So I’m glad you’re here today and I wanted to talk about something we all have – and that’s a first name. You have a name. I have a name. Some of us have similar names – the same name – and some of us don’t know anyone who has our name. So I’m curious – do you know why you have the name you have?
Accept answers.
Now, for a lot of us, our parents are the ones who name us. Others might go by a middle name or a nickname and some even choose their name after not really liking the one they grew up with. My parents named me Marc – with a c rather than a k at the end – because my mom liked it and it was the name of one of her brothers. Names come in all shapes and sizes and letters. And we sometimes will change the letters in a name – but pronounce them the same way – as a way of making it unique. If you don’t know where your name comes from, I invite you to ask your parents and guardians. And when you do, you might learn that they not only liked your name – but that they picked your name because it has a meaning. Names, like words, mean something. Now not everyone agrees that every name means the same thing but you can find lots of lists online telling you what certain names mean. For example, Abigail comes from the Hebrew language – the language the early books of the Bible were written in – and it means “The father’s joy.” Charlotte comes from the French language and means “petite – or little.” Naila is Arabic and means “successful.” Anthony is Latin and means “successful.” And “Ian” is Scottish and means “God is gracious.” My name, Marc, is the french version of the Latin word – Mars – who was part of a group that the ancient Roman Empire thought controlled the universe. Do you know what your name means? Accept answer. And did you know that most of the names in our Bible mean something – and that meaning is important to understanding who these people are.
In our reading today about Jesus, we’re going to meet someone named Nicodemus. Nicodemus was Jewish, like Jesus, and were told he was a very learned, religious, and faithful person. Nicodemus was the kind of person we might reach out to if we need help or if we had questions about where God is in our life. And his name meant “victory of the people.” But one thing I found interesting was that his name wasn’t connected to his Hebrew or Jewish background. It’s Greek. That doesn’t mean folks of one background aren’t allowed to use names from other backgrounds. But I find it striking that a person who was faithful, religious, a devout follower of God and who probably knew ancient Greek and might have even known Hebrew – had a name that was a bit different. And yet this person whose name – or story – didn’t match all of the Biblical story – was still part of God’s family and what God was up to in the world. So that makes me wonder if part of what is going on when Nicodemus visits Jesus is if Jesus is reminding Nicodemus of who God is. God isn’t only for one kind of people; or one kind of community; or for only people who look like who we think God’s people will look like. God really is a God of everyone and of the entire world. And if God is a God who welcomes and includes everyone – that means Jesus is for everyone too. Jesus just isn’t here for only one kind of person or only for the people who do everything right. He’s for me. He’s for you. He’s for everyone. Jesus helps all of us grow in kindness, mercy, compassion, and to discover how we always have a place with our God no matter what our name is or where our name comes from. Jesus is for you, is with you, and will never let you go.
Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. 2 He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God, for no one can do these signs that you do unless God is with that person.” 3 Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” 4 Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” 5 Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. 6 What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. 7 Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ 8 The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” 9 Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” 10 Jesus answered him, “Are you the teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?
11 “Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen, yet you do not receive our testimony. 12 If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? 13 No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. 14 And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, 15 that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.
16 “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. 17 “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him.
John 3:1-17
My sermon from the Second Sunday in Lent (March 1, 2026) on John 3:1-17.
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There’s an organization in New York City [You Gotta Believe] that finds permanent families for the type of foster kids who are often ignored. When it comes to adoption, it’s relatively not too difficult to find folks who want a baby since there’s so much potential for who that kid might be. But when it comes to teenagers and budding young adults who have their own personality, likes, wants, and history – finding them a family is much harder. These kids often carry with them the emotional, spiritual, mental, and even physical trauma made worse by an underfunded and overwhelmed system. This group, then, holds classes for those wondering what it might be like to open their lives to someone who has already begun there. And one of the interesting things this group repeats over and over again is how our expectations for what it looks like when a teenager is starting to feel comfortable in our home is often wrong. We assume that if this connection was going well then love, joy, patience, and good manners would grow. The kids should start off standoffish but soon reflect back the kindness we show them. The love we share is the love we get back. But what usually happens, though, is that when that love starts to break through, behaviors break down. These kids, to survive, built all kinds of emotional, physical, and mental walls to hold them together as they were shuffled from place to place. But when someone truly sees them, gets to know them, and won’t let them go when a minor inconvenience comes their way, the walls begin to crack. Those who have either been a teenager or raised them know how challenging those years can be. And when you add trauma and misery into the mix, everything explodes. These misdeeds are not a sign the connection we’re building together isn’t working. Rather, it reveals how replacing walls with compassion, care, love, and trust is what new life actually looks like.
Now today’s reading from the gospel according to John contains the most well known verse in our entire New Testament. When we want to tell others what our faith is all about, John 3:16 says a lot. In fact, it’s so potent that when we wave posterboards at football games, tattoo our biceps, or place small signs on thin metal spikes in our lawn – we don’t even always feel the need to write the entire verse out. To us, John 3:16 is how we take a public stand announcing what we believe while, hopefully, inviting others to know how Jesus can be for them too. That ease of use – and the fact it’s everywhere – is also why, I think, our use of John 3:16, can be problematic. When we read it, we tend to zero in on the very squishy, important, and yet unquantifiable word “believe.” We assume that having the right amount of belief is how we get to be part of God’s forever story but what that might look like is always up for debate. We then use this verse as a way to separate those who we think are real Christians from those who we trust are merely pretend. Over time, the line becomes a wall where our act of belief – either through words or actions or church attendance or our financial giving or even our cultural values and who we vote for – becomes what John 3:16 means for us. This book and three digits in our culture functions less as a declaration of faith and more a hope that what we mean when we say “I believe” is enough to make sure our story doesn’t end. And as we lean into that understanding of 3:16, our walls grow as we put ourselves and others in buckets where we decide who is faithful and who isn’t. We might try to pretty up those walls with all kinds of biblical words but when you scratch their surface, what holds it all together is trusting the choices we make will be what carry us through.
But when we step back and put this verse back into scripture, the emphasis we place on the last half of the sentences isn’t, I think, what Jesus was really up to. We are, at this point in John’s version of Jesus’ life, near the beginning of his ministry. The only thing he’s done is call a few disciples, turn water into wine, and tossed over a few tables in Jerusalem. A bunch of his story is still to come and yet Nicodemus, a member of the council overseeing the Holy Temple and life within the city, came to see who this Jesus might be. Now Nicodemus, like I said in my children’s message, knew what it was like to live across the lines we try to divide each other with. He was a Jewish leader with a Greek name connected to the Greek goddess Nike. The buckets folks put him into didn’t always fit and so that might be why he wanted to meet the One who doesn’t seem to fit into any of our buckets too. As they talked, it’s kind of interesting what Jesus didn’t say. He never told Nicodemus to repent, change his life, or believe in the good news. Jesus doesn’t promise Nicodemus that if uttered the right prayers or stood strong on his beliefs, that prosperity would be on its way. Jesus doesn’t promise the kind of comfort, peace, and security we want if only we believe in the one right thing. Jesus, instead, emphasized what God was up to instead. None of us pick the moment we are born and the divine swirls throughout the world like an evening breeze rattling the branches of the trees. We have no control over what the divine does and it’s a mistake to assume any of our choices are infallible to sin. And while we would love to be able to give ourselves a sense of wholeness through the right kind of effort and hard work, Jesus pointed to a story from Exodus where healing only came from God. And just like those who basked in the presence of a carved wooden serpent, the open arms of Jesus on the Cross shows just how far – and for whom – God’s love will go. What Jesus leaned into wasn’t us trying to get up to heaven. Rather, it was the reminder that our God always chooses to come down. The walls between heaven and earth; the walls between who is loved and who isn’t; and the walls we build to hoard life will always be shattered by the One who simply loves.
And when this love shows up in our relationships, in our families, in our faith, and in our world, being fragile and vulnerable isn’t a sin we need to repent from. It is, rather, the cost of being human and how we discover what love can do. It’s usually at this point, while our walls break down, that we do everything we can to keep them up. We get angry. We get mean. We say things we don’t really mean. We tell those who try to stick with us that they need to leave us alone. Now this isn’t meant to be an excuse for that behavior nor permission to act this way with those we love as a way of getting out of doing the hard work of learning how to faithfully love others too. It is, rather, an invitation to let yourself be as loved as God declares you are. When the walls come down, they create space for our real life to finally begin. Now we never hear Nicodemus’ initial response to Jesus’ words. He doesn’t, at that moment, come and say “I believe.” But he does return two more times in Jesus’ story. Later, in chapter 7, he defends Jesus before the council. And then he’s there with Joseph of Arimetha to take Jesus’ body and place it in the tomb. John never shows us the nitty gritty details of what God’s love did for Nicodemus. Yet we know it kept working in his life and pushed him towards so much more. Love doesn’t exist to merely help us get loved back. Love breaks down walls so that a different kind of life can be lived. And if our God has chosen, in baptism and through faith, to wrap you in a love that never ends, maybe we can push through the walls we build to see where God’s mercy, compassion, and hope might take us and the world.
Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tested by the devil. 2 He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterward he was famished. 3 The tempter came and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” 4 But he answered, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’ ” 5 Then the devil took him to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, 6 saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’ ” 7 Jesus said to him, “Again it is written, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’ ” 8 Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory, 9 and he said to him, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” 10 Then Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! for it is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’ ” 11 Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.
Matthew 4:1-11
My sermon from First Sunday in Lent (February 22, 2026) on Matthew 4:1-11.
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There’s a breakfast spot I go to with my family that has a little block of wood on each table labeled “The Original I.Q. Tester.” That wood is part of a game with a pyramid made out of triangles etched into it. At each corner of a triangle is a little round hole just big enough for a small white peg to sit in. On one side of the board area all the rules for the game. The first thing we do is put all the pegs into the holes while leaving one spot open. We then use a peg to jump over another peg, removing the jumped peg from the board. As you jump, jump, jump, we get to a point where no pegs can easily jump over the others. And then, based on how many pegs we leave on the board, we discover how smart we are. If three pegs are left, we’re only so-so. If we leave two, we’re pretty average. If we leave 1, we’re very smart. But if we leave the last peg in the exact hole we initially left empty, we’re brilliant. This is a fun game to play while waiting for your omelet and french toast to arrive. Yet it can get pretty competitive when you’re sitting at the table with siblings who have nothing else to do. It doesn’t take long before we’re demanding our turn to see how well we can do. And the wails, weeping, and gnashing of teeth that echoes from the table can get loud enough to interrupt the meals of those around us. Winning the game while waiting for breakfast can feel important. But what ends up mattering more is flaunting when we do it. Rubbing our win in other people’s faces isn’t good sportsmanship but displaying our strength, ability, skill, and power is what we do when playing with others. Doing all we can to win whatever game we’re a part of has a way of taking over our soul and in today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew, the devil wonders if Jesus plays that way too.
So it’s our tradition on the first Sunday after Ash Wednesday to back track a bit and hang out with Jesus in the wilderness. Over the last few weeks, we began working through Jesus’ first sermon to his disciples but we’re now exploring what happened before any of his parables, teachings, or miracles were written down. At this point in Matthew’s version of his life, Jesus had just seen John the Baptist in the wilderness. Together, they entered the Jordan River, Jesus was baptized, and when he came out of the water, God’s Spirit in the form of a dove landed on him and a voice declared him to be exactly who he was meant to be. But rather than using that moment as a springboard into his public ministry, Jesus went deeper into the place where the only thing he could depend on was God. It’s important to remember the wilderness in the Bible is always something more than a beautiful scenic spot. The wilderness is where our control breaks down. Being in the wilderness is very hard since we’re isolated, lonely, and full of worries and fears. This wilderness is a place we don’t want to be in and yet it’s the first place Jesus went to. He went into the wilderness where Moses, the prophets, and others encountered the only thing they could trust. Yet who Jesus ran into first was the devil. This is the first time in Matthew where this character shows up and we’re given no introduction. For Matthew, the devil is a tester, tempter, a ruler of destructive demons, and who has his own human agents in the world. The devil can’t be reduced to morality – the opposite of what we imagine good to be. Rather, in the words of Professor Warren Carter, the devil in Matthew “personifies the vulnerability of human life and life in relation to God.” The devil doesn’t simply invite us to make poor choices. The devil also pushes us – and the Son of God – away from the source of who we’re supposed to be.
And that’s why I think remembering what happened immediately before this story is important. Jesus’ experience wasn’t a story telling us how to be strong when we’re tempted by something that doesn’t belong to us. What the devil is really trying to do is to see if Jesus will really be who the voice from heaven declared him to be. Will Jesus play as God’s anointed agent or will his life embody the games we play with ourselves and with others? The devil, then, presents three actions Jesus will end up doing later. Since Jesus will spend a lot of his ministry eating at people’s tables while feeding thousands with a few loaves of bread and fish, Jesus is tempted to turn non-food items into something anyone can eat. Jesus’ journey will take him throughout Galilee, Judah, Jordan, and into places where his work and his teachings will be very public. Since Jesus was currently in the wilderness where people expected God to be, the tempter invites Jesus to appear in the center of Jerusalem and show others how God is there too in a very protective and flamboyant way. And since Jesus will teach, heal, and offer compassion and mercy in a way that embodies his divine authority, the tempter pushes Jesus to just take power over everyone. Each act would be very public, very flashy, and with the kind of special effects that would show everyone how God really is right here. Yet the acts Jesus is invited to take also reveal how this devil was doing all it could to shrink Jesus’ story. When Jesus heard he was beloved, his mission wasn’t only to do amazing things. He wasn’t merely supposed to do what we expect the divine to do to flaunt how supernatural God really is. Jesus was also here to live; care; connect; weep; laugh; argue; teach; listen; mourn; and to experience everything life brings our way. Life wasn’t meant to be embraced as a kind of game where we use displays of power as a way to prove to others we’re more than so-so. We, with Jesus, are part of something new and we, together, don’t have to shrink our life into something smaller than it truly is.
And that, I believe, is what the season of Lent is about. While some of us are busy “fasting,” “giving up things,” and “not eating meat on Fridays,” we have to remember Lent isn’t about self-improvement. It isn’t where we’re making ourselves better by assuming we have the power to resist all the temptations that interfere with our ability to win at life and faith. Rather, Jesus is inviting us to remember the cross etched on our forehead, God’s declaration of our belovedness, and how big our story is with our God. God has, through Jesus, shown us that God isn’t here to wow us with displays of power. God, instead, is here to live your life with you so you can discover who your God is. You’re not only meant to be so-so, very smart, brilliant, or embarrassed to even try and participate in the games we ask you to play. You’re here to be who God has declared you to be. As we care and serve, listen and love, and push past our need to always be in control, we notice how our self-worth is not defined by what we achieve or by who sees us win. We are, instead, wrapped up in the fullness of our God and we get to show others how they are part of God too.
“Beware of practicing your righteousness before others in order to be seen by them, for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. 2 “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 3 But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your alms may be done in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
5 “And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 6 But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
16 “And whenever you fast, do not look somber, like the hypocrites, for they mark their faces to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 17 But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 18 so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
19 “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal, 20 but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
My homily from Ash Wednesday (February 18, 2026), 7:30 pm worship, on Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21.
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So one of things I do as a PTA volunteer is to co-lead the local book fair at my kids’ elementary school. I don’t have the time or energy to read as much as I would like but we do what we can to help others discover that book – or series of books – that show them how amazing reading can be. I know, though, that books aren’t always the biggest draw at the book fair since fuzzy journals, multicolored pens, erasers shaped like pieces of sushi, and shrinked wrapped bricks of dirt with a fake gem inside entices all ages. The kitsch is seen as necessary to generate all the kinds of profit needed to keep these book fairs going. But I do find it interesting that not every multicolored pen or plastic finger pointer actually sells. Over the last few years, one item that rarely ever moves is a pen filled with invisible ink. Now when I was younger, invisible ink mattered since passing a friend a so-called “blank” piece of paper in the middle of class to a friend was, for 2nd graders, a big deal. There was something really exciting knowing that even though we couldn’t read those words until we dunked them in some probably toxic chemical solution when we got home, they still belonged to us. It didn’t matter if the words were a bad joke, a meme, an insult, or even a question about last night’s homework, their invisibility never overshadowed the visible impact they had on us. And that image of making the invisible visible is, I think, a good image for us as we move into a new season of the church year.
Now one of the interesting things about Matthew’s version of Jesus’ life is Matthew’s emphasis on contrasting ways. There is, on one side, God’s way for our life and all of creation that Jesus regularly invites us into. But there is also a different way that tears at our relationship with God and one another. This binary is, I think, not meant to be seen as two rigid things that we can easily choose between. Rather, what we assume to be good and holy might not be if we don’t take seriously how our love of power, comfort, control, and our general inability to imagine tomorrow being different from today hides God’s intent for our lives. This might be why so much of Jesus’ initial sermon to his disciples that marked the beginning of his ministry in the gospel according to Matthew used contrasts as a way to express his point of view. It wasn’t enough to simply sketch out God’s imagination for us and for creation; Jesus also held up a kind of metaphorical mirror inviting us to reflect on what we assume to be faithful and true. These contrasting images help us, I think, to recognize how peacemaking, mercy, comfort, forgiveness, and grace are way more foundational to God’s kingdom than to ours. What seems reasonable or even good in how we structure our lives and our communities doesn’t always fit with a God who declares the meek, the mourning, the poor in spirit, and those who hunger for righteousness as blessed. And there’s a way in which what we say to be faithful and good makes us look like complete hypocrites instead.
The word “hypocrite” is very old and, in ancient Greek, it was often connected to what actors did on the stage. An actor’s basic job is, I think, to put on a persona and then live out a story for an audience who doesn’t always know what’s coming next. The actor not only embraces the character they’re trying to be; they also add their own nuance, care, wisdom, and life as a way to make that character whole. They, on one level, are not only acting for themselves. They’re also helping to make a community of strangers form a deeper relationship with themselves and their world. I’m sure many of us have, after watching some show, movie, or musical, have found ourselves changing how we treat our family and friends in light of what we saw on that stage. Actors have a way of putting up a mirror that reflects back a little of our souls. Yet actors, when they are on a stage, are living out a story that has, in one way, already been told. They’ve memorized a script, figured out the stage direction, and the play will only last so long. Their work is a performance that, while necessary and vital, is done with an audience. An actor is meant to be seen and Jesus is concerned that one of the ways the faithful lose their way is by primarily focusing on being seen too. Life can feel as if it is a kind of performance especially if we feel like we’re filling out a role that doesn’t quite feel like the real version of us. And there is quite a dopamine rush when the accolades for doing good start pouring in. Yet God’s way isn’t designed for an audience. The good we do and the sacrifices we make for others to thrive isn’t about getting our names plastered in lights on some billboard in Times Square. It is, instead, about reflecting something different into the world. And while what exactly that looks like will vary from situation to situation, this different way isn’t some invisible code that requires some fancy incantation, prayer, or supernatural event to make it clear. We already have it since it was etched on your forehead with a bit of oil when God proclaimed you really are part of God’s vision for the world.
Ash Wednesday is, I think, more than a moment where we come face to face with our mortality. It’s also an opportunity where we, once again, remind ourselves of what we get to make visible. On most days of the year, the sign of the Cross that was made on our forehead is, like invisible ink, unable to be seen. But we then take a moment at the start of Lent to outline it with the ash from burned up palm branches. These crosses aren’t meant to be part of a persona we put on every once in a while on the stage we call life. It is, rather, a reminder for us of who – and whose – we are. We get to take a moment to intentionally reflect on our words, actions, and the care we offer to ourselves, our families, ourselves, our families, our neighbors, and our enemies and wonder if we make visible the invisible Cross we bear by letting others know how loved and valued they are? Is the contrast we live out in our daily lives rooted in the mercy, forgiveness, grace, and hope Jesus has already given to us through his life, death, and resurrection? Or do we hide God from those who need God too? The season of Lent is, I think, an opportunity to not only recognize just how far God’s love has – and will go – for you. It’s also when we, as the body of Christ, realize we get to make God’s love visible too.
“Beware of practicing your righteousness before others in order to be seen by them, for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. 2 “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 3 But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your alms may be done in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
5 “And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 6 But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
16 “And whenever you fast, do not look somber, like the hypocrites, for they mark their faces to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 17 But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 18 so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
19 “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal, 20 but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
My homily from Ash Wednesday (February 18, 2026), noon worship, on Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21.
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So as I was preparing for today’s service, I couldn’t help but think about two blessings I’ve participated in over these last few weeks. As many of you know, we recently publicly welcomed two new people into the body of Christ. One was just this last Sunday, Callie, who just turned 1 on the 13th. When she showed up at worship, she quickly grabbed a hold of two of my fingers and then dragged me up and down the altar stairs. She was full of energy and then, during the baptismal liturgy itself, she was fast asleep. The warm water I poured over the back of her head caused her to stir but when I made the sign of the cross on her forehead – she almost snored. The other blessing I had was, on February 1st, getting to do something I don’t do a lot: and that’s participate in the baptism of an adult. Sam is a young adult who had, for a number of years, felt the Spirit stirring in his life. He came to us because he got to watch worship through our livestream even though he was, for a while, working on Sunday mornings. And then he discovered what it’s like to be part of CLC when once he could come to worship, we immediately drafted him to help de-decorate the sanctuary after Christmas. He, unlike Callie, was very awake during the baptismal liturgy and he had to bend down while I poured the water over his head. And when I got to mark the cross on his forehead, I paused for just a second because it, in a very vivid way, reminded me of what’s going to happen in just a few moments. Ash Wednesday is, rightly, a very vivid reminder of what it means to be human. I’ll take the very gritty and tangible bits of burned up ashes of palm branches, rub it all over my thumb, make a visible smudge of what’s supposed to be two intersecting lines on your forehead, and then say words about all of us returning to what we’ve come from. These ashes can be, for some, an invitation to break through all the different ways we try to pretend we’re not completely human. But they can also be for those who’ve experienced their own mortality in tangible ways, like having a cough caught in the throat. When fear, sadness, worry, and anxiety grip our souls – the last thing we want is to go into a small space to have even more of that stuff piled on top of us.
Yet I wonder if these ashes can also, at the same time, be a symbol for hope. They are not only pointing us to where we come from; they’re also, at the same time, revealing where we are going. This isn’t only ash; it’s ash in the shape of what we built to end Jesus’ story. It’s an invitation to not only recognize authentically who we are but whose we are too. And if God was willing to put on dust, then we can also embrace what has already been sealed on us – and trust we really matter; we have value; and we already have what we need to let others know how loved they are too.
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. 2 And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became bright as light. 3 Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. 4 Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will set up three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” 5 While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” 6 When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. 7 But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” 8 And when they raised their eyes, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone. 9 As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”
Matthew 17:1-9
My sermon from Transfiguration Sunday (February 15, 2026) on Matthew 17:1-9.
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A few weeks ago, someone at the church said something I’ve been thinking about ever since. We were, at the time, working on a problem that felt like we were sort of building a plane while flying it. We said stuff like : “well, what about this,” “what happens when,” and “did you think about this?” a lot. We eventually came up with a solution that didn’t cover every situation but worked well enough for what we were trying to do. And as we reflected on what we had done, they uttered the phrase “clear is kind” as the model for why they communicated in the way they did. When we talk, our words should be big enough to hold every expectation, assumption, question, and truth we have. We can have the courage to express our authentic self while accepting how communicating well will require a lot of humility and vulnerability. Striving for clarity isn’t easy since it’s more than simply “telling it as it.” Rather, “clear is kind” pushes us to realize that in all the ways we communicate, there’s a real person bearing the image of God who is being impacted by what we say and do. Being clear isn’t easy and what we thought was clear will often be anything but. Yet a holy thing happens when we, if we’re able, choose to communicate well. We’d imagine then, that this kind of communication would be at the heart of our experience of the divine. But as we see in today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew, who we want Jesus to be and who Jesus really is – isn’t always so clear.
Now it’s difficult to talk about the Transfiguration – Jesus’ transformation – without including what happened immediately before he took Peter, James, and John on a trip up a mountain. Jesus was, at this point in Matthew’s version of his life, on his way to Jerusalem. For three years, he had preached, taught, healed, argued with, and fed all kinds of people throughout ancient Judah and Galilee. A small group of fishermen, tax collectors, and women followed him while others, including the Roman Empire and its allies, wondered how revolutionary Jesus truly was. In the chapter immediately before what we just heard, Jesus visited a city named after the Roman emperors. It was built at the base of another mountain covered in religious temples with some declaring Rome’s rulers to “sons of gods” themselves. And so while standing in a place showcasing how strong, mighty, divine, and central to human history Rome imagined itself to be, Jesus asked his friends: “who do you say that I am?” Peter, who didn’t always get everything right and would soon immediately put his foot in his mouth, had a moment of clarity. He called Jesus the Messiah – the true center of our entire universe. What exactly that might mean is something we regularly debate. Yet Jesus’ clear question and Peter’s brave and vulnerable response – laid the groundwork to see that clarity lived out in a vivid way.
And so six days after Jesus and Peter spoke at the foot of the mountain where the Emperor was seen as divine, Jesus took Peter, John, and James on a little field trip. We’re not told what they talked about while they walked but I imagine it was full of questions, comments, and wondering what Jesus was up to. When they neared the top, something unexpected happened. Jesus was suddenly different. His change, though, was more than putting on a fancy new outfit or making sure he had good lighting. Rather, Jesus looked exactly like what Peter described him to be. Jesus was radiant; otherworldly; and looked like someone we should follow. The picture we have in our heads of everything that’s holy – all the comfort, peace, hope, love, eternal life, power, and grace there is – that’s the Jesus they saw. And if that wasn’t enough, two other figures showed up. They instinctively realize Moses who had received the commandments and the law on Mt. Sinai as well the great prophet Ejiah was with Jesus too. Jesus wasn’t acting as if he was superior to Moses or was here to replace the words the prophets shared. He was, instead, affirming God’s commitment to never giving up on us and the world. God’s ongoing work of building a different future where our worst days won’t be our only days – that’s what God always does. And for a brief moment, Peter thought he received the clarity he needed to follow Jesus. That might be why he offered to make something – a tent – to keep a hold on this Jesus as long as he could. But when a word from heaven came, what felt clear became incredibly unkind. It’s possible the experience of the divine pushed Peter, James, and John to realize who small their own thoughts, words, and actions actually were. Or maybe when Jesus finally looked the way they wanted him to, they realized his words, teachings, and way of being in the world might actually cost them more than they wanted to admit. We expect, I think, that when Jesus shows up, we’ll receive a sense of peace, comfort, and wholeness that will cover our body and soul. Yet our Bible shows over and over again that when the divine shows up, even the most faithful of us end up being afraid. That doesn’t mean we’re somehow unworthy or undeserving of God’s presence. Rather, when we finally realize we’re not God nor the hero of our own story, that clarity causes us to fall down and cover our eyes. The disciples assumed seeing Jesus being everything they imagined him to be would bring clarity for whatever came next. Yet what they, at a conscious and unconscious level, experienced was a sense of how far from divine they actually were.
But before they could uncover their eyes, Jesus reached out. With a gentle touch – and a word – he told them to “get up” and “to not be afraid.” Jesus wasn’t angry, dismissing what they were experiencing, or wondering just how faithful they were. He, instead, showed them how the clarity they assumed they needed had already been with them. It wasn’t the Jesus lit up like the Vegas Strip, Times Square, or a Japanese anime character that revealed what God was up to. God’s clarity is how, since the very beginning, the divine always comes down. We assume we have to look up, away from our world and our lives, to find the grace, certainty, and faith that will make our doubts, questions, and fears vanish away. Yet God’s love doesn’t wait for us to be right before God rightly claims you as God’s own. In our baptism, in our prayers, at the Lord’s table, and through the countless ways love makes itself known in your life – God comes down to show how you really are part of what God is doing in the world. It would be awesome if a life with faith felt more clear and our communication with God didn’t feel so empty, scary, and silent. But the One who chose to be born; to live; to laugh; to cry; to form friendships; to grieve; and to live through the Crosses we build whenever God’s love shows up – that One has already clearly proclaimed you really are worth everything to God. Jesus chooses to come down into our worries; our questions; our doubts; our joys; and even into our unanswered prayers to clearly say that God’s grace doesn’t depend on how many times you go up the mountain of faith. Rather, Jesus is already down here with you – and he will never let you go.
13 “You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything but is thrown out and trampled under foot.
14 “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. 15 People do not light a lamp and put it under the bushel basket; rather, they put it on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.
17 “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. 18 For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. 19 Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. 20 For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 5:13-20
My sermon from the 5th Sunday after Epiphany (February 8, 2026) on Matthew 5:13-20.
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There’s an old skit on Saturday Night Live centered on a self-help guru named Stuart Smalley. Stuart was the star of his own self-help show and regularly interviewed celebrities without realizing how famous they actually were. He never identified himself as a licensed therapist and used his own earnestness as a way to express all kinds of motivational phrases. A big part of what made him funny was his catch phrases which included one where he’d stare into a mirror and affirm: “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.” There’s a lot of power, I think, in giving ourselves daily affirmations because adding a little positivity into the world is one of the ways we fight against the chaos and the turmoil. Taking a moment to count our blessings; to name what we’re thankful for; and to intentionally find joy is how we notice the light when the shadow becomes too much. These affirmations can be as big as when we look up to the heavens after scoring a touchdown during the Super Bowl. But they can also be just for us when we, for example, notice a slight smile on someone’s face after holding the door open for them while leaving a store. Affirmations feel like they’re too easy, too silly, and too simple to make a real impact on our life. Yet recognizing who we are in an honest, human, and authentic way shapes how we treat ourselves and others. An affirmation cannot be the kind of compliment we give to ourselves to claim we’re always going to be the hero of our own story. They’re meant to be big enough to include how imperfect we are. And while most of the stories we hear in the Bible are the opposite of looking into a mirror and affirming we’re okay; our reading today from the gospel according to Matthew has Jesus affirming that you are who God declares you to be.
And to unpack a little bit of what Jesus was getting at, we need to remember where we are in the story. Jesus’ public ministry is, in Matthew, brand new and before he calmed a storm or fed thousands with a few loaves of bread, he preached a long sermon to his disciples. This sermon on the mount is the initial bookend helping to describe everything Jesus was up to. Last week, we took time to notice the start of the sermon – focusing on those “blessed ares” that invite us to realize how important peacemaking and mercy are to God’s vision for our lives. Jesus, then, immediately follows up with what we heard today – talking about salt, light, fulfilling the law, and how our righteousness needs to be over the top to have any chance of entering the kingdom of heaven. There are, within this text, several affirmations that really do make a difference in our lives. But that last statement we heard can make us wonder if we have any chance at being with our God at all. Now we Christians have, for almost two thousand years, used Jesus’ words about the Pharisees and scribes as an excuse to discriminate and demonize Jewish people. We often forget that when Jesus’ ministry began, his movement was an inter-Jewish conversation that took a few generations before becoming what we might consider a separate religion. Our preaching and theology can act as if those who challenged Jesus were either sinister, hypocritical, and clueless, or so wrapped up in what is meant to be holy, their embrace of the divine was rigid, exclusionary, and unattainable. We assume Jesus’ words fit the entire Jewish community since the scribes, Pharisees, and others were actual groups that existed in Jesus’ day. We use those words to affirm our own antisemitism, hatred and sin. Painting the Jewish community with that kind of broad brush distorts who they actually are and harms our own sense of self as followers of Jesus Christ. What we need to do, instead, is to recognize how Matthew wasn’t trying to transcribe everything that he heard about Jesus like a newspaper or history book. Rather, he used Jesus’ tradition of story telling as a way to reveal spiritual truths. Jesus would regularly use hyperbole and bold statements to get our attention. And he complained about the Pharisees and scribes in one speech while praising them in another. Who Jesus was calling out where those have no “interest in true righteousness or the will of God. They desire only a facade that glorifies themselves and helps them maintain coercive power over others.” It’s a way of being in the world that even those who say they follow Christ embrace as their own. Yet if those are the ones Jesus identified as the folks we’re supposed to compare ourselves to, then the kingdom of heaven isn’t only for those who are holier than the most faithful, kind, and caring person you know. God’s kingdom also has a place for you.
And that is something we can trust because of the other affirmations made at the start of today’s reading. Jesus leaned into two metaphors pointing to who God has made you to be. Salt, in the ancient world, was used in a lot of different ways. Salt adds flavor to the food we eat, was used to preserve meat since refrigerators hadn’t been invented yet, and was a part of religious ceremonies around sacrifices and the making of a covenant. Salt is necessary for our life and our health but could also be a weapon of war since armies who spread salt on farmland as a way make it unusable for future generations. Light, for Jesus, was more than making visible to the naked eye what was hidden by the shadows. Being a light in the world was, throughout scripture, often served as a description for God or for God’s messenger or even for Jesus himself. Yet you as an individual and all of us as the church, are called to be God’s light for the world. And one of the interesting things about Jesus’ words is how he doesn’t his affirmation isn’t hedged. He doesn’t say “If you believe in me; if you go to church; if you say your prayers; if you listen to me; if you give me money; or if you follow me” – then you are the salt and the light. All he does is say: “you are.” You really are part of what God is bringing about in the world. And I trust that Jesus has come into your life so that everyone can discover what God’s reign of love, mercy, kindness, forgiveness, and grace is all about. Your life isn’t about being better than everyone else or even getting everything right. It’s not about being good enough or smart enough or being the most popular person at school. You, because of God, get to serve like Jesus serves; to bring hope to others like Jesus does; to work for peace in our nation; and to feed, welcome, and to embody a mercy that shows how others are part of what God is up to too. And while we will never get everything right when it comes to living out the kingdom of God, even the least of those who let God’s way rather than our ways of competition, chaos, intimidation, and power shape how we treat ourselves and our neighbors – even they have their place with God. You are salt. You are light. You are a beloved child of God. And if that is who Jesus affirms we are, then we get to be part of His mission to affirm the value, dignity, and worth of everyone and everything that makes up God’s creation.
When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. 2 And he began to speak and taught them, saying: 3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 4 “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. 5 “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. 6 “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. 7 “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. 8 “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. 9 “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. 10 “Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 11 “Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. 12 Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
Matthew 5:1-12
My sermon from the 4th Sunday after Epiphany (February 1, 2026) on Matthew 5:1-12.
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One of the things I like to do when I visit other churches is to check out their libraries. These libraries are usually located in rooms filled with the kind of furniture you’re not supposed to sit in or in conference rooms with a long table and mismatching chair. I’ve perused many libraries created by pastors who left their books behind when they changed jobs and I’m grateful for those who have organized them by topic and genre. The books can sometimes be very old with worn pages falling out or they can be brand new with a spine that has never cracked. Most of these libraries are no longer used since we consume videos rather than words on a page. Yet I’m always amazed to see what lingers on the shelves since they serve as a kind of initial bookend pointing to the future the community imagined for itself. If we could, in our own way, categorize our own life as a library of its own, our shelves would be filled with all kinds of bookends marking all the moments that mattered. And this idea of bookends, libraries, and what our future could be shows up in today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew since chapter 5 is the start of a sermon meant to be the initial bookend showing what happens when God’s kingdom comes near.
Now prior to this point in Matthew’s version of Jesus’ life, we’ve had Christmas, the visit by the magi, Jesus’ baptism in the River Jordan, and Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness. Jesus’ public ministry, though, hadn’t begun. The arrest of his friend John the Baptist, though, caused Jesus to announce God’s kingdom was here. Yet before Matthew let us know details about what exactly Jesus was up to, he separated himself from the crowds to share a message to his disciples whose lives were now transitioning into something new. This sermon on the mount from chapter 5 through 7 is the initial bookend for everything that comes next. And what we hear first is what we call the “beatitudes” – those verses focused on “blessed are.” Being blessed is, I think, much easier to feel than to describe since it requires a sense of wholeness, comfort, peace, and joy. Yet when we try to show others what a blessing might be, we often default to the experiences and opportunities that require having money in our bank account. A dream vacation; a new home; an amazing gift; a new job; a new relationship; having access to medical care; and living far away from the chaos we see on the news everyday – that often requires material riches. But when we reduce blessings to cash we get defensive since that kind of blessing feels too capitalistic and cheap. I wonder, though, if the knot in our stomach that comes when we try to show blessings to ourselves and others can help us hear what Jesus had to say. Mark Allan Powell in a commentary about this passage, proposed that maybe we should recognize how weird the first four of these “blessed ares” actually are. It really is bizarre to say the poor in spirit, those who mourn, those who are not strong, and those who live in a world without righteousness are blessed. When we’ve grown despondent, angry, and indifferent because faith makes no difference in our lives and in our world – that’s what it looks like for our spirit to be poor. When our dreams, relationships, and the life we lived has caused our heart to break with grief, that isn’t something we’d wish on anyone. The meek Jesus has in mind were not the spiritually strong who are humble and unpretentious. The meek are those deprived of their share of the world’s resources and left to survive on their own. And those who thirst for righteousness aren’t, necessarily, trying to be righteous themselves. Rather, they wish to be part of a world where righteousness, fairness, care, and support is a part of everyone’s lives. Jesus wasn’t trying to act as if suffering and sadness are holy things God really wants to be a part of our lives. Jesus promises those who are hurting, who are suffering, and who feel as if tomorrow will never come – Jesus promises our worst days won’t be the only days that define us.
What this blessing is, though, isn’t meant to be some spiritual thing with no bearing on our life today. Jesus says they are blessed – and begins to sketch out how this blessing can be lived out in the world. The “blessed ares” that follow, I think, are meant to bring hope to the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, and those hungry for a righteous reality. And those who have lost trust God really is here are to be met by those who embody God’s mercy. Mercy throughout Matthew is all about refraining from judgment, showing compassion, offering forgiveness, healing the sick, wiping away debt, and giving alms to the poor. It’s about removing “everything that prevents life from being as God intends.” And while we can’t remove everything life brings, we can use what we have to show others God’s love in tangible ways. Now those who mourn have to live through futures they never wanted and planned for. Mercy, while helpful, isn’t everything they need which is why Jesus mentions the pure in heart. In the Bible, the heart isn’t a metaphor only for emotions. The heart represents everything that makes us who we are. The pure in heart are not those who get everything right; they are those whose sense of self clings to God’s way rather than all the other ways we use to give us worth. The pure in heart, through their actions, time, kindness, and care authentically reveal how even those who mourn have a present and a future with their God.
This practice of building up, in Jesus’ words, even extends into peacemaking. Peace is more than simply removing conflict from our lives which we rarely do well since we often ignore how our points of view, beliefs, and practices grow conflict rather than defeat it. Peace isn’t, as the Roman Empire practiced, all about getting others to do what we want. Peace is, for Jesus, immediately connected to the Hebrew word “shalom” which is also connected to justice. The peace the meek and oppressed need isn’t the opposite of conflict but a reality where our fights over power, status, resources, and control come to an end. It’s the trust that life can – and could be – different if we shared life rather than hoard it only for ourselves. Yet holding onto this vision God gives us for our lives and for our world often leads to challenges from the world and even those who claim to believe. When we take seriously who God blesses and trust Jesus knows what Jesus is doing when he claims they really are blessed, even those who claim to follow Christ will call God’s embrace of humility, vulnerability, care, love, empathy, and welcome as some kind of sin. Yet if Jesus was willing to embrace the fullness of what life is like not for his sake but for the sake of others – then how can we do anything less?
The beatitudes are not the start of Jesus’ story but they are the initial bookend to, in Matthew, what the kingdom of heaven looks like in our lives and in our world. God refuses to ignore the hardships of our lives or assume our individual choices are the only things causing us suffering and pain. God knows life involves a lot we can control and a lot we can’t. But instead of making us be the limit of what our story will be, God intervenes to say there really is a different way. And while these interventions from God that serve as countless initial bookends showing how we can be the authentically merciful, caring, peacemaking, and loving person God has made us to be shows up in a multitude of ways, we can trust God’s reaching out to us in baptism and through faith is the bookend pushing us into the future God is bringing about. It’s a bookend that for some of us was started years ago – or, like Sam, is about to show up in our lives today. Yet the promise at the heart of it remains the same. The One who loves you, who cares for you, and who is with you regardless of what life throws your way blesses you – and knows, just as you are and with God’s help, you can bless the world too. Amen.
12 Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. 13 He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, 14 so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: 15 “Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the gentiles— 16 the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.”
17 From that time Jesus began to proclaim, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
18 As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishers. 19 And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of people.” 20 Immediately they left their nets and followed him. 21 As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. 22 Immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him.
23 Jesus went throughout all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.
Matthew 4:12-23
My sermon from the 3rd Sunday after Epiphany (January 25, 2026) on Matthew 4:12-23.
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So earlier this week, I co-lead the annual retreat for folks in the New Jersey synod who are currently in process to be ordained as a pastor or a deacon. And this year, 11 out of the 23 folks currently in what we call candidacy – as well as 8 members of the committee who walk with them – met at Camp Cross Roads for an overnight series of workshops and conversations about being “theological decision makers during times of chaos.” Now being a theological decision maker feels appropriate for every clergy person’s job description. Yet the practice of paying attention to our beliefs, what we put our trust into, and the words as well as actions revealing who we declare God to be isn’t only for the professionals. As members of the body of Christ, faith is already part of the decisions we make that influence us and the lives of others. I’ve often found, however, that doing theological decision-making isn’t something we always notice or see. This work is more than merely making a list of pros and cons, of being good, avoiding evil, and asking “what would Jesus do?” It’s also about admitting how our decisions are mostly just guesses based on limited bits of information, with all kinds of biases, that make no real guarantee over what tomorrow might bring. Even during the most peaceful of times, our decisions can be difficult, costly, and take a lot of time. It’s a process that, on one level, can feel a bit unfaithful since we often imagine decision-making should be like what we see in today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew – sudden, forceful, and immediate. I wonder, though, if there might be another way to read this text that allows us to be imaginative, prayerful, and completely human.
And to do that, I’d like to highlight a decision that unfolds at the very beginning of this story. Jesus is, at this point in Matthew, finally an adult who was recently dunked into the Jordan River by John the Baptist. Then after hearing a voice from heaven declare him to be God’s beloved, Jesus went deeper into the wilderness where he was invited to be something other than who he was. Jesus, though, resisted these temptations and when the devil finally left him, angels nourished Jesus back to health. That’s where the story is at the end of verse 11 but when 12 starts, the political and religious situation within Jesus’ community had suddenly changed. John the Baptist was arrested by King Herod after John brought God’s word into a debate about who should have political power and who shouldn’t. It feels as if a lot has happened in a very short period of time between Jesus’ baptism and John’s arrest – as if everything is happening all at once. But I wonder if the immediacy we feel is more from how we read the story rather than from the words Matthew used. The transition from Jesus’ time with the angels to John’s arrest is pretty general. We’re not told today’s story began the next day or the next week or even the next month. Rather, all we know is Jesus heard John was arrested but not specifically when – or how. There’s no description of Jesus reading a newspaper, visiting a nearby marketplace for lunch, or opening his social media feeds to see what terrible thing the government had done that day. Even the assumption that Jesus’ divinity gave him some power to predict the immediate future isn’t explicitly named. Rather, what Matthew gave us is a gap of time where Jesus’ movement from being primarily the son of a carpenter to something else came to life. Rather than jumping out of the Jordan River to the pulpit, we got a Jesus who spent time wrestling with the thoughts, feelings, questions, and external forces that want us to be something other than kind, loving, and merciful humans God knows we can be. And after the news of state sponsored violence towards his friend came his way, he didn’t immediately toss over a few tables in the Temple. Jesus, instead, left the place he grew up in to root himself in a place where his new chapter could begin. And while we’re not told explicitly what went through Jesus’ head and heart during this time, Jesus’ theological decision-making took real effort and lasted a specific amount of time. We know Jesus’ way of decision-making is not like our own. Yet the wrestling, questioning, listening, and time it sometimes takes us to make a decision might be part of Jesus’ own experience too. And while we might wish our own decision making was much faster, resembling Simon, Andrew, James, and John when Jesus came to them while they were fishing, taking the time to wonder, to trust, and to notice where Jesus is leading us can be very faithful too.
And so practicing that process of decision-making was what we tried to do at our annual candidacy retreat. After a quick introduction once everyone showed up, a fine meal by the cooks at Cross Roads, and a few get-to-know each other games, we took real-life situations to explore what being an intentional theological decision-maker might look like. We invited Pastor Dan Whitener who teaches a course about “Case Studies in Lutheran ministry” at Princeton Theological Seminary to help us unpack the questions we should ask ourselves and our communities when symbols of civic power show up in places where we worship and pray. We then read the statement made earlier this month by our denomination’s presiding bishop Yehiel Curry pertaining to Venezuela and tried to reverse engineer the thoughts, questions, concerns, and faithful commitments that shaped the words he shared. As we pondered which kinds of questions matter more to us than others, those studying to be ordained pastors and deacons watched as members of the candidacy committee roleplayed what it’s like when, on Saturday night, something happens that makes us wonder if our sermons, children’s messages, prayers, and words might, or might not, need to change. And if that wasn’t enough, we then put everyone into small groups to practice their own process of theological decision-making with a variety of real world situations congregations in our synod have gone through. What might their process be if folks in their community started saying those showing up at their church’s food pantry didn’t actually look like they needed help or if questions about who is welcome at the Lord’s table and who isn’t bubbled up or if several families in the church were suddenly taken by ICE. Our focus wasn’t about coming up to a specific decision right then but rather letting an intentional faithful process of questioning ourselves, our communities, our world, and our God inform what we might do next. As human beings, our ability to be theological decision-makers will never be perfect and I trust we’ll always get things wrong way more often than we’ll get them right. But when the way forward looks murky, can we take the time to ask deep and challenging questions about the situation, accepting the fact we’re not experts about everything and we often can’t see all that needs to be seen? Can we invite others into our decision making process since our intent is less important than our impact? Can we let the Lutheran Christian commitments of love, grace, mercy, and being for one another show up more than our commitments to power, wealth, and status? Can we let God’s story be what interprets and reforms us rather than the cultural myths that surround us? And when the decision we need to make overwhelms us, can we focus our energy instead on one faithful step that shows how the kingdom of Heaven is already near? A Jesus who took the time to listen, to wonder, and to root himself somewhere new is the Jesus who invites us to let faith show up in all the decisions we make. But during those moments when time really is short and something must be said and done, it’s then when God’s decision to claim you as God’s own becomes what we cling to. And if Jesus is willing to be with you, to listen to you, to love, care, and show up for you with healing, mercy, sacrifice, and hope – then the decisions we make can – and should – always do the same. Amen.