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.”

Freedom: A Post-July 4 Conversation with Paul (4th Sunday after Pentecost, 7/6/2025)

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Readings (Track 1)

Last week we heard Paul’s ringing “For freedom Christ has set us free!” and his Flesh/Spirit contrast. The flesh (our humanity curved in on itself) undercuts that freedom; God’s Spirit boosts it. This week he’s still working that Flesh/Spirit contrast. Two days ago we celebrated the 4th of July. So this sermon is mostly a conversation with Paul—in our early 21st century context.

“You reap whatever you sow.” It sounds like it’s already a proverb, which Paul wants to use to keep talking about Flesh and Spirit. Flesh vs. Spirit isn’t the material/immaterial contrast, as though the latter were intrinsically better. It’s not about escaping from the body. Recall the list of the works of the flesh we heard last week: many of the items have nothing to do with the body: “enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy.” Luther often talked about sin as being curved in on oneself, and I find that a helpful way of talking about Paul’s ‘flesh.’ Nothing wrong with flesh per se; the problems start when we treat it as the only reality. And Spirit: not any spirit, but the Spirit that brooded over the waters at creation, the Spirit that enlivened Ezekiel’s valley of bones, the Spirit that arrived at Pentecost.

“You reap whatever you sow.” Why does Paul think he needs to say that? If we think about our own experience, the upside to sowing to the flesh is that the reward is usually immediate. And that can deceive us into forgetting the downside. So, a warning. On the other hand, the downside of sowing to the Spirit is that the reward is often not immediate. It’s easy to “grow weary in doing what is right.” So, encouragement: “we will reap at harvest time, if we do not give up.”

And notice what follows: “So then, whenever we have an opportunity, let us work for the good of all, and especially for those of the family of faith.” As with Paul’s lists of the works of the Flesh and the fruit of the Spirit, the focus is communal, the sowing and reaping that happens in our common life. Paul’s particularly concerned about what happens in the “family of faith”—we might say “the parish.” But the same logic applies outside, and as there’s opportunity, Paul wants us to pay attention to that.

“The good of all.” Back in 2020 the sociologist Robert Putnam published The Upswing: How America Came Together a Century Ago and How We Can Do It Again. Looking at economic, political, social, and cultural indicators, Putnam thinks we were getting “more equal, less contentious, more connected, and more conscious of shared values” in the period 1900-1960, and since then “less equal, more polarized, more fragmented, and more individualistic” (pp.285-86). The “How We Can Do It Again” part is necessarily short on detail: it’s a bottom-up process. Our attention to “the good of all” in and past parish boundaries can contribute to that badly-needed upswing.

“Let us work for the good of all.” Well, how? “I’m doing this for your good” is usually not reassuring. And here today’s Gospel provides one clue. Jesus gives the seventy impressive power, and pairs it with self-imposed weakness: “Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals… Whatever house you enter… Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide… Do not move about from house to house.” The work demands not lording it over these towns, but entering into community with them.

Which brings us—recalling July 4th—to Paul’s “For freedom Christ has set us free.” What do we think freedom is about? The German theologian Moltmann observes that we tend to think of freedom in terms of what we can do or have, which is, he argues, to see freedom as a sort of lordship. “Everyone should be his or her own ruler, his or her own lord, his or her own slaveholder.… Each one sees the other as a competitor in the battle for power and ownership.” This sounds like what Paul was confronting among the Galatians: freedom as license to continue to compete with each other. The alternative? Freedom as community. “I am free and feel myself to be free when I am recognized and accepted by others and when I, for my part, recognize and accept others.…Then the other person is no longer a limitation of my freedom but the completion of it.”[1]

In case freedom as lordship vs community sounds like apples and oranges, the following might help. If I’m thinking of freedom to consume (“What can I get this week?”) lordship works. But if I ask: am I free to play the flute? To gain that freedom I’d need teachers, fellow students for encouragement, folk giving honest feedback… a community. Am I free to speak Japanese? Am I free to live as a human being?

Freedom as lordship or community: the alternatives align pretty closely with Paul’s lists of the works of the flesh and the fruit of the Spirit. They align pretty closely with Jesus’ instructions to the seventy.

Freedom as community invites us to recognize freedom across the status totem pole, as in, for example, our first reading. Consider the folk at the bottom of the totem pole.

First, the little maid, captured in a Syrian raid, and now serving Naaman’s wife. She could easily have kept the information about Elisha to herself, and taken a sort of joy in watching the commander waste away. She could have seen it as a sort of justice, or even as punishment from her God. She’s near the bottom of the totem pole, but she has choices, and she chooses to give Naaman the information that saves him.

Then, Naaman’s servants. Naaman’s response to Elisha’s non-appearance suggests that he had a short fuse, and his servants would have been the first to suffer from that. Never mind whether they thought Elisha’s instructions had any merit: they could have enjoyed watching their master stymied. They’re not much up the totem pole from the little maid, but they have choices, and they chose to deal gently and honorably with their master, to give his indignation an offramp, and he is saved.

Let’s try to pull this together. “For freedom Christ has set us free!” That Paul found it necessary to talk about the Flesh and the Spirit tells us that ‘freedom’ can be ambiguous, and I’ve used Moltmann’s freedom as lordship or community as a way of unpacking that. “Let us work for the good of all.” A necessary exhortation, whether in our parish life or two days out from July 4th. The examples of that servant girl and Naaman’s servants together with Jesus’ instructions remind us that this work isn’t about amassing as much power as possible to impose our solutions.

And, simply for the joy of it, let’s watch all this play out in the verses just after today’s first reading:

“Then [Naaman] returned to the man of God, he and all his company; he came and stood before him and said, ‘Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel; please accept a present from your servant.’ But he said, ‘As the LORD lives, whom I serve, I will accept nothing!’ He urged him to accept, but he refused. Then Naaman said, ‘If not, please let two mule-loads of earth be given to your servant; for your servant will no longer offer burnt offering or sacrifice to any god except the LORD. But may the LORD pardon your servant on one count: when my master goes into the house of Rimmon to worship there, leaning on my arm, and I bow down in the house of Rimmon, when I do bow down in the house of Rimmon, may the LORD pardon your servant on this one count.’”

There are—one might argue—all sorts of things wrong in this request. Elijah and Elisha have spent pretty much their entire careers fighting against idolatry. But this is a foreigner, and Elisha lives in that freedom Paul celebrated. So Elisha says to Naaman: “Go in peace.”

[1] Humanity in God pp. 63-64.

Trust that makes a difference (3rd Sunday after Pentecost, 6/29/2025)

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Readings (Track 2)

Today’s psalm is a gift, and the focus of this sermon. “Protect me, O God, for I take refuge in you.” That sounds like our world. The danger isn’t specified, but the psalmist’s language shows that it’s serious: “For you will not abandon me to the grave, / nor let your holy one see the Pit.” Nevertheless, to say “You are my Lord, / my good above all other” is to choose trust and hope, not simply for survival, but for flourishing: “You will show me the path of life; / in your presence there is fullness of joy, / and in your right hand are pleasures for evermore.” Does this come easily? Of course not. If it came easily the psalm wouldn’t be necessary. But it’s where the psalmist wants to end up.

As you may recall, Peter cites this psalm in his Pentecost sermon, using it to interpret Jesus’ resurrection. And we often hear it as celebrating our hope for resurrection. That’s not wrong, but it’s not what the psalmist was talking about in their context: “For you will not abandon me to the grave, / nor let your holy one see the Pit. / You will show me the path of life” in this life. This psalm is like Psalm 23 (“The Lord is my shepherd / I shall not be in want”), but with the danger more clearly in the foreground.

If we wonder how to make the psalmist’s trust and hope our own, our New Testament readings offer two different perspectives. Let’s look at them briefly.

Paul focuses on freedom, an important word in his time and ours. In our time, as the German theologian Moltmann argues, freedom tends to mean lordship. “Everyone should be his or her own ruler, his or her own lord, his or her own slaveowner.…Each one sees the other as a competitor in the battle for power and ownership.” The alternative, Moltmann argues, is to see freedom as community. “I am free and feel myself to be free when I am recognized and accepted by others and when I, for my part, recognize and accept others.…Then the other person is no longer a limitation of my freedom but the completion of it.”[1] I’m still chewing on this, but I think he’s on to something, and it aligns with Paul’s argument.

The Galatians to whom Paul writes affirm trust and hope, but are still in competition with each other. And that, Paul argues, is to opt for the flesh, not the Spirit. So Paul gives us those well-known lists, the works of the flesh and the fruit of the Spirit, both lists about how we live together. Put in the psalmist’s terms, “O Lord, you are my portion and my cup; / it is you who uphold my lot” should be freeing me for more patience, kindness, generosity, etc. Notice again the movement in the first two verses: “I have said to the Lord, ‘You are my Lord, / my good above all other.’ / All my delight is upon the godly that are in the land.” Freedom as community, centered and grounded in the Holy Trinity, the original community.

“Live by the Spirit, I say, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh.” Paul is, of course, speaking to the churches in Galatia. But the Spirit/Flesh alternatives are equally present in our cities, our nation, our world. So Paul’s words give us another way of praying for these: may the Spirit that brooded over the chaotic waters at creation breath Jesus’ life into ours at every level.

In short, after hearing Paul’s words, we can hear the psalmist’s words (“I have said to the Lord, “You are my Lord, / my good above all other.”) also as rippling out to the psalmist’s neighbors: flesh or Spirit, freedom as lordship or community.

Luke places today’s text shortly after the Transfiguration, Jesus transfigured, talking with Moses and Elijah, and the voice from the cloud “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” And today’s text is about putting that into practice. It’s not that Moses, Elijah, and Jesus are equal authorities, so that we decide in any given situation which to hear, but listening to Jesus we hear Moses and Elijah properly. When that Samaritan village refuses to receive them, Elijah’s fire is not an option. When it comes to Jesus’ call to discipleship the obligations to parents mandated by Moses take second place. (That’s what’s in play in Jesus’ response to “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.”)

In terms of today’s psalm, “You are my Lord, / my good above all other” plays out differently before and after Jesus taking on our flesh. This is not because we’re in any way better than the original hearers, the Gentiles more virtuous than the Jews, but that Jesus changes the landscape. There are new possibilities. “I will bless the Lord who gives me counsel; / my heart teaches me, night after night” goes on steroids. For too many cultures, past and present, Paul’s first list (“enmities, strife, jealousy, anger,” etc.) is as good as it gets. But with Jesus’ Spirit counseling, teaching, oh, the possibilities: “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” It is still a dangerous world; the danger does not have to define who we are.

Jesus said to the disciples “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world” (Matt 5:13, 14). Today’s readings give that some focus, send us back to Psalm 16 with fresh eyes, and set us up to respond in trust, hope, and joy to the sending at the end of the Mass: “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”

[1] Humanity in God pp. 63-64.

Jesus or the pigs? (2nd Sunday after Pentecost, 6/22/2025)

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Readings

We’re at a major milestone in the Church Year: green, not white, and we’ll be in green for about half a year. Think about it: half a year to celebrate the divine acts that underwrite the new covenant: Christmas, Epiphany, Holy Week, Pentecost. Half a year to…? Our Godly Play curriculum calls it “the Great Green Growing Season,” time for these divine acts to do their work in our bodies and souls.

It turns out that today’s readings aren’t bad ushers into this season.

The Gospel. When we meet the man who meets Jesus, he’s possessed by a legion of demons, naked, maybe remnants of chains hanging from his arms and legs, totally bedraggled. Soon he’s “clothed and in his right mind.” Hallelujah. But, if that were all that salvation involved we’d hardly need six months for the Great Green Growing Season! So it’s worth noticing that this isn’t the end of that man’s story. He wants to go with Jesus, but Jesus: “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” Home: that would include the folk who had held him down while others put on the chains and shackles and who were not obviously celebrating his recovery. Yes, we might say that his story has just gotten more interesting. But that’s for the future. In the moment, Jesus’ heart is glad.

Staying in the country of the Gerasenes for the moment, notice that Luke is equally interested in its other inhabitants. At the beginning of the story the demons are in the man; at the end of the story—well, they disappeared with the herd of swine that went over the cliff. And, Luke tells us, “all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to”…stay? No: leave. Their preference was clear: better the demons in the man than in an eminently marketable herd of pigs.

Now, notice that in our Gospel the story’s already politically charged: the demons are collectively called “Legion.” And it would have been quite impossible for the disciples not to have relished this story—for a time at least—as a sort of down payment on what Jesus would do about the Roman legions.

But let’s come at its politics in a different way. The demons in the man or in the pigs? In our world that’s the sort of choice we regularly meet. No matter what the economic system, power typically gets used so that the powerful receive the benefits and the costs are paid by others. Often this works because we’re happy to see low prices and don’t ask too many questions about why the prices are low. Or again, our group is virtuous; they are vicious. The demons stay safely among them and our pigs continue fattening up nicely. And then Jesus comes and upsets everything. Jesus did that through his Body the Church in South Africa to overturn apartheid and in Poland and the rest of Eastern Europe to overturn the Communist regimes. Welcoming Jesus can mean losing the pigs.

So one of the things that may happen in the Great Growing Season is Jesus attempting to direct our attention to our pigs. And if we pay attention we’re a little freer, there’s a bit more green, and Jesus’ heart is glad.

Let’s head north to the churches in Galatia, a Roman province in the center of what is now Turkey, the recipients of Paul’s letter. Teachers had come into the congregations telling Gentiles that they needed to keep all the Law of Moses, including the ritual parts. Bacon & scallops: out! Sharing meals with Christians who don’t observe these standards: out! Paul: the ritual part was provisional until Christ. In Christ there is a new humanity: “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female.”

Hallelujah. But wait a minute. So much of our identity is wrapped up in our ethnicity, in our social status, in our sexuality. And Paul’s warning us that none of that can be automatically carried over. None of that can be the foundation of what “I” means; of what “we” means. When Nicodemus asked “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” (Jn 3:4 [NRSV]), while he misunderstood Jesus’ words, he did understand the magnitude of the challenge.

Jesus’ image shows up in our liturgy for Holy Baptism: through the water of Baptism “we are reborn by the Holy Spirit” (p.306). Glorious. But it should leave us wondering: is there anything we don’t need to relearn? Pretty much the whole of the New Testament is an invitation to echo Dorothy’s famous line: “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Not surprisingly, it’s easier to see in others what happens when we neglect Paul’s words. When in Rwanda Christian Hutus were killing Christian Tutsis and vice versa, we knew that something was wrong. I’m an American Christian. Christians in other parts of the world may wonder: is “Christian” determining what my being American means, or vice versa?

So one of the things that may happen in the Great Growing Season is Jesus attempting to further shape how we negotiate our identities. And when we cooperate we gain a bit more freedom, there’s more green, and Jesus’ heart is glad.

Our reading from Isaiah is downright frightening. It’s from the words directed to those who returned from exile in Babylon. It’s frightening because some in Israel are still following the same practices that brought on the exile in the first place: sacrificing to other gods, ignoring the Mosaic Law, exploiting the poor. It’s sort of a limit case of what Paul’s worried about in our second reading: this crowd has no interest in the Lord shaping their identity. They’ve just added the Lord to their collection of deities, and continued with business as usual. They’re not asking, they’re not seeking; they’re stuck.

Mercifully, one of the things that may happen in the Great Growing Season is that Jesus attempts to get us unstuck. Last Sunday’s reading gave us a lovely series of images of that, God’s Wisdom continually calling out to us, “rejoicing in his inhabited world, / and delighting in the human race” (Prov. 8:31). God’s Wisdom—we could equally say God’s Holy Spirit—is constantly at that, through the words of a lover, a friend, a passer-by, an enemy, through the natural world, through the words of Holy Scripture—and that’s just the beginning of the list. And when we cooperate we’re a little freer, there’s a bit more green, and Jesus’ heart is glad.

So, welcome to the Great Green Growing Season. Who knows where our Elder Brother Jesus will meddle, whether noticing this or that particular herd of pigs, wondering how our baptism might further transform our identities, employing various versions of WD-40 to get us unstuck. Such meddling is usually not initially welcome, but as we cooperate we gain some freedom, there’s more green for our neighbors and us, and Jesus’ heart is very glad.