Category: Sermons

Jacob settled in the land where his father had lived as an alien, the land of Canaan. These are the descendants of Jacob.

Joseph, being seventeen years old, was shepherding the flock with his brothers; he was a helper to the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, his father’s wives, and Joseph brought a bad report of them to their father. Now Israel loved Joseph more than any other of his children because he was the son of his old age, and he made him an ornamented robe. But when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him and could not speak peaceably to him.

Now his brothers went to pasture their father’s flock near Shechem. And Israel said to Joseph, “Are not your brothers pasturing the flock at Shechem? Come, I will send you to them.” He answered, “Here I am.” So he said to him, “Go now, see if it is well with your brothers and with the flock, and bring word back to me.” So he sent him from the valley of Hebron.

He came to Shechem, and a man found him wandering in the fields; the man asked him, “What are you seeking?” “I am seeking my brothers,” he said; “tell me, please, where they are pasturing the flock.” The man said, “They have gone away, for I heard them say, ‘Let us go to Dothan.’ ” So Joseph went after his brothers and found them at Dothan. They saw him from a distance, and before he came near to them they conspired to kill him. They said to one another, “Here comes this dreamer. Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams.” But when Reuben heard it, he delivered him out of their hands, saying, “Let us not take his life.” Reuben said to them, “Shed no blood; throw him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand on him”—that he might rescue him out of their hand and restore him to his father. So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped him of his robe, the ornamented robe that he wore, and they took him and threw him into a pit. The pit was empty; there was no water in it.

Then they sat down to eat, and looking up they saw a caravan of Ishmaelites coming from Gilead, with their camels carrying gum, balm, and resin, on their way to carry it down to Egypt. Then Judah said to his brothers, “What profit is it if we kill our brother and conceal his blood? Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites and not lay our hands on him, for he is our brother, our own flesh.” And his brothers agreed. When some Midianite traders passed by, they drew Joseph up, lifting him out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver. And they took Joseph to Egypt.

Genesis 37:1-4,12-28

My sermon from the 11th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (August 13, 2023) on Genesis 37:1-4,12-28.

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Professor Amey Adkins-Jones, in her commentary on our first reading from the book of Genesis, asked a compelling question: “is it possible for these brothers to be completely and terribly wrong, without being all bad?” That question isn’t easy to answer but it is one we hope would be asked about us when we’re the problem in any particular situation or experience. To answer that question truthfully, we need to bring nuance into our reading of this story. By examining the context, the situation, and the meaning within its words, we invite this story from the past to reveal who we are today. And when we do that work well, we grow into the new life Jesus has already given to us. 

Now our reading begins many years after the story we heard last week where Jacob wrestled with the “man” at the Jabbok river. For decades, Jacob’s behavior of recognizing and manipulating other people for his own benefit had bred success. But, at Jabbok, everything finally caught up with him. His twin brother Esau was coming to see him and, it was assumed, he would try and get revenge on the one who cheated him out of his birthright. Jacob did everything he could to delay the violence he thought was coming his way. And when he was at his most vulnerable, God showed up and, in a wrestling match, changed Jacob’s name to Israel. When Esau finally arrived, he and Jacob were reconciled and we’d expect that such a life-affirming moment would encourage Jacob to reflect on why things turned out the way they did. But when we finally meet his son Joseph, we notice how old family behaviors had returned. Way back in chapter 32 when we first met Jacob and Esau, we saw how they weren’t only competitive against each other but that each one was also a parents’ favorite. Issac, their father, preferred Esau because Esau was a hunter who kept the dinner table full of meat. Rebecca, their mother, preferred Jacob but we’re not told exactly why that was. This favoritism was more than one parent simply being more comfortable with one son rather than the other. It, instead, grew to the point where all of them manipulated each other so that one child’s future came at the expense of the other. These behaviors and actions shaped who Jacob and Esau knew themselves to be. And as they grew older, the trauma they were given became a template for parenthood that they used with their children. Years later, Jacob copied his parents by picking a favorite. Like his mother and father, the reason for it is pretty thin since Benjamin, not Joseph, was actually his youngest child. But regardless of the reason for Jacob’s favoritism, its consequences were very real. And this trauma he inherited was lived out through his children. 

When we meet Joseph, the first thing we learn about him is he’s a bit of a tattletale. He’s also, as we hear later in the story, a dreamer but not necessarily in a good way. In the part of the story we didn’t read out loud, Joseph shared with his brothers two dreams. These dreams, unlike the previous ones described in the book of Genesis, were not labeled as visions from God that anyone could understand. These dreams required interpretation and Joseph assumed he was going to be the hero of it all. He described dreams that glorified him at the expense of his brothers and his parents. And he had internalized his father’s favoritism to the point where he couldn’t see how these dreams also revealed his own hidden desires. The dreams, his need to keep sharing them, and his status as the most preferred child through the gift of a special jacket, made his brothers pretty resentful. It wasn’t long before the brothers’ jealousy consumed them and they looked for an opportunity to end Joseph’s story. 

Now I’m not trying to let these brothers off the hook or to cut them some slack since their trauma does not justify the violence they chose to inflict on their brother. But I wonder if by noticing the intergenerational trauma within the story, we can better notice what this word from God reveals about us. It isn’t difficult to make Joseph a hero, his brothers the villains, and turn the horrors of the rest of Joseph’ story – including the slavery, the famine, the betrayal, and many incidents of violence, into a good that we label as “God’s plan.” But what if we, instead, borrowed words from Prof. Adkins-Jones and “cast his brothers not as evil people but as hurt people?” How would our lives be changed if we chose to recognize the hurt in our own lives while refusing to pretend as if the consequences of this inherited trauma are, so how, not real? This isn’t about seeking blame or labeling ourselves as victims or even trying to push aside all the good that has been a part of our lives. Rather, it’s about choosing to not let any story – even a family story – get in the way of who we truly are through the birth, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus. It’s difficult to be a beloved child of God when we have absorbed and put into practice old traumas we did not create on our own. To move through this past, we sometimes have to do what we don’t want to do: such as naming the different ways our parents and guardians were unable to fully live into the vocation of parenthood God gave them. We would also, in the same breath, recognize how we – through our own vocations as grandparents, uncles, aunts, friends, neighbors, church members, and even children – have failed to live into those vocations too. It’s okay, I think, to admit that our parents and guardians weren’t perfect and that the phrase “that’s just how it was” isn’t always an excuse for behaviors that perpetuate hurt and harm. We, instead, can be brave and courageous by noticing the ways we have been a Jacob or a Joseph or even one of the brothers. It’s easier to say this than to actually do it and I’ll admit it is weird to talk about this while knowing I’ve already probably passed on to my own children some intergenerational trauma too. I hope that when they have the courage to tell me how off I was that I won’t get defensive or turn into a worse version of myself. I pray I’ll be able to recognize that this challenge is one of the ways we learn how to wrestle with – and not against – our neighbors, our family, our friends, and our God. And how it is through this kind of struggle that we learn how “[fairness, equality, and favor isn’t about] by everyone getting the same thing” but by helping people get what they need so they can feel like they truly belong. The work of working through intergenerational trauma enables us to stop defining favor and blessing as a competition that forces us against each other but that we are truly part of God’s vision where greatness and wholeness does not come at “the expense of others.” This kind of work is hard and it feels as impossible as walking on water because we’re human and we never know how emotional, spiritual, and faithful this whole thing will turn out. But it is, I think, something God trusts us to do because we have a Jesus who has done this work too. Jesus didn’t let the story of the disciples, their families, their fear, their worry, their sin, or even their unfaithful actions during his earthly ministry to be all they could become. Instead, he reached out, grabbed them by the hand, and promised that – through it all – they would never sink. Your story is, even now, wrapped up in God and Jesus promises that our defensiveness, our worry, our shame, or our need to always come out on top, will not be the limit of who we get to be. Instead, because of baptism and through the gift of faith, you are more than you once were because Jesus has you and will help you become so much more. 

Amen.

These are the descendants of Isaac, Abraham’s son: Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac was forty years old when he married Rebekah, daughter of Bethuel the Aramean of Paddan-aram, sister of Laban the Aramean. Isaac prayed to the Lord for his wife because she was barren, and the Lord granted his prayer, and his wife Rebekah conceived. The children struggled together within her, and she said, “If it is to be this way, why do I live?” So she went to inquire of the Lord. And the Lord said to her,
“Two nations are in your womb,
    and two peoples born of you shall be divided;
the one shall be stronger than the other;
    the elder shall serve the younger.”
When her time to give birth was at hand, there were twins in her womb. The first came out red, all his body like a hairy mantle, so they named him Esau. Afterward his brother came out, with his hand gripping Esau’s heel, so he was named Jacob. Isaac was sixty years old when she bore them.
When the boys grew up, Esau was a skillful hunter, a man of the field, while Jacob was a quiet man, living in tents. Isaac loved Esau because he was fond of game, but Rebekah loved Jacob.
Once when Jacob was cooking a stew, Esau came in from the field, and he was famished. Esau said to Jacob, “Let me eat some of that red stuff, for I am famished!” (Therefore he was called Edom.) Jacob said, “First sell me your birthright.” Esau said, “I am about to die; of what use is a birthright to me?” Jacob said, “Swear to me first.” So he swore to him and sold his birthright to Jacob. Then Jacob gave Esau bread and lentil stew, and he ate and drank and rose and went his way. Thus Esau despised his birthright.

Genesis 25:19-34

My sermon from the 4th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (July 16, 2023) on Genesis 25:19-34.

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So when I first saw our reading today from the book of Genesis, I wanted to focus on the end of the story. There’s something riveting and exciting about a set of twins who are impulsive, calculating, and who are not the heroes of their own story. We’re slowly moving our way through the story of Abraham, Sarah, and their descendants. After being called by God to leave their home in modern day Iraq, Abraham and Sarah lived a semi-nomadic life in ancient Israel and Palestine. While there, Abraham received a promise from God that his descendants would outnumber the stars and that through Sarah, the entire world would be blessed. God, though, didn’t say when this promise would be fulfilled. And as the months turned into years, both Abraham and Sarah wondered if it would ever come true. They tried to speed up God’s promises by having Abraham sire a child named Ishamel through Hagar who was one of their slaves. Eventually, though, Sarah did give birth to a son who they named Issac. It seemed, for a moment, that everything was finally moving forward. But the dynamics within this family were pretty complicated. We saw how Sarah expelled Hagar and Ishmael from their household and even Abraham tried to sacrifice Issac on a mountaintop. Through it all, Issac grew up married Rebekah, and became the new head of the household. God’s promise to Abraham then became his promise and today we witnessed how it was partially answered through the birth of Esau and Jacob. Esau was a rather rugged individual who spent most of his time outdoors. He became a very skillful hunter and was his father’s favorite because of the meat he regularly brought to the table. His twin brother Jacob, though, was more of a homebody who learned how to cook. He, like Esau, was one of his parents’ favorites but unlike his brother, we’re never given a reason why Rebekah favored him the most. Their differences, though, were matched by their shared appetites for power and status. Both used food as a way to improve their social standing at the expense of their brother. Esau, who was constantly on his toes while busy hunting in the field, walked carelessly into a carefully laid ambush by his brother. One day, Esau came home, complaining that he was starving even though he was simply hungry. He, in a very impulsive way, sold the cultural expectations centered around his status as first-born to his twin brother. This wasn’t the end to that story since Jacob still needed to trick his father into granting him that status which he will do in chapter 27. Both Jacob and Esau were ruled by their appetites which invites us, I think, to wonder about those appetites that are busy ruling us. When we focus on the promise fulfilled, we can then dwell in the very humanness of these twins who are not, I think, meant to be made into a hero and a cautionary tale of what not to do. 

But there’s another story within this story that I feel particularly drawn to. When Rebekah and Issac entered into their arranged marriage, both expected that a child would arrive very soon. All around them, it appeared that God’s promise to Abraham was coming true since Abaraham, through his second wife, fathered at least a half-a-dozen more children, and Ishamel’s children were already making families of their own. Yet as the length of their marriage stretched from months into years and into two decades, Rebekah and Issac found themselves experiencing something that his parents felt too. For twenty years, they wondered if God’s promise was ever going to come true for them. I want to skip to the fun part, yet I wonder if it’s a bit more faithful  for us to sit with Rebekah and Issac in the years before their children came. Many of us know what it’s like to have a promise or an expectation delayed. We know what it’s like for a dream to never take off in the direction it should. The promise of a family, of children, of a relationship built on mutual hope, love, commitment, and whatever else we hold deep in our hearts, that promise might be one that simply lingers in the air. And it hurts when the promise seems to be coming true for everyone else but us. Sometimes the long awaited promise is fulfilled in a way that surpasses our expectations. But most of the time we end up changing the promise or downgrading our expectations and then learn how to live with a promise that never comes. There’s a deep hurt, grief, and sorrow that radiates from the unfulfilled promises that linger in our hearts and souls. And while these promises are often given to us – an inheritance built on the expectations of our families, our culture, and whatever we imagine we need to succeed – they’re also mixed through with words we hear from God. We sit with Issac and Rebekah not because our story exactly matches their story but because we know what it’s like to wait for a promise that might never come. 

Now sitting in that spot isn’t comfortable and there are times when we can’t stay there for very long. When the rawness of an unfulfilled promise is simply too much, we can – and should – let someone else take our seat around that table. That space will be  ready to receive us when we’re able to name our grief, sorrow, and share with others our unanswered prayers. And once we get there, we’ll do more than simply be present for ourselves. We’ll also name the unfulfilled promises that we see impacting the lives of all our neighbors. When we sit with Rebekah and Issac, we are given the space we need to cry, to doubt, to wonder, to ask questions, to sit in silence, to pray, and even to rage at the sky. We have the permission to admit how these unfulfilled promises impact the relationships we have with our family, friends, our loved ones, and with the entire church. It’s a space where we do not need to be perfect and it’s big enough to hold the loneliness that every unfulfilled promise makes us feel. It is not an easy space but it is a holy space since even Jesus, while on the Cross, wondered why God had forsaken him too. I’ll admit that I’ve found myself sitting in this space this week with questions about what it means to love, serve, and forgive after a particular trauma from almost a half a century ago has suddenly become fresh again. I wish I could simply rush to the next part – to the fun part – to the part where all the questions, doubts, worries, and grief are fully answered by a promise that makes everything new. But until then, we linger in that particular space with every Issac and every Rebekah. When you find ourselves living with unfulfilled promises that linger, know you are not alone. Your worth as a beloved child of God is not defined or limited by the amount of time you spend as a Rebekah or as an Issac. You, through your baptism and faith, are united with a God who knows what it’s like to linger while their loved ones fail to live out their call to show mercy, offer hope, grant forgiveness, and share a holy love meant for all. We are invited to name out loud those promises that linger; to thank those who share those promises with us; and to sit with each other as we yearn for what tomorrow might bring. And it’s in that space where we live as the body of Christ for each other since no one lives through this life alone. 

Amen.

“But to what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to one another,
‘We played the flute for you, and you did not dance;
    we wailed, and you did not mourn.’
“For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon’; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.”

At that time Jesus said, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

My sermon from the 5th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (July 9, 2023) on Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30.

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During the first three years after I was ordained, I spent a few days in January at a conference for newly ordained clergy. Bishops, pastors, and deacons from all over the northeast gathered together for prayer, worship, and to participate in a bunch of workshops. The one I remember the most was led by a former bishop of the New England synod, Rev. Margaret Payne. The workshop took place in a small lecture hall where everyone sat in a large circle. I don’t recall the official name of that workshop but our topic was money. She began the conversation by introducing herself and giving a shoutout to everyone from New Jersey since she began her ministry in Princeton Junction. Once that was all done, she asked the entire class a question: if we looked at everything Jesus said, what thing or topic or idea did he emphasize and focus on the most? Now I think that’s a pretty good question because what we emphasize in the name of our faith doesn’t always match up with what Jesus said or did. We have a lot to say about our traditions, our values, and the roles we expect people to play. The details about what we say changes but the fact that we do this has been a part of the church since Jesus rose from the dead. We do this, I think, because living isn’t easy. We are created beings living in a created world and our lives are often complicated and full of different kinds of people, experiences, joys, and sorrows. We know that Jesus has a lot of say about what it means to live as God’s beloved children in a world that God loves. And yet what Jesus emphasized during his earthly ministry doesn’t necessarily match the ministry we emphasize in his name. I, and everyone else in that room, already had an answer ready to go when Bishop Payne asked the question. When it comes to that one thing in our everyday life that Jesus talked about the most, the answer is always money. Jesus knew that the easiest way to discover the idols, morals, and values at the heart of a person, a community, or a nation was to simply look at their budgets. Everyone in the room said, in unison, that money was the physical and tangible thing Jesus talked about the most. Yet Bishop Payne pushed us to not forget all those things Jesus talked about that feel a bit spiritual, mystical, and even abstract to us. When it comes to Jesus’ earthly ministry, there’s only one thing that Jesus talked about more than money: and that thing is the kingdom of God. 

Now I think we treat the kingdom of God as a primarily spiritual thing because in Matthew’s gospel, he named it as the kingdom of heaven. Living in this world is complicated enough so we let heavenly things remain in whatever comes next. Yet I’m not sure if deemphasizing the kingdom of God in the here and now is necessarily what Jesus wants us to do. Much of his ministry was devoted to the proclamation that in him, and through him, and because of him – God’s kingdom was near. He, through his words and actions, embodied what the kingdom of God is all about. He didn’t let God’s love remain as an abstract thing; instead, he taught and he prayed and he reconciled people’s relationships to themselves, their God, and their neighbors. He didn’t tell those who followed him to primarily devote themselves to the life that comes after this one. Jesus, rather, lived his life so that we could see what our lives could be too. And a big part of his own life was a promise that those who are weary and those who are carrying burdens – that they, in him, could find rest. 

Now that promise from Jesus is one of the most comforting things Jesus ever said. It’s also, I think, one of the hardest to believe because our burdens are still here. If we named all the stuff that feels like a burden right now, I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended up feeling a bit guilty or ashamed by what we consider a burden. Some of what we carry feels pretty normal – like the burden of having a terrible boss, or struggling to find the right kind of work/life balance, or even dealing with the pile of laundry that never seems to be put away. Yet there are other burdens that are a bit different and way harder to swallow. We might, for example, be a caregiver, who is completely overwhelmed by the care we are required to share. And it’s a heavy burden to watch a loved one fade while knowing there’s nothing we can do about it. There’s the burden of carrying a pain we know we can never forgive. And there’s the burden of being unable through circumstances, situations, or maybe a few bad choices to provide for those around us. There’s also the burden of fear and sorrow, of grief and pain, and knowing all the ways we’ve failed to be the people God has called us to be. And while we’re busy naming all our burdens, Jesus, in his own ways, seems to be adding to them since loving God and your neighbors is never easy. Jesus, with his words today, doesn’t promise that our burdens go away. But he does, I think, promise that they don’t have to become the emphasis for what our lives are all about. Instead, there’s something more to who we are and who we get to be – because being the body of Christ means that the kingdom of God is already here. 

Eugene Peterson, who authored the paraphrase of the Bible known as “The Message,” heard in Jesus’ words the following: “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me – watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” When we keep company with Jesus, we participate in the kingdom of God. Instead of focusing on what we think Jesus would say in this moment, we’re first invited to spend more time with Jesus himself. We do this through prayer, worship, by eating at His table, and paying attention to his story as it unfolds. And when we do this, we notice how Jesus chose to take on all the burdens of being human. He chose to be a caregiver and a friend who had the guts to love the loveless and to see people as more than whatever they were living through. He chose, over and over again, for his life, his death, his resurrection, and his ascension – to be FOR you and for the world. It was his way to emphasize our humanity so that we can choose to emphasize the fullness of God’s story too. When we act as if our story is the only story that a person could have, we end up increasing their burdens rather than realizing how all our burdens, in Christ, are never ours alone. Jesus took on the things that weigh us down because our burdens or what feels like burdens or even our guilt at admitting what is draining our heart and our soul is not the total of who we are. Instead, we get to emphasize a new story, a different story, a kingdom of God kind of story that promises that today isn’t the limit to who we are. Rather, because Jesus took on our burdens, we – as the body of Christ in this world – get to take on each other’s burdens too. And when we do that, we are doing more than imagining what Jesus might say to the moment we’re living in. We are, instead, living as if God’s kingdom is truly near. 

Amen.

“A disciple is not above the teacher nor a slave above the master; it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household!

“So have no fear of them, for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered and nothing secret that will not become known. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light, and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather, fear the one who can destroy both soul and body in hell.^[a] Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.

“Everyone, therefore, who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven, but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven.

“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace but a sword.
For I have come to set a man against his father,
and a daughter against her mother,
and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law,
and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.
“Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.

Matthew 10:24-39 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 4th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (June 25, 2023) on Matthew 10:24-39.

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20 years ago or so, a team of psychologists and researchers from the University of California – San Diego photographed 45 dogs and their owners. Every person and their dog were photographed separately and then together and then, to mix things up, each person was photographed with a dog they met for the very first time. Once these pictures were taken, another group of people tried to look at the pictures and figure out which dog went with which person. As someone who personally spends way too much time laughing at pet videos on the internet, this project is right up my alley. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the people around us have noticed how we and the fuzzy or not-so-fuzzy friends in our life simply go together. The folks from UC – San Diego were trying to discover if there’s something behind the phenomena of pets who look like their humans. So after carefully examining every photograph, folks picked which person went with which dog. Once that data was collected, it was analyzed and the team noticed that mutts – dogs who are made up of more than one breed – were difficult to match with their own. But those who looked at these pet photos had no problem matching purebred dogs with their people. These results suggested that when people pick a dog, some seek out those animals who resemble who they already are. And I wonder if, based on our reading today from the gospel according to Matthew, if Jesus chose us because he trusted we could resemble him too. 

Now I don’t want to stretch this analogy too far, implying that we, somehow, are Jesus’ pets. Yet this reading does help unpack what it means to follow him. It’s a continuation of what we listened to last week. Jesus, after being the primary teacher, healer, and manifestation of the kingdom of God come near, decided it was time to give that mission to others. He gathered together a group of imperfect people to cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, and cast out demons. In other words, these tax collectors, fishermen, young adults, the faithful, the doubters, the betrayers, and those who would leave him hanging on the Cross – they were called to be like Jesus. These disciples would be sent out to form honest, authentic, and life-giving relationships with new people while relying on the hospitality of strangers. Rather than letting their own assumptions limit what love would do, these apostles would let other people reveal the compassion, mercy, and peace they needed. That kind of work isn’t easy to do since it asks followers of Jesus to be vulnerable. It requires them to admit the hard truth that maybe they haven’t been who they’re supposed to be. Making people whole while pointing to the One who brought God’s presence near will always upend the status quo. Now last week’s reading seemed to focus on the practical aspects of what that upending might look like. But today’s words feel way more intense because when we live like Jesus, we sometimes experience all the joy and all the sorrow he experienced too. 

Now I’m sure there are parts of Jesus’ life we wouldn’t mind living out. The power, with a few words or a gentle touch, to physically heal those around us is something I wish I had.  It would be awesome to not only have that power but also Jesus’ ability to deeply listen to his friends, family, and even strangers. Some of us might even get a kick traveling the countryside with a dozen close friends with most of our basic needs already taken care of. Making God’s love visible among those who are often denied that life and love in the first place, would bring so much purpose to our lives. But when the kingdom of God comes near, everything else responds. Conflict comes. And while many try to use such conflict to justify their own love of self, power, and control, it’s important to pay attention to Jesus’ own description of what that conflict looks like. Those who follow him will not find themselves in some kind of culture war that values a limited vision of family, tradition, and the past. Jesus described something deeper that upends the very foundations of who we are. He points to a kind of generational conflict, believing that the young – especially young adults – would grasp what his good news is all about while their parents and in-laws remained rooted in what they always knew. The presence of Jesus pushes people away from what they imagined themselves to be and into God’s vision of who they’re meant to be. It’s why he described his own ministry in an un-Jesus like way, pointing to the power of the sword as a symbol for how God’s love changes the world. Not only will the presence of the apostles change other people’s lives, Jesus reminds them that their own lives will be changed too. When we trust that God’s promises are real and that God’s love actually matters and that Jesus is who he says he is – nothing remains the same. The kingdom of God upends all the kingdoms that make us who we are so that we can be redefined by whose we are instead. 

We often expect that being made whole implies our lives are simply a puzzle that’s missing only a couple of pieces. We assume we’ve already prepared the outline of who we’re supposed to be. It’s a bit harder, I think, to wonder if the carefully constructed outline of ourselves might actually be the thing that will come crashing down. Jesus, through his own life and ministry, knew what it was like when God’s kingdom comes near. Yet he refused to let the intensity of this ongoing conflict not be matched by a promise that will never end. Even when God’s peace feels so far away, every hair on your head has been counted and your life is held in God’s hands. And it’s because God loved us first that we’re able to live as if faith actually matters. The call into this way of life isn’t easy because we need the wholeness Jesus brings too. Before we are perfect, Jesus calls us to love. We are to bring healing to others while needing that healing ourselves. We are to work for peace even when anything but peace makes up the bulk of our lives. We are to offer comfort while being uncomfortable and refuse to let the status quo become a stand-in for the kingdom of God. We are to be like Jesus because Jesus has claimed us as his own. If someone managed to snap a picture of Jesus and then a picture of us, they should see the body of Christ we are already a part of. Our faith would be seen in a life that, while imperfected and wounded, can’t help proclaim that God’s future is on its way. The call to embody this way of life is costly since it invites us to make something other than ourselves, our relationships, and our families, the center of who we are. But when we let God be God and we let ourselves be the body of Christ we already are, that’s when people discover how – in us and through us – God’s love can be found.

Amen.

Then Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”

Then Jesus summoned his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness. These are the names of the twelve apostles: first, Simon, also known as Peter, and his brother Andrew; James son of Zebedee and his brother John; Philip and Bartholomew; Thomas and Matthew the tax collector; James son of Alphaeus and Thaddaeus; Simon the Cananaean and Judas Iscariot, the one who betrayed him.

These twelve Jesus sent out with the following instructions: “Do not take a road leading to gentiles, and do not enter a Samaritan town, but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. As you go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick; raise the dead; cleanse those with a skin disease; cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.

Matthew 9:35—10:23 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 3rd Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (June 18, 2023) on Matthew 9:35—10:23.

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If you were putting together a group of people to make God’s love real on earth, who would be on that team? If it’s helpful, imagine we’re God’s version of the Marvel comicbook hero Nick Fury and we’ve been tasked with putting together a divine version of the Avengers. I, personally, wouldn’t call this new group the Avengers since God’s work is a lot bigger than simply avenging. But if we were putting together a holy team of real human beings, I wonder who we’d pick to be a part of it. I imagine we’d want folks who have a real connection with the God who is capable of casting out the demons that tear us apart. Yet they’d also know what it’s like to be in the presence of the God who bursts into tears when they do. They would be the faithful few who have graduated from the doubt and faithlessness we feel by truly believing God is here. 

In today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew, we discovered what Jesus did after he finally assembled his version of a super-team we know as the Apostles. Jesus was, for quite awhile, the primary teacher, healer, and manifestation of the kingdom of God coming near. And after looking around and noticing the need that was all around him, Jesus officially invited others into this same kind of work too. The group he pulled together was to show what His community was going to be about. Yet when we closely examine the people who Jesus called to follow him, I’m not sure if we would have done the same thing. Jesus, who literally had a star hover over the place where he was born, brought people together who were not the stars of their own lives. He invited fishermen, tax collectors, the faithful, the doubters, and even the one who would betray him to become the people who would bring healing and wholeness to others. That honestly feels a bit too much since they, like us, are often the ones who need that healing too. Those who follow Jesus and who live in this world often need a refuge from it – a place or an experience where, for a moment, our pain and suffering is no more. We long to know we are loved, valued, and living a life that actually matters. And so that’s why we, and these apostles I think, come to Jesus – to grab hold of God’s grace so that we, in some way, might graduate from this basic life into something more. We want to be on our way into something new. And yet before the heavenly diploma comes, Jesus sends those who follow him out –  to show others what the kingdom of God is all about. 

That, I think, is one of the things that makes the life of a disciple hard. Within this identity we all share, we’re each given a lot of responsibilities. On one level, we’re called to return to Jesus over and over again. When we feel as if we’re not worthy of God’s love or when we feel as if we’re already good enough, that’s a sign we need to pause and sit at Jesus’ feet. We, by integrating Jesus’ story into our own story through the intentional practice of prayer, worship, Bible reading, service, and spending time with all of God’s people – we lean into the part of discipleship that makes us into students of God’s love. This is a type of education that does not end because it helps us become aware of what Jesus is leading us to. We are asked, as students, to also lean into the part of discipleship that’s all about following Jesus. Because when we follow Jesus, we end up in the places where God’s work of love, reconciliation, hope, and mercy can be found. A disciple seeks refuge in Jesus; is taught by Jesus; and goes wherever Jesus goes. And yet members of this super-team have one additional responsibility too. Jesus sends them out so that others can discover for themselves what it’s like for the kingdom of God to come near. 

Now the word “Apostles” is more than a title for the super team Jesus put together. The word really means: “one who is sent off.” An apostle is an emissary, a messenger, and an ambassador – and this term was used in our Bible for other people beyond who were named in our reading today. When we follow Jesus, we are sent out by Jesus to be like Jesus wherever God calls us to be. That language of sending and being sent might bring to our own minds a superteam full of missionaries, pastors, chaplains, nurses, doctors, non-profit workers, and all those who excite our spiritual imagination by giving hope to those who are often left behind. Yet that image in our head usually doesn’t include us since we think that work is supposed to be done by someone else. Matthew, though, didn’t believe that these words from Jesus’ words were only meant for the twelve. He included this entire scene so that those we’d never pick for our faithful super-team heard these words too. The original twelve Apostles was a group full of folks who challenged Jesus, questioned Jesus, talked back to Jesus, and fled from Jesus at the time of his greatest need. And they were the ones Jesus sent out to build new relationships with people they didn’t fully know. Their task was to do the hard work of making wholeness a reality for others by not assuming they already knew the pain and suffering they were going through. By relying on the hospitality of others, they were immediately brought inside so they could listen and witness the lives people actually lived. Those who were sent by Jesus could then participate in God’s work of breaking through what keeps all of us separated from a life full of hope and love. It’s a way of being in the world that keeps us connected to God and each other by admitting how vulnerable we all are. And it’s through this work we create places filled with a divine peace that extends beyond simply the comfort level of a select few. Being a disciple isn’t easy because being vulnerable, asking for help, and admitting the ways we do not love like God loves is a truth we aren’t always ready to bear. Yet this work – of being one of the ways God’s kingdom comes near in the lives of others – isn’t work we do alone because we can’t be sent to something unless we were already part of something first. 

And what we’re part of is Jesus himself. Through the gift of faith and the power of baptism, you are already part of this body of Christ. The team Jesus put together to make God’s love real in the lives of others includes more than just other people; it includes you too. You, as you are, are necessary for what God is up to in the world. Now there are times when this feels right – especially when our life is moving forward and we’re graduating from one thing to pursue another. But as our situations change, as our lives ebb and flow, and during those times when our moving forward feels like we’re, instead, going backwards – we can’t possibly imagine Jesus’ team truly includes us. Yet Jesus, as we see in today’s story, has a habit of not letting individuals get in the way of where God wants them to be. Jesus calls those who make mistakes, those who have doubts, and those are fuzzy in their faith – to be the ones who cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, and cast out demons. It’s Jesus who sends those who struggle to see the image of God in their neighbors to be the ones who share how God’s love is real. It’s Jesus who, over and over again, calls imperfect people to reflect His perfect love into the world. It seems pretty improbable that among the faithful people we look up to, Jesus would make us part of that team too. But you were made for this kind of Holy work because the love of God in you is meant for God’s world too. 

Amen.

As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax-collection station, and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him.

And as he sat at dinner[a] in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting[b] with Jesus and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” But when he heard this, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

While he was saying these things to them, suddenly a leader came in and knelt before him, saying, “My daughter has just died, but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” And Jesus got up and followed him, with his disciples. Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from a flow of blood for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, for she was saying to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.” Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” And the woman was made well from that moment. When Jesus came to the leader’s house and saw the flute players and the crowd making a commotion, he said, “Go away, for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. But when the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took her by the hand, and the girl got up. And the report of this spread through all of that district.

Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 2nd Sunday after Pentecost (June 11, 2023) on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26.

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If the space-time continuum broke at 3 pm and you had an extra three hours to do whatever you wanted until it was fixed, what would you do? That isn’t a lot of time but it’s enough to let us make a choice. We could, depending on how the rest of this morning goes, choose to take a guilt free nap but there could also be several movies or tv shows we’ve been meaning to binge. We might finally go on that hike we’ve been planning to take once the weather turned nice. Or we could pick-up one of the eighty or so books in our current “to-read” pile. A few free hours would be perfect for some guilt-free “me time” or, better yet, to crush my kids in several rounds of the board game Sorry. Yet you also might be a bit like me and get excited about how productive those three free hours could be. I, for example, could finish putting mulch around my yard or clean out the garage or and answer those dozens of emails currently haunting my dreams. It would be so easy to knock a few things off our never ending to-do list since that extra time would enable us to make a choice outside the busyness of everyday life. 

Now today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew isn’t very long but it is full. It begins with a call story and moves into a healing and a resurrection that I wish all of us experienced way more often. Matthew, while busy living his life, was met by a Jesus who simply said “follow me.” This story feels pretty similar to the other call stories in this gospel. Way back in chapter four, Jesus met Peter, Andrew, James, and John while they were busy fishing along the sea of Galilee. After sharing only a few words, all four left their nets and boats to follow the One who had just begun to proclaim that the kingdom of God was near. It’s in that same general area where Jesus finds Matthew sitting in a tax booth. Matthew’s job, most likely, was to collect taxes based on how many fish people caught. Much of the fishing done in the ancient world along the Sea of Galilee took place at night and so when dawn broke, a long line of people would have been waiting for Matthew to go through what they caught. They hoped Matthew would go through the line quickly so that their fresh fish could make it to the market on time. By the time Jesus noticed the tax booth, Matthew was already sitting down. It’s possible he was doing that because the busy part of his day was already over. But there’s also a chance he was sitting down because he could. Tax collecting in the ancient world was a little complicated since governments, even as powerful as the Roman Empire, didn’t have the people or the infrastructure to physically collect all the taxes they needed. That kind of work was contracted out to individuals, businesses, and organizations that were basically street gangs. These groups were empowered by the Roman Empire to collect more than what the Empire asked for as payment for their services. And they were allowed to use violence, intimidation, and force to get what the ruling authorities wanted. Tax collectors, then, weren’t the most beloved members of their community since it looked like they chose a way of being in the world that was beyond redemption. Yet not every person collecting taxes could choose the life they lived. Some, through poor choices, bad luck, and awful circumstances, ended up doing that work just to make ends meet. Others, though, had no say in the matter since they were enslaved. No one liked tax collectors yet the story of every individual who collected taxes was complicated and complex. We have no idea why Matthew became a tax collector and the choices that led to him sitting in that booth on that day. But we do know that while living through the busyness of his complicated and imperfect life, Jesus showed up. 

Now I’m not sure what Matthew would do if he, on the day he met Jesus, had a few extra hours in the afternoon. Maybe, in a burst of productivity, he’d make sure everyone in line got their catch to the market on time. Maybe those few free hours would let him feel free in a way he never could be. Or maybe he’d have chosen to simply sit and wait – using the little bits of power he had to feel more important than those around him. I don’t know what Matthew would have chosen if he was given some extra time but I notice how everything changed once Jesus chose him. The text doesn’t tell us why Jesus called Matthew to be his disciple. We get no story that might prove, to us, the validity in the choice Jesus made. The two stories that follow – of a woman and religious leader who in the midst of their pain, grief, and sorrow, come to Jesus seems to be a little bit of what the life of discipleship is supposed to be about. And when Jesus talked to Matthew, Matthew didn’t do what we’d expect him to do: he made no declaration of faith; didn’t fall at Jesus’ feet; nor did he even ask Jesus a few questions of what following him might mean. Instead, in the middle of Matthew’s complicated and busy life, Jesus said “follow me.” And that’s exactly what Matthew did. 

Rev. Cleophus J. LaRue, in a commentary on this passage, recently wrote: “God never calls us to something, without first calling us away from something…You can never get to the next thing that God has for you until, in an act of simple obedience, you let go of where you are and follow after him…. [this call] is action-oriented, for it requires us to live now as if the rule and reign of God had come upon us in its fullness. It requires us to live now as if the lion and the lamb were already lying down together. To live now as if adversaries had already beat[en] their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. To live now as if justice had already begun to roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” Matthew, while busy living his life, needed Jesus to choose him first before he could get a glimpse of what his life might be. This choice wasn’t rooted in the worthiness of Matthew’s past but in the love God already had for him. And like Matthew, you in your baptism, in your faith, and in who you are right now – you are chosen too. You’ve been called into a way of life that trusts the kingdom God is near. It’s a way of being in the world that comes to Jesus when we have nothing left and brings us into places where sorrow and death have made their presence known. It’s a point of view that doesn’t lean into a purity test that lets us decide who Jesus called to follow him. And it’s a life that knows how difficult it is to see what Jesus did 2000 years ago and wonder why our own lives haven’t been touched in the same way. You have been chosen for a life that isn’t easy but one that trusts that there is always more: because Jesus comes to you not in the place where you want to be but chooses to lead you into God’s hope, wholeness, and love. 

Amen.

So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a Sabbath day’s journey away. When they had entered the city, they went to the room upstairs where they were staying: Peter, and John, and James, and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of James. All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers.

Acts 1:6-14

My sermon from the 7th Sunday of Easter (May 21, 2023) on Acts 1:6-14.

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Twice a year, I work with another parent to make the Scholastic Book Fair come to life at my kids’ elementary school. It’s a fun three day event where kids and their caregivers argue about which books, pens, journals, bookmarks, erasers, and posters they’re going to bring home. The book fair raises thousands of dollars that are used to fund additional learning programs for every kid in the school. And we work hard so that every kid, regardless of economic background, can walk away with a new book or two. The fair is extremely fun but can be a bit stressful especially when the cash registers attached to the fair don’t work. During the height of the after school rush, the scanner attached to a register refused to work and so I spent what felt like hours entering 13 digit ISBN codes by hand. Once we worked through the line that, at one point, stretched across the entire elementary school gym, I…needed a break. I handed the machine off to another volunteer and joined a group of volunteers reshelving and adjusting a bunch of books. All of us had kids around the same age and so it didn’t take long for our conversation to focus on being a parent. We initially kept it pretty light, sharing all kinds of funny stories. But it didn’t take long for a different kind of story to emerge. On the surface, what we shared was what life was like for these kids. Yet when you listened a bit more closely, what we were really talking about was ourselves. We named our own worries and fears, wondering if we had the capacity to be the patient, loving, caring, and non-judgemental people these kids needed us to be. We, in whispers that no one else could hear, wondered what the future might bring. As we talked, we admitted that, for many of us, it felt like we were simply going through all this stuff on our own. What we needed – and what our stories seemed to be searching for – was the hope we weren’t alone. 

Our first reading today from the book of Acts takes place 40 days after Easter. Jesus had died but was now making his presence known to all of his disciples. He took the time to meet up with Peter, break bread with two disciples who fled towards the village of Emmaus, and then joined everyone for a dinner of broiled fish. Luke, who wrote the gospel according to Luke as well as the book of Acts, wove these individual events tightly together. They pile up, one on top of the other, to make us feel as if Jesus was meeting everyone all at once. For forty days, Jesus hung out with his friends in the city of Jerusalem. He ate with them, prayed with them, and even blessed them. Their time together included a bit of Bible Study that let the disciples ask all kinds of questions. I like to imagine that they, while in the presence of the resurrected Jesus, shared their joys, their doubts, and even their hopes for the future. Day in and day out, the disciples saw the risen Lord face-to-face and they probably assumed that this new habit was going to continue. But Jesus, on the 40th day, did something a bit different. He led them to a place outside the city, roughly two miles away near the village of Bethany. Once there, they walked up a nearby mountain known locally as the mount of Olives or Olivet. As they neared the top, their gaze took in the entire valley including the city of Jerusalem itself. They probably felt as if they were on top of the world and so one disciple decided that was the perfect time to ask Jesus a question. 

Now, if we were given the chance to talk to Jesus face to face, I’m not sure if we would ask the same question. But if we pay attention to where they were, that question makes a lot more sense. They had returned to the spot where, just a few weeks before, Jesus had mounted a donkey to ride into the city below. After sending his disciples to find him an animal to ride, Jesus rode into the city of Jerusalem as if he was already its king. They were standing in the exact place where Jesus had, for just a moment, embodied everything they hoped he would be. The disciples believed that the Messiah would change their world by re-establishing a political kingdom that would push the Romans into the sea. Everything that Mary sang about way back in chapter 1 – with the mighty being casted down and the poor raised up – was, they thought, finally coming true. The Romans, in response, tried to end Jesus’ story and yet here they were, just weeks later, ready for Jesus to ride that donkey once more. The Romans believed they were destined to rule the world so now seemed like the perfect time for them to meet a Risen Lord with the power to make everything right. The disciples were ready for Jesus to be the Jesus they always expected him to be. But he didn’t send the disciples to find another donkey for him to ride. Jesus didn’t deputize his friends as soldiers to engage in some kind of holy fight. Jesus didn’t embrace the symbols of power and might that we seek out every single day of our life. Instead, he ascended so that those who followed him could do a more difficult thing of simply living. Jesus, with only a few words, gave his disciples a commission to bear witness to what God was already up to in the world. They were hoping that Jesus would create an earthly power where they could finally meet and experience the fullness of their God. Yet Jesus reminded them that God’s kingdom had already come and that it would continue to unfold through them. Jesus didn’t promise his followers fame or privilege. He didn’t claim that Christians were entitled to a kind of power that placed them on top of anyone else. And instead of seeking the kind of wealth that would bring them a certain level of comfort, Jesus sends his followers to the ends of the earth because God’s kingdom is always bigger than our own. It’s in the sending that we discover a promise of what our life gets to be about. We live because God knows we have a future wrapped up in the One who has already claimed us as his own. 

This future, though, isn’t something we have to wait for because God, through the Spirit, shows we’re not alone. Jesus didn’t ascend because he was trying to escape the world. Rather, he took the particularities of his entire life and brought it into every aspect of the divine. God did more than simply create the world; God chose, in Jesus, to live in it. Jesus lived a complete human life – including moments when it felt as if he was alone. He lived through the experience of being abandoned and casted aside by those who believed there was no future for him. So Jesus, in response, chose to send us the Spirit – this energizing force that manifests the presence of God in our lives so that you, unlike him, will never be alone. In those moments when it feels like everyone else has it all figured out and we are, somehow, hidden in whispers we don’t want anyone else to hear – God’s Spirit comes to show that you are loved, you are valued, and that your life has a future because through baptism, in faith, and because of Jesus Christ – your eternal life has already begun. 

Amen.

Then Paul stood in front of the Areopagus and said, “Athenians, I see how extremely spiritual you are in every way. For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god.’ What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things. From one ancestor he made all peoples to inhabit the whole earth, and he allotted the times of their existence and the boundaries of the places where they would live, so that they would search for God and perhaps fumble about for him and find him—though indeed he is not far from each one of us. For ‘In him we live and move and have our being’; as even some of your own poets have said,

‘For we, too, are his offspring.’

“Since we are God’s offspring, we ought not to think that the deity is like gold or silver or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of mortals. While God has overlooked the times of human ignorance, now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will have the world judged in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed, and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.”

Acts 17:22-31 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 6th Sunday of Easter (May 14, 2023) on Acts 17:22-31.

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Areopagus is a word that literally means “Mars Hill” and it was a physical place where court cases in Ancient Athens were heard and decided. But by the time Paul arrived in the city, it had become the name of the city’s governing authorities. Athens had long lost its status as a major political power but it was a place that valued education and learning. Paul, after being chased out of the city of Thessalonica, took refuge in Athens and told his friends to meet him there. He planned to keep a low profile but he soon fell into his old habit of visiting the local synagogue and the nearby marketplace to tell anyone who listened about the Jesus who lived, died, and rose again in a land across the sea. Some who heard Paul dismissed everything he said but a few gentiles – non-Jews – wanted to learn more. They brought him before the Areopagite Council who were more than simply the leaders within the city. They also represented the intellectual curiosity at the heart of Athenian identity. Paul, I think, knew what this kind of curiosity looked like since he, as a Pharisee, read, preached, studied, and just dug deep into God’s word. Those who brought Paul before the council probably recognized his curious spirit and so they asked Paul to flesh out the message he had been sharing. Paul, then, did exactly what they wanted him to do but chose to not share the name of Jesus at all. 

Now that feels a bit weird since Jesus was the reason why Paul was in Athens in the first place. Paul’s use of the name of Jesus was one of the reasons why he had been driven out Thessalonica. Paul name-dropped “Jesus” all the time whenever he was preaching. Yet here, before those who embodied who the Athenians imagined themselves to be, the name of Jesus was nowhere to be found. It’s possible that Paul, after his dustup in Thessalonica, was wary of what the leaders in Athens might do. He might have wanted to stay on their good side until his friends arrived. The name of Jesus can sometimes be used as a cudgel, turning words centered in love and grace into a threat. When we’re told to “Believe or else!”, we often build a kind of mental, emotional, and spiritual wall that protects who we think we are. This wall can either shut us down or cause us to lash out, refusing to fruitfully engage in whatever makes us feel uncomfortable. This defense mechanism can, in certain situations, keep us safe but it also might stop us from becoming who God knows we can be. We all, I think, worry that our words about Jesus will cause others to react to us in this very negative way. And we don’t think we have the words or knowledge or even the energy to faithfully respond to what this lashing out might look like. Paul, I think, didn’t even want to be in Athens and so avoiding the name of Jesus might have been his way to keep the governing council from arresting him or worse. Paul wanted to move into the future he had already planned for himself. Yet the words he shared with the Athenians revealed how God’s future had already begun to include them all. 

Paul began his words by describing what he recently saw: an altar in the middle of the city dedicated to an unknown god. The Athenians, I think, noticed how our beliefs don’t really capture just how big the divine actually is. This altar, which would have been used for different kinds of food and animal sacrifices, was their way of trying to grab this unknown god’s attention. The Athenians were doing what they could to reach out to God even though God had already reached out to them. Rather than digging into the Bible and his own Jewish identity, Paul invited those listening to him to remember their own story. The line “In him we live and move and have our being” was probably first written by the poet Epimendies and the words “for we too are his offspring” likely came from the poet Aratus hundreds of years before Jesus was born. Paul doesn’t, at first, use our scripture to show the Athenians who God is. Instead, he leaned into their own desire for grace, hope, and love, to show them what God had already done. The Athenians, up to this point in Paul’s sermon, probably thought Paul was simply naming the thoughts they already had. As he talked, he drew them deeper into who they thought they were. And they expected for Paul’s curiosity to lead them into a kind of thought experiment that felt abstract, holy, and mysterious. Yet Paul, without even naming Jesus, grounded the Athenians by showing how their unknown God had become known in a very particular time and place. God didn’t wait to be found before God decided to find those who needed to be welcomed and loved. By listening to the Athenians’ own story, Paul created space for them to do what none of us want to do: and that’s to repent. Repentance, in ancient Greek, is more than simply turning to God and turning away from sin. It’s more than what we typically do when we give up eating chocolate for Lent or decide that today we’re going to be a kinder person. Repentance is a deep re-orientation of our minds, opinions, and points of views so that we see ourselves and our world in a new way. Repentance is more than becoming the good person we think we’re supposed to be; it’s about joining in with God’s particular story of love, grace, and hope so that we become so much more. 

The Rev. Dr. Matthew Skinner, in his book Intrusive God, Disruptive Gospel, saw two big themes in Paul’s short speech to the Aergogaus. “First, it reminds us that salvation doesn’t exist in some pure, unadulterated form with no connection to human languages, cultures, and our foundational assumptions about the world. Paul preaches an enfleshed message: one enfleshed in the Athenians’ religious curiosity…God may disrupt or confound our preexisting understanding of what’s valuable or possible…but the message of God’s good news also connects to what we hope for and what we know.” 

“Second, Paul’s speech spotlights resurrected life as a core piece of Christian hope. The Easter message is about more than God undoing Jesus’ death; it is about a promise God makes to us in Jesus. God promises to change us… God values our embodied selves and intends a future for them.” It’s that last bit, I think, that describes the kind of story Paul was inviting the Athenians into. Repentance, while mindful of our past, is always about our future. It’s about a way of being in the world that says the particular life you are living matters because God, in Jesus, lived a particular kind of life too. When we share Jesus with others, we are inviting them into a future they can live in right now. And while I’ll admit that my default is to always encourage you to name  Jesus as the reason why we do what we do – from our worship, to our support of food ministries, to the meals we cook for one another when we’re in crisis, and including why we turn our church into a one-day thrift store to raise $10,000 or raise 1300 lbs of produce for the Tri-Boro Food Pantry – God also gives us the freedom to do what Paul did by learning another person’s story and showing how Jesus knows them too. That kind of sharing takes a little time and effort on our part, forcing us to leave our preconceived notions, assumptions, and points of views at the door while we discover what the world looks like through someone else’s eyes. But this is something we get to do because, in our baptism and in our faith, we’ve already been met by the Jesus who lived our life so that we could discover and see and know who God actually is. 

Amen. 

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. 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.”
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.” 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.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” 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.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come 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 2nd Sunday of Easter (April 16, 2023) on John 20:19-31.

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About seven weeks ago, when the season of Lent began, the kids in Sunday School met inside the building to play with dirt. On the floor outside the church offices was a large tarp with a big bag of soil and several pink and green pots sitting on top. After talking a bit about the season of Lent and what it leads up to, each kid was given two small sticks and a bit of twine. With a little help from their parents and teachers, the kids crafted a Cross – and were then given a pot to fill. Once the pot was filled with dirt, each child then tossed in a bit of grass seed. There was much digging, pushing, and getting their hands dirty while making sure the seed was exactly where it needed to be. Once the planting was done, the Cross was placed on-top. The kids were thrilled they got to make something and couldn’t wait to see what comes next. But they soon realized how difficult waiting for new things can be. We often want to rush to the good stuff – to an Easter filled with daffodils, candy, presents, and joyous family gatherings. Yet getting to that point can be hard. And the waiting we do is often scary or boring or everything else in-between. I often find myself not sure what I’m supposed to do while waiting for what comes next. And I wonder what the waiting was like for Thomas after he heard about Jesus visiting all his friends – except him.

Now today’s reading from the gospel according to John is something we hear every year on the Sunday after Easter. Mary Magdalene, who – in John – was the very first person to visit Jesus’ tomb, had an experience no one else had. She reported to the other disciples that the door to the tomb was opened and when they came to investigate, they found Jesus’ burial clothes neatly folded where his body was expected to be. Everyone else returned to the city but Mary lingered in the garden where the tomb was. We get a sense that Mary’s waiting was exactly as difficult as we would imagine it to be. John doesn’t give us many details, letting Mary’s actions and words help our imagination to fill in the gaps. She, like all the disciples, were scared, anxious, and worried about what comes next. Some of them chose to stay locked in place while others probably made plans to leave the city. Others, though, didn’t even know if they had a home to go back to since they spent the last three years following Jesus. The waiting they did was full of prayer, tears, disbelief, and wondering if what happened to Jesus would also happen to them. Nothing about their waiting was passive since their futures were in flux, especially for the women and other vulnerable people who did the culturally dangerous thing of leaving where they were known to follow their Rabbi. Mary lingered and she waited. But then, in the garden, Jesus showed up. He called her by her name – and with one little word – everything changed.

Now we can see from the beginning of today’s reading that Mary’s story was momentous but the disciples were still being themselves. The door to their room was still locked and their grief, fear, worry, sadness, and confusion lived in that space. They were busy waiting but weren’t 100% sure what they were waiting for. But Mary’s words had, I believe, changed their waiting because, in the middle of that emotional, spiritual, and mental junk in the air – Mary’s story brought wonder, surprise, and hope into their world. They didn’t have her experience but her words had changed their story too. Something other than their worry and fear was now with them.

We don’t know, though, what Thomas was up to while Jesus was busy with everyone else. But we can imagine what he was feeling before Jesus showed up. He, like Mary and the other disciples, was scared, anxious, lost, and worried. Yet he, unlike them, wasn’t locked up in a room because his grief had already locked up all his emotions and thoughts. When he returned to the disciples and heard what Jesus had done, his response wasn’t disbelief. He, I think, simply wanted what they already had. He wanted Jesus to show up to him; to be so real that it made this faith thing worth it. Thomas wanted what we want: an experience that shows the promises spoken over us during baptism were not pretend. Thomas knew how to live with the Jesus he could see but he now needed to learn how to live with the Jesus he couldn’t. He, in essence, needed to do what we do everyday: meeting Jesus in a way that’s beyond flesh and blood. There’s a long tradition of calling Thomas a doubter since he had the courage to name what he wanted. I think, though, it’s much more accurate to simply call him one of us since we want our own experience of the resurrection too.
The life of faith is a life of waiting which isn’t always very fun. We wait for prayers to be answered, for guidance when every one of our choices feels wrong, and to know that we actually matter. This is a heavy kind of waiting that we do while living lives with their own joys, griefs, happiness, and sorrow. Thomas, during the week after that first Easter evening, waited for Jesus. But I wonder if his waiting was different since he heard a story he didn’t know before. There was now something else in the air that didn’t deny his grief but it promised that something more had a claim on his soul. His waiting was hard but he didn’t do it alone. Because even though he didn’t have their faith experience, the other disciples made sure he was included at their table. Their story and Thomas’ story were right there, mixed together in a room that was still locked in fear. Those early disciples didn’t do what we usually do: making the competition at the heart of our American story take over what we believe faith stories can be. Their table was big enough to hold whatever it was that people were waiting for. And when we gather together around Jesus’ table, we get to be like them: to share every one of our faith stories and how we are still looking to see him. We, because of our baptism and through our faith, get to be like Thomas, admitting what we need while, at the same time, being like Mary, and sharing when we have seen the Lord. We need to hear from one another when Jesus said our name and when we desperately need to touch his wounded side. These stories come in many shapes and forms, full of miracles and mysteries; visions from heaven and the kind of everyday love that looks very ordinary but is always so extraordinary. The stories and needs we share is often how God grows our faith because they assure us that we are not alone. Waiting in faith is one of the ways we live with faith since we are Thomas and Mary and all those who witness to the new story God is already writing. As we traverse through our ongoing wait with God, feel free to share your fears, doubts, worries, and concerns. Keep yourself open, welcoming, and nonjudgmental when someone reveals their walk with God. The story you hear or the words you share might be exactly how Jesus makes himself known. And while you might think such a story requires a miracle, it could also be fairly small such as noticing that the pot of soil you left outside; that you did nothing to care for; that was actually knocked over more than once; came to life when a few blades of grass appeared when Easter weekend broke.

Amen.