I’m so glad you are here today and I brought with me a picture book I have in my office called “Du Iz Tak?” It’s by Carson Ellis and talks about what fantastical things might happen in our backyard. I’m going to read the story, invite you to pay attention, and then we’ll talk about it.
Read the story. Note: it has a made up language in it.
So what happened in the story? Accept answers. I’ll admit I had a bit of a hard time following along because it was in a language I didn’t know. In fact, it was in a language no one knows since the author made up. Paying attention to the words helped us sense what different characters were experiencing. But what we really needed to focus on was the images and what the characters were doing to see what happened. The words helped but focusing on the movement, the pictures, and what they showed us reveals what is really going on.
And that, I think, is a reminder that when we listen to our Bible, we should pay attention to the movement within the stories too. The Bible is full of words and very important words. Yet often these words invite us to paint a picture in our head – to use our imagination – to see what’s going on. God wants us to have and to recognize all the words – not just the important speeches – but also the setting, the movement, who is in the story, and also who isn’t. And paying attention to what happens within these words – specifically what the characters do within the story helps us get a sense of what God is inviting us to know. So in a few moments, we’re going to hear a reading from the very first book in our Bible – the book of Genius. And it’s going to talk about a vision – an experience Jacob had – of a ladder reaching up into the sky. God gave him this vision for him to better understand how God works in our world. And so while we listen to the story – pay attention to what the angels do; where they’re going; and also what Jacob doesn’t do. And when we do that, we discover we have a God who keeps showing up in our lives in ways we don’t always realize – and who comes down to us rather than focusing on us trying to chase our way up the ladder to meet God.
[Jesus] put before [the crowd] another parable: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field, but while everybody was asleep an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat and then went away. So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?’ He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ But he replied, ‘No, for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest, and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.’ ”
Then he left the crowds and went into the house. And his disciples approached him, saying, “Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field.” He answered, “The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels. Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Let anyone with ears listen!
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
My sermon from the 8th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (July 19, 2026) on Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43.
So one of the most common themes we see in superhero stories is the double life they lead. They, on one hand, can throw an asteroid into the sun but can’t fight back when the school bully tries to take their lunch money. The Superman films from the 1970s were very good at showcasing these moments in a rather funny way. Lois Lane, for example, once went to a gym to work out and Clarke Kent – aka Superman – went with her. A few gym rats tried to impress her by showing how strong they were while Clarke acted like he couldn’t lift a dumbbell. However, when Ms. Lane wasn’t looking, Superman tossed a bar covered in weights onto the tough guy who couldn’t believe what happened. The most common reason why heroes pretended to be something they weren’t was as a way to keep their families and friends safe. If villains knew where Ms. Marvel went to school, they could harm her classmates at Coles Academy in Jersey City. Those who were a bit more visible like the Fantastic Four or Black Panther used their wealth and power to shield those they were closest too. Yet every hero wrestled with what it means to be human when they couldn’t turn off their powers. Superheroes live a double life stopping Thanos from destroying the universe while making sure they pay their rent on time. a kind of double life that was always complicated. And I wonder if today’s words from the gospel according to Matthew might show us the kind of double life we live too.
Now whenever we listen to one of the stories Jesus told, we shouldn’t immediately try to solve it. Jesus is, I think, inviting us to sit with his words as a way to see God more clearly. It’s why, I think, Jesus often used vivid images from nature and agriculture as a way to illustrate how God’s kingdom doesn’t operate like the kingdoms we work so hard to build and maintain. He wants us to step into his words; sit in a field full of wheat and weeds; and notice all the amber waves of grain. However, the kind of wheat Jesus was describing doesn’t match the same kind of wheat we use today. 2000 years ago, wheat stalks in the ancient Near East were 50% taller with tough husks surrounding each grain. When the stalks were disturbed, the husks would fall easily since that’s how the plant – in the wild – liked to spread. The wheat in Jesus’ day was taller, more fragile, and way harder to turn into flour. And when a field was weeded or harvested, a lot of the good stuff was harmed in the process. Weeds, of course, are always a problem and we’d love to dig them out before they interfere with the wheat’s chance to grow. But just like the wheat in Jesus’ day wasn’t the same kind of wheat we see today, it’s possible the weed was different too. The weed could have been a kind that wrapped itself around each stalk, making it impossible to remove without destroying the wheat. Or the weed Jesus was pointing to was the kind that looked like wheat until it was fully grown. If we had the choice, we’d want a field where wheat and weed could be easily identified and separated. We’d desire – or seek out – a kind of checklist showing all the weeds and the wheat at every part of its growing journey. Maximizing the amount of wheat is, after all, what a farmer is supposed to do. Yet the field Jesus described was one where removing any of the bad before the end would also end up destroying what is good before it even had a chance to grow.
And that, of course, feels a bit frustrating. Every field – the literal ones we sow and the metaphorical ones that represent ourselves, our lives, and our communities – are places where we want what is good and what is bad to be easily discerned. We know that life is often full of weeds and we are sometimes the people who plant them. Yet we hope, pray, and believe that at the end of the day, it’s the wheat that defines our lives. When the wheat and weeds are easy to see, life might be difficult but it still feels like something we can live through. But when our ability to distinguish between wheat and weeds breaks down, anxiety grows. We know that there is no perfect field and it’s reasonable, as well as very human, to know we won’t get everything right. But I find it interesting that when Jesus was asked to interpret his own story, he didn’t focus on the field. He doesn’t define people, communities, or life as the sum of its parts. Rather, it’s wheat – and wheat alone – that has an eternal future with God. I’ll admit that word is a bit hard to hold since that isn’t how we define ourselves. We are – and always assume – we should be valued by the sum of our story, history, abilities, and experiences. We see ourselves less as wheat and weed and more like a bundle – all mixed up while doing our best to be who we can be in a world that is full of incredible highs and heartbreaking lows. And while our culture, our world, and even the church has surrounded us with a deep list of what we can think, say, and do to become wheat, we’re never simply that one thing. We are complicated and we live a double kind of life where we do what we should and what we shouldn’t all at the same time. The field or a bundle or something mixed up but trying its best is the image we hold for ourselves. But wheat only being wheat and weeds only being weeds is the kind of binary distinction we wield against others but don’t imagine for ourselves.
I wonder, though, if the rush to make Jesus’ metaphor into something it isn’t might cause us to miss the promise Jesus declared. Even though there are weeds in the field, Jesus doesn’t let the wheat be trampled. Rather, it grows because love, grace, compassion, and hope is something our lives – and our world – always needs. Even though our ability to discern what is a weed and what is wheat is often disrupted by all the lists we create that say success, worthiness, and goodness looks a certain, God’s hasn’t. And a God willing to laugh, cry, and bleed when cut; a God willing to listen, to mourn, to recognize what we think is worthy of love and set a table for those we push aside instead – is a God who won’t let our doubled lives be the limit of what life can be. God’s promises are never partial nor are they designed to only speak into parts of our lives. Rather, the life we live is met by the promise God made in baptism and through faith that you are, regardless of the weeds you’ve planted, also wheat. This is different from saying we’re no longer weed-like since we’re still going to act as if compassion, mercy, and love is always a limited resource. Rather, when God named you beloved, you were granted a new identity as the hands and feet of the One who had nails driven into them for the benefit of all. The doubled life we lead is not merely trying to turn weeds into wheat by finding a special checklist of what is holy and true. It is, rather, about trusting you don’t have to be the only hero of your story since Jesus’ promise is always more than enough. The God who loves you, the God who is with you, and the God who was willing to experience not only the wheat and weeds of life but how we can be that wheat and weed too – knows you are already worthy of the promise God has made to you. And if Jesus has been a Christ to us – then the least we can do is embrace the wheat we are by being a Christ – with welcome, compassion, mercy, hope, and love – to others too.
That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. And he told them many things in parables, saying: “Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on a path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched, and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. If you have ears, hear!”
“Hear, then, the parable of the sower. When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy, yet such a person has no root but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of this age and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.”
Matthew 13:1-9,18-23
My sermon from the 7th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (July 12, 2026) on Matthew 13:1-9,18-23.
So most of my pop culture attention has, over these last few weeks, been focused on all the international tourists discovering Waffle House and Ranch dressing for the very first time. It’s been fun seeing Scots, Norwegians, Colombians, and Egyptians trying to physically handle all the fast food we consume. But last weekend, there was another cultural event that wasn’t related to the World Cup and the 4th of July. And that’s because the world’s biggest post star got married at Madison Square Garden. I’ll admit I feel a little rawness in my soul as a Denver Broncos fan bringing up anything related to the Kansas City Chiefs. Yet Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift are the kind of celebrities we love to put on a pedestal and then immediately tear down. Taylor Swift is a force onto herself and she’s the kind of public figure we do our best to define. We want to see their union as either a fantasy we should aspire to or a sign of our civilization’s immediate collapse. But there’s also the reality that these pop culture milestones are always more than whatever we want them to be. The couple also has a say on what their moment will be. And paying attention to what happens rather than defining it before it even begins has a way of revealing who we choose to be too.
Now noticing what took place at the Swift/Kelce wedding isn’t particularly easy since the 1000+ attendees locked up their phones in small individual glass cases before entering the event space. Gossip, though, spreads quickly and we learned the basketball / ice rink / concert space was decorated as a heavily wooded garden. The comedian and pick-up basketball star Adam Sandler officiated the nuptials while Taylor Swift walked down the aisle to an instrumental version of one of her own songs. Paul McCartney, at some point, sang the song “I Want to Hold Your Hand” for the first time in decades. And during Swift and Kele’s 40 minute long vows, handkerchiefs embroidered with “TT” were handed out to everyone. The food at the reception included pasta in parmesan wheels, cheesesteaks by Bradley Cooper, mountains of french fries, pop tarts, and other tailgating kinds of foods. When it came time to dance and mingle, guests were entertained by carnival games that included a raffle for a 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle. Swift and Kelce, it’s been said, beamed the entire night and they kicked everything off by donating approximately 26 million dollars to a number of charities. Now I’m sure if we had an unlimited budget to plan our own party attended by a thousand of our closest friends, it wouldn’t be easy making it feel like our own while meeting everyone’s expectation for what her wedding should be. We, especially if we’re a woman, know our culture is very good at tearing apart the choices we make. And the online response to the Swift and Kelce wedding has been very predictable with many folks using the same word over and over again to describe it. To them, the whole thing was tacky when it should have had way more class. Taylor is the biggest pop star in the world which means her day was never only going to be for her since we love sharing our opinion about things that do not impact on our lives. And that’s why I appreciated a commentary by Anne Helen Petersen who believed the word “tacky” should be seen as something akin to a badge of honor. She wrote: People wield [tacky] as an insult, but I’d like to reframe it as an accurate description of pretty much any large, fun wedding between two performers who actually really like — even love — each other. … [E]xuberance isn’t classy. Neither is abundance. “Classiness” is, above all else, contained. Prim. Smooth. Subdued. Streamlined. It can be novel but only while hewing to tradition; it can be personal but only if the person themselves is, well, classy, which is to say, largely absent of personality.
Classy is a venue without a price tag. It’s the simplest French twist for a hairstyle and a single strand of inherited pearls. It’s a manicure with nude nails but never, never French Tips. It’s a perfectly manicured guest list without a single person thinking of posting their thoughts on [social media] in the aftermath. It’s an “acceptable” amount of people in the wedding party or no wedding party at all. It includes absolutely no elements gleaned from Pinterest… A classy wedding is beautiful in photos (but there shouldn’t be too many, god forbid) and utterly dull in practice.
…[Taylor Swift is] a good celebrity. And the vast majority of celebrities are tacky. Same for the vast majority of celebrity weddings. One type of tacky aspires, desperately, for class, revealing a well of unhappiness at its core. The other type of tacky isn’t transgressive, per se, so much as secure in itself: boisterous, clashing, abundant, or, in this case, everything wedding all at once.
Boisterous, clashing, abundant, exuberant and secure in itself isn’t only a good description for the pop cultural event we weren’t invited to. It’s also a series of awesome words for who our God chooses to be. There’s a tendency, especially after hearing Jesus’ own interpretation of this parable, to focus our attention on being the kind of good soil where faith can grow. But during a weekend when we said goodbye to a pillar of our community and while all the wider conflict, division, and being terrible to each other is on full display, there’s something surprising about a God who chooses to be extravagant. We have a God who refuses to be strategic when it comes to love and grace. God doesn’t choose the best and the brightest, the most compassionate and the most faithful to be Christ’s body in the world. Even if we have a high opinion of ourselves, there are plenty of times when we fail to love others in the way God wants us to. Rather than sharing life in all we say and do, we let our anxieties, fears, and biases limit what we believe God’s love should do. We have, however, a God who chooses to keep throwing seeds of hope everywhere. We have a God who will not be constrained. We assume God will always act like us – trying to be strategic and classy when it comes to the people God Jesus calls to follow him. Yet the God who chose a human life; chose parents and caregivers to raise him; who hung out with friends who rarely understood him; who welcomed the unwanted and broke bread with the most unclassy people imaginable; our God chooses to wield a very tacky kind of grace that’s big enough for all kinds of people – including you and me. And since our God is this tacky, God is also – I think – inviting us to be that tacky too. We can let our own acts of compassion, kindness, mercy, and welcome mimic the Jesus who fed, healed, and served. We can worry less about being classy when sharing our faith and choose to let everyone know Jesus is for them too. We can be exuberant and boisterous in naming our experience with God – admitting the prayers that were answered and those that still remain open. And while we might not always witness an immediate impact when we live our faith out loud, a seed of love and hope sowed on every thorny path will always have a chance to grow. We don’t need to be the biggest celebrity in the world to be extravagant with the gifts God has given to us. We can, instead, be the tacky kind of people who trust that Jesus really does make a difference in our lives and in our world.
“But to what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to one another, ‘We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn.’ “For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon’; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.”
At that time Jesus said, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
Matthew 11:16-19,25-30
My sermon from the 6th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (July 5, 2026) on Matthew 11:16-19,25-30.
On January 21st, 1776, in the small town of Woodstock, Virginia, a 29 year old pastor was about to step into a pulpit. This pastor, Peter Muhlenberg, was the son of Henry Melchoir Muhlenberg, whose ministry is why we have a Lutheran Church in the United States in the first place. Peter, after growing up in Pennsylvania, was sent at the age of 16 to further his education in Germany. He wasn’t that interested in school and after the school threatened to expel him, he immediately signed up with a British infantry unit visiting in the area. After a season with the Brits and with a local German dragoon unit, Peter returned home. He went back to school, graduated from what is now the University of Pennsylvania, and followed his father into ministry. And after serving as a Lutheran pastor in Bedminster, New Jersey, he felt drawn towards a new town being established in the Shenandoah Valley. Woodstock was primarily settled by German Lutherans who were originally from Pennsylvania. They wanted a religious leader who spoke their language and shared their identity but the colony of Virginia required all pastors within its borders to be ordained by the church of England. Peter, then, left for England in 1772, was ordained a priest, and returned to Woodstock to serve a Lutheran congregation masquerading as an Episcopalian church. Over the next few years, Peter became active in local politics, served in the state legislature, and when the Continental Army was formed in 1775, Pastor Mulhenberg was made a colonel and authorized to raise and command the 8th Virginia regiment. We can imagine all of this caused a bit of conflict within his congregation since not everyone wanted to break with England. In fact, even his own family was split with his father remaining a loyalist throughout the war. We can imagine that when Peter entered that pulpit, he was filled with a lot of excitement, worry, confidence, and fear. And the text he used for his sermon was that famous bit from the third chapter of Ecclesiastes: “For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to break down and a time to build up.” And after delivering a fiery word outlining some religious justification for the revolution that was to come, he ended his sermon by saying in German: “In the language of Holy Writ, there is a time for all things, a time to preach and a time to pray. There is a time to fight, and that time [has] now come.” After a short prayer, he left the pulpit and moved down the center aisle. And as he walked, he removed his clerical robes to reveal a military uniform underneath. Peter would eventually serve at the battles of Brandywine, Monmouth, and Yorktown, before retiring as a Major General at the end of the war. And when the Constitution was eventually ratified a few years later, he served in the House of Representatives and also as a Senator. The community he served in Woodstock – Emanuel Lutheran Church – is still there and I believe a stained glass window depicting this cinematic highlight of his life illuminates the pulpit. Even if we’ve never heard Peter’s story before, it fits a weekend when we celebrate the 250th anniversary of the declaration that all are created equal. This highlight of Peter’s life is a moment that stirs our souls. And yet it is a moment that, most likely, isn’t entirely true.
Now we have a lot of documentation related to Peter’s life. There’s letters, government papers, orders, memoirs, and articles from the newspaper. But the story about him revealing his military uniform while in church doesn’t show up until his great grand nephew published a biography about Peter 75 years later. There’s no doubt Peter raised a regiment, served the entire length of the war, and preached a farewell sermon at Woodstock on Ecclesiastes chapter 3. But the moment that would be the highlight of our moments was probably invented years later. Asking why it was created is very important and might be related to what was happening in the years leading up to 1849. Immigration into the United States from Europe had grown and people, as well as political parties, were suspicious of these folks who were coming from somewhere else. With the rise of so many who wanted to keep the Irish, Germans, and Catholics out of the country, those who traced their ancestry back to these so-called enemy regions felt a need to explain their contributions to American society. Peter Muhlenberg – as well as his brother Frederick who was the first speaker of the House of Representatives – are the perfect kind of candidates to explain how Germans and Lutherans have always been a part of the American story. We don’t know when the Mulhenberg family added this spicy highlight to the stories they shared about Peter or when they started downplaying the other bits of his background that were a bit more problematic. He, especially in his later years, was regularly asked to resign from the positions he was elected to and he also believed the Bible gave him permission to own slaves for their so-called benefit. Peter, though, became a symbol of liberty at a time when what it meant to be an American was regularly being fought over. And choosing to embellish the highlights of life by making them more dramatic and cinematic is, I think, a very human thing to do. It’s what we do when we’re busy sharing stories about ourselves, our families, and even our country during times of celebration and conflict. And what we wish to share is a vision for a life so well lived that there’s never a need for nuance, context, or questions.
Yet I wonder if Jesus, in today’s words from the gospel according to Matthew, wants us to remember how it’s our whole story – not just its highlights – that matters to God. He began by pointing out how our expectations often limit who we expect ourselves – and others – to be. People assumed that when God showed up, it would be in such a way that everyone could see. The community, though, didn’t even agree about what the Messiah might do or even what they might look like. But many looked at the ministry of John the Baptist and Jesus and say that’s isn’t God’s work at all. God’s presence should be like fireworks and not as subtle as a cup of cold water shared with a child who is thirsty in the desert. Jesus, however, invited those around him to look at more than simply the impact of his ministry. He also invited them to recognize how our biases, expectations, and context shape who we want God to be. And while it would be awesome for God to be very cinematic when God shows up, God chooses to let God’s kingdom be revealed through the work of welcome, hospitality, healing, wholeness, and love. That kind of work isn’t always cinematic since it requires time, patience, and a willingness to be changed by the people God brings our way. But a God who has already chosen to be with you will always care about more than the parts of your lives a great grandnephew might choose to embellish 75 years into the future. God is always more than any of our expectations. And a God who lived, died, and rose for you promises that you are worth more than every other expectation too.
“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward, and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous, and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”
Matthew 10:40-42
My sermon from the 5th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (June 28, 2026) on Matthew 10:40-42.
A couple streets down from where I live is a cat who rarely stays at home. Dusty is white with gray splotches and wears a collar that jingles when he runs. He has a habit of going out and not coming home for several days so our many town facebook pages are filled with posts wondering who he belongs to. Dusty, unlike my two cats, likes to be outdoors. And when he jumps my fence and wanders through the backyard, he does whatever he can to generate an audience. My cats are used to Dusty hanging out on my patio. But my dog Pepper doesn’t handle it very well. When Dusty comes by there is always a ton of whining, barking, growling, weeping, and gnashing of teeth. And I’m pretty sure Dusty knows exactly what he is doing. He’s the kind of cat that does this to all my neighbors and I’ve even seen him roll around in the front of a neighbor’s home for what felt like hours while their kids – and their dog – watched through an all glass screen door. Dusty has made the entire neighborhood his own because he knows we’ll keep him safe, pet him when he comes to say high, listen to all his meows, and give him a treat or two if we’re feeling generous. He, like a lot of animals, knows what it means to be welcomed in places other than his own. And Jesus, in our reading today from the gospel according to Matthew, reminds us how the art of welcome is a hallmark of those who claim to follow him.
We’ve spent the last few weeks listening to instructions Jesus gave his disciples at roughly the midpoint of his ministry. Jesus had been preaching, teaching, healing, and causing trouble all over the area. He had visited communities that he had grown up in as well as non-Jewish communities that didn’t know what to do with this wandering Rabbi. Jesus’ reputation had grown to the point where he needed help to do what he wanted to do. So he identified twelve individuals as his apostles and empowered them to be a Jesus to everyone they met. He instructed them on where to go, what to do, and what to say. And while he encouraged their initial work to take place among people who shared their ethnic and religious backgrounds, Jesus’ words served as the foundation for a ministry that would eventually encounter folks like you and me. Matthew never forgot that it was the magi – those Zoroastrian astrologers from what is now modern day Iran – who were among the very first to meet Jesus when he entered the world. And so he wanted his friends to develop a habit of discipleship that could reverberate beyond the Sea of Galilee. Jesus instructed them to go and proclaim the good news – that the kingdom of heaven – this kingdom of God – had come near. And while we sometimes reduce this proclamation to words we only hold in our heads, Jesus showed how the good news changes our bodies, hearts, and souls too. For Matthew, God’s kingdom is lived out when the sick are cured, the dead raised, those with skin diseases become whole, and demons are sent back to where they belong. Everything that divides us from God and from one another is overcome by a power that doesn’t ask for money or influence or even attention. Rather, Jesus’ friends are pushed to meet people busy living their lives and to listen to their story, their needs, their hopes, and their dreams. They were to practice the holy art of being welcomed by showing up in other people’s homes, eating their food, and getting to know who they really were. Their hosts would offer hospitality which, as we see throughout the Bible, is making sure invited and uninvited guests have all the food, shelter, and care they need. Yet unlike some other guests, Jesus’ friends would offer their own kind of welcome too. Just as they received the support they needed to be who God wanted them to be in the world; they, through the gifts Jesus had given them, would welcome their hosts into God’s kingdom by supporting them too.
Now, this welcome for welcome sounds like the kind of social transaction where what we get is equaled by what we give. We, whether we realize it or not, assume that this quid pro quo is simply how most relations work. Each time we talk or care or invite someone in, we expect to receive some kind of gift or favor in return. And while scratching each other’s backs can be a way for us to build bonds of friendship and accountability, when welcoming is reduced to merely be another social transaction, we can quickly decide that some are worth our welcome while others aren’t. Jesus, however, refused to let these kinds of transactions be the limit of who his disciples got to be. They were, instead, to practice a welcome that matched Jesus himself. This kind of generosity, though, doesn’t always sit well with us which is why we heard last week how this way of being can disrupt all the other relationships that we have. And that’s because when we move to a kind of welcome that embraces empathy and pays attention to stories that aren’t our own, we can soon discover that our priorities, expectations, experiences, and histories need to change too. Jesus wasn’t trying to tell his friends that a life with faith is mostly transactional where our suffering today is met with a future reward we can’t begin to imagine. Rather, in the words of Professor Stan Saunders, Faculty Emeritus of Columbia Theological Seminary, Jesus’ words of promise and suffering are really “the two poles that together define the singular experience of discipleship.” Following Jesus is hard and not because there are those who have a different opinion, belief, or value system than us. What makes discipleship difficult is how Christianity is a faith that will always inconvenience us. Being for one another and for those who we harm, marginalize, and push aside will always cost something because the art of welcome takes time, energy, and attention. It forces us to admit the truths about ourselves we’d rather not reveal and repent of the ways we let our kingdoms rather than God’s define our lives. A welcome that is honest, faithful, and holy will always change the lives of those doing the welcoming. The kind of welcome Jesus invites us into is a welcome that is always costly because it’s rooted in generosity rather than in any kind of transaction we come up with. And that’s because the one who has already welcomed you into what God is doing in the world through the gift of baptism and the hope of faith, trusts that his ministry of welcome healing, and grace can be your ministry too. And so that ministry might look like having to deal with a cat who always puts on a show because they know you’re already going to keep them safe from all the things that growl their way. But this ministry of welcome could also look like a cold cup of water to someone you don’t know even when your mouth is dry and dusty too. We are often told that we have to hoard our time, talent, resources, attention, focus, time, and who we listen to as a way to preserve our own sense of who we’re meant to be. Yet the Jesus who was welcomed, rejected, and rose again to keep welcoming others all the same is a Jesus who knows our life becomes more when welcome, rather than fear, is at the heart of what we say and do.
My children’s message for the 4th Sunday after Pentecost (June 21, 2026).
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I’m so glad you are here today and I want to talk a little bit about something we’re going to hear Jesus say. It’s a bit confusing because Jesus seems to be saying two things – one that is loving and one that is a bit mean that is hard to put next to each other. But to do that – I brought a couple of props with me. And the first one is this, bring out a wig. It’s no surprise that I don’t have a whole lot of hair on my head. I started losing it when I was barely out of high school and I shave the little bits that grow twice a week. If I want to act like I have hair, I have to wear a wig – which I’ve done a few times for costumes on Halloween. And if I’m going to wear a wig, it should be a big wig with long, flowing strands that are incredibly tangled.
Now each strand looks similar to each other but each one is a bit different. Some have slightly different colors or shine to them while others are different lengths. And these strands, there’s a lot of them, so many that it would be really difficult to count. It would be a pretty long – and boring worship – if everyone just watched us count each strand in this wig one by one. I know I don’t have the attention span to count all these strands. But if we could – and if we also paid attention to each strand and noticed how different and unique each one was – it would feel as if we really know – and understand this wig. We would know every tangle; every one that is loose; every one that shines brightest; and each one that might need a little help. And it would be pretty awesome to know something that deeply.
So Jesus – today – is going to make a promise to us. He’s going to say that the creator of the universe – the One who created the stars and the sky and the planets; the One who set everything in motion; the One who keeps tab on wind and rain and the orbit of the stars around the galaxy – that One knows you, cares about you, and cherishes you. The One who knows all the big things – also cares about every single hair on your head. Just like if we took the time to count the strands on this wig, God knows our gifts, our struggles, our mistakes, and what we get right. God knows you’re not perfect yet God values you and that promises never goes away.
I find that to be a very comforting thing to hear especially during moments when I’m feeling a bit mixed up – wondering if I said the right thing, made the right decision, or find myself in a situation that’s just hard. Knowing God cares makes a difference.
But then, Jesus, a few moments later is going to talk about this – a sword. And he’s going to say that he wasn’t here only to bring comfort, care, and healing. He also came to bring a sword – which feels very violent and angry. He’s going to talk about division and splitting families up to the point where parents and children don’t get along with each other. Jesus is going to seem to be encouraging the things we are sometimes too good at – harming one another – and then acting as if it’s okay because God says so.
So what do we do with these two things that Jesus says right next to each other?
When I’m reading the Bible and something hard like this comes up, I don’t ignore it. I don’t pretend something isn’t in here. I also don’t try to act as if Jesus didn’t say what we did nor act as if my feeling confused or upset or scared or even angry about it isn’t something I’m really feeling. It’s okay to not get it; to not understand; to ask questions; and even to pray about what Jesus said. I also wonder what those who Jesus first talked to – how they would understand what he said as well as wonder those who wrote these words down – how they understood His words. And then I try to take all of Jesus’ story – his words, his life, his journey to the cross, his death, resurrection, and ascension – and how that might reveal a little bit of what Jesus meant for us. Then, after all that work – and it takes work, energy, effort, and time to listen to Jesus – I, with the help of the Spirit, make a prayerful, faithful, and reverent best guest around what Jesus said. And Jesus, I think, invites us to do the same. It’s important for us to not only take one verse or one word or one story and assume that’s the entirety of Jesus’ story. Jesus also doesn’t want to pretend we’re not doing that when we really are. So when I hear Jesus talk about swords, I don’t hear him encouraging us to harm or divide or fight each other. He’s not encouraging us to use His words or His name as an excuse to not care. Rather, there’s something about showing up for others, for getting to know each other, for caring and supporting one another that cuts through all the ways we choose to not be there for each other. A Jesus willing to, on the Cross, have his arms open to all – is a Jesus who reminds us how love really is a sword that cuts through all kinds of hate and hurt. Loving others isn’t easy; it’s often complicated and requires us to change our own thoughts, experiences, and points of view. Yet a God who knows all about you is a God who also knows how powerful, gracious, and meaningful life is when we choose to be in that same kind of relationship with others too.
My children’s message for 3rd Sunday after Pentecost (June 14, 2026)
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Bring your orange bag full of your daily stuff.
I’m so glad you are here today and I brought with me something I carry everyday. This is the bag I bring to the church every time I come here and so lets spend some time looking through it. This is an old bag that I’ve had for years and I even had it repaired at one point. It used to have a strap that broke off and it has small holes on the corner. This is a bag I use to carry stuff – and I’ll admit I put stuff in it that I forget it is even there. So we have my laptop, my prayer book, a series of papers and receipts and things I’m supposed to do. I have an old mask I used during COVID because I’m terrible at throwing things away. I have receipts that I need to record that are used by the Tri-Boro Food Pantry. I have an old plastic bag with little knickacks including a cross and other things. I’ve got a directory with contact information of various people at the church. And also few notebooks full of notes – some that are brand new and some that are old. This is sort of like my version of the backpack you bring to school – and is full of different kinds of stuff I use to be a pastor.
So I wonder – what are the things you carry in your backpacks? Accept answers.
Today’s reading about Jesus is going to include words where Jesus sends his friends on a journey. He’s sending them out to show kindness and compassion to others. And since they’re going on a journey, Jesus invites them to pack their own bags full of stuff that might help them. What are the things that might help Jesus’ friends? Accept answers.
Those are great answers. And we can imagine Jesus’ friends need all those things to help them. They’d need extra clothes, food, first aid kits, a map, a guide, and all those other things to help others. They might run into people who don’t speak their same language even though they share the same background – so a translator could be helpful. Or they might need money to buy the food and other things they would need. Jesus will, in verses we don’t here today, talk a little about what not to bring. But he begins this whole conversation, I think, reminding his friends what they always bring wherever they are going. And that’s because what they carry with them in Jesus himself. Jesus, in his love for you, and in the baptism he’s extended to you, and in the way he has promised that you belong – you matter – and you have value – Jesus promises to also be with you wherever you go. So when you’re at school, Jesus is with you. When you are on vacation, Jesus is with you. When you are at home, Jesus is with you. And Jesus invites us to remember that we carry Jesus with us even if we don’t always sense his presence or realize he is with you. Jesus, though, promises that he is. And just like Jesus says you matter, we get to show others by listening to them, talking to them, getting to know them, by sitting with them when they’re sad, including them when we play games, and by choosing to work through our conflicts rather than just fight and yell – by being patient and kind and showing compassion – we get to be the ones who show others how they matter to Jesus too.
Then Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”
Then Jesus summoned his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness. These are the names of the twelve apostles: first, Simon, also known as Peter, and his brother Andrew; James son of Zebedee and his brother John; Philip and Bartholomew; Thomas and Matthew the tax collector; James son of Alphaeus and Thaddaeus; Simon the Cananaean and Judas Iscariot, the one who betrayed him.
These twelve Jesus sent out with the following instructions: “Do not take a road leading to gentiles, and do not enter a Samaritan town, but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. As you go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick; raise the dead; cleanse those with a skin disease; cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.
Matthew 9:35—10:8
My sermon from the 3rdSunday after Pentecost Sunday (June 14, 2026) on Matthew 9:35—10:8.
So I’d like to begin by sharing a little bit of what I asked Minka and Oliver to do at the start of every Confirmation class. Before we’d share our highs and lows for the week, explore different books of the Bible, or ponder how Lutheran Christianity is a way of hearing, teaching, and following – I made them answer a bunch of questions on a 2 sided worksheet. This little bit of busy work gave me the time I needed to talk to folks after worship ended and class time began. But I’ve also found – and research has confirmed – that a different kind of learning takes place when we write things out. When what we’ve heard, seen, or thought is made physical and tangible through the act of writing, a circuit in our brain grabs hold of that experience in a powerful way. And so, on the backside of each worksheet, I asked them to write out what we covered in our last lesson. But on the front, the questions remained the same every week. Minka and Oliver were invited to not only define sin, articulate God’s promise to Abraham, and Jesus’ interpretation of the ten commandments; they were also invited to ponder a few characteristics of our God. At the top of each page were six two and three word phrases with a word that was missing. They knew what each missing word started with, how many letters were in those words, and a hint at what it might be. So for example, the first phrase was two words long: God <blank>. The missing word starts with C, is 7 letters long, and the hint was “the story of Genesis.” So – pop quiz – what do you think that phrase might be? Pause. If you guessed – God creates – then you’ve learned what I think is one of the essential characteristics of God. Our God, though, chooses to be more than only a creator. God is also active, and cares, and is present. Our God makes promises and blesses all the places and experiences where love and new life is found. When we talk about God, we often treat the divine as mostly a noun – focusing on adjectives such as great, good, and holy to flesh out what this noun might be. But our God – like our faith – chooses to be more like a verb – a vibrant, moving, breathing, living force in our world. God isn’t absent from the lives we live. And as we hear in today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew, each one of us has our place with this living God too.
Now we are, at this moment in Matthew’s version of Jesus’ life, at a moment of transition. Jesus, who had been busy teaching, preaching, and healing all around the area he grew up in, needed help. His reputation had grown to the point where he could no longer do everything by himself. The people coming to him were from all areas around the sea of Galilee as well Syria, Jordan, Judea, and beyond. And when he saw them, compassion was at the heart of what he said and did. That word compassion, though, meant more than merely feeling sorry for what people were going through. It’s also a word that, in the ancient Greek, was derived from the same word for the intestines. When Jesus saw folks who were hurting, in pain, and whose future looked bleak because of what others said about them – he experienced it in his body and his soul. He identified emotionally with those who suffered; felt what they felt; and longed for them to have a life where they didn’t feel harassed and helpless. Jesus didn’t only see them; he also knew and experienced whatever it was they were living through. The story of those who came to Jesus discovered how their story was already part of God’s story. And as the scope of Jesus’ ministry continued to grow, it was time for our story to take on a bit more of God’s story too. Jesus, throughout the gospel of Matthew, is constantly inviting folks to participate in what God is up to. Yet it’s here when Jesus decides to make their journey with him into something a bit more tangible and real. It’s here where we get 12 names for 12 apostles, representing a symbolic restoration of the 12 tribes of Israel nearly 800 years after 10 of them were destroyed by the Assyrian Empire. Jesus’ work, though, is more than a symbol of re-establishing what once was. He also empowers them to embody what God’s kingdom is all about. He grants them the kind of authority Jesus himself has while instructing them about what this kind of power should do. They are not to let their ego, sense of entitlement, or their desire for wealth, fame, honor, and attention overwhelm the task at hand. Rather Jesus’ ministry is their ministry – and making the kingdom of God tangible in the lives people actually live is a hallmark of who they get to be. Jesus doesn’t, however, tell them to put limits on what kind of compassion folks can receive. He doesn’t tell the apostles that only those who convert or who choose to follow Jesus get to be cured. The healing, peace, and comfort they offer doesn’t depend on what others do. Rather showing up and bringing people into a different kind of future is simply what God chooses to do. And while it’s easy to focus our attention on those receiving healing and wholeness, it’s also pretty fascinating who Jesus gave this power to. The ones who Jesus empowered are the same ones who Jesus described as having little faith. These apostles include one who will deny him; one who will betray him; and ten who will leave Jesus behind. If God left it up to us to determine how God’s love moves in the world, the list of who gets to be a part of that would be pretty small. But a God who chooses to create; who cares; and who is present; a God who makes promises, blesses, and is active isn’t a God who leaves us on our own. Rather, the God making God’s love tangible in our world has decided that you – exactly as you are – get to be part of Jesus’ mission too.
Now Confirmation is often treated as a kind of graduation since, after two years of reading, writing sermon notes, and listening to a long winded pastor, Minka and Oliver should be celebrated for being very intentional with their faith. Not everyone in the space has gone through Confirmation nor do we always have the opportunity to ponder what it means to say I believe. Yet, for me, Confirmation is not only about recognizing your commitment to waking up early on Sunday mornings while the rest of your peers slept in. Confirmation is also about confirming God’s ongoing commitment to you. It wasn’t how detailed your answers on the worksheet that determined whether you were worthy of God’s grace and compassion. Rather, God has – in baptism and through faith – already made tangible the promise you belong. Like the apostles before you, Jesus has named you as a part of what God is doing in the world. And our God does not expect you to be perfect nor does Jesus invite you into a life without its share of fear, grief, and worry. Yet the compassion God showed by choosing to live, die, and rise for you is the same kind of compassion we get to share in all we say and do. And while we will often wonder if God’s promises really will be fulfilled and if the holy wisdom and understanding we long for will finally show up to guide us along the way, I know the God who didn’t give up on the apostles won’t give up on you. You truly are beautifully and wonderfully made. And the Jesus who is Emmauel – God-with-you – is the Jesus who is leading you, calling you, and showing you how compassion can be an essential characteristic of you too.
As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax-collection station, and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him.
And as he sat at dinner[a] in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting with Jesus and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” But when he heard this, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous but sinners.”
While he was saying these things to them, suddenly a leader came in and knelt before him, saying, “My daughter has just died, but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” And Jesus got up and followed him, with his disciples. Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from a flow of blood for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, for she was saying to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.” Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” And the woman was made well from that moment. When Jesus came to the leader’s house and saw the flute players and the crowd making a commotion, he said, “Go away, for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. But when the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took her by the hand, and the girl got up. And the report of this spread through all of that district.
Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26
My sermon from the 2nd Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (June 7, 2026) on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26.
I’d like to start today’s sermon with a question: what does a good Christian look like?
Now we know, based on the Bible and our own experience, that only God can hold the totality of our human story. Attempting to analyze, process, and categorize every thought, action, and even our inactions through some kind of theological framework is impossible. It’s spiritually healthy – and a bit freeing – to admit how God’s standards don’t often match our own. But I imagine that most of us might carry a mental picture of what we think a good Christian actually looks like. It’s a picture we might have purposely put together and crafted through deep study, prayer, and paying attention to our own personal histories. Yet it could also be one given to us unconsciously by others who shared this is what a good Christian looks like. Maybe the picture we hold looks like our grandmother, our uncle, or that friend who showed up for us in our time of need. Maybe that so-called Christian speaks, talks, dresses, and has the family life we wish we had instead. The good Christian is, we imagine, pure, holy, and different in ways we recognize but couldn’t fully describe. We don’t regularly compare ourselves to the picture we have of this “good Christian” because our lives are often too busy to keep constantly measuring how faithful we actually are. Yet during those moments when we see ourselves as that good Christian, we can’t help but feel a little more holy and true. The image we hold of what it looks like to follow God has a way of shaping how we read the Bible, listen to these stories, and interact with our neighbors and friends. And when someone comes along who doesn’t look, sound, or act in the ways we’d expect a good Christian to be, that picture in our heads – rather than Jesus – ends up deciding who we believe truly belongs to God.
Now today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew is rather short but is also very full. We begin with a call story before moving into a healing and a resurrection I wish we all experienced way more often. Jesus was, at the time, busy preaching, teaching, and healing all around the Sea of Galilee. It’s at this moment, while in the midst of his ministry, when we meet the one who the early church later decided wrote the words we just read. Matthew was a tax collector who was probably assigned to collect money based on how many fish people caught. Like I’ve shared in other sermons, the Roman Empire outsourced their tax collection services to individuals and businesses that operated like street gangs. These groups were empowered by the Romans to use violence and intimidation to get whatever the ruling authorities wanted. And so these tax collectors were seen by the community as wicked people whose occupations – and maybe even their existences – violated God’s law. They were, in the eyes of almost everyone, the complete opposite of what a faithful follower of God looked like. Yet Matthew – and so many of the other tax collectors Jesus interacted with – weren’t the business owners contracted by the Roman Empire. He was simply the grunt shaking people down for money. The Rev. Dr. Mark Allan Powell in a commentary on this passage shared how recent scholarship has noticed these tax collectors often had a very specific look about them. These men (and they were almost always men) often “had something wrong with them: mild mental challenges, speech impediments, physical deformities, and the like. They were often enslaved persons or, at least, were people who for some reason could not find work in a more desirable profession. The man called to follow Jesus was obviously not an enslaved person (since he left his position), but he was probably representative of a class of people considered pathetic, despicable, or both.” Tax collectors were not only doing those things their community found to be dishonorable, gross, and ugly. They, through no fault of their own or because of the situation they found themselves in, also looked as if this was the only kind of work – or existence – or future – they could possibly live in.
And it was exactly these folks – including so-called sinners – who were invited to party with Jesus in Simon Peter’s house. Now we’re not told who these “sinners” were but, based on context and how this word was used in other places, “sinners” was a euphemism for prostitutes. These workers, though, weren’t in this profession for themselves since they were most likely sold, enslaved, and forced to do this work at a young age. Their future – and lives – would be short since we have no records of those who Jesus would have encountered ever retiring from that lifestyle or making it into their 20s. Peter’s home wouldn’t have been big enough to keep all these guests inside so everyone would have seen who Jesus chose to break bread with. And so the house party Jesus threw was the kind of party respectable neighbors would have called the cops to immediately shut down. The community Jesus pulled together was, in the words of Mark Allen Powell, “the most pitiable people of [Jesus’] world, though of course it may have been difficult to pity them when they were robbing you or physically assaulting you or tempting your husband to spend grocery money on adultery or infecting your sons with venereal diseases. In Jesus’ day as in ours, pathetic individuals were both easy to pity and easy to despise.” Jesus, though, chose to do more than pity those who looked like they deserved the short, miserable, and painful present and future they were living through. He showed them mercy and how the kingdom of God belonged to them too.
And that might make sense to us since we assume Matthew, who immediately became an ex-tax collector, was at Jesus’ table too. We expect those who turn from what we assume is an unChristian life to be brought in by their God. Yet nothing within these few verses implies that every other guest left – or could leave – their current circumstances behind. For those who were enslaved; who look different; those who society decided didn’t deserve a future with them; for those failed to break out of the ongoing cycle of poverty and violence; for those who, through no fault of their own, were caught in a system that consumed their life; and those who looked like they deserved everything that had happened to them – Jesus welcomed, invited, and set his table for them. We often read Jesus’ proverb about coming for the sick rather than the well as his way of promising to cure whatever is infecting us. But Jesus knows we don’t always necessarily have the option – or get to change – our life or the future coming our way. We often assume our walk with God depends only on the choices we make and, especially those with us with a little money, security, and opportunity to have agency over our life – we assume being with God and choosing God are the same thing. Jesus, though, knows just how big life can be and that we are – and always will be – defined by something other than what we do or what’s been done to us. So he chooses to see, to know, to welcome, and to embrace those “in spite of [the] current circumstances that reflect nothing of God’s reign or righteousness.” Jesus chooses to include, feed, and to honor those who otherwise live in shame. And while Jesus himself often didn’t look like he was following God because of the company he chose to keep, he embodied a kind of mercy, grace, and an ever expanding table that showed who our God chooses to be.