Category: Sermons

¹³ Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” ¹⁴ But he said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” ¹⁵ And he said to them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” ¹⁶ Then he told them a parable: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. ¹⁷ And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ ¹⁸ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. ¹⁹ And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ ²⁰ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ ²¹ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

Luke 12:13-21

My sermon from the 8th Sunday after Pentecost (August 3, 2025) on Luke 12:13-21.

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There are a bunch of different tricks we can use to dig deeper into the stories – the parables – Jesus shared. We can, for example, imagine the entire scene in our head, creating a visual map that lets us know who – or what – is at the center of it all. If, however, we struggle using our imagination in this way, we can choose to figure out the parts of these similar-to-the-real-world stories that feel a bit odd. Figuring that out can be difficult since what was strange to people living in ancient Israel and Palestine 2000 years ago might fly right by us. What we might do instead is pause and focus on the actual words Jesus used. We can circle all the verbs since faith, like love, is meant to be alive and so the activity within Jesus’ words can reveal how God is already moving in our world. Or we might pay attention to the pronouns – all the I’s and you’s, the he’s and she’s, the mine and theirs that serve as a window into what Jesus chose to say. These are just some of the different methods we use to enter into the stories Jesus told. And the fact we get to do this shows why Jesus used stories in the first place. The parables Jesus shared with those during his public ministry provide an opportunity for us to dwell over an extended period of time with holy words spoken by the Son of God himself. And yet I wonder if – maybe – there are times when what Jesus chose not to say also gives his words their power. 

When Jesus introduced the rich man, he invited us to let our imaginations run wild. This isn’t, I think, very hard since someone always owns way more vacation homes than we do. We’re surrounded by those who we imagine have a fancier car, a bigger house, and whose financial difficulties look nothing like our own. The rich might have their issues but the anxieties and fears that keep us awake at night are not what a truly rich person has. And that, I think, is a pretty good description for the rich man in Jesus’ story. They began with a lot – and, over time, turned that amount into so much more. His wealth, like a lot of the wealth in the ancient world, was rooted in the land itself. We’re told he had a piece of property – and the property produced abundantly. We shouldn’t assume, of course, that he worked the land himself. He already had a gaggle of merchants, employees, hired hands, and slaves doing the management and physical work for him. Those who heard this story for the first time assumed all those people were within Jesus’ words but he was completely silent about them. We don’t hear about tenants, servants, overseers, and the enslaved doing the planting, weeding, shepherding, harvesting, and selling. All we hear is about this man – whose ownership, status, and investment – gave him permission to act like he was the one who did it all. The dirt on other people’s hands and the sweat they poured into the ground was merely an extension of himself. There exists a hierarchy of worth that places those with wealth above everyone else. And that’s because we let those who make investments define what belongs to who. And so, without saying a word, every person, hardship, struggle, moment of suffering, and when someone in that field did something amazing – everyone vanished from the story because everything belonged – and was defined – by him. That’s why, I think, his inner monologue was so full of the pronouns “I” and “mine.” All he saw was the abundance of his stuff since those who generated the abundance were silent in the first place. The work of other people’s hands became his own and his only response was to wonder where he could put all he claimed to create. In his mind, the only thing there was – was him. And he lived that out by claiming a future he created, maintained, and built all on his own. 

Now if Jesus’ silence was only about the rich man’s inability to see how he was part of something so much bigger than himself, we could keep this parable safe and manageable. It was, after all, the rich man’s inner monologue which revealed how imperfect he was. When he discovered he had way more than his daily bread, he didn’t ask anyone else or even God about what he should do. The rich man’s perspective and world was so small, it didn’t have room for gratitude, thankfulness, or trust in anything else. He is, then, a template of what we shouldn’t be and we can easily check that off by including God whenever generosity comes our way. But there’s one other part of this story that Jesus is completely silent about. Nowhere in the text does he imply that the rich man gained his wealth by unjust means. That doesn’t mean his use of enslaved labor and exploitation was somehow good. Rather, the person whose world only included themselves grew their wealth by taking an initial investment and, over time, growing it into something more. As much as we’d love to win the lotto or maybe discover there really is a Nigerian prince who will give us their entire fortune, how the rich man generated their wealth matches the kind of wealth generation we practice today. We, in a multitude of ways, take money, park it in a series of investments where other people do the work, and turn it into more wealth for us. It’s a practice that shapes the investments held by our church, by the Ricci Foundation who supports our Special Gifts fund, and is even what I’m doing while planning for my far off future retirement. Taking a little today so we can create a future that is more merry and bright doesn’t feel as if it should be something God would declare silly and foolish. Yet Jesus, throughout the gospel according to Luke, described any kind of wealth as a – in the words of Rev. Dr. Jennifer Wyant – “barrier and a distraction to following God because it makes us focus on the wrong things.” That’s why Jesus told those with more than their daily bread they already had what all there is for them and that it would be easier for a camel to literally pass through the eye of a needle than for them to enter the kingdom of heaven. It’s why Jesus told a story about guests being invited to a banquet who refused to attend because they had lands and families to support and then told a rich young man to sell all they had and give the money to the poor if they’d wish to inherit eternal life. Like the rich man in this story – and even the brother in the crowd fighting over his inheritance – wealth can trick us into trusting that the silence at the heart of the unknowable future can be broken by what we do today. And while there is value in intentionally having, maintaining, and creating a financial floor for ourselves and others so we all can sleep silently through the night, our future isn’t as controllable as we’d like it to be. When our money, wealth, and stuff become the source of what our tomorrow might be, it doesn’t take much – an illness, a lost job, a broken relationship, an untimely death – to bring everything down. Our possessions and our wealth cannot – and will not – save us. But the God who sees you, the God who loves you, the God who is with you, and the God who – in baptism and through faith – has already built an eternal future of mercy and grace for you – will not give up on you. And while we cannot fully control what tomorrow might bring, we can trust, follow, love, serve, and choose to not let what we – and what other people – possess define us. We can, instead, seek after God’s kingdom and, in the process, show ourselves and others what it truly means to treasure God. 

Amen.

He was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” ² So he said to them, “When you pray, say:
Father, may your name be revered as holy.
    May your kingdom come.
³     Give us each day our daily bread.
⁴     And forgive us our sins,
        for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
    And do not bring us to the time of trial.”
⁵ And he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, ⁶ for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’ ⁷ And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.’ ⁸ I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything out of friendship, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.
⁹ “So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. ¹⁰ For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. ¹¹ Is there anyone among you who, if your child asked for a fish, would give a snake instead of a fish? ¹² Or if the child asked for an egg, would give a scorpion? ¹³ If you, then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

Luke 11:1-13

My sermon from the 7th Sunday after Pentecost (July 27, 2025) on Luke 11:1-13.

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8 days ago, my family and I attended a memorial for a friend who passed away last year. Seth was an amazing person who knew practically everyone which is why his remembrance was being held in a theater in Brooklyn. The event began with a heartfelt welcome from his wife who planned to share more words later on. But before we could hear stories and reflections from those who knew him best, we were first invited to please stand up. Now one of the things to know about Seth is that he was a professional clown. He and his wife spent over two decades performing in circuses, at street festivals, and dazzling audiences all over the world with incredible sold out shows. They never wore full clown makeup and preferred using acrobatics, props, whimsy, and humor to bring joy to others. In the years immediately after the US invasion of Afghanistan in 2002, Seth had organized and created a home-grown circus that traveled from village to village through the war-torn countryside. The work he and others did empowered individuals to claim their humanity in the face of all kinds violence, suffering, and sorrow. It’s a circus that is still active today even after the Taliban returned to power. And many of the acts and routines Seth brought to life are still going strong. So we, at the memorial, began the event by doing – together – the circus’ warm-up routine. I’m going to do my best to replicate it now and – if you’d like – feel free to stand up and do it with me. We begin by taking our right arm and slowly sort of punch the air while counting: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. Make sure to keep the rhythm steady and try really hard to not speed up. We then switch and do the same thing with our left: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. Next, we kick out with our right leg: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. And then we do the same with our left: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. With our limbs feeling loose, we now do our whole body at the same time: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. I think we’ve got a handle on it so let’s do the whole thing two more times – but faster. 

Right arm: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. 

Left arm: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. 

Right leg: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. 

Left leg: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. 

The body: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. 

Now even faster!

Right arm: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. 

Left arm: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. 

Right leg: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10.

Left leg: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. 

Everything together: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10. 

Congratulations. We’re ready for the circus. 

But before we rush to whatever comes next, let’s pay attention to our body and our spirit. Maybe we feel a bit looser, more relaxed, a tad silly, and even a bit surprised since we didn’t expect to see ourselves, those around us, and me up here in my alb shaking way more than we usually do on a Sunday morning. When our bodies move in an enthusastic, freeing, and unexpected way, we’re doing more than preparing ourselves for whatever might come next. We’re also opening ourselves to the possibility that the joy, laughter, fun, and hope we share with others might be available to us too. Warming ourselves up for what can be while living through everything as it truly is – empowers us to grab onto a love and grace that pushes us into something more. And I wonder if, maybe, the words we heard Jesus share were an invitation for us to do the same. Prayer doesn’t need to only be a list of complaints we make to upper management or a wishlist turning God into some kind of cosmic Santa Claus. Prayer is, instead, an opportunity to discover the God who is with us no matter what comes next. Prayer is a conversation, an experience, and an event where we get to be completely ourselves. And that’s because God has empowered us, through baptism and faith, to be authentically who we truly are. That means we get to ask and wonder, dream and imagine, complain and rage as we wonder why the beauty of life is often overcome with so much pain and sorrow. God wants us to name what breaks our heart before we downplay it by recognizing how others have it worse. God knows our prayers won’t necessarily be answered in the ways we expect and that they won’t always stay the same since life has a habit of changing our prayers while we go through so much joy and grief. Yet the God who was willing to go through Christmas and to discover what it means to be vulnerable, helpless, and to need other people’s love – is a God who wants us to realize just how known we truly are. God knows your hurts. God knows what makes you smile. God knows the anxiety that wakes you before the dawn breaks and the fears that keep you up way too late. And while our God knows all these things, that doesn’t mean God wants us to act as if some are worthy of care while others are not. God, instead, chooses to empower you to trust that you really are part of what God is doing in the world. And that, I think, is what opens us to something that is incredibly powerful and unbelievably humbling all at the same time. You, really are, loved by God  – and we, together, can become who God knows we can be. 

And so I wonder if the Lord’s prayer could be a kind of holy warmup rather than something we only say at the end of a long day. Jesus’ words invite us to recognize how we truly are rooted in something so much bigger than ourselves. No where in Jesus’ prayer does he invite us to cling to an “I” or a “me” that is entitled to God’s favor at the expense of everyone else. We, instead, are called to remember that God’s kingdom – not ours – will always be what’s holy and true. God’s kingdom is where everyone receives their daily bread and where our spiritual and material debts are forgiven, while we make sure to practice the same. And when we find ourselves living through trials and hardships that break our soul, we can remember how we are being held in an ever loving embrace that will never let us go. Keeping ourselves open to the fact that God’s love really is for us and for the world isn’t always easy which is why a little warmup is sometimes necessary for us to remember who we get to be. And while that warm up might include moving our arms, legs, and our entire body in ways that feel a bit awkward, silly, and even a little funny – we can also warm up our spirit with a prayer we say out loud or hold deeply in our hearts. The Jesus who is Emmanuel – God-with-us – is truly with you. And may he continue to empower us to live out a holy kind of grace and joy that opens us to the incredible life-giving love God offers to all. 

Amen.

³⁸ Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him. ³⁹ She had a sister named Mary, who sat at Jesus’s feet and listened to what he was saying. ⁴⁰ But Martha was distracted by her many tasks, so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her, then, to help me.” ⁴¹ But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things, ⁴² but few things are needed—indeed only one. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

Luke 10:38-42

My sermon from the 6th Sunday after Pentecost (July 20, 2025) on Luke 10:38-42.

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Two Saturdays ago, Oliver and I headed to the NJ Expo Center in Edison for this year’s Collect-a-con. Collect-a-con is a traveling Pokemon and Anime convention where people meet all kinds of artists, actors, and youtube streamers while buying and selling all kinds of little pieces of shiny cardboard. Since this was my first time attending the convention and there weren’t any special guests we wanted an autograph from, I figured we’d miss any line if we arrived an hour after the doors officially opened. This, though, was a mistake and when we neared the convention hall, the line of cars stretched far and wide. We decided to go the last mile by foot and so I stashed the car in a random parking lot. We weaved through busy streets, around busy warehouses, and through a dirt lot for overflow convention parking that looked like a Tetris game gone horribly wrong. As we drew closer to the expo building, we stumbled onto a line that was slowly moving forward. There was no signage or staff telling us this was how we’d get into the show but since the line was full of kids dressed in Charizard pajamas and adults wearing pirate costumes with wide brim straw hats, I figured this was it. It wasn’t long before the line stretched hundreds of people behind me and every time a new person took their place in the line, they made the “i-can’t-believe-this-is-the-line” face and heavy sigh. There was grumbling; there was complaining; and some folks even got mad at their friends for making them late. I assumed waiting in this line on this summer day would make the whole experience very painful. But then – something strange happened. I could feel – and I could sense all the frustration and annoyance; all the weeping and gnashing of teeth went away as people sort of accepted their fate. People began to laugh, joke, and share their water with complete strangers as the sun beat down. Even when the line became very weird as it zigged-zagged along walls and around semi-trucks parked in the expo center’s loading dock, no one tried to cut the line or acted as if they were entitled to being in front of everyone else. Instead this large group of kids, adults, grandparents, Evees, and Pikachus stayed fully present since they were where they were supposed to be. 

Now the story I read from the gospel according to Luke wasn’t very long but its words, especially if you have sisters or siblings, spoke volumes. Jesus, after sending his disciples out two by two to visit places he planned to go to, arrived in a village where a woman named Martha offered him hospitality. Hospitality is, in the words of Rev. Dr. Niveen Sarras, “allowing the guest to share the sacredness of the family space.” Martha knew this would include providing Jesus food, drink, and a place for him to stay. And while most of us can manage, to some degree, offering hospitality to one person who shows up at our door; the Jesus who showed up to her home came with a crowd. When Jesus shows up, an entire community comes too which can overwhelm the best of our intentions. There are those among us who make being a host appear effortless and we, as a culture, often train women to show hospitality even if that isn’t one of their gifts from God. Yet Martha refused to act as if this work doesn’t require an incredible amount of intentionally, energy, resources, and time. As she managed the flow of food and drink from kitchen to table, the busyness of welcoming others made the whole experience feel a little less peaceful than what we assume Jesus’ presence brings to our lives. And while she did what needed to be done, Martha noticed how her sister Mary wasn’t participating in the work of welcome. Mary was, instead, sitting at Jesus’ feet. That doesn’t mean, however, that Mary was being lazy since sitting at someone’s feet was one of the ways folks in the ancient world described students who were busy learning from their teachers. Mary, according to Luke, had become like all the other disciples and apostles Jesus brought into that space. While she grew in her own identity as a follower of Jesus Christ, Martha noticed something strange. The one who was supposed to be helping her in the work of welcome would need to be welcomed instead. Mary, from Martha’s perspective, had given up on the offering of hospitality which is why Martha embraced the ancient art of trying to use indirect speech to get her way. But Jesus, rather than pushing Mary out of the work she was currently doing, invited Martha to pause and embrace the hospitality the Son of God had already extended to her. 

This is different, I think, than Jesus telling us to do less and listen more. There was, after all, a crowd of people still in Martha’s home who needed to be taken care of and included. Making the effort to faithfully prioritize what is life giving to us and others rather than getting consumed by all we feel compelled to do is holy and important work. But how to do that isn’t easy since we – and everyone around us – have different ideas about what should come first. I wonder, though, if Jesus was inviting Martha to reflect on the point of holy hospitality in the first place. The work she was doing wasn’t meant to be – nor should ever have been – something the rest of us asked her to do. Rather, the welcome we give is a reflection of the welcome we’ve received by the One who came to us in the first place. The work of hospitality didn’t begin when Martha noticed Jesus and his entourage were nearing the village. The welcome had already started since God chose to come to her in the life she was already living. We can assume, I think, that Martha’s life didn’t necessarily follow the script everyone assumed it would. Luke, after all, identified her household as belonging to her which was a bit different in a world where property and relationships were defined through someone’s closest male relative. We can imagine Martha as an independent woman with the resources, time, talents, and energy to throw an itinerant preacher and his entire fanbase an amazing dinner party. Martha’s life was – and would continue to be – complicated, rich, and unexpected. Yet it was Jesus who chose to walk through her front door, accept her hospitality, and welcome her sister as the disciple he knew she could be. It wasn’t all the doing that made Jesus and God’s kingdom real in Martha’s world. Instead, Jesus had already chosen her – and her community – to be part of what God was doing in the world. That doesn’t mean the work of welcome is unnecessary or less important than sitting at someone’s feet while everyone else takes care of what needs to be done, Rather, the welcome we live out is something we get to do because, in baptism and faith, God has already welcomed you. You are, even now, with – and where – you’re supposed to be. You are already wrapped up in a love and care that extends beyond the multitude of ways we often choose busyness instead of faithfulness, mercy, care, and peace. That means, I think, that those who do welcome without ever embracing being welcomed are free to pause, reflect, and realize the love God has for them. And for those who’ve been told the work of hospitality is something only other people do, we are now free to do our part to make everyone around us feel as if they truly belong. Trusting we really are where we’re supposed to be is not, necessarily, merely accepting our life as it currently is. Rather, it’s about leaning into the relationship we already have with the One who has claimed us as his own. God’s willingness to welcome us is why we get to welcome, include, serve, and love everyone even when those around us tell us that we shouldn’t. And when life traps us in a line that zigs and zags and feels like it might never end, we can remember that we are – even now – where we’re supposed to be with the God who will never let us go. 

Amen.

²⁵ An expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” ²⁶ He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” ²⁷ He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind and your neighbor as yourself.” ²⁸ And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

²⁹ But wanting to vindicate himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” ³⁰ Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and took off, leaving him half dead. ³¹ Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. ³² So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. ³³ But a Samaritan while traveling came upon him, and when he saw him he was moved with compassion. ³⁴ He went to him and bandaged his wounds, treating them with oil and wine. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. ³⁵ The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him, and when I come back I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ ³⁶ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” ³⁷ He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

Luke 10:25-37

My sermon from the 5th Sunday after Pentecost (July 13, 2025) on Luke 10:25-37.

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In 1973, two Princeton University psychologists – John Darley and Daniel Batson – wanted to predict who would – and who wouldn’t – provide help in an unexpected situation. Prior research had shown how the foundation for our ethics – all the stuff modeled by our families, taught in schools, shaped in our faith communities, and lived out in our cultural contexts – can’t easily tell us who might intervene. These two psychologists wondered if there might be some personality traits that could be uncovered to reveal the helpers among us. What they needed, though, was a group of folks they assumed would help which is why they asked the future pastors and ministers attending Princeton Theological Seminary to participate in the experiment.  These seminarians were first asked to fill-out a survey describing their personality and their beliefs. With that done, they were then asked to start mentally preparing for a short speech the psychologists wanted to record. Some of these pastors-in-training would reflect on what a good and faithful leader might look like in the world while others were invited to share a word about the reading from the gospel according to Luke we just heard. There wasn’t, however, room in the building they were currently in to share the speech so they would need to head to another building down a short alleyway. In addition to their need to walk outside, a new variable was inserted into the experiment as well. Some of the seminarians were told they were already late and they would need to rush down the alleyway. Others, however, could take their time since they’d have to wait once they got there. With their orders in hand and after being commanded to rush or slow down, the seminarians took off only to see a disheveled, sick, and coughing person huddled in a nearby doorway. The psychologists came up with a score ranging 1 to 6 to measure the amount of care they assumed every seminarian would provide. But after the experiment was over, they noticed how, “on several occasions, a seminary student going to give his talk on the parable of the Good Samaritan literally stepped over the victim as he hurried on their way.” The experiment wasn’t robust enough to clearly show how someone’s piety, beliefs, or upbringing influenced their willingness to help. But the psychologists did notice that when someone was told they needed to hurry, there was only a 10% chance of these so-called ministers of God actually stopping to help. Even though the experiment didn’t reveal any personality traits to predict who might spontaneously help those they find in need, I wonder if this study did hint at what Jesus was getting at in the first place. When all our attention is on “who” might help or “who” is supposed to help or “who” is even worthy of our help, we lose sight not only of who we are but also “whose” we are as well.

Now before we focus on the details of the story Jesus shared, we need to pay attention to why he shared it in the first place. An expert of the law – which, in this context, was simply a person who knew their Bible extremely well – came to Jesus with a question. The question they asked might feel like it’s primarily interested in what comes next. But when we inherit, that inheritance shapes what today is all about. Inheritance, though, is always a bit tricky since so much of it is focused on the “who.” We have entire traditions, legal documents, and professions around who gets what after someone dies. Sometimes the process of inheritance goes perfectly fine with families seeing eye-to-eye respecting their loved ones’ wishes. Other times, though, we devour each other while deciding who is worthy and who isn’t. The expert was, on one level, wondering how a holy and eternal life might shape the living they were already doing. They were also curious, though, who is worthy of any such kind of life at all. Jesus, though, knows that our life with God is always big enough to hold the living we’ve done as well as the living we’re going to do too. That’s why, I think, Jesus invited the expert to remember the words he heard and studied throughout the years of his life. The expert, however, can’t seem to shake the “who.” And so they followed up their initial words to Jesus with a question about “who” they should support and love. It’s this kind of question – and our focus on the who – which can consume so much of our time and resources. We’ll refuse to feed the person waiting for food at the food pantry because they look like someone “who” is able-bodied enough to get a job. We’ll spend way too much time writing concerned posts on social media when the “who” we didn’t expect bought the house down the street from us. And while we debate who should be trusted, who should be included, who should have access to what should only belong to us, the only support we have to give to those in need is simply a memo sharing with them our thoughts and our prayers. When we act as if we’re the ones who get to determine who experiences the kingdom of God, that’s always when Jesus steps in to push us towards something more. 

In Jesus’ days, a story outline that was very popular for many parables and teachings involved a Levite and a Priest. They would end up in a situation, fail to express who God calls them to be, and then require an average Jewish person to show everyone how it’s done. As a person focused on the “who,” the expert assumed that this regular person would appear once the Levite and the Priest walked by. But when Jesus got to that point of the story, the “who” wasn’t the “who” anyone expected. The Jewish community and the Samaritans were, at the time, neighbors in the sense that Samaritans mostly lived in the northern part of Israel and Syria in areas that once were known as the Northern Kingdom. Yet after the destruction of that kingdom by the Assyrians, the religious and cultural split among these followers of God made it easier for them to be enemies than friends. Yet, in Jesus’ story, it was the One who everyone expected to keep walking by who embodied what the kingdom of God is all about. When we put all our attention and focus on “who” is worthy of care and love, we end up acting as if the limits we put on our love are the same as God’s. God, though, is less interested in who we define to be our neighbors and wonders if we’d be a love and live as a neighbor to everyone instead. And while this might feel like something we can’t do since we’re all too busy, too distracted, and too human to earn that consistent score of six out of six whenever we run into a huddled person sitting in an alleyway; the Jesus who is and has always been your neighbor trusts that His body of Christ can do the same. Jesus was, after all, born into a family and community who didn’t always get along with those around them. Jesus was regularly told that those he spoke to, those he visited, and those he ate with weren’t worthy of any kind of care and love. Jesus, whose disciples tried to keep the young, the sick, and strangers from experiencing what happens when the kingdom of God comes near, refused to let us stop what his love would do. And when we placed Jesus on a Cross rather than celebrate his compassion and mercy, God wouldn’t let us limit what God would choose to do. It would, I think, be so much easier if we could find the personality traits, knowledge, training, and life experiences to push us into becoming the kind of helpers we think we’re supposed to be. But since all we have is us – as well as the grace that comes from the One who, in baptism and faith, has already claimed us as His own – the least we can do in our current life is to live, care, love, and serve, while trusting that our eternal life – through Christ – has already begun. 

Amen.

¹After this the Lord appointed seventy-two others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. ² He said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. ³ Go on your way; I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. ⁴ Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals, and greet no one on the road. ⁵ Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’ ⁶ And if a person of peace is there, your peace will rest on that person, but if not, it will return to you. ⁷ Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. ⁸ Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; ⁹ cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ ¹⁰ But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, ¹¹ ‘Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.’

¹⁶ “Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.”

¹⁷ The seventy-two returned with joy, saying, “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!” ¹⁸ He said to them, “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. ¹⁹ Indeed, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing will hurt you. ²⁰ Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

Luke 10:1-11,16-20

My sermon from the 4th Sunday after Pentecost (July 6, 2025) on Luke 10:1-11,16-20.

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Growing up, I had a very specific idea of what it meant to be truly wealthy. Wealth wasn’t only about the size of your house, the car you drove, or where you went on Spring Break. To me, what made a person rich was if they could visit anywhere on earth and leave everything but their credit card behind. All they needed to bring was themselves because their money would take care of the rest. I’ll admit this wasn’t really the most thought-out opinion because I’d assumed we’d have the time, energy, and ability to shop in stores that carried stuff exactly in our size. Yet there was something about living a life where we could leave all our carry-on and checked bags behind. When we define wealth strictly by a number – a value that is, nowadays, primarily digital rather than rooted in any real material things – it’s easy to treat wealth as something other people have. For the majority of us, there will always be someone who has so much more. But when we remember all wealth lets us do, that value becomes very real. Wealth is knowing where our next meal is coming from and not having to figure out what – and what isn’t – covered by SNAP benefits. Wealth is being able to complain about how expensive our electricity bill is while knowing we’ll sleep comfortably tonight with our room at a crisp 65 degrees. Wealth is opening a closet full of clothes and claim we have nothing to wear. And we know we’re really wealthy when we skip our annual appointment with our doctor since we assume we can always go to the emergency room when something comes up. One of the things wealth does is give us a sense of security we assume we’re entitled to. Wealth is what we trust will get us through the tomorrow that’s already on its way. Our experience of what wealth shapes how we live our life and how we treat others. But it’s also why Jesus’ words to his friends feel so strange because instead of helping them feel more secure, he orders them to leave all their wealth – and their safety – behind. 

Now today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke reminds us that Jesus’ ministry was, on occasion, very big. He wasn’t just one person wandering from village to village with 12 friends in tow. Sometimes Jesus showed up with a crowd of faithful followers. After setting his face towards Jerusalem and the Cross, the route he picked wasn’t a straight line. Jesus chose to meet all kinds of people in all kinds of places between Galilee and the Holy City. And he picked 72 of those who followed him to go out as a kind of advance team for the kingdom of God. These disciples would do more than simply announce Jesus’ coming. They would also be like Jesus – curing the sick, casting out a few demons, and eating some meals at tables other than their own. The power they would manifest in these places would be like their own kind firework show, overwhelming everyone with a deep sense of holy awe and wonder. But before we get to the light show, we notice these messengers were given a very strange set of instructions. Jesus sent them out into places they’ve never been with no money, no bags, and not even with an extra pair of shoes. This was, I think, more than simply asking them to leave any of their physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual baggage behind. It was, rather, an invitation to be way more vulnerable than they were before. They were called,in the words of Richard Swanson, Professor (Emeritus) of Religion at Augustana University, to “arrive [in these unnamed places] and find themselves radically in need of hospitality.” This might seem somewhat reasonable for those of us who would love to visit a new place bringing only a credit card. Jesus, though, expected there to be someone in every village ready to take care of them. Someone they didn’t know would feed them. Someone who didn’t think they belonged there would provide them shelter. And while that a person might be wealthy, with a few extra rooms and lots of space around their table. There was also a chance the one who opened their door would be like the widow who sheltered the prophet Elijah with barely enough food for herself. These messengers would go out with no resources; eat whatever was set before them; and deal with all the anxiety, fear, worry, and joy that comes with meeting someone new. The followers of Jesus would go to be welcomed and to welcome those who might not be ready for the Jesus who was already on his way. Jesus doesn’t promise that this work will be easy. He doesn’t hint that the word of peace they bring would actually make peace in the lives of those they met. But he does promise that it isn’t the special effects, the displays of power, or even the miracle of healing that proclaims God is truly near. Rather, it’s in the receiving and giving; in the welcoming and the being welcomed; in the time spent at each other’s tables learning one another’s stories and doing what we can to help strangers thrive – that’s when the presence of God is fully experienced and made completely real. 

When the disciples finally returned to Jesus, the first words out of their mouth were focused on one of the firework-type-of-things. The unclean spirits, those forces that do all they can to drive us apart, couldn’t withstand these messengers from Galilee. I suspect all the stuff that came out of their experience inflated their egos just a bit since they had access to some of the cosmic power Jesus did. Yet his words showed how their otherworldly experiences – even as one as potent as Jesus witnessing Satan fall from heaven – is nothing compared to the gift of grace and belonging God had given to them. It wasn’t all the wealth of all that heavenly stuff which would secure them through whatever life might bring. Instead, what would carry them through was the fact their name was already etched and held within the everlasting heart of their God. Our name in God will always be our greatest treasure; a precious gift we did nothing to earn and one we’re not entitled to. Even if our credit cards are maxed out and a life full of carry ons and checked bags is the best we’ll ever do, our true wealth – and our true identity – is secure in the gift of baptism and the gift of faith we’ve already received from God. And because this is what will always hold us, we’re invited to live this kingdom of God out right now. We get to be a people who heal rather than cast others aside. We can choose to welcome and be welcomed by everyone rather than exclude and bully those we don’t want to get to know at all. We get to be a community that takes the risk of extending our table since we’re made richer through the many people God brings our way. God’s kingdom isn’t defined by the biggest display of power we might see in the sky. It is, instead, proclaimed by the love our God – and we choose – to share. And when we share this love freely, abundantly, and in ways that bring goodness into the lives of all, we reveal the true wealth shaping our lives and our world. 

Amen.

²⁶ Then they arrived at the region of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. ²⁷ As he stepped out on shore, a man from the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had not worn any clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. ²⁸ When he saw Jesus, he cried out and fell down before him, shouting, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me,” ²⁹ for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) ³⁰ Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion,” for many demons had entered him. ³¹ They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.

³² Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding, and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. ³³ Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd stampeded down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.

³⁴ When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. ³⁵ Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they became frightened. ³⁶ Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. ³⁷ Then the whole throng of people of the surrounding region of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them, for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. ³⁸ The man from whom the demons had gone out begged that he might be with him, but Jesus sent him away, saying, ³⁹ “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.

Luke 8:26-39

My sermon from 2nd Sunday after Pentecost (June 22, 2025) on Luke 8:26-39.

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So what do we do with all those pigs? 

I’ll admit it’s sort of strange that the One who could feed thousands with a few loaves of bread and calm storms with just a word agreed to send a bunch of supernatural beings into a herd of hogs who then jumped over a cliff. Theologians, priests, pastors, and kids sitting in the pews have wondered what made Jesus so against bacon. And while we might try to explain away Jesus’ actions by pointing out his Jewish identity and how kosher food laws disliked pigs immensely, we tend to experience Jesus as the One who gives life and rather than participating in its destruction. This story is “taylor ham” made to draw all our attention to all those hogs rolling around in mud on a hot and humid day. I wonder, though, if keeping our attention on what seems strange to us actually causes us to miss noticing what is going on. And instead of focusing on what happened to the pigs, we should wonder why Jesus was around pigs in the first place. 

Now pigs have been a part of the history of all different kinds of communities for thousands of years. Yet those that accepted them and those who rejected them can often help archaeologists identify who might have called certain areas their home. In the ancient Near East, a place without pig bones might reveal a place where those who followed the Jewish kosher food laws actually lived. We’d expect Jesus, a Jewish religious leader who followed the kosher rules, to spend most of his time in the towns where he and his friends could easily find a bite to eat. But here he was, in the middle of ministry, visiting a place full of pigs. The pigs Luke described, though, weren’t hanging out in small farms for only specific families to use. The herd on the hillside took a lot of money, time, energy, and resources to build and maintain. Its owners were incredibly wealthy, serving as the center for a business empire that included a number of employees and other businesses supporting their work. The presence of these pigs not only shows Jesus being in a non-Jewish place his disciples didn’t expect him to be. It also points to him being in an economically accessible place necessary for the life of the community. Jesus had crossed the Sea of Galilee, leaving where his ministry began, to explore a mixed, diverse, and non-Jesus environment. And it’s there when Jesus met a man from the tombs. 

We could, I think, choose to give our attention to what seems shocking about this man. We’re told he came to Jesus dirty, unkept, and without any clothing. This man, though, wasn’t naked since broken chains around his wrists and shackles around his ankles were the only jewelry he would wear. The scars and wounds all over his body would have made him look like one of the bodies lying in the tombs. If we spend all our initial energy on what he looked like and the so-called spirits tearing at his soul, we can quickly lose track of the story by coming up with some kind of mental illness or situation that explains away what he was going through. But before we rush to make everything about this lonely and isolated man understandable, we should also realize he wasn’t living on his own. He wasn’t the one putting chains on himself as a way to keep him from running off into the wilderness. The community, those who filled the place he called home, had placed him under guard and built this kind of life for him. Jesus wasn’t only in an unexpected place full of people who followed kosher food laws and those who didn’t. He also stepped off the boat and found a community who walled themselves off from one of their own. They probably did so because they assumed this was the only way to keep the man and themselves safe from whatever was attacking his soul. Yet what they created actually reinforced what those spirits wanted to do in the first place. The stories in our Bible about unclean spirits or demons weren’t simply stories about people living with mental illnesses they hadn’t yet properly diagnosed. The Bible recognizes these spiritual struggles as real; and they were trying to do two specific things. First, the spirits wanted these individuals to harm themselves as a way to interfere with their ability to care, love, and serve those around them. A person who is fleeing away from others is one who can’t pray or be with those in need. Secondly, as a way to keep breaking that sense of community, these spirits always try to isolate the people from one another. The driving of this man into the wilderness or to the shore of the Sea of Galilee was to make him assume he’s always alone. Harm and isolation are the two hallmarks of what these demonic spirits are always up-to. And the throng of people who kept this man under guard created the kind of community to reinforce what the unclean spirits were already up to. So before the man could speak, before the unclean spirits who recognized Jesus could tell him to go away, Jesus – in words we do not hear but with a clarity that caused the spirits to tremble in fear – ordered everything keeping this man and the community apart to leave and never come back. 

We assume Jesus’ words were primarily directed towards the spirits consuming the man living in the tombs. Yet I can’t help but notice how Jesus’ words were also for those who tried to chain them there. Over and over again, what’s demonic in our Bible is whatever breaks the relationships between God and the people. And while those forces are sometimes spiritual, cosmic, and over-the-top, people are also very good at creating these kinds of forces themselves. Jesus did more than simply heal this one man and destroy an almost comical amount of bacon. Jesus changed the sacred, spiritual, and physical connections at the heart of the community. The community who had isolated him assumed they were keeping everyone safe and secure but would discover how that division might not be holy and true. Our instinct might be to assume the man was now like everyone else. But the fact they isolated him and his first response wasn’t to isolate them shows how something new took place. Jesus took a place of difference, of tombs and cities, of relationships and isolation, of Gentiles and Jews, and created a space of healing, connection, love, and hope. And while that sounds pretty awesome, what Jesus does will always scare everyone. The demons who realized what happened were given the chance to do something other than separating people from their God. Their response to this holy invitation, though, was to destroy even more of God’s creation. The people also weren’t sure what to do so they asked Jesus to go somewhere else. Yet whatever Jesus chooses to do, always remains.  The opportunity to build a different kind of community rooted in something holy, loving, empathetic, and relational doesn’t go away. Now there are times when we assume that walling ourselves off from one another is what we’re supposed to do. And while that might make sense in individual cases, when communities choose to define themselves by the walls they build, who God has made us to be begins to break down. There are times when the hard work of creating a new kind of community seems like it’s too much so we shouldn’t even try. Yet the One who has already gone into the tombs we build whenever God’s love shows up – promises to be with you – and he will bring you through. 

Amen. 

¹² “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. ¹³ When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth, for he will not speak on his own but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come. ¹⁴ He will glorify me because he will take what is mine and declare it to you. ¹⁵ All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you.

John 16:12-15

My sermon from Trinity Sunday (June 15, 2025) on John 16:12-15.

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When you hear the word “glory” or “glorify,” what immediately comes to mind? 

Now the first thing that pops into my head when I hear the word “glory” is the film from 1989. It tells the story of the 54th Massachusetts Infantry Regiment who served during the Civil War. The 54th was one of the earliest units filled with African-American soldiers. And these brave patriots served, and died, while fighting against those who rebelled against the US as an attempt to keep all black people enslaved. The word “glory” is also associated with the American flag which seems appropriate since yesterday was flag day. An old sea captain in the early 19th century named the one that flew over his ship “old glory” and it became famous when those who rebelled against the United States tried to take it from him. His neighbors in Nashville, Tennessee tried to rip it from his hands when they left the Union. But when the United States finally liberated the city, he took it out of hiding and ran it up the flagpole on the top of the Capitol itself. These stories, I think, reflect a little bit of what  “glory” might be. It’s what we often reserve for the stuff of the past that feels momentous, bold, and full of might. Yet it’s also a word that shows up in our hymns, songs, prayers, and the Bible itself. We hope that in all we do we’re “Glorifying God” or “Giving God the Glory.” But if asked to explain to someone else what actually means, our answers would be varied and different. The church has, historically, manifested this glory by building massive cathedrals, endowing hospitals and universities, and starting all kinds of groups to take care of those we push aside. We’ve also, though, started reformations that have torn down these big buildings and said we glorify God primarily through our worship and by what we claim to believe. The neat – and confusing thing – about God’s glory is that our Bible is full of verses supporting each of these different interpretations. I wonder if our words today from the gospel according to John might give us a roadmap of what glorifying God looks like in our lives and in our world. 

Now, to do that well, we need to remember what Jesus wasn’t doing when he said these words. He wasn’t in the Holy Temple arguing with other religious leaders. Nor was he in the home of a Roman Centurion, telling the soldier there’s more to life than forcing others to do your will. Jesus was, instead, in the middle of what we call the “Farewell Discourse” – the last words he shared before his betrayal and arrest. For almost three years, Jesus and his friends had eaten together, laughed together, prayed together, and discovered what it looks like when God’s kingdom comes near. These disciples, in the words of Rev. Chelsea Yarborough, had a teacher and a companion they trusted enough to lay down the life they knew and pick up one that was both mysterious and new. The community they formed was rooted in a relationship that was as deep as it was holy. And if you asked them what they thought glory meant, they’d point to the miracles Jesus did and the powerful, strong, and notable thing they were participating in. But just as the community felt as if this might last forever, Jesus told them many times in a long speech he was about to leave. I’m sure the disciples did their best to change Jesus’ mind. Most of the words they muttered, though, remained stuck in their throats. Jesus, the one who could calm storms, feed thousands, cast out demons, and raise the dead – couldn’t also be the One who would leave them behind. What the disciples needed was the assurance their time with Jesus actually mattered. And I’m not sure if we’d describe the pleading, worry, and anxiety they embodied as what it means to truly glorify God. 

I wonder if the reason why we can’t do that is because we carry within us a split screen of what we assume glory must be about. On one side, glory and strength are the same. Whatever makes us feel or look strong has to be the glory God demands. And so we act as if winning, striving, and being on top is what it means to honor God. This vision of glory, though, feels small since there are plenty of times when this kind of strength fails us and what seems mighty causes incredible hurt and harm. When our focus is only on that one side of glory, our response to failure assumes we or others or even our God, somehow, got it wrong. Yet there’s another side of that split screen that, when we pay attention, shows a different kind of glory rooted in Jesus himself. We have a Jesus who had the strength to stand up to the bullies and was man enough to shed tears at the death of a friend. We have a Jesus who, in the face of pain and suffering, offered healing to those who believed and those who didn’t. And when this farewell discourse began, Jesus took on the form of a slave, washing the feet of his faithful friends and the one who would betray him. Glory, when it comes to the gospel according to John, is not what we assume is mighty, strong, and notable. The glory of God – and our glorifying of God – is manifested in the ways God is made visible in our world. And while that visibility might involve a miracle or two, God chooses to have glory lived out in the love and care we, as the body of Christ, reveal to everyone around us. 

I’ll admit it is a little strange we are the ones God chooses to make God’s glory known. We know, whether we realize it or not, we are imperfect and Christians have a habit of harming people in the name of God. When we try to do what we assume God wants us to do as a sign of God’s strength, might, and power, that’s when sin gets in the way. Our good intentions will never outweigh the results and it’s not our job to become defensive when accountability comes. What we need, then, is help – something stirring with, and in, and through us – so we can love like God loves. And that is, I think, why we have a Trinity. We need God to animate us through the promises given to us in Jesus Christ. The words Jesus shared with his disciples during the Farewell discourse – this promise it’s never goodbye – are also the words God shares with you everyday. The Spirit is the manifestation you are not forgotten; that your worst day won’t be the only day that defines you; and that you really are part of the glory of God being made real in the world. And while our sin might make these promises to feed our ego and pride, God’s love will always bear the Cross rather than placing others on it instead. That is what makes following Christ so amazing and so hard all at the same time. It invites us to be more than simply strong; we have to be kind, hopeful, persistence, human, and willing to live out the grittiest parts of life. Yet the promise at the heart of the Trinity is the promise you won’t go through this alone. You, through baptism and faith, are part of what God is up to. And we, together, can embrace the glory of God by showing what God’s love always does. 

Amen.

Now the whole earth had one language and the same words. ² And as they migrated from the east, they came upon a plain in the land of Shinar and settled there. ³ And they said to one another, “Come, let us make bricks and fire them thoroughly.” And they had brick for stone and bitumen for mortar. ⁴ Then they said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves; otherwise we shall be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.” ⁵ The Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which mortals had built. ⁶ And the Lord said, “Look, they are one people, and they have all one language, and this is only the beginning of what they will do; nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them. ⁷ Come, let us go down and confuse their language there, so that they will not understand one another’s speech.” ⁸ So the Lord scattered them abroad from there over the face of all the earth, and they left off building the city. ⁹ Therefore it was called Babel, because there the Lord confused the language of all the earth, and from there the Lord scattered them abroad over the face of all the earth.

Genesis 11:1-9

My sermon from Pentecost (June 8, 2025) on Genesis 11:1-9.

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So instead of focusing today’s sermon on the story of Pentecost itself – one of the primary Jewish religious festivals that is a little bit different here in the church – I wonder if the story of the so-called “tower of Babel” might reveal something about all those tongues of fire. Now I’ve heard Pentecost described as God fixing Babel – bringing together, in Christ, people who are often divided by culture and language. The community who once had the audacity to build a tower to challenge heaven itself is, through the Holy Spirit, united and given a different purpose. This unity, though, isn’t complete since talking to each other can still be difficult and hard. Diversity, then, is a problem to be solved but that phrase “the same words” might reveal how this interpretation actually misses the mark. Rabbi Shai Held, who is the president and dean of the Hadar Institute which helps people connect deeper with the Bible and their God, wrote a series of essays a few years ago about the different biblical stories that appear in the lectionary used by our Jewish friends and neighbors. He traced God’s story through the first five books of the Bible, inviting us to ask deeper questions about texts we assume we already know. It isn’t always easy giving the Bible permission to point out something we haven’t seen before. But when we focus more on the text itself rather than the tower overshadowing our imagination, what we assumed to be humanity’s punishment might actually be God’s plan all along. 

And to see that, we begin by noticing how this reading from Genesis began with movement. A group of people – all people – went on a journey before stumbling onto an uninhabited plain. Who those people were, though, isn’t entirely clear. If we jump back a few pages, we run into a long genealogy of Noah’s family after they left the ark. This long list points to a world full of people – who built cities along the Mediterranean Sea and even created Egypt and the Assyrian empire itself. Yet when we get to Genesis 11, that distinctiveness is no longer there. What we get instead is a mass of humanity who are completely nameless. We don’t know who they’re related to. We’re not told who their ancestors were. All we get is a people who all speak the same language and only use the same words. That vagueness is a little difficult to sit with and we might assume any group speaking the same language already speaks the same words. Yet the Bible goes out of its way to say that this is what sets the people apart. A community who can easily communicate with one another feels like a united people. But I’ve watched enough Star Trek to know how the sameness of voice can lead to an environment where only one set of thoughts and one set of opinions is claimed to be holy and true. On one level, this sameness leads to an environment that feels extremely safe and completely comfortable since everyone looks and sounds like them. Scripture, though, tells us that these people felt anything but secure. We focus, I think, on the tower since it’s big and mighty, reminding us of the skyscrapers just across the Hudson River. But what they’re really doing is building a city. They speak with one voice and one set of words to create something that will give them a sense of purpose, identity, and maybe even a name. They are, however, the only people in this world. And there’s no one else but God who could marvel at what they were up to. So the people keep building; the people keep marking bricks; and the people keep trying to earn something they cannot seem to give themselves. This building, though, isn’t only to make them feel more important than they felt like before. We’re told they did this because they’re primarily afraid. These nameless people who build and work and stick together – are terrified of being scattered across the earth. They erect not only a tower high enough to possibly keep watch at all who are stirring below; they also give this city walls not to keep people out but to keep themselves in. The city gives them a sense of safety, comfort, and control. Yet it comes with an immense price. Their sameness strips away any uniqueness they could possibly have. And we know, based on our own experience of social media and our world, being anonymous and losing our identity does not always bring us peace. When we assume we can’t be known or that no one deserves to stand out, we fall into the trap of enforcing this anonymity through insults, bullying, and all kinds of physical harm. The nameless people chose to build a nameless city while staying away from a world they were too afraid to actually live in. And it wasn’t long before the only one who could notice them gave them all the attention they sought. But rather than marvel or celebrate or comfort give them a giant thumbs up, God scattered them – far and wide. 

At first glance, God’s response does feel like a kind of punishment. Humanity was all together – until God pushed them apart. It’s important, however, to insert this text back into scripture to really see what God is up to. And when we do that, we discover the promise God gave them over and over again that they refused to live out. Way back in chapter 1, after God sang the world and the universe into being, God blessed the people – telling them “be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” As time went on and God witnessed how wonderful – and awful – we can be to one another, God hit a reset button through the flood. When the waters receded, and the dove returned with an olive branch before finding a new home to build a nest, God blessed Noah and his descendants by telling him, once again, to “be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” But when humanity was given the opportunity to do exactly that – the people hunkered down, built a city, and refused to let themselves, or anyone else, go out. What the people feared was one of the things God wanted for them the most. And so when humanity refused to move, God stepped in to show what our future is meant to be about. The fact humanity is full of all different kinds of people speaking all kinds of languages is not, I think, a punishment from God. It is, instead, a vision of what God’s kingdom should be about. God knows that our diversity will always be a strength since it forces us to do the hard work of living into the fullness of a name we’ve already been. And that’s because when God’s imagination stirred us into being, the name we were given was deeply connected to God’s own since we were made in the image of God. It’s an image known not for its sameness but for the ways it is like a kaleidoscope – reflecting the holy light at the heart of it all. The beauty of our world; the complicated and rich variety of what it means to be a human being; and the opportunity to live with our God in the entirety of what God has made isn’t something we’re supposed to wall ourselves away from. Rather we get to do the hard work of learning who we are and, through the relationships we intentionally built, discover how our neighbors are too. And while this work can be difficult since it requires us to admit that our story isn’t the only story that matters or has value – it’s through this God given diversity where we realize how much God loves you. And that’s because when the disciples generations later, after bearing witness to the length God was willing to go through to reveal the future God was already building for you and for the world; this God gathered people in a different kind of city full of pilgrims and visitors, migrants and strangers, those who had lived there their entire lives and those who were at the very start of making that named city – that city of Jerusalem – their home; the gift God gave them wasn’t one language that everyone could suddenly speak and understand. Instead, the words they heard proclaiming they matter, they belong, and how Jesus lived, died, and rose for them – were in the multitude of words their parents and their loved ones uttered over them when they were first named; when they were first held in someone’s arms; and when they finally knew what being loved was all about. 

Amen.

One day as we were going to the place of prayer, we met a female slave who had a spirit of divination and brought her owners a great deal of money by fortune-telling. While she followed Paul and us, she would cry out, “These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you the way of salvation.” She kept doing this for many days. But Paul, very much annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, “I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.” And it came out that very hour. But when her owners saw that their hope of making money was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace before the authorities. When they had brought them before the magistrates, they said, “These men, these Jews, are disturbing our city and are advocating customs that are not lawful for us, being Romans, to adopt or observe.” The crowd joined in attacking them, and the magistrates had them stripped of their clothing and ordered them to be beaten with rods. After they had given them a severe flogging, they threw them into prison and ordered the jailer to keep them securely. Following these instructions, he put them in the innermost cell and fastened their feet in the stocks. About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them. Suddenly there was an earthquake so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken, and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were unfastened. When the jailer woke up and saw the prison doors wide open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, since he supposed that the prisoners had escaped. But Paul shouted in a loud voice, “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” The jailer called for lights, and rushing in, he fell down trembling before Paul and Silas. Then he brought them outside and said, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” They answered, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.” They spoke the word of the Lord to him and to all who were in his house. At the same hour of the night he took them and washed their wounds; then he and his entire family were baptized without delay. He brought them up into the house and set food before them, and he and his entire household rejoiced that he had become a believer in God. 

Acts 16:16-34 

My sermon from the Seventh Sunday of Easter (June 1, 2025) on Acts 16:16-34.

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So I wonder what it was like for the enslaved woman when she realized a spirit of divination had been taken from her. This spirit was, most likely, seen as a kind of power allowing her to show others what their future might be. And while that might have been a kind of psychic prediction, she also had the power to reveal what was happening right in front of us. It’s not easy, I think, for us to realize how normal this kind of stuff was in Paul’s day. We tend to design our relationship with the divine in a compartmentalized kind of way, only reaching out of it when we want something or need the assurance there really is something more to come. The divine is what we do on Sunday morning or what we say in our heads or out loud while sitting next to a hospital bed. And if someone we knew claimed they could predict the future or were seeing spirits or started having dreams where the boundary between what’s real and what’s not broke completely down – we would, rightly, wonder if they needed some kind of psychiatric help. These symptoms can point to the need for a mental health intervention so we can live the kind of life we want to. But the Bible doesn’t limit these “spirits” to what we describe through biology, culture, and psychology. In Paul’s world, it was assumed that the spiritual was always present, always active, and was something we could regularly interact with. Spiritual and divine forces were real and they were part of reality itself. These experiences could be positive – like we’ll hear next week when tongues of fire appeared over the heads of the disciples so they could make Jesus’ story understandable to everyone around them. But spirits could also be harmful, hurting people while isolating them from their family and friends. The spiritual and material world were not so compartmentalized when the book of Acts was first written. And we shouldn’t reduce these so-called spirits to merely being another word for mental illness. The enslaved woman Paul met in Philippi carried with her a spiritual force that had the power to proclaim who Paul was. And when Paul couldn’t get her to be quiet, he emptied her of something that shaped who she got to be in the world. 

But that isn’t the only thing that makes this passage hard. We also don’t really know what to do with how nonchalant Paul was when it came to slavery itself. Paul – as well as Jesus – never outwardly condemned the practice of slavery which seems the very opposite of who Jesus was meant to be. We often try to give him and the disciples an out, claiming that enslavement in the ancient world wasn’t as bad as it once was in the United States. And while it’s true ancient slavery wasn’t race based, it was still one of the worst things we could do to each other. According to Professor F. Mira Green, the role of the ancient slave was to cater to nearly all aspects of a free Romans’ life. What they did and who they were was an extension of whoever enslaved them. Even though they could be field-hands, shepherds, construction workers, miners, doctors, midwives, entertainers, and even gladiators; slaves were treated as pieces of property and tools to further the needs and wants of those who owned them. Slaves had no control over what happened to their bodies and no say in whatever kind of violence was done to them. They weren’t allowed to own property and didn’t have any legal relationship to any of their kin. That meant their spouses, their children, and their sense of being connected to some kind of hope filled future always belonged to someone else. And if that wasn’t enough, some archaeologists have noticed how places within the homes slaved would be in, such as a kitchen, were specifically designed to force those enslaved to hunch over while they cut vegetables, handled the pots, and baked the bread. The world they lived in was built to remind them of their low status within the community. And while we have no idea when this woman became enslaved or if she was young, old, or how often violence was inflicted upon her; we do get a sense that her body, her soul, her entire life – and even the spirit she might have thought of as a curse or a gift – she existed to be consumed by everyone around. 

And so, I wonder, when the spirit was taken from her, what did she say or think? Did it feel as if a part of her was suddenly gone or did she feel liberated from one of the many things oppressing her? Acts, sadly, doesn’t follow-up on her story, choosing to focus on Paul instead. Yet there’s a possibility that this moment served as a kind of seed for Paul’s own development as a faithful follower of Jesus. We know, based on our reading last week, that Paul had no qualms welcoming Lydia, a woman who was rich and free, into the body of Christ. The slave, though, was left bound and without the special status her enslavers might have given her. But when the community inflicted on Paul a little of what life was like for the woman who was enslaved, his response to another experience of the divine – an earthquake literally breaking the chains out on his wrists and his ankles – he refused to continue the cycle of exploitation and violence. He didn’t seek revenge against those who harmed him or put the jailer into the hands of those who might try to hurt him. Instead, the open doors served as a physical manifestation of what life with Jesus is meant to be about. He is the invitation for us to enter a new future where we are freed not only from what consumes us but from all the ways we choose to exploit and harm one another. And while Paul didn’t extend this kind of life to the woman who followed him in the street, he did spend the rest of his life noticing how Jesus’ presence really does change everything. He would, in a letter to those living in the region of Turkey known as Galatia, inform them that, in Christ, there is no Jew or Gentile, slave or free. Then, in the city of Corinth, when the wealthy showed up to the weekly communal meal and consumed everything before the working class and the enslaved got there, Paul called them out as unfaithful and unChristian. Later, in the only letter we have from Paul addressed to a single person, he asked the enslaver Philemon to welcome back a runaway slave as a brother, challenging the community’s assumption that he could only be seen as a piece of property. The early Christian churches dotting the Mediterranean were at their best when enslavers were forced to see those they enslaved as spiritual equals. And while they would try their best to compartmentalize what they did in church as something other than what was meant for the rest of their week, the freedom they found in Christ was a freedom meant for all. Paul’s response to the woman wasn’t necessarily faithful or holy since her behavior simply annoyed him. But I do believe he grew to realize that the violence Jesus went through wasn’t something we should ask other people to go through too. Instead of exploiting one another for our own benefit and gain, we should be for each other instead. And while we don’t always realize how fundamental consuming others is to our way of life, the connection we already have to the divine and to one another through Jesus shows how we get to live a different way. 

Amen.