My 12 noon reflection from Good Friday (April 18, 2025) on the Passion of Christ according to Luke.
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We’re sitting, at this moment, in a space that wasn’t always a chapel. It has, over the years, served a variety of purposes and will, this upcoming Monday, be transformed into a linen closet for our Trash and Treasure sale. When CLC first started in 1959, this was the main sanctuary and it evolved into a meeting space, a Sunday School classroom, and now a chapel used for all kinds of worship events. Everything in this space is designed to be movable – from the chairs to the altar to the plant by the window. Yet one of the things we don’t move – besides the painting of the Cross – are these papery stars hanging above us. Now, if I remember correctly, they were placed there by Darleen Castellano a year or two before COVID struck. She wanted to decorate this space for a Christmas pageant that was being put on by our Sunday School kids. It was, I think, the first worshipful thing we did here and the stars were only supposed to be there for a day. But since then, they’ve become a kind of witness to all kinds of things happening in this space. They’ve seen kids play games, watch people browse for hours over knick knacks and throw pillows, and listened to way too many extra long phone calls I sometimes have while pacing about. Yet they’ve also played their own role in helping to reflect the light just right when I recorded worship here during COVID. These stars have been a witness to a lot – and today we are like these stars – bearing witness to just how human we truly are.
And I wonder if, on this Good Friday, being a witness is all we’re meant to be. It’ll always be strange to call this part of Jesus’ life good since most of it is about how awful we can sometimes be. The One who hung every star in the night sky was also hung on the Cross. And while there are theories and ideas and explanations and all kinds of words to shape why this moment matters, the mystery of what God’s love is all about will never be contained by anything we say. Over and over again, God chooses to be with those who rarely have an imagination big enough to see ourselves, our neighbors, and our world with the grace that God gives us every day. We all have been a witness to situations and experiences where love can’t be found. And we all, in our own way, struggle to accept the ways we try to limit what goodness should do. We’ve seen and we continue to see how care and welcome and presence and hope are, for some, commodities not meant to be shared. We choose to make ourselves the center of everyone’s story because we can’t imagine any other story might be just as meaningful too. We know what it’s like to see each other at our best but there’s also all those actions, words, sins of omission, and long silences that have made life way more harder than it needs to be. But wherever we do our best to get in the way of our God, God makes a new way where hope and love will always shine.
Kayla Craig, in a poem about Good Friday, wondered how we could take this gift and move it into the lives we actually live. How could what Jesus did show up in the life of our kids, our family, and our friends? She hoped that everyone – the young, the old, those who believe, and even those who don’t might recognize the great love Jesus already has for them. And as we live through this Good Friday that pushes into the Easter that has already begun, she invites us to “…know a way that chooses mercy
when faced with an enemy,
A way that chooses
Sacrifice instead of comfort,
A way that chooses
Healing instead of violence,
A way that choose
Loud love instead of hidden hate,
A way that opens…hearts
Instead of closes them shut.”
A way that always remembers, a way that always bears witness, a way that lights our world no matter the darkness we’re living through.
1 Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. 2 The devil had already decided that Judas son of Simon Iscariot would betray Jesus. And during supper 3 Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands and that he had come from God and was going to God, 4 got up from supper, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. 5 Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. 6 He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” 7 Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” 8 Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” 9 Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” 10 Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” 11 For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.” 12 After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had reclined again, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? 13 You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for that is what I am. 14 So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. 15 For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. 16 Very truly, I tell you, slaves are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. 17 If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.” 31b “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. 32 If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. 33 Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me, and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ 34 I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. 35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
My sermon from Maundy Thursday (April 17, 2025) on John 13:1-17, 31b-35.
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The summer after my first year in seminary, I was part of a small group of other clergy-in-training who worked for ten weeks as a chaplain at a hospital in Manhattan. It was our responsibility to provide pastoral care to people regardless of their religious beliefs who found themselves going through all kinds of medical experiences. Some had been admitted for a simple overnight observation because their doctors noticed something on a recent scan while others needed the ICU to become their home. The hope was that we could provide a little comfort and care for those who were going through stuff they never planned for. Yet the primary goal of this work was for seminarians to realize the parts of themselves that stopped them from being the kind of people God has called them to be. People who are living through a crisis respond to their situation in a variety of ways. And while their feelings of anger, frustration, confusion, grief, and sorrow are completely normal, those who are around them might not know what they should say or do. Watching someone express really difficult emotions can bring up, for us, old experiences and feelings we’ve never properly processed. We end up falling into old patterns of behavior, sometimes completely unconsciously, because we’ve lived through our own experiences of anger, sorrow, and fear. If, for example, we had a parent who yelled in ways we never understood, a patient raging at God for the diagnosis they just received, might cause us to unconsciously act as if we were a frightened eight-year-old child. Recognizing what triggers us is one of the ways we learn how to be for each other. And the feedback mechanism my group used to learn that about one another is by presenting a transcript, each week, of one of our visits that maybe didn’t go so well. Sharing within a group setting is never easy because others could easily see the many different ways we failed to hear what the other person was trying to say. Our assumptions and expectations made it incredibly difficult to bring comfort to those who needed to know they were valued and loved. And in tonight’s reading, when Jesus gathered his own small group of friends together, he pushed them to move beyond what they knew and into the new future that was already on its way.
Now the word we use to describe this worship – Maundy Thursday – comes from the Latin word, mandatum. Mandatum, at its core, simply means “commandment” which Jesus called his friends to embrace at the end of the reading. Jesus and those around him were in the city of Jerusalem – preparing for the festival of Passover. They spent their time talking and eating and teaching and preaching within the Holy Temple and in the marketplaces. The disciples expected this holy festival to be a little different since Jesus had a history of causing trouble whenever he visited the city during some kind of holy event. He had, in prior years, tossed out the money changers who changed currency into the type that could be used for religious offerings in the Temple while stampeding the animals used for sacrifices into the marketplace. Healing people on the sabbath, arguing with other religious leaders, and getting in the way while folks participated in some of the holiest moments of their lives was a real part of Jesus’ ministry. His reputation as being a kind of destabilizing force while large numbers of people flooded into the city was one of the main reasons why he became a target for the Roman Empire. This should have made the disciples a little afraid of being associated with someone who seemed to be such a problem. Yet the power Jesus expressed gave them a kind of self-assurance and confidence. They expected that Jesus would, during his stay in the city, escalate what he had done in the past. And they wanted to make sure they were there so they could receive whatever power, authority, and opportunity Jesus would dish out to those who truly followed them. They didn’t know exactly what Jesus was up to but they felt like it had to be pretty spectacular. And if Jesus was already willing to toss merchants out of the Temple, he could be ready to even push out all the Roman soldiers who were patrolling the city.
That assumption was one of the things stopping the disciples from hearing what Jesus was trying to say. His friends couldn’t imagine that what they assumed was faithful, holy, and true might be anything but. Their world – and our world – often acts as if there’s only so much love, hope, or blessings to go around and so power is defined by those who can get others to do their will. We assume everything, including life itself, is painfully limited so we need to hold tight onto whatever we have. Grace, hope, mercy, empathy, and even love are always in short supply. And if someone else has access to what we want, they’re denying it to us. The future, from this point of view, is bounded by a sense of scarcity that can only celebrate violence and pain. What the disciples needed, then, was an opportunity for a different kind of feedback that would break through the assumptions weighing down their souls. And so Jesus, during the Last Supper, did exactly that. He wouldn’t do what they expected him to do because God’s future will never be limited by our own. This caused the disciples to feel scared, worried, uncomfortable, and completely anxious since the future Jesus was painting didn’t match the one in their heads. Jesus could have decided that their expectations would be what kept them from experiencing the fullness of the kingdom of God. But what he did instead was to remind them of the promise at the heart of who they are – that God knows them, that God loves them, and that Jesus will carry them into God’s future no matter what came next. Moving through our expectations and into God’s promise is a life-long project we’ll never get exactly right. The responsibility that comes with following Jesus often includes being held accountable for the ways we let scarcity, anger, and fear shape our lives instead. We assume that we already know what goodness and faith are meant to look like. Yet God has a habit of troubling our expectations so that we can grow into the people God knows we can be. And when we don’t know what to do or say or be in the world, we can lean onto the commandment that Jesus embodied through the life he’s already given for you. We can love each other; we can listen to one another; we can have the courage to show mercy and care even when no one else does. We can act as if God’s future is already here and because we are the ones Jesus gathers together around his table, we get to be the imperfect vessels of God’s holy grace for our friends, our neighbors, and our world.
After he had said this, [Jesus] went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’ ” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus, and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. Now as he was approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”
Luke 19:28-40
My sermon from Palm/Passion Sunday (April 13, 2025) on Luke 19:28-40.
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A few weeks ago, I described in my sermon a leak in the church office. Water had poured down the wall with the window overlooking the door into the church and made quite a mess. The water eventually stopped dripping and Tom, Brian, Jim, Martin, and the rest of our property team did an amazing job drying everything out. The leak, though, was a big problem because we didn’t know what caused it. Our first theory was that there was something wrong with the roof or maybe the gutter since the water came in during a storm. But when several more storms blew through and the office stayed dry, the mystery deepened. What we needed to do was anxiously wait for the leak to reappear so our property team could keep doing what they do well – making sure this place stays welcoming, warm, and safe so God’s love can keep making an impact here in Woodcliff Lake. So we waited. And we waited. And then waited some more, not quite sure when the water would return. But roughly 2 weeks ago, the director of Meals on Wheels sent me a picture early one morning showing how water was flowing on the outside – and the inside – of the church office wall. This was the big moment we were waiting for and I’m entirely grateful for how all the time, energy, and effort our team put in to fix what was impacting this community. But when they found out what had caused this big, disruptive, expensive, and exhausting moment here at the church, it was from a tiny hole I could barely see.
And that hole was in this – a piece of copper pipe from the rooms above our church office. This pipe is pretty solid, thick, and often filled with hot water radiating the heat keeping our rooms warm and comfortable. The process of warming the water and moving it through the building can cause these pipes to vibrate and shake, making a noise we can sometimes hear. And it’s that noise that might have been why someone used a metal screw to keep this pipe firmly in place. But when the screw was installed, it either dented the metal or rubbed against it. Every time the pipe would vibrate with warm water, it rubbed against the sharp metal edge of the screw. It took years but, eventually, a very tiny hole appeared and water began to drip out. The hole, though, never stopped the heat upstairs from working and the water remained mostly unseen, hiding inside walls and insulation. Yet its impact was very real since the tiny drips dug out a three foot hole in the rock and concrete foundation underneath the church office wall. The water would also travel along different beams from one side of the building to the other, dripping along one of the walls in our Opsal fellowship hall. This pipe was so corroded, it’s obvious the leak has been for longer than I’ve even been here. And while the big moment of water pouring out of the wall led to its discovery, it was the little everyday drips that made a deeper impact.
Today is, in its own way, a very big day. It’s the beginning of the holiest week of the church year and a day when we publically welcome little Emma (at the 10:30 am worship) into the body of Christ. We started this day waving palm branches in the air and we’ll close while sitting in the very full silence of Jesus’ tomb. Life in this place is very busy and a bunch of folks have traveled – or will travel – to spend some very holy moments together. Holy Week is extremely big – but it’s a week when this bigness isn’t, I think, only meant for itself. All the music, the singing, the baptismal party, and the fun some of our kids will have over Spring break – these are the kinds of moments we live for. Yet I’ve often found it’s the little moments – the everyday moments – that actually reveal who our God truly is. When we choose kindness rather than anger; when we pray rather than act as if our lives only depend on ourselves; and when we commit ourselves to being for each other as much as God is already committed to you – it’s the drip-drip-drip of God’s holy love that changes our lives and our world. That doesn’t mean the big stuff doesn’t matter or that these big moments won’t end up taking up all our time, energy, and effort. But when we act as if chasing after big moments is what life with our God is all about, we forget how the big thing Jesus did is why we can make all our little moments full of care, mercy, welcome, and love. The fullness of Jesus’ life – his birth, his teaching, his care, his entrance into Jerusalem, his death on the Cross, and his rising from the tomb – what God has already done is why we can do the big thing of not only welcoming little Emma but also the little things of listening, supporting, and being together. It’s knowing, and trusting, that God has written a new chapter of hope for you that holds all our big moments and little moments together. And while the drip-drip-drip of all kinds things can become a large nuisance we wish we didn’t have to live through, the drip-drip-drip of the water poured over us during our baptism is what propels us into a new future where every little moment is a holy moment revealing God’s love for us and for the world.
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those reclining with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’s feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
John 12:1-8
My sermon from the Fifth Sunday in Lent (April 6, 2025) on John 12:1-8.
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I want to start today’s sermon with a question: what’s your go-to meal when you’re stressed and don’t have the energy to decide what to eat? The meal I’m thinking about isn’t one you get delivered or order at a fast food place. It’s what you consume when all you can do is eat over your sink. It might be a bowl of cereal, some apples and crackers, or an entire family-sized box of macaroni and cheese. My go-to in these situations has always been an entire party bag of Tostitos corn chips with – or without – salsa. It’s difficult to call these experiences meals at all since they’re mostly about finding fuel to carry us through. The stress we’re feeling might be a good kind of stress – such as being the primary point person for a multi-family vacation filled with way too many kids under the age of 12. But I’ve found that when we eat this way, we’re doing so because life has become way too hard. What we need during those kinds of moments is some kind of intervention reminding us that today isn’t all that’s meant to be. And in our reading today from the gospel according to John, we sit with Jesus at a moment in life when the anxiety, worry, and fear that causes us to eat over the sink was something he and his friends were living through.
Now one of the things I do when we get a reading from the Bible that is a story is to put that text back into scripture itself. I want to know what came before and after this part of God’s story. Jesus, in John’s version of Jesus’ life, visited the city of Jerusalem during Passover for three years in a row. And when he visited the city, he often caused problems for those visiting the marketplaces and the Holy Temple. The city during this holy festival tripled in size which made Jesus’ actions frustrating to everyone in charge. And while we often think of Jesus as a peaceful leader, he regularly pushed back against those – including his own disciples – who got in the way of His way of love, welcome, and care. It was during his round about third journey towards the holy city to commemorate a moment of liberation in a meal when two sisters let him know that their brother, Lazarus was ill. Jesus, in the chapter right before what we just heard, went to see them but by the time he got there, Lazarus had died. In one of John’s most vivid descriptions of what happens when God’s kingdom comes near, Mary and Martha were completely honest about their frustration, anger, and confusion with God while God’s Son sat next to the tomb and cried. When Jesus, in response to the fullness of the life we live, decided to write a new chapter for his friend Lazarus, those in power decided it was finally time to deal with this traveling preacher from Galilee. Jesus’ willingness to share a meal with all kinds of people annoyed those who wanted to control who had value and who had worth. There were also some, including his disciples, who believed Jesus would soon reestablish the ancient kingdom of Israel itself. Jesus would then be the excuse the Roman Empire would use to violently crack down on the Jewish people. Jesus and his friends heard what was up and so quickly relocated to a town on the edge of the wilderness. Their time there was fairly uneventful but I imagine laying low, finding a place to stay and enough food to eat was pretty hard. That, along with the knowledge those in charge were trying to kill them, tainted every meal with all kinds of anxiety. It’s difficult to taste the food and enjoy one another’s company when terror, confusion, and fear are also sitting there at the table. The disciples hoped their time out there would turn down the heat on them. Those in the city, though, knew how dangerous Jesus’ return would be. Folks expected him to take a year off from his usual shenanigans at Passover. But when the holy festival day drew near, Jesus left the unsettled safety at the edge of the wilderness to return to the village of Bethany which was only 2 miles from the Holy Temple.
Now when he showed up, Lazarus’ home was pretty busy. The influx of pilgrims heading towards Jerusalem had filled the roadways and marketplaces with hundreds of people. Martha, Mary, and everyone in their village were doing their everyday things while preparing for a holiday filled with meals. When Jesus and his large entourage showed up, Martha and her team paused everything to welcome him. This was, I think, the first time Jesus had seen Lazarus since he raised him from the dead. And while the joy of that moment lingered in the air, fear, anxiety, and worry surged into that space too. The mixture of emotions at that table – the eating with the one who had died and the one who others wanted to die – would have been a lot. The stress of that moment, even if they were relatively safe, would have matched what we feel when we’re eating over the sink. Yet in the midst of a vibe that mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted everyone in that space, Mary took a bottle of costly oil and poured it over Jesus’ feet. We don’t know where the bottle came from or why Mary had such an expensive item in the first place. But I wonder if the nard was originally purchased to anoint their brother’s body just a few weeks before. Once she opened the bottle, the smell in the house would have filled every nook and cranny. Lazarus, her sisters, and the disciples would have been instantly brought back to what had been – and how, in the midst of the sorrow, life would still be found. The promise at the heart of Jesus’ words and mission would have wrapped itself around all the fear and anxiety they carried with them. Nothing about Mary’s actions ignored the current moment or pretended as if things weren’t scary as they truly were. Yet Jesus’ presence – and Mary’s trust – refused to let what they carried be the limit of what their tomorrow would be. Those at the table could have let everything around them, especially the anxiety imposed by those in power and with authority, be the focus of their life. But what Jesus chose to do was to have a holy meal with those he loved. Jesus, whose public ministry was running out of time, took time to tend to those whose worry and fear would grow in the days and weeks ahead. And when Judas tried to revitalize the anxiety sitting at their table, Jesus’ response wasn’t meant to be an excuse we use to limit the support we offer to those in need. The smells Mary put into the air were, instead, a reminder that no matter what we’re living through, living out love and hope is something we can always do. Now what that love looks like, though, will always vary since there are times when eating dinner over the sink is all we can do. But when we feel as if right now is what the rest of our life might always be, we can trust the One who’s already claimed us as His own has written a new chapter we’ll get to live through. The sights, sounds, and experiences that make life hard are not the stuff we’re meant to push aside or ignore. Rather, the Jesus who lived our life and went through the Cross has already shown us what our future is meant to be. It’s this holy love from God which will guide us even when eating at the sink feels like the only thing we can do. And while that love was made tangible through Mary’s actions while Jesus sat around Lazarus’ table nearly 2000 years ago, I trust – and believe – that God’s love surrounds you right now – and wants you to know you will make it through.
1 At that very time there were some present who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices.2 [Jesus] asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?3 No, I tell you, but unless you repent you will all perish as they did. 4 Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the other people living in Jerusalem? 5 No, I tell you, but unless you repent you will all perish just as they did.” 6 Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. 7 So he said to the man working the vineyard, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’ 8 He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. 9 If it bears fruit next year, well and good, but if not, you can cut it down.’ ”
Luke 13:1-9
My sermon from the Third Sunday in Lent (March 23, 2025) on Luke 13:1-9.
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One of the ways our faith is manifested in the world is through ordinary things – which is sort of amazing and strange all at the same time. We expect the divine to be a bit over-the-top, the kind of miracles that defy the laws of physics while bringing us an other-worldly sense of calm and peace. When we enter a holy place and feel that warm spiritual hug around our shoulders, we remember we are already part of something so much bigger than ourselves. I think it’s pretty reasonable to expect the Creator of Everything to show up every once in a while to break through the sameness of our every day while also pushing us through our anxiety and fear. But when we actually get down to doing the god-stuff in worship, in bible study, or whenever we gather as part of the Christ, what we use is the ordinary stuff of words and voices, pauses and silences, and a little bread and drink to embody who our God is. The Jesus we meet in the gospels often does the kind of big stuff we want for our lives – especially when things feel really hard. Yet our God has a habit of showing up in very ordinary things, even as every day as a tree, to point to what life with our God can be.
Now finding fig trees in our area isn’t an everyday thing. But when Jesus journeyed through Israel, Galilee, Syria, and beyond nearly 2000 years ago, the fig tree was a very ordinary thing. These trees were outside people’s doors, hanging out in cities, and cultivated in large orchards. A fig tree could provide shade from the noon day sun to a weary traveler and its fruit was nourishing to those who were hungry and thirsty. Fig trees and their fruit were literally everywhere and, over time, began to show up as a symbolic image throughout our Bible. In commentary about today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, Professor Peter Hawkins showed me just how often fig trees appear in our sacred scripture. “In the opening of Genesis the fig [tree] grows in Eden’s lush garden along with ‘every tree that is good to the sight and good for food.’” The fig tree is meant to be climbed, sat under, and its fruit eaten while the tree of knowledge of good and evil which was right next door, was to be avoided. When Adam and Eve ate what they shouldn’t and experienced shame for the very first time, they used the leaves from the tree that cared for them to cover their bodies. The abundance of the fig tree represented what the kingdom of God is meant to be about. And we should imagine the great feasts described in the prophets as a sign of God’s grace as one covered in grapes, wine, pomegranates, and figs. This vivid description of what love can be extended even in the passionate intimacy described in the Song of Songs which used the fruit from the fig tree as the “harbinger [for new life] and … unabashed love.” The flourishing of the fig tree represents, I think, God’s imagination for what life should be. And since God imagines it, we should consider that the baseline for what is ordinary in all of creation. But we also know how often we let things other than grace, mercy, and care flourish instead. So when the community assumed that their strength, might, and what they assumed they were entitled to would keep them safe, the prophet Joel used the image of a fig tree stripped of its bark as a sign of how life-less that way of being truly is. The ordinary stuff of life is simply what a fig tree does. And while we often want that kind of flourishing only for ourselves or those like us, the prophet Micah imagined a more holy future where “all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid.” When we realize the myriad of ways a fig tree connects to its environment and how accessible its fruit is meant to be – we get a glimpse of how God’s ordinary is what makes our world, and our lives, thrive.
This, though, can make the story Jesus told a bit difficult to follow if we choose to identify the landowner as the only stand-in for God. We expect the one who owns the land and the trees should have a vision, a will, a plan for what those trees should do. A fig tree that fails to bear fruit is a tree refusing to be what it’s meant to be. And a tree that isn’t efficient or productive or good or whatever terminology we use to define its value and worth – is a tree we can justify being tossed aside. This way of thinking, though, is pretty dangerous especially if we then make the claim that those who didn’t understand God in the first place have already had their year – their chance – to get it right. The fruit they were meant to grow should reflect the curated kind of life that includes what we believe flourishing looks like. And while we might say that flourishing with faith includes a little bit of kindness, some patience, and an appropriate care that covers ourselves, our family, and then our neighbors in that exact order – the fruit we often elevate is, instead, selfishness and fear, anger and grievance, and a demand for others to show us the kind of grace we will never share with them. We assume we know what a fig tree looks like and what a fig tree looks is what thriving is all about. But a fig tree is more than what it looks; a fig tree is, in God’s eyes, primarily defined by what it does. And so rather than seeing God as only a landowner casting a vision of what we are supposed to be; it’s possible we’re the landowner who needs a gardener to show us what life can be. The God who made the fig tree, the earth, the air, and the water it relies on is the same God who chooses to be the gardener too. And the kind of care Jesus described is the same kind of care Jesus invites us to share too. Now we might not be able to grow leaves and provide shade from the sun at high noon but we can invite a stranger inside, turn on the AC, and give them a cup of cool water that reflects the fullness of who we declared our God to be. We can, through the gifts God has given us – the talent to listen; to pray; to show up; to wonder; to dream; and to see the Christ in everyone – to use these gifts as the fruit that feeds those around us. That doesn’t mean we’ll always get this right since our ego, our lack of imagination, and our assumptions about what the “good” life truly is often becomes the fruit that harms those who God loves. But when we trust that what’s ordinary to God is what makes us, through baptism and faith, as the extraordinary bearers of God’s love into the world, we move beyond seeing ourselves as landlords but as trees and gardeners for the world. God didn’t simply create the world; God also lives in it. And the acts that are ordinary to God – such as mercy, care, support, and love – is how we grow into our own identity as the very ordinary people that live out the kingdom of God.
1After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” 2But Abram said, “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” 3And Abram said, “You have given me no offspring, so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.” 4But the word of the Lord came to him, “This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir.” 5He brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendants be.” 6And he believed the Lord, and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.
7Then he said to him, “I am the Lord who brought you from Ur of the Chaldeans, to give you this land to possess.” 8But he said, “O Lord God, how am I to know that I shall possess it?” 9He said to him, “Bring me a heifer three years old, a female goat three years old, a ram three years old, a turtledove, and a young pigeon.” 10He brought him all these and cut them in two, laying each half over against the other, but he did not cut the birds in two. 11And when birds of prey came down on the carcasses, Abram drove them away.
12As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him. 17When the sun had gone down and it was dark, a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces. 18On that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram, saying, “To your descendants I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the River Euphrates.”
Genesis 15:1-12,17-18
My sermon from the Second Sunday in Lent (March 16, 2025) on Genesis 15:1-12,17-18.
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What do you do with your phone when you’re watching a movie or a tv show?
Now I’m assuming most of us keep it relatively hidden when we’re out in public. But when we’re home, there’s a good chance that when the big screen is on, our little one is too. It’s possible we’re spending that moment looking up the name of the actor on the big screen that looks very familiar. Yet there’s also a pretty good chance we’re mostly responding to the texts, posts, and whatever else we receive from our friends who are doing the exact same thing. The phenomenon of splitting our attention in this way is called “the second screen experience” but I wonder if we’ve been doing something like this forever. I’m sure that even in Abram’s day, people assumed splitting their attention was perfectly fine as they tried to do what they needed to do in a world that often consumes all the time that we have. Now after a long day at work and after taking care of everything life has thrown our way, binge watching a show while sitting on the couch can be exactly what we need. But while that story on the big screen washes over us, the ads, the tweets, the images, and the group chats in our hand devour our focus, attention, and shift our view of the world and our lives. We assume we can keep track of a lot of things at once and that it wouldn’t impact what we think or feel. Yet in today’s first reading from the book of Genesis, we witnessed God change Abram’s focus so that he could live into the future God was already bringing about.
Abram’s story – whose name will eventually be changed to Abraham – is one I need to relearn every time he shows up in the three year cycle of readings we use for worship. We first met him just in chapter 12 when he was, according to the Bible, 75 years old and living in modern day Iraq. God called Abram and told him to leave all he knew behind and become a nomad in what is now Israel and Palestine. His initial household was small, just a few family members and some flocks of goats and sheep. But it wasn’t too long before his wealth grew and he was treated as his own kind of kingdom full of animals, workers, and slaves. As a nomad, he regularly negotiated with the cities, villages, and kingdoms in the area over access to water, grazing land, and emergency relief during a famine. The politics would sometimes turn violent and his household would become an army all on its own. In the chapter immediately before this one, Abram led a military campaign to rescue his nephew Lot from an alliance of city states and kings. And after routing his opponents, their camp, resources, and gold was up for the taking. But instead of grabbing it, he left it behind so that no one could say his wealth came from anyone but God. Refusing to hoard what we believe we deserve or earned was as counter-cultural in Abram’s day as it is in ours. Yet it was his way, I think, trying to keep his attention off his own strength and onto God alone. We shouldn’t assume, however, that Abram was full of faith, righteousness, and counted his blessings everyday. Even after things had gone his way, he couldn’t help but complain.
And his complaint seems odd since God has been his strength and shield. But, in the words of Professor Timothy McNinch, “our world is generally more individualistic than the world of ancient Israel. For them, the only wealth that mattered was the kind that could stay with the family in perpetuity. Without children, Abram ask[ed] God to explain why he should trust in God” at all. This doesn’t mean Abram didn’t have other options when it came to choosing his family since he could (and would) impregnate his slaves against their will as well as appoint other heirs. We shouldn’t give him a pass for what he did nor act as if someone’s chosen family can’t be more holy and faithful than one that shares flesh and blood. Abram’s attention, however, seemed entirely focused on his Sarai becoming a very specific kind of mom. And since God’s call to them came when they were fairly old, it was perfectly reasonable for Abram to question whether their future would be anything else. So God, in response, reset Abram’s attention. God pushed Abram out of his own head, got him to touch grass, and then looked up into the night sky. And what he saw was something we can’t see since all the light pollution limits the limitlessness of the stars. The heavens for Abram sparkled and shimmered with a countless number of lights, inviting Abram to see how his lack of a future would become an endless one. This nomad who had everything but assumed it was nothing would even receive the property he could only pass through. This was God’s way of pushing Abram’s attention to embrace what he would never see in his own lifetime. And while we’re told the wonder and awe inspired Abram to believe, he still had the courage to be who he always was. The doubt Abram articulated didn’t mean he wasn’t faithful. Rather, what he wanted was something tangible, something physical, some kind of experience to help him cling to the unknowable future. God could, at that moment, have asked why Abram’s attention was on human things rather than divine things. But God chose to build the experience Abram needed. What they did is, to us, a bit strange since we don’t typically arrange bloody carcasses split in two in the form of a gauntlet whenever we sign a contract for a house or to start a job. That ritual, though, was pretty common when people, communities, or nations in Abram’s day signed a covenant – a list of shared promises – together. God called on Abram to find the animals, slaughter them, and even shoo the vultures away if they tried to sneak a quick meal. But when Abram expected for him and God – the two parties in this covenant – to walk through the gauntlet to signify their commitment to each other, God – manifested as smoke and fire – went through on their own. Abram participated in the promise but God was the one who unilaterally solidified it. No longer would Abram’s attention and focus be only on what he could do. Instead, the God who acted, the God who promised, the God of everything would be the One to lead him through.
This doesn’t mean, however, that Abram’s attention for the rest of his story was always on God. A lot of what follows included his focus being way too small and scattered. He was often too focused on his own needs, wants, fears, and expectations. But whenever his vision became too small, God pushed him towards the future God was already bringing about. That future wasn’t Abram’s responsibility to create but it was one he was called to live into. Now the struggle for our attention and our focus is as relevant today as it was in Abram’s day. And what we choose to pay attention to while we constantly split our attention actually shapes our lives in ways we don’t always realize. When we give others the opportunity to push us into a future that isn’t as abundant or as welcoming or as vast as the diverse kaleidoscope of stars and planets that make up our night sky, we fail to embrace our responsibility to keep our eyes on the One whose arms on the Cross were open to us – and to all. The future God is building is a future where everyone gets to be their own kind of Abram: invited to trust and to believe while able to doubt and question. This attention keeping is more than just remembering to say our prayers or saying grace before our meals. It’s knowing that the future doesn’t depend on us and choosing to live, today, as if God’s future is always true. And when we do this well, our own attention will shift away from what we consume and more towards what God chooses to focus on: which is you and your family, your friends and our communities, the poor, the young, the old, the unwanted, the marginalize, and those the rest of us try to hide or despise. When we keep our attention focused on God, on the Cross, and on what God is up to, we’re doing more being faithful Christians. We’re also showing everyone how shifting our attention from what consumes us and towards what gives us life is what we get to do with our God.
1 Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, 2 where for forty days he was tested by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over he was famished. 3 The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” 4 Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’ ”
5 Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. 6 And the devil said to him, “To you I will give all this authority and their glory, for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. 7 If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” 8 Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’ ” 9 Then the devil led him to Jerusalem and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, 10 for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’ 11 and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’ ” 12 Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’ ” 13 When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.
Luke 4:1-13
My sermon from the First Sunday in Lent (March 9, 2025) on Luke 4:1-13.
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Kenny Meyers is an entrepreneur, a techie, and a comic book evangelist who wants to make it easier for you to discover the next great comic you’ll fall in love with. Now I’m pretty sure only a few of us gathered today have even imagined that there might be a comic book we’d want to read. But I do think most of us can recognize when someone – or even ourselves – are so passionate about what they love, they want you and others to discover that same kind of love too. And it’s the type of energy we experience when someone can’t help but share with us that new restaurant or recipe or book or vacation spot or even a new idea that they believe will help us become more of who we already are. It isn’t about, necessarily, persuading us to think or be or take on positions of stuff we never really cared about before. Rather, they have taken the time to know us, to love us, and to be with us in ways that are life-giving and true. And they can recognize a part of us that needs a little something else to help shape us into who we want to be. Kenny, as a comic book fan working in the comic book ecosystem, is trying to do exactly that. He has intentionally been working on developing different ways for people to find comic book shops that actually cater to their wants and needs, as well as helping those who read comics discover that next book they’ll share with all their friends. Helping others discover more about what makes them who they are is one of the greatest gifts we can offer our family, our friends, and every one of our communities. And in today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, we discover just how human Jesus – and we – get to be.
Now it is a tradition to begin the season of Lent with this specific story from Jesus’ life. Jesus, after being baptized in the River Jordan by John, was immediately compelled by the Spirit to travel even deeper into the wilderness. This movement was more than trying to form a spiritual connection with Creation by visiting a place untouched by human hands. The wilderness Jesus went to was full of danger, terror, and fear. Every wilderness in our Bible is where our attempts at having any sense of control completely break down. It’s a wilderness we cannot prepare for nor make our own way through. The wilderness is a moment in life when all we can do is lean on God. Those experiences, for us, can be pretty frightening because wanting control is the one thing that guides us through. Yet for the Son of God to be pushed into that kind of place feels a bit odd since his relationship with the divinity is a little more tangible than our own. Jesus, as we proclaim, was there when the entire universe was made and his identity as part of the Holy Trinity makes his reality a bit different than our own. But his choice to also be 100% human; to discover what it was like to grow up, to be cared for, and to be in relationship with people who have their own stories, experiences, challenges, and joys; makes me wonder if Jesus also discovered the very human desire to be something else. There are times in our life when being us doesn’t seem like it’s enough. We want to be smarter or kinder or richer or willing to take the risks that love invites us to. We desire the power to right every wrong we see and reverse the pain and suffering that our loved ones go through. Having the opportunity to change our situation into whatever feels comfortable and safe – that’s something we would do all the time. And while there are plenty of songs, hymns, poems, podcasts, and self-help books inviting us to celebrate our humanity while doing what we can to maximize our life right now – a sudden illness, a tragic accident, or an experience challenging our own sense of self, worth, and value can make us want to be anybody else. Jesus, who is one of us, might have discovered how non-human we sometimes want to become. And if there’s anyone who could transcend the messiness of life, it would definitely be the One who is always 100% divine too.
And so, I wonder if Jesus’ temptations were something more than being tempted with the power, authority, and invulnerability we want for ourselves. His time in the wilderness might also have been a kind of test to see if he was so human, he would turn his back on his humanity when things got too hard. When the evil one mocked Jesus by telling him to turn some stones into bread, the temptation was to push beyond the limits of our createdness. Next, when the devil showed Jesus the multitude of ways we wield power over others to control our world, our lives, and our neighbors – Jesus’ very subtle response revealed how being with, rather than dominating over, is what true power always looks like. The Hebrew words underneath the phrase “the Lord our God” are actually two different words for God. One of those names points to one of the primary attributes of God which is always mercy while the other name shows how justice is what makes our God, God. God isn’t in the business of lording over creation to keep everything in line. God, instead, chooses to live with all that God loves while showing that love through mercy, compassion, and hope. And, finally, when the evil one wondered if Jesus would prefer a life free from all restraints, free from our reality; and in the words of Professor Richard Swason – “to be absolutely… invulnerable,” Jesus proclaimed that He would hold onto his humanity because God’s love couldn’t do anything less.
Jesus, after hearing a heavenly voice proclaim his identity as God’s son at his Baptism, then immediately went into that moment where being human isn’t usually enough. He had, from Christmas to this moment, discovered what it means to be one of us. Jesus had learned to cry, to laugh, to question, to wonder, and argue about who gets to go first while playing with his friends in the marketplace. And when his public ministry was about to begin, his first challenge was to do the very human thing of leaving his humanity behind. Would he succumb to the desire to be something other than who we are? Would he be the One wielding power over creation rather than living with all our wants and needs? Would the Son of God embrace the attributes of God that we often want for only ourselves? Or would this Son of God and this Son of Humankind help all of us discover just how human we can become? Rather than clinging to our desire to be anyone else, we can – like Jesus – embrace who we already are. We can own our fragility, our humanity, and how hard being human truly is. We can, at the same time, learn to love ourselves – the fullest version of our humanity – even if those around us act as if we can’t be who God has made us to be. And, through it all, we can trust that the Jesus who sealed His love on us through the Cross, will transform us into more of who we are. That doesn’t mean there won’t be times we will do everything we can to be something other than who we are. But instead of hoping that our journey with Jesus will take us on a path out of this world, maybe we can see how our time with Jesus is what shows us how truly human we get to be.
28Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James and went up on the mountain to pray. 29And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became as bright as a flash of lightning. 30Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. 31They appeared in glory and were speaking about his exodus, which he was about to fulfill in Jerusalem. 32Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep, but as they awoke they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. 33Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us set up three tents: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah,” not realizing what he was saying. 34While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them, and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. 35Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” 36When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.
Luke 9:28-36
My sermon from the Transfiguration (March 2, 2025) on Luke 9:28-36.
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I’m pretty sure there’s a bunch of stories in our Bible we don’t fully understand. And while that can be annoying, I’m here to say that’s okay. It’s incredibly faithful to hear all these prophecies, dreams, and experiences that have been passed down for over two thousand years and not know how to handle them. And when we find ourselves hearing a story we don’t really get, God often uses those words to expand our spiritual imagination. The Transfiguration is, I think, meant to be one of those kinds of stories. It’s a moment in Jesus’ life where an epiphany – aka a revelation or manifestation of God – took place. Jesus, according to Luke, took three of his friends up a mountain top to pray since even God knows how important it is to occasionally take a break. Jesus’ friends, at that moment, were a little worn out since they had traveled with Jesus from the shores of the Sea of Galilee to Tyre and beyond. They were there when Jesus healed the sick, casted out demons, and heard words challenging their own understanding of their lives and their world. It was a lot and they needed their sleep. But there came a moment when even their closed eyelids couldn’t stop the light shining in front of them.
Now, in the past, the English translation of the Bible we used in worship tried to make this story seem a little sensible. The translators recognized how there was a bit of a mystery in Luke’s version of the story so they used Matthew and Mark’s version to fill in some of the details. That translation, known as the New Revised Standard version, described what Jesus went through by focusing on what he was wearing. The brightness he embodied was, as we see in the other texts, enhanced by his clothes becoming extremely white. Yet the ancient Greek words Luke used to tell this story never included “white” at all. Our attempt to make this story more understandable missed noticing how Luke wasn’t really trying to explain it. For Luke, the transfiguration is an experience that becomes way too safe, shallow, and small when we try to describe it at all. What these three friends of Jesus experienced was seeing Jesus radiate with an aura and an energy they couldn’t be pushed away. I like to imagine, as they napped, their darkness behind their eyelines was replaced by a light they couldn’t ignore. And so, when they finally opened their eyes and looked at Jesus, what they witnessed wasn’t Jesus ready to go to a so-called “white party” during the summer. Staring at Jesus was, instead, like looking at a flash of lighting or staring at the noon day sun or being a bit too close to an atomic blast. We expect, I think, that our prayers with Jesus would be rather serene, hopeful, and extremely comfortable. But the revelation they received instead was completely life-changing and terrifying.
It’s hard for us, though, to recognize how frightening Jesus was because we have a different kind of relationship with the divine. To us, a holy moment feels like a warm hug around the shoulders and an aura of peace that feels like it will never end. But in Jesus’ day, people recognized how different holiness and divinity truly were. In a world that was created, the uncreated would be wild and free. It was assumed that when the divine showed up that wasn’t through dreams or messengers or even mystical signs stirring our heart – whatever that divinity ran into would be completely consumed. As Jesus’ intensity grew, Peter, James, and John’s fear grew too. They needed something to calm their troubled spirits but received, instead, a doubling down as two figures from their own ancestral story chose to show up. The miracle Jesus’ friends lived through wasn’t seeing Jesus transfigure into something new. The miracle was that after everything was said and done, they were still alive. Peter’s response to his survival was to do the very biblical thing of making something to mark the spot where God showed up. But I also wonder if, while that particular moment washed over him, if Peter wasn’t also excited to see Jesus’ power manifested in exactly the way they hoped it would be. Jesus’ might; Jesus’ strength; this outward presence of the divine and holy Son of God literally on earth – this display was the kind of Jesus they had always wanted. On that mountain top, he was lit up with more power than the noon-day desert sun they often saw reflecting off the shields and helmets of all the Roman soldiers that patrolled the land. The Jesus who burned was the Jesus who embodied everything they believed the Messiah to be. We often act as if the display of power and its outward appearance are what true power, strength, and might really look like. And when Jesus transfigured on the mountaintop, he seemed to finally look the part. He was like an atomic blast, growing, and spreading but one that was already on the disciples side. Jesus’ friends, I imagine, sensed that this was the Jesus they wanted to lead them to Jerusalem. And if he did, then even Rome itself might fall under the radiant thumb of the Son of God.
It wasn’t long, though, before that that moment was completely over. The cloud, the booming voice, and the intense light were suddenly gone. The remnant of what Peter, John, and James had seen was still burned into the back of their eyeballs. Yet the mountaintop was just a mountaintop and Jesus’ clothes and face were as dusty as they had always been. What was left behind was simply Jesus and his friends exactly as they were. And while the Jesus Peter, John, and James so desperately wanted to share with others had been right there – the Jesus they got was the One they already knew. It was the Jesus who chose to be for people; the one who chose to surround himself with the sick and the marginalized. It was the Jesus who knew that wealth, power, military might, and our social status would never be what truly defined it. The Jesus who could burn with the power of the sun chose to be a loving Son to a world that’s too often covered in shadow. All the mercy; all the compassion; and choosing to see people as those who truly bear the image of God – that was, and will always be, how God’s true divinity – and power – shines. The God we get isn’t the God we necessarily want because the power we desire isn’t the kind of power God chooses to wield. What God chooses to do is simply love which is a bit of a mystery to us since we often struggle to love ourselves and others too. But whenever we witness someone caring without the expectation for any reward; when we choose to accept the sacrifices that always come with helping others thrive; when we realize that hoarding what we don’t need isn’t God’s vision for our world; and when we listen more, talk less, and embrace hope rather than commit ourselves to causing harm – it’s then when we are embodying the holy gift of the divine we were given since Jesus has already chosen you to be part of what God’s love will look like in the world. And while there are times when we want God to show up like a flash of lighting on a mountain top, what we get instead is a God who chooses to come down the mountain and walk with us through whatever valley we end up wandering through. The Transfiguration isn’t about finally understanding who our Jesus truly is. It’s about realizing that God’s power is always made real in a love that never ends.
[Jesus said:] 27“But I say to you who are listening: Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; 28bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you. 29If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. 30Give to everyone who asks of you, and if anyone takes away what is yours, do not ask for it back again. 31Do to others as you would have them do to you. 32“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. 33If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. 34If you lend to those from whom you expect to receive payment, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. 35Instead, love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, for he himself is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. 36Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.
37“Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; 38give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap, for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”
Luke 6:27-38
My sermon from the 7th Sunday after Epiphany (February 23, 2025) on Luke 6:27-38.
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Last fall, a bunch of videos appeared online showing what it takes to feed a family. Spread out on a kitchen island or a dining room table was a week’s worth of food purchased at the supermarket as well as the receipt showing how much it cost. The response to these videos varied greatly, with even a few making it onto cable news. And while those videos offered a glimpse of how expensive this ingredient necessary for life can be, most of them were focused on generating engagement, getting attention, and justifying a specific political choice. Food is a necessity and not many of us can easily absorb what happens when something like eggs jumps in price by 30% since January. It’s really hard being a parent, a child, a student, a teacher, a grandparent, or even just a friend when food insecurity is all we have. And while those videos could have been focused on that reality, they were really about “winning” some kind of verbal contest. But if we look past the rhetoric, the vibes, the need to go viral, and all the partisan talking points, it was actually pretty brave for people to show others why they buy the food that they do. All those cans and boxes and bags full of produce told a story about what feeds their bodies and souls. For some, their grocery bill was a bit less than we’d expect since they prioritized ingredients rather than food that was already prepared. These folks had the time, energy, and mental space to actually come up with an idea whenever their kids asked: “what’s for dinner?” It’s possible the act of cooking allowed them to unwind after a difficult day, serving as a way to love those around them. Other families, though, don’t always have the time, energy, or desire to create a dish out of the stuff in their fridge. Their life revolves around popping something into the air fryer or placing an order through their phone at the end of a very long day. The stresses and joys that come with all our callings sometimes means we need the starches, salts, and sugars corporations and restaurants make. And when that’s the case, inflation shows up in very annoying ways. We might assume there is one kind of household – either ingredients based or convenience based – that is better than the other. But I think it’s much more faithful to notice how what we eat – and what its cost – is merely one ingredient making up the life we get to live. The other ingredients that influence our food include our culture, background, financial security, hopes, dreams, relationships, and even our politics. And when we take time to notice all the ingredients that make us who we are, we get a better glimpse of who Jesus calls us to be.
Now this is our second week listening to Jesus’ “sermon on the plain.” He, after gathering together an initial group of disciples, was surrounded by a multitude of people from throughout ancient Israel and beyond. Luke explicitly shared that the community around Jesus came to not only learn from him but also wanted to be healed. They longed for a kind of wholeness they believed only Jesus could bring. This community, though, had a bit of trouble seeing Jesus since he chose to be in the middle of them. He stayed level and regularly bent down to connect with those brought to him by their friends. I can almost imagine those in the crowd bending, weaving, and stretching their necks while trying to get a glimpse of the One who might help them live in a different way. But every time they looked for Jesus, they saw a mass of humanity that Jesus’ presence connected them to instead. After making time to listen, care, and treat those around him as the beloved children of God they already were, Jesus then shifted what he was up to by launching into a sermon. He began by first saying that those we despise are often those who God sees as blessed and that our so-called “winning” often creates woes that devour us and our friends. Jesus wasn’t merely pointing to our next life might be. He, instead, reiterated how the ingredients we claim define our life are often flawed and wrong. Chasing after wealth and power and whatever “winning” looks like isn’t what God wanted for us in the first place. Life could be different if we paid better attention to the actual ingredients God gives us. So Jesus, after naming God’s blessing and reminding us of the woes we choose instead, invited those around him to see life differently. What would it be like if we loved our enemies as much as our friends? What would we need to define our lives by something other than retribution and vengeance? Would it be possible to have the courage to support those who couldn’t give us anything back in return? And what would this moment be like if we focused on what we could give rather than on what we feel entitled to get? At the heart of Jesus’ words is, I think, a trust that God’s presence reverses most of our expectations. Life isn’t meant to be a game we’re trying to win. Instead, life is what happens when we look for God at the center of it all. And when we do, what we see is that mass of humanity that God loves too.
But what that life looks like will, I think, vary from person to person. It isn’t always easy to be generous at every moment of our lives. The one ingredient in life that is pretty much always constant is change. And while there are moments when we can, and should, be generous – there are other times when we’re the ones who need help instead. Learning how to care and to let go of our pride, stubbornness, and the need to make enemies fundamental to who we choose to be, is how we let love grow. And this love, for Jesus, isn’t something we have; love is lived out through the relationships we have with God and with others. These relationships aren’t simply limited to something romantic or familial; they also include those strangers we’re meeting for the very first time. Realizing how difficult this kind of life can be might leave a bit of a knot in our stomach since Jesus’ words feel like the ingredients for a way of life we’ll always, somehow, fail at one time or another. But Jesus didn’t only share these words to only one person; he spoke them to a crowd who, while looking for him, saw all kinds of people too. We, with the spirit’s help, can let the ingredients named by Jesus for our life flow through us while participating in a community that can do those things when we can’t. When forgiveness, love, mercy, or generosity becomes too much, Jesus connects us to others who get to take on those until we’re ready to live that way again. That doesn’t mean we get to pretend we’re something other than we’re not to get out of what God calls us to do. Rather, it lets us be for and with each other through all that life brings while discovering God’s imagination for our lives and for our world. God doesn’t call us to win at life since life is a game we could never win on our own. What we need – and what we have – is a God who, through the Cross, won an eternal life for us and all who God claims as their own. Jesus has changed the ingredients for what life should be so that our life can take the ingredients of His love to show ourselves and others what it means to follow Him.