say again that I am not being partisan.

Because we now have someone responsible for 13 health-related agencies that includes the Food & Drug Administration, the Centers for Disease Control, the National Institutes for Health, the National Cancer Institute, Medicare, and Medicaid who ignores science.

Maybe that’s why I found his confirmation so offensive.

I am a scientist.

I’ve loved science since I was a child.

I studied chemistry as an undergrad and chemical engineering as a graduate student.

I spent nearly 30 years in the chemical industry and related technologies.

So dejected doesn’t quite cover my emotions this week.

Because we now have a man responsible for the health and wellbeing of this country who is an antivaxxer despite peer-reviewed medical evidence that vaccines have saved 154 million lives in the 50 years from 1974-2024.

A man who believes that fluoride should be removed from drinking water despite documented improvements in oral health since the practice was started.

A man who opposed measures to control the Covid-19 pandemic and, at one point, claiming the virus was genetically engineered.

A man who believes gender-affirming care should be denied to minors despite being supported by most medical professional organizations.

Mr. Kennedy says that he wants to decrease focus on disease and increase focus on health.

Ignoring for the moment “why can’t we do both?”, the problem is that he wants to shift focus from the health of the community, which requires disease prevention, to the health of the individual.

It tracks with the rest of the administration priorities—always me first.

We have withdrawn from the World Health Organization—the organization that is supposed to coordinate the global response to pandemics.

I don’t want to increase anyone’s anxiety BUT—bird flu is raging in the US.

Monkey pox is exploding in Africa.

Medical experts are predicting a resurgence in HIV infections due to our disbanding USAID.

Woe to those who prioritize health of self over health of community.

I have several friends who are transgender or gender-nonconforming and several acquaintances who have transgender children.

They are living in a state of constant anxiety—their minds awash in doubts and concerns.

Will I be able to access gender-affirming care?

Will my health insurance continue to cover my hormone treatments?

Will I still be able to get my child’s puberty blockers? If not, what will it mean for my child’s health and wellbeing? Will they be bullied at school? Worse, will they end up dying by suicide?

Woe to you who make decisions without complete information and who govern without compassion.

So, where do we go from here?

It’s been a rough week, and the immediate future looks like it’s going to continue to be challenging.

But we can’t just surrender to the negativity and resign ourselves to the woes.

We are blessed to be a blessing.

We are blessed by God’s love and God’s grace.

And we are called to be a blessing.

You who reflect God’s love out into the world are blessed.

You who model Jesus’ compassion are blessed.

You who shelter the homeless, feed the hungry, and give warm clothes to those who are cold—you are blessed.

You who are grateful for your blessings and give generously are blessed.

You who realize that we are all in this together are blessed.

May God’s abundant grace remind us how blessed we are and keep us true to the Way of Jesus in the challenging days ahead.

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

What are you prepared to do?

I have struggled with today’s sermon more than I normally do—in fact, I was rewriting portions of it this morning.

It is easy to see a correlation between today’s gospel to the kerfuffle between President Trump and Bishop Budde.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about because you’re avoiding the news and social media to preserve your mental health, I get it—I’m tempted myself.

But—very briefly—during a prayer service at the National Cathedral, Bishop Budde delivered a sermon where she called for unity.

She said that sustainable unity must have three foundational elements—respect for the dignity of all children of God, the commitment to speak honestly to each other, and the humility to listen to one another.

Then, she calmly and respectfully asked President Trump to be merciful to those who are afraid—specifically LGBT children and immigrant families.

President Trump called her a “radical left Trump hater”.

He belittled her office, her capability, and her message.

For those who are aware of the controversy, I suspect there is a spectrum of opinions on what you were hoping I would say this morning.

Indeed, that is why I struggled with this morning’s message.

First, I will say that I do not believe that Bishop Budde was disrespectful.

I do not believe that she was blurring the line between church and state.

I believe she was entirely within her rights as a minister of Word & Sacrament to deliver the sermon she did.

I also believe that she accurately portrayed the gospel and what Jesus calls us to do.

But did it help?

I honestly don’t know.

To be clear, what Bishop Budde did and said was important.

But the media has reduced her sermon to a soundbite.

She spoke for 15 minutes and to ignore the buildup to her message to President Trump is disingenuous at best.

It also ignores all the work that Bishop Budde did before her sermon and that she undoubtedly does and will do to live into her words.

So, let’s dive a little deeper than watching a video clip allows.

First, Bishop Budde was truthful.

People are afraid.

Transgender children are afraid they will be unable to access gender-affirming medical care.

Same-sex couples are afraid that their marriages may be annulled.

The children of immigrants are afraid to go to school—afraid that their parents won’t be there when they get home.

People of color are afraid they will be swept up in ICE raids—despite being citizens—just because of the color of their skin.

Bishop Budde was also prophetic.

She spoke truth to power.

She told the President Trump—arguably the most powerful person in the world—that people were afraid.

And that he had the power to be compassionate—to acknowledge that fear.

And to act mercifully.

I confess that I agree with everything that Bishop Budde said.

A part of me celebrated her words.

A part of me shouted, amen, sister, amen.

But another part me—the pragmatic part—has to acknowledge that her words, although truthful and prophetic, did nothing to change President Trump’s mind—or his heart.

If anything, he is more resolute than ever.

I suspect many of those who elected him were not moved.

They thought President Trump was disrespected and treated unfairly.

I suspect the Christians who support President Trump still see him as a champion of Christianity.

They do not see his agenda as contrary to the gospel.

So, how do we call out injustice—how do we proclaim the gospel—and still leave the door open for reconciliation?

Unfortunately, I don’t know the answer—but I do have some ideas—ideas that come from Jesus’ example.

I know that we must continue to call out injustice when we see it.

There can be no middle ground—and there can be no compromise.

We cannot sell out immigrants for wins for the LGBTQ+ community.

We cannot shirk our responsibility as stewards of creation for a cheaper gallon of gas.

But—and this is very important—we cannot withdraw into camps of like-minded individuals, ignoring those who voted for President Trump and his agenda.

Because, if we can’t find ways to open a dialog—if we cannot find ways to help them see things differently—we cannot expect anything to change.

I am reminded of a scene from “The Untouchables”.

Sean Connery, who plays a Chicago beat cop, is advising Kevin Costner, who plays Elliot Ness, on how to arrest Al Capone, the most notorious gangster in Chicago.

Connery says, “What are you prepared to do?’

Costner says, “Everything within the law.”

To which Connery replies, “And then what are you prepared to do? You want to get Capone? Here’s how you get him. He pulls a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue. That’s the Chicago way.”

This is the part that the media leaves out.

They want to rile everyone up.

They want you to think that Bishop Budde lit a fuse and then smugly walked away.

But we know that’s not the case, don’t we?

Saying the words is only part of preaching the gospel.

There’s also work to be done—that’s the Christian way.

So how do we get from where we are to “your Kin-dom come”?

Dear God, I wish I had the answer.

Unfortunately, I have more questions than answers.

I believe that today’s lessons have a part of the answer.

The Apostle Paul tells us we are all part of One Body.

Well, that’s a helluva a good start.

We are all beloved children of God.

We were baptized into one body.

We have been given to drink of the one Spirit.

We each have a purpose.

We are all indispensable.

We each need to remember that.

As Christians, we are called to acknowledge the dignity of all our siblings—one of Bishop Budde’s foundations of unity.

But how do we proclaim that we all—every child of God—possess the divine image of God?

I think visibility helps.

We are hosting New Brunswick’s Rotating Men’s Shelter for the next two weeks.

There are opportunities for you to volunteer as an overnight host or to prepare a meal.

That’s important work but what’s even more important is putting a face on homelessness—hearing the stories of someone with lived experience of housing insecurity.

Lesbian and gay characters on TV were not part a “gay agenda”.

But they were instrumental in helping people see LGBTQ+ folks as regular people—doctors and lawyers, mothers and fathers, friends and neighbors.

Like Bishop Budde, we need to call out injustice when we see it.

But then what?

What are we prepared to do?

In today’s gospel, Jesus says, “God has sent me to proclaim liberty to those held captive, recovery of sight to those who are blind, and release to those in prison— to proclaim the year of our God’s favor.”

It is within our power to proclaim the year of God’s favor.

We absolutely need to call out injustice when we see it.

But—at the same time—we need to continue in fellowship and continue in conversation with those with whom we disagree.

We need to continue to reach out to those who are marginalized—to be a beacon of God’s love to them.

And we need to be bridge-builders between those two groups—the oppressors and the oppressed.

We need to continue to provide opportunities to put a face on the stranger—the trans girl who wants to play field hockey with her friends, the immigrant woman who waits tables in your favorite diner, and the migrant man who picks the fruits and vegetables that grace your table.

Then perhaps, together, we will realize that there is no stranger.

There are only our siblings.

And, only when we acknowledge that every person is a beloved child of God, only then will we truly give glory to God.

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

Sermon by Rich Novak on 11.10.2025

This has been a rough week. One of our most beloved members of Emanuel, Jeff Nokes, from one of our most beloved families at Emanuel, was suddenly struck down in an instant and died. We were just with him – joking, telling stories, enjoying his wit and wisdom – and then boom. We are left heartbroken, speechless, aghast. But then we are reminded of how fragile life is and that truly, as the Gospel of Matthew states “you know not the day or the hour when the Lord will return”. But I must admit that at various times since hearing this news, I have been angry. Yes, angry at God. How could you allow this to happen to one of your faithful servants? How could someone who, by all accounts, tried to live a faith-filled life be struck down in a moment like this?

And then in looking for some comfort I fall back to the words of Rabbi Harold Kushner who wrote “When Bad Things Happen To Good People” as a contemplation on the death of his son due to a degenerative disease. As a devout person, Rabbi Kushner admits that his first response was to ask “why did God permit such suffering?” Where he ends up is, I believe, in the same faith statement that we profess. God does not intervene to prevent tragedy, nor does God punish or reward people based on their actions. God values human free will over interference. Given that, bad things can indeed happen to good people. Think Job in the Hebrew Scriptures. The takeaway – although God may not intervene in every misfortune, God offers love and strength to those who seek God’s aid. Rabbi Kushner also tells us that we must go through the grieving process and adds that prayer and participation in a religious community provide the best path to healing.

And so we are left picking up the pieces in the aftermath of this tragedy. We must rely on prayer and this faith community to pick ourselves up but, more importantly, to be there for the Nokes family as they walk through this painful journey.

We experienced another shock to the system and, frankly, to our faith community this week as well. Our long-standing support for the least of us – the poor, the hungry, the unhoused, the migrant, the abused, the marginalized – has seemingly been challenged, if not upended, in this presidential election. Hurtful and destructive words and promises that were used to describe our neighbors, not our enemies, were not condemned by a majority of voters, but rather were embraced. Never has such vile and debasing rhetoric been part of a national presidential campaign in the history of this country. Never. Ever. All of us, everyone one of us, comes from someplace else. And yet too many of our fellow citizens were eager to slam that door shut. I got in. You go home. And we saw our faith blasphemed by the surreptitious work of so-called Christian nationalists. And we did not condemn that nor did we speak out when our neighbors were being attacked. Again, I come back to Rabbi Kushner and ask “how could God let this happen?” How could humans be so cruel to other humans? And Rabbi Kushner’s words come racing back – God does not intervene to prevent tragedy, nor does God punish or reward people based on their actions, valuing human free will over interference. Given that, bad things can indeed happen to good people.

We used to have a banner on the Emanuel outreach building that echoed the words of Martin Niemoller, a prominent Lutheran pastor in Germany. You remember it? “First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.”

I don’t care about your politics, your party affiliation, how you voted or if you did not vote. What I care about is what happens to the least among us, the people that Emanuel has cared about deeply for at least the last 30 years that I have personally witnessed. What do we do now? Will we live up to and live out our inherited faith tradition, emulated by Pastor Martin Niemoller, and speak out? Or will we be silent and then no one will speak for us when they come for us, to paraphrase Martin. If we profess to be faith-filled Christians, and that is a big if, then our focus needs to be not on the promises of this world, but on God’s realm. Through Jesus, we have been given a guide on how to love and care for others. And as we see in this week’s readings, we have some instruction for how to act.

In the first reading in Kings, the widow of Zarephath labors under a death sentence. It may not be apparent, but the widow is in a dire situation when Elijah, instructed by God, comes to her and asks for food. She says, “I am gathering a couple of sticks, to take home and make a meal for myself and my child. We will eat it, and then we will die” (1 Kings 17:12). In great despair, Elijah finds the widow preparing for her own “last supper.” As the Elijah narratives indicate, however, the God of Israel specializes in feeding the hungry (1 Kings 17:1-7) and raising the dead (1 Kings 17:17-24). And this story is no exception.

But let’s reflect first on Elijah’s words. He speaks crazy talk. When his eyes see only scarcity, he talks about abundance. The prophet assumes provision, when the widow’s words speak only of desolation. Elijah brings a word of faith into a moment of deep fear and resignation. After hearing about the widow’s preparations for death, Elijah gives the widow the same word of promise God gave to Hagar: “Fear not” (1 Kings 17:13; cf. Genesis 21:17). The prophet goes on to speak as if the promise of God was already fulfilled: “Don’t be afraid! Go home and do what you said. But first make a small cake of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me; and then make something for yourself and for your child” (1 Kings 17:13). Elijah’s words, although seemingly absurd, actually invite the widow to participate in the new reality God’s promises were creating, but which for the moment remain hidden from view.

Elijah then further clarifies God’s promises: “the God of Israel says the jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day YHWH makes it rain on the land” (1 Kings 17:14). God will provide the widow and her child the means to survive this terrible drought. Once condemned to hunger, death, and suffering, the widow is given a new word that nullifies her original death sentence. Death is swallowed up in promise, despair in hope. The reversal of death in this story (vv. 8-16) anticipates the literal reversal of death in the next (vv. 17-24).

Today’s second reading from the letter to the Hebrews provides a different lens and places its message within the context of the early Christian community. For generations, Christians had been waiting for Jesus to appear a second time. Writing about two decades after Jesus’ death and resurrection, Paul seems so convinced of Jesus’ imminent return that he instructs engaged couples not to marry (1 Corinthians 7). Hebrews is a particularly challenging book to hear, read and interpret but one aspect is very clear – the attempt to balance the “already” and the “not yet” of Jesus’ saving work. The author of Hebrews makes a bold and audacious claim that, because of Jesus’ once-for-all sacrifice, Christians can enter the holy presence of God. Those facing struggles and crises can access Jesus’ constant intercession on behalf of his human siblings.

But the “not yet” leaves room for the biblical tradition of lament. When we hear another news report about children killed in bombings across the globe or a shooting in a classroom just outside our city, or we are shocked at the sudden death of our loved one or we are astonished by the cruelty of others, we can be reminded that we are still a people waiting for God to set all things right, to finally vanquish sin and death. In this case, the end of this week’s passage is a helpful precursor to the Advent season of waiting. “Christ was offered once to bear the sins of many, and then will appear a second time—not to deal with sin, but to save those who are waiting for Christ’s appearing.”

Our Gospel reading today provides yet a third lens through which to view the mind of God, the word and ministry of Jesus and the implications for us today. As with so many of the parables, today’s parable operates on multiple levels with multiple meanings. That is no mistake; it is intentional.

We’ve heard these words before, again and again, and perhaps we have tuned them out, become immune to them or, at the very least, failed to appreciate the implications.

“In his teaching, Jesus said, “Beware of the religious scholars who like to walk about in long robes, be greeted obsequiously in the market squares, and take the front seats in the synagogues and the places of honor at banquets. These are the ones who swallow the property of widows and offer lengthy prayers for the sake of appearance. They will be judged all the more severely.”

To understand this better, it is important to remember the historical context of the Temple at the time of Jesus. (Read excerpt from Aslan’s Zealot re: temple)

Peter did say that the disciples had left everything and followed Jesus (10:28). Jesus said in reply that anyone who leaves one’s “house [Greek oikia] or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for my sake and for the sake of the good news” (10:29) would be rewarded. This saying well applies to the disciples because they left their families and possessions behind. Peter, Andrew, James, and John had their own boats and nets (1:16–20). Peter and Andrew had a house (Greek oikia, 1:29). Peter had a wife (1 Corinthians 9:5) and a mother-in-law (Mark 1:30).

By contrast, the widow’s two small copper coins (12:42) are as good as nothing. The coins are not like the “everything” the disciples left behind. The widow would have not been so poor if her husband had left enough for her, if she had an adult son or father who could support her, or if she had remarried. It looks like our widow did not have a house, brothers, sisters, mother, father, children, or fields—anyone or anything that would have helped her financially.

The Jesus we know does not ask the destitute to squeeze themselves to the last drop to serve God. Rather, Jesus comforts and blesses them. He condemns the rich and the powerful who exploit the poor.

Jesus critiques the scribes harshly. In verses 35–37, Jesus implies that they do not understand the Scriptures, especially regarding the Messiah; that is part of why they not only fail to recognize Jesus as the Messiah but also oppose him. In verses 38–40, Jesus critiques the scribes’ social and religious practices. The most relevant part is verse 40, in which Jesus says that the scribes “devour widows’ houses” (Greek oikia in the plural).

If the leaders had kept the Law (for example, Deuteronomy 24:19–20; 26:12–13) and feared God, who is portrayed as the ultimate defender of widows in many passages of the Hebrew Bible, the widow in our passage would have not become that poor. The widow’s extreme poverty is the evidence that the leaders have failed.

I feel that the Gospel of Mark is asking the following question here: When does a temple of God hit the rock bottom and lose its reason to exist? Is it when merchants do business in the temple (11:15–16)? Is it when the religious leaders challenge the authority of the Son of God in the temple (11:27–28)? Is it when they seek to trap the Messiah politically (12:13–15)? Is it when they misunderstand the Scriptures (12:24, 35)? Is it when they say long prayers for the sake of appearance (12:39)?

Jesus was sitting down at the Court of the Women in the temple, looking at the “exceedingly beautiful and lofty columns” there. He turned his eyes to the temple treasury, knowing that the temple had already accumulated immense wealth. He saw “many rich people” (12:41) offer large sums of money. Perhaps it was when a widow put in her last coins that the temple hit the rock bottom.

The presence of one destitute widow questions the reason for the temple’s existence. As always in Mark, the disciples fail to understand: one of them said, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” (13:1). While the disciples were amazed at the splendid appearance of Herod’s temple, Mark’s Jesus saw no reason for the temple to exist anymore—not even a stone upon a stone.

As many of you know, Ann and I recently returned from a trip to Scotland. One of the places that we visited was the Cathedral in Glasgow. This kirk has operated as a church for over 1050 years. And we think we have an old building? Ha! The church, the cathedral, before the Reformation, was a Roman Catholic cathedral. It sits on one of the highest parts of the city of Glasgow and sits on High Street, the only pathway to Merchant City. In old times, farmers, craftspeople and others would travel from the countryside to sell their wares in the market city of Glasgow. To do so, however, they had to pass the Cathedral and pay a toll to go down High Street to the merchant area. The church collected these tolls and used them to live large, buying up more and more land at the top of the hill and the surrounding area, amassing great wealth and fueling a pretty comfortable life for the many clergy who were engaged in Cathedral duties. The Roman Catholic church also declared this Cathedral to be a pilgrimage site, due to the relics of St. Kentigern, commonly known as St. Mungo, and so pilgrims came from everywhere, at great personal sacrifice, to visit the shrine, pay the fees and perhaps even buy some indulgences. It doesn’t sound a whole lot different than the Temple in Jerusalem that Jesus railed against.

Fast forward to the Reformation and it was no surprise that the people rebelled because they had enough. They saw the abuses of this system and a so-called religious institution that was more about enriching itself than living out the words of Jesus, so reminiscent of the story in today’s Gospel reading. And so the Cathedral was overrun, the Roman Catholics were run out and the Protestants took over. The Roman Catholic archbishop, who hid in a little room off of the altar area, escaped to France with his life. Large 4 inch thick oak doors still hold lead from bullets that were fired when the church was reformed. John Knox, originally a Roman Catholic priest, led the Scottish Reformation. Interestingly, the people protected the church building from destruction in part because of its prominent role as a focal point for the community. Is this when this temple hit rock bottom too?

It is an amazing building to see that now is a major figure in the Church of Scotland (Presbyterian) that is actively engaged in various ministries serving the poor, the hungry, the disenfranchised, the least among us. The volunteer guides are wonderful and they ask the tens of thousands of visitors to look beyond the beauty and splendor of the building to consider the contemporary work of this Kirk.

And here we are. We come full circle and have to ask: have we too hit rock bottom? Our hearts are crushed by the passing of our friend. Our hearts are broken by a majority of our fellow citizens who so willingly demonized others and were enablers to debasing and destructive language. Will we learn from the words of Elijah to put our trust in God? Will we abide the words and actions of Jesus and double down on serving the least among us? Will we speak up like Pastor Niemoller or will we be silent? Finally, if we fail to live up to and live out our baptismal calling, will we be in a situation like the Jesus in Mark’s gospel who saw no reason for that temple to exist and have no reason for this temple of Emanuel to exist? Our faith, our trust and our hope is in God, made manifest in Jesus. May we serve as Christ.