Author Archives: Fr. Tom McAlpine

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About Fr. Tom McAlpine

Fr. Tom is a semi-retired priest in the Episcopal Church living in Fitchburg, Wisconsin.

“You got to know when to hold ’em…” (15th Sunday after Pentecost, 9/21/2025)

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Readings (Track 1)

“You cannot serve God and wealth.” That’s a statement that seems perfectly obvious when applied to other people, whether to the Spanish conquistadores who brought the cross and the sword —not necessarily in that order— to the Americas or to the occasional well-heeled tele-evangelist who practices creative bookkeeping. But the same statement seems unnecessarily limiting when applied to us. There really ought to be a way to do it!

Where did Jesus get “You cannot serve God and wealth”? He could have gotten it from the Decalogue: when wealth is the bottom line it’s a god and “no other gods before me” kicks in. This is another form of the duck test: if it walks like a duck & quacks like a duck, it’s a duck. If it drives my decision-making, it’s my god. He could have gotten it from reading prophets like Jeremiah. But I don’t think he came to it without carefully examining the alternatives. His career would have been a lot less frustrating and a lot less painful if he’d found a way! That may be what the 40 days in the wilderness were about. Recall the temptations. The devil invites him to turn stones into bread, to cast himself down from the pinnacle of the temple, to worship the devil in exchange for “all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor.” These are also ways of trying to serve God and wealth.

Now, sermons are supposed to contain good news, and “You cannot serve God and wealth” doesn’t sound very good newsy. It can, however, be useful information. It’s like the first rule of the hole: if you’ve dug yourself into a hole, the first thing to do is…stop digging. To the degree that we take “You cannot serve God and wealth” seriously, we save ourselves all the futile work involved in trying to serve both.

But “You cannot serve God and wealth” does more than this. Once accepted, it opens up some new possibilities, possibilities that Jesus explores through his story. But before diving into that story, a few words on our first two lessons.

Jeremiah is directed, broadly, to the leaders of the Kingdom of Judah at the end of the 7th Century bc. God had brought Israel into being about 600 years earlier —about the time of the fall of Troy— as a place where God would be loved and the neighbor loved —the two halves of the Ten Commandments or Decalogue. Measured against the Decalogue the leaders’ conduct was suicidal, particularly with respect to the love-your-neighbor half. And so God sends Jeremiah to announce the end of the Kingdom —exile. And from that time Jeremiah’s words are passed down from generation to generation so that Israel will remember that God really is serious about both halves of the Ten Commandments, that one cannot serve God and wealth.

Now one way of responding to Jeremiah would be to retreat into a strict legalism that wrote off everyone on the outside. Something like this was what Paul was responding to in the letter to Timothy. Rather than writing off everyone on the outside, pray for everyone —supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings— including the kings and folk in high positions who are as corrupt as Israel’s leaders were. Why? God desires that all be saved. God, desiring the salvation of all, has supplied a mediator between God and humankind —Jesus Christ— and appointed Paul —and many others down to ourselves— as witnesses of this. So —Paul to his audience— if God desires everyone to be saved, the least you can do is pray for everyone. In other words, don’t use “you cannot serve God and wealth” as a reason for writing off your neighbor—God hasn’t.

Another way of responding to Jeremiah would be to retreat into a sort of quietism, maybe to retreat into the desert and wait for the Messiah. Here’s where Jesus’ story comes in. It’s a strange story. To get into the spirit of it a soundtrack might help. As a sound track we might use the country-western song Kenny Rogers made famous back in 1979 called The Gambler. You may recall some of the lines… “Ev’ry gambler knows that the / secret to survivin’, / Is knowin’ what to throw away / and knowin’ what to keep. / ‘Cos ev’ry hand’s a winner, / and ev’ry hand’s a loser.” And the chorus: “You got to know when to hold ’em, / know when to fold ’em, / know when to walk away, / know when to run.”

So, keeping that song going in the background, recall the story Jesus tells: out of the blue a rich man gives his business manager notice. It’s a crisis: business as usual just isn’t an option. The business manager faces the crisis, and responds by calling in all the rich man’s debtors and reducing their debt, thereby making them indebted to him. (It’s not clear if he’s cheating his boss, or simply forgoing his cut.) His boss commends the manager for acting shrewdly. And Jesus glosses the story: make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes. Parenthetically, the phrase “dishonest wealth” or “unfaithful mammon” is probably a shameless pun, since “mammon,” the word for wealth, is probably derived from the Hebrew root for “faithfulness.” As Luke tells the story, Jesus is returning to a theme we’ve met before: “Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.” This doesn’t mean that every Christian is called to sell all their possessions —not even Luke believed that. But every Christian and every Christian community is called to recognize that God’s coming Kingdom means the economic arrangements of this world’s kingdoms will become obsolete and to use their resources —shrewdly. We can’t serve God and wealth, but, serving God, we can use what wealth we have to serve others, and—Jesus’ words, not mine—make purses for [our] selves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, (Luk 12:33). If the financial planners only knew…

This homily, you see, ends up being about stewardship —not simply what we give to the church, but how we steward (manage) all our resources.

The standard is God, who, in Jesus’ brother James’ words “gives to all generously and ungrudgingly” (1:5).

The surprise is that Jesus is quite happy to urge generosity for selfish motives—“an unfailing treasure in heaven.” Generosity for selfish motives—better than no generosity for selfish motives. And what can happen, of course, is that the generosity transforms—slowly—the motives.

The obvious question: just how generous do I have to be? I think Jesus would say that’s the wrong question. What might be the right question? Do I think that this generous God is worth imitating? If my answer is yes, then I sort, or continue to sort—that out within the web of relationships in which this God has placed me.

Ev’ry hand’s a winner, and ev’ry hand’s a loser. The secret to survivin’, is knowin’ what to throw away and knowin’ what to keep. Kenny Rogers’ gambler and Jesus’ business manager have something to say to us. Every hand’s a winner, and every hand’s a loser, so with every hand it’s possible to act shrewdly with what we have for the glory of the Lord. May God give us the grace to continue to see and act shrewdly.

This is what we do (14th Sunday after Pentecost, 9/14/2025)

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Readings (Track 2)

One of these Sundays we’ll have a Gospel reading that doesn’t remind us of our current polarized context—but it’s not this Sunday. Luke sets the scene: “All the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.’” So Jesus tells three parables, the two we heard this morning, and the third, the Parable of the Two Lost Sons, a.k.a. The Prodigal Son, which we heard the fourth Sunday in Lent.

I mention the Parable of the Two Lost Sons because it addresses something that might leave us uncomfortable in the first two parables. The parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin don’t question our assumptions about what it means to be lost or found. The Parable of the Two Lost Sons does: the younger son is clearly found; but the parable ends with the older son—who never left home—undecided about how to respond to the father’s plea to join the party. The older son: transparently a stand-in for the grumbling Pharisees and scribes, all facing the same challenge: join the party or not? Never having left home can mask an even more intractable way of being lost. But that said, what of the text we did hear?

“All the tax collectors and sinners…” Scholars argue about whether “tax collectors” is the best translation. But whatever the translation, what isn’t argued is that folk bid to collect taxes and tolls, and then farmed the work out to local subcontractors. If profit were to be made, it had to be on top of what the Romans figured they were owed. Abuse was pretty much inevitable. “Sinners” was a more nebulous category, but would easily have included those whose life choices showed little interest in observing Torah, e.g., raising pigs. So it’s not just the Pharisees and scribes who would have been grumbling. As we’ll hear a few weeks from now in the story of Zacchaeus, a chief tax collector, nobody’s happy that Jesus is eating with him.

How is Jesus going to respond? If his opponents have a valid point, it’s that he isn’t shunning the wicked. Most societies practice shunning as a way of maintaining social cohesion (lately ours has been calling it “canceling”). The opponents could have appealed to various psalms (“I do not sit with the worthless, / nor do I consort with hypocrites; / I hate the company of evildoers, / and will not sit with the wicked.” [26:4-5]). But there are dangers. It can too easily encourage self-righteousness. The goal can too easily shift from encouraging repentance to elimination. Later we hear Paul trying to avoid these dangers (“Take note of those who do not obey what we say in this letter; have nothing to do with them, so that they may be ashamed. Do not regard them as enemies, but warn them as believers.” [2 Thess. 3:14-15]). But it’s not part of Jesus’ toolkit. Jesus, more, understands his role as gathering Israel—all Israel, definitely including the tax collectors and sinners, and even (recalling the third parable) that stubborn righteous older brother who’s refusing to come to the party. And in his companion volume to the Gospel, Luke narrates the widening of the gathering: “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8).

But rather than wade into the sociology of shunning, Jesus tells some parables. The sheep and coin parables build on what we do. They’re brief, but dense, prodding us to wonder about multiple things. First, the actors lose the sheep, the coin. So there’s some implied responsibility. When what is lost is a person, the responsibility is shared, but probably doesn’t disappear. Cain’s “Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Gen. 4:9) is probably not a line we can safely echo. So Jesus’ opponents might wonder about their responsibility.

Second, the sheep, the coin, have value. Jesus to his opponents: do you really want to say that these tax collectors and sinners have no value? [Cf. 4 Ezra 7:[60-61]!)

And so the shepherd and woman seek. The parables echo the prophet Ezekiel’s words: “For thus says the Lord GOD: I myself will search for my sheep, and will seek them out. As shepherds seek out their flocks when they are among their scattered sheep, so I will seek out my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places to which they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness. I will bring them out from the peoples and gather them from the countries” (34:11-13).

Then there’s Jesus’ commentary on the parables. First, straining the logic of the parables a bit, the focus on repentance. Jesus seeks it among the tax collectors and sinners—among the Pharisees and scribes, for that matter, but we have to wait for the third parable to hear that play out.

Second, the joy, God’s joy. As a good Jew, Jesus is using circumlocutions to talk about God, so speaks of “joy in heaven” and “joy in the presence of the angels of God,” but it’s God who’s rejoicing. Again from the prophet Ezekiel: “As I live, says the Lord GOD, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from their ways and live” (33:11).

This, Jesus says, is what we do. We seek out the lost. And, implied, this is what we do because this is what God does. Even Ecclesiastes notices it: “And God looks after what is driven away” (Eccl. 3:15 CEB).

Listening to all this in our current polarized context doesn’t require much fancy footwork on the preacher’s part.

Whatever else the parables are saying: we don’t write people off.

And, recalling our first reading and the leadership roles of the Pharisees and scribes, this is particularly important for our leaders. Recall our first reading, Israel has acted perversely—just after formally entering into covenant with the Lord at Sinai. Moses has the option of becoming the new Abraham (“and of you I will make a great nation”). But Moses gets it right: when the people are at their worst, that’s the time to plead for mercy, not justice. Our armed forces have this baked into their creeds: leave no one behind; we need it from our leaders.

Equally important: we don’t write people off because God doesn’t.

One of the stranger portraits of God in the popular imagination is God as Judge, uncaringly doling out rewards and punishments. ‘Stranger,’ because it has nothing to do with Holy Scripture. Recall Hosea’s portrait of this God tied up in knots over how to effectively respond: “How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, O Israel? How can I make you like Admah? How can I treat you like Zeboiim? My heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender” (Hos. 11:8). This God, Jesus’ God, continually seeking us out. “Surely goodness and mercy shall pursue me all the days of my life” (Ps. 23:6) sang David. This God, as we’ll hear in next week’s Epistle, “desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth” (1 Tim. 2:4).

One final observation. The parables raise issues of responsibility and worth. When we pull back the camera and ask what drives God’s action these pale in comparison to love. “God so loved the world…” Is our capacity to love growing, our capacity to translate that love into action growing? That’s perhaps the most profound of the challenges the parables pose to Jesus’ opponents, to us.

Edema, Gratitude, Generosity (12th Sunday after Pentecost, 8/31/2025)

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Readings (Track 2)

We’ll start this morning by recalling the first part of today’s collect:

“Lord of all power and might, the author and giver of all good things: Graft in our hearts the love of your Name; increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works…”

What’s worth noticing about this and many of our collects—the prayers that collect our thoughts and intentions at the beginning of our worship—is that it implies a story. There’s a past: God, “the author and giver of all good things.” There’s a future: “the fruit of good works” which have yet to ripen. We’re in the middle of the story. And who we are, what we should do, what we can hope—all of that is determined by what story we’re in the middle of.

We’re in the middle of a story. We’re not at the beginning, so there’s no question of starting with a blank sheet of paper. And we’re not at the end, which is why despair is never an appropriate response.

The “author and giver of all good things” in our collect also points to a theme that runs through our readings: gratitude and its proper expression.

Today gratitude is seriously under-rated as a virtue; we may even think of it as a sign of weakness. Other times and places got it right: The Roman politician and philosopher Cicero claimed “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.” The modern psychologist Abraham Maslow: “[The most fortunate are those who] have a wonderful capacity to appreciate again and again, freshly and naively, the basic goods of life, with awe, pleasure, wonder, and even ecstasy.” And Albert Einstein: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

The “author and giver of all good things.” If that’s who God is, if that’s what God has done, if that’s the story we’re in, then gratitude is the fitting response. And, conversely, it’s the failure of gratitude that regularly gets us into so much trouble.

Creation invites us to gratitude. Many of our psalms give us words to express this. “All of them look to you / to give them their food in due season.” Or we can attend to the conversations in the hard sciences. It turns out that a good number of physical constants like the strength of gravity need pretty fine tuning for life to be possible. The fine tuning of our world is so improbable that to avoid thanking the Creator we have to postulate a virtually infinite number of universes, with us happily in the one that holds together. (Google “John Polkinghorne” and “anthropic principle.”)

Equally, as Christians God’s project of restoring all creation elicits our gratitude. From the First Family on, God has responded to our rebellion with ever more daring attempts at reconciliation, culminating in taking human flesh in Jesus. So our word ‘eucharist’ is simply the Greek word ‘thanksgiving.’

The theme of gratitude runs just below the surface in our second reading from Hebrews. On the surface it’s about what worship is pleasing to God. If we think of worship as primarily what happens in the sanctuary, we’re surprised, because the text talks about what we do out there as worship: mutual love, hospitality to strangers, holding marriage in honor, contentment, sharing what we have. All this can sound rather much if we’ve forgotten what came before our reading: “since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us give thanks!” Gratitude.

Our Gospel reading: the lectionary prescribed verses 1 and 7-14, eliminating the man with dropsy in vv.2-6. The Pharisees would have been happy to eliminate him; with apologies to the lectionary editors I’ve left him in.

Jesus has gotten an invitation to eat with some leading Pharisees on the Sabbath. And “just then, in front of him, there was a man who had dropsy.” Today we use ‘edema’ rather than ‘dropsy’, swelling caused by the retention of fluid. There’s a predictable argument about what work is lawful on the Sabbath, and Jesus heals the man. Jesus then shifts the conversation to what he’s watched the Pharisees doing and starts giving them some unwelcome advice: don’t keep jockeying for the places of honor, stop limiting your invitations to those who can reciprocate. God’s in the business of humbling those who exalt themselves and of exalting those who humble themselves.

So we’ve got a healing and Jesus admonishing the Pharisees. Outside of it all happening at the same meal, is there anything else that holds it together? Turns out there is, for in that culture edema—various parts of the body all puffed up with extra water combined with an insatiable thirst—served as a metaphor for greed, the sort of behavior the Pharisees are exhibiting, the antithesis of gratitude.

Most groups have a pecking order: who defers to whom. We all learned this on the playground. As we get older, negotiating that pecking order gets more subtle, but rarely disappears. In 1st Century culture, meals were prime opportunities to display the pecking order: who’s closest to the host? Who’s at the head table? So, predictably, a lot of jockeying takes place. Likewise, lunch and dinner invitations are a prime opportunity to cement and maybe even augment one’s rank. It’s very easy for it to become a form of greed, not for food or for money, but for status.

As you may have noticed, the man with edema is introduced abruptly: “Just then, in front of him, there was a man who had dropsy.” It’s surprising, and commentators wonder about how he got there. Well, once we realize that the Pharisees are suffering from their own form of edema, we can see that the surprise is intentional: we don’t expect someone who’s ritually unclean in the home of a leading Pharisee; we don’t expect the Pharisees, spiritual athletes every one, to be so afflicted with greed for status. But there we have it.

The text as Luke’s given it to us is a gem. It turns out to be about what Jesus can heal easily and not-so-easily. Jesus can easily heal the man with the physical edema; he finds it harder to heal the Pharisees’ greed for status—they don’t think they’re sick. It turns out to be about what sorts of work are appropriate for the Sabbath. Healing, just like pulling a child or even an ox from a pit, is appropriate for the Sabbath; the work of jockeying for status is not.

The text is a gem, but there’s also a sharp pointy end to notice: “He said also to the one who had invited him, ‘When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.’” We usually think of gratitude as a sort of reciprocity: we receive something from someone; we reciprocate. Here Jesus breaks it open: don’t confine your generosity to those who can pay you back: include those who can’t pay you back. That’s where Jesus’ vision of God’s generosity has been heading. God gives generously to us, but not to set up another closed circle! Recall God’s words through Isaiah: “What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices? says the LORD; I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams and the fat of fed beasts; I do not delight in the blood of bulls, or of lambs, or of goats” (1:11). God gives generously to us so that our gratitude is expressed in giving to others.

What we’ve got here is the logic implicit in Jesus’ joining of the two commandments to make the Great Commandment. “Love the Lord your God” alone can be—well, is often—misunderstood as setting up a closed circle: just me and Jesus. “And your neighbor as yourself” reminds us that loving this God is about creating open, ever-expanding circles.

So, to try to pull all this together! The story we find ourselves in has as its center a breathtakingly generous God, to which our proper response is gratitude. Because strong currents in our culture discourage gratitude, we often need to be intentional in nurturing gratitude. But—here’s the sharp pointy end—we’re not talking about generic gratitude, which can settle into a comfortable closed circle, but a gratitude expressed in generosity toward those who are currently in no position to reciprocate.

As we prayed in this morning’s collect “Graft in our hearts the love of your Name; increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works.” Amen.

What encounters with God’s power are we capable of seeing? (11th Sunday after Pentecost, 8/24/2025)

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Readings (Track 2)

As our first reading reminds us, it’s hard to overestimate the importance of the Sabbath in Jewish faith and practice: “If you refrain from trampling the sabbath, / from pursuing your own interests on my holy day; / if you call the sabbath a delight / and the holy day of the Lord honorable; / if you honor it, not going your own ways, /serving your own interests, or pursuing your own affairs…”

In the Ten Commandments: “you shall not do any work.” But what counts as work? That question generates considerable interpretive attention. Judging by the rabbinic writings, when it comes to healing, the general principle is “saving life overrules the Sabbath” (b. Yoma 85b), so, for any particular case, is it a question of life or death?[1]

So the synagogue leader’s response is understandable. Were anyone but Jesus involved we might be inclined to agree.

There are a couple ways we might understand Jesus’ response. Jesus asks: “Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water?” This sounds like Jesus’ response when challenged about another healing on the Sabbath: “I ask you, is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to destroy it?” (Lk. 6:9) Jesus thinks the meaning, the intention, of the Law is very much worth discussing, and in that discussion the prophet Hosea’s “I desire mercy, not sacrifice” (Matt. 9:13; cf. Hos 6:6) plays a big role. “Very much worth discussing”—which perhaps makes Jesus’ warning that we heard last Sunday a bit more understandable: “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”

Or there’s Jesus’ appropriation of Isaiah at the beginning of his public ministry: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Lk. 4:18-19). If that’s Jesus’ commission, that does shift the interpretation of the Sabbath law. Something new is happening; someone new is onstage.

Whether Jesus’ response is based on giving more weight to texts like Hosea’s or reflective of his now being onstage—or both—in his eyes setting that woman free was profoundly honoring to the Sabbath.

In this morning’s collect we prayed “Grant… that your Church… may show forth your power.” And today’s Gospel gives us multiple ways of thinking about how our merciful God might respond. There is, first and foremost, the healing itself. “Release to the captives.” This daughter of Abraham matters. And her healing: a foretaste of the healings for which we all hope.

Another way our merciful God might respond: Jesus coming among us to ask what our traditions are about. The Sabbath stories were passed down also because the Church faced similar interpretive problems. How should the Gentile believers be received? Which laws apply and how? Jesus’ appeal to Hosea (“I desire mercy, not sacrifice”) remained—remains!—relevant. God’s power: shown forth in our continuing to listen to Jesus’ questions (“I ask you, is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to destroy it?”) What questions is Jesus asking us?

Another way our merciful God might respond to the petition in the Collect: the choices that woman continued to make over eighteen long years. Why keep attending synagogue for eighteen years when nothing is happening? But she’s a true daughter of Abraham. If Abraham could continue believing despite being childless for decades she could keep showing up. And then that Sabbath Jesus is there, and her presence allows that Sabbath to be properly celebrated! The faithfulness of so many in our parishes despite chronic infirmity: a precious witness to God’s power.

Then there’s the leader of the synagogue. We heard his response to the healing. He could have played it differently: “Let’s pray together the Hallelujah psalms at the end of the Psalter!” Or: “Jesus, Jacob over there lost an eye a few years back. Can you do something for him?” But how we play it depends on who we are, and—as is not often enough observed—“We see things not as they are but as we are.”[2] The synagogue leader’s responses are limited by who he is at that moment. All he can see is Jesus trampling on the Sabbath.

And this is perhaps where today’s text connects thematically to its immediate surroundings in Luke’s Gospel. The previous verses—like most of last week’s reading—urged repentance. Repentance: not just for them, but an ongoing project for every Christian. Recall our brother Martin Luther and the first of his 95 Theses: “When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, ‘Repent’ (Mt 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.” ‘Repentance,’ or, in common speech, that toxic word ‘change’ (“How many Episcopalians does it take to change a lightbulb?” “Change?”). Our brother John Henry Newman nailed it: To live is to change, and to be perfect is to have changed often.[3]

“Grant, O merciful God, that your Church, being gathered together in unity by your Holy Spirit, may show forth your power among all peoples.” This is where the Holy Spirit needs to roll up the sleeves: what conversations are we capable of having with Jesus? Jesus says or does something unexpected: are we right there with the synagogue ruler? (“Change? Not on my watch!”) That depends on who we are, who we’re becoming. And so we keep coming to the Table asking that the Holy Spirit will continue to do both the work we know needs doing and the necessary work about which we’re clueless: “Sanctify us also that we may faithfully receive this holy Sacrament, and serve you in unity, constancy, and peace; and at the last day bring us with all your saints into the joy of your eternal kingdom.”

[1] See Marcus Mark 1-8, p.248.

[2] Anaïs Nin (https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/9268209-we-see-things-not-as-they-are-but-as-we, accessed 8/18/2025).

[3] https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/john_henry_newman_159078, accessed 8/18/2025.

The problem isn’t that Jesus might be the Messiah; the problem is how he choses to be Messiah (10th Sunday after Pentecost, 8/17/2025)

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Readings (Track 1)

Today’s Gospel reading is downright puzzling. What are its various parts doing? How does it relate to what Luke’s been giving us in the last few chapters? Why—for example—does Jesus address the crowd as “You hypocrites”?

Well, what has Luke been giving us? Arguments between Jesus and the religious leadership, extended teaching about God’s generosity and the folly of greed. The seventy Jesus sent out to announce the Kingdom came back encouraged, but that doesn’t seem to have moved the needle. So today’s text, primarily a call to repentance. (That repentance theme continues into the beginning of the next chapter, which our Lectionary had us reading back in the third week of Lent!) Repent!

But why that strange combination of stories of arguments between Jesus and the religious leadership and teaching about divine generosity and human greed? We encounter one clue when a Pharisee criticizes Jesus’ omitting the ritual handwashing before the meal. Jesus responds: “Now you Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and of the dish, but inside you are full of greed (ἁρπαγή) and wickedness” (Lk. 11:39). Later, as Jesus talks about dealing with opposition from the authorities, there’s that request from the crowd that prompts Jesus’ warning against greed (πλεονεξία; 12:15). Luke wants us to wonder about greed and opposition to Jesus—so let’s wonder!

A few chapters back in Luke:

“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.
Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.…
But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.
Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry.
Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep… (Lk. 6:20-26)

Early in the Book of Acts Luke tells us “a great many of the priests became obedient to the faith” (Acts 6:7), so we’re not talking about all the religious leaders here. But for the religious leaders who oppose Jesus and end up seeking his death the logic may have been simple: “yes” to Jesus means no more business as usual: the unending contest for status with its accompanying wealth, readings of the Law that just happen to feather one’s own nest.

In other words, their problem isn’t that Jesus might be the Messiah. Their problem is that Jesus’ way of being Messiah makes it impossible for them to hitch their wagon to his apparently rising star. That had long been the pattern. Whether with the Persians, the Greeks, or the Romans an accommodation was always possible as long as everyone’s greed was taken into account. But Jesus with his “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all” (Mk. 10:43-44) or “And do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying” (Lk. 12:29)? Impossible.

Which is why, I think, we hear Jesus’ “You hypocrites!” in today’s Gospel. The problem isn’t that those good at reading the weather can’t read the “present time” (“Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them.” [Lk. 7:22]). The problem is that they refuse any reading that might disturb the status quo.  No additional signs from Jesus would move the needle because Jesus’ way of being Messiah is simply unacceptable.

This helps us appreciate Jesus’ troubling words “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!” Peace isn’t neutral. Recall the Roman historian Tacitus, who gives us this speech from a British leader—one of Jesus’ contemporaries—prior to battle: “They [the Romans] plunder, they slaughter, and they steal: this they falsely name Empire, and where they make a wasteland, they call it peace.”[1] Would any of us have been happy with Jesus bringing a peace that fit comfortably within the Pax Romana?

That was then; what about now? We might return to Jesus’ word to his disciples: “Beware of the yeast of the Pharisees, that is, their hypocrisy” (Lk. 12:1). As long as Jesus is around, accommodation to the status quo is impossible. Once he’s offstage, possibilities emerge. Paul’s letters: they’d be considerably shorter if their recipients weren’t already trying to merge confession of Jesus with their ongoing pursuit of status and wealth. The Roman Empire, that well-oiled machine of plunder, receives quite unflattering treatment in the Revelation, but by the early fourth century the emperors are Christian.

Over here, we have the prosperity gospel, in which greed pretty much moves from the “vice” to the “virtue” column. And Christian nationalism, in which the image of God is effectively reduced to those of the right skin color and culture.  Yes, “Beware of the yeast of the Pharisees, that is, their hypocrisy.” Beware of the constant temptation to adjust Jesus or “Messiah” so that nothing need change. As our brother Martin Luther put it in the first of his 95 Theses: “When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, ‘Repent’ (Mt 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.”

Or, to put it in positive terms, from our reading from Hebrews: “looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith,” or, better, from the Common English Version, “and fix our eyes on Jesus, faith’s pioneer and perfecter.” Fix our eyes, not only because it’s easy to get distracted, but because there remain parts of us that want to get distracted. Jesus doesn’t always tell us what we want to hear: pioneers and perfecters are like that. Sometimes the immediate effect is division, not peace. But Hebrews has it right: “who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.” Jesus would share that joy, so, however the past week has gone, he again invites us to his Table.

“Sanctify us also that we may faithfully receive this holy Sacrament, and serve you in unity, constancy, and peace; and at the last day bring us with all your saints into the joy of your eternal kingdom.”

[1] Cf https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tacitus, accessed 8/6/2025.

Jesus: God is generous; be like God (9th Sunday after Pentecost, 8/10/2025)

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Readings (Track 2)

Today’s Gospel contains a promise, a warning, and a surprise—more than enough for one sermon!

The promise: “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” It’s probably originally addressed to the disciples, to whom last month we heard Jesus say “See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves” (Lk. 10:3).

“Do not be afraid.” Not because there aren’t things to fear, but because all these are no match for the Father’s good pleasure.

“Do not be afraid.” Our efforts often seem to have no effect; this kingdom is pure gift.

What kingdom are we talking about? Recall Daniel’s vision: four beasts (empires) rise from the chaotic sea, each more inhuman than the last. The Ancient of Days deals with them. Then: “I saw one like a son of man / coming with the clouds of heaven. / And he came to the Ancient One / and was presented before him. / 14 To him was given dominion / and glory and kingship, / that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him” (7:13-14).

That was an important vision for Jesus, the reason he often referred to himself as “the son of man.” It was important enough that Jesus needed to correct it; vision and reality often don’t correlate exactly. The vision: “that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him.” Jesus: “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (Mk. 10:45). And if this is what Jesus is about, it’s what his followers are to be about. Recall Jesus’ words leading up to that: “42 ‘You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. 43 But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, 44 and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. 45 For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many’” (Mk. 10:42-45).

That’s the kingdom the Father is pleased to give to the disciples, to us. Lambs in the midst of wolves, we hang onto it. And we’re greatly encouraged to have Abraham as our adoptive father (our first lesson). Descendants as numerous as the stars at his age? About as believable as us receiving the kingdom. But he believes and it happens.

The warning: stay alert (in the short parable about the waiting servants). What’s that about? In today’s Gospel Jesus doesn’t explain it, but starting with “Be dressed for action” he assumes his absence. His return is certain, but the timing unknown. Stay alert, first, because with the timing unknown it’s not prudent to put off the more difficult parts of discipleship until tomorrow. Stay alert, second, because it’s too easy to fall into the habits of Jesus’ opponents.

A few weeks ago our Gospel text from Luke centered on the Lord’s Prayer. Luke then described multiple conflicts with Jesus’ opponents. Jesus to a Pharisee: “Now you Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and of the dish, but inside you are full of greed and wickedness” (11:39). So our current chapter (chapter 12) begins with Jesus warning the crowd: “”Beware of the yeast of the Pharisees, that is, their hypocrisy” (12:1). Surprisingly, in the middle of his teaching someone calls out “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” We heard that last week. To Jesus it sounds like the same greed he encountered among the Pharisees, so tells the parable of the rich fool and transitions into a longer teaching about the Father’s generosity and pointlessness of worry (the last bit of which we heard today).

Stay alert. The Gospels record Jesus’ critiques of the Pharisees not because the Pharisees were particularly bad, but because we too easily fall into the same errors, as twenty centuries of Church history sadly attest. Circling back to “it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom,” the last thing we want to do is take that as license to “lord it over” others, to be “tyrants.” Stay alert.

The surprise. Let’s return to that short waiting servants parable. “Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes…” However we expect it to continue, it isn’t with “truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them.” Jesus is really serious about this “not to be served but to serve.” The Table: not where we feed God, but where God feeds us. What might this do to our imaginations? I’m intrigued by Miroslav Volf’s suggestion regarding the New Jerusalem: “God has now made the world such that God does not need to rule” (The Home of God p.214).

Finally, a short postscript. This coming of the Son of Man “at an unexpected hour:” that’s about the end of this age, right? Well, yes and no. Yes, that’s primarily what “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again” is about. But recall Jesus’ parable towards the end of Matthew:

“’Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me’” (25:37-40). That also is a coming of the Son of Man. That also is a reason to stay alert.

How to build a secure portfolio (8th Sunday after Pentecost, 8/3/2025)

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Readings

There are two sermons here. They have the same beginning, but split midway depending on whether Track 1 or Track 2 in the readings is followed.

“Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” Putting that question to Jesus was perhaps not the guy’s smartest move, as seen by Jesus’ follow up: “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” ‘Greed’ is a common translation of the Greek; ‘insatiableness,’ ‘avarice,’ or ‘covetousness’ are also quite possible. A standard dictionary (BDAG) gives this definition: “the state of desiring to have more than one’s due.” While we won’t be focusing on this, “one’s due” comes into play because greed does tend to blur the line between what’s mine and what’s not mine. Anyhow, greed, one of the foci of this sermon as we notice some of the issues Jesus’ words raise.

Jesus follows up that “Take care!” with a short parable that ends “So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.” And here we might recall that bit from Matthew’s “Sermon on the Mount:” “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal” (6:19-20).

“Store up…. treasures in heaven.” How are we supposed to do that? If we’d asked that of Jesus’ audience, I suspect that the common reply would have been “Read Tobit!” Tobit, a lovely short story we relegated to the Apocrypha. Early in the story Tobit, thinking he’s near death, gives this counsel to his son:

“To all those who practice righteousness give alms from your possessions, and do not let your eye begrudge the gift when you make it. Do not turn your face away from anyone who is poor, and the face of God will not be turned away from you. If you have many possessions, make your gift from them in proportion; if few, do not be afraid to give according to the little you have. So you will be laying up a good treasure for yourself against the day of necessity” (Tob. 4:7-9).

In fact, just over half of Matthew 6 (the middle chapter in Matthew’s “Sermon on the Mount”) is devoted to almsgiving and generosity. Recall: don’t give alms to get more status (vv.2-4); store up treasures in heaven (give alms!) (vv.19-21), generous vs. greedy eyes (vv.22-23); don’t try to serve two masters (v.24; the likely source of the equation of greed with idolatry in our Colossians reading); don’t worry about possessions/seek the Kingdom (vv.25-34).

What are we supposed to do with Jesus’ words in today’s Gospel? Perhaps at least three things. First, recognize that Jesus, Tobit, and most of the Greek and Roman moralists were swimming upstream. That T-shirt “The one who dies with the most toys wins” would have translated very easily into Aramaic, Greek, or Latin! Recognize how much of the constant flow of advertising in all media depends on stoking our greed, insatiableness, avarice, covetousness. Lean into the moments that allow us to acknowledge “this is enough.”

Second, wonder about how generosity and greed are playing out in our decisions, in our checkbooks. Our almsgiving can be a useful indicator. (Stewardship of possessions is about all our investments and expenditures, not simply what we give to the parish. Nothing in the New Testament encourages us to ignore Tobit’s (or Jesus’!) counsel.)

Third, we might wonder about how we respond to Jesus’ words as a community. We were never meant to figure out how to individually respond to, say, the Sermon on the Mount. Rather, the challenge/invitation: how do we order our community life so that Jesus’ words make sense? At the national level programs like Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid were attempts to do this. Recall Frances Perkins, Secretary of Labor under FDR for 12 years, who had a major role in shaping the “New Deal,” and whose feast we celebrate May 13. But national programs are vulnerable to political winds, and this might be a time to wonder what more we might be doing on the parish, diocesan, or national church levels.

Now, what of our other readings?

Track 1

Colossians works with a strong set of spatial images. In baptism we’ve been raised with Christ, who is “seated at the right hand of God.” Our life “is hidden with Christ in God.” And there are times when we need to hear that, to hold onto that. But our Gospel reading reminds us to hold Paul’s “the things that are above” vs. “the earthly” in tension with the quite wondrous effect of almsgiving: the gift to the poor here registers as a deposit there. Or, recalling another text from Matthew, Jesus is “seated at the right hand of God” and hidden among the hungry, thirsty, strange, and naked—to the surprise of both the sheep and the goats (Mt 25:31-46).

Meanwhile, our first reading from Hosea, gives us, as it were, Jesus’ Father’s experience in Jesus’ parable. The rich man with the fertile land isn’t a bad picture of Israel, whose history God recites in the opening verses. “They kept sacrificing to the Baals,” for the common wisdom was that if you really wanted abundant harvests, Baal was the ticket. God responds in anger, but not only anger: “My heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender. I will not execute my fierce anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim; for I am God and no mortal, the Holy One in your midst, and I will not come in wrath.” We keep choosing death, reducing life to “the abundance of possessions,” and God will stop at nothing to get us back on track, as we are about to celebrate again at the Table.

Track 2

Both the first lesson from the Old Testament and the Psalm are chosen to accompany the Gospel. Both are products of what we call, broadly, Israel’s wisdom traditions; both—perhaps in keeping with those traditions—raise as many questions as they answer.

“Even though honored, they cannot live for ever; / they are like the beasts that perish.” Not a bad summary of Jesus’ parable. But consider v.4: “Why should I be afraid in evil days, / when the wickedness of those at my heels surrounds me…” Is the death of the wicked in itself reason enough not to fear? Probably not. The psalmist warns us that this text is a riddle (v.3), and leaves the riddle in our laps: why shouldn’t fear get the last word?

As you may recall, the lectionary gives us only the first half of the psalm. It’s not that the answer to the riddle is in the second half, but v.15 is certainly a hint: “But God will ransom my life; / he will snatch me from the grasp of death.” What’s the psalmist talking about? Commentators—predictably—disagree. But what we can observe is that in the psalmist’s imagination God’s agency—unbound by the assumptions of the wicked—is reason for hope. A popular commercial asks “What’s in your wallet?” This psalm asks us: “What’s in your imagination?”

What of our first reading from Ecclesiastes, which claims Solomon as its author? With the Gospel’s “for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions” and “You fool!” ringing in our ears, we do wonder whether Solomon is among the wise or the foolish, a question Scripture itself leaves open. The rich man and Solomon: both remembered for their building projects, for their stored up treasure. Jesus’ parable doesn’t describe the rich man’s treatment of his underlings; the Book of Kings tells us that Solomon’s taxes were so heavy that most of Israel revolted immediately after his death.

The point here is not to trash Solomon, but to observe how Jesus’ parable touches even Solomon. We often think of wisdom and folly as being miles apart; in practice the border between them can be razor-thin. From the Book of Proverbs: “Do you see persons wise in their own eyes? There is more hope for fools than for them” (26:12). Jesus’ parable throws Solomon into question; how soundly should I be sleeping?

“Take care!—Jesus tells us—Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.”

Jesus vs. “That’s just the way things are” (7th Sunday after Pentecost, 7/27/2025)

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Readings (Track 2)

Two Sundays ago we heard the Great Commandment (love of God and neighbor) and the parable of the Good Samaritan (love of the neighbor). Last Sunday, Jesus in Martha’s home: love of God expressed in the continual listening to Jesus. Today, Luke’s presentation of the Lord’s Prayer: what our prayers should look like if that dual love is the mandate.

Last time we were together with these readings I focused on the Lord’s Prayer. This time, just a couple words on that first word, “Father.” In Jesus’ mind and teaching it has everything to do with God’s love and generosity (“If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give…”) and nothing to do with the conduct that’s rendered the word ‘father’ toxic in the experience of too many women. There’s no easy solution to that, even as we focus on Jesus’ use of the word and—when necessary—mentally substitute in ‘Mother.’ Meanwhile, Luke is reminding us that the story doesn’t start with the love mandate, but with the generous Father’s love. Our love is the fitting response to that love.

Over in our Epistle, that line from last week’s reading is still ringing in my head: “and through [Jesus] God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things.” How does Paul think God is doing that?

It sounds unbelievable. Jesus as victor/healer in relation to all that ails our world? This is one of the reasons Abraham and Sarah pop up so frequently in the New Testament. Well past the childbearing window, the Lord says “I will make of you a great nation” and they hang in for decades until they’re changing diapers. “Sounds unbelievable” is familiar territory for us people of faith.

Jesus as healer/victor: how does societal healing, or, more broadly, societal change happen?

That’s the key question for organizations like World Vision, the relief & development agency where I worked for a couple decades. How, for example, to introduce a promising agricultural innovation? What you usually need is a few farmers willing to try it. If it works, it sells itself. The neighbors have been watching (probably expecting it to fail), now they want it too.

This is the strategy behind God’s calling Abraham/Israel. Here’s Isaiah:

“Many peoples shall come and say, ‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.’ For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.… they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks…” (Isa. 2:3-4)

And it remains the strategy with the renewal of the Israel project in Jesus’ followers. Here’s Paul in Ephesians: “and to make everyone see what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God who created all things; so that through the church the wisdom of God in its rich variety might now be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places” (3:9-10). This is why the New Testament gives little attention to evangelism and a great deal of attention to the quality of life in the emerging congregations.

Quality of life. Last week Paul spoke of thrones, dominions, rulers and powers. He’s not only speaking of civil authorities, but also of the customs, institutions, mental frameworks, that pretend to rule his hearer’s lives. Adjust the vocabulary a little and it all sounds very familiar: how many dimensions of our lives get ruled by “that’s just the way things are!” Take the economy. No one controls it. It has its priests (the economists). Sometimes it’s healthy. Sometimes it’s sick. Sometimes it demands sacrifices. Paul: the congregation is the place where the defeat of these powers is visible, where Jesus molds our corporate life (remember Mary, listening).

That’s hardly easy. As in most agricultural test plots, we’re not dealing with virgin land, but with land that’s long been badly treated. So Jesus’ life-giving death and resurrection needs to play out again and again in Jesus’ followers. This is, I think, part of what Paul was talking about in last week’s reading: “in my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body.”

The New Testament scholar Gerhard Lohfink writes: “Sin does not just vanish in the air, even when it is forgiven, because sin does not end with the sinner. It has consequences. It always has a social dimension. Every sin embeds itself in human community, corrupts a part of the world, and creates a damaged environment. So the consequences of sin have to be worked off, and human beings cannot do so of themselves any more than they can absolve themselves. Genuine ‘working off’ of guilt is only possible on a basis that God himself must create. And God has created such a base in his people, and in Jesus he has renewed and perfected it.

Lohfink continues, quoting from Dag Hammarskjöld’s diary: “Forgiveness breaks the chain of causality because he who “forgives” you—out of love—takes upon himself the consequences of what you have done. Forgiveness, therefore, always entails a sacrifice. The price you must pay for your own liberation through another’s sacrifice is that you in turn must be willing to liberate in the same way, irrespective of the consequences to yourself.[1]

In the Eucharistic Prayer we hear Jesus’ words “This is my Blood of the new Covenant, which is shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.” It’s easy to assume that Jesus is talking only about God forgiving us. But remember how tightly Jesus links being forgiven and forgiving (the Lord’s Prayer in today’s Gospel)! Jesus is almost certainly talking about both. Jesus is shedding his blood to create a forgiven community that forgives.

(Forgiveness, remember, is not saying “it doesn’t matter.” It’s about extending to each other the same forgiveness we need from God.)

And notice what happens when a culture of forgiveness takes root among us. The mandate is love, but we’re not very good at love. We make mistakes. Forgiveness becomes important pretty quickly. And it’s not simply remedial. Our national culture burns a lot of energy to maintain the illusion of being right. I’m right. I was right. I will be right. But if there’s real forgiveness, that’s unnecessary. All that energy is available for listening to Jesus (Mary), attending to, responding to the neighbor (the Samaritan). If I always have to be right the love mandate is a heavy lift. If loving is something we’re learning how to do together, forgiving each other, with the freedom even to laugh at ourselves, then not so much.. 

Jesus as the victor/healer. God’s happy to use that freed up energy to show that the powers don’t get the last word, that “that’s just the way it is” doesn’t get the last word. That’s a long-term project. In the 4th Century, Basil in Caesarea established the first hospital with inpatient facilities, professional medical staff, and free care for the poor.[2] In the Middle Ages, starting in the monasteries, water and wind power took the place of forced human labor. The Greeks had had the technology to do this, but why bother when slaves are plentiful? The monks, reading Moses on creation (humanity in God’s image) and Paul (neither slave nor free in Christ) were motivated to use that technology, and it soon spread past the monasteries. In recent centuries Genesis’ declaration that all humanity bears God’s image began to be heard in new ways, and voting rights slowly expanded. So today pretty much all governments claim legitimacy based on the people’s continued consent—however flimsy that claim. Quite breathtaking, really, what Jesus has accomplished through the Church.

Our story, of course, is not one of unbroken progress. God values our freedom, so things can go forward, backward, or sideways. We now have—God help us—for-profit hospitals. So Abraham and Sarah remain crucial as pioneers in trust. And speaking of Abraham, in God’s generosity loss doesn’t get the last word. The rabbis noticed that poor ram caught in the thicket that Abraham sacrificed instead of Isaac; Rabbi Hanina ben Dossa said this: “Nothing of this sacrifice was lost. The ashes were dispersed in the Temple’s sanctuary; the sinews David used as cords for his harp; the skin was claimed by the prophet Elijah to clothe himself; as for the two horns, the smaller one called the people together at the foot of Mount Sinai and the larger one will resound one day, announcing the coming of the Messiah.”[3] Loss doesn’t get the last word.

Our Colossians reading started with “As you therefore have received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him.” Continue: there’s a world out there badly needing healing, badly needing transformation. What might Jesus be seeking to do through us now?

[1] Jesus of Nazareth pp 255-256.

[2] Cf. https://www.patheos.com/blogs/lostinaoneacrewood/2020/01/03/basiliad-basil-of-caesarea-social-justice-worlds-first-hospital/.

[3] Wiesel Messengers of God 101.

Why we want to keep listening to Jesus’ word (6th Sunday after Pentecost, 7/20/2025)

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Readings (Track 2)

In last Sunday’s Gospel we heard the lawyer ask “Who is my neighbor?” and Jesus’ reply, the parable of the Good Samaritan. Luke pairs that with today’s Gospel, Jesus in Martha’s home—with perhaps surprising results. Martha: “About that loving your neighbor command: please tell my sister…” But it doesn’t play out as Martha (or we?) expect. What’s going on?

We might notice how Luke describes Mary’s conduct: “who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying.” Culturally it’s somewhat unexpected: we’d expect men at Jesus’ feet—and we’ll come back to this. It’s Luke’s “listened to his word” that catches the ear, because it’s language we’ve already heard repeatedly: “I will show you what someone is like who comes to me, hears my words, and acts on them” (the parable about building on rock vs. sand [6:47]); “But as for that in the good soil, these are the ones who, when they hear the word, hold it fast in an honest and good heart” (the parable of the sower [8:15]). Mary’s on the right path.

What of Martha? “Martha, Martha, you are worried (μεριμνᾷς) and distracted by many things.” This sounds like Jesus’ description of the seed sown among the thorns: “they are choked by the cares (μεριμνῶν) and riches and pleasures of life” (8:14). Again, there are Martha’s words: “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” Mary is listening to Jesus’ word; Martha assumes what Jesus’ word should be, and—at the moment—Jesus’ role is simply to confirm Martha’s assumptions. There’s more than a whiff of the lawyer’s “But wanting to justify himself” from last Sunday’s reading. Or we might hear Martha’s words as apostolic, in the tradition of “Master, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he does not follow with us” (9:49) or “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” (9:54) Jesus may be Lord, but apparently still needs guidance on how things should be organized.

“Lord.” Throughout the short story it’s “the Lord:” “who sat at the Lord’s feet,” “Lord, do you not care,” “But the Lord answered her.” This is the Lord in the living room for whom five loaves and two fish are more than enough for 5,000 people, and Martha’s letting herself get distracted by “many tasks” in the kitchen?

What’s going on here? It’s not simply that the paired stories (the encounter with the lawyer, Martha’s hospitality) illustrate the importance of loving the neighbor (the Samaritan) and loving God (Mary). It’s that without a continual listening to Jesus’ word even love of neighbor can morph into something disconnected from Jesus’ vision. Hence the chilling warning in Matthew: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven. On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many deeds of power in your name?’ Then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; go away from me, you evildoers’” (Matt. 7:21-23).

At the risk of belaboring the obvious, our vision and Jesus’ vision of what love of neighbor means, how it’s best expressed, are not the same. We assume, for instance, that the more power we have the better we’ll be able to love our neighbor. But here’s Jesus two Sundays ago: “Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. 4 Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals…”

Multiple reasons for continually listening to Jesus’ word. I’ll notice another from our Epistle, another from the Gospels, and then wrap up.

Judging by both Galatians and Colossians it looks like popular religion in Asia Minor assumed the more initiations the better, something like the credit cards in our wallets. The Colossians had been baptized. Great. Now, what was the next initiation they needed to further progress, to better navigate this world filled with gods, goddesses, “things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers”? So we hear Paul trying to explain that it doesn’t work like that. Let’s listen again: “in [Jesus] all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers– all things have been created through [Jesus] and for [Jesus].… in [Jesus] all things hold together. [Jesus] is … the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in [Jesus] all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell.” Any other initiations? Superfluous! Any other cards in the wallet? Superfluous. As the heavenly voice at the Transfiguration put it, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” (Lk. 9:35)

But back to the Gospels. There, Jesus has this uncanny ability to come at things differently, to not get trapped by the assumed alternatives.

“’Is it lawful for us to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?’… ‘Show me a denarius. Whose head and whose title does it bear?’ They said, ‘The emperor’s.’ He said to them, ‘Then give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s’” (Lk. 20:22-25).

“Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? For they do not wash their hands before they eat.”… “it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles” (Matt. 15:2-11).

Einstein nailed it when he said something like “We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.” But too often “the same thinking” is the order of the day, and we’re told that it’s either this or that. Then along comes Jesus, who regularly come at problems diagonally:

We Christians in this country—and probably others as well—really need to learn how to do that more often. Too often we end up just parroting the talking points from the left or the right—and then appeal to Jesus for support. “Tell [Mary] then to help me.”

What of the ending? “Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” On the one hand, it continues one of Luke’s major themes: “the better part,” hear and obey the word. Elsewhere in Luke: “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it” (8:21). On the other hand, it’s a landmine. It’s Mary’s choice, not her parents’ or Martha’s or anyone else’s. And proclamations that start “A woman’s place is…”—they shouldn’t look to Jesus for support.

Yes, let us keep learning, keep listening to Jesus.

When Mercy meets “Us & Them” (5th Sunday after Pentecost, 7/13/2025)

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Readings (Track 1)

This morning let’s focus on three elements in today’s Gospel. First, the lawyer’s answer to Jesus’ first question: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” Second, the lawyer’s second question: “And who is my neighbor?” Third, the final interchange: “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” “The one who showed him mercy.” “Go and do likewise.”

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.”

In Matthew and Mark this is Jesus’ answer to the question of which commandment is the most important (Matt 22:36ff; Mk 12:28ff). Perhaps the lawyer had been listening to Jesus! What of Jesus’ reply: “do this, and you will live”? Not because life is some sort of external prize tacked onto this commandment, but because love is at the heart of God’s life. In the first letter of John: “God is love” (4:8). If we want to live with the grain of the universe, it doesn’t get more basic than that. We might view the other two elements that we’ll be dealing with as fleshing out this theme.

“But wanting to justify himself, [the lawyer] asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’” “Wanting to justify himself,” for the lawyer, like the rest of us, assumes that there’s “us” and “them” (that’s built into our language), and that “neighbor” is “us” or some subset of “us.”

“Us” and “them.” Mostly this works automatically, starting with language. Word choice, accent: after a few words we’ve slotted the speaker as one of us or them. Clothing, personal space, zip code: so many ways of slotting people into us or them.

Speaking of “us” and “them,” what do we make of the argument reflected in this morning’s psalm? The treatment of the weak, the orphan, the humble, the needy, the poor: is it really unjust? Aren’t these “the takers” (in Mitt Romney’s memorable phrasing in 2012) in contrast to “the makers,” who do deserve to be shown favor? As a nation we’re still in the middle of that argument. The weak, the orphan, the humble, the needy, the poor: how do these map onto our “us” and “them”?

“Who is my neighbor?” So Jesus tells a parable in which “neighbor” cuts across our “us/them” boxes. First, the cast of characters: Priest, Levite, Samaritan. As you recall, the Samaritan was the classic “Other;” “Be a good boy / Eat your vegetables or a Samaritan will…” Second, Jesus’ closing: “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”

As Jesus reads the Torah, “neighbor” relativizes our “us/them” boxes.

Now, if we pull back the camera, there’s an obvious question. A few weeks back we heard Paul say “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.” Haven’t we just replaced these us/them contrasts with “Christian and non-Christian” so that we’re back where we started?

A response to that question requires two hands. On the one hand, the NT is clear: saying “yes” to Jesus is fundamental. Last week we heard Paul saying “So then, whenever we have an opportunity, let us work for the good of all, and especially for those of the family of faith” (Gal. 6:10). On the other hand, if that “yes” motivates anything other than love, it’s no longer Jesus to whom I’m saying yes.

Consider the limit case, love of enemies. Jesus’ “love your enemies” isn’t simply one element in his teaching; it captures his Father’s modus operandi throughout the Bible.

His Father’s modus operandi: we meet this in today’s first reading from Amos and repeatedly in the coming weeks with the Old Testament lessons from the 8th & 7th century prophets. The Northern Kingdom (Israel) and Southern Kingdom (Judah) are turning their backs on God, trampling on the vulnerable (Psalm 82 again). Those two actions are two sides of the same coin: I turn my back on God and—surprise—I’m no longer in solidarity with all those who bear God’s image, but only with those who bear my image: same skin color, dialect, etc. Anyhow, Israel and Judah: they have made themselves God’s enemies. So for God all the good and easy options are off the table, and God struggles to find a way to stop the madness and to begin laying the foundation for a better future.

And it captures Jesus’ modus operandi. Two weeks ago we heard James and John offering to call down fire on a Samaritan village that—they thought—had not given Jesus a sufficiently enthusiastic reception. So Jesus finds himself for neither the first nor the last time among his enemies.

Any two-bit god can surround themselves with friends; Jesus’ God is constantly seeking out her enemies.

Our Eucharistic Prayer reminds us of this weekly. For example, Prayer A: “to reconcile us to you, the God and Father of all” or, again, “Sanctify us…and serve you in unity, constancy, and peace.”

To stay with our liturgy for a moment, every week there’s the Confession and Absolution. So the divide between Christians and non-Christians isn’t between friends and enemies of God. On our good days we Christians are allowing God to continue the life-long work of transforming us from enemies into friends.

In sum, that’s one thing the parable is doing. “Neighbor” messes with our notions of “us” and “them.”

“Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” “The one who showed him mercy.” “Go and do likewise.”

Mercy, compassion. In God’s self-description to Moses in the aftermath of the Golden Calf incident, we hear “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, (  יְהוָ֣ה׀ יְהוָ֔ה אֵ֥ל רַח֖וּם וְחַנּ֑וּן) (Exod. 34:6). It’s worth noticing that that Hebrew word for ‘merciful’ (raḥûm) comes from the word for ‘womb’ (reḥem). And one of the (Greek) verbs for “have compassion” is used in the Gospels exclusively for Jesus and in a couple of Jesus’ parables—like this one, the Samaritan “moved with compassion.”

Compassion, the Gospel writers tell us, is fundamental to how Jesus navigates this world. Like Father, like Son. And this, in turn, shapes the Gospels’ understanding of how we follow Jesus. So, in the parable compassion is the turning point in the story. And if we read the parable as an image of the divine-human history, it is the turning point in that history: this Samaritan God finding us and caring for us on the Jericho road. We hear that turning point in our Eucharistic Prayers. What is the start of Eucharistic Prayer A if not an extended description of compassion?

“Holy and gracious Father: In your infinite love you made us for yourself; and, when we had fallen into sin and become subject to evil and death, you, in your mercy, sent Jesus Christ, your only and eternal Son, to share our human nature, to live and die as one of us, to reconcile us to you, the God and Father of all.”

The lawyer’s answer rightly focuses on ‘compassion’ (using a different Greek word), and Jesus serves it back to him—and us: “Go and do likewise.” We might recall Jesus’ words earlier in the same Gospel: “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful” (Lk. 6:36). Be merciful: a big part of The Dummy’s Guide to Going with the Grain of the Universe.

What this sermon boils down to: an invitation to use Jesus’ parable as a lens through which to view the world we’ll encounter in the coming week. Us and them. Notice how often this gets encouraged, the subtle ways it can distort our identity. Compassion. Notice all that deadens it. Look for opportunities, however small, to practice it, inside and outside the “family of faith.” Recall former Archbishop of Canterbury William Temple’s observation: “The church is the only institution that exists primarily for the benefit of those who are not its members.”