Pocket Sized Pastor*

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,

“See, the home of God is among mortals.
He will dwell with them;
they will be his peoples,
and God himself will be with them and be their God;
he will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away.”

And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life.

Revelation 21:1-6

My sermon from the Fifth Sunday of Easter (May 18, 2025) on Revelation 21:1-6.

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Last Monday, the NJ Synod Candidacy Committee had its Spring meeting. And as the candidacy coordinator for NJ, it’s our responsibility to work with people wondering if being an ordained deacon or pastor is one of God’s calling for their lives. The work to become ordained involves a lot of prayer, conversation, paperwork, education, and growth as they navigate the various requirements to be this kind of leader in the church. It can sound as if we want people to jump through a bunch of hoops before they put a stole around their neck. The process, though, is much more intentional as we discern, together, if their following Jesus involves developing the robust theological and practical skills needed to serve in this particular way. At the moment, each candidate goes through an individually designed process meeting their needs. And while there are many different flavors of Christianity full of strong and faithful leaders, we want to make sure to raise up pastors and deacons who are awesome Lutheran Christians. Knowing the Bible, listening to Jesus, staying connected to the Spirit, and living in love – that’s at the core of every Christian life. Yet today’s reading from the book of Revelation can help us see how the distinctive Lutheran emphasis on God’s work rather than our own helps us live into the fullness of who God chooses to be. 

Now like I said last week, Revelation is a graphic novel. Its author, John of Patmos, received a vision from God that he then described to seven churches in what is now modern-day Turkey. The words he used painted pictures in the minds of those who needed to be challenged, inspired, and filled with hope. It’s focus on soldiers, horse riders, beasts, dragons, queens, and kings, can make Revelation seem like something out of The Lord of the Rings. But those who first heard these words recognized how they described the political, economic, and cultural realities of their day. We last saw John taking a break from watching the moon turn into blood by visiting God’s heavenly throne room. And it was there, at the center of it all, he – we – met a lamb who was slain. That space was filled with the divine beings we’d expect – angels, archangels, and all kinds of mystical creatures. Yet the crowd John focused on was a multitude of people wearing their baptismal garments. It wasn’t generals, ministers, commentators, and PR people who were at the foot of God. Instead, those around the throne were from everywhere and spoke every language. This throne room, on one level, is a picture of what it’s like to dwell with God. And we can see how it’s exactly as peaceful, joyful, overwhelming, and awe inspiring we’d expect. But where, and how, that experience comes into being in our own lives can be a little tricky to figure out. We assume that such a blessing must be a gift from God that’s inserted into our life. It’s difficult, though, to accept that this gift is something we’re given rather than something we have to earn for ourselves. There were, for example, quite a few chapters from the throne room in chapter 7 to this passage in chapter 21. And if we took the time to read all those verses, we see all kinds of people doing all kinds of things while dragons with seven heads and ten horns, broken seals, bowls of wrath, and even Armageddon rage across the world. All that doing – and the ordeal people went through – would easily fit into who we’d expect to find around God’s heavenly throne. This view also matches what we assume life is all about since what we do – or what others claim we do – is the cover we use to proclaim who has value and who doesn’t. All this doing bleeds into our experience of what it means to be the church together since we are the ones in worship, prayer, song, service, welcome, inclusion, and in this community – are doing a lot to create what this community of faith is meant to be about. Saying “we believe” while living a life that doesn’t look much different from not following Jesus at all isn’t, necessarily, holy and true. Yet a faith rooted in what we do is also a faith limiting who our God chooses to be. 

And we know that’s true because life is full of moments when doing isn’t possible. We can, for example, be at the start of life –  still learning that our loved ones don’t disappear when they cover their eyes during peekaboo. Or maybe we’ve gotten to the point where our bodies and minds have started to slow down and the question “why am I still here?” is less a search for purpose and more a heart wrenching prayer. Our love of doing might try to pretend as if God only cares about certain moments in our lives. But when we act as if God only cares about those slivers, we ignore how God chose to live a life where even Jesus, at times, couldn’t do. That might be why, near the end of Revelation, John painted for us an image that doesn’t depend on what we do at all. Rather than inviting us to see one room God built; we get to witness the entire city of God. The image we make in our heads for this heavenly city probably resembles the cities we build with our machines and our hands. God’s city, though, is entirely different since the cosmos – the heavens and the earth – have become new. What John witnessed could only be best described by poets, artists, musicians, and comic book creators. And that’s because what’s painted was more than a place; it’s the future God chooses to create. The creator of this universe who is fully divine, fully present, and who will always be – wants you to be part of that future too. This image of the heavenly city, though, isn’t only about what comes next. It’s also a reminder how dwelling with us is what our God always does. From the act of creation itself; to the Exodus out of Egypt; to the Holy of Holies in the Temple in Jerusalem; to Jesus’ birth, ministry, life, and beyond; and to the ongoing gift of the Holy Spirit – it’s the work of God choosing to be that always changes everything. We do have a responsibility to love, serve, and live as if Jesus truly matters. But it’s not up to us to determine where God dwells. The love God has for you isn’t something you earn nor can be something you, at every moment of your life, easily choose. It is, instead, a gift given to you because that’s simply who God chooses to be. And that, I think, is one of our Lutheran nuances when it comes to the Christian faith. We keep ourselves focused on what God chooses to do because the good news of Jesus cannot apply to only one kind of person or to one specific moment in our lives. The gospel really is that because of Jesus – every moment of your life is meaningful and has value. Now a faith centered in what we do feels fruitful, inspiring, and hopeful since it fills us with a sense of purpose and identity. But when we make faith centered on us rather than on what God had chosen – and continues to do – for you; we create a faith that isn’t big enough to meet us as an infant or carry us through illness and old age. The kingdom of God does not depend on us. It is, instead, an invitation to notice the vision God has for our world. And while life can be very full with joys and sorrows that change who we know ourselves to be, the Jesus in the throne room, the Jesus in the holy city, the Jesus in the manger, and the Jesus on the Cross has a hold on you – and he will never let you go. 

Amen.

After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice, saying,
“Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne and to the Lamb!”

And all the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, singing,
“Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom
and thanksgiving and honor
and power and might
be to our God forever and ever! Amen.”
Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?” I said to him, “Sir, you are the one who knows.” Then he said to me, “These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
For this reason they are before the throne of God
    and worship him day and night within his temple,
    and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them.
They will hunger no more and thirst no more;
    the sun will not strike them,
    nor any scorching heat,
for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd,
    and he will guide them to springs of the water of life,
and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

Revelation 7:9-17

My sermon from the Fourth Sunday of Easter (May 11, 2025) on Revelation 7:9-17.

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So it’s been a big week for the power of “w” “e” especially if we’re doing all we can to help our teams make it into the next round of their playoffs. We’re sure we’re the ones who created the space needed for Aaron Gorden of the Denver Nuggets to not only steal game one from the Oklahoma City Thunder but also send game three into overtime. We skated beyond the cool plains of Edmonton, Alberta to take a commanding 2-0 lead over the Golden Knights of Las Vegas. And it was our energy and will that pushed the rest of our New York Knicks to rally from twenty points down to win game 1 and 2 against the Boston Celtics. It’s kind of amazing we did so much while sitting on our couches miles away from where any of these games took place. Yet the power of “we” has a way of moving us into something so much bigger than ourselves. This “we” even extended from the hardwood to the Sistine Chapel since my social media feeds have been full of memes showing how many of the New York Knicks as well as the new Pope – all graduated from Villanova University. Many different communities have done their best to show how expansive they get to be. And while some, like the Chicago Cubs, were disappointed to learn that the White Socks are actually Leo XIV’s team, this movement was less about claiming him as “one of us” and more about pointing out how all our lives are meant to be about so much more than just “me.” Even if the closest we’ll ever get to winning a playoff game is measured by the inches our face is from the screen while watching our team play, there’s something welcoming, inclusive, and hopeful about being part of this “we.” And in today’s reading from the book of Revelation, we’re shown another kind of “we” full of people holding palm branches in their hands. 

Now I often describe the book of Revelation as a kind of graphic novel since its author, John of Patmos, used words to paint a series of pictures that spiral in, and around, one another. We tend to imagine Revelation as a book focused on the end since it’s full of pictures of a time when creation will thirst and hunger no more. But at the beginning of this story, John also directed his message to seven different church communities that once existed in what is now modern day Turkey. These communities were in cities ruled by the Roman Empire  and had their own diverse cultural backgrounds and stories. Some were founded by civilizations that no longer existed while others had extensive trade networks with Persia, Arabia, India, and beyond. The images John painted – of heavenly throne rooms, slain lambs, four horsemen, ecological and cosmic disasters, beasts, dragons, and more – weren’t only for those living in the future. They also challenged, inspired, frightened, and brought hope to real people living very real lives. They, like us, wondered how to live a faithful life in the here and now. Yet they also were going through specific situations John named. Some of the communities were extremely wealthy, caring more about those who had money instead of the poor and marginalized. Others aligned themselves with those in power, acting as if the world’s love of greed, strength, and violence can also be good and holy. A few of the churches were persecuted for their beliefs in ways more intense than them simply not knowing how to process their own discomfort when they met someone who didn’t see the world in the same way they did. The church, however, that John reserved his most intense words for was a community whose faith, he thought, was lukewarm at best. They were neither hot nor cold since the people rarely acted as if their faith was supposed to shape their lives every day. What they, and all the communities needed, was a word to challenge, comfort, inspire, and bring them a sense of hope while navigating a difficult present and an unknown future. And so, in the middle of a series of swirling images that pushed the boundaries of what our minds could even imagine, he interrupted everything by offering a peek of what’s at the center of the kingdom of God. 

We’d expect, I think, for there to be some kind of throne room – a command center – where those in charge could issue proclamations, commands, and all kinds of executive orders. But instead of inviting us to imagine the one issuing these words decked out in an outfit reflecting how powerful they might be, we meet a lamb carrying all the wounds life gave him. All the times when they were overwhelmed, weak, and fragile, were not pushed aside or hidden from view. Instead, the lamb at the center was simply being himself while inviting us to be fully ourselves too. Around this leader, we’d expect to see all kinds of officials, ministers, and generals doing their best to make the orders of the ruler come to life. But the very first group John identified as a “we” wasn’t full of technocrats, politicians, or PR firms. The insiders closest to the throne weren’t divine beings full of power and might. They were, instead, a multitude of people from every time and place speaking every kind of language who had lived and were now participating in an eternal act of worship and praise. It’s this crowd who reflect what the kingdom is all about. And what unites them isn’t the life they’ve lived but rather it’s through the One who, with his body and blood, has already claimed them – and us – as his own. 

Now when John saw this “we,” he was told they went through some kind of ordeal. What that was, we’re not specifically told, though it could be related to the violence some churches went through or a hint at the larger persecution that was historically about to come. But I also wonder if this ordeal could also be related to the different kinds of messages John gave to those specific church communities. When we focus on power in this world rather than the power we’ve already received; when we focus on what we can take rather than on what we are called to give; when we let fears of others mask the expansiveness of the multitude around God’s throne; and when our imagination of what can be is reduced to what already is – it’s easy to lose ourselves in the chaos swirling around and within us. The ordeals they went through will shape them in the same ways it shaped the still wounded Jesus at the center of it all. Yet the worst thing that has been done to us or that we have done ourselves won’t be what fully defines us. Rather, we’re already connected to the One who has gone through the ordeal of the Cross to show us how far God’s love will always go. The “we” we’re a part of isn’t one we build by ourselves. It’s a gift given to us by the One who has made us part of the team that extends beyond every limit of time and space. We, together, get to embody the mercy, love, forgiveness, and hope at the heart of who our God chooses to be. And while this day might be full of ordeals that challenge our identity, our strength, and even our faith, we are already rooted in the One who will be there to carry us through. 

Amen.

After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias, and he showed himself in this way. Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.

Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach, but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” They answered him, “No.” He said to them, “Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his outer garment, for he had taken it off, and jumped into the sea. But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, only about a hundred yards off.

When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.” So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them, and though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they knew it was the Lord. Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them and did the same with the fish. This was now the third time that Jesus appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” (He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) After this he said to him, “Follow me.”

John 21:1-19

My sermon from the 3rd Sunday of Easter (May 4, 2025) on John 21:1-19

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So it’s a tradition of mine on the Sunday after Trash and Treasure to include something from the sale in one of my sermons. Often what I talk about is an item I find that speaks to my story or reflects my pop culture sensibilities. This time, though, what I brought with me isn’t something I found. Instead, it’s an old green leather pouch filled with yellowing paper that I believe Tom Kearns found while digging through the box. The paper was actually five little booklets with different names and an address written on the outside. Each booklet was filled with what appeared to be small rectangle coupons with tear away edges that were covered with letters, numbers, and various symbols. For pieces of paper that are over eighty years old, these documents are in incredibly good shape. Yet they’re more than simply a written record of a family that once called New Jersey home. They also tell a story since the words “Ticket Ration Book Holder” is embossed on the outside. In 1942, the US began restricting what kind of food people could buy. There was a need to make sure they had enough food to feed an incredibly large army as well as conserving all the resources used to can, process, and transport food all over the country. The little coupons in the back of these booklets were “points” that would be torn out and handed in so people could purchase the milk, sugar, fruit, and eggs they might want for breakfast. The crisis they were living through had upended life as they knew it to be. And learning how to live into what’s next was a challenge even for those living in the comfort of home. 

Now today’s reading from the gospel according to John comes from a chapter that feels like it shouldn’t exist. We heard, last week, words that felt like they ended the entire book. Yet, like Jesus himself, there’s always more to the story. After meeting the resurrected Jesus in Jerusalem, several of the disciples left the city for the Sea of Tiberius – which was just another name for the Sea of Galilee. John, unlike the other gospels, doesn’t tell us exactly why these disciples went home. Jesus’ death and resurrection had, though, upended their expectations and left them wondering what they should do next. They probably needed a moment to reset themselves and decided to do the very human thing of returning to what they once knew. Yet their time with Jesus had changed them in ways that made it impossible to go back. Peter’s decision to go fishing was, I think, him reaching out to a kind of life that felt comfortable and safe. The feel of the net in his hands, the wood of the boat underneath his feet, and the night air rushing through his hair – that was the life, while never perfect, was at least familiar. But even when we can go back, it’s never really the same. The disciples’ time with Jesus – the joys, the hardships, what they heard and what they experienced – changed how they saw themselves, those around them, and their God. Their old patterns no longer meant what they once did. Their story had changed since Jesus brought them into something so much bigger than themselves. Their life, history, and future was wrapped up in a God who wouldn’t let them be the limit to their own story. Their next chapter was already being written which might be why they caught nothing when they went back to how things used to be. 

And so, when a new dawn broke, they noticed something different on the beach. A person stood by a small cooking fire trying to get their attention. After giving some advice, these disciples listened – tossing what they knew into the sea. And when they pulled up their nets, an overabundance of fish finally appeared. They knew Jesus was here and so they quickly came ashore. When they drew close, they saw a barbeque covered with the same food Jesus blessed, broke, and gave out to the over 5000 people he served a few months before. But instead of stretching out someone else’s lunch into a feast with crumbs left over, Jesus cooked up – by himself – enough for each of them. They weren’t the ones who made the fire, harvested the grain, ground the flour, or baked the bread. All they did was maybe add a little extra fish onto the feast they didn’t make happen. The disciples listened to their Lord, participating in the abundant life Jesus was still bringing. The disciples, on seeing Jesus, probably hoped there was still a chance to go back to how things were. They were grateful for the resurrection but longed for the closeness they once had. A Jesus they could easily talk to and literally walk behind feels like a Jesus that’s much easier to follow. Jesus, though, regularly sent his friends out to let others know how much more their story could be. And they could do that because the Jesus who still lives would be with them – always. The fullness of their own experience with Jesus – with their questions, struggles, joys, doubts, and the undoing of their expectations – was all they needed to make Jesus’ love real in the world. Their time with Jesus had changed them, building a foundation for what their next chapter would be about. The Jesus who welcomed them, taught them, included them, and was there for them – had already shown them what their new life could be. And while it often feels as if we need more to our own story to be the kind, patient, compassionate, and faithful person we want to be; the Jesus who has already chosen us as his own will – in worship, through the Spirit, and at His table – provides what we need to be. 

Now when I dug a little deeper into the story behind these war ration books, I wasn’t able to find any information about the names written on the books. I have no idea how many people lived in their house – a house that still stands – or even if they were Christians. Two of the signatures look like they were done by kids still learning how to print their letters and write in cursive. And spattered across the front of one of the books are stains from cooking in the kitchen. On the book for who I assume was the mom of the family is a note saying “29 sugar until December 20” while so many of the coupons have the torch of Lady Liberty as its icon. I wonder what it was like for this family to head to the market to get stuff for breakfast. I’m sure there were plenty of arguments about what they could get even though they knew their hardships were small compared to what other people in the world were going through. Maybe there was an older brother, an uncle, a dad, or an aunt serving in various ways overseas. And when they looked at the shelves in front of them and counted their tokens, I wonder if they felt as if they just didn’t have enough. We can’t easily reconstruct their entire story since all we have are a few bits of paper contained in an old leather pouch. But we can trust that the Jesus who, through the Cross, wrote a new chapter for everything God loves, knew their story as much as Jesus knows your own. We all go through times when we don’t feel like we can be who we imagine God wants us to be. Yet through baptism, in faith, in worship, with the Spirit, and while connected to each other – we have what we need to be God’s love in the world.  When we gather at Jesus’ table, we are invited to a meal we didn’t make. Yet it is a meal Jesus made for you. And if Jesus was willing to give the entirety of his story – his birth, life, death, resurrection, and beyond for you – the least we can do is participate in the love God has for us and for the world. 

Amen. 

¹⁹ When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors were locked where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” ²⁰ After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. ²¹ Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” ²² When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. ²³ If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

²⁴ But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. ²⁵ So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

²⁶ A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” ²⁷ Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” ²⁸ Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” ²⁹ Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”
³⁰ Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples that are not written in this book. ³¹ But these are written so that you may continue to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

John 20:19-31

My sermon from the Second Sunday of Easter (April 27, 2025) on John 20:19-31.

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Today’s story from the gospel according to John is one we hear on the first Sunday after Easter every year. Yet it’s also one that never gets old. On the first night after Jesus’ resurrection, a locked door couldn’t keep him from his friends. Now earlier in the day, Mary Magdalene had told the rest of the disciples how she recognized Jesus in a garden after he said her name. She was the apostle to the apostle, the first to share the fullness of her story while wrapped up in joy, grief, wonder, and confusion. Her experience was very much her experience and yet it wasn’t only for her. Mary was told to tell – and that’s exactly what she did. I’m not sure, though, if the reaction she received was what she expected. A few of the disciples did run to the tomb to try and see what she did. Others, though, were a bit mixed. The peace, excitement, and joy assumed others will experience when we share God’s grace didn’t manifest itself easily among Jesus’ closest friends. That makes sense because the living they had recently done was very hard. The disciples expected Jesus to change everything and yet his death on the Cross changed their hopes and dreams. The words Mary shared, on their own, weren’t enough to wipe away the trauma they were still going through. And they were afraid that what happened to Jesus would also happen to them. The disciples needed their lives to be re-formed, re-shaped, and re-created. Yet, in the midst of everything, Mary had the guts to tell them their new life had already begun. Jesus’ friends were, in that moment, locked inside a spiritual, mental, emotional, and physical tomb they didn’t know how to get out of. And that’s something they all felt deep in their bones since John doesn’t actually identify the place they were in as any kind of room. 

But – it’s while they were stewing in all that mess – Jesus gave them their own faithful experience. He, during the transition from the end of one week and into something new, suddenly appeared. John invites us, I think, to come up with our own mental picture of what this scene actually looked like. We get to imagine Jesus passing through the locked doors as if he was a ghost or maybe materializing Star Trek style through some shimmering light. I, though, like to picture Jesus not being there until he was. While everyone within that community lived their life – with some cooking, others talking, and still more simply staring off into space – the void at the heart of who they were was filled by the presence of their friend. And his first words to the disciples didn’t highlight who he was or demand everyone to look at him. What Jesus did was give them peace and show them who he is. It took a second for Jesus’ friends to see the fullness of his story and realize the change in their own. Jesus didn’t pretend the Cross didn’t happen or that the disciples hadn’t gone through what they did. The life they lived mattered but wouldn’t be the limit of what their forever would be.  The wounds they carried wouldn’t vanish but Jesus’ presence, God’s grace, and God’s work would provide a way through. We often assume that we are the ones who make this kind of work happen. We, through our choices, abilities, talents, and opportunities are the ones who make faith happen. We do, I think, have some responsibility in using what God gives us to live faithfully in the world. Yet it wasn’t the disciples’ belief – or lack of belief – that caused Jesus to show up. God didn’t wave a map in Mary’s face letting her know what Jesus would do nor did the disciples know which locked space Jesus would soon walk into. What they did, instead, was simply live – and the One who still lives chose in the midst of their lives to make his presence known. 

Now that living, I think, might have been what Thomas was up to while everyone else was sealed in their metaphorical tomb. He wasn’t with them and we actually have no idea why. Maybe he wanted to start his week worshipping in the Holy Temple or was buying what they needed in the marketplace. Thomas might have needed some time to himself to process what he was going through or sought a mental escape by watching whatever was showing at the local amphitheater. We don’t know where Thomas was but we do know the door was unlocked when he eventually came back. Jesus’ presence opened the community to tell their story while creating the space where Thomas could share his own. The disciples probably hoped Thomas would find peace once he heard how their experience confirmed Mary’s words. Thomas, though, responded to what they said in the same way they responded to hers. For centuries, we’ve often called Thomas “doubting” because of what he said. I, though, think it’s much more faithful to realize he was simply a person who wanted his own story with the resurrected Jesus too. What Thomas wanted wasn’t unreasonable since it’s something we want too. We want Jesus to make His presence known while we’re busy living our life. And a Jesus who can give us peace especially when things are hard – that’s a Jesus we truly need. Yet what makes a life with faith pretty hard is that we don’t get to pick when we’ll notice God moving in our world. Rather, all we get to do is live – and trust that the Jesus who showed up to Thomas, the disciples, Mary, and countless others over the last 2000 years will also show up to you too. And when he does, it’ll be what we need but not necessarily be what the others around us expect. Maybe Jesus’ presence will be manifested in a way that is mystical – a sign in the sky, a burst of light, or a feeling of peace others can’t see. Jesus might become real to us through a healing we didn’t expect or the one we receive through God’s gift of science, doctors, nurses, and medical staff. The holiness of God surrounds us with might come through the people who offer us comfort, peace, and support. Or Jesus might show up through the ways we get to faithfully live out our many vocations since we are parents, children, students, teachers, retirees, contractors, business people, and more. Jesus chooses to not only be manifested in the ways we expect but also through the people who remind us we’re never alone. Now Thomas’ community could have pushed him aside because they didn’t have the same experience. Jesus’ presence, though, had unlocked their need to be isolated and afraid. We don’t get to decide when we’ll see Jesus in our lives. We do, though, have a responsibility to tell our stories, to listen to the stories other people tell, and to be a community big enough to hold together whatever story we are living through. When we do this faithfully, authentically, and as Jesus’ body in this world – then we truly will, in ways we will never expect, discover what it means to say and believe we have really seen the Lord. 

Amen.

¹ On the first day of the week, at early dawn, [the women] went to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. ² They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, ³ but when they went in they did not find the body. ⁴ While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. ⁵ The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here but has risen. ⁶ Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, ⁷ that the Son of Man must be handed over to the hands of sinners and be crucified and on the third day rise again.” ⁸ Then they remembered his words, ⁹ and returning from the tomb they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. ¹⁰ Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. ¹¹ But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. ¹² But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.

Luke 24:1-12

My sermon from Easter Sunday (April 20, 2025) on Luke 24:1-12.

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I want to start today’s sermon with a question: what’s your favorite moment from a book, movie, comicbook, or video game when everything suddenly turns for the better? I’m not really thinking about the climax to the story or that one scene revealing what the entire movie was all about. Rather, at that moment when it appears as if our heroes are about to be completely overwhelmed, a sound, a movement, and word turns everything around. Now as a lifelong nerd, many of my favorite stories include those kinds of moments. For example, it’s when Captain America tightens his shield for one more go at the villain Thanos but then suddenly hears in his ear, the Falcon say: “on your left.” Or it’s what we feel when during the last Lord of the Rings movie, when a horn blows announcing that the horse riders from Rohan have arrived to face off against the armies of Mordor as they rampage through the city of Minas Tirith. Or it’s what our heart does when we’re turning the page after the villains known as the Hellfire club have finally defeated the X-men and left Wolverine for dead only to see him emerge across several panels saying “you’ve taken yer best shot. Now it’s my turn.” It doesn’t matter if we’re watching this story for the first time or for the hundredth – these are the moments that catch our breath and cause a few tears to form in the corner of our eyes. JRR Tolkein, who wrote the Lords of the Rings, actually gave this phenomenon a name – calling it an “eucatastrophe.” An eucatastrophe is exactly what it sounds like – the opposite of a catastrophe. It’s that moment when our world seems like it’s about to collapse but then something happens and we realize our world might actually become what it’s meant to be instead. 

But what makes the eucatastrophe of Easter morning so strange is that, unlike the movies, it wasn’t immediately seen or believed. We can usually tell something good is about to take place in the stories we read because our hearts start to feel as if they’re being lifted out of our chest. This doesn’t mean that the struggle, pain, or suffering is finally over. Rather, we realize what’s been and what will be is about to become something more. Hope, in essence, becomes real, serving as the fuel needed for all the living that there’s still left to do. When the eucatastrophe comes into view, we and the characters within the story have basically the same kind of experience. But when the women, as we heard in our reading from the gospel of Luke, showed up at Jesus’ tomb, their excitement was rather dull and muted. The stone covering the doorway they couldn’t move had been rolled away and the body they expected to find wasn’t there. Yet when two angels let them know what God was up to, the joy we expected to hear was instead filled with confusion, fear, and even disbelief. Jesus’ friends, some who had been with him since he had walked along the shore of the Sea of Galilee, had experienced quite the emotional roller coaster over a few short days. When they first arrived in the city of Jerusalem, they had the courage to wave palm branches in the air as a way to publicly proclaim Jesus as a king. They did this while the Roman Governor Pontius Pilate, along with a legion of soldiers, entered the city at the same exact time. Their protest of who was actually in charge felt, in comparison, pretty small but Jesus’ friends had already seen him show what the kingdom of God is all about. His power, his wisdom, his willingness to welcome those we push away had made his disciples feel as if they finally belonged. Yet when Judas, only a few days later, sold Jesus out and led a detachment of soldiers and police to arrest him, the excitement of disciples completely changed. They assumed that the One who could calm storms with only a word would easily overwhelm the storm of violence and suffering caused by those who favored tyranny and greed. Jesus, though, was soon consumed by all the forces gathered against him and many of his friends fled from sight. Others, though, bore witness to the ongoing catastrophe that was upending Jesus’ life and their own. They had expected the Son of God to transform their lives into something new. But when the stone was finally rolled over the door to His tomb, it seemed as if every one of their hopes and dreams was sealed up inside. 

So that might be why, when the women arrived at the tomb carrying the spices necessary to complete the burial rituals practiced by their community, it took time to process what that moment might be. The catastrophe they lived – was no longer where they expected it to be. And while their hearts and their souls tried to comprehend the breaking of each one of their expectations, the angels spoke into their confusion by reminding them of the other kind of living they had already done too. Their experience of being known and being valued; of being loved and being included; of participating in the abundant life that comes when it’s full of mercy, justice, forgiveness, and hope – that was the reminder that our catastrophes do not define what our lives will ultimately be about. The God who made friends; the Son who listened, laughed, and cried; and the Jesus who experienced the many ways we try to end every story – has already written, and will keep writing, a new story instead. We, in general, are much more used to catastrophes rather eucatastrophes. What regularly catches our breath and unsettles our heart isn’t always joy. We know what it’s like to have our dreams end and our regrets grow. And while we often spend the earliest parts of our lives longing for a joyous turn into a future filled with opportunities, comfort, and peace; the turn we want when we’re older is a return to what has been. Life has a habit of overwhelming us with a diagnosis, an accident, a lost job, a tragedy, a broken relationship, and even sometimes convincing us to create an environment where only certain kinds of people are celebrated and included. The future we often work to build is one lacking the imagination to fully recognize what God’s love will always do. The women, when they came back from the tomb, did more than simply listen to what the angels said and notice what their experiences told them. They also had the courage to tell those living in a catastrophe that a new story was written for them. And while the stories we re-watch over and over again include these announcements that something good is on its way, the turn these women shared had already begun. While the world slept and those who pedal in fear went back to their homes thinking they had won, the next chapter in our story was written. It was a word that didn’t depend on what we saw, what we heard, what we did, or even what we believed. Rather, God acted because God’s love refused to do anything less. The eucatastrophe of Easter isn’t announcing that this story is over. Rather, it’s a holy proclamation that your story has only just begun. And while our lives are often full of all kinds of joys and sorrows, hopes and dreams, catastrophes and days when we’re just trying to make it to tomorrow, the Jesus who still lives; the Jesus who loves; and the Jesus who has promised to always be with you – is the One who will carry you into your new chapter filled with hope, mercy, and light. 

Amen.

My reflection from the 7:30 pm worship for Good Friday (April 18, 2025) on Luke 22:14—23:56.

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I want to take a second before we head into the final part of Luke’s version of the passion of Christ, to not try and make this moment understandable. Before we reach back into all the sermons we’ve heard, the books we’ve read, and the youtube videos we’ve watched wondering what makes this Friday good – we can first bear witness to the strangeness of it. We can sit with everything that was said, with everything that was done, while imagining all the sounds, the feelings, and even the smells. We can stand alongside Peter while he pretends to be something he’s not and we can be honest that shouting “crucify him” isn’t something only other people would say. The harsh sun, the burning torches, the crack of the whip, and the sound of the Cross digging into the earth as it was dragged on the ground – there’s a lot of life happening in this very heart-rending story. Our explanations can often be so stuck in the clouds they forget that real people filled with real emotions were walking through this story not sure what might come next. Letting the passion of Jesus’ life be a real moment of life is one of the ways we discover who our God chooses to be. And if the maker of the universe is willing to feel sweat streaming down the forehead and the voices of those who assume they knew what God was always up to – then maybe – just maybe – there’s something meaningful about the life we get to live too. 

Now a part of what it means to live this life is choosing just how much integrity will be a part of it. We can miss seeing that integrity in Jesus’ own story if we focus too much on what made Jesus different and unique. The story of Christmas, the miracles, the healings, and Easter Sunday can reduce Jesus to being a kind of game piece or secret code following a rather abstract set of instructions. Yet this Jesus who could calm storms with a word, was also a Jesus who knew what it was like to say “that’s not fair” when playing with his siblings. Jesus had been bullied and cherished, valued and pushed aside. He woke up early to watch the sunrise and embraced the cosmic silence that comes in the evening when each star twinkles into view. The Jesus who went to the Cross was also the Jesus who knew how full living life is meant to be. And while the Son of God could have gone on this journey alone, he formed relationships with those who never truly understood what he was supposed to be. Jesus didn’t go through the motions of a plan in an abstract way that ignored what he was a part of. Instead, he lived – and showed us what it means to be truly present in a world God truly loves. The kingdom of God would never be limited by what we assume such a kingdom might be. And while everyone – including his disciples – surrounded him with betrayal, denial, mockery, and cruelty – Jesus showed what integrity looks like by never giving up on those who often give up on themselves. 

There are glimpses, though, that Jesus’ relationships bore fruit, grounding the integrity of others in big and small ways. We’ll hear about the women who had followed Jesus from the beginning and provided for his ministry – keeping watch from the distance. Their time with Jesus must have provided them a sense of purpose and hope as they participated in what God was up to. And yet, when Jesus was caught up in a moment where everything just kept happening to him, the power these women felt was reduced to powerlessness. As they watched, they did their best to come up with some explanation that made sense and might change what they could see was about to come. But none of their words were big enough to hold everything Jesus – and they – were going through. In that moment, the only thing they could do was simply be. Their witness seemed to be the only thing that remained true once the sun started to darken and all the religious officials, world leaders, and military officers returned to what they believed the world was meant to be. Yet in the silence will emerge someone else with the integrity to simply do what they can. He doesn’t try to explain away the Cross or act as if Jesus’ death wasn’t really the end of his life. Joseph of Arimathea, instead, simply chose to keep living and became the burial process. His integrity towards living became an invitation for those from far away to maybe get closer and see where their friend, their teacher, the one who refused to give up on them – was going to be laid. And while they could have let Jesus’ death be the end of the story, they chose instead to live through the Sabbath and see what the next morning might bring.

My 12 noon reflection from Good Friday (April 18, 2025) on the Passion of Christ according to Luke.

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We’re sitting, at this moment, in a space that wasn’t always a chapel. It has, over the years, served a variety of purposes and will, this upcoming Monday, be transformed into a linen closet for our Trash and Treasure sale. When CLC first started in 1959, this was the main sanctuary and it evolved into a meeting space, a Sunday School classroom, and now a chapel used for all kinds of worship events. Everything in this space is designed to be movable – from the chairs to the altar to the plant by the window. Yet one of the things we don’t move – besides the painting of the Cross – are these papery stars hanging above us. Now, if I remember correctly, they were placed there by Darleen Castellano a year or two before COVID struck. She wanted to decorate this space for a Christmas pageant that was being put on by our Sunday School kids. It was, I think, the first worshipful thing we did here and the stars were only supposed to be there for a day. But since then, they’ve become a kind of witness to all kinds of things happening in this space. They’ve seen kids play games, watch people browse for hours over knick knacks and throw pillows, and listened to way too many extra long phone calls I sometimes have while pacing about. Yet they’ve also played their own role in helping to reflect the light just right when I recorded worship here during COVID. These stars have been a witness to a lot – and today we are like these stars – bearing witness to just how human we truly are. 

And I wonder if, on this Good Friday, being a witness is all we’re meant to be. It’ll always be strange to call this part of Jesus’ life good since most of it is about how awful we can sometimes be. The One who hung every star in the night sky was also hung on the Cross. And while there are theories and ideas and explanations and all kinds of words to shape why this moment matters, the mystery of what God’s love is all about will never be contained by anything we say. Over and over again, God chooses to be with those who rarely have an imagination big enough to see ourselves, our neighbors, and our world with the grace that God gives us every day. We all have been a witness to situations and experiences where love can’t be found. And we all, in our own way, struggle to accept the ways we try to limit what goodness should do. We’ve seen and we continue to see how care and welcome and presence and hope are, for some, commodities not meant to be shared. We choose to make ourselves the center of everyone’s story because we can’t imagine any other story might be just as meaningful too. We know what it’s like to see each other at our best but there’s also all those actions, words, sins of omission, and long silences that have made life way more harder than it needs to be. But wherever we do our best to get in the way of our God, God makes a new way where hope and love will always shine. 

Kayla Craig, in a poem about Good Friday, wondered how we could take this gift and move it into the lives we actually live. How could what Jesus did show up in the life of our kids, our family, and our friends? She hoped that everyone – the young, the old, those who believe, and even those who don’t might recognize the great love Jesus already has for them. And as we live through this Good Friday that pushes into the Easter that has already begun, she invites us to “…know a way that chooses mercy

when faced with an enemy,

A way that chooses

Sacrifice instead of comfort,

A way that chooses 

Healing instead of violence,

A way that choose 

Loud love instead of hidden hate,

A way that opens…hearts

Instead of closes them shut.” 

A way that always remembers, a way that always bears witness, a way that lights our world no matter the darkness we’re living through. 

Amen. 

¹ Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. ² The devil had already decided that Judas son of Simon Iscariot would betray Jesus. And during supper ³ Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands and that he had come from God and was going to God, ⁴ got up from supper, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. ⁵ Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. ⁶ He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” ⁷ Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” ⁸ Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” ⁹ Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” ¹⁰ Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” ¹¹ For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.”
  ¹² After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had reclined again, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? ¹³ You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for that is what I am. ¹⁴ So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. ¹⁵ For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. ¹⁶ Very truly, I tell you, slaves are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. ¹⁷ If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.”
  ^31b “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. ³² If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. ³³ Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me, and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ ³⁴ I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. ³⁵ By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

My sermon from Maundy Thursday (April 17, 2025) on John 13:1-17, 31b-35.

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The summer after my first year in seminary, I was part of a small group of other clergy-in-training who worked for ten weeks as a chaplain at a hospital in Manhattan. It was our responsibility to provide pastoral care to people regardless of their religious beliefs who found themselves going through all kinds of medical experiences. Some had been admitted for a simple overnight observation because their doctors noticed something on a recent scan while others needed the ICU to become their home. The hope was that we could provide a little comfort and care for those who were going through stuff they never planned for. Yet the primary goal of this work was for seminarians to realize the parts of themselves that stopped them from being the kind of people God has called them to be. People who are living through a crisis respond to their situation in a variety of ways. And while their feelings of anger, frustration, confusion, grief, and sorrow are completely normal, those who are around them might not know what they should say or do. Watching someone express really difficult emotions can bring up, for us, old experiences and feelings we’ve never properly processed. We end up falling into old patterns of behavior, sometimes completely unconsciously, because we’ve lived through our own experiences of anger, sorrow, and fear. If, for example, we had a parent who yelled in ways we never understood, a patient raging at God for the diagnosis they just received, might cause us to unconsciously act as if we were a frightened eight-year-old child. Recognizing what triggers us is one of the ways we learn how to be for each other. And the feedback mechanism my group used to learn that about one another is by presenting a transcript, each week, of one of our visits that maybe didn’t go so well. Sharing within a group setting is never easy because others could easily see the many different ways we failed to hear what the other person was trying to say. Our assumptions and expectations made it incredibly difficult to bring comfort to those who needed to know they were valued and loved. And in tonight’s reading, when Jesus gathered his own small group of friends together, he pushed them to move beyond what they knew and into the new future that was already on its way. 

Now the word we use to describe this worship – Maundy Thursday – comes from the Latin word, mandatum. Mandatum, at its core, simply means “commandment” which Jesus called his friends to embrace at the end of the reading. Jesus and those around him were in the city of Jerusalem – preparing for the festival of Passover. They spent their time talking and eating and teaching and preaching within the Holy Temple and in the marketplaces. The disciples expected this holy festival to be a little different since Jesus had a history of causing trouble whenever he visited the city during some kind of holy event. He had, in prior years, tossed out the money changers who changed currency into the type that could be used for religious offerings in the Temple while stampeding the animals used for sacrifices into the marketplace. Healing people on the sabbath, arguing with other religious leaders, and getting in the way while folks participated in some of the holiest moments of their lives was a real part of Jesus’ ministry. His reputation as being a kind of destabilizing force while large numbers of people flooded into the city was one of the main reasons why he became a target for the Roman Empire. This should have made the disciples a little afraid of being associated with someone who seemed to be such a problem. Yet the power Jesus expressed gave them a kind of self-assurance and confidence. They expected that Jesus would, during his stay in the city, escalate what he had done in the past. And they wanted to make sure they were there so they could receive whatever power, authority, and opportunity Jesus would dish out to those who truly followed them. They didn’t know exactly what Jesus was up to but they felt like it had to be pretty spectacular. And if Jesus was already willing to toss merchants out of the Temple, he could be ready to even push out all the Roman soldiers who were patrolling the city. 

That assumption was one of the things stopping the disciples from hearing what Jesus was trying to say. His friends couldn’t imagine that what they assumed was faithful, holy, and true might be anything but. Their world – and our world – often acts as if there’s only so much love, hope, or blessings to go around and so power is defined by those who can get others to do their will. We assume everything, including life itself, is painfully limited so we need to hold tight onto whatever we have. Grace, hope, mercy, empathy, and even love are always in short supply. And if someone else has access to what we want, they’re denying it to us. The future, from this point of view, is bounded by a sense of scarcity that can only celebrate violence and pain. What the disciples needed, then, was an opportunity for a different kind of feedback that would break through the assumptions weighing down their souls. And so Jesus, during the Last Supper, did exactly that. He wouldn’t do what they expected him to do because God’s future will never be limited by our own. This caused the disciples to feel scared, worried, uncomfortable, and completely anxious since the future Jesus was painting didn’t match the one in their heads. Jesus could have decided that their expectations would be what kept them from experiencing the fullness of the kingdom of God. But what he did instead was to remind them of the promise at the heart of who they are – that God knows them, that God loves them, and that Jesus will carry them into God’s future no matter what came next. Moving through our expectations and into God’s promise is a life-long project we’ll never get exactly right. The responsibility that comes with following Jesus often includes being held accountable for the ways we let scarcity, anger, and fear shape our lives instead. We assume that we already know what goodness and faith are meant to look like. Yet God has a habit of troubling our expectations so that we can grow into the people God knows we can be. And when we don’t know what to do or say or be in the world, we can lean onto the commandment that Jesus embodied through the life he’s already given for you. We can love each other; we can listen to one another; we can have the courage to show mercy and care even when no one else does. We can act as if God’s future is already here and because we are the ones Jesus gathers together around his table, we get to be the imperfect vessels of God’s holy grace for our friends, our neighbors, and our world. 

Amen.

After he had said this, [Jesus] went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’ ” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus, and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. Now as he was approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

Luke 19:28-40

My sermon from Palm/Passion Sunday (April 13, 2025) on Luke 19:28-40.

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A few weeks ago, I described in my sermon a leak in the church office. Water had poured down the wall with the window overlooking the door into the church and made quite a mess. The water eventually stopped dripping and Tom, Brian, Jim, Martin, and the rest of our property team did an amazing job drying everything out. The leak, though, was a big problem because we didn’t know what caused it. Our first theory was that there was something wrong with the roof or maybe the gutter since the water came in during a storm. But when several more storms blew through and the office stayed dry, the mystery deepened. What we needed to do was anxiously wait for the leak to reappear so our property team could keep doing what they do well – making sure this place stays welcoming, warm, and safe so God’s love can keep making an impact here in Woodcliff Lake. So we waited. And we waited. And then waited some more, not quite sure when the water would return. But roughly 2 weeks ago, the director of Meals on Wheels sent me a picture early one morning showing how water was flowing on the outside – and the inside – of the church office wall. This was the big moment we were waiting for and I’m entirely grateful for how all the time, energy, and effort our team put in to fix what was impacting this community. But when they found out what had caused this big, disruptive, expensive, and exhausting moment here at the church, it was from a tiny hole I could barely see. 

And that hole was in this – a piece of copper pipe from the rooms above our church office. This pipe is pretty solid, thick, and often filled with hot water radiating the heat keeping our rooms warm and comfortable. The process of warming the water and moving it through the building can cause these pipes to vibrate and shake, making a noise we can sometimes hear. And it’s that noise that might have been why someone used a metal screw to keep this pipe firmly in place. But when the screw was installed, it either dented the metal or rubbed against it. Every time the pipe would vibrate with warm water, it rubbed against the sharp metal edge of the screw. It took years but, eventually, a very tiny hole appeared and water began to drip out. The hole, though, never stopped the heat upstairs from working and the water remained mostly unseen, hiding inside walls and insulation. Yet its impact was very real since the tiny drips dug out a three foot hole in the rock and concrete foundation underneath the church office wall. The water would also travel along different beams from one side of the building to the other, dripping along one of the walls in our Opsal fellowship hall. This pipe was so corroded, it’s obvious the leak has been for longer than I’ve even been here. And while the big moment of water pouring out of the wall led to its discovery, it was the little everyday drips that made a deeper impact. 

Today is, in its own way, a very big day. It’s the beginning of the holiest week of the church year and a day when we publically welcome little Emma (at the 10:30 am worship) into the body of Christ. We started this day waving palm branches in the air and we’ll close while sitting in the very full silence of Jesus’ tomb. Life in this place is very busy and a bunch of folks have traveled – or will travel – to spend some very holy moments together. Holy Week is extremely big – but it’s a week when this bigness isn’t, I think, only meant for itself. All the music, the singing, the baptismal party, and the fun some of our kids will have over Spring break – these are the kinds of moments we live for. Yet I’ve often found it’s the little moments – the everyday moments – that actually reveal who our God truly is. When we choose kindness rather than anger; when we pray rather than act as if our lives only depend on ourselves; and when we commit ourselves to being for each other as much as God is already committed to you – it’s the drip-drip-drip of God’s holy love that changes our lives and our world. That doesn’t mean the big stuff doesn’t matter or that these big moments won’t end up taking up all our time, energy, and effort. But when we act as if chasing after big moments is what life with our God is all about, we forget how the big thing Jesus did is why we can make all our little moments full of care, mercy, welcome, and love. The fullness of Jesus’ life – his birth, his teaching, his care, his entrance into Jerusalem, his death on the Cross, and his rising from the tomb – what God has already done is why we can do the big thing of not only welcoming little Emma but also the little things of listening, supporting, and being together. It’s knowing, and trusting, that God has written a new chapter of hope for you that holds all our big moments and little moments together. And while the drip-drip-drip of all kinds things can become a large nuisance we wish we didn’t have to live through, the drip-drip-drip of the water poured over us during our baptism is what propels us into a new future where every little moment is a holy moment revealing God’s love for us and for the world. 

Amen.