See Every Sibling and Invite Them In

There is a thread of the Kin-dom that runs through all three lessons today.

The Psalm talks about God’s mercy and compassion.

We’re told that good people are generous; they give to the poor, doing justice always and forever.

The reading from Hebrews talks about showing hospitality to strangers and caring for those in prison.

It goes on to say how good works and sharing resources are the sacrifices that please God.

Then, the Gospel has this parable about a wedding party, seats of honor, and the invitation list.

The connection to the Kin-dom is a little less clear so let me give it some historical context.

In first-century Israel, wedding parties were banquets.

A wedding party was a big deal because the majority of first-century Jews—living under the oppression of Roman occupation—were living in poverty.

And eating—a basic necessity—was not always a given.

Hunger was pervasive.

And a banquet was not just a meal; it was an extravagant meal.

And it was a celebration.

So, it’s no wonder that the Kin-dom of God is represented by a banquet.

OK, so we have this thread of the Kin-dom running through all of today’s lessons.

But what good news are we supposed to take away from it?

We know the lesson Jesus has for us in in the form of a parable.

And we know parables are meant to be twisted and turned to reveal their hidden meaning.

So, let’s twist and turn the parable a bit and see if we can make the message clearer.

One of the things that can shed light on the meaning of a parable is to look at it from different perspectives.

Typically, I think we tend to hear this parable from the perspective of the host or perhaps, a guest.

But let’s look at it from the perspective of the uninvited—the ones who are typically overlooked—the ones Jesus said we should invite.

All the people Jesus mentions— “those who are poor or have physical infirmities or are blind”—lived on the margins of society.

If they were not outcasts, they were certainly overlooked.

But Jesus sees them.

And he encourages us to see them too.

And not only see them but invite them in.

Looking at Jesus’ command from the perspective of those who would not typically be invited, we can imagine their feeling of joy.

Joy at being included.

Joy at being able to say “oh, I see—THIS is what the Kin-dom of God is like.”

It’s a place where I am seen.

It’s a place where I am recognized as a child of God.

It’s a place where people know that I also possess the divine image of God.

The other characteristic of first-century banquets is that they were opportunities to improve one’s social standing.

But those who are poor or who have physical infirmities or who are blind, they had nothing to offer in terms of networking, relationship building, or status improvement.

Yes, that’s an awful thing to say.

And that’s a very utilitarian way of looking at people.

But remember that we’re talking about a first-century perspective.

How would have Jesus’ command sounded those people?

Shocking, no doubt.

And again, I imagine there would be joy amongst the marginalized.

Joy at being valued.

Not because of anything they could offer.

But simply because they were included.

Seen as a child of God.

And recognized as possessing the same divine image of God.

You see, the table that Jesus invites us to is a table of grace.

A table of unconditional welcome.

At my internship site, we had a man who was a frequent visitor.

He had some kind of developmental disability.

He was high-functioning but he had a hard time holding down a job.

He couldn’t afford an apartment, so he lived in his car.

He had a membership at the local Planet Fitness so he could shower.

When he came to church, sometimes he sat in the narthex and just listened.

When he did come into the sanctuary, he always sat alone.

He would come to coffee hour to get something to eat but he would usually take it to go.

He never socialized, even though he was greeted by many people and encouraged to join in.

You see, he didn’t feel Jesus’ unconditional welcome.

Not because of anything the congregation did—or didn’t do.

We loved him and cared for him.

The congregation paid for his car insurance, so he didn’t lose his only source of shelter.

We always packed food from coffee hour for him to take away.

I gave him a sub-zero sleeping bag, so he didn’t freeze to death in the winter.

But years of living on the margins—of being overlooked and unseen—made him unable to accept being seen.

Unable to see that we were offering him a glimpse of the Kin-dom.

That we saw him as a child of God and recognized the divine image that we shared with him.

And that is how we know the Kin-dom is near, but it is not yet.

Because try as we did, we could not get him to see it.

The table that Jesus invites us to is also a table of humility.

Jesus says, “what you should do is go and sit in the lowest place”.

In other words, you should assume a position of humility.

Humility was not a first-century virtue—at least not in Greco-Roman society.

Honor was the virtue.

Judaism, on the other hand, valued humility but primarily in the context of humbleness before God.

But Jesus’ teaching goes a step further.

It emphasizes humility.

In today’s Gospel, he says, “For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”

And again, in the Beatitudes, he says, “The meek shall inherit the earth”.

Humility was a cornerstone of Jesus’ teaching.

It is a characteristic of The Way—the faith practice of Jesus followers.

As a Franciscan, humility has special meaning for me.

It is related to our vow of obedience.

Humility is a joyful surrender to God’s will.

Humility is a joyful surrender of self-importance.

And that surrender of self-importance is a commitment to the service of others, especially those who are poor.

Humility is also a joyful surrender to being formed by others—to growing in faith with those who we gather around us in community.

I’d like to think that those three things—surrender to God’s will, surrender of self-importance, and surrender of self-importance—is giving oneself up to the Kin-dom—what God has ordained for us.

And it’s important to note that our Franciscan surrender must be joyful because, if it isn’t joyful, it doesn’t count.

¬The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.—and Howard Thurman before him—talked about the “beloved community”.

It’s their term for the Kin-dom on earth.

When talking about his movement, Dr. King said, “Our goal is to create a beloved community, and this will require a qualitative change in our souls as well as a quantitative change in our lives.”

The qualitative change in our souls is the ability to see each other as children of God, each of us—ALL of us—possessing the divine image of God.

And the quantitative changes are that the people who are overlooked become seen and are invited in.

Those who are poor, have physical infirmities, or are blind are valued.

And people like the man who was homeless at my internship site see the value in themselves and can receive love and acceptance from others.

In short, God’s justice—what Jesus calls us to—reigns.

So let us close with a prayer for the Kin-dom:

Good and gracious God:

We are not satisfied with the world as it is.

There is still too little of the Kin-dom.

Show us your light.

Help us to understand that we are all your children and that your image in us makes us more alike than any category we have created for each other.

Guide us to always work for your justice—which is the birthright of every human being.

Make us more loving—the unconditional love that Jesus modeled for us—because only that kind of love can overcome hate.

Make us more forgiving—as you forgive us over and over again.

And, Holy One, keep showing us glimpses of your Kin-dom so we never tire of working towards it.

In Jesus’ blessed name we pray.

Amen.

Be Like Jesus … See One Another

The traditional themes for today’s readings are the sabbath—the importance of taking time to rest—and how we interpret the law—what I would frame as the letter of the law versus the spirit of the law.

In the interest of keeping this relatively short so we can get on with the picnic, I would like to focus on a single phrase in today’s gospel:

“Jesus saw her”.

Now, there’s a lot going on in today’s gospel so you may be asking yourself, “why that phrase?”

And that’s a legitimate question.

You see, I have a mental picture of this story.

I think we all tend to do that—visualize the story that we’re reading.

When I read this story, I see the woman, bent over at the waist for almost 2 decades.

She’s unable to look directly at anyone, except maybe small children.

And they are likely afraid of her.

She sees only legs, feet, and sandals.

But Jesus sees her.

Even though she is bent over and probably lost in the crowd, Jesus sees her.

There is nothing in the text to indicate that she sought Jesus out.

But he sees her anyway.

Just as God saw Hagar in the desert, Jesus sees her.

Jesus is the God who sees.

And just as God gave Hagar comfort and hope, Jesus does the same for the afflicted woman.

And in my mind’s eye, when Jesus speaks to the woman, he crouches down to her level—to speak to her face-to-face.

That is the Jesus that we know and love.

Amidst a crowd of people, he singles out the one who has been marginalized.

The one who has been overlooked and outcast.

The one who is most in need of his help.

The one who is most in need of his love.

He does not wait for her to come to him.And he doesn’t just heal her—he FREES her.

I think this idea of seeing and being seen is central to what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

All too often, we go through life with blinders on—seeing only what we choose to see.

And, more importantly, WHO we want to see.

We may see hungry people in our own community who come to the UMC soup kitchen for food, but we choose not to see the women and children starving in Gaza.

We may see the LGBTQ+ folks that are our friends and family members, but we choose not to see the ones that are too flamboyant, too “in your face”, or that we just don’t understand.

We may see the mom with postpartum depression and the teen with anxiety but we choose not to see Deborah Terrell—a senior with mental illness¬—who was killed by New Brunswick police 2 weeks ago.

We CHOOSE who we see.

But Jesus sees us all.

Jesus commanded us to love one another.

I believe that loving one another starts with seeing one another.

And not just seeing a sanitized version of the world—but the world we actually live in.

Because the world that we live in is not the Kin-dom.

The Kin-dom is near, but it is not yet.

Some parts of this world are beautiful.

Other parts are unpleasant—scary even.

But we need to see all of it.

Because, if we don’t see the unpleasant and scary parts, we cannot work to change them.

If we don’t see children starving in Gaza, we won’t ask our representatives to vote for policies that call for a ceasefire and demand that aid gets into Gaza.

If we don’t see the Deborah Terrells of the world, we won’t fight for mental health quick response teams to de-escalate tense situations.

Like most people nowadays, I have a smart phone.

And I often relax by scrolling through social media.

Lately, I have been fascinated by videos of this guy who sings to animals and their reaction to his singing.

There are dozens of these videos.

He’s either French or perhaps French Canadian.

It’s just him and his guitar singing for animals.

I’ve watched him sing for every kind of animal imaginable—parrots, cows, horses, penguins, sea lions, giraffes, elephants, raccoons, and lemurs.

And, in every instance, the animals are drawn to him—or at least to his music.

I’d venture to say that, had he not played music, the animals would have just ignored him.

They wouldn’t have seen him.

But the music draws them.

Maybe it’s curiosity, but I believe that it’s something deeper.

There is something about music that connects us—people to people, people to God, and people to animals.

I might even go so far as to say that music—our ability to create music—is a gift of our divine image.

In a few minutes, this service will be over, and we will enjoy a picnic together.

Many of you have known each other for decades.

But there is something very different about sitting next to each other in a pew and sharing stories over a cheeseburger.

Sharing a meal together is something integral to the practice of our Lutheran faith.

We even joke about it.

“You know you might be Lutheran if potluck dinner is your favorite indoor sport” or

“You know you might be Lutheran if you count coffee hour as one of the sacraments”.

But the reason it is so important to us is that breaking bread together changes relationships.

It deepens our connection.

It helps us to see each other differently.

I would argue that it also makes us see each other more fully.

So that’s the thought I’d like to leave you with.

Just like music draws animals to see the man, let see—truly see—one another.

Just as we see each other more completely over a shared meal, let us see ALL our siblings—even the ones we might prefer not to see.

And, just as God saw Hagar and Jesus saw the afflicted woman, let us not only see our siblings in distress, but let us also offer them comfort and hope.

Because the divine image that we share binds us.

And the beacon of that image draws us together.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

We are Bound Together as Children of God

This is one of those gospel lessons where a pastor debates skipping the lectionary for a week.

Jesus lighting the earth on fire and pitting family members against one another doesn’t really evoke the Prince of Peace now does it?

But diving into a hard or troublesome text is necessary.

I would argue that the best place to do it is in small group Bible study with open discussion, but this Sunday sermon is the best we can do at the moment.

So, let’s talk about today’s gospel and try to wring some good news out of it.

First off, the opening lines were not intended to be taken literally.

Jesus did not come to earth to set it on fire.

Maybe some of you are saying that’s obvious but I want to be clear.

There was a footnote in some of the commentaries I read that said “setting the earth on fire” was a common idiom of Jesus’ time that used the image of lighting an outdoor earthen oven to mean getting things started.

So, Jesus is talking about getting things rolling.

He is anxious to get on with it.

The “baptism he must still receive” refers to his passion, death, and resurrection.

Of course it’s causing him “great distress”.

I mean how would you like having that hanging over your head?

Next comes this weird question: “Do you think I’m here to bring peace on earth?”

Like us, the disciples were probably thinking, “yeah dude!

All you’ve been talking about is the Kin-dom of God—how great it is, how justice will reign, and all people will have enough!

You mean to tell us that there isn’t peace in the Kin-dom?”

But that’s just it.

There is peace in the Kin-dom.

But the Kin-dom is only near.

It is not yet.

So, all this talk about division is about building the Kin-dom.

Because the Kin-dom is something new.

The Kin-dom requires change—and not minor change.

Significant change.

Societal upheaval even.

And guess what?

That kind of change creates division.

Division in communities, for sure.

And even division in families.

Some of you may remember that my brother and sister-in-law were here a few weeks ago.

Dan came because he was scheduled for surgery that week and he thought coming to the church where his brother preached would provide him with an extra bit of grace.

I don’t believe that’s the way grace works but I wasn’t going to argue with him.

I was glad that they came.

It was the Sunday that I preached about HR1, the bill that made the tax cuts to corporations and billionaires permanent.

The bill that greatly increased the budget for ICE.

All at the expense of healthcare and food assistance for poor and low-income folks.

The people Jesus called “the least of these”.

I knew my brother and sister-in-law would not agree with what I had to say.

A few weeks later, at a family party, Laurie said something about my having drunk the Kool-Aid.

Of course, I might have made the same comment about her.

I would have said that my Kool-Aid—if that’s what you want to call it—came from the gospel.

Whereas hers came from idealogues who were only interested in creating fear and sowing division.

But there’s one example of the division that Jesus was talking about.

Brother against brother divided by their hopes or expectations for the future.

I imagine many of you have similar divisions within your own families.

I wrestle with the dilemma of should I speak my truth or should I maintain peace within the family?

More often than not, I opt for peace.

But I do worry that makes me a bit of a hypocrite.

How do I preach the truth of the gospel on Sunday morning and then opt to hold my tongue at a family gathering?

My hope lies in the words of Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest and prolific author.

He maintains that there must be division before there can be true unity.

He says this because even good people will have differences of opinion.

Even good people will hurt one another.

He goes on to say that overcoming our differences—that is what brings the peace of Christ.

And letting go of the hurt—that is what brings the healing of the Spirit.

I confess that I would be a lot happier if I thought that all my friends and family held the same beliefs as I do.

It is difficult when people you love hold beliefs that are diametrically opposed to your own.

What makes it even more difficult is knowing that discussion is futile.

That the political rhetoric in this country has created such deeply entrenched positions that constructive dialog is not possible.

I confess that it pains me.

It pains me because my political views are defined by my morality.

And my morality has been formed by the love of God.

My love FOR God—imperfect as it may be.

And God’s love for me—that unconditional, inexhaustible love that keeps challenging me to be more like Jesus.

That keeps challenging me to keep working with God to build the Kin-dom.

I know I will never see it in my lifetime.

But I’m going to keep laying bricks one-by-one.

And I’m going to keep spreading mortar.

Because that is what I am called to do.

And that, my friends, are what you are called to do as well.

So, I guess that question for me becomes, “how do we deal with this division while we’re waiting for the Kin-dom?”

Some if us may even be asking ourselves, “how do we not only deal with the division but also the fear—the frustration—that it seems like we’re moving further away from the Kin-dom?”

That’s a good question and I’m not sure I have a good answer but I’m going to give it a shot.

I think the answer lies buried in this strange passage about Jesus coming to bring division.

All this talk about division between father and son, mother and daughter, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law—it’s all pointing us to the reality that it is not our earthly family that is important.

Jesus is trying to focus us on our divine family.

Jesus is reminding us that we are beloved children of God.

Possessing the divine image of God.

Called by name and claimed as God’s own.

That is our true identity.

That is the path to ending division.

That is the path to ending unkindness and cruelty.

That is the path to the peace of Christ.

And that is the path to the healing of the Spirit.

The path to the Kin-dom will not be uncovered by winning arguments.

The path to the Kin-dom will not be uncovered by showing that we are right and they are wrong.

The path to the Kin-dom cannot be uncovered through domination.

The path to the Kin-dom can only be uncovered by acknowledging that we are the same.

We are beloved children of God—each and every one of us.

We all possess the divine image of God—each and every one of us.

We have all been called by name and claimed as God’s own—each and every one of us.

That is Jesus’ message for us.

That is what he is hoping will be as obvious to us as the weather when we look out the window.

We are beloved of God.

And we are all siblings—alike in a way that trumps any differences.

Because we all possess the divine image of our Creator.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Avoiding Greed by Becoming Rich in God

So, for those of you that are not aware, I was away last week to attend the Annual Chapter of the Order of Lutheran Franciscans.

The Lutheran Franciscans were founded in 2011 and is the only recognized religious order in the ELCA.

I have been involved with the Order for about 5 years, and I was attracted to them because their foundations are service to the poor, care for creation, interreligious dialog, and rebuilding the church.

All four of these topics are important to me and are integral to my call to ministry.

This past Monday, I took vows of Obedience, Chastity, and Poverty as a novice in the Order.

I now begin a 5-year program of study and discernment, after which, I can become a Life-Professed member of the Order.

So, a few points of clarification:

First, this does not change my call to ministry at Emanuel.

My participation in the Order is a separate, although related, call to service that is integral to my spiritual development.

Second, as a novice, I can use the title of Brother.

I will use it in certain circumstances, when it seems appropriate.

All my Franciscan siblings will refer to me as Brother Scott.

You can call me Pastor Scott, Brother Scott, or Scott, whichever is most comfortable for you.

I will answer to any of them.

Third, the habit of novices in the Order is a Tau cross.

You will notice that I wear it every day.

I also have the brown robe that most people associate with Franciscans.

I will only wear it at OLF functions, like Annual Chapter, and for certain events that are related to my vows.

For most of you, you will likely only see it for the Blessing of the Animals service that we will have in October that also commemorates St. Francis.

Now, I share all this because I thought some of you might be curious.

I am certainly happy to talk at length about the Order and my formation experience as a novice, if anyone is interested.

I may even take an Adult Forum session to explain the foundations and vows in greater detail.

But, for the purposes of today, I thought we might take a look at the readings through the lens of the Franciscan vow of poverty.

Greed is the central message of all three lessons today.

We live in a consumer society.

We are culturally conditioned to want things.

The media we are continually exposed to is inundated with advertising whose sole purpose is to sell us things.

With the advent of social media, there are now algorithms—little computer programs—that track what we look at and even listen in on our conversations to predict the things that will interest us.

Products are designed with built-in obsolescence so, rather than repairing things, we have to replace them.

All these commercial tactics—advertising, algorithms, and obsolescence—are crafted to make us WANT things.

We are actively being programmed, not to be grateful and good stewards of what we have.

We are actively being programmed to be envious of “new and improved”.

We are being conditioned to believe that what we have is never enough.

That, my friends, is greed.

One of God’s greatest gifts to us is creation.

We were not given creation to do whatever we want with it.

We were given creation as stewards—to protect and care for it.

But what have we done?

We have depleted natural resources.

We have upset the natural balance of things and created a climate crisis.

We have driven entire species of animals to extinction.

Our consumer culture creates such massive amounts of trash that we have run out of places to put it.

So, we dump it in the ocean.

Did you know that the great Pacific garbage patch is more than twice the size of Texas?

That, my friends, is greed.

Jesus said, “Avoid greed in all its forms.”

It’s an interesting phrase, isn’t it?

Because we typically look at greed as being all about money and possessions.

But Jesus is talking about greed very expansively.

So, what are the forms of greed?

Ungratefulness.

Attachment to material things.

Consumerism.

Coveting other people’s possessions.

Abusing creation.

The “isms” and phobias that plague our society—racism, classism, sexism, homophobia, and xenophobia—are born out of fear.

And that fear has its roots in greed.

We fear that someone that we perceive to be different from us will take something that is ours.

We fear that rights gained by another group of people will diminish our own rights.

But the perception that any of our human siblings are not like us is delusion.

Because the fact that we all possess the divine image of God trumps any differences we may have.

The counterpoint to greed what Jesus called being “rich in God”.

What does that mean?

I believe “being rich in God” starts with gratitude—gratitude for all that we have.

Because all that we have is a gift from God—given to us to steward.

Stewardship is a church word that isn’t always understood.

A steward does not own.

A steward takes care of.

When we are grateful for what we have—when we see our possessions as gifts from God, given to us to take care of—we are less likely to covet the things that we don’t.

When we are grateful for God’s many blessings, we learn to trust in God.

We trust that God will provide all that we need.

That doesn’t mean we get to sit back and rely on manna from heaven.

Today’s Psalm warns about those who “trust only in their money” because “their prosperity cannot keep them from death”.

We put our trust in God, because “God so loved the world as to give the Only Begotten One, that whoever believes may not die, but have eternal life.

God sent the Only Begotten into the world not to condemn the world, but that through the Only Begotten the world might be saved.”

We trust in God because of the covenant we have with God through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus—the covenant that promises us eternal life.

God became incarnate in Jesus because God wanted a closer relationship with us.

A relationship that was only possible by becoming human and living among us.

In Colossians, we read, “put on a new self, one that grows in knowledge as it is formed anew in the image of its Creator.

And in that image, there is no Greek or Hebrew; no Jew or Gentile; no barbarian or Scythian; no slave or citizen.

There is only Christ, who is all in all.”

That is what it means to be in relationship with God:

To be re-formed and re-created in the divine image of God.

To recognize that divinity in all our human siblings.

And to recognize that that divinity is more defining of who we are than any of the categories that we’ve invented for each other.

That is the foundation of loving one another.

We are all children of God—each and every one of us—possessing the divine image of God.

When we see that—when we acknowledge it—how could we not love one another?

Jesus tells us that we should “avoid greed in all its forms”?

That is the lesson that we need to bring home with us today.

So, how do we “avoid greed in all its forms”?

We do it by living simply and avoiding attachment to material things.

We describe people that we like and admire as someone who “would give you the shirt off their back”.

I haven’t known many people for whom that was actually true, but I’ve known a few.

People who have little and are still grateful.

People who have little and still find ways to share what they have.

People who give, not out of their abundance, but out of their scarcity.

People like the widow in the gospels of Mark and Luke, who gave the last two coins in her possession.

Jesus also said we need to be “rich in God”.

We are “rich in God” when we are grateful—understanding that everything we have is a gift from God.

And we are given those gifts to steward—not to own, but to care for.

We are “rich in God” when we trust in God—in our covenant with God through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

When we trust that our wealth is not in material things, but in the love of God—the love of God for us and our love for God.

And we are “rich in God” when we are in relationship with God.

When we show our love for God through prayer and worship.

When we show our love for God by loving for our human siblings—when we recognize the divine image of God that we share with each and every one of them.

Franciscans avoid greed in all its forms by taking a vow of poverty.

Because St. Francis said, “For poverty is that heavenly virtue by which all earthy and transitory things are trodden under foot, and by which every obstacle is removed from the soul so that it may freely enter into union with the eternal Lord God. It is also the virtue which makes the soul, while still here on earth, converse with the angels in Heaven.”

I pray that we each learn to follow the example of Francis.

That we are liberated from greed in all its forms.

That every obstacle is removed from our relationship with God.

And that our souls are freed to converse with the angels in heaven.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Feeding & Being Fed as Spiritual Practice

Today’s gospel is an interesting one.

I say that because it is a story of two sisters, faced with a choice, and they each chose differently.

And I think traditionally, we are quick to judge Martha unfairly and say she chose poorly.

But hospitality is important, and meals don’t just prepare themselves, right?

Jesus and his followers had to eat.

So, Martha was doing something important—vital even.

The problem with Martha’s reasoning is that she thought her work was the most important thing.

But Jesus gently corrected her and pointed out that Mary’s listening to him teach was important—in fact, “the better part”.

And that’s what I think makes this passage so interesting.

Because we’re faced with choices all the time, aren’t we?

And, generally speaking, we tend to be very task-oriented.

What can I accomplish today?

How many things can I cross off my list?

And sometimes, we forget to ask ourselves, “am I doing the important thing?”

“Have I chosen the better part?”

“Or am I getting so bogged down in minutia or that I’m not listening to the words of Jesus?”

I think those are all good questions to ask ourselves.

There are many things that I love about our Lutheran faith and its traditions.

Paramount to our faith is the idea of grace.

Grace tells us that, as children of God, we are all beneficiaries of God’s grace.

Despite our imperfection—despite all the ways that we find to disappoint God—we are all loved unconditionally.

And we are all forgiven—over and over again.

Day in and day out.

Another thing I love is the importance of context.

We believe that we cannot fully understand Scripture without understanding the historical and cultural context in which it was written.

But the thing that I love that is particularly relevant here is the concept of both/and.

We are often faced with what we perceive to be either/or choices.

But many times, the choices are not so clear cut.

Listening to Jesus teach was important.

So, it’s easy to say that Mary choose wisely.

But feeding Jesus was also important.

Both Mary’s task and Martha’s task were important.

Martha’s error was in perceiving that her choice was either/or.

I think this story is so relevant to our faith life.

We so often face this dilemma: do I listen at the feet of Jesus or do I do something?

And the answer is not a simple one.

Going to church on Sunday is important.

Reading the Bible or going to Bible Study is important.

Having a good prayer life is important.

But so is going outside this community and serving people in need—the ones Jesus called “the least of these”.

On the flip side, working at the mobile shower deployments is important.

Volunteering your time at a food pantry or a soup kitchen is important.

Protesting injustice is important.

But so is being the Body of Christ in this community.

It’s not an either/or choice.

It’s a both/and.

Our faith—listening at the feet of Jesus—inspires us to do something.

It inspires us to pick up that mantle of shepherd that Jesus passed on to us.

And, if you’ll indulge me a little further, I’d like to continue my defense of Martha.

Because I can’t help but hear the echo of Jesus’ words, “Feed my sheep”.

Feeding people is part of my love language so “feed my sheep” resonates strongly with me.

Feeding people—breaking bread together—can be a spiritual experience.

And when I really thought about it, I was amazed at how many times in the past couple of weeks a shared meal became the work of Jesus.

At the closing ceremony of Vacation Bible School, we fed the families of our day campers.

We sat side-by-side and became family.

Language was not a barrier.

We shared love and admiration for children who learned a few songs and put their hearts and souls into singing them.

We were entertained.

We laughed.

Our hearts were filled with the Spirit.

And not one person left that celebration who wasn’t elevated by being there.

Last week, we worshipped with the African community at the United Methodist Church at New Brunswick.

We sat side-by-side with them and we were welcomed as family.

Language was not a barrier.

Neither was culture.

We were swept up in their joy and their gratitude.

We were uplifted by prayer and song and dance.

And then we were fed.

On Friday night, a group of us gathered at Tiina and Arnie’s for a Potluck Dinner.

We all already knew one another.

But there is something about sharing a meal together that draws you closer.

There is something about sharing something you made—something you made with love in your heart.

There’s something about that that binds you.

We talked.

We listened.

And we ate.

And, in the process, we grew closer.

And, in a moment, we will share the most important meal together.

It is a meal we share not only with each other but also with Jesus.

It is a meal we share not only with each other but also with all the saints that came before us and all the saints that will come after us.

It is a meal that binds us as a community of faith.

It is a meal that provides spiritual nourishment.

It is a meal that strengthens us as the family of God’s children.

There is a common thread in all those events.

And I could add others.

You see, by saying, “Feed my sheep”, Jesus made feeding something sacred.

And by sharing a table with the oppressed and the marginalized—outcasts of society—he made something equally sacred about sharing a meal.

So maybe we should cut Martha a little slack.

She was doing important work.

She was doing the sacred act of feeding.

And maybe—in our busy lives, where we are trying to be as productive as humanly possible—we try to remember to pause and ask, “am I doing the important thing?”

“Have I chosen the better part?”

And maybe also remember that not every choice is either/or.

Sometimes, the right choice is both/and.

And, my friends, I beg you to always remember that Jesus said, “feed my sheep”.

And how that makes feeding a sacred task.

And how sharing a meal binds us to one another in community and as a family.

Thanks be to God!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

We Are Shepherds

I stand before you very conflicted.

You see, I am angry—really angry.

And I am wounded.

Wounded because I know the harm that is coming to some of my siblings.

Because of the cuts to SNAP, I know my poor and low-income siblings—many of them children—will go hungry.

Because of cuts to Medicaid, I know my poor and low-income siblings will go without essential medical care and prescriptions.

I know elder care facilities will close—leaving some seniors homeless.

I know rural hospitals will close—leaving people in sparsely populated areas without essential medical care.

And I know the continued assault on immigrants will separate families, deport tens of thousands of hardworking, taxpaying people, and will do nothing to make this country safer.

One of my seminary professors once told me, we never preach from our wounds; we should only preach from our scars.

My wounds are far too fresh—they have not had time to heal.

So, this morning, I stand before you and I can only preach from my wounds.

I debated saying, “I am wounded and, therefore, I cannot preach”.

But that would’ve been dishonest.

I can preach—and I will preach.

But, I’ll say up front, it is from a raw place.

There are those who would say that talking about HR 1—I can’t bring myself to call it the “One Big Beautiful Bill”—is politics and doesn’t belong in the pulpit.

They are certainly entitled to that opinion.

But I would counter that by saying a budget—or, in this case, a spending plan—is a moral document.

It defines what we value—what we believe in.

And morality, values, beliefs—those are certainly the purview of our faith.

HR 1 says we value individual wealth more than feeding children.

HR 1 says tax breaks for corporations are more important than the health and wellbeing of poor people and seniors.

HR 1 says we believe that some people are better than others.

That only the right people deserve due process.

That rounding up people with brown skin—not criminals, but people looking for work at Home Depots, people picking fruits and vegetables in the fields, and people working in meatpacking plants—rounding up and deporting those people is more important than feeding people and making sure they have medical care.

HR 1 has increased funding for ICE to the point that their budget is now greater than the FBI, ATF, DEA, and Federal Bureau of Prisons COMBINED!

HR 1, as a moral document, says that we, as a country, are morally bankrupt.

And that saddens me.

Because I love this country—I truly do.

But this morning I am ashamed—ashamed of what we have become.

Now, that may make some of you mad—or at least uncomfortable.

You may be thinking I should stick to the gospel.

I, of course, would argue that’s precisely what I’m doing but we may just have to agree to disagree on that point.

Some of you may be thinking that I’m being negative and that I should just focus on what I am for.

Fair point.

So, here is what I am for—and, for today, I’ll confine myself to three things.

First, feeding people who are hungry—no conditions, no stipulations.

We live in the wealthiest country in the world—no one should go hungry.

Second, healthcare for all.

We have one of the highest infant mortality rates among industrialized nations—babies dying due to inadequate medical care is an absolute travesty.

And no one should have to choose between taking their prescription medications and paying their rent or feeding their children.

Third, equal treatment under the law.

No one is above the law.

And everyone is entitled to due process.

That’s MY moral document—feed people who are hungry, healthcare for all, and equal treatment under the law.

When we fail at it—be forewarned—I’m gonna preach about it.

And I’ll preach about it with the full confidence that I am doing so in alignment with the teachings and the example of Jesus.

Now, I did have a sermon mostly prepared before HR 1 passed.

And I think it aligns pretty well with what I’ve been saying.

So, I’ve pared it down a bit and will continue with it here.

Today’s second reading and gospel are both about how we live out our faith.

In the second reading, Paul is advising the community of Jesus followers that he planted how to live as the Body of Christ.

In the gospel, Jesus sends out 72 of his followers to bring good news to the surrounding communities.

The stories are different, but they have a common thread.

So, first, let’s talk about the lesson from Galatians.

Paul planted the faith community in Galatia and then he went away.

He continued on his missionary journey.

And people came in behind Paul claiming to have authority to preach to the community.

And those teachers said that Gentiles—non-Jews—must get circumcised to follow Jesus.

Paul’s letter disputes that.

Paul says that what is important is faith in Jesus.

And the living out of that faith is in community.

A united community that cares for one another.

Not a community that is divided by who is circumcised and who is not.

And that community cares for each other by “bearing each other’s burdens”.

Paul says, “Never grow tired of doing good.”

We know how early Christian communities were living from the description in The Acts of the Apostles.

In chapter 2, we read, “Those who believed lived together, shared all things in common; they would sell their property and goods, sharing the proceeds with one another as each had need. They met in the Temple and they broke bread together in their homes every day.”

That was the model.

“Those who believed lived together, sharing all things in common.”

Their belief in Jesus bound them together in community—as the Body of Christ.

It did not matter whether they were Gentile or Jew before their encounter with Jesus changed them forever.

There is a lesson for us in that unity.

In Galatia, the issue was circumcised or uncircumcised.

For us, it is rich or poor.

Black or white.

Gay or straight.

Cisgender or transgender.

Immigrant or citizen.

These are all arbitrary categories made irrelevant by the love of God and our experience of Jesus.

We are meant to love one another—to bear each other’s burdens.

Just as Jesus did—without exception.

Loving one another is an act of faith.

When we sow love, we reap love.

In today’s gospel, Jesus sends out his followers to towns that he is planning to visit.

He tells them, “Don’t carry a walking stick or knapsack; wear no sandals.”

God sends us out all the time to serve people whose needs exceed our capacity.

We serve people experiencing homelessness—even though we have no permanent shelter to offer them.

We serve people who are hungry—even though we don’t have enough for everyone.

We serve people who are sick or lonely or grieving—even though we can only offer them temporary respite.

We serve them anyway because that is what we are called to do.

We bring them a measure of God’s peace—a portion of the shalom that we have from our relationship with Jesus.

We remind those we serve that the Kin-dom of God is near—that, although the peace we offer may be temporary, the peace of God is eternal.

Jesus also said, “I am sending you as lambs in the midst of wolves.”

I will say that this week, I have never felt more like a lamb in the midst of wolves.

I listened to the Director of Elijah’s Promise lament what the future holds for people who are food insecure.

Because, despite all the great work that Elijah’s Promise does and all the generous food pantries in our community, the truth is that for every meal that those great organizations provide, SNAP provides nine.

Or at least it did.

And no amount of fundraising and hard work on the part feeding ministries can make up that deficit.

I listened to colleagues in the Interfaith Alliance and at the city’s Human & Community Services Partners Breakfast lament that people were not accessing services they desperately need because they know ICE is operating in our community and they are afraid.

I listened to community nonprofit leaders and parents of our VBS campers say that children are suffering from anxiety—they are living in a state of fear that their parents will disappear.

I hear all those voices—all that lament—so, as wounded as I am, I will keep on keeping on.

Because, although I have moments when I feel like a lamb, I am also a shepherd.

Jesus made me one.

Jesus said, “feed my sheep”.

Jesus said, “tend my sheep”.

And, God help me, that is what I intend to do.

And I pray, my siblings in Christ, that you will be shepherds at my side.

And may the wolves beware.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

We Are All Connected by God’s Love

Today’s first lesson tells us that wisdom and understanding existed before the creation of the world.

In fact, wisdom and understanding were God’s tools in creation.

To me, that begs the question: why then are wisdom and understanding so elusive to us now?

We consistently lack the wisdom to understand that God considers every human being one of God’s children.

We lack the wisdom to know that it is God’s will that we love one another.

And yet, God’s wisdom is infused throughout creation.

There are no mistakes in creation.

Not in the black hole or the supernova.

Not in the dodo bird or the platypus.

Not in the wide array of hues that our human siblings come in.

Not in all queer variations on our gender, sexuality, and romantic expression.

We are all equally loved by God—cherished, in fact.

And we are commanded by God to likewise love one another.

So why is that so hard for us to do?

In theological circles, we talk a lot about intersectionality.

Intersectionality refers to the interconnectedness of all the categories we have fabricated for ourselves—like race, class, gender, sexuality, even religion.

No human is a monolith.

We are each a combination of those categories.

And because we have diversity within ourselves, you would think it would help us to understand each other better.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t—at least, not always.

But the real lesson of intersectionality is not our interconnectedness—although that is certainly important.

The real lesson is our interdependence.

I think one of the things we can do to live into God’s command to love one another is to look into ourselves.

Is there something about the diversity within ourselves that can help us to accept the differences in another person?

Is there some common experience that we share?

Now—a word of caution.

When we talk about shared experience it is important that we not do it comparatively—as if it were a contest.

Starting from a position of “my suffering was worse” or “you had it easy”—that is the path to division, not connection.

We’re looking for things about each other or experiences we share that might be a foundation for understanding.

A foundation for relationship.

A foundation not only for interconnectedness, but also for interdependence.

A foundation for love.

I am a white, middle-class, gay, Christian man.

Because I am gay, I understand something about oppression.

But, as much as I might like to, I will never fully understand what it is like to grow up black in this country.

To suffer from systemic racism.

To fear being pulled over by a police officer because I’m driving while black.

I depend on my black siblings to share their experience of affliction.

And how that affliction produced perseverance.

And how that perseverance resulted in character.

And how that character provides them with hope.

Because that hope binds us and makes us both stronger.

Because I am gay, I understand something about marginalization.

But, as much as I might like to, I will never fully understand what is like to be a woman in this country.

To be underpaid and underappreciated in the workplace.

To have my healthcare threatened and denied.

I depend on my female and trans woman siblings to share their experience of affliction.

And how that affliction produced perseverance.

And how that perseverance resulted in character.

And how that character provides them with hope.

Because that hope binds us and makes us both stronger.

Because I am gay, I understand something about injustice.

But, as much as I might like to, I will never fully understand what it is like to be an immigrant in this country.

To be denigrated as dirty and a criminal.

To be afraid that I might be abducted by masked government agents and separated from my family.

I depend on my immigrant siblings to share their experience of affliction.

And how that affliction produced perseverance.

And how that perseverance resulted in character.

And how that character provides them with hope.

Because that hope binds us and makes us both stronger.

Being gay is just one facet of who I am.

And it gives me some insight into the experience of siblings in other social categories.

But that insight is imperfect because my struggles are not the same as the struggles of others.

We do not react to the struggles we encounter in the same way.

We do not process the lessons from those struggles the same.

And perhaps, most important of all, my personal trauma is not intergenerational.

It is not a trauma that has been suffered by my ancestors.

But it is a connection and a starting point for relationship and bridge-building.

I had the honor of officiating at the renewal of wedding vows for a lovely couple on Wednesday evening.

Robin and Frank are a straight couple who have been married for 36 years.

They heard about the Marriage Equality Celebration we were sponsoring, and they wanted to participate.

You see they have a lot of diversity in their family.

They understand how important love and support are.

They celebrate the diversity in their family.

It’s a beautiful thing to behold.

Their love for each other is so strong that it was important for them to stand up in visible support of Marriage Equality.

Even when they found out they were going to be front and center as the only couple because they were kind of hoping that they could stand up but still blend into the background.

They stood up because they understand that every human being is one of God’s children.

They stood up because they understand that it is God’s will that we love one another—and they do exactly that.

They love one another.

And they love all their human siblings

Which brings me to today’s gospel.

I confess, when I first read it, what stuck out to me was “Everything that Abba God has belongs to me.”

It’s because I was hearing it with human ears.

It reminded me of the seagulls in “Finding Nemo” or a two-year-old with a toy.

“Mine … mine … mine!”

But ownership—belonging to someone—is not always about possession.

That idea is the result of our cultural conditioning.

It is rooted in our greed and our imperfection—our sinful nature.

So hearing Jesus say, “Everything that Abba God has belongs to me.” sounded, for me in the moment, decidedly un-Christlike.

Those words didn’t sound like the Jesus I know because the Spirit had not yet spoken to me.

She had not revealed it to me.

So, I dwelled on those words and waited for the Spirit to speak to me—and finally, she did.

Belonging isn’t always about possession.

Belonging is also about love.

Belonging is also about acceptance.

Belonging is also about family and community.

So, with that new realization, I asked myself, “what belongs to God?”

What is God’s favorite creation?

What is the only creation that God called “very good”?

We are!

Each and every one of us—without exception.

Black, white, red, yellow, or brown.

Male, female, intersex, or trans.

Christian, Muslim, Jew, Hindu, agnostic, or atheist.

God love us all.

God claims each of us as God’s own.

God calls us by name.

God loves us unconditionally.

And God asks us—commands us—to love one another.

The way God loves us—without exception.

In today’s second lesson, the Apostle Paul writes, “we confidently and joyfully look forward to the day on which we will become all that God has intended.”

It’s clear to me that God intended for us to love one another.

God intended us to live in a harmonious community together.

As the family of God’s children.

In all our glorious diversity.

Let us be confident that God’s Wisdom and Understanding will imbue us with the will to live into what God intends for us.

Let us revel in the diversity of our human siblings and the many gifts that diversity brings.

And may we rejoice in God’s Kin-dom come.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Community Makes Us Better

In today’s gospel, Jesus heals the Gerasene demoniac.

It’s a miracle.

He wields his divine power to defeat evil.

Now, there are a lot of subtexts here.

We could talk about why the demoniac sought out Jesus when he hid from the townspeople.

We could talk about Luke’s choice in naming the demons Legion.

We could talk about why the townspeople were afraid.

Or why the demons asked to enter the pigs and then killed themselves.

But what I would like to talk about is how, in healing the demoniac, Jesus not only ended his torment but also restored him to community.

I think I talk a lot about community.

About how important community is.

About how God intended us to be in community.

About how this church family is a community.

And about how our worship, the various ways we learn and growth in faith together, and the way we share Holy Communion forms us as community.

About how our breaking bread together—whether it is at a coffee hour, a potluck meal, or a Lenten soup supper—binds us as a community.

In Matthew 18:20, we read, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there in their midst.”

What that means is that the bond we share in community is not only with each other, but also with Jesus.

So, when we talk about community, I hope that you keep that in mind.

Maybe you’re asking yourself why all this focus on community?

The simple answer is that we were created for community.

Community makes us stronger.

Community makes us better.

It is God’s intent for us.

But our political discourse—if you can even call it discourse—has become so inflammatory, it is dividing communities.

And people whose views differ from the majority of their community are feeling isolated and alone—not unlike the possessed man living amongst the tombs in today’s gospel.

And if we accept that community is God’s intent for us, well then, isolation cannot be.

Division is not what God intends for us.

Nadia Bolz Weber, author and Lutheran pastor, says, “Every time we draw a line between us and others, Jesus is always on the other side of it.”

And that’s where it gets confusing, doesn’t it?

Because we want to set ourselves apart as the righteous.

We want to declare ourselves as sheep and those with whom we disagree as goats.

But demonizing our human siblings is not what God intends for us.

By healing the possessed man, Jesus has freed him from the label of “demoniac”.

He is no longer set apart from the community.

How many labels do we have for ourselves?

Trumper.

Woke.

MAGAts.

Liberal.

Fascist.

Snowflake.

Name-calling divides communities.

It prevents us from having honest conversation.

It stops us from ever finding common ground.

And we already have common ground—our faith.

We believe in the gospel of Jesus.

We believe that Jesus came to “bring Good News to those who are poor, to proclaim liberty to those held captive, recovery of sight to those who are blind, and release to those in prison. To proclaim the year of our God’s favor.”

The rub is in how we interpret those words.

There will be differing opinions—because we are each a unique creation—a unique expression of God’s image.

Our uniqueness, coupled with the differences in our life experiences, makes us hear those words differently.

And we need to make allowances for differences in opinion.

Because we revel in the diversity of God’s creation.

And we are called to love not only our human siblings, but also that which makes each of them exceptional.

To be clear, that does not mean we have to be morally ambivalent to get along.

If an opinion causes harm—like one rooted in racism—then we need to call it out.

Not disrespectfully.

Not hurtfully.

But calmly—and with moral clarity.

There are some moral imperatives that will always be clear.

Bombing innocent people will always be wrong.

Allowing people to starve will always be wrong.

Separating children from their loving, caring parents will always be wrong.

But, when the issue is not so cut-and-dried, we allow for difference of opinion.

Jesus’ miracles of healing—which always includes a restoration to community—are a call to us.

A call to heal divisions.

A call to step outside our comfort zones and have tough conversations.

And, when we disagree, we seek to find common ground where we can agree.

The common ground starts with Jesus’ commandments to love God and love our neighbor.

That’s the foundation.

And then we build on it through conversation.

Honest conversation with an open heart and mind.

And when we say or do things that are hurtful to another—whether we mean to or not, we ask for forgiveness.

And when we are hurt or angry, we forgive.

And, as Jesus told us, “not seven times, but seventy times seven.”

We forgive—not because we’re weak or we’re pushovers.

We forgive because we follow the Way of Jesus.

We forgive because we are forgiven—every day—through the abundant grace of God.

This congregation proclaims to the world that we are a welcoming community.

That welcome can’t only be for people of different races, different sexuality, and different genders.

Jesus’ example calls us to invite people who are at different places in their faith journey—whether they are lifelong believers, agnostics, atheists, or someone from another faith tradition.

It calls us to invite people of differing political views.

Our welcome is guided by the example of Jesus—who welcomed all.

Even those who were marginalized.

Even those who were outcast by society.

Even those who were isolated, alone, and living amongst tombs.

In closing, let us remember that Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; but the kind of peace I give you is not like the world’s peace.”

Let us live into Jesus’ peace.

Let us always seek unity over division.

Conversation over name-calling.

Forgiveness over condemnation.

Because we are all children of God.

The divisions we have established, the boxes we have put ourselves into—they are creations of our own sinfulness.

Our own egos.

We are all one in Christ Jesus, who loves us all.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

The Emanuel 9 Calls Us to Do Better

On June 17, 2015, Dylann Roof, entered the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, SC.

He asked for Clementa Pinckney, who was pastor of the church.

He asked to participate in the scheduled bible study and took a seat next to Clementa.

He listened to the discussion, interrupting a few times to disagree.

When the participants started praying at the end of the night’s discussion, he pulled out a 45-caliber Glock from his fanny pack and opened fire.

Dylann killed nine people by shooting them multiple times at close range.

Eight died at the scene; one died at the hospital.

Three people survived the shooting, although they are undoubtedly scarred for life.

When I think about the Emanuel Nine, I cannot help but think about our own Bible Study.

Our group meets at the Somerset Diner on Thursday evenings.

It’s mostly the same people: Tiina, Susan, Pam, Janet, Amelda, and I.

Rimma started coming while we were discussing Mary Magdalene.

And we have others that come now and again.

We talk about Scripture—and books that help us in our quest to understand Scripture better—and how the overarching theme of it all is God’s unconditional love for us.

And how Gods love calls us—compels us—to love others.

To reflect that divine love out into the world.

The group has become a Thursday-night fixture at the diner—they were disappointed to hear we were taking a break until September.

They recognize us when we come in.

They give us a table where we can easily have our discussions without being disturbed or distracting the other diners.

One of our waitresses was so intrigued by our group that we shared two of the books from our studies with her.

Our time together is sacred.

Our discussions help us to grow in faith together.

And the meal we share binds as a community.

So, the thought of anyone disrupting our sacred time together with violence is terrifying.

Especially the idea of someone joining our group.

Being welcomed into our fellowship.

Even participating in our discussion.

But then bringing that holy time to a close with blood and gunfire.

And what would that do to our faith?

Would an act of violence shake our faith?

Or would it strengthen our resolve to be faithful to Jesus’ message of love and grace?

Believe it or not, the people of Emanuel church, including family members of the victims, forgave Dylann Roof.

Chris Singleton, whose mother, Sharonda, was murdered by Dylann said, "The narrative of forgiveness is submitting, and it means that you're weak, or people would think that. But I've realized that forgiving is so much tougher than holding a grudge. It takes a lot more courage to forgive.”

Talk about being strengthened by God and following the Way of Jesus!

Now, it might be easy for us to say that “the devil made him do it”.

But I think that is too simplistic an answer.

Dylann struggled as a child.

His home life wasn’t stable.

He didn’t do well in school.

He was raised in an ELCA church.

And he became radicalized online.

He found his identity in hate—and the community he lacked with white supremacists.

Many were shocked to find that Dylann went to an ELCA church—and not some ultra-conservative evangelical church that espoused Christian Nationalism.

The ELCA is one of the most progressive of the mainline denominations.

We ordain women.

We believe in full participation of our LGBTQ+ siblings.

We advocate for immigrants, people experiencing homelessness, and those living in poverty.

So, what went wrong?

Why did the foundation of his faith not protect him from rejecting Jesus’ gospel of love?

Statistics tell us that we are the whitest of the mainline denominations.

So, I think that begs the question, “Are we doing enough to welcome people of color?”

Do we incorporate black, Latinx, and Asian traditions into our worship?

Do we invite people of color who are our friends, neighbors, and coworkers to church?

Do we seek to identify and eliminate microaggressions?

Do we ask our fellow congregants who are people of color for their input and then REALLY listen?

In her book “Disciples of White Jesus: The Radicalization of American Boyhood”, Angela Denker says, “Racism and violence persist in America often because white Americans convince ourselves we have a certain distance from such ugliness.”

Hiding the ugliness of our history doesn’t make it any less true.

Slavery was a long time ago.

The Emancipation Proclamation eliminated slavery in this country.

Many people have convinced themselves that slavery has nothing to do with us.

But many fail to realize that the Emancipation Proclamation didn’t do enough.

Freed slaves were given no money to compensate them for years of unpaid labor.

They were given no land to homestead like immigrants arriving from Europe.

For those unwilling or unable to go north to find jobs, they were limited to sharecropping or domestic work, often under conditions not much different from slavery.

But many of us don’t want to face these truths.

Jim Crow laws were a long time ago.

But the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Fair Housing Act of 1968 eliminated Jim Crow laws.

So, Jim Crow laws have nothing to do with us, right?

But the effects of redlining—the collaboration of banks, insurance companies, builders, and realtors to keep neighborhoods segregated—persist to this day.

The long-term impacts of redlining have embedded themselves in the credit decision process of our financial system.

It conceals the racial aspects of who has access to money, loans, housing, and credit cards.

The GI Bill helped veterans returning from war afford housing and education.

But those benefits were denied to black veterans which has had a profound impact on the ability of black families to improve their financial situation and accumulate wealth.

But many of us don’t want to face these truths.

The election of Barack Obama proved racism no longer exists, right?

But voter suppression still exists—aided by the recent gutting of the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Gerrymandering reduces the voting power of minority communities.

Black communities are still overpoliced.

Sadly, black parents have to instruct their sons on how to avoid police violence.

According to the FBI, racially motivated hate crimes are increasing and over half of those crimes are related to race or ethnicity.

Despite incremental gains over the last 150 years, racism in this country is still strong—still thriving.

The roots of racism run deep, and those roots have become intertwined with our culture, our politics, even our religion.

And still, many of us don’t want to face that hard truth.

In 2022, the median household wealth for white families was $284K.

For black families, it was $44K.

$44K!—that’s 85% less.

Now you’ll hear some white people immediately say, “well, my net worth is nowhere near $284K”.

Or “I’ve worked hard for everything that I have. No one gave me anything.”

The thing is, when we do that—when we dismiss the problems of racism without even fully listening and absorbing what we’re being told—we perpetuate these longstanding problems.

If we allow ourselves to forget for a moment that we had nothing to do with creating those problems, then we can at least acknowledge that there IS a problem.

The median wealth of a white family in this country is $284K.

And the median wealth for a black family is $44K.

THAT is a problem.

Maybe we should be less concerned about deflecting the reasons for this situation and be more focused on how we fix it.

Now, you may be asking yourself how I got from honoring the Emanuel Nine to economic racism.

The reason is simple.

They are symptoms of the same evil.

There is racism in this country—it is systemic.

There is racism in this church.

There is racism in our hearts—all our hearts—no matter how hard we guard against it.

No matter how progressive we think we are.

How could there not be?

We are bombarded with messages of fear and hatred.

Our culture and our politics are steeped in it.

Let’s not deny it.

Let’s not let our discomfort with the ugly truth prevent us from acknowledging it.

Today’s gospel should be a familiar one.

Jesus says, “If you wish to come after me, you must deny your very self, take up your cross and follow in my footsteps.”

We all know the Way of Jesus.

It is to love God—and the image of God in every one of our human siblings.

It is to love our neighbor—especially those who are unlike us and those who are marginalized and oppressed.

We should all be able to agree that racism is evil.

We should also agree that we are all sinners and, as sinners, we are capable of that evil of racism.

If we deny that, we have no hope of ever addressing it.

So, let us remember that we are not only sinners, but also saints.

Let us rededicate ourselves, not to colorblindness, but to antiracism.

To be earnest in our desire to do better.

To pick our cross and follow Jesus.

To live into our calling as beloved children of God.

To love our neighbors—ALL our neighbors—as Jesus loves us—unconditionally and abundantly.

The voices of the Emanuel Nine demand it.

May the Holy Spirit give us the will and the strength to do it.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Diversity is a God-Given Gift

The lectionary, which is the three-year cycle that assigns readings for each week, aligns with the church seasons.

There is a cycle for each of the synoptic gospels—Matthew, Mark, and Luke—and John gets sprinkled in throughout the years.

The modern lectionary was developed in 1969 as part of the Second Vatican Council.

1969 is also the year of the Stonewall riots, which are generally considered to be the beginning of the LGBTQ+ civil rights movement.

I think it’s safe to assume that the clergy assembled for Vatican II gave no consideration whatsoever to Stonewall or the nascent gay rights movement.

But honestly, there couldn’t be a better set of readings to kick off Pride month.

Humanity is God’s favorite creation.

We are the only creation that God saw as “very good”.

When we were created, God intended us to be in relationship with God.

But God also intended for us to be in relationship with each other.

In ancient times, people were focused on the community.

They relied on group welfare for survival.

We’ve gotten away from that in our culture.

We are more focused on individualism and personal gain.

That kind of self-importance is not the Way of Jesus.

Because we were created for community.

Today’s first lesson is about the Tower of Babel.

The traditional viewpoint is that God created multiple languages and dispersed humankind as a punishment.

The idea was that humanity was becoming too prideful and were building a tower to reach God.

So God makes them speak different languages to stop them in their tracks.

The tower never gets finished.

And then humankind is dispersed to the four corners of the earth.

It’s what I was taught in Sunday school and I never really questioned it.

It just kind of goes along with the idea that we’re inherently bad.

Adam and Eve were prideful and they wanted to know what God knew.

Those early people in the valley of Shinar were prideful and they wanted to reach the heights of God.

But there’s a problem with that line of thinking.

We know that God is not “up there”.

And, even if God were, we’re not going to reach heaven by building a tower, now are we?

Now, it does sound like people may have been getting prideful—a little too big for their britches, if you will.

But there is another way of looking at God making people speak different languages.

God—the creator—was creating diversity.

Now, maybe you’re saying to yourself, “why would God do that?”

The need for diversity seems counterintuitive.

Differences separate and divide, don’t they?

It’s true, diversity can do that.

But diversity also fosters creativity and innovation.

You see, different life experiences encourage different approaches to problems and challenges.

Diverse groups containing members with different perspectives are more likely to think out of the box and arrive at more creative solutions.

Having a variety of skills and perspectives on a team makes them more resilient and more easily adaptable to changing circumstances.

Diversity in communities can increase tolerance and reduce conflict.

So, diversity strengthens.

Some people look at Pentecost as a “correction” to the Tower of Babel.

But that is simply not true.

It is also supercessionist.

Pentecost did not return humanity to one language.

Multiple languages remained.

The diversity—created by God—remained.

What differed is that each person heard the word in their own language.

The Spirit allows us to relate to each other—despite our differences.

When diversity was a stumbling block to the community, the Spirit intervened.

Because we were created for community.

Today’s story from Genesis tells us that God created diversity.

Diversity is what God intended for us.

Diversity strengthens us—whether that is diversity in language, culture, sexuality, or gender.

Diversity makes communities more resilient.

If diversity divides us—that is our doing, that is not God’s intent,

The story of Pentecost tells us that we can relate to each other—be it through faith, through the example of Jesus, or the action of the Spirit.

In 1 Corinthians, we read, “The body is one, even though it has many parts; all the parts—many though they are—comprise a single body.”

Humanity is the one body.

The many parts is the God-created diversity that we see in each of our siblings—differences in culture, country of origin, language, sexuality, gender identity, and gender expression.

God sees the diversity in creation and says that it is good.

God see the diversity in God’s human children and says that it is very good.

We were made for community, my friends.

Not a boring, cookie cutter community.

But richly diverse community, created by God.

Let us remember that our faith is not simply a belief.

It is meant to be lived out.

And, try as we might, we cannot live out our faith alone.

Jesus showed us that God intended for us to live out our faith in community.

We need each other.

We need people who are different from us.

They make us stronger.

They make us better.

I wish this beautifully diverse congregation a blessed Pentecost and a happy Pride Month.

May you see the differences in all your divinely-created siblings as the gifts that they are.

Because we were created for community.

Thanks be to God!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

No One is Free until We All are Free

Today is the last Sunday of the Easter season.

Next week is Pentecost so don’t forget to wear your red.

We’re still primarily focusing on the lessons from Acts.

And, in the Acts passage, I think our tendency might be to skip right over Paul’s casting out the spirit of divination from the slave girl and focus on the miracle of Paul and Silas’ liberation.

If we do that, I think we’re missing some important parallels in the lesson.

Now, while I really like the language of the Inclusive Bible most of the time, in today’s lesson, it does us a bit of a disservice.

You see, the girl possessed by the spirit of divination wasn’t just a “household worker”.

She was a slave.

And she—or perhaps more accurately, her demon—doesn’t just say Paul and the disciples are “faithful followers of the Most High God”, she says they are slaves of the Most High God.

At least that is how the NRSV renders the Greek.

She draws a parallel between herself and the evangelists that she follows.

The difference, of course, is that her servitude is not voluntary.

The girl follows Paul and his disciples, shouting after them about how they are slaves of the Most High God proclaiming the way of salvation.

Out of frustration from her repeated presence, Paul casts out her demon.

When he does so, he frees the girl from her spiritual torment.

There’s a good chance that he may also have freed her from her physical bondage because he removed the thing that made the girl valuable to her owners.

So, she was made free—definitely spiritually, and perhaps physically as well.

Then, in a twist of fate, Paul is made a prisoner for his action.

Now, it’s probably safe to assume that Paul was spiritually free because of his faith.

But physically, he was no longer free.

Paul and Silas make their presence known to God by their praise and their singing—much as the slave girl made her presence known to Paul.

And God responds to Paul’s imprisonment—just as Paul responded to the girl’s possession.

And Paul is made free—first from his chains, and then from his prison.

And then, there is the jailer.

He is a slave to his position—so much so that he is willing to kill himself for failure.

And—in a broader sense—he is a slave to sin.

So he makes his presence known to Paul, “what must I do to be saved?”

And Paul responds—as God responded to Paul and Paul responded to the girl.

He preaches to the jailer and his family.

He baptizes them—and he frees them sin and death by bringing them to God.

Three very different stories of bondage.

And three different stories of liberation.

But there is a thread that runs through all of them.

There are all kinds of ways to be a slave.

But freedom begins with our faith in God.

And because everyone in today’s lesson is freed from their individual bondage, I would add that the following adage also holds true:

No one is free until we all are free.

Last week, Rich told us that 12 Rutgers students had their visas canceled.

Unfortunately, this is happening all over the country.

Foreign students are finding themselves imprisoned by uncertainty.

They are uncertain whether they’ll be allowed to stay in this country.

They are uncertain whether they’ll be able to complete their degrees.

Some find themselves in this situation for daring to speak out about the injustices occurring in Gaza.

Others are undoubtedly the victims of xenophobia, Islamaphobia, or racism.

We are all slaves to the uncertainty of what in the world is going to happen next.

And I’m gonna say no one is free until we all are free.

There is economic disparity in this country.

The wealth of this country was built on the backs of African slaves.

And—while it may have started with slavery—the economic disparity didn’t end there.

Emancipated slaves received no compensation for lost wages, nor were they given land to homestead—although white settlers from Europe got plenty.

Emancipated slaves started in a financial hole that was almost impossible to climb out of.

It led many to a life of sharecropping—which wasn’t much different from slavery.

Emancipated slaves were freed from one type of bondage—only to find themselves subjected to another.

The concept of tip wages was developed to pay black waitstaff, domestic workers, and railroad porters less than minimum wage.

Redlining prevented people of color from purchasing homes—where they could accumulate wealth.

Instead, they were forced to rent—an expense that further enriched white landowners and continues to widen the wealth gap between white and black people.

Black soldiers were denied GI Bill benefits that would have allowed them to attend college—leaving them at a disadvantage in the workplace.

And then there are the various “poor taxes” that continue to adversely affect low-income families.

Food deserts force families to buy more expensive groceries at small neighborhood stores.

Lack of preventive care means more expensive medical and dental problems in the future.

Lack of local branches and restrictive bank policies, force people to use check-cashing operations, whose exorbitant fees eat away at their wages.

If you think the Emancipation Proclamation or the Civil Rights Act of 1965 or the election of Barack Obama means that economic disparity, rooted in racism, is a thing of the past—you are sadly mistaken.

We are all slaves to the financial apparatus of this country.

And no one is free until we all are free.

I had a family come to the church on Thursday.

There were three women of three generations.

And they were homeless.

They said there were seven people in two families, living in a single apartment.

They had income.

Several of the adults had jobs.

And they were evicted.

I didn’t ask why.

When I worked for Family Promise, I heard all the reasons.

The landlord raised the rent above their means.

Or perhaps the landlord wanted to cash out and sell the property.

Maybe even the families were evicted for non-payment.

But there are so many reasons why that could be.

The household breadwinner left—or died.

An unexpected expense—hospital bill, car repair, death of a loved one—meant there was no money for rent.

We live in a society where a stable place to live is seen as a privilege, not a right.

We are slaves to a system where any number of circumstances could threaten your shelter.

And siblings, hear me when I say no one is free until we all are free.

I have the privilege of knowing a good many transgender and gender nonconforming people.

Some I consider close friends.

Two of my friends are in stages of transition.

Now, to be clear, they are not transforming into something new.

They are transitioning to the gender that they deeply know themselves to be.

It’s not something new and different.

It’s not a fad or a whim.

After years of consultation with doctors and therapists, after years of hormone therapy, and after years of socially presenting as their gender—FINALLY, they will have bodies that match their identity.

It has not been without anxiety.

Both have had to deal with the uncertainty of what the administration’s “two gender” executive order means for their medical care.

And their insurance coverage.

And their ongoing medical care.

We are slaves to a system where healthcare is seen as a privilege, not a right.

Now my friends are both strong and resilient adults.

Imagine what it must be like for children and young adults—who haven’t been tested and strengthened by adversity.

Who may not have supportive communities around them.

Or what it’s like for the parents of those children who want nothing more than to protect their children—knowing full-well that gender-affirming care is suicide prevention.

We are slaves to a culture that feels empowered to dictate who we are.

God as my witness, I’ll say it again—no one is free until we all are free.

So, where does that leave us?

First, like the slave girl AND Paul AND the jailer, we must make our presence known.

We make our presence known to God through worship and prayer.

We lament oppression when we see it.

We celebrate freedom when it is won.

We make our presence known to the world through our acts of love.

Serving the least of these.

Speaking out against false witness against our neighbors.

And refusing to accept anything that diminishes the freedom that is God’s justice.

Second, it means that we have work to do.

We must continue building the Kin-dom.

We must plant the seeds of freedom wherever we can.

We must nurture freedom whenever we find it—protect it from whatever threatens it.

We must love God—the God that we know loves us—ALWAYS.

The God that loves us unconditionally.

The God that casts out the demons that hold us back from the Kin-dom—fear and hate and greed—all the things that prevent us from loving our neighbor as Jesus loves us.

The God that breaks the bonds of whatever is preventing our imago dei from shining forth and reflecting God’s love out into the world.

Last week’s gospel talked about peace.

Rich rightly pointed out that Jesus’ peace is enduring—it’s permanent—not like the peace that the world gives.

In the biblical context, peace also means wholeness or flourishing—specifically the wholeness or the flourishing that we would anticipate in the Kin-dom.

The wholeness or flourishing that we would experience under the justice of God’s Kin-dom—where we all are free.

Free from everything that limits us from living into our divinity within.

In today’s gospel, Jesus says we are one—he in us and us in him—and that we are made perfect in that unity.

May we recognize the Jesus within us—and act as we know Jesus would.

May we live into that perfect unity—with each and every one of our human siblings.

Good and gracious God, I pray that it may be so!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Peace the World Can’t Give (a sermon by Rich Novak)

Good morning, church!

I am going to take the readings in reverse order and try to make sense of them and show how they are connected.

1. Love and Obedience Go Together

The gospel reading begins with the words, “Jesus answered.” But what was the question?

Judas (not Iscariot) said to Him, “Lord, how is it that You will manifest Yourself to us, and not to the world?”

The writer makes the point that this Judas was not the Judas that betrayed Jesus, leading to his death. For us, it is a reminder that this was a popular name at that time and we should not be confused.

Judas had heard Jesus teach that all the earth would see the Messiah in His glory (Matthew 24:30). It was hard for him to understand Jesus when He now spoke of a revealing of Himself that the world would not see.

If anyone loves Me, they will keep My word: In answering Judas, Jesus repeated the themes from the previous verses. Jesus would be revealed to and among the disciples through love, obedience, and union with the Creator. These were not and are not primarily mystical or ecstatic experiences, but real life lived out in the presence and work of the Holy Spirit.

Jesus says, “Anyone who loves me will obey my teaching.” That’s simple, but not always easy. He’s telling us that love isn’t just about feelings—it’s about action. If we say we love Jesus, it should show in how we live, how we treat others, and how we follow His example.

How do we follow his example? By serving the least of these, we are told by Jesus. The hungry, the homeless, the downtrodden, the marginalized, the migrants. For me, it is hard to see obedience to Jesus teaching in the orchestrated attacks that we’re seeing daily on these, the least of us.

For us at Emanuel, we’ve tried to obey Jesus’ teaching and follow his example. For us, it has meant the historic and lasting work in founding Elijah’s Promise, of being on the ground floor with the Middlesex Interfaith Partners With The Homeless. That has happened. That is in the past. And today it means our involvement with Archangel Raphael’s Mission, Feeding New Brunswick Network, United Methodist Dinner Ministry, hosting the men’s shelter and many other examples.

We celebrate our love of God, for sure, at Sunday worship, but we live this love through following the life and commands of Jesus.

2. God Makes His Home in Us

Jesus says that if we love Him and follow Him, God will live with us. Think about that! The God who created the universe chooses to be close to you and me. Not in a temple, not just in a church building—but in our very lives.

That means we’re never alone. When life is confusing, when things go wrong, or when we’re trying to make a big decision—God is already right there with us. Frankly, for me, this is the strength and hope that keeps me going day after day.

3. The Holy Spirit Is Our Helper

Jesus knew His time on earth was almost up, and imagine how his disciples felt. But He didn’t leave His followers empty-handed. He promised the Holy Spirit, whom He calls the Advocate or the Helper or the Greek word Paraclete, depending upon the translation. In short, they all mean helper, comforter, guide, counselor and even lawyer—someone who stands by you and speaks truth into your life.

The Holy Spirit reminds us of what Jesus taught. The Spirit helps us remember to love, forgive, stay strong, and trust God when we’re afraid or unsure.

Today, we might all feel confused by the world, or we might have questions about faith. The Holy Spirit helps us grow in our understanding and gives us wisdom to walk with God daily.

I will share with you that at Rutgers we are very confused. We are very confused by the national policies that have cut life-saving research grants, that have been attacks in higher education on free speech, that have singled out enemies of the president that have unexplained revoked the visas of students that are here. They were quiet, deceptive things that are going on and not all of them are reported. At Rutgers, we had 64 grants cancelled that were multi-year grants. So, they’re into year two, year three, year four of their grants, where people are hired. This has affected 200 faculty and staff. We had the visas of 12 students revoked. No explanation. No explanation. It gets jammed up in court, it gets overturned. At least temporarily. So, yeah, confusing for sure.

The spirit is our guide, our helper, our counselor.

In the Orthodox Tradition, there is only one prayer that is addressed to the Holy Spirit and it is a prayer that is said every day, calling on the Holy Spirit.

Heavenly King, Comforter, Spirit of Truth, You are everywhere present and fill all things. Treasury of blessings and Giver of Life, Come and dwell within in us, Cleanse us of all stain, And save our souls O Gracious One.

This prayer acknowledges exactly what Jesus promised – he would not leave us alone, but rather the Spirit, that is everywhere present and fills all things, would be our companion, our guide, our helper.

4. Peace That the World Can’t Give

One of the most powerful lines in this passage is this:

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives.” Let’s unpack that.

In Jesus’ world and time, some form of “peace be with you” was the common greeting when greeting or leaving someone. In Modern Hebrew, "Shalom" is used as a common greeting and farewell, similar to saying "hello" and "goodbye", signifying a blessing for well-being upon meeting or departing. It can refer to both inner peace and harmony as well as the absence of conflict and war. The Arabic greeting "As-salamu alaykum" translates to "Peace be with you". In the Middle East, it's a common way for Muslims to greet each other, reflecting the value placed on peace and good wishes. The phrase uses the word "salam," which means "peace" in Arabic. Similar greetings with the meaning "peace be with you" are also used in other religious traditions, like Christianity, with the phrase "Pax vobiscum" in Latin.

I have many friends from the Middle East and they would always greet each other, everyone, with “the peace of God be with you”. When I was growing up, this was something that my parents always said, “Go with God.”

So, once again, Jesus uses a reference that is readily understood by many – the greeting of peace. But he goes far beyond the common usage and says, I do not give to you as the world gives. Even today as the world promises peace through success, money, popularity, or comfort, Jesus counters. Those things fade. They can be taken away. Jesus offers a deeper peace—a peace that stays, even in the middle of hard times.

This kind of peace calms your heart when you're scared. It helps you sleep at night when you don’t know what tomorrow holds. It’s the peace that knows God is in control—even when life feels out of control.

And Jesus says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” He’s not just giving a suggestion—He’s giving us a reason to trust. If Jesus has conquered death and given us His Spirit, then we can face anything that comes our way.

And as I say this to you, this is one of the toughest ones that I wrestle with. Day by day.

5. So What Does This Mean for Us Today?

Here’s how we can live this out:

• Love Jesus by following Him

• Trust that God is with us

• Ask the Holy Spirit for help

• Accept Jesus’ peace

Conclusion

Jesus spoke these words knowing He was about to leave His disciples. But He gave them—and us—everything we need: love, guidance, God’s presence, and unshakable peace.

So this week, when our heart starts to feel troubled, remember these words:

“My peace I give you. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”

Let’s live in that peace today.

Breaking Bread Together

I always thought this vision of Peter’s was very odd.

I confess that, for a long time, I put it in the same category as most of the book of Revelation—a bit too out there and I didn’t really get it.

I mean there had to be a simpler way for God to let us know that we could eat shellfish and bacon.

Don’t get me wrong.

I mean—woo hoo! I LOVE shellfish and bacon.

But is there more going on here than I realized?

First, I think it’s important to say straight off the bat that this is not about God saying that the covenant with Jews was over and it is time for a new covenant.

That is the foundation of antisemitism.

Jesus did not come to create a new religion.

He was an observant Jew.

His lessons and his style of teaching is very Jewish.

Jesus’ message about the Kin-dom—and this vision of Peter’s—is about including Gentiles.

Alongside Jews—and the rest of humanity.

That is an earmark of Jesus’ ministry—inclusion.

Jesus intentionally went to the margins.

He didn’t just preach about the Kin-dom and heal people who were broken in mind, body or spirit.

He fed them.

He sat down and broke bread with them.

Lepers and tax collectors and prostitutes.

He intentionally included people that had been ostracized.

Because that is what the Kin-dom is—true community.

In today’s gospel, Jesus says, “Love one another. And you’re to love one another the way I have loved you. This is how all will know that you’re my disciples: that you truly love one another.”

Jesus says that we are to love one another the way he loves us.

Unconditionally and without exception.

So, any time we put limits on our love for our neighbors, we are not following Jesus’ command.

We are falling short.

And, unfortunately, there is no shortage of examples of how we are falling short.

* This is the part that is missing from the recording *

Our government continues to arrest and detain people of color under the guise of public safety—protecting us from dangerous criminals who have entered the country illegally.

The only problem is that the reality just doesn’t line up with the rhetoric.

Men with no criminal record are being deported.

Women and children are being detained.

Political dissidents are being harassed and persecuted.

All without due process—a fundamental right of all people, not just citizens.

To paraphrase from today’s lesson from Acts, “don’t call illegal who God has called a citizen of the Kin-dom”.

There is also an executive order that dictates the federal government will only recognize two genders—male and female.

That unfounded position has emboldened anti-trans discrimination across the country.

Again, governments at the federal, state, and local levels are doing this under the guise of “protecting women”.

But again, the reality doesn’t align with the rhetoric.

Trans women are not assaulting other women in bathrooms.

Trans women athletes are not depriving other women of opportunities to excel nor are they causing them injuries.

The truth is trans people are at greater risk of assault and homicide.

And advocates are concerned that the current political climate will embolden extremists that would do trans people harm.

One fallout of the executive order is that all references to transgender have been scrubbed from the Stonewall National monument—despite the fact that many of the brave souls who fought back against police brutality against LGBT+ folks were transgender.

To paraphrase from today’s lesson from Acts, “don’t call an abomination who God has called one of God’s children”.

Now, the point of my saying this is not to imply that anyone here is calling undocumented people “illegal” or transgender people an “abomination”.

But when we hear these things and say nothing, it is collusion.

We are not living out our faith.

We are not speaking our truth.

Our silence reinforces the “othering”.

Our failure to stand up encourages the perpetrators—or, at the very least, doesn’t DIScourage them.

Perhaps worse, our immigrant and transgender siblings are injured by our silence—by our failure to stand with them.

* And this is where it picks back up again *

There is an oft-repeated phrase, “no one is free unless we all are free”.

I believe that Jesus would say, “no one is saved unless we all are saved”—because our salvation is bound up with our neighbor’s.

I think it’s fitting that Peter’s vision was about food.

Food is about comfort and fellowship.

Thich Nhat Hanh, Buddhist monk and peace activist, said, “Sharing a meal together is not just to sustain our bodies and celebrate life’s wonders, but also to experience freedom, joy, and the happiness of brotherhood and sisterhood, during the whole time of eating.”

I think that touches on something that is important for us to remember as we approach the Table this morning.

Sharing this meal together is about freedom, joy, and the happiness of siblinghood.

Yes, it is about ceremony and sacrament.

But it is also about inclusion and relationship.

Relationship between us and God—and also between each other and the rest of our human siblings.

When we celebrate Communion together, it is an embodiment of justice.

When Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me”, he wasn’t asking us to passively hold a memory.

He was inviting us into action.

He was asking us to love God.

He was asking us to love each other as he loves us.

To love each other unconditionally and without exception.

To seek justice for the oppressed and the marginalized.

To continue building the Kin-dom—brick-by-brick.

To continue planting the seeds of faith that will grow.

Now, some of you may be saying, “you’re reading an awful lot into a pretty simple statement”.

Perhaps.

But about the only straightforward thing Jesus said was, “Love God. And love your neighbor.”

The rest of the time he was speaking in parables and riddles.

And although, “Love God. And love your neighbor.” seems pretty straightforward, we could spend hours discussing who is our neighbor.

And a boatload more time discussing HOW do we love God and HOW do we love our neighbor.

So, should it come as a surprise that that simple statement of “Do this in remembrance of me.” might also be layered?

We place a lot of emphasis on the idea that God’s grace is free.

That there is nothing we can do to deserve it.

That we receive God’s grace in abundance every day—with no strings attached.

And yet, there is always this call to action.

And that, my friends, is the answer to how to love god and how to love our neighbor.

We show our love for God by loving our neighbor—following Jesus’ example.

By seeking out those at the margins and welcoming them to break bread with us.

And, when I say that, I’m thinking about breaking bread very expansively.

We can break bread in a physical sense by feeding people who are hungry.

But we can also break bread in an emotional sense by including people who have been “othered”—to show them that we see the image of God in them.

And we can break bread in a spiritual sense by inviting them to this table of forgiveness.

Breaking bread together is community-building.

And, in community, there is hope.

Not blind optimism—but trust in God and what we can do together.

Today’s lesson from Revelation talks about new heavens and a new earth—where we are God’s people and God will be present among us.

It’s talking about the Kin-dom.

And all this talk about including the marginalized—and feeding them: physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

All this talk about thinking expansively about how we remember Jesus.

It’s all about building the Kin-dom.

It seems so far off at this moment in time because of terrible things that are happening around us.

Terrible things that divide, rather than unite us.

But Jesus promises that the Kin-dom is near.

And we can participate in bringing it closer still.

So, let’s take away from today’s lessons that we have been given a gift from God.

The gift that we can be co-creators of the Kin-dom.

That we can be agents of God’s love in the world.

That we can be unifiers that help heal the brokenness around us.

Thanks be to God for all God’s gifts!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Power, Helping & Resurrection

Today’s first lesson is about the raising of Dorcas.

The story of Dorcas is an important one and I think there are three significant points we should take away from the story.

The first is about the power of women.

Because women are underrepresented in Scripture, there has been a tendency to downplay their contributions.

Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Susanna were three women who financially supported Jesus’ ministry.

Luke says there were “many others” but Mary, Joanna, and Susanna are specifically mentioned.

Mary Magdalene is also known as the apostle to the apostles because she was the first witness to the risen Christ.

At that point in time, the Body of Christ—the entirety of the church—was one woman: Mary Magdalene.

In today’s lesson from Acts, Luke identifies Dorcas with the Greek word “mathetria”.

Now you know I’m not usually one to break out the Greek, but I think this is an instance when it is important.

Mathetria is the feminine form of the Greek word for disciple.

Dorcas is the only woman explicitly identified as a disciple in Acts.

In fact, Dorcas is the only woman in the entire New Testament that is referred to as a disciple.

Undoubtedly, there were others.

Jesus had women followers, and some had to be qualified as disciples.

If Mary Magdalene was mentioned in Acts or one of the Epistles, I think it’s safe to assume that she would warrant the title.

But as it is, Dorcas stands alone.

And Dorcas was not just a disciple.

She was a pastor.

She had a flock that she tended.

Dorcas is an example of what a shepherd of God’s flock looks and acts like.

She went out to the margins and cared for one of the most vulnerable groups in her community—widows.

Her compassion was hands-on.

She not only ministered to them spiritually, she made them clothes.

Luke says, she “never tired of doing kind things or giving to charity”.

Her followers—her sisters—showed Peter examples of her compassion—the clothing Dorcas had made for them.

The emphasis in the story is her discipleship among them.

She is their pastor.

But she doesn’t just preach and teach.

She ministers to them by making them clothes.

Women are powerful.

Anyone who believes otherwise just isn’t paying attention.

Whether they received proper acknowledgment or not, we know Jesus had women followers.

And in churches across the globe, it is women who do most of the heavy lifting.

They come to church.

They participate on Church Councils—in many cases, they run the Church Council.

They do the behind-the-scenes work of preparing churches for worship.

They run hospitality programs and visitation programs.

They are deacons and pastors.

The bishop of our Synod is a woman—as is the bishop of our entire denomination.

Women are powerful.

Their faith is strong—and all those powerful women put that faith into practice.

By doing—they feed the sheep.

They tend the sheep.

The second thing that I think is critical to raise up is the importance of helping.

Dorcas made a difference in the lives of the widows in her community.

She gave them things that they needed.

We know that they appreciated her service to them.

They cared for her when she was sick.

They sent for Peter in the hope that he might be able to heal her.

When she died, they washed her and tenderly laid her out.

They wept for her.

And when Peter finally came, they told stories about her.

About the clothes that she made for them.

About how she had cared for them.

Mister Rogers famously said, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

Look for the helpers.

I think it could be easy to forget that there are ripples when you help someone.

The impact is not only on the person you help.

You also give hope to others that need help.

You show them that there are good people in the world.

You set an example for others to be helpers.

Sometimes, it is just a reminder of what our Christian duty is.

But other times, being a helper can give hope to the community.

Like to a young Fred Rogers who was afraid that the situation was hopeless.

Every act of kindness—no matter how small—has the potential to change someone’s life.

And when you change someone’s life, you can change the world.

Dorcas’ work touched everyone in the community, not just the widows.

She was a helper, and her ministry had ripples throughout the community.

Lastly, I believe that Dorcas has something to tell us about resurrection.

Even before Peter brought Dorcas back to life, the widows made her rise through their story telling and their display of the clothes she had made.

Whenever someone dies, that is what we do.

We gather.

We grieve.

We speak the name of the departed.

We tell stories about their lives.

We insist that they matter—not in the past, but in the present.

And in so doing, we call them to rise—just as Peter called Dorcas to rise.

I say this not to minimize the miracle of Dorcas’ resurrection.

My point is that we NOT minimize the ways in which we call our deceased loved ones to rise.

I had a special relationship with my grandmother—my mother’s mom.

Until I was 15, we lived in a duplex—our house was attached to my grandparents’ house.

We even had a tunnel that connected the two so we could go next door without going outside.

So, I grew up kind of having two moms—my mother and my grandmother.

This is an afghan that my grandmother crocheted for me.

Even though she gave it to me 50 years ago—even though she has been gone for over 20 years—I still remember how happy she was that she found blue yarn that looked like denim.

Preparing for this sermon makes me look at it with new eyes.

I always knew it was a labor of love.

Now when I look at it, I think of the clothes that Dorcas made for the widows.

Forevermore, when I look at this afghan, I will think of it as a call for my grandmother to rise.

On Friday, I went to see three members of my seminary cohort graduate.

We call ourselves the “Ride or Dies”—because we have pledged to always be there for each other.

Through classes and candidacy.

Through successes and setbacks.

Through whatever life and this crazy ride called ministry throws at us.

But as I was sitting in the seminary chapel in Gettysburg, I was overwhelmed by the thought of how much my mom would have appreciated it.

And how much my mom would have loved to have seen me as a pastor.

She would have hated the Anglican Lord’s Prayer that I love so much—you know the one that goes “Eternal Spirit, Earth-maker, Pain-Bearer, Life-giver, Source of all that is and that shall be, Father and Mother of us all”.

But she would have loved seeing me as a pastor.

Of that, I have no doubt.

And in that moment, in that chapel, surrounded by two centuries of Lutheran history, my mom rose.

As surely as Dorcas rose in the widows’ story telling.

So, when you have one of these experiences, don’t be so quick to dismiss it as just a memory.

Be present.

Be open.

Recognize their rising and experience their presence.

Now, I would be remiss if I did not point out that God’s work always supersedes ours.

What we are able to do—as impressive as it may be—is no match for God’s work.

God gives life.

God creates and re-creates.

God declares that death has no hold on us and calls us to rise.

But there are times when God allows us to collaborate in that work.

When God gives us the power.

The power to do God’s work.

The power to make a difference in our communities.

The power to be helpers and watch how—in helping—we touch multiple lives in ripples that we might not intend or expect.

The power to make the people we love rise so they exist for us—we experience them—in the present.

And what a blessing that is.

Thanks be to God!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Only Love Can Overcome

Grace and peace to you from Christ Jesus, the Risen One.

Paul’s conversion is important—it is recounted three times in Acts.

There are many reasons for this.

One is that it is another post-resurrection appearance of Jesus.

It is a validation that people continued to experience Jesus after his death.

In the language of Marcus Borg, it is an affirmation of the post-Easter Jesus.

Another reason is that it is a prime example of the transformative power of Jesus.

Saul was a persecutor of Jesus followers.

He approved the stoning of Stephen.

He was present and witnessed it.

He sought and received authorization from the high priest to arrest Christians and transport them from Damascus to Jerusalem.

He was a true believer in ridding Judaism of these rebels who followed the Way of Christ.

And yet, his experience of Jesus transformed him into a proclaimer of Jesus’ message.

And Saul wasn’t the only one transformed in this story.

Ananias was also a true believer—but he was a true believer in the Way.

He knew about Saul and how he was ruthlessly persecuting Ananias’ siblings in Christ.

Ananias was afraid of Saul—saw him as an enemy.

And yet, his experience of the risen Christ transformed him.

He was forced to rethink his view of Saul—to cease seeing him as an enemy and to embrace him as a sibling in Christ.

I said last week that I hoped that the texts from Acts during the Easter season would be illuminating.

That remains my hope.

And, if you forgive me for hijacking the text, I’d like to offer a rephrasing that I hope will be food for thought.

“Meanwhile the government continued to breathe murderous threats against immigrants and transgender people. They asked for executive orders that would authorize them to arrest and persecute immigrants and transgender people: women, children, and men alike.”

There are people in our government doing truly abhorrent things.

And there are fellow citizens who knowingly voted for them to do exactly what they are doing.

While I leave room for some with purely evil intent, I believe—I HAVE to believe—that most are people with good intentions.

Like Saul, they truly believe they are doing the right thing.

The right thing to protect themselves and their families.

The right thing for the country.

Maybe even the right thing for their faith.

But WE know better.

They are NOT doing the right thing.

In the metaphorical separating of the sheep from the goats in Matthew 25, Jesus says, “The truth is, as often as you neglected to do this to one of the least of these, you neglected to do it to me.”

We know what Jesus is admonishing the goats for.

Failing to feed those who are hungry.

Failing to give water to those who are thirsty.

Failing to clothe the naked.

Failing to welcome the stranger.

Failing to care for the sick.

Failing to visit those in prison or detention.

In short, failing to love one another as Jesus loves us.

Today’s gospel dovetails well with the lesson from Acts.

In the first part of today’s gospel, we are treated to a fishing story that is very similar to the fishing stories in the beginning of the synoptics: Matthew, Mark, and Luke.

In those three stories, as well as today’s story in John, fishing is a metaphor for evangelism or perhaps even discipleship in general.

In the early stories—at the beginning of Jesus’s ministry—Jesus is in the boat with the fishermen.

In today’s story from John, Jesus is on the shore.

In the beginning, Jesus was physically present with the disciples.

Jesus participated in ministry with them—or to be more accurate, the disciples participated in ministry with Jesus.

But Jesus has died and is resurrected in John’s version.

He’s no longer in the boat—with them physically.

It’s the disciples’ responsibility to carry on the work of evangelism—of discipleship—without Jesus.

And now, that responsibility has passed to us.

It is our time.

WE are Jesus’ followers now.

We must carry on the work of evangelism and discipleship.

One of the tasks set before us—like Ananias—is to change the way we think about those we perceive as our enemies.

We cannot change their hearts by hating them.

Only love can do that.

Only love can keep their hearts and minds open so the Spirit can do her work.

Hearts and minds must be open so they can be transformed—transformed by the love of Jesus.

Transformed by the knowledge that Jesus loves not only them, but also every one of their human siblings.

Citizen or immigrant.

Gay or straight.

Cis or trans.

Black or white.

Jesus loves ALL of us.

Calls each of us by name.

And claims each of us as his own.

In the second part of today’s gospel, there is an exchange between Jesus and Peter.

In it, Jesus transfers the mantle of the Good Shepherd to Peter.

Although people continue to experience Jesus, his physical presence is gone from the world.

So, Jesus charges Peter with caring for his community.

Jesus doesn’t ask Peter if he believes in him.

He asks, “Do you love me?”

Because love is a call to action.

Jesus says, “If you love me, feed my community.”

Feed them physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Without exception.

The message for us today is that the time has come for us to transform and BE transformed.

There are people persecuting immigrants, transgender people, and pro-Palestinian activists.

There are people opposing social safety net programs like SNAP and Medicare and housing vouchers.

As hard as it may be for us to accept, the majority of those people are not evil.

Yes, they are doing evil things, and the results of their actions are reprehensible.

BUT—like Saul, they think they are doing the right thing.

Our job is not to hate them.

That only serves to increase the divisions in this country.

Our job is to continue to redirect them to Jesus.

There are, undoubtedly, some who are acting with evil intent.

And there are probably others who cannot be swayed from their chosen path.

But the ones who are misguided—who simply have lost their way—those are the ones that we must gently and persistently point to the gospel.

Our job is to love them as Jesus loves us.

Our job is to help keep their hearts and minds open to the work of the Spirit.

So that, like Saul, they can experience the risen Christ—and be transformed.

Transformed from persecutors of the least of these to proclaimers of the gospel.

These are trying times my friends and, God knows, there is no shortage of hateful language and hateful actions out there.

Being a follower of Jesus isn't easy.

The Way is advanced faith practice.

You've gotta want it bad, 'cause it's gonna put up a fight.

It's gonna say, "You want to be a faithful follower of Jesus? Let's see you love a person whose actions make your blood boil, who's standing center stage and advocating at the top of their lungs that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours."

We have to love them because that is the only path that leaves room for a Saul-like conversion.

Our hope is in the transformative power of Jesus.

And in the knowledge that Jesus is always with us.

And not only with us, but also with the persecuted.

We shall overcome.

Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe we shall overcome, some day.

Dear God, may some day be soon.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Obey God before Human Authority

Grace and peace to you from Christ Jesus, the Risen One.

Today, my talk from the pulpit will have elements of sermon and elements of teaching.

It’s a bit longer than usual because I am trying to accomplish two objectives in one medium and because I have included some lengthy Bible passages.

Having said that, I apologize.

For those of you watching on Zoom, make yourself a sandwich.

The teaching part is probably better suited to Bible Study but, since most of you don’t attend Bible Study—which is not an admonition, just a fact—the pulpit is my only opportunity.

I believe that you all have a pretty good sense of the teachings of Jesus and when an action is unChrist-like, even when those actions are taken under the guise of Christianity.

You will also hear Scripture used to, not only defend unchristian behaviors, but also to chastise those who would speak out or oppose those behaviors.

So, I thought it would be important to give some theological basis to engaging in civic activity that opposes injustices perpetrated by government.

I usually focus my preaching on the gospel lesson.

For this Easter season, I thought I would focus on the lessons from Acts.

I’m hoping that the shift will give us some new insight into how we, as followers of Jesus, relate to a world that feels increasingly unchristian.

As a little background, the book of Acts is in a singular category.

It is considered to be a history of the early Jesus movement.

The author is generally accepted to be the same as the gospel of Luke and many biblical scholars consider them inseparable, referring to them as Luke-Acts.

You may tire of hearing me say it—but I will never tire of saying it—Jesus gave us two commands:

“You must love the Most High God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your mind.”

And “You must love your neighbor as yourself.”

Now, there are some variations on the theme:

Jesus also said, “Love one another the way I have loved you.”

And “This is how all will know that you’re my disciples: that you truly love one another.”

But there are no caveats—no exceptions.

He didn’t say, “Love only the people with the same political beliefs as you.”

Or “Love the people who are the same religion as you or the same race as you or the same nationality as you.”

In fact, to clarify how all-encompassing this commandment was, Jesus also said, “Love your enemies.”

The good news of the gospel is that we are beloved children of God, blessed by God’s unconditional grace.

We don’t deserve it—there’s nothing we can do to deserve it—but we receive it anyway.

In gratitude—and inspired by our faith in God—we reflect that love out into the world.

We direct it at our neighbors, particularly those in need.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says, “Come, you blessed of my Abba God! Inherit the Kin-dom prepared for you from the creation of the world! For I was hungry and you fed me; I was thirsty and you gave me drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me; naked and you clothed me. I was ill and you comforted me; in prison and you came to visit me.”

That is our Christian vocation—to love our neighbors as God first loved us.

Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it?

Yet we find ourselves living in times when we hear that:

Those who are hungry and thirsty are lazy freeloaders.

Those who are strangers are criminals to be feared.

Anyone who is different is “other” and we must protect ourselves from them.

That, rather than acknowledge our privilege and correct for injustices, we must enshrine those privileges into legal rights.

And much of this unchristian rhetoric is coming from the very government officials who claim that this country is a Christian nation.

Next Tuesday, Emanuel will host the inaugural meeting of a local affiliate of Christians Against Christian Nationalism.

We will connect people throughout the state of New Jersey who believe as we do—that our government is and was always intended to be secular.

And that any effort to enshrine Christianity as our “official” religion is contrary to the tenets of our faith and the democratic ideals of our founders.

Now, you may be asking yourselves what has any of this to do with the lesson from Acts.

In the reading, Peter and the apostles say, “Better for us to obey God than people!”

The clear meaning being that we have an obligation to obey God before any human authority.

Much has been made about a passage from Romans, especially by authoritarians looking for biblical support for their actions.

The passage reads, “Obey governing authorities. All government comes from God, so civil authorities are appointed by God. Therefore, those of you who rebel against authority are rebelling against God’s decision. For this you are liable to be punished. Good behavior is not afraid of authorities, only bad behavior. If you want to live without fear of authority, do what is right and authority will even honor you. The state carries out God’s will in order to serve you. However, if you do wrong, be afraid. For the state doesn’t carry the sword for nothing: it does as God directs and is an agent of God’s wrath, bringing punishment on wrongdoers. That’s why it’s necessary to obey—not only out of fear of being punished, but for the sake of conscience as well. That is also why you pay taxes, for the authorities carry out God’s will, devoting themselves to this very cause. Pay to all what is their due: taxes to tax collectors, tolls to toll collectors, respect to whom respect is due and honor to whom honor is due.”

Those would-be authoritarians assert that their actions are part of God’s plan—and just because we don’t understand it, doesn’t mean we should resist it.

Well, I’ve got news for you.

Always be leery of those who claim to know God’s plan.

The only plan we know about—and it’s because Jesus talked about it frequently—is the coming of the Kin-dom.

The first thing you should know about this passage from Romans is that many biblical scholars consider it an interpolation—an addition made after Paul’s original letter to the Romans.

This is supported by the fact that the passages that immediately precede and follow it talk about love.

It’s a discontinuity in the text.

Regardless of whether it’s a later addition, the passage cannot be lifted out of its context.

Immediately before the “obey the government” passage, we read, “Your love must be sincere. Hate what is evil and cling to what is good. Love one another with the affection of siblings. Try to outdo one another in showing respect. Don’t grow slack, but be fervent in spirit: the One you serve is Christ. Rejoice in hope; be patient under trial; persevere in prayer. Look on the needs of God’s holy people as your own; be generous in offering hospitality. Bless your persecutors—bless and don’t curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Have the same attitude toward everyone. Don’t be condescending to those who aren’t as well off as you; don’t be conceited. Don’t repay evil with evil. Be concerned with the highest ideal in the eyes of all people. Do all you can to be at peace with everyone. Don’t take revenge; leave room, my friends, for God’s wrath. To quote scripture, “‘Vengeance is mine, I will pay them back,’ says our God.” But there is more: “If your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them drink. For in doing so, you will heap burning coals upon their heads.” Don’t be overcome by evil, but overcome evil by doing good.

And immediately after the passage, we read, “If you love your neighbor, you have fulfilled the Law. The commandments—no committing adultery, no killing, no stealing, no coveting, and all the others—are all summed up in this one: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Love never wrongs anyone—hence love is the fulfillment of the Law.”

My point being that, whenever a government’s actions are contrary to Jesus’ command to “love our neighbor”, the government is in opposition to God’s Law.

And, therefore, we must oppose it.

Luther tells us that the role of secular government is to maintain peace and justice in this world.

He believed in the separation of church and state—that both have important roles, but they do not overlap.

But Luther was consumed by injustices within the church.

Government wasn’t really on his radar.

He did believe that Christians have an obligation to engage in civic discourse.

But I can’t say what he would have thought about our current situation.

Of course, that was before Nazism and the rise of Christian Nationalism.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, on the other hand, lived in Nazi Germany.

He had a clear vision of his Christian responsibility.

He understood that scapegoating an ethnic minority was unjust and contrary to the gospel.

He understood that commingling religion and nationalism was dangerous.

And so, like Peter and the apostles, he thought, “better to obey God than people”.

He refused to join the national church.

Instead, he was a founder of the “Confessing Church” and led a seminary that was independent of the government.

He was eventually arrested for his involvement in the resistance and was later executed in a Nazi concentration camp—just days before it was liberated.

So, it’s easy to wonder: where is God at this moment in time?

When our country closes USAID, an action that will cost an estimated 25 million lives over the next 15 years?

When our transgender siblings are being executive ordered out of existence?

When our immigrant siblings are being disappeared to a brutal prison on foreign soil without due process?

When the very foundations of our nation are being eroded by actions that ignore the balance of powers in our government?

It is not hyperbole to say we are at a crossroads.

We are on a path that leads away from the Kin-dom.

Fortunately for us, even as we as a nation move away from God, God continues to come to us.

God comes to us.

God is with us during these trying times—as we know God always is.

God continues to speak to us—through scripture and through prophets who speak truth to power.

God sends the Spirit to inspire us to action—each to our own gifts and callings.

And we know that God’s promise—God’s covenant with us—is that the hope of new creation is not just idealistic optimism.

It is about trust in God.

Trust that, together with God, we can, and we will co-create the Kin-dom.

That we will usher in God’s justice in OUR time and in THIS world.

These are depressing times but—now more than ever—we must trust that, with God’s help, we will.

Thanks be to God!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

New Creation

Grace and peace to you from Christ, the Risen One.

I confess that the Easter season has become something of a confusing time for me.

That is because, as many of you have heard me say, my faith is constantly evolving.

My faith in God is never diminished but I am always taking in new information and assimilating that into my faith.

Some would find that unsettling.

They find the constancy of their faith to be comforting.

But, for me, lifelong learning is a core value.

So constantly examining my beliefs serves only to strengthen them.

I don’t claim that my journey of faith is better.

To each, as they say, their own.

At one point, I read that we often fail to fully experience Holy Week because we are in a rush to get to Easter.

And that made sense to me.

No one wants to think about death and crucifixion.

Frankly, the events of Good Friday are disturbing—if not downright traumatizing.

But I could see the point that the joy of Easter could be magnified by the sorrow of Good Friday.

So, I have tried to focus on the events of Holy Week—to truly pay attention to what was happening.

And to use that experience to provide context to Easter.

And then recently, I read that we too often look at Maundy Thursday through the lens of Good Friday.

That we miss the fact that the Last Supper was likely a Passover—or near Passover—meal.

And Passover is a festival—a celebration.

Passover meals are joyous—often raucous—affairs.

I think we tend to think of The Last Supper as a somber event, rather than a rowdy party amongst friends.

Jesus had been dropping hints—some would say not-so-subtle hints—that he was going to die.

But the disciples appeared unwilling or unable to comprehend that their friend—their rabbi—was going to leave them.

And, even if they were slowly starting to realize that his preaching and teaching was not going to end well for Jesus, there’s no reason to believe that they understood it was all going to end the very next day.

In addition to the fact that the Last Supper was a celebration—and likely not the least bit somber—there is the fact that it is equally possible to look at the Last Supper not as an end but as a beginning.

When Jesus instituted Holy Communion, he was indicating that everything was changing.

Our absolution no longer relied on what priests did in the temple.

Our redemption relied solely on God—what God has done, is doing, and will do out of God’s abundant love for us.

The events of Maundy Thursday are not an end—or, perhaps more accurately—not just an end.

The events of Maundy Thursday—and thus, of Good Friday as well—also mark a beginning.

The beginning of the new creation made possible by the death and resurrection of Jesus.

So, I’ve been struggling with how to incorporate this new understanding of Holy Week into my understanding of Easter.

It still makes sense to me that we should not rush through Holy Week in our anxiousness to get to Easter.

And it makes sense to me that we shouldn’t look at Maundy Thursday through the lens of Good Friday.

And perhaps we should even look at Good Friday through the lens of Maundy Thursday.

But what then is the impact on Easter?

How does the celebration of Passover and this idea of new beginnings give context to Easter?

In today’s gospel, the angels said, “Why do you search for the Living One among the dead? Jesus is not here; Christ has risen. Remember what Jesus said to you while still in Galilee—that the Chosen One must be delivered into the hands of sinners and be crucified, and on the third day would rise again.”

They had forgotten.

They had been unable to absorb what Jesus had told them.

They couldn’t see past the crucifixion.

It’s understandable.

They had witnessed a traumatizing horror.

Their master—their teacher—their friend—had been tortured and brutally murdered.

They approached the tomb looking through the lens of Good Friday.

They had forgotten the celebration of Maundy Thursday.

They had forgotten how Jesus had shared himself with them.

How Jesus had begun something new.

We have the benefit of seeing the whole picture.

We weren’t living it one day at a time like Jesus’ followers were.

We already know what came next.

We understand the new beginning Jesus put in motion.

We live in the new creation that was made possible by Jesus’ death and resurrection.

The new creation where death no longer has power over us.

The new creation where we are God’s people and God is fully present among us.

The new creation where God wipes away all our tears.

The new creation where death and mourning are no more.

The new creation where the old order has fallen.

That is what we celebrate today.

We celebrate the new creation.

We celebrate that the old order of things has fallen.

That is the joy of Easter.

In Bible Study, we recently finished reading “Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time”.

One of the fundamental ideas of the book is that there are two Jesuses—the pre-Easter Jesus and the post-Easter Jesus.

The pre-Easter Jesus is the historical Jesus—the human who lived and died in first-century Galilee.

The post-Easter Jesus is what Jesus became after his death and resurrection.

Without the post-Easter Jesus, the pre-Easter Jesus would have no meaning.

We may never even have known his name.

But because people continued to experience the risen Christ after his death—because we STILL experience Jesus today—that makes Jesus extraordinary.

That gives weight to his words and his actions.

That makes Jesus timeless.

That makes Jesus more than human.

We continue to experience the risen Christ.

Some—like Paul—experience Jesus as a vision.

But many hear “vision” and dismiss it as “not real”.

But Marcus Borg points out you can only be dismissive of a vision if you’ve never had one.

Because visions are life-changing experiences.

A vision is not a hallucination.

A vision is a spiritual encounter—and it is very real—as anyone who has had one would be willing to tell you.

Even in the absence of a vision, we still experience the risen Christ.

We experience Jesus at the Communion table.

We experience Jesus in the many ways that he heals us.

Our faith in Jesus comforts us in the most difficult times of our lives.

Our call to follow Jesus transforms us from self-centered beings into the Body of Christ—a community that loves and cares for one another.

We feel the presence of Jesus in so many real, tangible ways.

We shouldn’t “pooh, pooh” an experience of Jesus because it is not physical or not bodily.

Remember Jesus’ words to his disciple Thomas, “You’ve become a believer because you saw me. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”

I think Jesus could just as easily have said, “Blessed are those who have experienced me—even without seeing my physical presence—and, as a result of that experience, have believed.”

But arguably the most important meaning that we can ascribe to people continuing to experience Jesus is that it makes Jesus a living reality in the present.

As a prelude to the sharing of the peace, I will say, “Christ is among us!”

And you will respond, “He is and always will be!”

Because we believe that the spirit of Christ is with us.

We believe that the essence of Jesus is alive in us.

Jesus’ love for God is alive in us.

Jesus’ love for neighbor—his deep commitment to community—is alive in us.

Jesus’ presence in us is what makes us the Body of Christ.

Jesus is still present, my friends.

We continue to experience him in many real and tangible ways.

That is what makes Easter joyous—a celebration of monumental proportions.

Happy Easter!

Christ is risen!

He is risen and he lives among us!

Hallelujah!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Seven Last Words of Christ

Reflection 1 – When Jesus says, “Abba forgive them”, he is not just talking about those who are crucifying him.

Because it is such a horrific act of cruelty, we tend to get tunnel vision on the crucifixion.

But Jesus’ prayer for God to forgive is not just an invitation to absolution for individuals.

It is a once-and-for-all, change in the order of things.

Jesus does not simply forgive his executioners.

He forgives all of us.

He forgives the disciples for not understanding his mission.

He forgives James and John for asking to be on his left and right hands.

He forgives Peter for denying him.

He forgives our greed.

Our pettiness.

The myriad ways that we fail to love God and love our neighbor.

And we receive forgiveness from God.

Not because we deserve it.

Not because we won’t need forgiveness again in the future.

But because we are beloved of God.

We are recipients of God’s abundant grace.

Over and over again.

Not because of anything we say or do.

But because of who God is.

Reflection 2 – Our God is a God of creation.

Crucifixion and death are the antithesis of creation.

Crucifixion and death are destruction.

By saying “today you’ll be with me in paradise!”, Jesus is saying no to death and destruction.

Jesus is saying that he has power over death.

Not in the future—but today.

Paradise is the new creation that is realized through Jesus’ resurrection.

The new creation where all people are fed—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

The new creation where all are included—where everyone is welcome and no one is outcast.

The new creation where all are forgiven—without exception.

The new creation where all are transformed—transformed to the fully authentic selves God created us to be.

The new creation where all are healed—healed of every physical, emotional, and spiritual injury.

Reflection 3 – Watching a loved one die from disease or lose themselves to dementia is difficult.

Watching a loved one die by the horrific violence of crucifixion—well, we can only imagine how heartbreaking and traumatic that would be.

But that was what was happening to Mary and John.

They were watched their beloved Jesus die.

Die an excruciating death.

The man they knew to be the Messiah was being humiliated.

Jesus was stripped and beaten.

He was mocked with a robe, a crown of thorns, and a sign that said, “King of the Jews”.

Jesus was tortured and he was dying.

But his thoughts were not on himself.

His thoughts were on his mother and his beloved disciple.

How could he relieve their pain?

How could he heal their trauma?

By doing what Jesus had always done.

He loved them.

When Jesus said, “Here is your son” to Mary and, “Here is your mother” to John, he was not creating a new family—at least not in the traditional sense.

He was welcoming them into community—into his Kin-dom.

There are some who believe that John and Mary were the first church—the first members of the Body of Christ.

I love that image.

Reflection 4 – There is debate amongst theologians about when Jesus knew he was the Son of God.

Some claim that he knew from childhood.

Others, when he was resurrected.

Still others at various points in between.

“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” seems to speak of uncertainty.

I find that compelling.

A Jesus that goes to the cross not knowing what was on the other side is a powerful image for me.

A Jesus that is willing to proclaim the Kin-dom at the risk of his own life and without the safety net of knowing that you’re God—THAT is a leader that I would drop everything for and follow.

There is a powerful scene in the movie The Shack when God talks about Jesus’ feeling of being abandoned.

God says, “Don't ever think that what my Son chose to do didn't cost us dearly. Love always leaves a significant mark," showing God’s own nail wounds.

God continues, "We were there together. I never left him. When all you can see is pain, perhaps then you lose sight of me."

God is always with us—especially in our most vulnerable moments.

When we feel forsaken, it is our own limitation.

It is not God breaking God’s covenant to love us and always be with us.

Reflection 5 – Jesus was human.

He experienced thirst and hunger and pain.

God stepped into human form to be close to us.

To experience our mortality.

When Jesus said, “I am thirsty”, he was making it clear that he was experiencing the crucifixion in all its excruciating dimensions—thirst, hunger, exhaustion, and pain.

His divinity did not exempt him from those extreme sensations.

God stepped into human for to understand us better.

It’s one thing for God to say, “love your neighbor”.

When you’re a perfect spiritual being, it just makes sense.

When you’re fully human, you understand that some people are easy to love—and some people are not.

You understand that people will disappoint you.

Others will tick you off.

And still others will be so diametrically opposite to your values that loving them seems all but impossible.

“I am thirsty” says, “I am human too. I get it—I know what I am asking.”

And still Jesus’ commands remain: love God and love your neighbor.

Reflection 6 – Jesus said, “Abba, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

He put his trust entirely in God—he placed himself in his Abba’s hands.

He was saying he trusted in God’s justice.

Not Pilate’s justice—not the justice of empire.

Not the chief priests’ justice—not the letter of the law justice.

Jesus was trusting in the justice that can only be achieved by adhering to the spirit of the law.

Jesus did not just happen to find himself on the wrong side of Pilate’s court.

It wasn’t an act of chance that he found himself accused before the Sanhedrin.

In Gethsemane, Jesus prayed, “yet not my will but yours be done.”

He set his sights on Jerusalem.

He sought out the confrontation.

Because he knew he was preaching and teaching truth.

And he knew God was at his side.

That knowledge gave him the absolute confidence that he needed to place his physical wellbeing in jeopardy by proclaiming the Kin-dom.

And, when the time came, he was able to surrender his spiritual wellbeing as well.

Reflection 7 – Jesus said, “It is finished.”

Not “I am finished.”

It is finished meant his mission was complete.

The old world was obsolete.

Jesus’ death and resurrection mark the beginning of the new creation.

In Revelation 21, we read, “Then I saw new heavens and a new earth. God will live with them; they will be God’s people, and God will be fully present among them. The Most High will wipe away every tear from their eyes. And death, mourning, crying and pain will be no more, for the old order has fallen.”

Jesus’ mission was to abolish death.

By suffering death, his last human experience, Jesus has transformed death forever.

It no longer has any power over us.

Death remains part of our journey.

But it is a journey that we know Jesus travels with us.

When we pass through that veil of death, we can be confident that it is not the end—and that Jesus will be on the other side waiting for us.

Thanks be to God!

Humility & Hospitality

The story of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet is a familiar one.

But it is one that is difficult for us to completely understand because there is no modern cultural equivalent to foot washing.

In first-century Judea, the standard for footwear was sandals and roads were unpaved.

So, during the course of a normal day—especially the day of a teacher and his students wandering the countryside, teaching and healing—during those long days of walking, feet became quite dirty.

So, having a place where you could remove your sandals and clean your feet—that was an act of hospitality.

Having the host wash your feet was an act of extravagant hospitality.

Many churches incorporate foot washing into their Maundy Thursday service.

Even the pope washes feet on this day.

Foot washing can be a very powerful spiritual experience.

But, because we lack that first century cultural context, it can become entirely about humility.

Now, to be clear, humility is very important.

Humility is gift of the Spirit.

It is a sign that we have been transformed by faith—that we have evolved beyond our egocentric self-perception.

It is important to be humble.

It is important for us to humbly remember that all we have is a generous gift from God.

It is important for us to humbly remember to whom we belong—who calls us by name and claims us as their own.

It is important for us to humbly remember that we NEED God.

Jesus is a shining example of humility—of surrendering oneself to God.

We raise Jesus up as a model of servant leadership.

If you’re not familiar with the term, servant leadership is a management style that prioritizes the needs of the employee—or, in Jesus’ case, the disciple—over the needs of the leader.

If it helps, you can think of it as teambuilding on steroids.

The role of the leader becomes facilitator—making sure everyone on the team has what they need to succeed—and cheerleader.

The success of the leader becomes reliant on the success of their team.

In the twentieth chapter of Matthew, we read, “Anyone among you who aspires to greatness must serve the rest. And anyone among you who wishes to be first must serve the needs of all, as if enslaved—just as the Chosen One came not to be served but to serve, and to die in ransom for many.”

So, clearly, humility is a characteristic we ought to aspire to.

We should be willing to serve others.

We should recognize that nothing is “beneath us”.

But when foot washing becomes all about humility, it becomes one-dimensional.

It loses the equally important context of extravagant hospitality.

Emanuel is a loving congregation that prides itself on being welcoming.

Of being a place of hospitality.

Unfortunately, we find ourselves living in times when the outside world is not welcoming.

For so many people, our country has become downright inhospitable.

Immigrants—and no longer only undocumented immigrants—are being detained and deported without due process.

Political dissidents—people exercising their first amendment rights—are being persecuted.

Transgender individuals’ very existence is being denied.

Transgender children are being prevented from accessing gender-affirming care—and their parents are being accused of child abuse and threatened with prosecution.

Make no mistake—this kind of marginalization and oppression are tools of empire.

Marginalization and oppression demonstrate neither humility nor hospitality.

So, what does it mean for us, as a congregation, to be an island of welcome in a sea of inhospitality?

The fundamental ideas behind Jesus’ washing his disciples’ feet are more important than ever.

We must be humble—and extend extravagant hospitality.

We must humbly admit our own privileges—whether they be privilege of race, class, gender, or sexuality.

We must humbly admit that we cannot understand other people’s life experience—and we must acknowledge that those life experiences matter.

When Jesus healed the hemorrhaging woman, he knew her experience of isolation.

And how that isolation made her desperate.

When he healed her, he did not question her desperation.

He showed her compassion.

He healed her.

And he restored her to community and cured her from her isolation.

If you fail to see the parallels between the people Jesus healed and the current scapegoats of our government, you’re not paying close enough attention.

We must humbly admit that we cannot change the course that our country is currently on without God.

But so must we also realize that we have a role to play.

In the words attributed to St. Augustine, “Without God, we cannot. Without us, God will not”.

There’s a paradox in there that can sometimes be hard to see past.

When we say we need God to straighten out this mess that we’re in, it doesn’t mean we sit back and wait for divine intervention.

It means that we look to the words and the actions of Jesus to guide us.

It means that we look for the Spirit to work in our hearts and our minds.

And, grounded in our Christian faith, we look for the examples of Jesus and the work of the Spirit to inspire us to action.

And, please understand—that action will be different for each of us.

How we react in these times will depend on our gifts and our callings.

For some of us, it will be direct action—organizing activities that counter events that we believe are contrary to our Christian faith.

Protests.

Demonstrations.

Letter writing campaigns.

Voter registration drives.

For others, their actions will be confined to their immediate community.

Supporting the people they know and love.

Educating their friends and families about important issues.

And for still others, it will be about simply adopting a welcoming posture.

Being open to all people—including those who are different than them.

Listening.

Reveling in the diversity of God’s creation.

Reflecting God’s unconditional love—that we receive in abundance—back out into the world.

And through all of it, being guided by Jesus’ example of washing his disciples’ feet.

And God’s other gesture of extravagant hospitality.

God’s welcoming us to God’s table of forgiveness.

Rich or poor.

Black, white, red, brown, or yellow.

Whatever our gender.

Whatever our expression of sexuality.

Whatever language we speak.

Whatever our country of origin.

However we perceive that we are different from each other.

We all possess the divine image of God.

God sees each of us with the same eyes—the eyes of a loving parent.

That loving parent that always includes us—always welcomes us.

All are welcome to commune at God’s table.

In today’s second lesson, Paul writes, “For every time we eat this bread and drink this cup, we proclaim Jesus’ death until Christ comes.”

We proclaim Jesus’ message that the Kin-dom is near.

That God’s justice is coming.

In proclaiming Jesus’ death until Christ comes:

May we accept the call to be humble—just as Jesus was humble when he knelt at his disciples’ feet.

May we accept the call to extend extravagant hospitality—just as Jesus washed and dried his disciples’ feet.

And may we accept the call “go and do likewise”—by loving and caring for our neighbors.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.

Two Processions

That was a lot of Scripture to digest so I’m going to keep my comments brief.

On this Palm Sunday, I believe that it is important to point out that there were two processions entering Jerusalem on that day two millennia ago.

The processions were a study in contrasts—one, a peasant procession and the other, an imperial one.

From the east, Jesus rode a colt.

He was cheered by his followers, mostly peasants who were enthralled by his message about the Kin-dom of God—where God’s justice ruled, rather than the oppressive rule of Rome.

From the west came Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor.

He entered, no doubt, on a warhorse at the head of a column of the empire’s soldiers.

Pilate’s entrance was intended to instill fear.

He was arriving from Caesaria Maritima for the express purpose of warning the multitude gathering for the Passover holiday—warning them that there had better not be any disturbance to the peace.

At the east gate, the only thing that could be heard were shouts of “Hosanna! Blessed is the One who comes in the name of our God!”

At the west gate, there was a hushed silence among the people but there was undoubtedly the thunder of horses’ hooves and rhythmic beating of war drums.

At the east gate—a humble procession of Jesus on a donkey.

At the west gate—a column of soldiers in leather armor and scarlet capes interspersed with golden eagles atop standards.

The assembled crowd at the east gate welcomed Jesus by laying their cloaks on the ground in front of him.

The people at the west gate experienced mixed feelings of awe and fear at the display of Roman power.

This juxtaposition of the two processions was not simply about Roman earthly power.

Pilate was also projecting the divinity of Caesar.

One of the defining characteristics of Luke’s gospel is that it portrays Jesus as the anti-Caesar.

Luke calls Jesus the Son of God.

Augustus claimed to be the son of Apollo, a Roman god.

Both were called Savior.

Both were called Ruler.

Both were called Healer.

Jesus was considered the Prince of Peace.

Augustus was the bringer of the Pax Romana.

But what really distinguishes Jesus from Augustus—and why acknowledging the contrast between the two processions is so critical—is that Jesus represents love and Augustus represents violence.

The Kin-dom of God that Jesus spoke of so often could only be achieved through love—love of God and love of neighbor.

The Pax Romana, on the other hand, was achieved through military might.

The Roman peace was maintained through public spectacles of horrific violence.

Crucifixion was a warning—intended to instill fear in anyone who would oppose Rome.

Sadly, we still see examples of public displays that are meant to inspire fear.

Our own Secretary of Homeland Security—wearing makeup and perfectly coiffed hair—standing in front of an overcrowded cell in a notoriously brutal prison, saying, “this is one of the weapons in our toolbox”.

Dozens—if not hundreds—of people being “disappeared”.

Whisked away by unidentified government agents to secret locations without due process.

The Kin-dom, on the other hand, can only be maintained through love.

The difference between the Kin-dom and empire could not be starker.

Unfortunately, we are living in Palm Sunday times, my friends.

There are still two processions—one that represents empire and one that represents the Kin-dom.

The powers of empire claim they will provide peace and prosperity.

But at what cost?

Justice?

Freedom?

Our integrity?

The principles we stand for?

Our morality?

I would argue what is at stake is our very souls, not only as individuals but also as a nation.

As this season of Lent is coming to a close, we ought to continue our spiritual practice of reflection and self-examination.

We should be asking ourselves which procession we are in.

The procession of Jesus?

The procession that proclaims love of God and love of neighbor.

Or the procession of empire?

We have a choice.

Remember, my friends, on Palm Sunday, Jesus came to his people.

Despite knowing the danger he was in and the horrors that awaited him.

He didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t wait for people to come to him.

He came to them.

Humbly—riding on a colt.

A living, breathing contrast to those who represented empire, violence, and oppression.

In closing, I call your attention to today’s second lesson.

The passage is actually a hymn from the early Jesus movement.

It is usually called the Christ Hymn.

The Christ Hymn is a guide for the choices we face.

The Christ Hymn says that our attitudes must be the same as that of Jesus.

Our attitudes must be ones that promote justice.

Humility.

Service.

And—above all else—love.

The love that God has for us.

The love that became incarnate in Jesus.

The unconditional love that we receive in abundance.

May we always be grateful for that love.

And may we always reflect that love back out into the world.

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.