Author: MASadmin

[Jesus said:] “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.

Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”

John 3:14-21

My sermon from the Fourth Sunday in Lent (March 14, 2021) on John 3:14-21.

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So for today’s sermon, I want to begin with a question that I’ve been sitting with for awhile: how do we hold the fullness of the past while still living into the future?

You might know that I didn’t grow up in Northern New Jersey. And if I wanted to visit my childhood home, I’d need to drive about 1,792 miles west. My hometown of Littleton, Colorado, was once the southern boundary of the Denver Metropolitan area. But over time, suburban sprawl pushed the boundary outwards. And new cities with hundreds of thousands of people now exist in places where I once watched antelope graze. Now, my high school was Arapahoe High School and it was larger than Pascack Valley and Pascack Hills combined. The school was known for its academics and it has a pretty good soccer team. It probably wouldn’t surprise you to know that I was one of the more nerdy kids while there. And while high school was definitely not perfect, they at least didn’t want our 4 years there to be the peak of our lives. A few years before I attended Arapahoe, there was a bit of a controversy. For decades, their mascot was the Warrior – which could have been very generic. But since the high school was named after one of the Native American tribes that once called the area home, the decision was made to make the mascot a caricature of what white Americans imagined indian warriors to be. The mascot was typically depicted as a face turned to its side. He had piercing anger filled eyes, a high forehead, strong nose, and a mohawk on top. He also wore feathers and other accessories that were actually part of Eastern Native American cultures rather than anything out West. No effort was made to have the mascot fit the Arapaho nation. And for decades, that mascot told a story that remembered why it was called Arapahoe but one that wasn’t interested in looking past its founding. And that’s because the Arapaho nation had been forcibly removed from the area in the late 1870s after the United States broke treaty after treaty it signed with the tribe. Some of its members were eventually moved 500 miles north, to the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming. But sometime in the late 1980s, members of the student body, some alumni, and administrators decided to dig deeper into its story. They dug deeper into a vision of history bigger than just the students who ever called Arapahoe High School home. That journey eventually led to the Northern Arapaho Tribe and Arapahoe High School forming a relationship. The relationship included a kind of truth telling, where the school reflected on how the mascot wasn’t telling the full story of its past. It had appropriated a version of an identity while ignoring everything that made that identity what it was. The Tribe told the school they could continue using the Warrior as its mascot but the tribe would teach them what a warrior was all about. A new logo was designed by a member of the tribe, Wilbur Antelope, and was a portrait of their tribal elder, Anthony Sitting Eagle. The two communities promised to visit each other every-other-year, sharing their stories, traditional dances, celebrating accomplishments, and mourning together when crisis struck. Each year, the tribe provided a scholarship for the valedictorian of the high school even though Arapahoe High School is in a very affluent area and the Northern Arapaho Tribe suffers with generational poverty. In the words of Lone Bear, “To [the Northern Arapaho Tribe], being a warrior means going to battle for what’s right, taking care of your family, and passing on knowledge.” And what’s passed on is a full story that does not sugar coat, romanticize, or ignore how the past forms our present and our future. Rather, it faces who we are so that we can become something more. 

Today’s reading from John is part of a conversation Jesus had with a man named Nicodemus. The conversation took place at night and I like to imagine it beginning with Jesus sitting alone in a room. The glow from a small oil lamp illuminated his face and he was trying to wind down after a busy day of preaching and teaching. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and instead of blowing out the lamp and pretending he wasn’t there, Jesus opened the door and Nicodemus walked in. The conversation began with Nicodemus making one of those statements that was really a bit of a question. He said he recognized Jesus’ connection to God because “no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” Now that affirmed a little of Jesus’ own identity but it might also have been an attempt by Nicodemus to get Jesus to do what we all love to do: and that’s talk about ourselves. By affirming his connection to God, Nicodemus might have wanted some more backstory of how that was possible. Jesus could have then shared his story like we share ours: making himself look a little more faithful; a little smarter; and definitely a lot cooler than he actually was. But he could probably have done something we can’t do: step outside the bounds of history and see how different actions by different people over different time periods formed the complex reality we’re just trying to live in. We’re not always good at holding together the parts of our story we are active participants in and the other bits we are given: like our culture, our background, our opportunities, and those things we assume are just how things are. Nicodemus might have expected Jesus to do the same – to tell a cherry picked version of what it means to be the Son of God. But if Jesus had done that, he wouldn’t have been able to tell his full story – one that was going to include the Cross. So instead of talking about himself, Jesus instead turned the conversation around. He poke and prodded at Nicodemus until Nicodemus suddenly found himself in a fuller version of God’s story; one that wasn’t over quite yet. Because Jesus’ ministry wasn’t only centered on where he was from but, rather, on where he was going. What mastered wasn’t that Jesus was part of the Trinity or that he was there when creation came into being. What made Jesus’ story Jesus’ story was that God entered our lives and our world because God’s love couldn’t do anything less. God wouldn’t let the partial stories of our past, our present, and what we imagine our future to be – to limit what God knows we can be. The story of God’s love can hold the truths of our past and the reality of our present while propelling us into a future that is full of hope. 

As followers of Jesus, we sometimes struggle with the fullness of our story. When we examine bits and pieces of our history – the parts that are personal and the parts that include the people who came before us – we’re not always ready to celebrate its true beauty or admit how harsh it actually was. We tend to add a buffer to the story so that we can be isolated ourselves from history. Yet we seem to know how interconnected our stories actually are because we take personally any judgment leveled against the past. It’s okay to be proud or sad or indifferent or excited about the story of who we are and the story we tell about ourselves. But that story of our past was never meant to justify the future God already has in mind for us. Because when you were baptized and graced with faith in God – you were given a promise that your yesterday and your today will not be the limit of your tomorrow. Rather, the love of God would be gifted to you and the Son of God – Jesus Christ himself – would be a companion with you through whatever life brings your way. No longer are you limited to the story you tell about yourself. You are wrapped up in the story of God who sent Jesus not to condemn the world but to save it. And that future doesn’t begin tomorrow – it begins today. We get to tell a fuller story of who we are; where we’ve come from; and how we inherited things beyond our control. Yet we don’t need to be limited by what the past says we can be; instead, we can embrace the future as God declares it will be. And that future is full of love; full of welcome; full of inclusion; full of new life; and full of people just like you – those who have sometimes made bad choices; sometimes denied the dignity of others; sometimes failed to see the image of God in their neighbor; and – at our best – have loved complete strangers just like Jesus loves us. We get to be oriented towards God’s future rather than by our limited view of our past. And we get to live that way right now – because your eternal life has already started. 

Amen.

Then [Jesus] began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”

Mark 8:31-38

My sermon from First Sunday in Lent (February 28, 2021) on Mark 8:31-38.

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One of the easiest ways to cause a problem in your relationship is to speak up in a very public setting. For example, let’s say you’re out with friends and everyone was having fun. One of your friends made a light hearted comment and then you, without thinking, turned that comment into a joke at their expense. Or maybe your coworker was telling a story but left out something that’s a little embarrassing. That little detail had no bearing on the outcome of the story but you couldn’t help to speak up and reveal what they didn’t want you to share. Or maybe you and your loved one were having an argument. It was simmering for a while and it wasn’t resolved. You were starting to feel a little bit resentful and while staying up way too late scrolling through social media, you made a post, turning your private conflict into one that’s now very public. Not everything in our relationships is designed for public consumption. And I know, personally, how easy it is to create drama by inadvertently crossing that line. We don’t always mean to call attention to our friends in a way that makes them defensive. But it’s sometimes easier doing that than telling them, “we need to talk.” What we need to do is own up to the truth that these kinds of one-on-one conversations are really hard. They aren’t always easy but they can be the one thing we’re supposed to do. So I wonder if Peter, in our reading today from the gospel according to Mark, was trying to do a hard thing. I know he usually gets a bad wrap when we read this passage because it takes a certain amount of gumption to messiah-splain to the Son of God. Yet if Peter really wanted to call out Jesus in an unintentional or difficult way, I imagine he would have done so in front of all the disciples. Instead Peter waited for an opportunity to pull Jesus aside and say, “hey, we need to talk.” Peter did the hard thing – and Jesus responded by doing everything you’re not supposed to do when tending to a relationship. 

Now before we go too deep into Jesus’ actions, it’s important to set the stage of what’s happening in our reading. Jesus and his followers were approaching the city of Caesarea Philippi. Caesarea was founded by Herod the Great’s son – Herod Philip – and his kingdom included parts of Galilee, Syria, and Jordan. Caesarea Philippi became the administrative center of his little empire which is why he named it after himself. But Herod Philip also decided to use the name of the city to flatter the person who gave him his power. Caesarea was named after Caesar – aka the Roman Emperor. Herod Philip ruled the area because the Roman Empire, which controlled the region, let him rule. Without their authority and power, Herod was nothing. So he filled the city with Roman imagery, Roman statues, and they even built a temple honoring the Roman Emperors outside the city. As Jesus and his disciples neared this very Roman looking city, Peter confessed that Jesus was the Messiah. Peter’s confession was more than just a theological or spiritual statement. It was also a political one – because if Jesus is Lord – that means the Emperor – and those who supported him – were not. By saying Jesus was the Messiah, Peter was proclaiming that the structure of power in our world was about to change. Jesus’ ministry wasn’t only only about taking care of people’s souls; he was also going to take care of their bodies, their ideologies, and the ways they live with one another. Jesus’ good news for the poor was literally that – good news for the marginalized; the pushed aside; and those without power. But any good news for them was also anything but for those who enjoyed power in the here and now. Peter couldn’t wait to see God’s compassion for the marginalized realized in his lifetime. But when Jesus started talking about suffering, pain, and this…thing used by the Roman Empire to maintain their power and control – Peter felt compelled to say to Jesus: “hey, we need to talk.” Peter wasn’t being malicious but he couldn’t imagine God’s love bringing about a kind of conflict where the Empire, rather than Jesus, would win. 

Now, I don’t know what Peter expected when he pulled Jesus aside – but he probably didn’t plan for his private conversation to become very public. Not only did Jesus bring their conversation back to the disciples – he then included the entire crowd. In fact, we’re still reading about Jesus calling Peter “Satan” 2000 years later – which is usually not really a great way to keep a relationship with each other. Peter, after witnessing Jesus’ fame grow and after experiencing Jesus’ power, assumed Jesus would install himself into a position of authority that held power over others. Jesus would become a kind of benevolent emperor – a kinder version of the type of ruler they had all grown up with. But Jesus, as the Son of God, didn’t need to be installed in to power. He already had it. The difference, however, was that he wasn’t interested in what we imagine power to be all about. What he wanted – what he practiced – and what he taught – was a power with others and one that would heal the world. It’s why he ate meals with sinners and hung out with the poor rather than the rich. It’s why he healed people on the sabbath – not letting people suffer even one day more. And it’s why he wouldn’t allow the maintaining of the status quo interfere with the giving – and sharing – of life. In the words of Ira Digger, “Mark is saying that the Son of God will not dial down his ministry to spare his own life, or even to ease his suffering. His commitment to the healing of humanity literally knows no limits.” The power Jesus lived out was a power meant to help others – regardless of their social status, their identities, their genders, their ages, or their wealth – to thrive. His mission in the world was, by default, going to disrupt the world. And so that’s why the world’s response to that kind of disruption – is always the Cross. 

Now it’s a bit strange to talk about Jesus’ ministry of healing in the midst of an ongoing pandemic. I know too many people who’ve been infected by COVID-19 in just the last few weeks. If there’s anything I want right now, it’s Jesus’ healing of the world. But I’m also mindful of how I want that healing to just be a return to how things were. We all want this disruption to end but that doesn’t mean we’re always open to the kind of disruption Jesus’ healing actually brings. We want a return to normal but Jesus was never in the business of letting things remain the same. God always comes to us in love and that’s why we try to resist it. We want Jesus to move in our world but only on our terms. We are fine with God’s love as long as we don’t have to give up our ideas of freedom, of power, of position, or our points of view. We’re okay with Jesus as long as Jesus doesn’t ask us and our  communities to change too much. And we assume that good news can only be good if it caters to us. Yet God won’t let us get in the way of a love and a hope and a way of being in the world that lets God be God and lets let’s life, not the Cross, be what we share with all. There is a cost to being a disciple of Jesus – and that means we are called to give up ways we resist what God is doing in our world. We need to give up limiting who deserves love and who doesn’t; we need to give up limiting our attention to only people who are like us; we need to give up the ways our social status and power requires others to make adjustments for us; and we need to lean into relationships with all people instead of only a chosen few. We need – in a way – to be like Peter and Jesus. We need to refuse to give up on one another. Because even when Peter thought Jesus got it wrong and when Jesus called out Peter for all time – they doubled down their commitment to each other. Even when we get our relationship wrong; even when we say something we shouldn’t; and even when something private becomes way too public; we can commit ourselves to being Jesus’ good news in our world. And this is something we can do because in your baptism, in your faith, and in this very moment – Jesus has already made the promise to never give up on you. 

Amen. 

Jesus said: “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Matthew 6:1-6,16-21

My sermon from Ash Wednesday (February 17, 2021) on Matthew 6:1-6,16-21.

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So I’d like to start tonight’s sermon with a little experiment. Take a look at everyone who surrounds you. If you’re by yourself, think about a few neighbors or family members or friends. Take a moment to really focus on everything that makes them who they are. Examine their clothes, the features of their face, the way they laugh, and the opinions they hold. Make sure your entire focus is directed at them. And then – once you feel as if you are totally absorbing who they are – make a detailed list of everyone of their sins. 

Now, if your eyes just grew wide, know that mine did too. And the truth is that I don’t actually want you to make such a list – especially since I want the rest of your night with your spouse, your children, and your friends to be peaceful. But I do wonder what your reaction was to that request. Did your eyes, like mine, get big? Were you surprised to be asked to make such a list on the first day of Lent? Or did you notice that you already had such a list in mind? You might have found yourself, in a split second, feeling full of judgement. You started criticizing their choice in jeans, the ways they eat, and how you’re always the one who makes plans to connect with family and friends. Your list could have included things you’ve brought up before or maybe only things you’ve kept to yourself. And it might have been surprising to see how many minor annoyances we automatically label as sins. Not everything that bugs us is necessarily a sin but we all struggle to live as if God’s kingdom has come near. Every day, we have to do the hard work of living with the fact that not everyone in the world thinks or acts like us. But we are pretty good at identifying other people’s problems. That doesn’t mean we’re actually right in the conclusions we draw, but we’re really efficient when it comes to seeing what we imagine to be other people’s sins. I wonder if we do that because human beings can be very outward focus. Our eyes look outside of us and our ears are tuned to listen to what’s around us. Even the voice we speak sounds much different from the voice we hear in our heads. In some ways, we are designed to be outward facing at all times. And it can take work to shift our focus towards ourselves. 

So what if I asked you to make a different kind of list. Instead of asking you to name the sins other people have – what would it be like to make a detailed list of your own? What would it take to name all the ways you act as if you are the center of the world and how hard it is to believe that we’re not? Our initial list might feel pretty general but I bet we could make it be as detailed as the list we made about others. This list wouldn’t be a tool we use to harm our sense of self – to enhance the lies the world – or our selves – tell us. Rather, it would simply be an attempt to list the truths we refuse to hide. And it would be a list that God already knows. A shift from looking outwards and cultivating what’s inside of us – is one of the things, I think, Jesus is getting at in our reading from the gospel according to Matthew. 

Now this passage is one we read every Ash Wednesday and it comes from the middle of Jesus’ great sermon on the mount. Matthew placed that sermon at the start of Jesus’ ministry – an attempt, I think, to try and describe what fueled the inner life of Christ. For Matthew, the presence of God was fleshed out not only in the reality of Jesus but also in his preaching and teaching. He wanted to give us a sense of what fueled Jesus and helped him change the lives of so many people who were outside of him. And that interplay between who we are, whose we are, and how that impacts the world around us – was something Jesus touched on often. He knew that faith and God’s love took seriously who we really are. That includes not only what we do but also what we think, what we believe, and what we feel. He was mindful of every relationship that we have and how outward focus we can be. Yet everything we live through and everything we do is experienced, expressed, and generated by our body and our mind. When we focus on what outsides of us, that focus still comes from somewhere. And Jesus wanted us to be mindful of who we are so that we can become the people God knows we can be. 

So when we listen to Jesus’ words about hypocrites, we shouldn’t just blankly dismiss the people he talked about. They – like us – were people practicing their faith. They prayed. They fasted. They made financial gifts to their faith communities and those who are in need. They took time to nurture their relationship with God – and yet Jesus was aware of how easy the life of faith can become so outwardly focused, it forgets where that focus comes from. And if the fuel for our faith relies primarily on the attention others give us, then our faith actually becomes unsustainable. Because there will be times when the attention we receive will be harmful or non-existent. And there will be moments when grief, sadness, pain, and suffering make it too hard to believe. We might even find ourselves too busy for God or having so much joy in our life that we end up acting as if we do need any more God. What sustains our faith cannot depend on what others – or ourselves – give to us. Rather, we need God and the promise that Jesus will never let us go. 

So what is a practice of faith that keeps Jesus close to us and helps us hold onto the fuel for the life we actually live? Well, one answer to that question comes from the verses we didn’t hear today. In the gap between verses 6 and 16 – Matthew included this: 

“Pray then in this way: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And do not bring us to the time of trial, but rescue us from the evil one. For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”

Those verses probably sound familiar and that’s because they’re Matthew’s version of the Lord’s Prayer. And that prayer is more than just something we recite because Jesus told us too. Rather, he knew that these words serve as a kind of corrective when we default to an outward focused identity. When we pray the Lord’s prayer – we are reminding ourselves that there is a God – and that we’re not it. We hold tight to the truth that God’s kingdom will come; that our food, clothing, shelter, and wealth are gifts; and that God is leading us even when we are too busy to notice Jesus in our life. This prayer reminds us that God’s forgiveness is what helps us forgive others. And that the gift of faith is sustained not by what we do, or what we read, or what we are taught. But that faith itself is a gift from God – and the fuel for the life we are called to live. When we tend to ourselves, we are taking care of what God uses to love the world. The Lord’s prayer is just one of the gifts God gave us to cultivate a faithful inner life. God also gave us the gift of therapy, the gift medication, and the gift that each one of us can learn to truly listen to the people around us. And that might be one way we can lean into this season of Lent. We can take these 40 days and 6 Sundays as an opportunity to tend to what fuels us. Because the list of sins – the one we make for other people and the one we make ourselves – is not the sum of what the life of faith is all about. Rather, in your baptism and in your faith – you are  given the gifts of hope, peace, love, and Jesus himself – to fuel who you truly are. Jesus expects those who follow him to practice their faith – which is why he said “when” rather than “if” all over this passage. So that’s something we can do – in church, in our homes, with our families, and even on our own. We can tend to ourselves so that the true treasures of heaven can be expressed in our lives, in our loves, and in the hope God gifts to the world.

Amen.

Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And they said, “Some say John the Baptist but others Elijah and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

Matthew 16:13-20 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 12th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (August 23, 2020) on Matthew 14:13-21.

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What was the last thing you day dreamed about where everything happened in slow motion? 

Now, if I’m honest, it’s probably been a while since I imagined anything happening in slow motion. But when I was younger, my overactive imagination was very good at creating vivid worlds in my mind. I, of course, was the hero of every story. I was always the Jedi fighting Darth Vader, the superhero saving my hometown from Doctor Doom, and was the star quarterback playing in the Super Bowl with my team down by 5 and with 3 seconds left on the clock. As I lived into those new identities I picked for myself, I made sure that when great things were about to happen, the world slowed down. Slow motion is meant for those moments that make or break the story. It’s why every sport highlight is broadcast in slow motion a million times because we want to see how it happened. We rarely, if ever, use slow motion to focus on the mundane or usual parts of the game. Instead, we’re excited to get a zoomed in look at the action – that moves so slowly, we can see sweat as it forms on the forehead. Slow motion is how we highlight the drama of the moment so that we can linger in it for a little while. Slow motion helps make transformational moments simmer in hearts, our minds, and our souls. And going slow motion through our Biblical stories – is one of the ways we can discover what the good news is all about. 

So let’s do that. Let’s go through this passage from the gospel according to Matthew in slow motion. And we’ll start at the very beginning. Jesus and his small band of followers have arrived in the district of Caesarea Philippi. Now that name might jump out at you because it doesn’t sound like the names of other cities in the ancient near east. Instead, it sounds a bit like Caesar – which was the title for the Roman Emperor. Roughly 20 years before Jesus’ birth, King Herod renamed an existing town in ancient Israel to Caesarea in honor of the Roman Emperor Augustus. Near the town was a small mountain filled with religious shrines. Herod, as a way to gain favor with the empire that occupied the land, built a temple there and dedicated it to the Emperors. In that space and on that mountain, the leaders of Rome were venerated like gods. People made sacrifices to them, laid gifts of gold and precious items on their altars, and turned to them in their times of need. The city and its temples turned the area into a place where different beliefs, cultures, political affiliations, and ways of life swirled around each other. And it’s there when Jesus turned to his disciples and asked them what people had to say about him. 

This moment, then, is filled with a kind of tension. Jesus had already made a name for himself as a bit of a healer, prophet, and rabble rouser. He stood there in the presence of the Romans and their enablers who said that they were the true masters of the world. And it must have felt weird to talk about Jesus in that space. The disciples began by sharing that some though Jesus was John the Baptist reincarnated. John was recently killed because he refused to stay quiet when he saw political power abused. Many of these leaders, including one of King Herod’s sons, saw Jesus in this way. Others, however, imagined Jesus to be Elijah – a prophet who, according to scripture, never died but was taken up to heaven by God. As Christians, we describe John the Baptist’s ministry as being Elijah returned. But non-followers of Jesus were hoping for Elijah to come in a rather potent – and powerful – kind of way. And along the same lines as Elijah, some thought Jesus was a prophet – an heir to the long line of men and women who were God’s mouthpieces on earth. They regularly challenged those in power to trust God and to make a difference in the lives of the marginalized and poor. It wasn’t only the city of Caesarea Philippi that was viewed as a swirling focal point of beliefs and points of view. Jesus, himself, was defined in the very same way. The physical space – and its statues – was how the community elevated the status and symbols of everything Rome stood for. And the words people used to describe Jesus – showed how everyone was using their personal stories and the stories of their people to try and identify who exactly Jesus was. The swirling experience of Jesus and the city exemplified just how much our lives and our world are made up of conflicting identities and views. And so, after his disciples spoke, Jesus butted in. He asked – point blank – “but who do you say that I am?” 

That question is worthy of a slow motion moment. And we should use our imagination to imagine what that moment felt like. I can see the disciples, clustered together, and maybe walking with Jesus on the way. In the distance is the city, its temples, and all the possibilities of political might. They noticed the city and they turned to look at one another. Some probably made eye contact with who they thought should speak up while others just kept their heads down. They had experienced so much since Jesus called them by name yet there was something about him that words couldn’t adequately explain. As the slow motion silence lingered, they finally looked at the One who had the audacity to feed thousands of people with a few bits of bread and fish, who walked on water during a storm, and who proclaimed that mercy, love, and forgiveness as what encountering God was all about. If the disciples were anything like me, this slow motion moment would have left their minds feeling blank and kept their mouths silent. But one of them finally spoke. And Peter, with a word, not only summed up what his experience of Jesus was but also imagined what a future with Jesus might look like. I wonder if Jesus’ mouth, as Peter spoke, broke into a slight smile. He heard Peter declare what is one of the foundational parts of who we are as Christians. Jesus is more than just a historical person with a story filled with miracles and powerful moral teachings. Rather, Jesus is an encounter of God’s love face-to-face. And it’s through Him where we, the imperfect people that we are, are claimed as God’s own. 

It took a slow motion moment for Peter to affirm Jesus’ identity and for Jesus to reaffirm Peter’s identity too. In the words of Paul Roberts, “of the innumerable miracles Jesus performed during his earthly ministry, perhaps none was greater than the miracle of inviting twelve poor, pigeonholed, imprudent persons into community and empowering them to live into a new identity.” Peter’s confession of who Jesus is – was made after Peter had already spent time living and being with his Lord. Peter’s identity as belonging to Christ began the moment when Jesus claimed him as his own – and told him to follow me. When we affirm who Jesus is – and when we, like the disciples, wrestle with who we say Jesus is – we are, together, affirming that Jesus is already part of our lives. In your baptism – and through your faith – Jesus already decided that you are his. And that you, of course, means YOU. It doesn’t mean the person you think you are or the person you want to become. Jesus claimed you – even those who remain silent during all the important slow motion moments. He promised to walk with you; to be present to you; and to always be for you even when you are not for yourself. It’s not always easy to let the identity God gives us be the one that informs everything else about us. We too often look to other things – especially our culture and our concepts of power – as ways to shape our thoughts about Jesus rather than the other way around. But Jesus doesn’t let those thoughts limit what’s possible with his story. Instead, he moves forward – into the otherside of our slow motions moments. Because Peter – and the other disciples – needed to see that God would be willing to go to the Cross. And we, like those first followers, need to discover just how far God will go – to make us into the people God promises we can be. 

Amen.

Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed from that moment.

Matthew 15:21-28 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 11th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (August 16, 2026) on Matthew 15:21-28.

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What was the last thing you brought to God that God initially answered with silence? 

Now I know, when I think about that question, I don’t, at first, think about anything good. I don’t pause and reflect on all those times when silence was exactly what I needed to get in deeper touch with myself and with God. Instead, I immediately think about all those moments in my life when I brought something hard to God – and didn’t really hear anything in response. It might have been a prayer, a cry for healing, or even just a blank stare because I didn’t have the words or the energy to say anything out loud. I, as best I could, leaned on God – and when I wanted an answer, I heard nothing. That silent response from God didn’t feel loving or caring at all. 

I wonder if the Canaanite woman, in our reading from the gospel according to Matthew, felt that same way when Jesus responded to her with silence. She had come to him with a request. She needed mercy. And when she shared with Jesus the hard thing that was in her life – Jesus didn’t answer at all. That, for her, must have been extremely emotionally hard – because, as we see in the words she used to address Jesus, she had understood him to be exactly who he was. And that, in itself, is kind of odd because she wasn’t Jewish and Jesus was no longer in Jewish lands. He, after making a name for himself all across Galilee and other parts of ancient Israel, chose to leave the land filled with people like him and enter some place new. The territory centered around the cities of Tyre and Sidon were once ancient kingdoms that competed with Israel. They fought wars, haggled over trade routes, and struggled with their religious differences. Even though ancient Israel and Tyre and Sidon were now occupied by the Roman Empire, the cultural and religious barriers between those two communities had not broken down. The Canaanite woman did not belong to the same group as Jesus did and Jesus didn’t really belong to her group either. Yet he chose to cross the border between their two communities and when he did, she came to him. She spoke with a loud and strong voice – admitting her need and declaring who she knew Jesus to be. She called him, at first, Lord – showing him the respect a rabbi expected while also affirming that she, as a foregin woman, wasn’t supposed to really be talking to him at all. She then named him as the Son of David – a term that had value and meaning for Jews but wasn’t really applicable to gentiles like herself. Yet her word choice was strategic because in the genealogy that appeared way back in chapter one, three of the four women named as Jesus’ ancestors were Canaanite women like herself. In the words of Professor Mitzi J. Smith, “the anonymous woman’s foremothers are Jesus’ kinfolk,” and so she believed that the cultural barriers between them weren’t necessarily as large as others might say. The Canaanite woman then told him, without reservation, the hard thing in her life. Her daughter was ill. Her daughter was suffering. And all the Canaanite woman asked for was mercy. 

So Jesus responded by not saying anything at all. 

His silence was more than just a “no.” Jesus, for a moment, basically refused to acknowledge her at all. He was the one who initiated the cross-cultural movement that created the opportunity for the Canaanite woman to come to him. But when she did – Jesus’ silence could have stopped her cold. If he had at least said “no” – then we could claim that he had initially seen and heard her. But Jesus acted like she wasn’t even there. That kind of silence hurts. It hurts because she, in a moment of desperation, revealed how vulnerable, scared, and hopeful she was. The Canaanite woman was willing to shed all the emotions, history, and cultural baggage that told her not to talk to a Jewish rabbi because she needed mercy. She – it seemed – was able to do something that even Jesus found hard to do. 

We don’t usually like to imagine Jesus, the Son of God, struggling with hard things. We don’t mind if he holds our heavy emotions – but, in today’s story, the hard thing he needed to do was change. Change isn’t an attribute we typically give to God. We want our God to be holy, all-powerful, and steadfast – firm and unmovable because we, unlike God, have to live through change all the time. A God who is love and a Jesus who is always Jesus – is a comfort in times of uncertainty and fear. Yet this immovable God is One who made the choice to experience change. When Jesus entered the world, he didn’t come out of Mary’s womb fully formed with sandals, robes, and a tight group of friends. He started as a newborn – one who would grow up and experience all the change that happens in our lives. That means he knew what it was like to be cared for and to cry real tears. And, I think, Jesus also knew what it meant to carry all the cultural, religious, ethnic, and other identities that we are given by the culture we grow up in. Jesus didn’t transcend all the baggage that comes with being human. He, instead, found a way to live through it. 

And so did the Canaanite woman. She refused to let Jesus’ silence change who she knew Jesus to be. She, in a way, created the opportunity for Jesus’ ministry to expand and change. Jesus had already done the work of crossing the boundary between what he knew and what else was out there. So she pushed him to affirm the ministry he was already doing. She kept shouting, knelt before him, and simply said “Lord, help me.” In that moment of extreme vulnerability, Jesus responded with a hard word – calling her a dog. Yet her identity as a gentile allowed her to use the cultural difference between them to help Jesus see so much more. Dogs, in the community Jesus grew up in, were typically kept away from the family. But for the Canaanite woman, dogs were more “endeared as household pets” and they would have been fed under the table. There was no binary choice between who gets to experience God’s love and who doesn’t. Instead, all can be fed. 

And that’s when, I think, Jesus faced his own silence. In the moment after the woman spoke but before he responded, something changed. Matthew doesn’t tell us Jesus’ internal monologue – nor does he describe how the disciples acted after she spoke. But I like to imagine that there was a kind of pause where even Jesus was confronted by silence. It was a silence full of everything he had experienced up to that moment – and the truth that God’s kingdom is as inclusive, loving, and diverse as God’s creation. The silence might not have lasted very long but it was created by a persistent woman who wouldn’t let Jesus be anything else but God.  

The silence we experience during our hard moments won’t always turn out the way we hope. There will be times when our need for mercy won’t lead to our loved one being healed. Our hearts will be broken and that silence will be louder than we expect. Yet the silence we live through is not a silence that Jesus doesn’t know. He experienced it when a woman refused to let him be anything else but himself. And he felt its crushing effect when he cried out to God on the Cross – and heard the jeer of Roman soldiers in response. We are called to be, like that woman, persistent despite the silence. We are called to raise up, in prayer or in a blank stare, everything that is hard. We, like her, should call God to account – and to not be afraid to ask for mercy, grace, or hope. And we can, also, I think – be a little like Jesus. We can give ourselves the chance to be changed and to assume that whatever and whoever you are right now – is all that you can possibly be. The silence that surrounds you is not what determines your worth or your purpose. You are and you always will be a beloved child of God. Even when your faith feels small and in those moments when you wonder if you actually believe anything at all – Jesus is right there with you. The silence he originally expressed – is a silence he’s lived through. And you – with him and in him – will live through your silences too. 

Amen. 

Immediately [Jesus] made the disciples get into a boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

Matthew 14:22-33 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 10th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (August 9, 2020) on Matthew 14:22-33.

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The last boat I was on wasn’t really a boat at all. It was large, brown, and resembled the ships vikings used one thousand years ago. But unlike those vessels that were able to sail across the North Atlantic, the one I was sitting on would have sunk if it was ever placed in water. And that’s because this so-called boat wasn’t designed to float. It was, instead, a ride at an amusement park. I don’t remember it’s name but you’ve probably seen it before. The viking ship was attached to a large device that would swing the ship like a giant pendulum. People, like me and my two oldest kids, chose to pay money to ride such a device. And when it was our turn to take our seats, we had a large cushioned bar resting on our laps and chests as a way to keep us from falling out. At first, the swinging of the boat wasn’t very much. We went back and forth – and then back and forth. But each time the boat swung, we ended up going a little bit higher. Soon, the apex of our swing reached the point where we would, for a moment, find ourselves staring straight down at the ground. Each time that happened, my lizard brain told me that maybe this isn’t that safe. And when the boat finally swung down, it always felt as if my body moved while my heart stayed up on top. I’ve never really enjoyed being terrified and so I was perfectly fine when the ride ended before my kids wanted it too. When we finally stepped off the ride, they were full of energy and ready to go on the next one. I, on the other hand, felt a bit queasy – and I told them to go see if their aunt would ride with them instead. 

The movement of that amusement park ride is designed to be quick, over-the-top, and brief. It also, in some ways, mimics what we might experience if we were on a boat caught in a storm at sea. The waves would force the boat to rock back and forth – back and forth – back and forth. At first, those waves might be small. But as the wind howled and the waves grew larger – a different kind of fear would show up because we would know when this storm would end. As I read today’s story from the gospel according to Matthew, I kept wondering what it was like to be one of the other disciples who sat on that boat. We often focus our attention on Peter in this reading but he wasn’t the only person in the story. Peter was with at least 11 others who were told by Jesus to get in and head to the other side of the sea. As the boat sailed across the waters, a storm blew in and it stopped them in their tracks. I’m pretty sure, as the wind howled, their boat rocked back and forth in the waves. I’m sure it felt as if they were constantly moving – except they weren’t going forward and they couldn’t go back. They were swirling in a storm that was forcing them to stand still. And they were stuck, on the sea, without Jesus who – just a few chapters before, had already shown how he could calm the sea. The other disciples were far from the One who had performed all kinds of miracles and who, right before their trip on the boat, fed thousands of people with a few loaves of bread and two fish. These followers of Jesus were going exactly where Jesus told them to go – but they weren’t following him to pray. Unlike my ride on that fake boat in an amusement park, I knew the fear would end after only a few moments. But while Jesus prayed, night turned into day – and the storm still raged. 

It’s probably safe to say that the terror the disciples felt was a bit tempered because many of them were fishermen. They knew what it was like to be caught in storms – and those who fished probably told the others how to get through this moment. They did the safest thing that they knew how to do. They hunkered down, stayed in the boat, and let the waves rock them. The disciples focused on the things they could control – and they let everything else work the way it would. I don’t think that stopped them from being anxious or afraid. But they did their best to not get hurt. They waited for things to lighten up and to change. And when they could finally see how far they were from shore – they looked out over the sea and saw Jesus walking to them. 

Now, walking on water was something Jesus hadn’t done before. And after being up all night and filled with all the fear, adrenaline, and anxiety storms bring – it makes sense that the disciples had no idea what they were seeing. Their boat was still being rocked by waves – and I bet they focused on Jesus about as well as we could if we’re being rocked by an amusement park ride. Their cry about a “ghost” is more than just them revealing some kind of superstition. It’s also, to me, the cry of followers of Jesus who were exhausted, worn out, scared, and couldn’t possibly believe that there was one more awful thing headed their way. 

Everything the disciples knew – their skills as fishermen, as followers of Jesus, and as human beings – could only hold them up for so long. As the storm raged, it kept changing what they could do and where they could go. It felt, I bet, as if more and more things were being forced upon them and they couldn’t possibly take one more thing. They were on the verge of articulating what someone recently told me: that they just felt like giving up. In the midst of a pandemic, job losses, the working out of racial equity, the current economic uncertainty, and a tropical storm that knocked power out across our area just this week – those things – when added to all the broken relationships, troubles, and tragedies of everyday living – can sometimes be too much. We, like the disciples, cry out for relief; for reassurance; for a break. And we’re not always sure if that break will come. 

Which might be why Jesus’ first response to the cry from the disciples wasn’t to calm the storm. Instead, he walked straight into it – and when the disciples cried out – he told them “take heart; it is I; do not be afraid.” Jesus came to them in the storm instead of waiting for them to get to the otherside. And when he arrived, his first act was to speak a word of comfort and calm. He chose to speak it at a distance – as he traveled towards them – because he knew they needed a word to remind them how much they were loved. Even though they had been separated while Jesus prayed – he never really left their side. Rather, he entered their storm while it raged. And when Peter came up with the great idea to walk on water, Jesus simply said “come.” 

I wish I could tell each of you that the storms in your lives will come in manageable forms and only one at a time. But we know that’s not true. Our storms sometimes show up all at once – and were left rocking back and forth while practically standing still. In those moments, in the words of Andrew Connors, “simply focusing on Jesus may not necessarily do anything to calm the storm…and no amount of prayer is guaranteed to calm the storms that sometimes rage within every life, within every home.” But we don’t go through these kinds of storms alone. Instead, we have a Jesus who chooses to enter into them. He shows up, in unexpected ways, to grab us as we shout “Lord, save me.” And he does that not because we’re the best sailors or because we never are afraid. He grabs hold of us – because love wouldn’t have it any other way. In a few moments, we’ll affirm the baptismal promises God gifted to Lauren – our confirmand – and all of us. And I hope, as you recite those words, you will hear the word of comfort Jesus has already given to you. The storms in our lives will impact us in ways we can’t always foresee. But the love God has for each of you cannot be destroyed even when we feel like we’re about to fall out of the boat. God loves you. Jesus is with you. And you can take heart – because Jesus is in the midst of your storms – and he is telling you to not be afraid. 

Amen. 

Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.” Jesus said to them, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” They replied, “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” And he said, “Bring them here to me.” Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven and blessed and broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And all ate and were filled, and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full. And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.

Matthew 14:23-31 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 9th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (August 2, 2020) on Matthew 14:13-21.

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I’m going to start today’s sermon with a question: what do you do with leftovers? 

Well, what I try to do with those bits of food leftover after a meal is to save them. I take what wasn’t eaten and usually store it in a takeout container with a mismatched lid. I tell myself that this food would be perfect to eat the next day and that I should remember where I put it in the fridge. But that mental note doesn’t always stick. And before you know it, that container full of leftovers is pushed to the back of the fridge. When I finally remember that it’s there, it’s no longer food fit for people to eat. Rather, it becomes a kind of science experiment that I used to do at school. I end up tossing those leftovers out – and I take the entire bag of garbage to my garage. Now, I try to be on top of things when it comes to leftovers. Right before I sat down to write this sermon, my lunch consisted of five day old peach cobbler and the last slice from a day old bread boat covered in cheese. Leftovers, to me, can sometimes be the very best part of a meal. Because there’s something special about food that’s all carbs and covered in sauce when it’s eaten on day two. But there are times when leftovers are just leftovers and they never actually get eaten. The mental notes we make for ourselves sort of vanish in the busyness – or lack of busyness – present in our every day lives. Our best intentions can’t always compete with the fact that time moves forward – and that there’s another meal we need to plan for. When the next day comes and if we have the resources to make a choice when it comes to our meal, we might not want to eat what we had the day before. Those leftovers might not fit into the life we’re living right now – especially if we always ate leftovers at the office but we’re now entering the fifth month of working at home. Or maybe leftovers aren’t really something that show up in our life very often. Maybe the meals we make are only meals for one – and we haven’t been to a restaurant in months. Leftovers can sometimes simply be food we are planning to eat. But they can also tell a story about what’s happening and what’s possible in our life right now. 

In today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew, there’s a lot of leftovers. But it started with Jesus not really having anything extra to give. When he heard that John the Baptist was executed by those in power, Jesus wanted to take a moment just for himself. He went by boat to a place where he could be alone because he was, I think, grieving. Jesus went to a wilderness place – but it wasn’t a place where he couldn’t be found. The crowds and people in the towns nearby heard about John’s death too – and so they went out to find Jesus. They noticed him on the boat – and so they gathered along the seashore. Jesus saw them and chose to come ashore. Even though he was grieving, Jesus recognized their need and so he showed compassion while, I think, his heart was already breaking. The grief Jesus experienced didn’t stop him from showing love and so he started healing the sick that were around him. As evening crept near, the disciples finally caught up to Jesus who was surrounded by the crowds. They too – recognized a need – and how no one looked like they really made plans to spend that night in a deserted place. Maybe they, like Jesus, felt compelled to just get out once they heard of John’s death. The urgency of that moment – their fear and uncertainty – didn’t give them the opportunity to pack a few sandwiches before they headed out. The disciples, I think, were moved to show mercy – and so they told Jesus to send them home so that they people could actually be fed. But the mercy Jesus had in mind was different. He wouldn’t let them outsource filling the need that they had already seen. He told them to feed the crowd but the disciples assumed that what they had would never be enough. Their first response was to say they had nothing – except for five loaves and two fishes that would be nothing in a crowd that large anyways. We might want to rag on the disciples a bit because they were with Jesus – and this wasn’t the first miracle Jesus had done. But I do think the disciples were trying to be loving at that moment. And when they noticed a problem in the crowd before the crowd even complained – they recommended what they thought was possible. Their capacity for love and care was large – but Jesus was about to invite them to expand their vision of what was possible. 

So Jesus, after giving thanks, blessed and broke the loaves and fishes. He gave the pieces to the disciples who then turned around and fed the crowd. After everyone ate their fill, the leftover bread and fishes filled twelve large baskets. It wasn’t enough for Jesus to just satisfy the immediate needs of the people gathered around him. He made sure that there were plenty of leftovers. But one of the funny things about this story is that we never hear what happened to those baskets. We never learn if that food was given to the crowd or was stashed away by the disciples to be eaten later. Now, I’m pretty sure anyone with a piece of bread or fish that was blessed and broken by Jesus would’ve made sure that it didn’t end up pushed to the back or bottom of their knapsack. Yet today’s scene ended with those 12 baskets just sitting there. And nothing was used up – or thrown away. 

And so those leftovers, I think, are an invitation for us to expand our capacity to see what’s possible in our world. We, like the disciples, often notice a problem but then quickly shift our focus to our limitation. Instead of lingering in the problem, we move into those moments where we assume we aren’t enough. That doesn’t mean – and I’m not saying – that we all need to be optimists or embrace some kind of mantra like positive thinking. But I do wonder if the miracle in today’s story isn’t necessarily the feeding – but the opportunity Jesus gave the disciples to do what they didn’t think was possible. Because even though Jesus broke the bread and blessed it, he gave it to the disciples to feed the crowd. He didn’t take it on himself to do all the work. He knew that the disciples had been moved by mercy – so he gave them something different to help their practice of love grow. It’s not hard for us to linger in the limitations of what we think is possible. Our lives, experiences, and personal histories teach us what is possible and what is not. And that can be good because it helps to keep us safe. But our lives and experiences can also limit what we think is possible for us with God. We are called  to be aware of what’s happening to our families, our neighbors, our country, and our world. We are called to see the needs of people who are not exactly like us. And when we see them, we can choose to focus on the limits of what we think love looks like. But we also have another choice. We can choose to expand our capacity of what love looks like – because God’s kingdom is always so much more. The leftovers of grace that Jesus displayed in this story was just an extension of the work he was already up to. Our reading began with Jesus noticing the crowd, recognizing their needs, and then offering love. Jesus was already busy working before the disciples showed up – and he’s also busy working in our world right now. We can, together, expand our capacity for what love looks like by not letting our limits define what we think God’s limits are too. Because, the truth is, that love always leaves leftovers. And the love God gives you – is a love we can give to each other and to the world – and that love should be big enough to leave leftovers too. 

Amen.