Category: Sermons

Now the whole earth had one language and the same words. ² And as they migrated from the east, they came upon a plain in the land of Shinar and settled there. ³ And they said to one another, “Come, let us make bricks and fire them thoroughly.” And they had brick for stone and bitumen for mortar. ⁴ Then they said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves; otherwise we shall be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.” ⁵ The Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which mortals had built. ⁶ And the Lord said, “Look, they are one people, and they have all one language, and this is only the beginning of what they will do; nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them. ⁷ Come, let us go down and confuse their language there, so that they will not understand one another’s speech.” ⁸ So the Lord scattered them abroad from there over the face of all the earth, and they left off building the city. ⁹ Therefore it was called Babel, because there the Lord confused the language of all the earth, and from there the Lord scattered them abroad over the face of all the earth.

Genesis 11:1-9

My sermon from Pentecost (June 8, 2025) on Genesis 11:1-9.

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So instead of focusing today’s sermon on the story of Pentecost itself – one of the primary Jewish religious festivals that is a little bit different here in the church – I wonder if the story of the so-called “tower of Babel” might reveal something about all those tongues of fire. Now I’ve heard Pentecost described as God fixing Babel – bringing together, in Christ, people who are often divided by culture and language. The community who once had the audacity to build a tower to challenge heaven itself is, through the Holy Spirit, united and given a different purpose. This unity, though, isn’t complete since talking to each other can still be difficult and hard. Diversity, then, is a problem to be solved but that phrase “the same words” might reveal how this interpretation actually misses the mark. Rabbi Shai Held, who is the president and dean of the Hadar Institute which helps people connect deeper with the Bible and their God, wrote a series of essays a few years ago about the different biblical stories that appear in the lectionary used by our Jewish friends and neighbors. He traced God’s story through the first five books of the Bible, inviting us to ask deeper questions about texts we assume we already know. It isn’t always easy giving the Bible permission to point out something we haven’t seen before. But when we focus more on the text itself rather than the tower overshadowing our imagination, what we assumed to be humanity’s punishment might actually be God’s plan all along. 

And to see that, we begin by noticing how this reading from Genesis began with movement. A group of people – all people – went on a journey before stumbling onto an uninhabited plain. Who those people were, though, isn’t entirely clear. If we jump back a few pages, we run into a long genealogy of Noah’s family after they left the ark. This long list points to a world full of people – who built cities along the Mediterranean Sea and even created Egypt and the Assyrian empire itself. Yet when we get to Genesis 11, that distinctiveness is no longer there. What we get instead is a mass of humanity who are completely nameless. We don’t know who they’re related to. We’re not told who their ancestors were. All we get is a people who all speak the same language and only use the same words. That vagueness is a little difficult to sit with and we might assume any group speaking the same language already speaks the same words. Yet the Bible goes out of its way to say that this is what sets the people apart. A community who can easily communicate with one another feels like a united people. But I’ve watched enough Star Trek to know how the sameness of voice can lead to an environment where only one set of thoughts and one set of opinions is claimed to be holy and true. On one level, this sameness leads to an environment that feels extremely safe and completely comfortable since everyone looks and sounds like them. Scripture, though, tells us that these people felt anything but secure. We focus, I think, on the tower since it’s big and mighty, reminding us of the skyscrapers just across the Hudson River. But what they’re really doing is building a city. They speak with one voice and one set of words to create something that will give them a sense of purpose, identity, and maybe even a name. They are, however, the only people in this world. And there’s no one else but God who could marvel at what they were up to. So the people keep building; the people keep marking bricks; and the people keep trying to earn something they cannot seem to give themselves. This building, though, isn’t only to make them feel more important than they felt like before. We’re told they did this because they’re primarily afraid. These nameless people who build and work and stick together – are terrified of being scattered across the earth. They erect not only a tower high enough to possibly keep watch at all who are stirring below; they also give this city walls not to keep people out but to keep themselves in. The city gives them a sense of safety, comfort, and control. Yet it comes with an immense price. Their sameness strips away any uniqueness they could possibly have. And we know, based on our own experience of social media and our world, being anonymous and losing our identity does not always bring us peace. When we assume we can’t be known or that no one deserves to stand out, we fall into the trap of enforcing this anonymity through insults, bullying, and all kinds of physical harm. The nameless people chose to build a nameless city while staying away from a world they were too afraid to actually live in. And it wasn’t long before the only one who could notice them gave them all the attention they sought. But rather than marvel or celebrate or comfort give them a giant thumbs up, God scattered them – far and wide. 

At first glance, God’s response does feel like a kind of punishment. Humanity was all together – until God pushed them apart. It’s important, however, to insert this text back into scripture to really see what God is up to. And when we do that, we discover the promise God gave them over and over again that they refused to live out. Way back in chapter 1, after God sang the world and the universe into being, God blessed the people – telling them “be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” As time went on and God witnessed how wonderful – and awful – we can be to one another, God hit a reset button through the flood. When the waters receded, and the dove returned with an olive branch before finding a new home to build a nest, God blessed Noah and his descendants by telling him, once again, to “be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” But when humanity was given the opportunity to do exactly that – the people hunkered down, built a city, and refused to let themselves, or anyone else, go out. What the people feared was one of the things God wanted for them the most. And so when humanity refused to move, God stepped in to show what our future is meant to be about. The fact humanity is full of all different kinds of people speaking all kinds of languages is not, I think, a punishment from God. It is, instead, a vision of what God’s kingdom should be about. God knows that our diversity will always be a strength since it forces us to do the hard work of living into the fullness of a name we’ve already been. And that’s because when God’s imagination stirred us into being, the name we were given was deeply connected to God’s own since we were made in the image of God. It’s an image known not for its sameness but for the ways it is like a kaleidoscope – reflecting the holy light at the heart of it all. The beauty of our world; the complicated and rich variety of what it means to be a human being; and the opportunity to live with our God in the entirety of what God has made isn’t something we’re supposed to wall ourselves away from. Rather we get to do the hard work of learning who we are and, through the relationships we intentionally built, discover how our neighbors are too. And while this work can be difficult since it requires us to admit that our story isn’t the only story that matters or has value – it’s through this God given diversity where we realize how much God loves you. And that’s because when the disciples generations later, after bearing witness to the length God was willing to go through to reveal the future God was already building for you and for the world; this God gathered people in a different kind of city full of pilgrims and visitors, migrants and strangers, those who had lived there their entire lives and those who were at the very start of making that named city – that city of Jerusalem – their home; the gift God gave them wasn’t one language that everyone could suddenly speak and understand. Instead, the words they heard proclaiming they matter, they belong, and how Jesus lived, died, and rose for them – were in the multitude of words their parents and their loved ones uttered over them when they were first named; when they were first held in someone’s arms; and when they finally knew what being loved was all about. 

Amen.

One day as we were going to the place of prayer, we met a female slave who had a spirit of divination and brought her owners a great deal of money by fortune-telling. While she followed Paul and us, she would cry out, “These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you the way of salvation.” She kept doing this for many days. But Paul, very much annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, “I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.” And it came out that very hour. But when her owners saw that their hope of making money was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace before the authorities. When they had brought them before the magistrates, they said, “These men, these Jews, are disturbing our city and are advocating customs that are not lawful for us, being Romans, to adopt or observe.” The crowd joined in attacking them, and the magistrates had them stripped of their clothing and ordered them to be beaten with rods. After they had given them a severe flogging, they threw them into prison and ordered the jailer to keep them securely. Following these instructions, he put them in the innermost cell and fastened their feet in the stocks. About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them. Suddenly there was an earthquake so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken, and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were unfastened. When the jailer woke up and saw the prison doors wide open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, since he supposed that the prisoners had escaped. But Paul shouted in a loud voice, “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” The jailer called for lights, and rushing in, he fell down trembling before Paul and Silas. Then he brought them outside and said, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” They answered, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.” They spoke the word of the Lord to him and to all who were in his house. At the same hour of the night he took them and washed their wounds; then he and his entire family were baptized without delay. He brought them up into the house and set food before them, and he and his entire household rejoiced that he had become a believer in God. 

Acts 16:16-34 

My sermon from the Seventh Sunday of Easter (June 1, 2025) on Acts 16:16-34.

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So I wonder what it was like for the enslaved woman when she realized a spirit of divination had been taken from her. This spirit was, most likely, seen as a kind of power allowing her to show others what their future might be. And while that might have been a kind of psychic prediction, she also had the power to reveal what was happening right in front of us. It’s not easy, I think, for us to realize how normal this kind of stuff was in Paul’s day. We tend to design our relationship with the divine in a compartmentalized kind of way, only reaching out of it when we want something or need the assurance there really is something more to come. The divine is what we do on Sunday morning or what we say in our heads or out loud while sitting next to a hospital bed. And if someone we knew claimed they could predict the future or were seeing spirits or started having dreams where the boundary between what’s real and what’s not broke completely down – we would, rightly, wonder if they needed some kind of psychiatric help. These symptoms can point to the need for a mental health intervention so we can live the kind of life we want to. But the Bible doesn’t limit these “spirits” to what we describe through biology, culture, and psychology. In Paul’s world, it was assumed that the spiritual was always present, always active, and was something we could regularly interact with. Spiritual and divine forces were real and they were part of reality itself. These experiences could be positive – like we’ll hear next week when tongues of fire appeared over the heads of the disciples so they could make Jesus’ story understandable to everyone around them. But spirits could also be harmful, hurting people while isolating them from their family and friends. The spiritual and material world were not so compartmentalized when the book of Acts was first written. And we shouldn’t reduce these so-called spirits to merely being another word for mental illness. The enslaved woman Paul met in Philippi carried with her a spiritual force that had the power to proclaim who Paul was. And when Paul couldn’t get her to be quiet, he emptied her of something that shaped who she got to be in the world. 

But that isn’t the only thing that makes this passage hard. We also don’t really know what to do with how nonchalant Paul was when it came to slavery itself. Paul – as well as Jesus – never outwardly condemned the practice of slavery which seems the very opposite of who Jesus was meant to be. We often try to give him and the disciples an out, claiming that enslavement in the ancient world wasn’t as bad as it once was in the United States. And while it’s true ancient slavery wasn’t race based, it was still one of the worst things we could do to each other. According to Professor F. Mira Green, the role of the ancient slave was to cater to nearly all aspects of a free Romans’ life. What they did and who they were was an extension of whoever enslaved them. Even though they could be field-hands, shepherds, construction workers, miners, doctors, midwives, entertainers, and even gladiators; slaves were treated as pieces of property and tools to further the needs and wants of those who owned them. Slaves had no control over what happened to their bodies and no say in whatever kind of violence was done to them. They weren’t allowed to own property and didn’t have any legal relationship to any of their kin. That meant their spouses, their children, and their sense of being connected to some kind of hope filled future always belonged to someone else. And if that wasn’t enough, some archaeologists have noticed how places within the homes slaved would be in, such as a kitchen, were specifically designed to force those enslaved to hunch over while they cut vegetables, handled the pots, and baked the bread. The world they lived in was built to remind them of their low status within the community. And while we have no idea when this woman became enslaved or if she was young, old, or how often violence was inflicted upon her; we do get a sense that her body, her soul, her entire life – and even the spirit she might have thought of as a curse or a gift – she existed to be consumed by everyone around. 

And so, I wonder, when the spirit was taken from her, what did she say or think? Did it feel as if a part of her was suddenly gone or did she feel liberated from one of the many things oppressing her? Acts, sadly, doesn’t follow-up on her story, choosing to focus on Paul instead. Yet there’s a possibility that this moment served as a kind of seed for Paul’s own development as a faithful follower of Jesus. We know, based on our reading last week, that Paul had no qualms welcoming Lydia, a woman who was rich and free, into the body of Christ. The slave, though, was left bound and without the special status her enslavers might have given her. But when the community inflicted on Paul a little of what life was like for the woman who was enslaved, his response to another experience of the divine – an earthquake literally breaking the chains out on his wrists and his ankles – he refused to continue the cycle of exploitation and violence. He didn’t seek revenge against those who harmed him or put the jailer into the hands of those who might try to hurt him. Instead, the open doors served as a physical manifestation of what life with Jesus is meant to be about. He is the invitation for us to enter a new future where we are freed not only from what consumes us but from all the ways we choose to exploit and harm one another. And while Paul didn’t extend this kind of life to the woman who followed him in the street, he did spend the rest of his life noticing how Jesus’ presence really does change everything. He would, in a letter to those living in the region of Turkey known as Galatia, inform them that, in Christ, there is no Jew or Gentile, slave or free. Then, in the city of Corinth, when the wealthy showed up to the weekly communal meal and consumed everything before the working class and the enslaved got there, Paul called them out as unfaithful and unChristian. Later, in the only letter we have from Paul addressed to a single person, he asked the enslaver Philemon to welcome back a runaway slave as a brother, challenging the community’s assumption that he could only be seen as a piece of property. The early Christian churches dotting the Mediterranean were at their best when enslavers were forced to see those they enslaved as spiritual equals. And while they would try their best to compartmentalize what they did in church as something other than what was meant for the rest of their week, the freedom they found in Christ was a freedom meant for all. Paul’s response to the woman wasn’t necessarily faithful or holy since her behavior simply annoyed him. But I do believe he grew to realize that the violence Jesus went through wasn’t something we should ask other people to go through too. Instead of exploiting one another for our own benefit and gain, we should be for each other instead. And while we don’t always realize how fundamental consuming others is to our way of life, the connection we already have to the divine and to one another through Jesus shows how we get to live a different way. 

Amen.

During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them.

We therefore set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. On the Sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer, and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. A certain woman named Lydia, a worshiper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, “If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.” And she prevailed upon us.

Acts 16:9-15

My sermon from the Sixth Sunday of Easter (May 25, 2025) on Acts 16:9-15.

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Pastor Marc’s sermon for the 6th Sunday of Easter on Acts 16:9-15

So I know Star Wars day was earlier this month but something I recently heard relates a little bit to our reading today from the book of Acts. Now I first experienced the original trilogy on VHS and I remember as a young kid being completely lost in a universe filled with all kinds of creatures and starships. The special effects and expansive views of desert planets and forested moons were amazing. But all the computers, software, and green screen processes we use to create summer blockbuster movies today didn’t exist in 1977. The original movies needed to use a lot of models, stop motion, and physical camera tricks to bring George Lucas’ story to life. But not every detail of the story could be fully displayed. So instead of watching X wings close up as they took off from the rebel base on Yavin 4 to destroy the first death star, what we saw instead were small specks of light flying in the distance. This wasn’t, however, necessarily a bad thing since our imagination could fill in all those details instead. What made Star Wars work so well was the way it invited us to co-participate in its own creation. And when Paul went on one of his early missionary journeys, God pushed the limits of his own imagination to discover just how expansive the good news of Jesus Christ always is. 

Now Paul, at this point in the book of Acts, had begun his regular habit of traveling all around the Mediterranean Sea. He had just completed his first short journey from Antioch, a Roman city located near the border of modern day Turkey and Syria, to visit Cyprus and other nearby towns. He spent his time visiting small Christian congregations, preaching in the local synagogue, and talking to all kinds of people while occasionally earning money as a leatherworker. Paul had no issue engaging in conversation with those who shared his Jewish identity or who believed in God but hadn’t fully converted or those who were comfortable with their own religious and cultural beliefs. And I wonder if all those experiences strengthened his sense that Gentiles – those who were not-Jewish – might have a place in God’s community too. In the chapter immediately before the one we just heard, Paul pushed the rest of the apostles to expand their definition of the church to include those whose ethnicity, background, and identity differed from the very first followers of Jesus. With that conversation now behind him, Paul went on a second journey up the coast of modern-day Turkey and into Europe itself. Without his prior experience of participating in a church whose diversity was beginning to grow, I’m not sure Paul would have been completely open to the vision he received from God. Paul’s imagination, though, had begun to expand – and so he, along with his companions, crossed the Turkish straits and ended up at the city of Philippi in what is now northwestern Greece. 

Philippi, at the time, was an important city within the Roman Empire due to the large gold mines located nearby. Philippi’s unique economic status meant that the emperor cared a lot about what happened in the city and so he installed military officers to be its leaders. Philippi’s compact size as well as its strategic location along a major trade route meant it was very prosperous and packed full of all kinds of soldiers, merchants, traders, and even slaves. A woman who made a living trading in purple cloth – an expensive material that only the very wealthy or those who ruled were allowed to wear – could easily make a city like Philippi their home. Now even though the town was under the tight control of Rome, it was also a place where people could live their life in unexpected ways. A woman from somewhere else running her own business in a world that’s even more patriarchal than our own wasn’t a strange sight in Philippi’s marketplace. Lydia was very familiar with what it’s like to be a stranger in a strange place and she probably had lots of people regularly questioning her way of life entirely based on her gender. The wider culture’s imagination was sometimes too rigid to see the fullness of what the people could be. Yet the person she met along that river just outside the city walls was someone whose imagination had already begun to grow. I’ll admit that I wish Acts gave us more details about the conversation Paul and Lydia had so we might learn what we could say to let others know the love God already has for them. But what we get instead is a little tidbit that Lydia’s open heart allowed her to extend hospitality to a stranger who was visiting the city for the very first time. The relationship they formed together along the riverbank and that was strengthened while Paul and his companions found refuge within the household Lydia had created was the environment where the fullness of who Jesus is could easily be shared with one another. Acts doesn’t provide all the details behind what Paul was able to say. Instead, we’re invited to notice how the openness at the heart of Paul and Lydia’s imagination changed them into something more. 

When Star Wars first came out, the limits of technology forced the story to rely on our imagination to discover just how deep it could be. But as time went on, the remastered versions of the films – as well as the prequels, sequels, and tv shows – became incredibly full. The screens in the theater or the ones we hold in our hands are now filled with cities, starships, battles, explosions, and armies that leave very little to our imaginations. When George Lucas and others finally had the opportunity to flesh out how big the Star Wars universe was, they chose to keep adding details to show how real their story was meant to be. I wonder, though, if the story lost something when it no longer invited us to fully use our imagination as co-participant in what Star War might truly be about. Rather than spending all our energy on the rigid details of what should be, staying open to what can be is how our faith and our life grows and thrives. When we notice ourselves trying way too hard at defining what the limits of our world can be, we should wonder if we’re getting in the way of our own imagination. It’s possible our fears, biases, worries, and the other voices we choose to give authority over us – might get in the way of us noticing what God is up to. Staying connected to this kind of sacred imagination truly matters because it’s God’s imagination that we, in faith, through baptism, and because of the Cross, have been brought into God’s holy family. And if God’s imagination is big enough for people like us – people from all kinds of places, with all kinds of identities, and full all kinds of hopes and dreams – to be part of what God is up to, then we can use our imaginations to co-participate in the expansive kingdom God is already bringing about.   

Amen. 

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

*****

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.