Author: MASadmin

³³ When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. [[³⁴ Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”]] And they cast lots to divide his clothing. ³⁵ And the people stood by watching, but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” ³⁶ The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine ³⁷ and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” ³⁸ There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.”

³⁹ One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” ⁴⁰ But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? ⁴¹ And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” ⁴² Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingdom.” ⁴³ He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

Luke 23:33-43

My sermon from Christ the King Sunday (November 23, 2025) on Luke 23:33-43.

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So when I was in high school, my chemistry teacher shared with us a bit of wisdom that became a kind of in-joke for me and my friends. We were, at the time, talking about hydrogen bonding which – if I’m honest – I can no longer fully explain. It’s – I think – what happens when a hydrogen atom sort of inserts itself between another pair of atoms, forming a connection that is a big part of who we get to be in the world. This bond explains why water – which is necessary for life – is sort of strange with its unexpectedly high boiling point as well as having its solid form (aka ice) being less dense than when it’s a liquid. But hydrogen bonding really shines when it comes to the building blocks of life since it allows proteins and DNA to be a certain kind of shape needed for our life to be lived. Hydrogen bonding was something we went over all the time in class and we often struggled seeing it when it showed up. And so my teacher told us whenever we were stuck on a question, the answer was usually going to be hydrogen bonding. This became a kind of mantra for my friends and I for the rest of the school year. If we didn’t have the answer for a question in chemistry or any other class, we’d simply say it’s hydrogen bonding. There’s a bit of comfort, joy, and hope that comes with having some answer whenever we’re faced with a question we can’t solve. And in our reading today from the gospel according to Luke, Jesus gives us a word that gets to be our answer too. 

Now as I said during my children’s sermon, today is the last Sunday of this church’s year and our lectionary – the three year cycle of readings we use in worship – picked this moment on the Cross as the capstone for everything that came before. After arriving in the city of Jerusalem to celebrate the religious festival Passover, those with power did their best to end the story of the One who had become a thorn in their side. Jesus was betrayed, arrested, tried, and sent to be crucified which was a punishment reserved for those who were convicted of undermining Roman control and rule. And while we often act as if the Jesus movement was primarily spiritual, his followers and those around him would disagree. Jesus’ commitment to the poor, the marginalized, and those we see as undeserving – was viewed as a threat to an Empire who believed they would be the ones who ruled the world. They were the ones blessed by the Divine to bond others to their will. The Empire would tolerate religious and ethnic groups arguing amongst themselves about who they wanted to be but if any group acted as if something other than the Empire was on top, they would soon face the full military, political, and economic might of Rome. This context, I think, helps to put into perspective the behavior of those around Jesus on that fateful day 2000 years ago. Everyone assumed – and acted – as if Rome was a winner and being a winner is what we want to too. If Jesus was who he said he was, folks believed he’d overcome Rome the same way Rome overcame everyone else. And if Jesus was letting these outsiders end His story, he couldn’t be as good or as powerful or as holy as others claimed him to be. Some around Jesus appreciated what he said and did but his willingness to empty himself of power to show what God’s love will always do was a step too far for those who knew how fragile life could be. Choosing to be vulnerable when he had the option to be anything but wasn’t something we, in his place, would do. We, instead, would rather be the king, queen and ruler of our own lives rather than admit how life often reminds us of how human we truly are instead. 

And so in the midst of it all, Jesus did something different. He refused to let those trying to end his story change who he was going to be. Even during this very difficult moment, he embodied what a true king should do. Jesus offered mercy and forgiveness to those who sought him harm and listened to the one who was convicted of the same kind of crimes as he was. When one of the criminals asked Jesus to exert his power in very overt and visible ways, the other simply asked Jesus to be remembered when Jesus arrived in a kingdom he assumed was still far away.  And it was at that moment when Jesus responded with a word that was a bit shocking, mysterious, and strange. He told the one who was, like him, suspended between life and death that – today – he would be with Jesus in paradise. And yet we know they weren’t in paradise at that moment and Jesus’ resurrection and ascension were still on their way. Whenever we find ourselves – or our loved ones – suspended between life and death, we want “today” to really be “today. We want this heartbreak to not be the capstone of who we knew them to be. The word “today,” then, becomes our hope, our longing, and our prayer. Yet Jesus throughout the gospel according to Luke proclaimed a today that is much more mysterious, immediate, and powerful. We first notice it way back in chapter 2 when angels announced to shepherds in the hills outside of Bethlehem that a new kind of king had entered into the world. Then, when Jesus grew up and preached his first recorded sermon, he shared that a word from God about good news being delivered to the poor, captives released, and the year of the Lord’s favor was fulfilled today. The community, in response, nearly drove Jesus off a cliff since he also said God’s grace is often given to those we refuse to be graceful too. And later on when Pharisees warned Jesus a king appointed by Rome wished him harm, Jesus promised he would keep bringing good news today even though the Cross was on its way. As his ministry continued, a wealthy tax collector named Zaccheaus went to see Jesus who then told Zaccheaus he would – today – welcome Jesus into his home. And when Jesus got there, Zacchaeus gave away half of what we had and promised to restore to others 4x whatever he had taken from them. Then, the evening before today’s reading, Peter saw Jesus’ words – “before the cock crows today, you will deny me three times” would come true even though Peter promised he would never leave Jesus’ side. The word today throughout Luke was always more than an immediate promise for something coming around the bend. It was, instead, an acknowledgement that Jesus’ presence had already transformed this moment into something brand new. He is – right now – with us – and by being with, that is the capstone to who we will always be. The promises Jesus made to us through baptism and faith is a bond that becomes our answer even when our lives feel suspended by what we have done and what has been done to us. This answer won’t make life easy, peaceful, or completely comfortable but it is the hope that will carry us through every one of our days. And while we will often be tempted by what we think power, money, and strength might give us, Jesus’ mercy and forgiveness will bring you into the next chapter God has written for you. The bond we have in Jesus is a bond that shows what true power looks like in our world. And when we are lost, nervous, worried, and unsure of what’s next, Jesus is the answer for what our life – today and tomorrow – will always be. 

Amen.

⁶ Now we command you, brothers and sisters, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, to keep away from every brother or sister living irresponsibly and not according to the tradition that they received from us. ⁷ For you yourselves know how you ought to imitate us; we were not irresponsible when we were with you, ⁸ and we did not eat anyone’s bread without paying for it, but with toil and labor we worked night and day so that we might not burden any of you. ⁹ This was not because we do not have that right but in order to give you an example to imitate. ¹⁰ For even when we were with you, we gave you this command: anyone unwilling to work should not eat. ¹¹ For we hear that some of you are living irresponsibly, mere busybodies, not doing any work. ¹² Now such persons we command and exhort in the Lord Jesus Christ to do their work quietly and to earn their own living. ¹³ Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing what is right.

2 Thessalonians 3:6-13

My sermon from 23rd Sunday after Pentecost (November 16, 2025) on 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13.

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It’s important, I think, to be mindful of all the different ways we use scripture. For example, there might be a story, a verse, or even a short phrase from God’s word that speaks to our souls. When we’re struggling, it’s a text that provides us a bit of comfort and guidance for whatever comes next. They’re the words we hang onto to know God really is with us in the lives we actually live. Yet, if we’re not careful, we end up pulling this text out of scripture and turning it into a slogan or motivational poster divorced from all the other holy words that surround them. God’s words are meant to be understood in light of where they come from. And so that’s why I regularly invite us to not only find those words that make God real in our lives but to also keep God’s word in God’s word by paying attention to its context and why it was written in the first place. Taking words from scripture and putting them back into the Bible is a helpful way to discern what God wants us to hear. And in our reading today from Paul’s 2nd letter to the Thessalonians, the verse we regularly take out of context – that  “anyone unwilling to work should not eat” is one I believe we should put back in. 

Now the word Thessalonians was the name given to those who called the Macedonian city Thessaloniki their home. And that city was, at the time of Paul, the capital of a Roman province which meant it was full of Roman monuments, soldiers, and temples declaring the Emperor to be a Son of God. When Paul arrived in the late 40s, he could see Mount Olympus – the legendary home of Zeus and other gods – just across the water. It wasn’t the kind of place we’d expect followers of Jesus to thrive since the power that killed him appeared to be completely in control. Yet Paul, over a short period of time, founded a church where people learned how to be for one another even when Paul left to continue on his missionary journey. This, however, wasn’t easy since they were new to a faith that was, itself, brand new. And so when the Thessalonians had a concern, they’d send Paul a letter even though he might have been hundreds of miles away. The concern at the heart of Paul’s letters to the Thessalonians was centered around a deep worry the community had. They, like Paul, assumed Jesus would return immediately to establish God’s kingdom here on earth. Yet, while waiting, life kept happening. Some of their friends, loved ones, and folks within the church had recently died. They were concerned that the ones they had lived the faith with would lose out on joy when Jesus came back. And so Paul, in response, was trying to show them how God’s hold on them – and those who had died – really was forever. 

That context is, I think, important to understand our reading today. Paul was responding to a community who felt small, fragile, and who were living with unexpected grief. They needed the assurance that God had written a new chapter for you – was actually true. Living that kind of hope out loud, though, isn’t easy since life has a way of making us hopeless in the face of all kinds of pain and suffering. It was while navigating through this hard stuff that led the Thessalonians to develop some kind of unhealthy dynamic. What exactly that was is a little difficult to know since the letter they wrote to Paul describing what was up hasn’t survived. It’s possible some of the believers were so obsessed with Jesus’ return, they gave up doing their jobs and taking care of their families while waiting for the end to arrive. For them, real life was over since their so-called eternal life was about to begin. It’s also possible, though, that some within this small community became so anxious and overwhelmed by the thought of Jesus’ return they became a kind of “busybody” thinking they could work-out the crisis before it arrived. They might have imagined that if they said the right prayer, worshiped the right way, and lived in a specific kind of way – they would survive what was about to come. They, in a way, became really noisy about what they imagined God wanted for their lives and assumed that everyone around them needed to be that way. This caused them to change their lives in ways that cared more about being noticed by God rather than paying attention to the God who was already with them. And so for Paul, “the best way to honor the Lord [wasn’t] to drop all activity… and wait for the end, nor to rush around like busybodies. Rather, [we’re] to do all things, including the work we are called to, in service and honor of the Lord.” Paul invited the Thessalonians and invites us to recognize that life God has already given us to live. And while what that living looks like will, depending on our age, talents, and abilities be different – it’s always rooted in the Jesus who is, even now, right beside you. Paul wasn’t, I think, making a blanket statement that only those who match our cultural definition of “work” are worthy of life since Jesus regularly fed and cared for those the rest of us would always define as undeserving. Rather, Paul wanted us to pay attention to all the work we actually do. Does our work and care reflect who we know Jesus to be or might it reflect something else? Do we act as if God isn’t present at the office, the store, or at school so we let a love of money, power, and attention trump any love for God? Or could we imagine all our work –  in the words of Professor Nijay K. Gupta – to be like “bakers exercising skill and diligence in their food production, teachers diligently learning and studying so they can offer sound instruction, and garment makers ensuring that their clothing not only is pleasing to the eye but will last.” And instead of focusing our attention on what others are up to, could we instead focus on what we can do since building each other up for the benefit of all is how we learn to never grow weary in doing what is right. 

Now a few days ago, a volunteer for the Tri-Boro Food Pantry in Park Ridge was at a store buying turkeys for their upcoming Thanksgiving Meal Distribution. Someone walking by noticed their shopping cart filled to the brim with frozen turkeys and asked what they were for. The volunteer explained who she was, what she was up to, and who these turkeys would be going to. She was about to keep going on her way since she assumed the conversation was over. But before she could head to the next aisle, the stranger asked her to wait because she had a story to tell. They were, it seems, very familiar with the Tri-Boro Food Pantry because when they were going through a rough time in their life, that pantry had kept them fed. They had been an unemployed single parent, living in this expensive area, and unsure if they’d be able to keep their kids fed. And yet it was the generosity of everyone supporting the pantry who let her kids do the work of being kids rather than the work of being hungry. After sharing her story, she bought a couple of the turkeys so others might experience what she did. The work God invites us to is all about recognizing how God’s work in Jesus of living, loving, dying, and rising for you isn’t a work we’re meant to pay off. It is, instead, a gift we live out by doing what we can to let others know how Jesus is for them too.

Amen.

27 Some Sadducees, those who say there is no resurrection, came to him 28 and asked him a question: “Teacher, Moses wrote for us that if a man’s brother dies leaving a wife but no children, the man shall marry the widow and raise up children for his brother. 29 Now there were seven brothers; the first married a woman and died childless; 30 then the second 31 and the third married her, and so in the same way all seven died childless. 32 Finally the woman also died. 33 In the resurrection, therefore, whose wife will the woman be? For the seven had married her.”

34 Jesus said to them, “Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage, 35 but those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage. 36 Indeed, they cannot die anymore, because they are like angels and are children of God, being children of the resurrection. 37 And the fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed, in the story about the bush, where he speaks of the Lord as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. 38 Now he is God not of the dead but of the living, for to him all of them are alive.”

Luke 20:27-38

My sermon from 22nd Sunday after Pentecost (November 9, 2025) on Luke 20:27-38.

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Now there are times when our tone – the emotion, energy, and inflections we use when we speak that reveals way more than what we actually said. The sounds we make – especially when they don’t match our words – can point to something stirring in our soul. Our tone might, for example, invite others to not take seriously what we’re saying and that we want them to move on. Yet a pause, a stutter, or a drop in key can be our way of asking others to find out what’s in our heart and soul. Listening to the tone is how we read between the lines so we can hear what’s truly being said. Now when I was in seminary, one of my theology professors regularly responded to every question with a question of his own. It was, at first, quite annoying since we thought we were smart to say what needed to be said. He, though, wasn’t trying to dismiss us, ignore us, or act as if his words were more important than our own. Rather, he wanted us to notice how our curiosity about God and ourselves was related. By paying attention to our tone and where emotions show up in our words, we can discover how faith speaks into the lives we actually live. Our questions can often reveal how a hurt, joy, or deep grief is shaping who we know God to be. And yet there are other times when our tone reveals an unwillingness to imagine life being anything other than what it is right now. In today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, the question Sadducees asked was probably said in an incredibly dismissive tone. But rather than getting defensive, Jesus invited those around him to practice their own holy curiosity by discovering who their God chooses to be. 

In Jesus’ day, different groups within Judaism had their own understandings and practices when it came to following God. Jesus’ own movement was merely one of many swirling within the wider Jewish community. One of the more powerful of these groups were the Sadducees who were the overseers of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. They were wealthy, important, politically powerful, and collaborated with the Roman Empire. When the Jewish community eventually revolted against Roman rule in the late 60s, the ensuing war led to the destruction of the Temple and the Sadducees themselves. It’s difficult, then, to fully reconstruct what they believed and taught. Yet we think, when it came to life, they imagined it as a rather limited thing. They assumed there was life after death but that it would be so alien, so isolating, and so meaningless it had no bearing on our life today. To them, the only access we’d ever have to peace, comfort, and joy was our handful of years on earth. Learning how to navigate the status quo was the limit of what life could be. And so the traditions and practices at the heart of their covenant with God was how they maximized their today. When the Sadducees came to Jesus with a question about the resurrection, I’m pretty sure their tone was a bit over the top. Nothing about their question involved being curious since they already had an answer. For them, this life was all that could be so seeking something else wasn’t part of their spiritual DNA. Their tone, then, was all about making Jesus look silly when he tried to answer what, to them, was a ludicrous question. 

Yet – if we remove the tone the Sadducees used – we might realize their question is our question too. Life, as we know, has a way of not going according to plan and wondering how much more there can be is incredibly human. Having doubts, asking questions, and pondering what all this might mean doesn’t mean we’ve lost our faith. Rather, it’s an acknowledgement that life is full of mysteries we don’t always have an answer to. And while we preach, proclaim, and lean into a Jesus whose resurrection shows how God is always writing a new chapter for you, we know Jesus’ wounded feet, hands, and side remain. Figuring out how today shapes our tomorrow isn’t something we can easily see. Our holding onto that mystery is, itself, pretty hard which is why, I think, we – without even realizing it – fall into the habit of acting as if this really is all there is. We put into place rules and practices that manage the limits of what is possible. We let our lives and our world be shaped by all the constraints life brings and fall into the trap of seeing life primarily as a competition and adding additional constraints to differentiate those we value and those we don’t. We might have moments when our talents, skills, and a little luck generate a little bit of prosperity and happiness for us and those we love. But the constraints we build for ourselves and for others will, in the end, close around us. If we act as if today is really the limit of what may be, we end up toning down who we imagine ourselves, our communities, and our God to be. 

Jesus, though, refused to let the tone of life limit who we, with our God, get to be. And that’s because the life he imagines for us has already begun to take shape when – with a little water and a word – God’s words are first uttered into our ears. It’s this word of promise that reveals how the constraints of this world will never constrain the love God has for you. And rather than letting our experiences be the limit of what life is, Jesus begins to transform us into who we, in Christ, get to be. Our ways of seeing life as a kind of competition where we have to get ours before others take it from us will no longer be what defines us. Rather, the One who comes into our lives and grabs ahold of our souls will reimagine our every day with a hope that never ends. We [in a few minutes / at the 10:30 am worship] will get to see God’s imagination lived out when we publicly welcome [three kids] [Mason, Cade, and Mack] into the body of Christ. They will hear how the constraints we’ve placed on the world will not be the limit of who God knows they can be. Instead God’s imagination as fleshed out in the life of Jesus will be at the heart of who they are. And when we act as if what we’ve experienced is all there is, God will show them – and all of us – the more that’s already on its way. That doesn’t mean, however, our questions, doubts, anxieties, and fears will suddenly end since our lives are constrained in a variety of ways. We will often refuse to let mysteries be mysteries and search for answers that never satisfy our souls. A life with faith is a life that will always ask questions since even Jesus, when he knew he was about to be betrayed, asked God if there might be another way. Yet we trust that even when life is hard, we – because of Christ – are part of something more. The life we live is a life enfleshed by the One whose care, kindness, strength, mercy, and grace is the tone extending us beyond the limits of what can be. And it’s this Jesus who, through baptism and in faith, will be there to carry you into the fullness of what your today and your tomorrow will always be. 

Amen.

¹¹ In Christ we have also obtained an inheritance, having been destined according to the purpose of him who accomplishes all things according to his counsel and will, ¹² so that we, who were the first to set our hope on Christ, might live for the praise of his glory. ¹³ In him you also, when you had heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and had believed in him, were marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit; ¹⁴ this is the pledge of our inheritance toward redemption as God’s own people, to the praise of his glory.

¹⁵ I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, and for this reason ¹⁶ I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers, ¹⁷ that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, ¹⁸ so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may perceive what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, ¹⁹ and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power. ²⁰ God put this power to work in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, ²¹ far above all rule and authority and power and dominion and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the age to come. ²² And he has put all things under his feet and has made him the head over all things for the church, ²³ which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all.

Ephesians 1:11-23

My sermon from All Saints Sunday (November 2, 2025) on Ephesians 1:11-23.

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So now that my youngest is in first grade, she comes home with a lot of paper covered in all kinds of writing. She, along with her classmates, are working on their penmanship and their spelling. After writing down a sentence or two, they use the acronym C.O.P.S. as a checklist to see if they did everything right. The students first identify any errors with their capitalization since the first word in each sentence, proper nouns, and “I” are supposed to be capitalized. Once that’s checked out, they then look at how their work is organized – making sure transition words connect their ideas, the spacing between the words are correct, and that there are no run-on sentences. The next letter in the acronym, P, is about punctuation with punctuation in 1st grade focused on adding a period at the end of a thought. Once all of that is taken care of, the students end their editing by double checking their spelling. This simple strategy is an awesome way to help kids grow as critical thinkers and learn how to communicate their thoughts to others. But if Paul, the writer of our first reading from the Bible, was asked to use C.O.P.S today, this entire section would need to be re-written since these are sentences which go on and on and on. 

Now I know these words from Paul’s letter to the Christian community in the town of Ephesus are readable to us but that’s because our English translation of the ancient Greek added punctuation to help it make sense.  We began in the middle of one sentence and followed that up with another just as long. Verses 11-14 and 15-23 are two interconnected thoughts filled with a lot more. Yet I wonder if there’s a strategy we could use to make these words feel less abstract and way more human. We, I think, could do a reverse C.O.P.S. by keeping the spelling but removing the capital letters and periods our translation throws in. If we then read what Paul wrote, all these words would flow in a flood – speeding up as we got deeper and deeper into what Paul was trying to help us see. We might add, mentally, a few commas and semi-colons as a way to catch our breath and reflect on what we just heard. Yet Paul, I think, wanted our experience of these words to be a kind of overwhelming event pushing us towards something new. We can almost imagine Paul getting more and more excited as he dictated these words to a scribe he hired to write down everything that he said. And as he talked, the energy, passion, and power at the heart of his relationship with Jesus and God just came tumbling out. That gives us, I think, a hint of how Paul experienced his faith – as a living, breathing, and animating thing that livened his soul. What he believed was more than simply a few thoughts floating in his head. Rather, the trust he had in God was fuel for the life he led. These opening words he uttered were a blessing related to his Jewish identity. God had, according to Paul, blessed the world by deciding those who were not Jewish would, through Christ, have a new identity as children of God. This new relationship would not be at the expense of the Jewish community nor did Paul imagine Christians as being more chosen than God’s chosen people. Instead, what God had done was expand the boundaries of who was included in what God was up to. It might be difficult for us to feel what that kind of inclusion would be since we’re actively living out that kind of intentional expansion through the worship we’re doing right now. But when we step back and notice that we – with all our lumps, imperfections, fears, and anxieties – that we really are part of what God is doing in the world – our emotions might be stirred in unexpected ways. This inclusion, though, isn’t meant to be defined by some else’s exclusion. God’s willingness to include you doesn’t mean God doesn’t want to include anybody else. God will always do what God will do and there’s no competition we can enter that will, somehow, make God love us more. Instead, God’s welcome through baptism and in faith is simply the promise that your life is already more. The old bits of wisdom we carry, the old way we choose to live, and the old way of acting as if we’re the real center of the universe – isn’t the limit of who we get to be. Instead, we’ve been blessed by being drawn into a holy community where Jesus truly is at the center of it all. 

And we, I think, have experienced this through the different kinds of people God has brought into our lives. This blessing is reflected in those who won’t let our worst days be the only ones that define us. They are the ones who showed up, stuck around, and wouldn’t let us live this life alone. And when they would screw up, they showed us how we can all keep growing into who God has made us to be. It’s these saints who showed us what gives life its meaning. They helped us cultivate deep connections with our neighbors, our friends, and our family. The relationships they built with us allowed us to be transformed into better versions of ourselves. The peace, unity, kindness, and safety they gave us helped us face our own lives with courage and grace. And it was they who, in big and small ways, showed us how we get to live this meaning out loud by helping and caring for others like Jesus did. Spending our days learning to be kinder to ourselves and to others, figuring out how to swallow our own selfishness for the greater good, and recognizing how joy is always richer than being happy is how we make the most of the life God has given us. And while this kind of living isn’t always easy, the fact God chooses to be for us and for our world is the wisdom that carries us through. It’s this wisdom that invites us to do the hard thing of making the most reverent and loving best guess we can when a difficult choice comes our way. It’s this wisdom that helps us recognize how courage and strength is always measured in the mercy, compassion, and hope we share. It’s this wisdom that lets our being included in what God is doing is not something we’re entitled to but rather a gift we get to share. And it’s this spirit of wisdom and revelation that lets us lean into Christ no matter what comes our way. The wisdom God gives us, the wisdom God shows us, and the wisdom God edits our lives with is a wisdom that looks exactly like Jesus. And while we will often capitalize our own point of view rather than His and let our own opinions and perspectives punctuate our lives in ways that can be unholy and untrue, we – because of Jesus – get to let Jesus be at the center of all of us as we discover the saint God has made each of us to be. 

Amen.

⁹ He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: ¹⁰ “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. ¹¹ The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. ¹² I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’ ¹³ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ ¹⁴ I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other, for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

Luke 18:9-14

My sermon from Reformation Sunday (October 26, 2025) on Luke 18:9-14.

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So over these last few weeks, we’ve been spending a lot of time focused on wisdom. Wisdom is, I think, the words, phrases, teachings and ideas we lean into while going through everything life might bring. Wisdom is often received from those who came before us, serving as a guide to shape our response. Yet there are times when the guides we’ve been given struggle to meet the fullness of what comes our way. It’s at those moments when the wisdom we need comes from the One who has already laid a claim on our lives and our souls. And while Jesus never promised life would be fair, he did promise to be there to carry us through. This promise of presence is the kind of wisdom which should reform the wisdom we teach and share. But translating that into something that influences what we do in our families, at work, in school, and within our communities, isn’t always easy to see. Interpreting and living into the wisdom of divine presence is something we all need help with. And our reading today from the gospel according to Luke provides, I think, a word that helps us discover what this looks like in our lives and in our world. 

Now whenever an author of a biblical book adds their interpretation of what Jesus did, that’s always an invitation for us to slow down and pay attention. Luke doesn’t, I think, mean for his words to be the end-all-and-be-all limit of what Jesus said. Rather, it provides a real life example of someone noticing Jesus’ wisdom and wondering how to apply it to the rest of life. We’re told that Jesus told this parable – this short story – because there were those around Jesus who believed they were righteous and regarded everyone else with contempt. There’s something about that statement, though, that feels very relatable. Many of us have had the experience of being around those who love letting us know about their climb up to God. And while talking about our faith is part of our Christian calling, looking down on others while we do it is not. Those who do this are, I think, embodying a kind of wisdom that treats everything – including faith – as a competition. Their goal is to always win – and their prayers are full of thanks that they’re not like everyone else. This behavior is pretty easy to recognize in those around us but a bit harder to notice in ourselves. Yet I wonder if we see a glimpse of it when our language about faith is all about gaining something more. And what we want to gain is to be like those we see as righteous – who don’t doubt, question, or lose heart when the hard stuff of life comes our way. The righteous are the ones who we imagine have, somehow, won at faith and we wish we had that same kind of faith too. 

Yet if that was the faith God wanted us to have, it’s hard to imagine that our faithful life would look very different from what the Pharisee in Jesus’ short story chose to do. He, after all, worships, prays, is generous with his money, and practices his faith every day. And while his prayer is a little shady, I don’t know many of us who would want to be a rogue, thief, or a hated tax collector. The world we live in is often defined by our competition against one another. We always assume there’s only so much grace, so much love, so many opportunities, and so much wisdom to go around. If we were like him, we – and others – would assume we’re winning the life of faith. But Jesus wants us to realize that there’s something missing when all we want to do is win. Now we might immediately jump to the tax collector who, Jesus describes, appears more humble, spiritual, and humble. But his righteous posture in the midst of prayer isn’t, necessarily, reflected in the life he lives. Tax collecting, in the ancient world, was a violent business. The Roman Empire didn’t collect the taxes themselves, hiring others to do it for them. As payment for these services, the Romans allowed these companies to charge a little more than the Empire asked for. The extra folks charged varied but could be incredibly high. And if someone didn’t pay, they were empowered by the state to use force to take what the Empire wanted. The tax collector, while in the place God promised to be, might have recognized his complicity in a system defined by what it could take rather than what it could give. But nowhere in his prayers does he ask for his life to be changed. This isn’t a parable, I think, where we’re being asked to choose the Pharisee or the Tax Collector as some kind of faithful winner. They serve, instead, as a mirror reflecting back what we faithful assume wisdom should be. Yet I wonder if maybe, within what the Tax Collector does say, is a word showing us what holy wisdom always does. 

And that word, I think, is mercy. It’s a word the tax collector, in his work, wouldn’t show others as well as a word the Pharisee refuses to embrace when noticing who he’s praying with. In the seasons of experiences, situations, challenges, joys, and sorrows that make up our life, what God’s presence often looks like is simply mercy. It’s the mercies that can be big, such as being forgiven by those we’ve harmed or having a chance to mend a broken relationship. These mercies can also, though, appear small from the outside but are spiritually large. It’s the mercy of having time to eat ice cream with people we can actually hug. It’s the mercy of having families we’re born into or ones we’ve chosen who not only love us but allow us to love them in return. It’s the mercy of witnessing flowers opening, the sun rising, and noticing how we really are part of something so much bigger than ourselves. And while we might be grateful for the gifts we’ve been given to help us have a career, grow in status, and maybe gain some wealth – it’s in the connections we have with each other where God’s mercy becomes real. Mercy invites us to learn each other’s stories, recognize the ways we harm those around us, grow in our ability to accept help, and embrace the change we need so all our neighbors can thrive. Mercy takes seriously that being with, rather than standing above, will be a faithful stance. God’s wisdom, then, will always be merciful and all our wisdom should be the same. 

So in light of all the wisdom we’ve pondered over these last few weeks, let’s take a few minutes to answer a questions on the back of the bulletin/pink sheet: 

So what gives life lasting value and meaning? And not only in general. Be specific about what has made your life what it is.  

How do we make the most of our lives? 

What is ultimately satisfying?

1:1 The words of the Teacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.
Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher,
    vanity of vanities! All is vanity.
What do people gain from all the toil
    at which they toil under the sun?
A generation goes, and a generation comes,
    but the earth remains forever.
The sun rises, and the sun goes down
    and hurries to the place where it rises.
The wind blows to the south
    and goes around to the north;
round and round goes the wind,
    and on its circuits the wind returns.
All streams run to the sea,
    but the sea is not full;
to the place where the streams flow,
    there they continue to flow.
All things are wearisome,
    more than one can express;
the eye is not satisfied with seeing
    or the ear filled with hearing.
What has been is what will be,
    and what has been done is what will be done;
    there is nothing new under the sun.
Is there a thing of which it is said,
    “See, this is new”?
It has already been
    in the ages before us.
The people of long ago are not remembered,
    nor will there be any remembrance
of people yet to come
    by those who come after them.

Ecclesiastes 1:1-11

My sermon from the 19th Sunday after Pentecost (October 19, 2025) on Ecclesiastes 1:1-11.

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So every morning I fill a red kettle with water and place it on the stove. I then turn a knob from off to high and wait for a bright red circle to appear. The heat from the circle takes about 7 minutes to heat the water in the kettle to my preferred temperature. But if I’m distracted, busy, or crawl back into bed for a little more sleep, a thin white line from the kettle bursts forth and a sound like a train whistle lets everyone know the water is ready. When water boils, it changes into water vapor which is a gas we can’t technically see. The white streak we do see is really caused by the very hot vapor colliding with cooler air. The collision forms a tiny cloud that races through the kitchen. But as it spreads, the heat that caused the water to boil cools and the momentary cloud we call steam disappears. There isn’t, I think, a word in the English language that fully captures the entirety of this event. It takes us entire sentences to describe how something is energized, invigorated, and then quickly fades away. This experience applies not only to water being boiled for my morning coffee but relates to so many other moments that feel way too short. There is, though, a word in ancient Hebrew language that does exactly that. In our reading today from the book of Ecclesiastes, the very beginning of the Teacher’s long speech isn’t really about things that are vain or meaningless. That word is all about something that feels so temporary. This book is told from the perspective of a person looking back at the entirety of their story, and wondering how what feels like a momentary thing can make a difference for those who have their own living left to do. 

The book of Ecclesiastes is a strange duck. It does what we expect a Biblical book to do – asking deep questions such as: do people really get what they deserve, does God act in predictable ways, and how should wisdom shape what we say and do. The tone of the book, however, is a little out of place – feeling way more sarcastic and skeptical than the book of Job or Proverbs. And the reason why that might be the case is because its author knew life wasn’t always black or white. Ecclesiastes began by attributing its words to King Solomon who reigned roughly 400 years before the book was written. Solomon was known as someone who possessed a deep and holy wisdom. Yet, as he aged, his wisdom only went so far. During the later years of his reign, worshipping other gods became a hallmark of his home and the massive building program he launched forced him to sell entire cities to other nations to pay his debts. Solomon’s life was complicated which often describes our own. It would be awesome if all we needed were simple guides or sayings or teaching to make every moment easy and clear, when real life happens, what we’ve been taught isn’t necessarily big enough to handle everything that makes life anxious and beautiful all at the same time. Actions don’t always lead to clear and consistent consequences and good doesn’t always bring comfort. And while we’d love bad stuff to eventually bring about accountability, life can often be unfair. Learning how to navigate the irregularity of life is a calling we’re all invited to embrace. 

Now one of the ways Ecclesiastes tried to do this was by noticing what feels like the most regular thing around us. We live life expecting the sun to rise, the wind to blow, and the streams running into the ocean to never fill it up. That does not necessarily mean nature is always predictable or easy to control. Yet there is something amazing, mystical, and comfortable about this vast thing we’re a part of.  The regularity of creation makes us feel God really is in control. But the messiness of our own lives – the ups and downs, the excitement and the boredom, the moments which feel endless and the puffs of smoke going by way too quick – what we long for is a life where we have a little more say and control over what comes our way. There are entire industries claiming with the right words, attitude, diet, beliefs, politics, and other cultural touchstones you can maximize your life right now. Yet it only takes a momentary and fleeting thing to remind us how fragile life can be. So rather than doing all we can to control what we can’t control, maybe it’s more faithful, loving, and spiritually healthy to trust that the One who made life and who lived life – knows, cares, and will always be for you. 

And that is the regular thing we can always rely on. What we can trust is that God knows what God was doing when God made you. When we were brought into the body of Christ through baptism and in faith, it wasn’t because we regularly do what is good, holy, and right. Instead, the God who knows you also knows the church can’t be what it’s supposed to be without you. And while joys and laughter and peace can feel way too fleeting, what is never meaningless or vain is the love God had for you. So, if the author of Ecclesiastes had the courage to reflect and be honest about the life they’ve lived, we should do the same. You’re invited to take the next few minutes to continue our sermon series reflecting on wisdom by taking out the pink sheet and writing down answers to a few questions. “What are some of your disappointments?” “What are some simple pleasures that stand the test of time?” What once seemed very meaningful to you but doesn’t anymore.” And I pray that even during those times when our faith feels like its own fleeting puff of smoke, God will show up and let you know how God’s love will never let you go.

29:1 Job again took up his discourse and said:
“O that I were as in the months of old,
    as in the days when God watched over me,
when his lamp shone over my head,
    and by his light I walked through darkness,
when I was in my prime,
    when the friendship of God was upon my tent,
when the Almighty was still with me,
    when my children were around me,
when my steps were washed with milk
    and the rock poured out for me streams of oil!
When the ear heard, it commended me,
    and when the eye saw, it approved,
because I delivered the poor who cried
    and the orphan who had no helper.
The blessing of the wretched came upon me,
    and I caused the widow’s heart to sing for joy.
I put on righteousness, and it clothed me;
    my justice was like a robe and a turban.
I was eyes to the blind
    and feet to the lame.
I was a father to the needy,
and I championed the cause of the stranger.
30:1 “But now they make sport of me,
    those who are younger than I,
whose fathers I would have disdained
    to set with the dogs of my flock.
“And now they mock me in song;
    I am a byword to them.
They abhor me; they keep aloof from me;
    they do not hesitate to spit at the sight of me.
Because God has loosed my bowstring and humbled me,
    they have cast off restraint in my presence.
38:1 Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind:
“Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?
Gird up your loins like a man;
    I will question you, and you shall declare to me.
“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
    Tell me, if you have understanding.
Who determined its measurements—surely you know!
    Or who stretched the line upon it?
On what were its bases sunk,
    or who laid its cornerstone
when the morning stars sang together
    and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?
“Or who shut in the sea with doors
    when it burst out from the womb,
when I made the clouds its garment
    and thick darkness its swaddling band,
and prescribed bounds for it,
    and set bars and doors,
and said, ‘Thus far shall you come and no farther,
    and here shall your proud waves be stopped’?

Job 29:1-6,11-16; 30:1,9-11; 38:1-11

My sermon from the 18th Sunday after Pentecost (October 12, 2025) on Job 29:1-6,11-16; 30:1,9-11; 38:1-11.

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When I was little, my brother and I eagerly waited each morning for our dad to pass off the section of the newspaper that contained the comic strips. We selfishly pushed, shoved, whined, and complained so that we could read them first. The strip we always read first, regardless of where it was on the page, was about an adventurous six year old boy named Calvin and a stuffed tiger named Hobbes that only Calvin could talk to. What made this strip special was that it wasn’t limited to only one idea, theme, or gag. Instead, the fullness of a child’s imagination was able to push the boundaries of what a comic could be about. Entire weeks, for example, might be devoted to a game where the only rule was it couldn’t be played the same way twice or maybe about a  snowman who came alive in the middle of the night to make snowmen of their own. Calvin regularly battled against the problem of boredom, school, and having to eat the new thing his mom made for dinner. Yet one of his primary foils throughout the entire series was his dad who loved him very much. In a vivid strip about this dynamic, we see Calvin imagine himself stranded on a distant planet as the fearless Spaceman Spiff. After being captured by a giant sludge monster, Calvin was led to a dungeon that resembled his living room. The monster sat him down and tortured Calvin with a long lecture about “wholesome principals.” “Life is tough,” the monster said, “and suffering builds character. Nothing worth having ever comes easy. Virtue is its own reward and when I was your age…” Calvin’s dad loved to give misery meaning by claiming it always builds character. And that, I think, is often what our own wisdom teaches whenever suffering comes our way. We want sorrow and grief to have some kind of purpose rather than simply being something that happens.  Yet our desire to turn suffering into a teachable moment doesn’t necessarily bring us the peace and comfort we need. The wisdom we share doesn’t always meet our current moment and it can leave us feeling as if we’re completely alone. 

And this experience is something a lot of us, based on the questions I asked you last week, have had to live through. When our world comes tumbling down, our shared wisdom tries to make misery meaningful by claiming this is all part of God’s will and plan. We promise each other that “everything happens for a reason,” that “God wouldn’t give you something you can’t handle,” and then follow up by telling a story of someone we think had it worse. Telling those who feel isolated and alone that “we know how they feel,” or that “their loved one is in a better place” isn’t as comforting to them as it might be to us. And that’s because when our emotions and souls are completely raw, these attempts to make meaning feel meaningless instead. The kinds of words we need to let others say are like the words we heard Job speak in our reading today. We are, in these moments, wrapped in a whirlwind of emotions, thoughts, awe, and despair pushing us to reflect on our past, lament our present, and wonder where it all went wrong. We shout into the universe questions wondering if God is maybe testing us or think God hates us or maybe this God doesn’t feel like our God at all. We search for the kind meaning that can break through the shadow overhanging our hearts. And if we had a magic wand, or a time machine, or the power of God, we’d change everything back even if our prior moments weren’t particularly kind or perfect. There’s courage, in those moments, to recognize how human we are and to admit the multitude of ways we participate in our and other people’s suffering. But when life just happens, we assume there must be a reason at the center of it all. It’s at times like these when God feels so far away. Yet what might worry us even more is the thought God might be way too close. And if this is what life is like when God is here, then what meaning or purpose does God want from us all? 

Now, throughout the book of Job, this question, this worry, and this concern showed up constantly in Job’s back and forth with his friends. They assumed Job did something to cause his family, wealth, and sense of self to be taken away. The wisdom they – and we – shared is rooted in a type of retribution where only the wicked are punished, the good rewarded, and all blessings are manifested in the comfortable life we get to live. It’s the kind of wisdom we saw during our short stint in the book of Proverbs and it’s what we teach our kids when it comes to what’s good and what’s bad. We know, however, life comes with a lot of nuance and we demand a lot of grace for ourselves we don’t extend to others. When things get hard, we make it have a purpose by pointing to some future where we will – because of today – be better, stronger, holier, and more pure. But wouldn’t it be so much more peaceful if we could start at that place rather than go through all the living we do? Which is why, I think, when the extended parable we know as the book of Job finally let God speak, God responded to Job and his friends at a moment that wasn’t bright, clear, and sunny. God, instead, spoke out of a storm because that’s where God chooses to be. And in this long passage that we only hear a little of, the word for God reverted from something like a title and towards the more personal word God shared when Moses met a fiery bush that didn’t burn up. God pushed Job to see the personal relationship they had together and how no part of creation is ever outside of God’s insight and knowledge. And rather than choosing to ignore Job’s cries and concerns, God – I think – affirmed them by asking Job and his friends the same kinds of questions they raised to God. God told Job it’s okay to confront the mysteries of our lives, our world, and even the divine. And while those confrontations can be hard, God pushed Job and his friends to imagine what creation might be like if it actually followed the retributive wisdom we teach and share. When we assume all the wisdom we share is holy wisdom, we let our image of God become our God rather than letting the creator of the universe be who God chooses to be. And what this God chose to do was to experience exactly what it’s like to be born, to have friends, to grow up, to laugh, to cry, to be betrayed, to suffer, to feel, and to truly live. The wisdom we share isn’t big enough to hold the fullness of who our God chooses to be. And rather than make our suffering meaningful by pointing to something that feels value like “building character,” our true meaning comes from a God who chooses to be with and for us no matter what comes our way. 

So I’d like all of us to take a few moments to (either on the pink sheets or the back of our bulletin) discover how our vision of God might have changed over the years. When we were young, what did we imagine who our God was? And then, as we lived, and experienced some of the joys – and sorrows – and all the mysteries life brings – how did our view or experience of God change? What is our God like – and how does our God continue to push us beyond the limits of our imagination and into something holy and new.