Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

Colossians 2:6-10, 16-19

I suggest reading The Message translation.)How do systems change?  How can we move toward the just communities we need and want?  The natural process of ecological replacement highlights two mechanisms at work in replacing a complex system that dominates the landscape and seems too big to change.  Succession relies in part on incremental change, the low, steady replacement of that which does not serve ecological flourishing with new communities.  But it also relies on disturbance, on disruption of the status quo in order to let new species emerge and flower.  Some massive disturbances are destructive, and recovery from them may not be possible.  Other disturbances of the right scale and type, create renewal and diversity….Both of these tools – incremental change and creative disruption – are available to us as agents of cultural transformation.  I hope we will use them both.  In these urgent times, we need to become the storm that topples the senescent, destructive economies so the new can emerge.  (The Serviceberry, Robin Wall Kimmerer, pp. 100-102)

What is Paul’s advice to the Colossian church, assuming they want to be followers of Jesus?  What will become Christians?  Live like Jesus.  Or even more simply BE Jesus by letting him live again through you.

Can you resonate with Paul’s frustration with people who want to make rules, have theological debates, structure the church as an organization, and generally make the focus of Jesus’ people on figuring out how to do faith right?  Forget it! He says.  Just do it.  And what does doing it look like?  Love.  Jesus says many times, “God is love.”  “Love one another.”  And Jesus did love:  feeding people, forgiving people, healing people, chastising leaders who made life hard for people.  Jesus at his best cuts to the chase:  help each other out and do whatever is most loving in each situation. 

We remember that the early church lived in difficult times, violent times, economically devastating times. They had almost no power to change anything happening around them.  So what are they to do to make Jesus’ vision of the reign of God happen?  Live like Jesus.  Love each other.  Take care of one another.  Even when you have to follow the outward rules of the Empire, you never have to adopt the mindset of the Empire.  You can always prioritize love.  You can always see a friend instead of an enemy.  You can always take the most loving action possible for you in any particular moment, even if it’s not everything you wish you could do.  You can BE like Jesus.

I’m tempted to make a list of all the things that went wrong in our world last week, but I’m going to resist temptation.  Every week the list gets longer and more discouraging.  Remember, Jesus didn’t fix his world.  He died trying, and he didn’t finish the job.  The Empire won.  Except that it didn’t, because even if you’re the world champion at whack-a-mole, you can’t hit every head that pops up.  The way the Jesus movement became a world-changing force was to just keep doing one small thing at a time, day after day, by 10 or 100 or 1000 people, until you couldn’t overcome all the good with evil.  The good got through some places, and when it did, it multiplied.

We’re trying to see the world with God’s eyes until the world can see itself that way.  We’re trying to love the world with Jesus’ love until the world can love itself and be transformed.  And we’re going to win this battle because at its very core the life of the world is love.  Those who want to harm others, puff themselves up and make the world enrich only themselves, are not the way life happens.  When we see life around us in nature, the bullies don’t win in the long run.  The plants and the bees and the animals and even the humans, keep working together until they make something beautiful that benefits everyone.  Even the bullies eventually end up as fertilizer for new life.  Life can heal itself, if we let it.  Life will teach us how to let love happen, if we keep looking around us with Jesus’ eyes.

Robin Wall Kimmerer is determined to build up the natural economy of shared goodness and tear down the false economy of scarcity the Empire has adopted just now.  She observes how that can happen – incremental change and strategic disruption.  We can be smart about causing both.

Incremental change happens when we keep on doing the most loving thing we can in each moment.  This week Victoria ran all over town buying bus passes and delivering checks.  I let two groups of people without a ticket check out the garden tour.  What did you do? …  When we do any small act of kindness we make the world different by being different in it.  Kindness multiplies.

We can also be strategic about disruptions that interrupt the status quo.  Protests are about disruption.  Jesus turning over tables of moneychangers in the temple was disruption.   A young white woman calling out ICE agents for arresting brown men she’s never met is disruption.  The Grand Forks City Council wants to eliminate funding for arts and human needs in next year’s budget.  Some people will speak against that.  What if there weren’t enough chairs in the room for all the people who came to just listen and applaud those speakers?  Would that be enough disruption to matter? 

We’re trying to work out how to live authentically and morally in an immoral country right now.  Here are two very important clues:  incremental change through loving kindness every single day, and disruption where the opportunity presents itself.   We can do this together, because we have been commissioned to be the Body of Christ in this time and place and that is what Jesus would do.

Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Today, we find ourselves living in a time when the rights of women are once again under assault—rolled back by the hands of power rooted in white patriarchy. We see it in legislation, in the courts, in the erasure of voices, in the control of bodies, and in the silencing of truths. And let us be clear: when the rights of women are stripped away, it is not just women who are at risk—it is every marginalized group, every person pushed to the margins of power, every soul who has ever been told they do not belong.

This is not just about one group—it is about all of us. History tells us that when systems begin to clamp down on one set of people, it is a warning shot for what will come for the rest. The regression of women’s rights is not the end of a struggle; it is the beginning of a wider unraveling.

But this is not new.

Two thousand years ago, Jesus walked into a world that operated in much the same way. A world where women were excluded from spiritual authority, where access to the divine was policed by power and privilege. And it is in this context—in the face of empire and religious hierarchy—that Jesus enacted something bold, brilliant, and radically inclusive. It is here that we turn to Luke 10.

In the beginning of Luke 10, we find Jesus sending out the seventy-two—seventy in some texts. Others.These were disciples, committed to the vision of “on earth as in Heaven.” Seventy-two trusted emissaries, if you will—people who had heard Him teach and had engaged Jesus directly. They could be trusted to follow His instruction to prepare the way, because, as Jesus told them:
“I am sending you out like lambs among wolves.”

They were all keenly aware that their movements and relationships were being closely monitored by the Roman Empire and the elite Jewish religious establishment. This was not a mission undertaken in safety or obscurity. This was bold. This was dangerous. And yet, they went.

Their objectives are made clear. Their mission is both logistical and spiritual—to create a network of support and witnesses through a strategy of:

• Hospitality: relying on the welcome of locals.

• Peaceful entry: discerning where the message is accepted, and staying only where they’re received.

• Spiritual scouting: identifying people and places ready for the Kingdom message—a strategic, preparatory role.

They were working the spiritual harvest by identifying those open to the message of the Kingdom. And they were establishing what we might call today: safe houses.

• Strategically, they were laying a relational foundation—a proto-network of receptive households.

• Spiritually, they were initiating Kingdom work in places Jesus planned to go.

• Practically, they were identifying where Jesus and His followers could later find hospitality, support, community, and safety.

Who were these seventy-two others, exactly?
We know they were students and followers of Jesus—disciples sent to teach, to heal, to build relationships. But they were almost certainly not all Jewish men. Jesus was countercultural in His teaching about who had access to the Kingdom of God. And that, of course, made Him deeply unpopular with the religious elite of His time.

While unnamed, it’s possible—perhaps even likely—that some of the seventy-two included:

• Women disciples—given that Luke pays close attention to women’s participation in Jesus’ ministry (Luke 8:1–3).

• Non-Jews or Hellenized Jews—if the mission had symbolic universality, as the number 70 or 72 seems to suggest.

This was at a time when women and non-Jews had no place in the religious order.

Let us journey back in time—two millennia past—to the hills of Galilee and the streets of Jerusalem, where the rhythms of life were guided by sacred law and ancient custom. In that era, under Roman occupation and within the heart of the Jewish faith, the synagogue stood as the community’s spiritual center, and the Temple in Jerusalem, its most hallowed ground. And yet, within these holy places, the voices of women—mothers, daughters, sisters—were largely absent from the formal chambers of learning and instruction.

In the synagogues, the Torah was read aloud and expounded upon, but it was men and boys alone who were granted the privilege of such instruction. From a tender age, boys were taught to read, to recite, to wrestle with the sacred texts that had shaped their people’s destiny. Girls, however, were not welcomed into such study. Their education, when given, was confined to the home—shaped more by the duties of domestic life than by the scrolls of Moses.

Women were not called upon to teach the Torah, nor to interpret its mysteries in the public square. The rabbinic tradition—emerging more fully after the time of Jesus—would codify this exclusion even further, reserving the seat of teaching and leadership for men alone.

And yet—despite this—Jesus had initiated, demonstrated, and modeled the inclusion of women.

Jesus recognized and honored:

Women were never without knowledge, nor without voice. They carried the sacred stories in their hearts, passing them down through generations—by hearth and cradle, in songs, in prayers, in silence, and in strength.

In the Hebrew Scriptures, a few women rise like stars in a darkened sky:
Deborah, judge and prophetess, who led Israel in wisdom and in war.
Huldah, whose words of prophecy guided kings.
These were not ordinary times, and these were not ordinary women. Their appearance was rare—but their impact, enduring.

And then, into this world, came Jesus of Nazareth—a rabbi, yes, but one who confounded the expectations of His age.
For Jesus did what others dared not:
He taught women.
He welcomed them as disciples.
He spoke theology with them—as He did with the woman at the well.
He allowed Mary of Bethany to sit at His feet—the posture of a true student of a rabbi—while Martha busied herself with the duties of custom.

It was women who stood faithfully at the cross when the Twelve had fled.
It was women who first beheld the empty tomb, and carried the message of resurrection—the first evangelists of the risen Christ—though the world dismissed their testimony.

Thus, while the institutions of the time did not honor women with the title of rabbi or scribe, the Gospel narrative lifted them as bearers of truth, vessels of faith, and witnesses to divine revelation.

Let us remember, then, that though history may not always have recorded their teachings, the voices of women were never silent.
They whispered prayers over their children.
They held fast to stories of deliverance.
They looked into the eyes of the Messiah—and knew Him.

And perhaps that is the deepest truth of all:
That God has always spoken through those the world would overlook—
And in the life of Jesus, those once overlooked were seen, taught, honored, and sent.

-Richard Hagen

Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.  I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.  I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” (Genesis 12:1-3)

You shall not wrong or oppress a resident alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt. (Exodus 22:21)

There is no longer Jew or Greek; there is no longer slave or free; there is no longer male and female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus  And if you belog to Christ, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to the promise.  (Galatians 3:28-29)

The earth will rest, justice will prevail, the poor will rejoice and peace will return, once we no longer act as predators but as pilgrims.  No longer each of us for ourselves, but walking alongside one another.  (Pope Leo XIV)

This summer we are working on a project to identify clearly the values we want to live by so that we can articulate them when we try to explain to others the kind of world we believe God envisions for people.  One of the big issues in the news these days is immigration, and we’re watching as masked men in street clothes without ID round up people at church, school, or work, families in their neighborhoods and immigrants who have come to court appointments according to the rules and send them to inhumane detention centers or deport them to dangerous prisons in countries they have never been in.  There’s a lot of questions about the lack of due process or about how this is making our country safer.  Safer from hardworking parents or their children?  Many people feel like this is wrong – inhumane, lacking compassion, racist, not who we want to be.  How do we explain why it’s wrong beyond “people shouldn’t be treated that way”?

As a general rule, I’m not a fan of picking a Bible verse here or there to prove a point, because every verse has a context which is essential to its meaning.  Today we’re going to pick verses, and I’m going to try to be accurate about their context.

One of the foundational stories of the Judeo-Christian faith is the story of Abram, who with his wife Sarai was told by God to leave their home in Ur and travel with their extended family, flocks, and servants to a land God promised to give them.  Another primary foundational story of our tradition is the story of God freeing the Israelites from slavery in Egypt.  Both of these stories star in our scriptures today.

Before we look at what these stories tell us about immigration, let’s remember what these stories are as “origin stories” and how they function.  When we are talking about very ancient peoples, before recorded history, our sources are the stories or “myths” these people have passed down to us as tradition.  We tend to think of them as historical events, but since we’re talking 3,000-4,000 years ago, we don’t have actual recorded history to verify them.  Both of these stories come to us from that ancient time. 

Here’s what we know about that time and those people.  About 3500 years ago when the land we now call Israel was being settled, there were a number of nomadic tribes, more like extended families, wandering across the land with their flocks, interacting with other tribes.  Some of these tribes were identified in ancient tablets as ‘Apiru, perhaps the ancestors of our Hebrews.   In Genesis we have the stories of tribes led by Abram (who is later called Abraham), Isaac and Jacob.  People who study how ancient manuscripts have been edited tell us that these were probably leaders of separate tribes who eventually merged and combined their origin stories into the story of Abram’s family as we know it today.  These wandering tribes are mentioned at times in Egypt, where we know groups of people were enslaved as laborers for the pharaohs.  By the time about 3,000 years ago when writing was more developed and we have more historical documents preserved, the ancestors of these ancient wanderers lived in what is now Israel, considered themselves a single tribe, and remembered that they had been led to this place by God, having experienced slavery in Egypt.  When I tell you that this is a story developed over time, I mean that it’s not based on historically datable events, but that it is true.  It’s true because it has emerged from the experience of the people over centuries and it reflects their understanding of who they are and how they got there.  It is a story about values and identity and it guides their behavior.  It is more significant than simply retelling a story about what happened once.

Today’s two pieces of that story tell us some important things.  One is that these people, our spiritual ancestors, believed they were in a good land because God has brought them there, and the purpose of their relationship with God wasn’t just to receive a blessing, but to become a blessing to everyone else.  “In you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.”  That tells us that when we receive something good, we become stewards of that goodness, that resource, in order for it to benefit everyone.  Think how different the nation of Israel would be behaving today if they understood their country not as a blessing they received in compensation for being treated badly, but as a resource to use to benefit others.  Their defensiveness makes sense in light of their recent history, but it isn’t true to the original understanding of the gift of the land.  There are many Jews today who see that dissonance clearly and would like to do something about it.

Our second ancient story reminds the people that they have themselves been wanderers and strangers and therefore they should have empathy for those among them who came from other places.  Do you hear the echo of “do unto others what you want them to do to you”?  Resident aliens are to be treated fairly, not oppressed or wronged.  That’s a pretty clear condemnation of the way we are treating immigrants right now. Our history in this regard is mixed.  Each new wave of immigrants has been marginalized as “other”, but we have also celebrated the great melting pot that’s made our country great.  School children have heard those immigrant stories and learned about the Statue of Liberty who welcomes people from all parts of the world.  “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”  That sentiment is still worthy of guiding our treatment of immigrants today.  With few exceptions, we are all descended from people who moved to this country.  We too can hear, “you were once aliens.”   

Twelve centuries after that reminder was first spoken, Paul wrote to new followers of Jesus, “There is no longer Jew or Greek.”  The Roman Empire was also a melting pot of people from all across the known world.  For the most part no matter where you came from, you were part of the one Empire.  When Paul talks about breaking down all kinds of barriers that might divide people, he reminds them of the promise to Abraham.  And that promise isn’t for wealth, or for special status, it’s for the privilege of blessing others.  Anything good that has come to us, is for the purpose of passing blessing along.  Pope Leo speaks in that vein when he talks of walking alongside each other. 

Some of you will remember the first time astronauts photographed earth from space, the beautiful big blue marble.  There are no national boundaries visible in that photo.  We are all one people.  National boundaries are convenient for governing, but they are not meant to split humanity apart. Although there is an identifiable American Christianity, Christianity is not an American religion.  It’s a global faith, a global guide.  Along with the other great religions, we share principles of justice, freedom, hope, compassion.  It’s good to be proud of our country because we have done many good things for the world.   But whatever blessing that has brought us, isn’t meant for us alone.  It’s meant to be a blessing for others.  We have lived that at some of our greatest moments.  We have supported our allies in great wars for freedom.  We were instrumental in founding the United Nations.  We brought food, medicine, and knowledge to many through USAID.  When people suggest in this moment that those movements were a mistake, we can correct them.  They are ways that we have fulfilled our vision of being a blessing to others.  When people tell us that manifest destiny means we should take all the blessings of this place for ourselves, we can remind them that blessings multiply when they are shared.

The values scripture lifts up, are values that make us better people.  To welcome the stranger, to live with generosity, to see ourselves as a global people make us better.  Yes, we can be proud to be American, but only so far as being American makes us good and kind, generous and noble.  At our heart, we don’t belong to a country, but to God.  We are one global family, and we are better together.

Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

Galatians 6:1-10

The Serviceberry by Robin Wall Kimmerer

(Kimmerer describes the mutuality of a serviceberry economy.  The berry bush receives gifts of sun, water, and nourishment from the soil.  Bees pollinate blossoms which then become berries.  Birds gorge on the berries and pass their seeds through their digestive system, spreading them widely.  New berry bushes may result.)

I lament my own immersion in an economy that grinds what is beautiful and unique into dollars, converts gifts to commodities in a currency that enables us to purchase things we don’t really need while destroying what we do.  The Serviceberries show us another model, one based upon reciprocity rather than accumulation, where wealth and security come from the quality of our relationships, not from the illusion of self-sufficiencty.  Without gift relationships with bees and birds, the Serviceberries would disappear from the planet.  Even if they hoarded abundance, perching atop the wealth ladder, they would not save themselves from the fate of extinction if their partners did not share in that abundance.  Hoarding won’t save us either….All flourishing is mutual….

Imagining human economies that ar modeled after ecological systems is the real of ecological economists…Ecological economists ask how we might build economic systems that meet citizens’ needs while aligning with ecological principles that allow long-term sustainability for people and for the planet.  Ecological economics emerged observing how the neoclassical economic approach fails to provide for everyone and does not adequately consider the ecosystems that are our life support.  We’ve created a system such that we self-identify as consumers first before understanding ourselves as ecosystem citizens.  In ecological economics, the focus is on creating an economy that provides for a just and sustainable future in which both human life and nonhuman life can flourish.

 We are again today hanging out with Paul and the Galatians, who are describing a way to follow Jesus by creating communities of people committed to living by Jesus’ vision.  It’s a good fit with our summer project, which is to learn to describe how we can, in this time and place, create communities of well-being for everyone – generous, just, compassionate, loving.  Paul insists that we live with intention, to BE the way we want the world to be.  He suggests that if we plant weeds, we’ll get weeds.  If we plant goodness, we get eternal life starting today.  This week, I took that personally.  I’ve been wrestling with weeds all week.  Invasive weeds in my garden.  Weeds in the church garden.  Weeds in my daughter’s yard.  I’m pretty sure I didn’t plant any of these weeds, but I get to pull them out anyway.  Buckets and buckets of weeds.  It takes some energy to become motivated to pull so many weeds.  But it sure feels great to see patches of bare ground and flowers and vegetables standing unencumbered, ready to grow freely.  If unkind, selfish habits are weeds in the life we’re building together, I have plenty of those to deal with, too.  I’m not much more motivated to weed out bad habits than I am to pull weeds, but once you get started there’s a momentum that takes over.  And there’s that same satisfaction setting good habits free to flourish.

 Paul cautions us not to be self-righteous about other people’s weeds.  Jesus said something about taking logs out of our own eyes before dealing with visual splinters in others.  Paul says, “save your critical comments for yourself.  You might be needing forgiveness before the day’s out.”  If we’re going to build community, we need to work a lot of grace and forgiveness into the soil.  It’s easy to judge.  It’s more productive to understand.  And when we need to suggest there might be a better way, we need to do it gently.  We might be wrong.  For example, our president came to Iowa, in our back yard, just to let us know that he hates Democrats.  I’m inclined to return the favor, but that’s just more weeds choking out communication and cooperation.  Neither the president nor I exercise productive leadership by driving wedges between people.  What does a better way look like?

 “Stoop down and reach out to those who are oppressed.  Share their burdens, and so complete Christ’s law.  If you think you are too good for that, you are badly deceived.”

 How do we share one another’s burdens?  This week we memorialized our good friend George.  His family and friends are heartbroken by his death.  We gave them a space to display lots of memorabilia and to tell his stories.  We ate his favorite cookies and ice cream floats.  We said right out loud that he died too young.  For a little while we helped his family carry the burden of grief.

This week the community fund paid for a gas card so someone can get to work.  We paid a $25 service fee so a young man could get a drug test and stay in compliance with probation.  We paid that with 20 minutes to spare.  I can’t tell you how grateful he was.  He gave me a big “air hug” because he was sweaty from Thursday’s heat, and I gave him an air hug back because I was sweaty from too many weeds.  That’s when I realized that the community fund is one of the best gifts you give ME because I get to give it to so many grateful people.  I also realized that these bits we pay for aren’t really charity.  They are one way of balancing the world a bit, building a community of equals.  Some of us have a little extra cash, and others have hard work, hopes and dreams, stories of persistence, which make us all better.  Robin Wall Kimmerer reminds us that “all flourishing is mutual.”  Those who give, receive.  When you plant goodness, you harvest LIFE. 

Kimmerer talks about ecological economies.  When the whole system is healthy, when each part gives and takes in balance, everyone thrives.  We’re trying to build a community that acknowledges how important each part is to the whole.  We’re trying to support systems that help everyone do and be their best.  Paul reminds us that selfishness is one of the worst weeds in destroying life.  No one takes more than they need.  Not more food at the potluck.  Not more honor in leadership.  Not more ego than is healthy.  The community is in balance when folks give and receive, care and are cared for, and resources serve the common good.

This week congress passed the Big Beautiful Budget Bill.  Some people are pretty excited about how wonderful it is.  I’m having a little trouble seeing their flowers for all the weeds.  Today’s readings give us some measuring sticks for the bill’s provisions?  Will it make it easier for us to bear one another’s burdens?  Or have we pushed some people down in order to lift others up?  Does it share resources equitably so that everyone’s needs are met?  Or does it allow some to horde resources the community needs?  Does it teach us to respect the humanity of all parts of our community?  Or does it demonize some to justify detention and deportation, withholding of benefits, judging some unworthy of community support? 

Paul reminds us not to criticize without offering options.  Maybe this bill isn’t a done deal.  Maybe we can still suggest other ways.  Can we  fund more immigration judges so detention isn’t necessary?  Can we find a path to citizenship for those who are contributing to our economy?  Can we restore programs that save lives here and abroad?  I read about a program in Denmark using turbines placed deep in the ocean to generate electricity.  I read about a church using their land for tiny houses for those without shelter.  I read about Oregon funding healthcare for everyone.  I read about Minnesota providing free school lunches for every child.  Can we say “yes” to good ideas and “no” to cruelty?  I know we can.  When we do, we lift each other up and bear the burdens of those who need a hand.  We become a strong and loving community, and we show the world what it means to enjoy eternal life.

Third Sunday after Pentecost

Galatians 5:1, 13-25

In today’s scripture Paul is writing advice to the churches across Galatia, an area now part of Turkey.  He and his helpers had talked about Jesus and started house churches across this area, and now he was adding to their knowledge of what it means to be a community of Jesus-followers.  This is practical advice about how to think about their priorities, interact in relationship with others and become a living example of the “reign of God” Jesus invited people to experience.  Paul frames this advice under the umbrella offreedom.  If you want to be free, this is how you live.

Freedom in the first century Roman Empire meant something quite different than the word means to us.  We think of freedom as self-determination, the ability to do whatever we choose.  No one can tell us what to do.  In the Roman Empire, very few people had that kind of freedom.  It’s quite likely that many of these people were enslaved and almost all of them were peasants who worked for someone else.  Their daily lives would have been controlled by those with more wealth and power.  But their minds and hearts were their own, so Paul talks about how they think about community and how they treat one another to the extent that those things are under their control.

Notice what’s not allowed – selfishness, actions which take advantage of others, anything which is cruel or unloving.  And what’s encouraged – love, joy, peace, patience, endurance, compassion.  “A conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people.” 

Paul is quick to point out that these aren’t rules.  They aren’t the Ten Commandments posted in classrooms or courtrooms to make people behave.  Even then Paul knew that you couldn’t legislate goodness; it comes from the heart as a way of being.  Religion sometimes tells us that if we keep the “rules” of the Bible, then we’ll be rewarded with heaven when we die.  Jesus and then Paul were telling people that if you become a godly person, then your life is already heaven each day. When they created communities of people who lived by Jesus’ example – with love, compassion, and respect – they became the reign of God. The reward was in the living out of a better way.

Sometimes we’re tempted to take the lists of good qualities from scripture and make them a behavioral checklist.  Like the part of your elementary report card where you get + or – for “plays well with others” or “completes work on time.”  It’s more complicated than that.  You know I’ve been calling Washington, DC every day, encouraging legislators to vote for the right things.  I realized after a while, that what I’m really asking is that they BE the right people to lead us.  It’s not just a list of legislation to support with their vote.  We want our leaders to embody the principles that make for godly community.  I want them to value and respect people, to treat everyone with dignity, to care that everyone eats, has a home, learns a skill or two, can raise a family to be healthy and happy. Martin Luther King, Jr. called that the “beloved community.” Others have built on his teachings to call us together to become the community we want to live in. 

We have much more freedom than first century folk.  We can set our own course, live and work almost anywhere we choose, join or leave any number of groups.  That freedom doesn’t bring us into the beloved community unless we choose to BE the kind of people that community describes.  Across the centuries, Paul is telling us, “If you want to be truly free, then pattern your life on the example of Jesus.  Love one another.”

We have the freedom to speak out about the principles that make life truly good.  We see them as religious principles, but they are also the values of basic human decency.  We pattern our community after Jesus, but other prophets and faith leaders called for the same values.  It’s a community that includes all that is good and welcomes everyone, regardless of their starting places.  We can use our freedom to say “no” to those things which don’t build people up and “yes” to those things that make life better for everyone.  Is there a simple list of what to do?  No, but it’s true that we “know it when we see it.”

We live in times  which can be discouraging.  Each time we think nothing else about our government can break, they prove us wrong.  It’s hard to focus or to know what to try to fix first.  Remember the first century folk who had no chance of fixing their wider world and let’s do what they did:  start with themselves.  Yes, we need to keep weighing in on better ways to treat people and work together, but first we can commit to living as the beloved community.  We can commit to being the kind of people who love neighbors and practice kindness.  We can be generous and gracious and hopeful.  When we change ourselves, we change our immediate neighborhood.  A country full of changed neighborhoods, changes.

Our second reading calls us to that work, gently and with hope:

Please by Rosemerry Trommer

If you are one who has practice meeting
the pain of the world,
we need you. Right now we need you
to remind us we can be furious and scared
and near feral over injustice and still thrill at the taste
of a strawberry, ripe and sweet,
can still meet a stranger and shake
their hand, believing in their humanness.
We need you to show us how
we, too, can fall into the darkest,
unplumbed pit and learn there
a courage and beauty
we could never learn from the light.
If you have drowned in sorrow
and still have somehow found
a way to breathe, please, lead us.
You are the one with the crumbs
we need, the ones we will us to find
our way back to the home of our hearts.

Friends, for over 2000 years the ones who follow Jesus have believed that his way of living together, caring for each other and the world, is the reign of God.  They did that, imperfectly, because they chose to come as close as they could to being the way he invited them to be.  We are in good company.  Let us be kind.  Let us be hopeful.  Let us share jokes and good food and help friends and strangers the best that we can.  Let us be brave in speaking freely against injustice and steadfast in loving even those who ignore our words. Let us be the beloved community, the presence of God in this time and place.  Today.  Tomorrow.  For as long as we can.

Second Sunday after Pentecost

Luke 6:32-38

My son-in-law, Dave, teaches high school economics, and the first principle his students learn is that economics is about decision making in the face of scarcity.  Anything and everything in a market is implicitly defined as scarce…  In a gift economy, wealth is understood as having enough to share, and the practice for dealing with abundance is to give it away.  In fact, status is determined not by how much one accumulates, but by how much one gives away.  The currency in a gift economy is relationship, which is expressed as gratitude, as interdependence and the ongoing cycles of reciprocity.  A gift economy nurtures the community bonds that enhance mutual well-being; the economic unit is “we” rather than “I,” as all flourishing is mutual.

The Serviceberry by Robin Wall Kimmerer, pages 30-33 (excerpts)

Yesterday I listened to Krista Tippet, the long-time creator of On Being for public radio, interview Ocean Vuong, a young Vietnamese American author.  They were talking about how to find hope in difficult times, and I was particularly struck by Vuong’s assertion that we must be careful to speak hopeful words because we are “speaking our future into existence.”  That reminded me that in the beginning of our scripture, we read that “God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.”  Our ancestors understood that all creation came from the Word of God.  The words that we use to describe life, create the life we experience.  I think that captures the essence of our summer project, to describe a way of living that matches our faith values and our vision for how we want to live in this community and this country.  We are “speaking our future” into existence in a way that’s consistent with who we are as followers of Jesus.

Today our words from Jesus give us many practical ways to live as a community
     Do to others what you want them to do to you.
  Love the unlovable; love your enemies; help without expecting thanks or return.
     Be kind; don’t criticize; be generous with your possessions and your self.
It’s generosity that I want to focus on for our few minutes.

When I was in elementary school, my family was one of those every-Sunday-in-the-same-pew families.  And every Sunday when it was time for the offering, the minister quoted today’s scripture (in a more traditional translation):  Give, and it will be given to you, a good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over.  For the measure you give will be the measure you get back.  Talk about words that matter – those words formed me in a deep and lasting way.  I can still hear his voice in my head. Of course my 9-year-old self heard them much more transactionally than I want us to hear them today, and I noticed that although I dutifully put my envelope in the plate every week, no one returned my nickel to me. ( Although truth be told, I did get a nickel bottle of soda every Sunday during coffee hour.) “Generosity begets generosity,” Jesus tells us.

Robin Wall Kimmerer tells us the same thing when she advocates for a gift economy rather than one based on scarcity.  When everything economic is based on grabbing mine before you take it from me, it’s hard to trust each other and even harder to share.  My brother posted on Facebook this week an article about how his county wouldn’t be delivering commodity food to those in need in the county anymore, because although they still had food, DOGE had eliminated funds for transportation.  One of his friends responded that this might be a good way to “cull the herd” of the undeserving who won’t work.  You can imagine that got lots of responses. 

Consider this story Kimmerer tells instead:  A linguist was studying a Brazilian tribe.  He noticed that it was relatively difficult for hunters to find and kill animals in their forrest, but when a hunter was successful, he cooked the entire beast and invited the whole village to feast until everyone was stuffed and the meat was gone.  Because he was trying to learn the language, he asked a hunter what the words were for curing or preserving the meat for future days when the hunt was unsuccessful.  How was the meat stored?  The hunter couldn’t understand the question.  He had no words for keeping the meat for himself.  Instead he said, “I store my meat in the belly of my brother.”   And when my brother kills a boar, he feeds me, too.

The educator Parker Palmer has written for years about “the myth of scarcity” in our country.  This myth teaches us that if we are to have what we need, we must take it from someone else and guard it.  We are convinced that only 10% of a class can do work deserving an A.  Only the cream of the crop can get good jobs.  If everyone gets food from the pantry shelves, will we go hungry?  What if we assumed that there was enough for everyone to succeed, for everyone to eat, for everyone to be housed and receive health care and be taught by the best teachers.  Would seeing the world that way create that reality? 

I was trying to remember the other day how we got to be the church with the community fund, the ones who say “yes” to as many requests as we can.  Do you remember?  I think it started with the noisy offering.  It seemed like a fun thing for children to do when we had children.  Then we had to do something with the coins, so we bought something someone needed.  I don’t remember what.  Now when there’s lots of money in the account, we pay rent and fix cars and do expensive things.  When there’s a little, we pay $50 utility deposits and buy $9 specialized nail clippers.  Somebody else pays the big bills in those times.  If I had suggested that we budget $40,000 a year to give away, you would have thought I was crazy.  But that’s what we did last year, with a lot of help from our friends.  Generosity creates generosity.  Believing that there is enough to share, makes it true. 

Last week we talked about seeing the world as a gift, and all the resources Earth provides as generous gifts we receive.  The logical extension of that vision is a gift economy – when those who have share.  I’m not suggesting that we give away so much that we can’t care for ourselves.  We don’t have to become poor to serve those who live in poverty.  But we are living proof that when you assume you can help, you can.  When you see the world through the eyes of love and connection, you become instruments of love and connection.  It’s an experiment in creating community.  What if we watch the words we speak, and speak less about scarcity and more about abundance?  What if we speak less about what we can’t afford and more about what’s possible? What if we speak less about who doesn’t deserve help and more about how we can be helpers? I wonder what future we will speak into existence.

First Sunday after Pentecost

Proverbs 8:1-4

The Serviceberry, Robin Wall Kimmerer, pages 8-9

 I want to talk a bit about our summer project.   It’s a project that begins with questions:

• If we are saddened by the ways our world seems broken right now, what does it look like when the world is whole and well?

• If people and nations are divided by ideas and interests, what does it look like when we form communities of respect and care for one another?

• If we believe that we should live by values shaped by faith, what are those values and how do we put them into practice?

I’ve been working on this project for several months, collecting relevant bits of books and listening to people talk about how we are to respond to the current realities of our lives.  Some of that ends up looking political, like the signs at yesterday’s protests.  But it is more than that.  Politics are, after all, the way people come together to shape a common life.  They aren’t just about who we vote for.  In fact, we can hold common values and vote differently about how to accomplish them.  I’m convinced that we lack clarity about what matters most to us.  We are inarticulate when we try to describe how we understand the world we are trying to create together.  We need a clearer framework on which to build a common life.  Some of that comes from our faith, the Judeo-Christian scriptures and thinkers over the centuries.  We are also informed by the wider world.  By Indigenous people, and Buddhist teachings.  We gather pieces from scientists and economists and educators and grandparents.  We learn from stories that touch our hearts and sometimes break our hearts and sometimes give us hope.  The closer I come to actually making this project happen, the more elusive it becomes.  I can’t see how it all falls together, but we will start anyway.  We will make a beginning and see what happens.  I hope you will add your wisdom, suggest resources that matter to you, and shape this as we go along.

Today we make a beginning with a few verses from Proverbs:  Does not wisdom call and does not understanding raise her voice?  Everywhere we turn, we see clues about how this life works best, what God’s vision for goodness might be.  We are encouraged to pay attention.  What is Earth telling us?  What wisdom comes from scholars and children?  Where do we see something holy moving among us?

Robin Wall Kimmerer, who is a botanist and a member of the Potawatami nation, has written about finding wisdom while she was picking serviceberries (or June berries to us).  Her neighbors planted a big patch of berry bushes, and when they were ready with their first harvest, they invited everyone to come pick a pail or two – for free.  It was advertising for a new you-pick enterprise, and it was a gift.  A gift from the farmer and a gift from the bushes themselves.  A gift of sunshine and rain and fertile soil.  A gift of sweetness. 

What if one of the gifts of wisdom we can see around us is the way Mother Earth provides for us.  We are so used to thinking about how humans have wrestled a living from the world around us.  We focus on our labor – the planting of crops, the manufacturing of products, the production of words for which people are paid.  We say we MAKE a living.  That is true.  But it is also true that life and resources and everything we need is a gift.  We had nothing to do with creating the raw materials of life; they are simply there, and we take them.  For most of us we long ago stopped saying, “Thank you”

What if we recover a sense of gratitude for our very existence?  What if we notice in new ways where our food comes from, who cleans our common spaces, who takes care of our children and our elders, whose unseen labor makes our days easier?  It’s possible to see the foundation of life not in what we own, but in what is given to us.  Not in how successful we are but in how generous Earth and circumstances have been.  Of course our efforts matter, but it’s possible that we are not the center of the universe.  Maybe the world is bigger than we are, and it’s a privilege to live in it. 

Those who are truly grateful, are moved to share.  Those blessings we receive, not because we have earned them, but because we are simply alive, do not belong to us.  That which we have passes through our hands on its way to those who need it most.  Of course we enjoy those blessings, but we aren’t meant to horde them.  They belong to the community.  Family of God is learning how to be a conduit for resources on their way to help those whose need is greater than our own.  I think the privilege of being a steward to that aid is changing us.  Maybe it’s helping us understand what it means that life is a gift and that everyone is meant to receive as needed.  It’s leading us to think less about what’s “mine” and more about how what’s “ours” can best be used.  Think of the berries that are best when eaten with a friend.

I’d like to try an experiment this summer to help us remember that the resources of Earth are meant to circulate and be shared.  Robin Kimmerer talks about free garden tables in her neighborhood where excess produce is put out for the taking.  I remember years ago a plate that made its way around a workplace so cookies and other treats could be shared friend to friend.  Right now I have an abundance of daisies, so I’ve put a few on the table in the entryway today.  If they call to you, please take some home and enjoy them.  If you come across something you might share in the weeks ahead, feel free to add it to the table.  It might be a book, or a poem, or part of a batch of cookies, or a tool you have three of.  It’s okay to take without giving, and to give without taking.  But it must be a free gift of your abundance and never a responsibility.  It’s ok to watch others and not participate yourself.  I wonder what will happen over the summer and if it will change us.  I wonder what wisdom we’ll find along the way.  That too will be a gift.

Pentecost

Acts 2:1-8, 12, 17-18, 43-47

Last Sunday I was in Ohio with my sister, and was telling her that I was excited to be home the next Sunday because it was Pentecost.  My sister turned to her friend and commented  that her church in Africa also celebrated Pentecost in a big way, and she just couldn’t understand it.  How could churches celebrate Pentecost when they didn’t believe in the gifts of the Spirit – by which she meant speaking in tongues. What we have here is a colliding of two worlds.  One world takes this Pentecost story literally:  it’s about speaking in unknown languages and everyone becoming Christian.  When we talk about Pentecost being the birthday of the church – which we often do – we’re lining up with that world.  This is the literal day that the first church was born and baptized 3000 members.  That’s a great story, but it’s just a story.  It’s a story told long after the fact by folks who weren’t there and who needed a way to give their Jesus movement some history.  In actuality, there’s no way Roman soldiers less than 2 months after crucifying Jesus were going to let 3000 people join a movement in his name in the heart of Jerusalem.  By the time this story was written down, Rome had completely destroyed Rome and torn down the Temple for less than that.

All week I’ve been thinking about why we celebrate Pentecost – why it’s my favorite Holy Day.  I want to be on record here and now that Pentecost is much, much more than just ecstatic languages and the institution’s origin story.  It’s about God bringing the people together and giving them life – new life.  So just like we celebrate Easter/resurrection every Sunday and we celebrate Christmas/incarnation every time we sense the presence of mystery in this world, we celebrate Pentecost whenever we connect with hope and community – which is to say virtually every day.

 Why do we celebrate Pentecost?  Pentecost is about finding hope in the face of despair.  The story tells us the followers of Jesus – many more than just the disciples but all the men and women who had traveled with Jesus and signed on to his mission – were all together in one place.  They were hiding out because they were afraid.  Jesus had been executed at Passover, a festival when Jews from near and far were gathered in Jerusalem to remember their common heritage.  Now it was Pentecost or Shavuot, the first of several harvest festivals.  Jews from across the Empire were once again gathered in Jerusalem to bring the first of harvested grain to offer in the Temple.  It was a celebration of life, and Roman soldiers were once again in the city in large numbers to keep order.  Jesus’ followers wondered if more of them would be executed as part of the crowd control for the holiday.  They were afraid. 

And then God set them on fire and they were not.  They already had the sense that Jesus was resurrected – still alive and among them in the strongest way.  They were beginning to understand that his death hadn’t been the end of his ministry, but that there was still more to do.  Still ways to tell the story of God’s love the way he had told it.  Still the possibility of being the reign of God in their time, like he had told them they were.  We don’t know exactly what changed, but they went from hiding in fear to preaching to anyone who would listen.  They had a story to tell of a better way to live, and they were going to tell it.  Maybe not to thousands in the public square, but to friends and neighbors and people they met on the street.  What Jesus had given them wasn’t dead but still alive and strong within them, and it was too good not to share.  It overcame fear of Empire and gave them hope that new life was real.

Then they set about living that life, the way Jesus had taught them.  They healed folks the way Jesus trained them to do.  They accomplished tasks they never believed they could do.  The gave praise to God because God’s love was strong in them and they felt it.  They pooled their resources and took care of each other, and a lot of folks around them.  They ate together.  They enjoyed life together.  They made a difference in their neighborhood by helping others.  And they grew – not by thousands in a single day, but slowly and steadily they became a movement that spread across the known world.

Here's what we’re celebrating:

God’s love overcomes fear.  The Empire can be strong.  Public opinion can be against you.  Life can feel unsafe at times, but God gives courage and people stick together.  The possibility of new life is more important than fear.

New life is possible.  The Roman Empire did its best to divide people and to make them fear both Empire and neighbors, but you can live under Empire and still live by Jesus’ vision.  You can love your neighbor.  You can share your bread.  You can care for those who become ill and shelter those who are homeless.  And you can have a good time doing it.

There’s always hope.  Hope is a gift of God that is planted in our hearts as a sign of our humanity, and it’s stubborn.  It doesn’t depend on life around us being hopeful.   It’s like that fire that burned in the first Pentecost story and touched everyone without harming them.  It can be dimmed by circumstance, but you can’t put it out.

Courage.  Life as a community.  Hope.  Those are great reasons to celebrate.  I propose that we celebrate them all summer long.  We begin by naming them as our Pentecost today, and then we explore the many things they can mean together week by week.  Let’s build ourselves into a courageous, hopeful community that makes Jesus’ vision real right here, right now.  And let’s have a good time doing it.  Let’s celebrate!

Flower Communion Sunday

For the Flowers Have the Gift of Language

Speak, flowers, speak! Why do you say nothing?
The flowers have the gift of language. In the meadow they speak of freedom,
Creating patterns wild and free as no gardener could match. In the forest they nestle, snug carpets under the roof of
Leaf and branch, making a rug of such softness. At end tip of branches, they cling briefly
Before bursting into fruit sweet to taste.
Flowers, can you not speak joy to our sadness? And hope to our fear? Can you not say how it is with you
That you color the darkest corner? The flowers have the gift of language.
At the occasion of birth, they are buds before bursting.
At the ceremony of love they unite two lovers in beauty. At the occasion of death, they remind us how lovely is life.
Oh, would that you had voice, Silent messengers of hope.
Would that you could tell us how you feel, Arrayed in such beauty.
The flowers have the gift of language. In the dark depths of a death camp They speak the light of life.
In the face of cruelty, They speak of courage.
In the experience of ugliness
They bespeak the persistence of beauty. Speak, messengers, speak!
For we would hear your message. Speak, messengers, speak!
For we need to hear what you would say. For the flowers have the gift of language:
They transport the human voice on winds of beauty; They lift the melody of song to our ears; They paint through the eye and hand of the artist; Their fragrance binds us to sweet-smelling earth.
May the blessing of the flowers be upon you. May their beauty beckon to you each morning And their loveliness lures you each day,
And their tenderness caress you each night. May their delicate petals make you gentle, And their eyes make you aware.
May their stems make you sturdy, And their reaching make you care.

Fifth Sunday of Easter

John 13:31-35

Jesus says, “Everyone will know that you are my disciple if you love one another.”  That seems pretty straightforward.  Jesus told his disciples that love was the glue that would hold them together and keep them faithful to him and his teaching.  He told them that just before their lives got really hard.  Jesus was arrested and executed.  They were afraid.  They didn’t have a master plan for what they were supposed to do next.  Some of them were also executed within a few years.  Before all of them died their country was crushed, their temple destroyed, and Jerusalem leveled.  Some days we think we live in scary hard times, but this is nothing compared with what these disciples were about to face.  So what advice is sufficient for people whose lives are about to fall apart?  Love one another.

They surely weren’t surprised that this was Jesus’ bottom line.  It’s what he’d been saying the whole time they had known him.
       God is love.
       Love your neighbor as yourself.
      Everyone is your neighbor.

Over the centuries church teachers have written volumes about what it means to be a Christian.  Councils have spent years debating the fine points of theology. There have been schisms and reformations and great awakenings.  But the basics remain the same:  love one another.

Sometimes I think so much else is written about how to be a disciple because the love part is darn hard to do.  God knows all of us are sometimes unlovable.  We say the wrong things.  We think the wrong things.  We make huge mistakes.  We alienate friends and families and sometimes even make it hard to love ourselves.  Jesus doesn’t say we have to get it right all the time.  We just have to keep trying. God is love and nothing can separate us from God or from love.

Then there are all those other folks that make love so hard.  The ones who are truly cruel.  The ones who lie, cheat and steal.  The ones who call us names.  The ones who undercut us at work or school.  The ones who commit crimes.  The ones who vote for the other party.  Jesus doesn’t say we have to like people.  Or like all the things people do.  In fact, he spent much of his energy calling folks out when they did harmful things. But he extended love to everyone.  Love that looks like respect for the person even while condemning their actions or beliefs.  Love that holds hope for change and gives second and third and endless chances.

Every week I’m reminded that there’s a lot about this moment in history that reminds us of the first century, and other moments when life was hard.  Much of what’s broken in our time shows that folks still aren’t taking Jesus seriously about this love stuff.

Love doesn’t start wars.
Love doesn’t bomb civilians or withhold humanitarian aid from them.
Love doesn’t see refugees as a threat or deport people without due process.
Love doesn’t turn folks who dissent into criminals.
Love doesn’t withhold healthcare or food aid.
Love doesn’t reject and endanger people because of race or gender or gender identity.
Love doesn’t lie.

We could make a long list.  During Lent we acknowledged many unloving actions when we focused on the desert experience.  This Eastertide we’re trying to remember that in spite of cruelty, love still exists.  There are still helpers trying to do what is right and care in any way they can.

It’s important for us do two things at once:

To hold the standard of love against what’s happening in our world.  That let’s us celebrate the good around us and name those actions we believe are wrong.

To love all people as best we can.  Especially those who make us cringe.  To treat every single person as a beloved child of God.  For there is no one whom God does not love.

Jesus’ command to love one another is also his gift to us.  We can love extravagantly only if we know ourselves to be loved – accepted, respected, valued, cherished.  When we belong to a community which grounds us in love, then we are empowered to extend love to others. We need a home base where we can rest and reflect if we are going to be the transforming power of love in the community and in the wider world.  We need to love each other so we have the strength to love everyone else.

Whether we like it or not, the foundations of our society are shaking right now.  I’m convinced that the most important things we can do in response is to get very clear about what it means to love as God loves, and to support and care for each other along the way.  I’m working on finding the resources to help us understand what that means for our summer project. I welcome your suggestions.  Who gives you hope?  What authors or musicians clarify your thinking? Where should we be putting our collective energy? How do we form strong community to sustain us? Most of all, what does it mean to love one another?  That’s the journey we share together.

Fourth Sunday of Easter

Psalm 23

When Psalm 23 was written, many of the people of Israel were shepherds.  They knew what it meant to take care of sheep – to lead them on safe paths, to find them lush pastures, to bring them to water in a quiet place where it was safe to drink.  The Psalmist drew on one of the most caring relationships in everyday life to describe how protected he felt by God.

People cared for their sheep because they made life possible.  Their wool clothed them.  Their milk and meat fed them.  Their lambs became their generational wealth.  And they cared for their sheep because they spent a lot of time with them.  You have to pay attention day and night if you are going to be a good shepherd.  It was comforting to think that God was paying constant and benevolent attention to them.

Three thousand years ago there were very few atheists.  Every nation or tribe had at least one god.  The realities of daily living were explained by telling stories about gods – gods of war and peace, or hunting and hearth, of day and night, of planting and harvest, of love and justice, of life and death.  Some of these gods were kind and generous; many were not.  Everything that happened in life was controlled by one god or another.  The Psalmist is celebrating that their god is as caring as the best shepherd.  They can have confidence that God will care for them.

We often read Psalm 23 when we need someone to care about us and for us.  It’s a star at funerals.  It whispers in hospital rooms.  Children memorize it about the time they start striking out more on their own and need some extra protection.  Our  modern world has scientific explanations for most things and we no longer believe that the details of our everyday life are controlled by one god or another, but it’s still nice to believe that there’s some good power behind all that is which is on our side.  Even when our life story sends us down some dark valleys, and we all have dark valleys from time to time, we can assert that we’re not walking alone.  God is present.

Last week we read the story about Jesus asking Peter to feed his sheep, placing the care of the earth and her peoples in the hands of the disciples.  Sometimes we understand that to mean the church is responsible for taking care of folks.  We sing that every Sunday:

                  Christ has no body now but yours…
                  No hands, no feet on earth but yours…
                  Yours are the eyes with which he looks compassion on this world.
                  Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

I don’t know about you, but right now I’m feeling like that’s a lot of responsibility.  I’ve told you that I call our three people in Congress five days a week.  You’d think I’d run out of things to tell them, but the fact is most days there’s so many things I have trouble choosing.  Almost all of those days I’m pleading for them not to hurt someone:  stop bombing, release aid, fund health care and education, restore research grants, stop firing people.  Lots of times I tell them, “You have to care about people because I can’t afford to care for them without you.”  I feel like we’ve earned the right to say that, because we certainly try to do as much as possible.  Being good shepherds for all God’s flock is one of the ways we understand how Jesus people live in the world.  It’s an image that works.

I was thinking about how long Jesus people have been at that job this week, and I realized it’s OK if we don’t finish the job.  There are lots of folks before us who worked at it, and they didn’t finish either.  I used to say it was enough to make a little progress.  But progress isn’t a straight line upward, so these days I say it’s enough if we are kind and do what we can.  Following Jesus, loving God’s people, is a way of being, not a job that ends.

The church has been at this way of being for a long time.  This week the part of Jesus people who used to be the only game in town got a new leader.  I was hoping for someone I’d like, even though I knew they wouldn’t ask me.  I think we got a keeper.  He cares about the people.  He sees everyone, even those some would push down or throw out.  He understands about taking care of earth.  He has a vision for peace.  He’s excited about the work that needs to be done.  He’s not afraid.  Even though we’ll never meet him, he’s our partner in creating something new for this world.

One more thing about this Psalm – we’re asked to be the shepherd, but we also get to be the sheep.  We can take a break and let folks care for us.  We can sit out one protest or one project.  We work together AND we can play together.  Good food.  Good music.  Good jokes every Sunday.  We can trust God and all the power of the universe to fill our cup to the brim when it’s dry, to give us a safe place to rest, to show us a way forward and to have our back.  I know that’s hard to believe.  There are a lot of broken places in this world.  There are broken places in our hearts.  Three thousand years ago a singer wrote this psalm to tell us God’s love and care are true.  Two thousand years ago Jesus told us God IS love and we can love each other.  One of the most important things we do for each other is to affirm the truth of God’s love, even on days we don’t much see it.  To stand by each other until the darkness lifts and the light returns.  And to say over and over, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.”

Third Sunday of Easter

John 21:1-19

Two weeks ago we celebrated Easter.  Now, in this Gospel lesson we have Jesus appearing to a group of the disciples some time after Easter.  We know that some of the disciples were fishermen by trade.  We know that because when Jesus called Peter and James and John to be disciples, he called them from their fishing boats to come and follow him.

They left their fishing nets and followed Jesus.  Now Jesus is no longer with them.  Or is he?  It is difficult for them to get their heads around, just what is the current situation?  They know that Jeus was crucified.  They know that he was raised from the dead.  They have seen the risen Jesus. What does that mean for them now?  They do not know what to do next. 

A few of the disciples are gathered on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias.  Normally we refer to that body of water as the Sea of Galilee, which would be what it was called by the locals, by the Jews.  The Romans, when they conquered Israel and took over, changed the name from the common name which had been used throughout history, to a name that the Roman leaders liked better.  Imagine a ruler thinking that he could change the name of a body of water from a name that had been used historically to something he liked better.  In that context Peter says, “I am going fishing.”  I have heard several people say that they will go fishing at times that they need time to think.  The disciples needed time to think, but the fishing nets are mentioned.  It does not sound like sitting with a fishing rod.  The fishing described is like describing as a professional fisherman letting down his nets to catch fish.  It is like describing fishing for a living.

Commercial fishermen on the Sea of Galilee normally fished at night.  The weather was warm enough that the water during the day was warm enough at the surface that the fish were driven to the deepest parts of the lake where the water would be cooler.  These disciples had fished all night and caught nothing.

If you were fishing just for the fun of it, fishing all night and catching nothing could be enough to convince you to quit and try again some other time.  It does not seem like these fishermen were quitting, just that they were close to shore.  At any rate, they caught nothing. 

Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach, but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus.  Why did they not know that it was Jesus?  The lesson says that they were about a hundred yards off shore.  Maybe at a hundred yards it was not clear to see who was there.  Maybe the resurrected Jesus looked different.  Maybe they did not pay much attention to this person on the shore, or at least not at first.  At any rate, the disciples did not know that it was Jesus.

Jesus said to them, “Children, you have no fish, have you?”  They answered him, “No.”  It could sound like Jesus already knew that they had caught no fish.  I have read that traditionally they would have thrown the net off the left side of the boat.  Maybe, maybe not.  At any rate, at a point where they have had no success all night, all Jesus asks them to do is try one more time.  There certainly are a lot of times where that is good advice.  If things are not working, give it one more try.  They try one more time and the net is full to overflowing.

The disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!”  There are times in scripture where the disciple John is referred to as the disciple whom Jesus loved. I have a couple reactions for Peter at that point.  I could picture Peter answering something like, “Why didn’t you say so sooner?  When did you first know?”  Then we see the impulsiveness that Peter is known for, as he jumps into the sea to go to Jesus.  Before he jumps into the sea, it says he put on his outer garment.  If you are working and you take off your jacket when you get heated, or take off your shirt, that makes sense.  I do find myself wondering about putting that outer robe back on, and then jumping into the water.  It would feel so good to have that wet robe, probably wool, clinging to you and weighing you down, as you go that hundred yards to shore.

The other disciples, did they complain that Peter left them with the work of getting the fish to shore?  Maybe that is why Peter went back aboard and hauled the net ashore.  Maybe the others were saying, all right, we got it this far, now you finish the job.  The net is full of large fish, 153 of them.  Not just fish, but large fish.  The number 153 gives the idea of a lot of fish, they could eat breakfast and still have a lot of fish to sell.  The number 153 may be symbolic of a lot.  There would be a lot of countries, a lot of areas, that Jesus would draw in to himself, like a fisherman drawing in a net and catching all with that net.

Jesus took the bread and gave it to them and did the same with the fish.  It sounds like a very simple meal.  It is told to us, sounding almost like communion. I wonder if the disciples were reminded of the Last Supper.  It was also on the shore of the Sea of Galilee that Jesus fed the 5000.  Would the disciples have thought of that also?

 It would be easy to stop the story there.  It would be a nice ending.  It would be an ending with us pondering meanings of the fish and communion.  Jesus, however, does not stop there.  We then have Jesus questioning Peter.  Three time Jesus asks Peter if he loves him.  Peter gets frustrated with being asked three times.  We can remind ourselves, or remind Peter, that it was not very long before this that Jesus was arrested and tried and crucified.  It was not very long before this that, during that trial of Jesus, Peter had denied that he even knew Jesus, not once or twice, but three times.  Maybe in asking Peter if he loved him, Jesus is also reminding Peter of those three denials.

We had sheep when I was growing up on the farm.  It was pretty common for us to refer to the lambs separately from the old sheep.  The lambs did require more attention, if you were intending to raise them to sell.  And those older sheep required more tending than to just feed them.  We moved them between 3 pastures.  Sometimes we needed to haul water for them.  Fences to be checked.  And the list can go on.  There was work to do in caring for the sheep.

Jesus is not trying to educate Peter, or us, on the raising of sheep.  He does come to us, like to those disciples, at times and places that we may not expect.  He does do things for us that we may not understand, like this appearance on the shore and the breakfast and the conversation.  But our faith does not stop there.  That would end up with a highly intellectual faith.  Knowing things, an intellectual approach, is important at times.  Jesus does not stop there.  Jesus takes that knowing and goes to peoples in need, and cares for them.  The questions for Peter are about loving Jesus, but also about using that love to care for those in need.

Jesus clarifies that to love is to care in active, tangible, life-giving ways.  Jesus does not instruct Peter, or the other disciples, or us, to simply pray for the hungry or to confess their faith as proof of love for him.  Jesus does tell Peter, and the other disciples, and us, that love is action and mutual aid; feeding, tending, caring for all of God’s children, for all in need.   May we always put that love into action.  Amen.

Second Sunday of Easter

John 20:19-21

Today we get to talk about Thomas, who has a reputation for being the disciple who doubted.  It’s been held against him for centuries, and I think it’s a bad rap.  Before we start on today’s story, I want to back up a bit to the story in which Lazarus was ill and his sisters sent word to Jesus, wanting him to come.  Going to Lazarus at that moment was dangerous, because Lazarus lived in a small town just outside Jerusalem, and the  authorities in Jerusalem had it out for Jesus.  All the disciples advised against Jesus going.  “If he's going to die anyway, you can’t do anything about it.  Don’t risk you life on a fool’s errand.”  Yet when Jesus seems determined, it was Thomas who said, “We might as well go too.  If he’s going to die, we can die with him.”  I always wish Thomas was remembered for loyalty and not doubt.

There’s a part of me that thinks doubt was a logical response to the story of resurrection.  Sure Jesus had raised Lazarus, his friend, but can a dead man raise himself?  And does anyone else among them have that power? Think of any one of the people you’ve known who have died recently.  When you arrived at the funeral, would you have believed a story of resurrection?  Don’t bother with the eulogy, let’s just have lunch together? I’m thinking not. 

I’ll bet Thomas wanted to believe the resurrection stories, but a little healthy skepticism can be a good thing.  Don’t believe he’s risen until you see the wounds on the body.  Don’t buy the timeshare until you’ve checked out the reviews.  Don’t take the miracle cure until the FDA has weighed in on the safety.  Don’t believe everything you read on Facebook.  A little doubt in the beginning can save you a heap of trouble in the long run. Some days I’m wishing doubt was a skill more folks had perfected.

Over the years the story of Thomas has been used to teach good church folk the nature of faith.  “Blessed are those who believe without seeing.”  In some church circles, you get more points for faith that believes the impossible.  The more unlikely a doctrine is, the more credit you get for believing it.  God works in mysterious ways, so if we don’t understand something, it must be more holy.

There is indeed a lot of mystery in this world, and there are still many things we can’t explain.  That’s one reason research is so important to push back the boundaries of the unknown.  It’s the reason we hold out hope for people who seem lost and situations that seem hopeless.  You never know what new life just might rise up. 

On the other hand, there’s been plenty of religious snake oil sold on faith.  I’m inclined to caution against believing everything you hear is true, even from a pulpit; even from me.  Thomas saw and then believed, and that might be a good model for us all.

Does that mean those of us living thousands of years after the first century have no chance of believing?  No, because there’s more than one way to see.  A resuscitated Jesus isn’t going to walk into the sanctuary today, but that doesn’t mean we’re not going to see Jesus among us.  If we’re watching, we see God moving in our lives every day.

When I tell people about Family of God, I most often tell them about our practice of naming Light Signs every Sunday.  I think we started doing that by accident, but it’s been a happy accident.  It reminds us that God shows up in all the places we live every day.  How do we know that God is there?  By the ways we see life happen.  Jesus told us that God is love.  I suspect that’s his most important teaching that we can remember.  If there is love, God is there.  If there’s no love, then whatever is happening isn’t a God thing. 

Think about the times in your life when you most felt the presence of God.  It may have been when you were in a place whose beauty took your breath away and you felt in your bones what it means to be one with the world.  It may have been when you were grieving a terrible loss and suddenly realized you weren’t grieving alone.  It may have been when you were scared to death about something about to happen and were filled with a strength you never knew before. 

I’d like to suggest that we are not people of faith because we believe even though we haven’t seen resurrection.  We are people of faith because we have seen resurrection in places we never expected to find it.  It found us.  God holds us when we have no strength.  God comforts us when we are beyond comfort.  And day after day God gives us hope.

The older I get the less I care about knowing the right doctrines about God and Jesus and teaching them to folks.  I care a lot about what you believe, but not much at all about that being the right stuff.  I just want you to know that God is alive among us, and we can see God every day.  I want you to know that God loves you and will give you the power you need to love each other.  I want to invite you to join together to create the reign of God right here, right now.  I want us to be a joyful sign of resurrection for the whole world.  If you doubt that’s possible from time to time, that’s OK.  We’re in this together, and we can take turns with the doubt as long as there’s a friend to keep the faith until ours comes back.  As long as there’s even one voice to say, “God is alive!  Look!  God is moving among us right there.”

Easter Sunday

Luke 24:1-12

We are here to celebrate Easter, the story of resurrection.  We’re expecting a story of victory: life over death. But at its heart, this is first a story of grief.  Before we can understand the message of life, we have to first understand death.  This may be a good year to begin with death, because many of us are grieving.  We’ve lost friends and family members.  We’ve lost the story about how life is supposed to unfold.  We’re afraid for what our future might hold.  We can touch the loss of death with more authenticity than we sometimes do in our busy and distracted lives.

Over the centuries the church has described Jesus’ death as God’s plan for salvation.  Because the world is broken and sinful, someone has to pay for what is wrong.  God sends Jesus to pay the price, fight the devil, overcome death, set us all free.  The death is a plan for good and God has everything under control.  There are some good messages in that explanation, but it’ s not the way the first Easter went down.  The only folks in control at that moment were the soldiers and the rulers appointed by Empire.  There was nothing good about them being in charge.

Jesus dies by crucifixion because Rome saw him as an insurrectionist.  We believe his “kingdom” was not of this world and wasn’t a military challenge to Rome.  But anyone talking about living under God and not Ceasar was a threat to Empire.  Anyone empowering the rabble to live with dignity was a threat.  Anyone feeding the hungry so they weren’t dependent on Roman charity was a threat.  Anyone drawing crowds and giving people hope was a threat.  Peasants who threatened Rome’s power in any way were crucified.  They were hung from crosses in public places so that everyone could see what happens to people who dare do anything but submit to Roman power.  Their deaths were common, they were excruciatingly long and painful, and they were meant to intimidate.

So what do we know about the women who went to find Jesus’ body early in the morning after the sabbath and the men who stayed behin?.  We know they were grieving.  They had witnessed the horrible death of a person who had transformed their lives.  We know they were intimidated.  They had no guarantees that they wouldn’t be next.  Often whole movements of people were crucified together, just to make a point.  We know they would have been remembering scenes from Jesus’ life and their lives with him.  We do that.  We remember and tell the stories.  It’s unusual that they were going to a grave, because most crucified bodies were dumped in large piles for the dogs and vultures to finish destroying them.  When they don’t find a body, it would have been natural for them to assume the gift of a tomb had been rescinded and Jesus’ body had been returned to the pile of those crucified with him.  That makes their loss even greater.  They have lost the ability to say goodbye with spices and ointments and tears. 

What they weren’t ready for was angels telling them the body had been resuscitated.  That Jesus was alive. That story only adds to their confusion.  They run to tell the men what they’ve seen, and even when the men come to see for themselves, they don’t understand.  They go home to mull it over and try to make sense of it.  We all know that fresh grief is not the best time to make sense of anything.

It’s a temptation for us to hear the Easter story and think, “Hooray!  God made everything better!”  Three days pass and everything is alright again, only in a new and unheard-of way.  Does that match with your experience of death and grief?  I’m thinking turning resurrection into a divine magical finale does a great disservice to the profound pain of the moment and the incredible hope it eventually becomes.  God didn’t just kiss Jesus’ wounded body and make it all better.  What God did was much more.  God entered into the pain of the disciples and the pain of the world and showed them how to walk into new life.  But making life new takes time and effort and all of us participate in the process.  Resurrection is a process, and it may have started on Easter, but we’re still in the thick of it today.

Resurrection begins with stories.  The disciples remembered the stories of Jesus – how he accepted the outcasts, healed those rejected by everyone, fed those hungry for bread, fed those hungry for hope.  They remembered how he taught them that the true power of God was love and the power of community was loving one another. They remembered how he was fearless and steadfast and believed so strongly in the possibility of life that he faced even death.  This week someone told me she didn’t believe in heaven, but she believed her husband who died years ago was still with her because she could feel him and hear him every day.  I believe that’s what the disciples came to know about Jesus; he was with them.  Someone I read this week says that’s a poor excuse for a resurrection.  I beg to differ.  I say it makes resurrection possible for everyone who’s ever lived and been loved by family and friends. 

The power of resurrection is what rose slowly among the disciples until they believed that Jesus wasn’t gone and the movement wasn’t over.  They remembered how he taught them to live and care for one another and they worked out together how to put it into practice.  They welcomed strangers into their homes.  They ate together and invited even the ones who didn’t have food to bring to the potluck.  They learned how to love each other, even when they disagreed or got on each other’s nerves. They stayed under the Roman radar and they created a kingdom of God among them that infected the whole world with love.

This kind of resurrection takes a lifetime or a couple of thousand years.  I want you to have a clear picture of how it grows from the heart out and is fed by the connections we find in community.  I hope you can see that we’re still living this resurrection into reality today.  That’s why we tell the stories of Jesus when we gather.  It’s why we tell the stories of heroes across the ages and those who live today.  We tell the stories of where we’ve been light in the world every week because it reminds us that there IS light in the world and we make it visible. 

Jesus’ disciples lived in a world in which there was no reason to hope and they found reasons to keep hope alive.  They lived in a world in which people were devalued and discounted and crucified and they learned to love each other and taught those around them to see the world through the eyes of love.  They lived in a world of abusive power and discovered a deep connection to an even greater power they called God which filled the universe and made new life possible.

We live in a world that’s much less certain than it was just a bit ago.  This world is asking us to devalue people who differ from us, to fear abusive power, to give up hope. Some folks want us to believe that it doesn’t matter if people are fed and illness healed, if children are embraced and those who struggle are lifted up.  There is reason to be intimidated.  But we don’t stand in this world alone.  We are a community built on the foundation of the faith of generations.  We are the next page in a long story that refuses to give up hope and insists on the power of love.  We are joined in creating new life by the power of God’s love which fills the universe and fills our hearts and will never leave us.  We know resurrection because we are living resurrection together.

Palm Sunday

Luke 19:28-40

We celebrate Palm Sunday every year as though it were Jesus’ coronation.  All our lives we have called Jesus “King” or “Lord” so we hear this story through that lens.  Palm Sunday is the day the crowds in Jerusalem crowned Jesus as king, choosing him over Rome to rule them.  Of course that’s not what happened.  It’s very likely the crowds welcomed Jesus to Jerusalem because they had heard about the miracles of healing he performed and the teaching that drew crowds.  But it’s not a coronation.  At the same moment the Roman legions would have been arriving on the other side of the city to keep order during the Passover festival.  They came with war horses and marching, heavily armed soldiers.  Jesus on his donkey with a few peasants armed with tree branches were not taking Rome’s power. 

The Pharisees knew this was true.  They tried to silence the crowd, knowing that their joy only endangered Jesus.  Rome wasn’t going to tolerate even the semblance of this upstart pretending to have power.  It was inevitable that he would soon die.  He may have bravely claimed that “even the stones” would acknowledge him, but Jesus was not about to overthrow Rome.

It's hard for us to hear this story through first century eyes.  We are used to people having choices about who is in charge of their world.  If Jesus represents a better way of living for the people, then we think it’s natural that they would rally for him and choose his leadership.  But first-century people had no power to make that choice.  Jesus’ teaching and his miracles could change the way they saw life, but none of them could change the Empire.

Centuries later Christianity named Jesus Lord and celebrated Christ the King Sunday, but only after the Empire endorsed this religion.  Jesus became King when the Empire merged itself with what they claimed was Jesus’ kingdom, not before.  Palm Sunday isn’t about Jesus winning or the Kingdom of God becoming the way the world works – at least not in any obvious ways.  The people who welcomed Jesus had no illusions that their world was going to change that day.  Except perhaps that it was never going to be the same

This year I’m inclined to think that Palm Sunday is about hope.  Often we think of hope as the belief that the world is going to change for the better.  We hope someone is going to get well.  We hope Congress will wake up.  We hope wars will end.  We tie that hope to real possibilities that these things will happen.  There will be the right medicine, the right speech delivered, the right negotiations.  We tie our hope to the real possibility of change happening.

The first century has something to teach us about hope.  They had no hope of the Empire changing.  Jesus had no hope of being in charge.  He had no hope of living through the next few days after what happened that day.  The realities were harsh and unrelenting.  But there was something about Jesus that still inspired hope.

He spoke of loving neighbors in a way that made folks believe they could do that.

He spoke of God’s love in a way that convinced people love was real.

He held a vision of the way the world could be that was so strong people could believe it.  Maybe they couldn’t change the world, but they could change the way they lived in the world.  That vision didn’t depend on probability.  Even if Jesus didn’t stand a chance, he still inspired them to see life in a new way, to treat each other in a new way. 

The kind of hope people found in the Jesus movement was the kind of hope that would let them believe that even someone who died might rise from the dead.  Even Rome’s crushing power couldn’t keep their spirits from rising up and their community from finding life in the midst of death.

This is a Palm Sunday gift to us.  Centuries ago people who lived under occupation and violence believed it matter how they treated one another.  People who lived under corrupt leaders believed they could be good and kind.  People who saw no way forward still formed communities that cared for each other and gathered in joy day by day. 

Their hope was in a vision Jesus called the reign of God, and it didn’t depend on the possibility of it coming true.  Instead, it was a way of life people could live in spite of what was happening around them.  In spite of horrors and struggle.  The Empire could control food and work and who lived and who died, but it couldn’t control how they loved one another, how they cared for each other, how they saw a bigger reality beyond the soldiers in their streets and the crosses on their hillsides. 

Palm Sunday crowds surely knew Jesus would die.  But hope told them he also would live.  A God-sized vision of goodness can’t be crucified. 

People who believe in the power of love can’t be crushed.
Hope rises again. 
And a world that can’t be changed, changes. 

Fifth Sunday in Lent

John 12:1-8

As John tells this story, Jesus has traveled almost to Jerusalem.  He’s staying in Bethany with some of his closest friends and supporters – Lazarus, Mary and Martha.  The disciples who accompanied him had gathered in this home.  It would have been crowded because homes were small and the group travelling with Jesus at that point was relatively large.  They were all tired from long hours interacting with crowds and long days journeying across the countryside.  They were stressed because Jesus was headed toward Jerusalem, the seat of power and the garrisons of Roman soldiers.  Jesus had attracted the attention of both the Roman and religious leaders and none of them liked him.  They thought he was a troublemaker.  In those days in Jerusalem trouble makers were crucified.

That evening they had dinner together, like they often had.  It must have been a weighty occasion.  Like the last time you visit a dear relative who is terminally ill.  The last time you gather before the oldest child moves across country.  We can remember similar occasions in our lives and get a sense of how they felt.  Glad to be together and worried about tomorrow.  On edge.  Exhausted.

To mark that occasion Mary, one of the hosts of this party, not only washes the feet of Jesus, the guest.  She covers them with costly, sweet-smelling ointment and wipes them wither hair.  There’s no way to see that act but as an incredibly intimate, personal moment.  It was Mary showing Jesus how much he mattered to her; how he had changed her life.  It could have been any one of them expressing their love, but it was Mary.  Judas objected.  It was an extravagant excess in a time when so many were near starvation.  John explains it as a foreshadowing of Jesus’ death and of Judas’ betrayal.  But I think it’s okay for us not to explain it at all.  It was one friend showing another how much she cared.  Jesus was willing to take it at that, and to be grateful.

This is the one message I want you to hear in this story:  we all deserve care.  We all deserve people in our lives who tell us how much we matter to them and who do extravagantly kind things for us just because.  I want us to take a minute to remember what that feels like.  To remember a time someone gave you the gift of comfort and connection because you matter. … Moments like that are a gift, and we all need them to carry us through the pivot points of our lives.

Many of us are feeling like we’re living in a moment that demands that we do something to fix things.  We need to fix our country.  We need to fix the world.  We need to fix poverty and illness and division and you name it.  It can be a heavy burden.  We can be exhausted and discouraged.  When live seems bigger than you can manage, remember even Jesus let Mary rub his feet just for a little while.  Jesus and his friends stopped to have a dinner party just before his last big moment of ministry.  You can’t work all the time.

It's common these days to analyze almost everything, so we talk about how we give and receive love.  Gary Chapman wrote The Five Love Languages to help people communicate what makes them feel loved and to consider how they say, “I love you.”  That’s a worthwhile endeavor.  What makes you feel loved and cherished?  Quality time?  Acts of service?  A gold watch?

It's also good for us to think about how we most like to show love.  I want to cook dinner or sew a quilt.  What do you want to do for people?

In a time when there’s lots of talk about what’s broken, it’s good for all of us to think about how we give and receive love.  Jesus and his friends shared dinner and a pound of nard.  What are we doing to care for each other in these days?

Please hear clearly:
                  You deserve love and compassion and comfort.
                  You can give love and compassion and comfort.

No matter how confusing or frustrating or even dangerous our times, acts of love and compassion and comfort matter. They are, I believe, holy moments. We are intended to share them because they will sustain us all.

Fourth Sunday in lent

Luke15:1-3, 11b-32

This story tells us everything we need to know about how the world works when we live by God’s vision.  Everyone welcome all the time.  The people who heard Jesus tell this story would have been horrified at the younger son’s behavior.  They may well have known someone who acted that way, but they still would have been horrified.  The son dishonored the father by asking for his inheritance and by squandering it on wine, women and song.  He clearly showed his family that he had no love for them.  He only wanted the money and high times and in a far off place.  How heart-broken the father must have been, first that money mattered more than family, and then that he had no word about his son’s well-being for probably years. 

 How does he react?  He gives the son what he asks for and then he waits for him to come home.  We know he waits because he was watching for the son, seeing him while he’s still far down the road.  He had to be watching to see him so soon.  Every day for years, watching and hoping the son would be back.

The son is well-rehearsed, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and you…” but he doesn’t get to give the speech he’d been repeating mile by mile.  He’s bathed and given new clothing and honored with a ring and a feast.  Everyone celebrates.  What do we learn from that?  People matter.  For the father, the son mattered more than the insult he’d given.  He never mentions the pain of their parting.  The son matters more than logical consequences.  He doesn’t say, “You can come back as a hired hand.  Move to the barn.”  The son matters more than the rules.  He doesn’t say, “Have you learned your lesson?    You can work but there’s no more inheritance for you.  I’ll draw up the contracts.”  The father simply says, “Let’s have a party and celebrate.”

This parable is called the prodigal son, after the son who blew his inheritance.  It’s also sometimes called the forgiving father, because forgiveness is at the heart of the story.  Forgiveness puts the relationship between father and son first – before consequences, before payback.  There is no retribution here.  People matter.  Relationships matter.  Did they have a lot to talk over and work through the next day?  Probably.  But that’s not where the father started.  He began with “Welcome home!”

These days we hear a lot about how the world should work, and much of it feels a little off to me.  I’m not sure how to explain how God wants people to be valued and how I want people to connect with each other.  This story is a gift in that regard.  Here it is clearly laid out for us:  Welcome! 

                  You didn’t come from here?  Welcome!
                  You didn’t finish school?  Welcome!
                  You’ve made some bad choices and struggle with addiction?  Welcome!
                  You can’t afford health care?  Welcome!
                  You’re behind in your rent?  Welcome!
                  You’ve been in jail? Welcome!
                  You worship on Friday?  Welcome!
                  You joined the young Republicans?  Welcome!
                  You don’t fit the President’s abbreviated genders? Welcome!
                  You can’t tell a joke or carry a tune?  Welcome!

Come right on in.  You matter to us.  We’ll figure out the hard stuff later.

The older brother isn’t having any of this, you’ll note.  He’s been keeping track.  With his brother gone he did twice the work.  He’s been reliable and responsible.  The father OWES him.  Where’s his party?  He’s not having any of this forgiveness stuff.  He’s pouting on the porch.  What he really wants is retribution.  Give the guy what he deserves…nothing!  Make him pay.  Make him earn his way back into the family.  Make him grovel.

Much of the time the world is on the older brother’s side.  But it doesn't have to be.  This isn’t a long history of how a family heals after trauma.  It’s not a record of therapy which helps them learn to trust each other again.  It’s not the whole story of how they rebuild relationships.  It’s a starting point.  What we need more than anything is better starting points.  We need to say to each other, “You matter.”  Then we can put things together so they work.

When we give funds through the community fund, we don’t say to people, “Live any way you want, we’ll pay for it.”  We expect them to have a case worker and a plan for becoming independent, working, paying their way.  But first we say, “You matter.  We’ll give you a better starting place.”

We have a broken immigration system in this country.  There’s not much energy for saying, “Everyone can be here, no matter what.”  But it is possible to say, “You matter.  You’ve been my neighbor.  Let’s figure out how we move forward.”

The news is full of folks wanting to divide us.  Some countries are free-loaders.  Some people are lazy.  Let’s throw them all out and keep what’s ours.  If they hurt me, they have to pay!  Here’s the story that shows us another way.  First we connect.  Then we work things out.  Most of all we say to strangers, to those who are different, to you and to me:  Welcome home!

Third Sunday in Lent

Luke 13:1-9 

Today’s scripture reminds me that every sermon should come with a disclaimer:  I don’t know what this means.  It’s good to remind ourselves that Jesus lived 2000 years ago in a very different time and place from ours.  The stories about his life were written down decades after they happened by people who weren’t eyewitnesses and who also lived in a very different time and place from ours.  When we come to think about these stories, we aren’t asking so much, “What did Jesus mean?” as we’re asking, “What meaning can this hold for us?”  So that’s my disclaimer.  I’ll take a stab at this one and you decide if any of it hold meaning for you. 

This scripture refers to a news story of the day:  Pilate had ordered the murder of some Galileans, presumably while they were making sacrifices in the Temple, or perhaps during sacrifices in a Roman temple.  It’s a gruesome story.  People are asking why the victims deserved such treatment?  What had they done wrong to be punished by God in this way?  Remember the people with the question were first-century people.  This was a time before significant scientific discovery and people of all religions believed there were gods in charge of all aspects of life who micromanaged events according to some godly principle or perhaps some godly whim.  The question is why would the Galileans’ God, who was also Jesus’ God, let this happen?   

Jesus is clear that he sees the story behind this story differently.  He’s not interested in why these folks deserved such horrible treatment, but he is interested in everyone, including those who came with the question, living in a different way.  Repent means to turn around and live differently.  Unless you repent, you will die like they did.  Unless your change, the world won’t change. 

We sometimes hear this same question when disasters come in our time.  We could name a lot of disasters:  the destruction of 9/11, numerous wars, catastrophic storms, plane crashes.  Why does God let these things happen?  Do you remember after Hurricane Katrina when some preachers declared God was punishing the riotous lifestyle of New Orleans by storm?  They thought they were quoting Jesus, but here Jesus is clearly saying, “Don’t worry about what they did wrong; look at yourselves and how you’re living.”  Disaster is perhaps a reminder that life is fragile, and we choose every day to value living.  Or not. 

Jesus doesn’t seem to me to be interested in placing blame or explaining God’s control of the world.  I’m tempted to say God didn’t appear to be in control of the world in the first century, or for that matter the twenty-first century.  There were and are daily disasters.  If God would fix them, why aren’t they fixed?  Is God allowing disaster as punishment?  Many of the victims seem innocent of crime and undeserving of capital punishment by violence.  Or perhaps we can say right out loud that God is not micromanaging Life.  That what happens to us for good or ill is not the direct cause of God choosing our life story for us.  The events of our lives are not the will or the whim of God.  

Then what good is God?  I’m convinced that God permeates every part of the fabric of Life.  But what benefit do we get from that if God isn’t intervening on our behalf and we’re still subject to illness and tragedy?  If God isn’t bringing us good, what good is God? Here are three gifts of God which matter to me in the face of the horrors of life on earth:  vision, grief, and inspiration. 

Let’s start with vision.  Jesus was convinced that God has a vision for what life can be that’s quite different from the way humans have chosen to live it throughout history.  The prophet Micah spoke that vision aloud and Jesus knew his words well:  Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly with God.  Follow that vision and the world is a better place.  It’s a good summary of Jesus’ own teaching, inviting people to repent or turn around in their behavior and live in just and caring communities.  There are millions of people who have claimed to live by Jesus’ teaching across the centuries, and a few of them actually practiced his vision.  Just because it isn’t widely implemented doesn’t mean it can’t give us hope.  I choose to believe that justice, kindness and humble community are still possible, and we’d all do better if we lived by those principles. 

Second, I believe God gives us the gift of God’s own grief at the traumas and tragedies of life.  If God holds a vision for goodness, then surely God grieves as much as we do when people hurt, life is ended, and the earth and communities are torn.  Sometimes when the unspeakable happens we just need someone to agree that the only response is grief.  We need someone to share our sadness and to join in our tears.  We need a companion to walk with us when our world falls apart and to give us time and space for healing.  God does that. 

Third, we need inspiration and encouragement to change the way the world works so that everyone benefits.  There will always be risk in living, and many authors have reminded us that without risk, life would be lifeless, boring, maybe even meaningless.  What’s the fun of succeeding beyond our wildest dreams if there’s no risk of failure?  In the 2000 years since Jesus, God has inspired people to make significant improvements in reducing the risks of life.  The people surrounding Jesus that day couldn’t imagine vaccines which eliminate deadly diseases, or modern agriculture that can feed billions.  Since that time life has been enriched by art and architecture and music.  Science explains many things and questions many more.  They were injured by falling towers and we are protected by building codes and stronger materials.  They were at the mercy of weather and we have complex warning systems.    I’m pretty discouraged these days by what’s broken in our world, and it’s good to remember what isn’t broken. We are the beneficiaries of so much good.  Human ingenuity is pretty amazing, and I believe God plays a part in that. 

Luke pairs this story with the story of the fig tree.  Its owner is angry that it’s not bearing fruit and is ready to get rid of it, but the worker holds out hope.  A little cultivation, some well-placed manure – maybe it will do better.  Maybe the most important gift of God is hope.  There’s a lot of repentance needed from a lot of folks, but there’s still hope.  At the same time disaster threatens, there are people who believe in justice, who practice kindness, and who are working every day to create a better world and a more humble community.  God is in the heart of that, joining us in the effort.   If you want a better world, do justice, love kindness, walk humbly because God walks with us. 

Second Sunday in Lent

Luke 13:31-35

Early in the first century Jesus began his ministry by talking with people about God and healing those who were ill or disabled.  Over time people began to pay attention.  They would gather when he came to their village or even travel into the countryside to see what he would do and hear what he had to say.  He was popular because he could heal diseases, straighten crooked feet, cast out demons (which meant calm mental illness) and do some showing things.  People who had a physical problem wanted to be made well.  Those who didn’t, wanted to see the show.  Jesus wanted to help people, so he welcomed the crowds.

We often think of the Pharisees as his enemies, but some men who belonged to that group of religious leaders had sympathy for what he was doing and some surely agreed with how he thought about God.  The Pharisees were the reformers of their day, the ones pushing for religious change, and some of them liked what they heard when Jesus talked.  So, wanting to be helpful, some come to him and encourage him to be more careful.  Herod the local ruler has taken notice, and in an Empire, notice is not a good thing.  It’s better to keep your head down, talk in smaller groups, and not draw attention.  This is particularly true because Jesus is challenging the status quo.  He’s challenging the way those who are rich are exploiting the masses, demanding high taxes and heavy workloads.  He’s challenging the way religious leaders are gaining power by enabling Empire’s violence, encouraging people to go along with harsh rules to keep relative peace. Jesus is telling people that God is love and those who truly follow God watch out for each other, feed the hungry, level economic opportunity.  It’s a disruptive message.  I’m sure Jesus wasn’t surprised to hear the Pharisees’ words of caution.  He has to have known he was causing trouble.

It's interesting that Jesus refuses to be silenced.  His reply:  I have work to do and I’m going to keep on doing it.  Jesus claims the role of prophet – speaking God’s truth to a moment in history which isn’t going God’s way.  He’s taking on the authorities and daring them to arrest or kill him.  We know how that ends.  In essence, Jesus is refusing to be afraid of what might happen because what IS happening in his ministry is too important to give up.  He has a clear mandate to speak about God’s way of living, and he keeps at it.

Last week we talked about Jesus in the desert, preparing for this ministry.  I’m sure he asked himself, “If I do this, what will happen to me?  If I speak out, will I be the next one arrested and crucified?”  Knowing what we know about his time, the answer must have been “Yes.”  When we hear Jesus’ message, we can be certain that he saw it as so important it was worth dying for.

It's interesting to think about Jesus’ fearless response in this particular moment in time.  Every day I talk to people who are afraid.  Some are afraid of losing their jobs or of having their jobs become harder as government workforce shrinks.  Some are afraid that important research they are doing or service they are giving will simply end.  We don’t know what happens next.  Will our friends be deported?  Will children lose their teachers?  Will cancer research not find the next cure?  Will the next pandemic not be addressed?  Will protest be silenced?  Things that seemed impossible to imagine not long ago suddenly seem quite possible and dangerous.  What do we do?

Jesus answered the danger by doing what mattered most to him:  he healed people, he accepted people, he talked about God’s love.  We can follow that example.  Yes, the world is a bit upside down, but we can keep teaching, keep befriending, keep driving carpools.  Every week we help the people in front of us in ways that we can.  The need may grow in the months ahead, but we can keep doing the part that comes to us, doing what we can. 

Jesus knew there was danger ahead, but he focused on the moment.  He taught the people who came that day.  He healed the ones in front of him.  He connected with his friends and welcomed newcomers and ate supper at the end of the day.  He prayed and rested.  Then he did it again.  It’s very easy right now for us to borrow trouble thinking about “what if….?”  Jesus tells us not to worry about tomorrow; focus on today.  Do what we can today.  That’s something we can do. 

And I love the image at the end of today’s story, Jesus thinking about going to Jerusalem, to the seat of power, and gathering the people into his arms.  Gathering folks into safety like a mother hen.  There’s a time to confront abusive power – to look it square in the face and call it out.  This is such a time.  But at the same time, we can trust that God is gathering us together and holding us close.  God is wrapping strong arms around us, hiding us under protective wings.  Some didn’t allow Jesus to gather them, but those who did received comfort and care.  Jesus faced death because he wanted us to know that we were loved.  God loves us.  The world can be scary, but God is with us.  There’s hard work to be done.  There are brave words that need speaking.  God is with us in the work and the word.  We are not alone.  We are God’s people. We are in this together and God is leading the way.

Here's a verse of a song that has been important to me for 50 years –

                  Be not afraid. I go before you always.
                  Come, follow me, and I will give you rest.

First Sunday in Lent

Luke 4:1-13

I want to start today on Ash Wednesday.  Marking Ash Wednesday with ashes and a reminder of our mortality isn’t deeply ingrained in our practice, nor is the idea of “giving something up” for Lent.  I’m not fond of the idea of spending a season focused on guilt and inadequacy, which I know is an exaggeration of the theme but also present in many observations.  But this Ash Wednesday in my annual crabbiness I read a bit by Diana Butler Bass that seemed more hopeful than usual, and I want to share it with you.  Part of it follows:

“On this Ash Wednesday, my heart is broken and every shred of hope I once had is gone.

I’m not well. My soul is sick. I see nothing but greed, destruction, lying, inhumanity, and evil all around.  If anyone tells me that I came from ash and will return to it, I may well laugh in their face. Or cry and never stop. I just hope I don’t hit the priest. Because — read the room, people — we’re standing in ash up to our knees.  This is a brutal Ash Wednesday.

There. I said it.

“I’ve prayed so much in recent months that I can’t tell you how much I’ve prayed. Literally face on the ground sobbing prayer. I’ve taken cues from Anne Lamott’s famous dictum that there are three kinds of prayer — help, thanks, and wow — by occasionally yelling (I’m not kidding) “Help, help, help!” in a loud voice when we sit down for dinner…

In short, the last thing I want or need right now is Lent. I’m nearly Lent-ed out already. I’ve been Lenting for months.  Honestly, I’ve got questions for God. Like: Why? Why is this happening? Why don’t you stop this? What kind of God would allow these amoral, corrupt men to purposefully hurt and destroy the good work, dignity, and lives of so many truly decent people?  I’m making a lot of noise down here praying and fasting and you, God, don’t seem to be doing your part.”

Butler Bass goes on to describe that day’s scripture from Isaiah in which the people of Israel said essentially the same thing:  God, we’re in a shit show down here and you don’t seem to be fixing it.  She suggests that the prophet’s reply turned the focus on the people, asking what they were doing to help others rather than just fasting and calling out to God.

 “Historian Amy Oden describes it thus, ‘The fasting acceptable to God is a daily fast from domination, blaming others, evil speech, self-satisfaction, entitlement and blindness to one’s privilege. The fast that God seeks calls for vigilance for justice and generosity day in and day out.’”

If you remove the yoke from among you,
the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil,
if you offer your food to the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
then your light shall rise in the darkness
and your gloom be like the noonday.  (Isaiah)

If you want the kind of world that matches the goodness of God, become the kind of world that matches the goodness of God.

 I wanted to start with Butler Bass because I think the questions she’s asking and the questions the ancient people of Israel were asking, are the same questions Jesus is confronting in the story of his temptation.  After he is baptized, Jesus goes on retreat for 40 days (which is the biblical way of saying “a long time”).  He goes to the desert.  That’s partly because he lived in a land surrounded by desert.  Because the desert is always there nearby, it carries significance.  The desert is a place of desolation and dryness, representing the dryness of despair and wandering.  It’s a place of solitude, where you can focus without distraction.  The desert is a place where you go to get ready for important things – like conquering the promised land under Joshua or beginning a world-changing ministry.  Over the centuries the people were used to hearing the voice of God when they were in the desert.

Jesus had important questions he was wrestling with.  His world was a mess.  Rome was enforcing power through violence.  Most people were hungry while a few grew richer every day.  Religious leaders claimed the blessing of God while ignoring God’s justice and advancing their own interests.  Things were broken and he wanted to fix them.  Sound familiar?  But how does a peasant from a village make a difference in the world?  He needed clarity.

 The devil in this story represents some of the options he had to consider.  Jesus believed God wanted him to do something, but what was the ethical and effective way to do it?  He had some power and influence already from his teaching and from knowing how to heal.  Should he use it to influence the masses?  After fasting, he was hungry and wanted bread.  The people were hungry.  He could organize a feeding mission.  Most of those close to starvation were given grain for bread by Rome.  He could provide bread, challenge Rome and get the people’s attention.  They would love him for it.  But his vision was about more than bread or popularity.

Should he challenge the power of Empire more directly?  There were plenty of insurrectionists ready to form an army.  Over the years there had been brief times when revolution had worked.  Maybe it could work again.  If he were Emperor, or even governor of Judea, he could make important changes to help everyone.  But his vision was about more than military power.

Should he wrap himself in the cloak of religion to gain some protection?  He had impressed some of the religious scholars in the temple.  Maybe he should just preach and quote the prophets, changing some minds and giving people some comfort, but not rock the boat too much.  It would be a slow process, but relatively safe and the people might feel better.  But his vision was about more than soothing people with pious words and promises.

In the end Jesus becomes the teacher who brings hope to the peasants by sharing God’s vision for the world – justice for everyone, mercy for everyone, food and shelter for everyone, healing for everyone, peace for everyone.  How does it happen?  Love your neighbor.  Love your enemy.  Share your bread and your coat.  Forgive.  After considering all the ways he could become the leader of a new movement to reform the world, Jesus chose to put that movement in the hands of the people.  If you want the world to be just and merciful, be just and merciful.  If you want people to be fed, feed them.  If you want people to be well, heal them.  If you want the reign of God to come among you, live like it’s already here. He was reminding them of what the prophets had said for generations.  Then he showed them how to do it, and two thousand years later, we’re still following his example.

I’ve been trying to figure out what Lent is about this year for months and I’m not much closer than when I started, so we’re going to have to figure it out together. 

One part of it is about dryness and despair.  We live in hard times and it’s therapeutic to say that out loud. This lent we’ll take some time to name what’s broken, what frightens us, to name those people who are being hurt by power right now.  We’ll do that during our prayer time and we’ll light the prayer candles in the little bit of the desert Victoria has brought to us on our altar.

Another part of Lent is asking important questions.  Jesus did that.  When you’re not sure what to do next, it’s helpful to do nothing for a bit and focus on what matters.  Each week I’ll give you a question you can think about if you choose.  Or you can substitute a question that matters more to you.  This is a good time for clarifying what we care about and what we can and can’t do.  I’ll print the question in the bulletin, send them in the weekly email, and put them in the description of the livestream.  Use them if they are helpful to you.

Finally, Lent is about resting in the presence of God.  We’re pretty good at looking for the light of God around us.  Let’s keep it up.  Let’s celebrate the goodness we see in each other and in each day.  Let’s watch for God sending us opportunities to do our part for a better world.  Let’s listen for God’s words of encouragement in music and art and friends.  When you have a suggestion for something else that would be helpful, let’s do that too.  We’re making this up as we go.  I think that’s what Jesus did as well.  Start here, see what happens, trust God for the rest.