Pocket Sized Pastor*

John said to the crowds coming out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? Therefore, bear fruits worthy of repentance, and do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor,’ for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”
  
And the crowds asked him, “What, then, should we do?” In reply he said to them, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none, and whoever has food must do likewise.” Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, “Teacher, what should we do?” He said to them, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” Soldiers also asked him, “And we, what should we do?” He said to them, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”

As the people were filled with expectation and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water, but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the strap of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

So with many other exhortations he proclaimed the good news to the people.

Luke 3:7-18

My sermon from Third Sunday of Advent (December 15, 2024) on Luke 3:7-18.

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A few weeks ago, a mom in Pompton Lakes made the news. Jennifer Watts, during the holidays, has a lot of people stop by to visit. They’re coming, though, not to admire all the decorations all over her house. People come to visit the coat rack sitting on her front lawn. Since 2019, that coat rack has braved the cold and frosty air with a sign letting everyone know that: “If you need a coat, take one. [And] If you want to help, leave one.” When she first started this project, her first sign was simply an old pizza box with the words written on it in sharpie. But since then, her neighbors have supported her by installing an industrial grade clothing rack as well as signage that would fit any designer boutique. No one who visits has to prove they need a coat nor does anyone donating a coat get to make themselves the center of the story. Instead, people visit all day – and all night – to give and receive. Jennifer recognized that she could use what she had – her own front yard – to empower others to use what they have to to change the lives of hundreds of people they will never meet. And as we heard in our reading from the gospel according to Luke, these small acts we can do have a habit of becoming the big things that change the world. 

Now this is the second week listening to the start of John’s public ministry. God, through John, chose to engage our world through the history we create and live through. God regularly chooses to show up while we’re living our lives which is exciting – and terrifying – all at the same time. It is a gift that God moves through our world but also scary to know how God chooses to experience the impact of what we say and do. John’s ministry, from what we can tell, began in the wilderness which – in the Bible – is never meant to be a majestic place like Yellowstone or Rocky Mountain National Park. The wilderness is always the place where our sense of control breaks down. The wilderness is where living is hard and all we can do is lean on God. It’s also the kind of place we’d expect a prophet to be since they were chosen by God to proclaim a message that would afflict the comfortable while also comforting the afflicted. Even though John was in the wilderness, his words were for people living their lives and they soon felt compelled to see what this prophet was all about. These folks from all different kinds of places and all different kinds of backgrounds wanted to hear what God’s imagination was for their lives. It didn’t take long before a crowd gathered around John and he was well aware of the power their presence and attention gave him. He knew his words mattered which is why, I think, he spoke very carefully. He knew they would expect a bit of fire and brimstone since that was what they expected a prophet to do. But rather than only focusing on the crowd itself, he chose to highlight two specific vocations that mattered in his world. God wasn’t merely inviting people to do good, be kind, and to truly share. John also invited those around him to recognize their place in God’s word and how God’s love will always push us beyond the status quo. 

When it came time to answer their question, John could have leaned into the fire, the violence, and the winnowing fork. He chose, though, to share something parents – and teachers – often repeat over and over again to young kids in preschool. John told those around him to share: to recognize when they have two coats and to go find the nearest outdoor coat rack waiting for their donation. Realizing what we have while discovering what we can give, is a skill we always need to work on. And when we finally do give, that’s when we start to see our neighbors as more than people who are beneath, below, or against us. It’s very natural for us to spend all our energy and focus on what we don’t have, which is why John’s simple words are rather hard. But when it came to expand on what he said, John chose to highlight those in the crowd who served as soldiers and as tax collectors, John’s attention to these two professions reveals how sharing often upends the ways we choose to live in the world since these professions were more than a symbol of evil rulers. They were also essential when it came to how communities managed themselves and their commitments to one another. Those who collected taxes and those who patrolled borders, defended cities, and enforced laws were how people defined who belonged and who didn’t. And while the rules would never be applied equally among all people, the assumption was life was meant to be about how one got ahead of everyone else. Tax collectors were specifically designed to collect more than they were supposed to since that extra was the wage they earned. And soldiers were paid poorly on purpose so extortion, violence, and living off the booty collected after battles was how they stayed loyal to those who employed them. At the heart of their story was that belief that life can only be defined by those who had power over them and who they, themselves, had power over others. And in a world that refuses to share – or pretend sharing only matters at certain times of the year – knowing what we have, what we get to give, and not letting what the world allows be the limit of what we do – will always change us – and our world – into something more. 

This point is also, I think, strengthened by the words John uttered at the end of proclamation. Rather than claiming any authority or power over others, he pointed immediately to the One who might have been in the crowd with them. John’s words can feel a bit over the top since he included a lot of fire and burning. But what he said isn’t, I think, defining Jesus as the One who would separate people into good and bad; loved and unloved. Rather, the separation he described was about how our life is meant to be food for others. The wheat John identified is the part of the plant that can be ground into flour while the chaff wouldn’t be able to feed anyone at all. Instead of choosing to compete with, and against, each other – John invites us to imagine a different way of being where sharing, caring, and being for one another is at the heart of who we are. And while God could have said these words as a kind of emperor on high telling us what to do; God, in Jesus, chose to show us how we can love God and our neighbors at the same time. This kind of living isn’t only for the saints, the faithful, or the pure of heart. It’s also a way of life we can live since, through baptism and in faith, we have been united with the One who refuses to let us live on our own. We can, with an old pizza box, a coat rack, and our front lawn bring healing to those in need. And when we give and share, we also lean into the love at the heart of what God chooses to do. 

Amen.

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,
 “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
 ‘Prepare the way of the Lord;
  make his paths straight.
 Every valley shall be filled,
  and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
 and the crooked shall be made straight,
  and the rough ways made smooth,
 and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’ ”

Luke 3:1-6

My sermon from Second Sunday of Advent (December 8, 2024) on Luke 3:1-6.

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So last week, during my children’s message, I introduced the writer of the gospel according to Luke as someone who we don’t know much about but they seemed to care a lot about people’s healing and wholeness. He was, from the few times his name appears in Paul’s letters, a doctor who regularly used the pop culture of his time to paint a picture of who Jesus is. Luke wasn’t, I think, an eye-witness to Jesus’ ministry so what he did was collect the stories people shared around dinner tables, during worship, and through letters and other documents including the gospel according to Mark. Jesus’ life was, for Luke, rooted in a kind of recent history which is why he often began different story arcs within his version of Jesus’ life through the lens of history. For example, in chapter 1, we’re introduced to John the Baptist’s family by also identifying who was the king of Judea at the time. We’ll also, in just a few weeks, see Luke do the same thing by naming a certain Roman Emperor who wanted to know just how many people lived in his Empire. Both of those bits of Luke’s story, however, pale in comparison to the start of our reading today. When it came time for Luke to kick-off John and Jesus’ public ministry when they were both around 30 years old, Luke made it clear that when the Creator of the universe shows up, God enters into the history we create. 

It’s not easy, though, to see this since the names Luke dropped lived almost 2,000 years ago. History can feel very old, abstract, and even be romanticized to the point where it becomes a fantasy no one actually lived through. We have a responsibility, I think, to recognize what Luke tried to do since each of the rulers he named had their own stories, histories, and reputations. Now Tiberius wasn’t the Roman emperor who ordered the census that kicked off Mary’s journey to Bethlehem. He was, though, in charge when Jesus’ walked along the shores of Galilee and was known as a rather “cruel, perverse, and self-indulgent” ruler. Tiberius was also the one who appointed Pontius Pilate as governor of Judea who then presided over Jesus’ trial and ordered his crucifixion. Another of the leaders named by Luke was Herod Antipas, son of Herod the Great who had turned the Holy Temple in Jerusalem into one of the largest religious complexes in the ancient world. He, like Ponitus Pilate, served at the pleasure of the Emperor and he used violence to maintain his grip on power. He is the “Herod” who not only interacted with Jesus during his public ministry but who also eventually ordered John the Baptist’s beheading. Herod Antipas’ brother, Philip, ruled a neighboring region and renamed a city after himself that was  located next to a mountain covered in temples dedicated to Roman gods including one that proclaimed the Roman Emperor as the Son of God himself. It was in the shadow of this mountain when Peter would declare Jesus to be the Messiah. We don’t know very much about the other ruler Luke mentioned since Lysanias oversaw a very tiny kingdom centered in modern day Syria. His reputation has been mostly lost to history. After naming these political leaders, Luke then included two who oversaw religious life within the Holy Temple of Jerusalem. Caiphas would be officially in-charge during Jesus’ trial but his father-in-law, Annas, still wielded considerable influence while Jesus was busy showing what happens when God’s kingdom comes near. Luke’s naming of these leaders doesn’t strike us in the same way it did for those who first heard his words since we don’t have the same relationship with these leaders like they did. But during this Advent and Christmas season, when the world around us demands we be happy, thankful, and full of holiday cheer regardless of what is truly weighing on our hearts, the names Luke dropped show us that no matter how much history we’ve lived through, God’s claim on our are lives and on our world is so much bigger than everything that life can bring. 

When Luke the historian shows up in our Bible, it’s an invitation to remember that our God chooses to show up in the real world. God doesn’t work only in the abstract; nor does grace, faith, and eternal life only happen to other people. God works through concrete events and with real people who are experiencing history itself. Not only is Jesus’ life, death, resurrection, and ascension the example of who God is; Luke’s words also reveal how much of God’s story is lived out in our own story too. In the words of Professor Troy Troftgruben, “God saves not … ‘somewhere over the rainbow,’ but in history.” And “as corrupt, messy, and complicated,” human life can be, it’s in this place, with these imperfect people, and within the history we create through the actions and choices we make – that’s where God chooses to be. And that, I think, is why God chose to participate in our history by experiencing that history first had. It’s why God chose to feel what it’s like to grow up and how so much of our life is impacted by those who believe that having power over others is the only way we can ever feel safe, secure, and in control. It’s this same God who also discovered how our relationships with one another are full of their own history that we don’t always learn from. And when Jesus showed everyone what happens when God’s love comes near, we struggled back then – and we even struggle today – to make God’s holy history part of the lived history we get to create everyday. By rooting the story of God in the life people live, God, Jesus, and the gift of faith itself cannot be seen as something abstract or something that only matters when our end is near. Rather, the God who showed up; who lived; and who refused to let the Cross-shaped history we create be the limit of what our future will be – is the same God who, in baptism and through faith, chooses to show up in your life too. We can’t help but be as human as we are and, whether we realize it or not, we participate in the history that is unfolding around us. This history doesn’t merely happen to us; it is something we create through the ways we serve God and one another. As beloved children of God living within God’s own creation, it is easy to feel as if everything – including Christmas – only depends on us. But Luke, John, and Jesus remind us that we do not get to live through this history on our own. Our lives and our world are held by the God who chooses to make their presence known in, and through, history itself. And we are invited to wonder and ponder what it means to create history with the One whose mercy, forgiveness, hope, and love shows us what living is all about. 

Amen.

[Jesus said:] “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory.  Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”
  Then he told them a parable: “Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
  “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life and that day does not catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place and to stand before the Son of Man.”

Luke 21:25-36

My sermon from the First Sunday of Advent (December 1, 2024) on Luke 21:25-36 and Psalm 25:1-10.

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In my neighborhood images about the future are everywhere. There is, for example, an inflatable plastic train filled with sun-faded elves who are heading to the North Pole. On the house next to them are icicles along gutters who shine brightness at night and that will never actually melt no matter how warm the air actually gets. And just down the block is a twelve foot tall skeleton whose scary Halloween-esque face has been cheered up by the bright red of Santa’s hat. Most of us, even if we’re not believers, can’t help but be focused on all the stress and fun this season brings. There’s the plans for winter break; the questions about which toys in Santa’s sleigh are meant for us; and the expectation for the kind of peace and comfort being sold in most TV commercials. But that doesn’t mean this season will be exactly what we want. There’s also all those other emotions and thoughts and sadness that make this season more difficult than we want. Christmas is an event and experience that demands our focus, attention, and care. Yet it’s also, at this moment, happening in the future even though the air is filled with the smell of Christmas cookies and Cyber Monday deals. Even if we’re trying to hold onto the anticipation at the heart of the Advent season, every Christmas card, every online order we place, and every ornament we hang on the tree is a downpayment for the hope we need for Christmas to be. And so it’s fitting, I think, that on this first Sunday of December – this first day of Advent – we are keeping our eye on the future which is also a big part of what our reading from the gospel according to Luke is all about. 

Now the start of Advent is always hard because every town tree lighting, every targeted ad on our social media feeds, and way too many Hallmark movies inspired by the Kansas Chiefs are trying to turn every moment into a soft-focused version of Christmas morning. The coffee and hot chocolate were drinking on Christmas morning while kids quietly opened gifts while surrounded by those who loved them best – is too often the limit of what we allow Christmas to be. But God choosing to break into the fullness of our life will be something different since it’s not what power and authority typically do. Rarely would we choose to embrace the kind of fragility, vulnerability, and weakness God did to feel what being human is all about. The Christmas we expect often runs headfirst into the Christmas we get which isn’t always full of snowflakes falling gently from the sky. And the words we just heard from Luke seem to fit the real energy Christmas brings. These words from a larger conversation Jesus had right before the Cross. He, like any good physician, was being a bit proactive by inviting his followers to prepare for what life might bring. He, in the verses right before the ones I  just read, hinted at Jerusalem’s destruction and the disciples’ own persecution since they had the audacity to proclaim that someone other than the Emperor was king. After prepping the community for the hard work of faith, Jesus then encouraged all of them to be ready. Those hearing these words for the very first time wouldn’t have been entirely surprised since he mostly quoted from the prophets – such as Daniel, Isaiah, Ezekiel, and even the Psalms. They pointed to a future day when God would, once again, intervene decisively in the world. The stuff of life we all live would be transformed into something more. Now the verbs Jesus used are the ones we usually associate with Christmas morning. What we’re longing for is a kind of comfort that fits the Mary who we regularly proclaim as being completely mild. Yet Jesus’ promise “this generation” will see all God’s power up close and personal pushes us to wonder what Jesus’s words  – and this entire season – are meant to do. And this, I think, is an invitation to let Advent and Christmas – with all its anxieties, joys, happiness, and way too many unmet expectations – be as complicated as it truly is. 

Saying that, though, is easier than doing it since we live in a culture that makes the joy of this season depend entirely on us. What we need is some kind of spiritual tool to let us live into the fullness of this season which we find in the opening words from our Psalm today. That poem began a very simple yet profound declaration – inviting us to fully participate in whatever this future might be. That word – “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. My God, I put my trust in you” can be a kind of mantra that speaks into this current moment. So when we heard Jesus say today that “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves” – we can respond with those other holy words: “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. My God, I put my trust in you.” As we race to finish our never ending todo list attempting to make this season match every expectation we have placed on ourselves – we can shout into the sky “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. My God, I put my trust in you.” When Jesus spoke knowing the Cross was almost here – telling his friends how “People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken” – we can join with them by saying: “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. My God, I put my trust in you.” And when Jesus looked at those whose future would be complicated since they would see their hopes, dreams, and imagination transformed into something more – he offered the promise that his word and his relationship with each of us would never fade away. It’s this gift that we have done nothing to earn that propels us to offer our soul, our time, our energy, our focus, and our trust to the One who is always there for us. These words from Psalm 25 will not, nor are they meant to replace our doubts, worries, and fears. They serve, instead, as a reminder that our faith is never in vain. What we long for, what we hold onto, and what we trust never fully depends on us. It rests on the One who chose to be with us even when it feels as if Christmas will never come. The promise at the heart of Jesus’ words – the promise at the heart of the the Advent and Christmas season – and even the promise at the core of those Christmas inflatables that we put up in our lawns – is simply that no matter how chaotic and uncertain and pain filled our world and our lives might be, we are already wrapped in God’s future. And since God is holding us through what will be, we can face the fullness of our lives, of this season, of a future holding all our hopes and our disappointments, with the simple phrase: “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. My God, I put my trust in you.” 

Amen. 

Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth. To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood ⁶ and made us a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Look! He is coming with the clouds;
    every eye will see him,
even those who pierced him,
    and all the tribes of the earth will wail on account of him.
So it is to be. Amen.
 “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.

Revelation 1:4b-8

My sermon from Christ the King Sunday (November 24, 2024) on Revelation 1:4b-8.

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So in my house there’s a large closet full of games. Some of the games are fairly simple with little cards covered in dinosaurs we’re supposed to match. Others are a bit more complex, inviting us to be like squirrels gathering acorns before winter or acting as owls trying to get home before the sun finally rises. Every game comes with its own rules that aren’t always easy to learn but help make the whole experience more fun. And what these rules do is provide a sense of order that allows the rest of the game to flow. Most of us, when it comes to games, try to hop, jump, skip, and scheme our way into a position to win. But when we try to jump into the middle of what’s going on, we sometimes end up surrounded by folks who have hotels on all their properties in Monopoly. Learning and living into the order that makes the game work is a skill we need to continually work on. And we often see this kind of order show up in other areas of our lives. Paying attention to the beginning, the messy middle, and the end we long to win provides a way to shape our relationships, experiences, hopes, dreams, and fears. It helps to ground us through all those parts of the game of life that can be confusing, harsh, fun, and sad. Knowing this order and holding to this order can provide a sense of comfort when we’re worried about what the future might bring. This order provides stability for the ways we navigate through life which is why it’s kind of interesting that in our reading today from the book of Revelation, the order that shapes our lives is interrupted by the One who put everything in that order in the first place. 

Now the book of Revelation has, for almost two thousand years, captured the minds of Christians since it seems to describe the order the future will follow. It’s a book full of fantastic creatures, terrible wars, and the hope for new life. Some have tried to discover what that order might be as a way to learn when Jesus will finally return to make God’s kingdom real in our world. Yet whenever they identify a certain leader or war or a disaster that fits the order for the end of the world, life keeps marching on. I have, in the past, described Revelation as a kind of graphic novel using words to paint pictures that cycle and spiral through, and around, each other. These pictures weren’t only meant for those living when the end comes near. They were also crafted, and shared, to seven specific Christian communities that once existed in modern-day Turkey. John of Patmos was a Christian who was exiled to a small island in the Mediterranean Sea around the year 100 or so. While there, he received a vision full of angels, throne rooms, mythical beasts, and God. The communities John was told to share this vision with were all experiencing their own kinds of challenges. Some were being actively persecuted for the faith they proclaimed while others were so rich, comfortable, and complacent that they allowed those around them to define what it meant to be faithful and true. Revelation was meant to be a disordered story that could reoriented our own story towards the One who has claimed us as His own. And so, the vision John received to do this, began by reminding us who our God is. Now, in the ancient world, there was a standard formula used when describing the divine. It was embodied by the author Pausanias who described the head of the pantheon of the Ancient Greeks as “Zeus was, Zeus is, Zeus will be.” This pattern fits the order of life we’re familiar with since we each have a past, a present, and a future filled with all kinds of longings and hope. If we wanted to describe something that broke through the boundaries of time, using this kind of formula makes sense. But when God first showed up in John’s vision, the description moved in a slightly different way. What defined God wasn’t that God existed through all the order that shapes our life. Rather, the first – and defining characteristic of this God – is that God is active, right now. God is present. God shows up. And it’s because God jumps into the middle of the game while we’re already playing it that ends up shaping our past, our future, and our entire world. 

How God does this is reflected in who John knew Jesus to be. Rather than first identifying Jesus as the Son of God or the Messiah or the One who was there when the universe was made; John’s first words about Jesus were rooted in what he had done. Jesus is a faithful witness and to be a faithful witness meant Jesus had to do all kinds of living. Jesus wasn’t simply some divine being living far away that we had to do all kinds of things to get his attention. Jesus is, instead, someone who lived; who listened; who served; and whose entire ministry can be summed up in the phrase: “Repent! For the kingdom of God has come near.” It’s this Jesus who, as we’ll hear in just a few weeks, chose to be born; chose to be cared for; and chose to know how fragile life truly is. It’s this Jesus who learned how to have friends; who went to synagogue; who lived in a community; and who knew what it was like to be loved, valued, rejected, and left on his own. And when all the world’s might, strength, and grandeur confronted Jesus since it assumed having power over others was all that mattered, Jesus loved them to, and through, the end. When God chose to enter into the game we call life, Jesus didn’t show up at the beginning or the end. Rather, Jesus showed up in the middle because God doesn’t let us play on our own. Through his life, his words, and his ongoing presence with us in baptism, in prayer, at the His table, and those times when we suddenly realize that something else is with us too – we are transformed into something more. The order we assume we’re supposed to follow – or break on our behalf – so we chase after all the power, wealth, violence, sin, and stuff that builds chasms between us and our neighbor isn’t the only way life needs to be lived. Instead, we can pay attention to the new way of being – rooted in mercy, forgiveness, and hope that Jesus brings into our being. That doesn’t mean life will always be easy or that we won’t have moments when pain, suffering, and sorrow remind us how fragile life can be. Yet the God who was there when the universe was made and who will be there long after its over, is the same God who is with you right now. And during those days when it feels like we are destined to lose every game we are currently in, remember that your beginning and your tomorrow is with the One who is and was and will always be – for you no matter what comes next. 

Amen.

As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”

When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?” Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.

Mark 13:1-8

My sermon from the 26th Sunday after Pentecost (November 17, 2024) on Mark 13:1-8.

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There are many different ways we read the Bible. And I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s one way of paying attention to these sacred words that matter more to us than any other. We, for example, might imagine this library of books as a repository of holy words we use to gain eternal life. Or we might consider the Bible as a rulebook that defines what is good and what is not. Maybe, to us, the Bible is a devotion inviting us into a deeper relationship with our God. Or we might treat God’s story as a kind of answer book for questions we can’t easily put into words. The ways we read scripture shape how we use the Bible in our everyday lives. And I’ll admit that, for me, how I read the Bible is by, first, sitting with those who experienced these events – or heard these words – for the very first time. That’s why my sermons often invite us to sit alongside Peter, John, Mary Magdalene, Salome, and all the unnamed people in the crowd as they experienced what it was like for the kingdom of God to come near. I find that a lot of spiritual fruit can be discovered when we hold all the wonder, confusion, doubt, excitement, sorry, and joy that was very real whenever Jesus preached, taught, or made a difference in someone’s life. Usually, when I approach today’s reading from the gospel according to Mark, I invite us to linger over how over-the-top this moment in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem must have been for Jesus’ friends. In Jesus’ day, the place where God promised to be was one of the largest religious complexes in the world. King Herod had, decades before, initiated a renovation project that doubled its size. The Temple was covered with large columns, gigantic stones, expansive courtyards, and colorful murals meant to reflect the glory and majesty of God. The spiritual energy, awe, and wonder of the physical space must have been overwhelming for this rag-tag group of disciples who mostly came from small villages around the Sea of Galilee. Jesus and his friends were surrounded by a magnificent place filled with pilgrims who traveled from all over the Mediterranean Sea to celebrate the Passover with all of God’s people. And it was then, among all the physical and spiritual signs of power and strength when Jesus proclaimed it would all come tumbling down. The weirdness of that moment is something we should sit with and ponder. But we can also choose to sit with those who – forty years later – were the first to hear Mark’s version of Jesus’ life and realized they were living on the other side when all those big stones were rubble on the ground. 

Now Mark’s version of Jesus’ life didn’t appear during – or immediately after – Jesus’ birth, death, and resurrection. The book that eventually became part of our Bible didn’t show up until around 35-40 years after the Cross. Before the year 70 or so, Jesus’ story was primarily shared through people with first-person accounts of Jesus or who knew people who knew Jesus. The small Christian communities scattered throughout the Mediterranean shared letters, sermons, oral testimony, and a small collection of writings on scrolls that were mostly just a list of things Jesus said. But as the initial generation of Jesus’ disciples began to pass away, the community decided they needed a more orderly narrative of what Jesus’ story was all about. Those putting together these different sources into the gospels had a slightly different perspective than the first disciples since they knew how Jesus’ story turned out. Yet they also had lived through a variety of experiences that made Jesus’ words seem too real. In the year 66, Jewish groups around the Sea of Galilee began an armed revolution against Roman rule. The movement quickly spread throughout the region and they achieved some initial success. Rome, though, refused to walk away and mobilized their military might to confine the revolutionaries in a series of isolated fortifications and the city of Jerusalem itself. After nearly four years of armed struggle, Jerusalem was finally put under siege. Those within its walls, though, began to fight among themselves. The war became a kind of civil war that hastened the collapse of the city. The Romans burned the city, sold the survivors into slavery, and paraded some of the holiest relics from within the Temple through the streets of Rome itself. The disciples, when they first heard Jesus speak, couldn’t imagine how the sacred place would ever be torn down. And yet those who first heard Mark’s version of Jesus’ life knew what it was like to live on the other side of whatever we consciously – or unconsciously – put our trust in. 

Now the experience of finding ourselves on the other side of the end is something some of us know too well. We, for example, might not have realized how much our identity was defined by our job until we were told we were no longer needed. There might be a medical diagnosis that interrupted, permanently, the promises we made to ourselves, our loved ones, and the future we expected to find. And when things grew hard, difficult, confusing, or made us feel like we’re left behind – we might chase after whatever strength and power that make us feel as if we’re on the so-called “winning” side. It’s not easy living in the world after what we’ve built comes to an end. And we might not always have the mental, emotional, or spiritual tools to process the role we played in what happened to us and to our world. We try, as best we can, to hold onto whatever gives us hope. But hope isn’t always easy to see when the foundation we built our future on comes completely undone. Jesus’ words, though, weren’t only for the disciples who first heard him speak inside the Temple. He wasn’t merely trying to make a prediction that would later reveal how true his words always were. Jesus was, I think, pointing to what we can always trust in whenever hope feels far away. When we put our trust into a future that resembles what the world imagines is great and strong, we miss noticing the future God has already entrusted you with. When God claimed you as God’s own through baptism, you were brought into God’s future. You were given a promise that you were part of what God is doing in the world. That promise, though, does not mean life won’t be full of all kinds of joys, sorrow, happiness and tears. Nor does it absolve us of the responsibility to follow God’s call to love God and love our neighbors as ourselves. Rather, it was a promise that instead of putting our trust in what we build or grab, we can always trust the future we have with our God. Life has a habit of undoing the pillars we build our lives on. Our own strength, intelligence,  passion, and even our sense of self will often waver because being human can be very hard. Yet God promises that we are worth more than what we’ve done; worth more than what has been done to us; and worth more than all the ways we are led astray by false promises of might, comfort, greatness, and power over those around us. Our future will never be as secure as we want it to be. But when we lean onto the eternal commitment God has already made to each of us, we get to discover how God’s future is already being lived out today. Rather than assuming that what comes next depends on how imperfect, fragile, and sinful we are; we can trust that we have a God who, through the Cross, has already shown how the future we try to build has already been rewritten by the One who promises to be with us – forever. 

Amen.

As he taught, he said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”

He sat down opposite the treasury and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

Mark 12:38-44

My sermon from the 25th Sunday after Pentecost (November 10, 2024) on Mark 12:38-44.

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So I’m going to start this sermon sounding like an old man yelling at kids to get off his lawn even though the worst offenders of what I’m describing are old enough to have kids – and grandkids – of their own. There was a time, not that long ago, when only one or maybe two screens were on at any time in the house. If our parents, kids, or roommates ended up grabbing the tv remote first, we had to watch whatever they wanted to watch no matter how often we whined or complained. Sometimes we might choose to look at a book, read a newspaper, or walk out of the room if the story on the screen wasn’t our cup of tea. But it wasn’t long before we were peering over the top of the page or standing in the doorway to see what was going on. This is how we discovered our favorite teams for sports we didn’t even know existed and how some of our favorite movies were created decades before we were born. When other people showed us the stories that interested them, there was a good chance that we’d suddenly become a fan. Even though the story on the screen wasn’t what we picked, it was healthy to have our likes challenged and expanded by something new. But today, even when there is only one big screen in the house, most of us are sitting in front of it with a smaller screen in our hand. We might be aware of what’s going on out there but we choose to give our attention to whatever story is brewing through the text message, websites, podcasts, social media, and video taking over our phones. These stories, supported, curated, and shaped by an algorithm that cares more about clicks than truth, can wrap us up in a bubble of our own creation. Rather than having to be inconvenienced by other people’s stories, we choose to sit with the one that fits whatever we imagine life to be. And while the amount of information and stuff at our fingertips feels endless, the story we choose to focus on is actually pretty small. This smallness impacts how we engage with God and with one another. And as we see in our reading today from the gospel according to Mark, sometimes the most holy thing we can do is remember how God’s story is always bigger than our own. 

Jesus was in the city of Jerusalem, filling his time with a lot of conversations between Palm Sunday and Good Friday. Since the festival of Passover was near, the Temple was full of rabbis, itinerant preachers, priests, and other religious leaders preaching to the pilgrims visiting the holy city. Jesus was doing what people expected him to do and I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t the only one complaining about the scribes. Yet we have to be careful to not reduce Jesus’ words as meant for only the so-called “elites.” Even when we don’t see ourselves in the people he is talking to, his words are also meant for us. And so when I patiently sat and listened to what those scribes did, I was struck by how small their world actually is. They were, according to Jesus, people with a lot. They had money, fancy clothing, and knew exactly what to pray. They were the ones with the resources, fame, and sense of security that we want when things are hard. But even though they had everything, what they chased after was pretty small. They acted as if life was a zero-sum game where there’s only so much mercy, comfort, and grace to go around. They wanted to always be on top and so they sought out other people’s attention, respect, and power. They wanted people to notice them and so they fought for the best seats in the synagogue and in the marketplace. And since there was only so much attention or money or food or resources in the world, they would consume whatever they could get their hands on. They had everything and yet they lived as if the world was so small they had to fight, struggle, and devour everything around them. The story they chose to tell was one where there’s never enough. And yet God, through a widow, promised that there always is. 

We don’t know much about the widow Jesus saw. We have no idea how old she was or where she even came from. There wasn’t even an assumption that she, before she made her offering, had ever heard Jesus speak. But when she stood in line to give her gift to God, her two small copper coins – worth about a penny – showed how big she trusted her story actually was. Compared to some in the line, her gift had no practical value. And if she had asked any of us what she should give, we’d tell her to take care of her bills and other responsibilities first. The widow, though, lived first hand in a world that treated her as very small. She was defined by the loss of a relationship and the rest of the world rarely gave her the support, opportunities, and care she needed to thrive. In a zero-sum kind of life, she came out on the bottom. But instead of choosing to live in the smallness of the story others created for her, she believed she was already part of the story God chose to tell. Her generosity was rooted by living in a story that wasn’t defined by scarcity, fear, and worry. And while she knew what it was like to be consumed, she chose to live in a different story rooted in God’s holy hope. 

Now there’s a risk when it comes to focusing on only one story. We have a habit of letting these one set of words, traditions, images, videos, and commentary define which stories have value and which ones we ignore. The more we focus on one story, we end up being consumed by the news, media, podcasts, social media, group texts, group chats, and websites that only consist of one specific point of view. When we choose that kind of story, we make our world incredibly small. And since it’s a world that is too small for all of us, we treat everyone and everything as part of a zero-sum game that not everyone will survive. But when we live that small, we miss noticing what our God has already been up to in the world. We forget how God’s story chose to take on the smallness of our story through an incarnation that experienced all the joy, hardships, and pain life can bring. God, in Jesus, chose to focus on our story as a way to bear witness to how big God’s story of peace, love, and mercy truly is. Jesus, over and over again, pushed people to see life as more than a game since God, through the generous gift of creation itself, made enough for us all. We are the ones who choose to keep people’s stories small and we assume that God act’s like us too. But if God’s story was that small, there wouldn’t be a place within God’s story for any of us at all. Yet God, through the gift of baptism, has already promised that you are part of what God is doing in the world. And so if God’s story is big enough to include even someone like you, then we have the responsibility to make sure that our story is just as big too. 

Amen. 

²⁸ One of the scribes came near and heard [Jesus and the Sadducees] disputing with one another, and seeing that [Jesus] answered them well he asked him, “Which commandment is the first of all?” ²⁹ Jesus answered, “The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; ³⁰ you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ ³¹ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” ³² Then the scribe said to him, “You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that ‘he is one, and besides him there is no other’; ³³ and ‘to love him with all the heart and with all the understanding and with all the strength’ and ‘to love one’s neighbor as oneself’—this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” ³⁴ When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” After that no one dared to ask him any question.

Mark 12:28-34

My sermon from All Saints’ Sunday (November 3, 2024) on Mark 12:28-34.

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Today’s reading from the gospel according to Mark is a bit different from what we’ve been listening to over the last few weeks. Jesus’s friends had, since Peter declared Jesus to be the Messiah way back in chapter 8, been trying to figure out what this meant for them and for their community. They assumed the Messiah would, in a very tangible way, rewrite the religious, political, and social reality of their world. And yet Jesus, who had the power to cure the sick, feed thousands with a few loaves of bread, and even control the weather, couldn’t stop mentioning his own death and humiliation. Jesus’ words didn’t match their expectations of the power they felt entitled to as part of Jesus’ inner circle. This ongoing internal argument about their place within the kingdom of God continued for several chapters while Jesus took his final steps towards Jerusalem. They were busy arguing about which one of them was the greatest while Jesus kept inviting them to recognize those who we always push aside. These internal arguments about the nature community continued until they crossed into the city of Jerusalem at the start of chapter 11. Once there, in the heart of the city where God promised to be, the focus of the story shifted to what happens when God’s kingdom comes near. A series of contested and sometimes heated conversations between Jesus and various religious and political leaders took place in various places around the city. And among those he regularly argued with was a group of unnamed people Mark only described as “scribes.” 

In Jesus’ day, only a small percentage of the population were literate yet writing was a skill that everyone needed. An entire industry came into being where people were paid to read and write. Scribes were necessary to write and share the proclamations made by those in power and to transcribe all decisions made in the local courts. Scribes were needed to maintain, preserve, and copy all the sacred texts that shaped religious life since the printing press hadn’t been invented yet. Scribes could be found in every marketplace who would, for a fee, write a letter to your family who lived on the other side  of the empire. And when your family sent you a letter, that scribe – also for a fee – was available to read what you couldn’t. A scribe was basically a librarian, teacher, postal carrier, court transcriber, notary, and contract drafter all rolled into one. And since scribes were always close to those in power, scribes were the ones it was okay to complain about. They were, through Jesus’ story, identified as a kind of villain or foil to what Jesus was up to. Yet here, in chapter 12, we meet a scribe who is anything but. This scribe reminded me a bit of my kids who, while eavesdropping, can’t help but add to the conversation. After listening to the back and forth Jesus had with the various leaders, the scribe felt compelled to ask a question of their own. And instead of asking about something personal – such as what they needed to do to inherit eternal life – this scribe wondered, in an almost abstract kind of way, about which commandment was the source for everything that comes next. 

Now we Christians have often had a rather complicated history with the commandments. There are times when we take them literally and then seriously and then metaphorically all at the same time. We’ll use these commandments as a kind of weapon to beat over the heads of those we disagree with. But we’ll also, in the same breath, pretend they only partially matter whenever someone holds us accountable to them. We often treat and act as if the commandments – the ten big ones and the hundreds of others scattered within the first few books of our Bible – are either a list of rules or a mantra that can inform the life we choose to live. Yet for Jesus and the scribe, the commandments were primarily seen – and identified as a gift from God. They were given by the One who had, centuries before, freed their people from slavery in Egypt. After hundreds of years of not having power over their own lives and their own bodies, the Isrealites found themselves at a loss of what it meant to live together. And so God, in response, sent Moses down a mountainside with a description of what it looks like when God’s kingdom is near. The scribe, I think, wasn’t merely trying to get the opinion from an argumentative rabbi of which commandment they liked better than the rest. The scribe was looking for that one thing – that one word or phrase or idea or belief that serves as the gift that carries us through. It’s the kind of question we might have asked ourselves during moments full of anxiety and fear. We long to hold onto that one thing which can bring us a sense of peace, comfort, security, and hope. When our life is swirling in chaos, what we seek is that tangible assurance that what we’re experiencing today won’t be the limit of what tomorrow might be. What the scribe wanted to hear about the gift they can hold onto when the life they’re living  comes undone. 

And so Jesus, in response, did something a bit strange. He doesn’t give the scribe one commandment. He instead crafted and shaped them into two. Jesus’ words resemble what other rabbis and religious leaders at the time were saying when they were asked to summarize the commandments from God. Yet what made his words different was how he proclaimed that these two were really one and the same. Rather than reducing these words into that one that might fix, reform, or change whatever we’re going through, Jesus invited us to look to God – and to one another – all at the same time. What we need for the lives we live isn’t a mantra or a phrase or even a word that can guide us through. What we truly need – and what we are given – are people who reflect the fullness of who our God chooses to be. We have a God who chooses to show up; to live our human life; to love and serve and welcome and include and to not let our limits be the limit of our God. The One who is with us knows what it’s like to cry at the tomb of a friend and to be on the other side of all kinds of relationships that come to an end. We have a God who knows what it’s like to be taken care of even by those who don’t always get it right. And this love that we receive from the One who knows us, sees us, and created us isn’t a gift meant to be received from God alone. It’s also embodied through those saints God connects us to. They are always exactly who they are – people with their own imperfections; people who commit mistakes; people who don’t always get everything right. Yet through their care and support and time and hope – reveal to us what happens when God’s kingdom comes near. They’re the ones who made sacrifices for us, who were able to say “I’m sorry,” and who believed in us even when we didn’t believe in ourselves. These saints were the ones who made God’s love tangible and real in our lives when they were filled with all kinds of chaos and fear. They weren’t meant to be perfect people but they did reflect the perfect love of the One who is always for us. Jesus’ summary of the commandments wasn’t HIs attempt to reduce them to that one word or phrase we can cling to when life gets hard. Rather, he was reminding us that when we we have nothing left to hold on to – our God and the saints God sends us – will the one who, through love, grace, kindness, and their willingness to simply be with us through whatever might come – they will be the ones who will carry us through. 

Amen.

⁴⁶ As [Jesus] and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. ⁴⁷ When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” ⁴⁸ Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” ⁴⁹ Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” ⁵⁰ So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. ⁵¹ Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.” ⁵² Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way

Mark 10:46-52

My sermon from Reformation Sunday (October 27, 2024) on Mark 10:46-52.

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So earlier this week I decided it was time to reseal my asphalt driveway. This work, while necessary, isn’t my favorite because I always end up covered in black goo. Growing up, I didn’t know resealing driveways wasn’t a thing since all the ones in my neighborhood in Colorado were made out of concrete. But when I moved to Northern NJ, I was soon staying up way too late watching videos on Youtube about how to maintain my driveway. The people in these videos told me all the rules they assumed I needed to learn to do this job right. And so once I felt like I might be able to pull this project off, I headed to the store. Whenever I work on any kind of project, I know that knowing what I’m supposed to do and actually doing it are two entirely separate things. Not every rule I learned would fit my particular context. It was vital for me to stay flexible, using what I learned as a baseline that I could bend to meet my goal. And as we see in our reading today from the gospel according to Mark, Jesus and his followers often bent the spoken and unspoken rules to make sure that God’s love always rules. 

Now when Jesus and his friends left the city of Jericho, several spoken and unspoken societal rules were lived out. There was, for example, a rule about which side of the road they should walk on when they left the city and another rule telling those begging for money and food where they should sit. Those who needed this kind of help were supposed to be visible but not so visible that they couldn’t be easily ignored. Giving money and support to those who don’t have enough has always been a godly thing. Yet the spoken and unspoken rules about how that worked was determined by those who gave rather than those who received. It was expected those who needed help would wait for others to come to them without any fuss and outrage. And once they did receive some money, they were required to show incredible grace and gratitude to those who saw them. Those who followed these rules were seen as those who deserved help while those who didn’t were considered unworthy of any grace others might give. And so when Jesus, the One who could help, left Jericho, it was assumed he would decide who deserved his help and who didn’t. Bartimaeus, though, wouldn’t let these rules get in the way. Rather than wait for Jesus, he made a scene which shocked those around him. Bartimaeus knew what he was supposed to do but chose to bend those spoken and unspoken rules so he might have access to the kind of life he hoped to live.

Now today is Reformation Sunday when we, as a community, remember how Lutheran Christianity started because a monk who was also a university professor decided to bend a few rules about what it means to be faithful. After noticing how some of our thoughts about faith treated God in a very transactional way, this monk posted 95 thoughts about God on a church door in Wittenberg, Germany. The church door, at the time, served as a public bulletin board and was a way professors communicated with those in the community about what they’d like to talk about. Nailing these thoughts to the door was expected but Martin Luther bent the rules by doing the strange thing of mailing a copy to the local archbishop. That archbishop recognized how revolutionary Luther’s thoughts were and so forwarded them to the Pope for his review. Luther’s story is one we might know – yet the Reformation was, and continues to be, full of people bending our rules so God’s love rules instead. And some of these faithful people included women who, during the Reformation, bent the rules so God’s grace could freely flow. One of those women was Marguerite de Navarre, queen of Navarre, who was also the older sister to the king of France. Her upbringing was a bit unusual because she received the same kind of education as her brother. Marguerite was known throughout the 1500s as a talented negotiator who used the spoken and unspoken cultural rules of her time to resolve wars between empires. When she became aware of the Reformation, reading lots of works and writing letters to all kinds of theologians, she used her wealth and status to offer refuge to those who were persecuted for their religious beliefs. Marguerite didn’t let the rules about womanhood or class get in the way of letting others discover the grace God already had for them.

Another Reformation-era woman who made a difference was Olympia Morata. Her life was, tragically, cut short – not letting her to embrace the incredibly rare and surprising opportunity to be a  woman teaching at a local university. When she was in her late teens, her faith in Christ blossomed, serving as a firm foundation for her even during those times when she, along with her husband, were imprisoned for their protestant beliefs. While in prison, her health was damaged but her faith grew and she even wrote in Greek a popular devotional book all about the psalms. Olympia wouldn’t let our rules about living the faith be the limit of what living with faith might be. She was, in her own way, a bit of a firecracker Olympia which is a word that could also describe another woman from the Reformation, Argula von Grumbach, a noblewoman from Bavaria. She refused to stay in the background, regularly publicly challenging theologians, nobles, the learned, and unlearned for the sake of the gospel. Arugula and Luther would occasionally write to one another with him eventually publicly her as always “making a valiant fight with great spirit, boldness of speech and knowledge of Christ.” She, like all these women and countless others known and unknown, knew what was expected of them. But they wouldn’t let these rules limit how God’s love changes the lives we get to live. 

Now when Bartimaeus called to Jesus, Jesus didn’t follow the usual spoken and unspoken rules. He, instead, called him over and refused to make any presumptions. Jesus didn’t assume he knew best by offering Bartimaeus money, food, or even giving him sight. Jesus simply asks – letting the one who needed help in the words of Pastor Meghan Murphy-Gill, have “the audacity to cry out for mercy—and then shout it even louder when everyone around him is telling him to keep his mouth shut.” Bartimaeus wouldn’t let our rules stop him from asking for help. And when Jesus saw Bartimaeus, he wouldn’t let our spoken and unspoken rules stop him from paying attention and listening to the one crying out in need. I’ll admit we don’t always get the answer to our prayers like Bartimeaus did nor do we necessarily have the wealth and resources like Marguerite, Olympia, and Arugula to make a faithful difference in the world. But we shouldn’t assume that our social and cultural rules are the limit of what love can, or should, do. The rule Jesus invites us to recognize is how God’s love, mercy, and forgiveness always matters. Now what that might look like in our daily lives can’t be easily discovered by watching a few how-to videos on Youtube. But when we let ourselves have the flexibility to know what the rules are and how God might be bending them in small and big ways, we’re doing more than being good. We’re also acknowledging how, in Jesus, God has already bent the rules of our lives by making sure imperfect people like us can, should, and will be part of what God is doing in the world. Jesus will always live out those holy rules that have a habit of bending the rules we pretend are divine and true. And if Jesus is willing to bend the rules to make sure we’re included, we can also reform all those rules we create that get in the way of letting God’s love thrive. 

Amen. 

Article about these, and other Reformation women, is by Valerie Abraham and is located here: https://romanroadspress.com/2015/10/5-women-of-reformation/

³⁵ James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” ³⁶ And he said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” ³⁷ And they said to him, “Appoint us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” ³⁸ But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” ³⁹ They replied, “We are able.” Then Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink, and with the baptism with which I am baptized you will be baptized, ⁴⁰ but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to appoint, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.”

⁴¹ When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. ⁴² So Jesus called them and said to them, “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; instead, 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.”

Mark 10:35-45

My sermon from the 22nd Sunday after Pentecost (October 20, 2024) on Mark 10:35-45.

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So one of the things I find pretty fascinating is how human the disciples get to be. On one level, their mistakes, doubts, and questions serve as a pretty vivid counter example to who Jesus is. Yet it’s also surprising so many of the disciples’ L’s were recorded in our holy scripture. Leaders, religious and otherwise, surround themselves with people who reflect who these leaders are. And while some might claim those around them are the smartest and best at what they do, these followers are often selected for their loyalty and ability to help win whatever kind of contest the leader is in. These lieutenants might seem to us to be a tad relatable since they carry enough pose, polish, authenticity, and performative humility to help us imagine what we would be like in such a privileged position. And it would be great if those next to the leader were as strong, powerful, persuasive, and successful as we imagine they should be. But – over and over again, those following Jesus don’t seem to get what – or who – he is. These apostles and friends, some named and others who remain nameless, had the Son of God physically and literally in front of them. Yet they, for whatever reason, rarely heard what he actually said. We might, I think, based on what these disciples said and did assume God wants to push us beyond our humanity and into something a bit more holy and divine. But I wonder if the reason why their faults, mistakes, what they get right and what they get wrong, were actively included in our faith story was to let us know how we will not be the limit of what being faithfully human can be about. 

Now getting Jesus wrong has been a major theme in Mark over the last few weeks. Even after Peter, way back in chapter 8, identified Jesus as the One who would reshape and redefine our relationship with God and with one another – Peter couldn’t help but then immediately accuse Jesus of lying when Jesus shared how his story would turn out. Everytime Jesus described how people would respond when God’s kingdom came near, the disciples assumed the One who could calm storms was simply wrong. And so, after Jesus once again told the disciples about his death and resurrection in the verses right before the ones we just heard, James and John acted as if they weren’t listening at all. Their behavior reminds me of all those times when we’re talking to our kids or our significant other or maybe a friend and, after revealing something deep and heavy, they respond with something else entirely. When that happens, it’s usually a sign those we were talking to were so focused on their own stuff, they couldn’t hear us at all. What they wanted was an opportunity to talk rather than listen. As a person who has been on both sides of this experience, I know how exhausting it can be to not be heard. And yet Jesus chose in that moment to not get angry, upset, or reveal any of the exasperation he felt. He, instead, simply listened – and heard all the assumptions and expectations that were holding James and John back. These disciples, like most of their friends, wanted Jesus to initiate a kind of political kingdom that would use miracles and acts of excessive power to establish a new Empire rivaling Rome itself. They saw in Jesus’ ability to manipulate the natural and supernatural world the kind of power they wanted to stay close too. And the disciples had, just a few chapters earlier, experienced that power first hand since Jesus empowered them to do restorative acts full of love, justice, and mercy. I wonder if this little taste of having control over the cosmos blocked them from hearing Jesus when he talked about those moments when it seemed as if others had power over him. Now the reasons why they chose to focus on this kind of power were probably shaped by feelings of nostalgia, fear, insecurity, and maybe even a little grief since they no longer had what they once had. But everything they said seemed grounded in a desire to fight for their place in the world and with their God. Rather than exploring what it means to be a part of what God is up to, they sought to prove their worth to not only themselves but also lay claim to the kind of power they felt entitled to. It was the way of life that chooses to see everything as a kind of competition we must fight for our place in. And since this worldview imagines everything as a kind of fight, what we chase after is the power over others since we know how powerless we actually are. If we’ve ever found ourselves facing a scary medical diagnosis, lost job, a wasted opportunity, a broken relationship, or even the simple experience of growing old – it’s truly frightening how little we actually control. So we, in response, do whatever we can to hold onto – or at least not lose – the power we think we have. What we want is the ability to move others rather than be moved by them which is why the other disciples heard what John and James did, what they were really angry about was how those two had asked first. The disciples knew Jesus had said something but they couldn’t hear him because what they wanted was the power to move others like Jesus could move the clouds, the earth, and the entire spiritual world. 

And so Jesus, who could feed thousands with a few loaves of bread, asked John and James to think less about how divine they thought they needed to be and focus more on how human they could be instead. Jesus wondered if they had the power, the sense of duty, and could embrace the responsibility of being as powerless as he would be on the Cross. Their immediate response to Jesus implies, I think, they assumed Jesus was asking if they were capable of exercising the kind of power they had manifested from Jesus in the past. But what Jesus, I think, was pointing to was if they would be able to live through those moments when we realize just how fragile, vulnerable, and imperfect we truly are. Rather than chasing after the kind of power that, for us, will always be temporary, could Jesus’ friends imagine a way of being in the world where we valued and cherished our createdness. Instead of competing for power, could we recognize the power God has already given us to listen, care, pray, and be for one another? Jesus wasn’t, I think, encouraging them to look for joy in suffering or justify the ways we abuse power in our relationships, our families, and our world. He was, rather, encouraging them to not let their experience as humans be the limit of how human they can be. When we choose to focus on how Jesus used power rather than the act of power itself, we uncover just how human we get to be. We might not have the power to calm the storm but we can show up, care, and listen to those whose lives are a storm all in themselves. And when we live like this, we’re not trying to have power over one another but rather being a powerful presence through the powerlessness that comes with life. It takes quite a leap of faith to live like this since it requires us to push aside our desire to win by assuming that when it comes to winning the ultimate challenge, Jesus has already won it for all. When it comes to being human, there’s nothing we need to win since God didn’t let our experience of being human be the limit of what God’s love will do. God, instead, showed us how God’s power writes a new chapter for our lives and for our world. The Ls we take are magnified when we chase after a power that always assumes there isn’t enough stuff, joy, and grace for all to live and love like they could. Yet Jesus, through the Cross, showed how being for each other is the kind of human God created us to be. 

Amen.