Category: Sermons

Who is wise and knowledgeable among you? Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom. But if you have bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not be arrogant and lie about the truth. This is not wisdom that comes down from above but is earthly, unspiritual, devilish. For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind. But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. And the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.
Those conflicts and disputes among you, where do they come from? Do they not come from your cravings that are at war within you? You want something and do not have it, so you commit murder. And you covet something and cannot obtain it, so you engage in disputes and conflicts. You do not have because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive because you ask wrongly, in order to spend what you get on your pleasures. Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.

James 3:13-4:3,7-8a

My sermon from the 18th Sunday after Pentecost (September 22, 2024) on James 3:13-4:3,7-8a.

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One of the things I did while living in New York City that I had never done before, nor done since, was join a gym. I am not the most athletic person in the world so I knew I needed a little help to make sure I actually used my membership. So I chose to make myself attend a weekly fitness class but one that wouldn’t ask me to do too much. The class I picked was pilates – specifically the version that doesn’t use any machines. We would use our own bodies to be the resistance that could increase our flexibility, balance, and stability. Pilates was invented in the 1930s by a guy literally named Joseph Pilates. He came up with a series of movements and breathing exercises that feels a lot like yoga. I attended the class for a while but none of the so-called health benefits stuck with me. However, one idea from that class that still lingers is how it taught me how to pay attention to my core. Growing up, coaches, gym teachers, and even the director for my high school marching band would tell me to focus on my core. Yet exactly what that was – and how to tend to it – wasn’t always described. My core seemed to constantly change depending on whatever sport or activity I was doing. As a kid, I focused on what I could see results from – such as marching in formation across a football field or trying to get a lacrosse ball into a goal. But now that I’m older, paying attention to my core – the foundation that supports how I live in the world – is something I take a bit more seriously. Wondering, pondering, and recognizing the core of who we are isn’t only about what is physical; it also includes our emotional, mental, and spiritual health too. And in our reading today from the letter of James, we’re given a kind of Jesus-centric routine we can use to discover the God who is already with you. 

Now over the last few weeks, James’ answer to the question – what does a faithful person look like, act like, and be like? – hasn’t been the most positive. His focus has mostly been on what it shouldn’t look like instead. For James, our fears, insecurities, the mistakes we make, the words we use, and how others experience us often reveals what we truly believe. And this belief isn’t merely merely bits of information we keep in our head or a series of religious statements we choose to agree with. Rather belief is what we trust when everything else comes undone. Belief, then, is at the center – the core – of who we are. And I like to imagine this core as containing all the thoughts, feelings, experiences, history, and those bits about ourselves we understand and even those parts that we do. It’s all of this that fuels what we do in the world and why we talk before we listen or remain silent when we should speak up. It’s our core that shows partiality towards those who we want to be rather than caring for those who need the gifts God has first given us. And while it would be one thing if our core only impacted ourselves, James knows that what we do, say, and even post makes a difference to those around us. James names this kind of core identity as the “wisdom of the world” which uses our own understanding of power, generosity, abundance, and our fears as the fuel for what we do. This kind of wisdom is, on its own, pretty small – choosing to see things as we want them to be rather than as what God knows they can be. What we need is something outside of us which can stretch us away from our ways and into Gods. 

And that thing, for James, is known as “wisdom from above.” It’s a word, a voice, a grace, an experience from the divine that makes an impact in our here and now. James described this wisdom with several attributes, identifying this wisdom as pure which – as imperfect people – ends up being hard for us to describe and see. Yet James, in an unexpected way, also sees God’s wisdom as being very gentle. I often experience wisdom as a kind of corrective, countering what we imagine to be right and true. Wisdom reminds us of the fullness of our story, using our traditions as a way to ground us through whatever change might come. Wisdom, then, can be fiery and harsh, especially if it uses fear as a way to hold us to what it believes to be true. But the kind of wisdom James imagines is bigger than a word to constrain us. Wisdom from above will, and does, change our core. It is a kind of outside presence that, in the words of Pastor Casey Sigmon, is a “nodding, listening, [and] asking those self-awakening questions that help [us] to hear the wisdom of God [already at] the core of [our] being.” This presence isn’t coercive, manipulative, nor does it bully us. Rather, it opens us to see how we get to make peace, beauty, and abundance real in our world. It’s this wisdom that allows us to yield, to pause, and to listen with a kind of non-judgmental curiosity that sees the image of God in those around us. The wisdom from above is full of mercy – showing others what love, joy, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control can look like in the world. And it’s this wisdom we get to listen to since, because of our baptism and through the gift of faith, the God who lived like us to show us what life can be – is already at the core of who we are. 

Now knowing how to care for our core isn’t always easy which is why James hints at a routine anyone can follow. We are invited to draw near to the God who has already drawn near to us. It’s natural to think that since Jesus has made us a part of his body, his family, and his community through baptism and faith – we shouldn’t need to draw near to him since he’s already here. Yet we also know that Jesus’ presence doesn’t mean we get to be anything but human. We’ll never, in this life, fully expand our imagination to see what our life with our God can truly be about. We will regularly speak before we listen; rage before we accept responsibility; and ask others to forgive us before we forgive them. What we need is something outside of us – like a community of like minded imperfect people who, with a word, a Spirit, and a bit of time and energy – to help all of us strengthen the core of love that’s already here. This is one of the reasons why we are connected by something more than simply the bonds of friendship, family, or even physical proximity. It’s why we worship, pray, sing, confess the truth of who we are and how our God is so much bigger than we can possibly be. When we draw near to each other we are drawn near to God since Jesus is already in the core of the person next to us. By making the time and the commitment to support one another through the good times and the bad, we are doing more than exercising who we get to be. We’re also exorcizing from ourselves and our community the anger, the hatred, the selfishness, and lack of imagination that keeps us away from each other and our God. 

Amen.

Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers and sisters, for you know that we who teach will face stricter judgment. For all of us make many mistakes. Anyone who makes no mistakes in speaking is mature, able to keep the whole body in check with a bridle. If we put bits into the mouths of horses to make them obey us, we guide their whole bodies. Or look at ships: though they are so large and are driven by strong winds, yet they are guided by a very small rudder wherever the will of the pilot directs. So also the tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great exploits.
How great a forest is set ablaze by a such a small fire! And the tongue is a fire. The tongue is placed among our members as a world of iniquity; it stains the whole body, sets on fire the cycle of life, and is itself set on fire by hell. For every species of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature, can be tamed and has been tamed by the human species, but no one can tame the tongue—a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse people, made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth comes a blessing and a curse. My brothers and sisters, this ought not to be so. Does a spring pour forth from the same opening both fresh and brackish water? Can a fig tree, my brothers and sisters, yield olives or a grapevine figs? No more can salt water yield fresh.

James 3:1-12

My sermon from the 17th Sunday after Pentecost (September 15, 2024) on James 3:1-12.

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So I want to start today’s sermon with a question: what’s a verse from our Bible that you return to over and over again when you need to refresh your soul? Now this isn’t meant to be some kind of pop quiz that, if you fail, is going to get you kicked out of worship. But I’m curious about the words from our Bible that have been deeply imprinted on your heart. I, personally, am not very good at memorizing anything so I tend to let stories, rather than verses, feed my faith. Yet if I had to pick a verse to answer this question, I might – depending on what’s going on in my life at that particular moment, share with others the first part of James, chapter 3, verse 2. On days when a typo appears in the bulletin or in our weekly email newsletter or when I forget to make a call I promised to make – it’s comforting to know that our Bible realizes how we all make mistakes. Some mistakes, of course, are bigger than others. Yet all of us – regardless of how holy or faithful or good we imagine ourselves to be – will screw up. This verse isn’t meant to be read as giving ourselves an excuse for the ways we harm others and ourselves. It is, rather, an invitation to be honest about who we are. Each one of us is simply one person surrounded by other people too. None of us are the default of what it means to be a human being since we all have our own unique thoughts, experiences, and stories. And while we, on one level, know this to be true – we are limited when it comes to recognizing how there really are other people in our world. Most days, we don’t always have the energy, patience, or expansive imagination necessary to embrace how others, like us, are their own people too. The mistakes we make can be more than simply poor or wrong choices. They can also reveal how limited we imagine our God to be. 

Now today is the 3rd Sunday in a row listening to this letter that is wondering “what does a faithful person look like, act like, [and] be like?” We are, because of baptism, more than simply a part of the body of Christ. We are also one of the ways through whom others experience what God’s love is all about. This, like I said last week, is a terrifying responsibility because we are very human. We, like James said, are prone to making mistakes because we don’t always believe we truly are beloved children of God and that everyone around us is made in the same image of God too. This forgetfulness is often expressed in who we show partiality too. We bend over backwards to celebrate the celebrity, the rich, the comfortable – that person we want to be – because showing the same kind of care to the one who has been harmed or is hurting or is poor is the reality we’re trying to run away from. Our hope is to become the kind of person who doesn’t need help. And our actions towards others often reflect the fears and insecurities that we allow to shape our lives. This truth within us is something we don’t often want others to see. So we mask it through words and actions blaming and demonizing others  instead of taking responsibility for our own vulnerability and the help we’ll always need. We are not mistakes but we make a lot of mistakes. And James, in a very intentional way, wants us to notice how we often fail to integrate into our own choices, actions, and way of life what Jesus, through the Cross, has already done for all. 

Yet it’s not just actions that shape our life. James also highlighted how the words coming out of our mouth can reveal what we hold within us. Like how a large horse is guided by the small bit of metal resting in its mouth; or how a large ship is guided by the littlest rudder in the back; so does our mouth steer our being in the world. And if we needed something other than our own lives to show how this can be true, today’s reading from the gospel according to Mark shows just how human the followers of Jesus always are. Peter, while approaching a city named after the Roman Emperor that also sat next to a religious site where the Emperor was worshiped as a god himself, used his mouth to proclaim that Jesus is the Messiah – the One who will shape, refine, and change our relationship with the true God who never gives up on us. Now it’s probably reasonable to expect Peter, after such a powerful statement, might wait a day or two before questioning what Jesus was up to. But after Jesus responded by sharing just how far God’s love will go, Peter immediately told Jesus that can’t be true. He, in that moment, showed that the image of God he carried within himself was much smaller than what God’s hope, generosity, and grace was up to. His words – like our words – weren’t merely a mistake; they revealed how his expectations for God run against the love God chooses to share. That lack of imagination and care shows up not only in our words about God but also in the words we share with family, spouses, children, and friends during the arguments about big – and small things – we regularly have. In the heat of the moment, the mistake we make isn’t only the harmful words we share. It’s also the failure to internalize, accept, and repent how each one of us, in our own ways, act like a brackish spring while thinking we’re only full of water that is refreshing and clear. We have a responsibility to not only build one another up in love but to also learn how to listen, reflect, ponder, question, say we’re sorry, and expand our imagination of who our God – and who we – can be in our world. And while this work isn’t easy, what we do in worship models what this work truly is. We choose to be connected to each other and, through worship, confess publicly our need for a God who will connect us to something bigger than ourselves. We listen to experiences other people have had with the divine and before we answer, we pray for the needs of others as well as ourselves. And then, as we embrace this call to be the body of Christ in the world, we sing – using music and words to reflect a little of the hope, peace, and comfort that comes with God’s presence in our midst. We will, in worship and in this church, make many mistakes. Yet the Jesus who could have kicked us and Peter out after failing the pop quiz of what God’s story is all about – promises, instead, to feed us, to nurture us, to hold us accountable for what we’ve done and what we’ve left undone, and to expand our vision of what God’s love is all about. As beloved children of God, we are invited to be mindful of what our words and our actions reveal. We get to embrace the responsibility – and the gift that it is – to be the body of Christ in the world. We can choose to let love, rather than our ego, be at the heart of who we are. And we do this not because we’ll ever be as perfect as we want to be. But because we have a Jesus who, through the Cross, refused to let our lack of love, our lack of mercy, and our lack of generosity be the limit of who we – through him and with him – get to be too. 

Amen.

My brothers and sisters, do you with your acts of favoritism really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ? For if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, “Have a seat here, please,” while to the one who is poor you say, “Stand there,” or, “Sit at my feet,” have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts? Listen, my beloved brothers and sisters. Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him? But you have dishonored the poor. Is it not the rich who oppress you? Is it not they who drag you into court? Is it not they who blaspheme the excellent name that was invoked over you?
You do well if you really fulfill the royal law according to the scripture, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” But if you show partiality, you commit sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors. For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become accountable for all of it.
What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.

James 2:1-10,14-17

My sermon from the 16th Sunday after Pentecost (September 8, 2024) on James 2:1-10,14-17.

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So in the late 1980s and early 1990s, the San Francisco Giants were trying to build a new baseball stadium in Northern California. They ran several political campaigns asking voters to approve a few new taxes to fund the project. The team wasn’t making much progress with these campaigns and so eventually asked towns on the outer edge of the Bay area if they would like to host the stadium instead. Larry Tramutola, in his book “Sidewalk Strategies: a practical guide for candidates, causes, and communities,” wrote about what happened when the Giants approached the city of San Jose. At the start of the campaign, “everything looked positive. The mayor, the city council, the business community, organized labor, and the newspapers all supported the measure.” People seemed really excited about having a Major League Baseball team in that part of the Bay Area and the movement had “more volunteers than they could handle.” It seemed that the drive for a new stadium might finally work out. What they needed to do, though, was decide what kind of message to bring to the voters. And so, after a series of meetings and conversations, the team thought voters would become as enthusiastic about this endeavor as they were “once they knew [all] the facts.” Their message, then, was a lot: full of all sorts of messages about how the stadium would help the community. Volunteers, when they knocked on people’s doors, talked about the economic benefits of the proposed ballpark; mentioned all the new jobs that would be created; and highlighted the money tourists would bring to the city. The Giants “sent mailer after mailer” with all kinds of endorsements and even sent out “a thick, forty-two page booklet of facts, including testimonials from local school superintendents and a detailed actuarial report on the economic benefits to the community.” The campaign “called every voter and” knocked on every door, bringing with them a flood of words all about new life a stadium might bring. Their opponents, on the other hand, only had the energy – and money – to send one small piece of mail to voters a week before the election. When election day finally came and after all the votes were counted, the campaign for a new stadium in San Jose – lost. Their message – with all its words – couldn’t overcome a smaller, and much more personal message, their opponents sent out. We often imagine, I think, that people simply need more information, education, and to hear a lot more words before coming on board to whatever we’re passionate about. Yet it’s often a much smaller, more concise, and more personal experience that reveals a truth we don’t always see. We hope a big message can offset the smaller message delivered by people who aren’t always the most effective messengers of whatever they hope to bring. But James reminds us that what we do – rather than what we say – often reveals the message we truly believe. 

Now this is our second week listening to the book of James – which is really a letter traditionally associated with either Jesus’ brother or one of the apostles. It’s a writing we don’t often include in our personal Bible-within-the-Bible – those writings, verses, and stories we return to over and over again as we live our life with faith. James is a text that often meanders from point to point which can make it difficult to follow. But it’s also full of very strong opinions as it asks the question: “what does a faithful person look like, act like, [and] be like?” For James, the answer to that question is revealed when we see ourselves, and others, as beloved children of God who chose to listen. We are, according to James, the body of Christ, and people should experience – through us – the same love and grace Jesus gives us everyday. And so after laying out in chapter 1 what that might look like, James used chapter 2 to highlight a few scenarios when we, as a community, fail to live that out. First, we’re asked to imagine two people showing up at our door – one who is obviously very wealthy and the other who is obviously very poor. If we, through our words and actions, treat the rich person well while ignoring the one who doesn’t have very much, we reveal how we let our personal preferences, fears, hopes, and insecurities be the judge over every aspect of our lives. We might claim our behavior is simply loving our neighbors as ourselves. But when we display this kind of partiality, we show others what we are truly putting our hope – and our trust – in. Our acts of welcome, hospitality, and inclusion towards those who have – and are – enough reveals the kind of people we want to be. We want to be comfortable, rich, and always right while receiving, from others, the kind of praise and attention we give to those with wealth. Being the one who needs help; who isn’t enough; and who is vulnerable to the life-choices other people make – isn’t the kind of life we want for ourselves. The person we choose to welcome often proclaims to the world what we truly put our trust in. And finally, when we run into that person who we do not want to be and offer them our thoughts and prayers, we reveal how we believe this Jesus thing is only meant for ourselves.We act as if Jesus is for us rather than realizing how this also means that we, through Jesus, get to be for everyone else too. A life of faith that has not been challenged, transformed, and changed by that faith, is a life choosing to trust in something other than what Jesus has already done. 

When the Giants lost their bid to build a baseball stadium in San Jose, the message their opposition used was simple. Their mailer pointed out how the owner of the Giants was already rich and wondered why everyone else should spend their money to make him even richer. The campaign for the stadium wasn’t, I think, necessarily wrong about what a stadium might do for the city. But their decision to focus on a lot rather than on realizing the primary experience a voter might have, caused them to lose their way. James, I think, invites us to realize how we – as members of the body of Christ – are often the faithful experience other people have. We, for better or worse, are the message of what God’s love actually looks like. That, I realize, is an incredible responsibility and also a bit terrifying because we are often better at being sinners rather than saints. Yet I also wonder if God doesn’t trust that we – because of our baptism and through grace, mercy, prayer, worship, scripture, and the neighbors God connects us to – that we can truly be who God imagines we can be. This trust is one we did nothing to earn but was given to us by a God who refuses to do anything less. That doesn’t mean, however, God needs us to become some kind of superhumans to make a difference in the world. God knows that life is hard and so we can cry, get upset, struggle, wonder, dream, and ask others for the help we truly need. When we are honest about who we are – while letting ourselves be there for the neighbors who need what we get to give – then the Jesus we reveal is the One who offers everyone hope, mercy, and love. 

Amen.

Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. In fulfillment of his own purpose he gave us birth by the word of truth, so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures.
You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness. Therefore rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls. But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like. But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act—they will be blessed in their doing. If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless. Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.

James 1:17-27

My sermon from the 15th Sunday after Pentecost (September 1, 2024) on James 1:17-27.

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If you could remove one book from the Bible, which one would it be? 

Now I know that’s a very weird question to ask since the sixty-six books – as well as the other 10 or so that make up the apocrypha – have generally been accepted by all kinds of Christians as our canon – our Holy Book – since roughly the year 275 or so. We would be hard pressed to imagine ourselves having the authority to cut out a book that has fed the spiritual life of so many people for hundreds of years. Our Bible, though, isn’t really meant to be treated as if it was a novel – with one cohesive narrative, theme, and idea that is easy to follow. It really exists as a kind of library, crafted over a 1300 year period, by people sharing their experience of God in the form of letters, poems, teachings, sermons, histories, and semi-biographical writings. A library of this size and magnitude isn’t meant to be digested in one sitting. It is, instead, meant to challenge, transform, inspire, confuse, and make us wonder what it means to be in relationship with a God who never gives up on us. That complexity – as well as how random our lives can be – is why it’s perfectly normal for us to prefer some books of the Bible more than others. Every one of us, I think, carries within us a canon within a canon – those words we return to over and over again as we live through whatever life might bring. We’d rather spend our time watching Jesus sleeping as a baby in a manger and listen to those stories about being lost and then found – rather than remembering the time he told us to give all our wealth to the poor. That doesn’t mean we’ll be like Thomas Jefferson who physically cut out from his Bible those stories and words about Jesus he thought were too weird to be true. But we, in our own way, often end up treating the Bible as if it is much smaller than it truly is. This approach to scripture – of removing or ignoring books we’re not really into, is something that even Martin Luther thought about when he was busy translating the Bible into the everyday language people spoke. To him, the Bible is not meant to only be seen as a kind of instructional book, telling us how to get on God’s good side. The Bible should be experienced as an event – revealing who Jesus is for us – and for our world. There were times, though, when even he had concerns that some of the Biblical books weren’t as clear as he thought they should be. He was worried their words might obscure us realizing how grace, forgiveness, and faith are always gifts we cannot earn but are freely given by the One who gave himself up for us. There was one book, in particular, he truly disliked – even admitting to a friend he hoped to use it one day as fuel for his stove. And that book, which we’ll spend time listening to over the next few weeks, is known to us as the letter of James. 

Now this letter has traditionally been associated with Jesus’ brother though some have wondered if one of the apostles, such as James the Son of Zebedee, might have been its author too. And one of things that makes it interesting is how it doesn’t really flow in the ways we might expect. It often meanders from one point to another, shifting to a new topic before it finishes the one that came before it. This makes following James a bit difficult which isn’t helped by how our lectionary – the three year cycle of readings we use in worship – then chooses to split up the letter. When we focus too much on the details within the letter, we can easily lose our way. And that’s because James has a vision – a bigger picture it’s choosing to focus on which – in the words of Rev. Katie Van Der Linden, is simply: “what does a faithful person look like, act like, [and] be like?” That question, on the surface, implies that James might be focused on what we should – and shouldn’t do. And while we’ll hear a lot of that in the text, James’ attention is on how our actions, thoughts, and life – right now – paint a picture of who we know Jesus to be. Faith, to James, is more than the private piety feeding our souls. Faith is lived out – reflected through the public interactions we have with ourselves and with others. James wants us to see how our life and our faith can be so entwined that when people see us, they witness Jesus himself. This isn’t, though, meant to make us feel somehow superior or better or more perfect than those around us. Faith isn’t a tool we use to impose our will, our thoughts, and our experiences on others. But it is something that, like love, is meant to be a verb – showing up in the lives we actually live. 

And so when we keep that big picture in mind while listening to our reading today, we notice three themes which will be expanded on in the weeks ahead. First, James invites us to wonder what it means to be children of God. Through baptism and faith, we have been brought into a community God – like a mother – birthed into being. But that doesn’t mean we are meant to be passive in the community God has crafted. We, instead, are meant to fully participate in it. We do this by learning how to listen and not letting our ego, defensiveness, sense of entitlement, or even our emotions get in the way of learning how to be committed to each other. We’re not supposed to ignore conflict or pretend as conformity in all things is how we cherish one another. Rather, when we live together, we’re not always meant to be the first one who speaks or to react with anger whenever someone – or something – challenges who we know ourselves to be. For James, how we communicate often reveals the God we are following. And finally, James wants us to pay attention to what is fundamental about who God imagines we can be. We should, physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually look into the mirror – and not only see what we want to see but also recognize how we are loved, valued, and get to be the body of Christ in our world. In the words of Professor Rev. Margaret Aymer, we are called to switch from “seeing things as [we wish but] seeing things as God wishes” instead. 

And so, over the next few weeks, we’re going to spend time in a book we might not know very well. It’s a text that might not even be part of the Bible-within-the-Bible that feeds our souls. Yet James can, I think, help us realize that our imagination about our lives, our world, and our community shouldn’t be limited to only what we see, think, and experience. We are, instead, invited to pay attention to what God chooses to reveal to us. We get to pay attention to Jesus. We get to listen to a Bible full of all kinds of writings we return to over and over again and those stories we would prefer to ignore. And we, as followers of Jesus, get to recognize how we are not only God’s beloved children but that we are surrounded by those who have been made in God’s image too. The picture James invites us to see how our faith is always bigger than ourselves. And once we realize who God has made us to be, then the orphans around us are cared for; the widows who feel alone are supported; and the walls we build to keep others out are broken by a love that knows no bounds. 

Amen.

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power. Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. Pray in the Spirit at all times in every prayer and supplication. To that end keep alert and always persevere in supplication for all the saints.
Pray also for me, so that when I speak, a message may be given to me to make known with boldness the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it boldly, as I must speak.

Ephesians 6:10-20

My sermon from the 14th Sunday after Pentecost (September 1, 2024) on Ephesians 6:10-20.

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So one of things I didn’t really expect once I became a parent was how the back-to-school season wouldn’t involve a lot of back-to-school shopping. I know a lot of this is because my school district provides school supplies for every elementary school kid. And most of my current school-related anxieties are trying to figure out how to fit into my calendar all the schooling, sports, back to school nights, church, and life that September and October will bring. But it wasn’t that long ago when I spent most of August going to the mall. Even though I had no sense of style or taste, making sure I had some so-called “cool” stuff – especially clothes – really mattered. I spent a little bit of time paying attention to all the commercials on tv and ads in my local paper. I had figured out at a very young age that the right kind of new clothes could set the tone for what the new year might bring. These new threads could grant you a certain amount of social capital, attention, or even enable you to blend into the crowd. Any new clothes, even the ones my parents bought that I knew I’d never wear, could allow some of us – within certain social and cultural limits – let others know who we chose to be. And since I grew up in a place where a  person’s value was often defined by their wealth and status, new clothes were one way others decided who belonged and who didn’t. Knowing what to wear – and having something new to wear – was a kind of armor that influenced not only how others saw us but also how we saw ourselves. 

Today’s reading from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians contains a metaphor we might have heard before. The ancient city of Ephesus, located on the coast of modern day Turkey, was once a major political, economic, and religious center within the Roman Empire. It was home to the Temple of Artemis, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, and had been made the capital city of the entire region by Emperor Augustus. It was a large and prosperous city filled with statues proclaiming the superiority and inevitability of Rome. As people wandered through its marketplaces and streets, the clanging and shuffling of armor from all the soldiers patrolling the city was always present. The small and vibrant Christian community in Ephesus were very familiar with what soldiers wore. And so it made sense for Paul to use this daily experience as a metaphor for the life of faith. We have, over the centuries, sometimes used Paul’s words as a kind of call-to-arms, inviting us to see ourselves as soldiers for Christ. This image can sometimes help us see ourselves as part of something bigger but it has also been used as an excuse to justify all kinds of pain and death. Taking a little time to unpack what Paul wrote can help us move past our tendency to idolize violence, victory, and the act of war itself. The Rev. Katie Hines-Shah recently pointed out how the items named in this passage were not just generalized things soldiers wore. They were very real with specific purposes. The shield, known in Greek as a thyeros, was “a two-by-four-foot hide shield capable of withstanding flaming arrows and protecting warriors from spear attack – but only if the holder [kept] his cool and [held] it up.” The belt wasn’t only a practical tool to hold pouches or a sword. It was also decorated with specific metal fittings that showed who was an officer and who wasn’t. The breastplate was either tightly woven chain-mail that covered most of the body or the layered metal strips that fit our mental picture of what Roman soldiers wore. And “[their] helmet…may [have been] as much for identification as [it was for] protection,” letting soldiers recognize who was around them. When taken as a whole, it’s rather surprising that Paul didn’t mention any of the major offensive weapons Rome used to conquer other nations such as siege engines, catapults, archers, and calvary. He, instead, focused on what they wore for protection with even the short sword being something that could “only be used in close proximity to an enemy.” What Paul chose to highlight were the tools offering a bit of defensive comfort while they were serving in their world. And a really important part for the entire metaphor appears in the middle of the whole thing. On one level, it seemed as if Paul ran out of steam while describing what we’re supposed to wear on our feet. But I think he knew, just like those who have served in our armed forces, how important shoes are. It wouldn’t matter how powerful the Roman weapons were if their shoes couldn’t handle the rough roads, rivers, rain, snow, and wilderness they traveled through. For the Roman army to move, they walked and the entire foundation for what they could literally depended on what was below them. Instead of describing a specific type of shoe or boot the Ephesians would metaphorically wear, Paul focused on what that shoe was meant to do: empowering those who followed Jesus to proclaim a gospel of peace for the entire world. 

This peace, though, wouldn’t be like the peace practiced by the Romans. It wouldn’t use violence to force their will over and against everyone else. The peace they proclaimed wouldn’t be defined by those who wielded the Cross but by the One who lived despite it. This peace would bring healing rather than harm, wholeness rather than division, life rather than death. It was a proclamation recognizing God’s generosity rather than feeling entitled to hoard all of God’s gifts for ourselves. The peace Jesus brings challenges us to always be more since love is so much harder to live out than fear, violence, and death. It’s a peace we offer, we share, and we wear – because it is a kind of armor given to us by our God. Our own ideas about power, strength, and faith isn’t meant to be the limit of the interactions we have with our family, friends, and neighbors. Rather, what we share and what we wear is the knowledge, realization, and trust that Jesus has already conquered all that separates us from God. The armor of God isn’t something we earn; it is a gift – given, formed, shaped, and reissued through our baptism, at Jesus’ table, in prayer, and through the grace God gives us everyday. It’s an armor that’s made for more than simply protection but is a tool inviting us to live out God’s peace everyday. This experience can make it seem as if everyday is the start of a new school year, full of its own challenges, anxieties, worries, joys, and fears as we navigate all the unknown life can bring. Yet unlike the clothes we buy to impress or deal with those around us, the armor of God is something that never goes out of style. We put it on not because it’s going to eliminate everything that comes next. Rather, it is what reminds us that the worst things won’t be the sum of who we get to be. We proclaim and live out this good news of peace because love, mercy, forgiveness, and hope is not only the foundation of the kingdom of God – but at the core of the relationship we have with each other and the world. 

Amen.

[Jesus said:] I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” So Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever.”

John 6:51-58

My sermon from the 13th Sunday after Pentecost (August 18, 2024) on John 6:51-58.

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So one of the things I try to do whenever I come home from vacation is to empty the suitcases as soon as possible. I drag everything in front of the laundry machines, start a few loads, and then put all the toothpaste, moisturizers, and other magical potions back to where they belong. I try to be very intentional about doing this but after my recent trip to Colorado, one small carry-on suitcase sat in our foyer for over a week. When we, as a family, finally got sick of tripping over it everytime we left the house, Kate and I opened it up and took everything out. While I was busy tossing another load of clothes into the washer, I noticed that Kate had become very quiet. I looked over and noticed that after searching the front pockets of the suitcase, she was staring at something in her hand. It’s then when she confronted me and wondered why I brought back to New Jersey a bunch of acorns she assumed I found in Colorado. Now bringing random things back from a vacation is something I have been known to do. But when I took a closer look at these little nuts, I realized they came from the trees outside my home. My hunch is that, at some point, a squirrel got into my attic which is where we store luggage when we’re not using it. I’m sure that large space felt warm, dry, and cozy in a world that can often feel anything but. This so-called little furry friend figured they could make a home up there and thought this brown rectangle with a few squirrel-sized pouches would be the perfect place to store some sustenance for whatever their future journey might bring. We all need many different things to live the life God calls us to live. And in our reading today from the gospel according to John, Jesus continued to reveal just how far God will go to sustain us in this life – too.

So we are currently in our fourth consecutive week listening to John’s version of the time when Jesus fed 5000 people with a handful of fish and a few loaves of bread. Thecrowd who had gathered around Jesus were folks who were looking for wholeness and hope. They had, through word of mouth, heard how Jesus could offer them the future they longed for. The crowd came to him and Jesus knew they were more than simply a prop to show how amazing and powerful he was. Each one of them was a real person and so engaged with them like he did his disciples – inviting everyone into a deeper experience with their God. The crowd, in a surprising way, actually listened to him – recognizing something different was truly going on. They didn’t, however, really understand what Jesus was up to – and the ensuing conversation was long, drawn out, and appeared a bit repetitive. Jesus, though, was using words to take them on a mental, metaphorical, and spiritual journey. He encouraged them to try and use their own story – especially the story of the Exodus and God’s feeding the people with manna and quail in the wilderness – as a way to interpret what Jesus was doing. But he also wanted everyone to see how God wasn’t only caring for them in that particular moment. Having what we need, such as enough food, shelter, safety, our health, and a community that has our back – is foundational to living any kind of life. God, though, also wanted those around Jesus to discover the place they had in the future God was bringing about. And that future wasn’t only for them as individuals; it was a future meant for all. That kind of future would be a community of people who carry one another through. The ones who care for us when we can’t and who bring a meal when we can’t get out of the house. It’s a community that can offer us grace when we screw up while holding us accountable for the ways we fail to live like we should. This future is full of people who can be completely themselves while growing into who God imagines them to be. God isn’t only interested in our past or our today. God also cares about our tomorrow. And to live into this future that will come, God invites us to be the community that this future needs. It’s a community that resembles what Jesus did – full of healing, feeding, listening, noticing, and giving up our own personal advantages so our neighbors can thrive. But when it’s difficult to be that kind of gift to ourselves and to those around us, we need some kind of sustenance – to fuel us through whatever comes next. Jesus knew that we, the disciples, and the crowd around him 2,000 years ago – needed something more than what we can provide each other. What we need is a more holy sustenance that transforms our present and our tomorrow. So Jesus, in a very Jesusy kind of way, promised them just how far God will go to sustain us for what our tomorrow might be.

Now the sustenance Jesus provides isn’t merely spiritual; it’s also physical and relational. It’s a sustenance manifested in the bread and drink – His body, His blood, His entire being – that we share during Holy Communion. It’s a source of nourishment present whenever we gather in worship to pray, to listen, to admit the ways we fail to be who God has made us to be, and to receive the forgiveness that propels us into God’s unfolding future. And it’s also present in the callings God gives us – callings such as being a parent, a child, a student, a teacher, a plumber, an office worker, a retiree, as well as a follower of Jesus – to discover the gifts God has given us that make us a gift in our world too. This sustenance isn’t only something meant for us to receive because it also instills in us a responsibility to also be what sustains our family, friends, and neighbors. This responsibility is one that we will struggle to embrace. There are times when we will just turn back on the future God wants or find ourselves living through a season when we need others to primarily be what sustains us. Being a kind of sustenance for others seems strange when what they provide us is the only thing bringing us through. But when we accept the help and the care that others can do, we sustain within them the experience, the joy, and the peace that comes knowing they really are the gift God has made them to be. The sustenance we receive and the sustenance we are called to be are like the acorns we stash away to be the fuel for whatever comes next. Jesus knows that this stash will often be emptied by the trials and tribulations life brings. And so that’s why he continues to make himself known and available here – at His table of grace, forgiveness, hope, and love. You are, in baptism, transformed to be His body and blood and presence in the world. And Jesus promises to not only sustain you in this work but to also be the sustenance that transforms your tomorrow in God’s holy forever.

Amen.

So when the crowd saw that neither Jesus nor his disciples were there, they themselves got into the boats and went to Capernaum looking for Jesus. When they found him on the other side of the sea, they said to him, “Rabbi, when did you come here?” Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For it is on him that God the Father has set his seal.”
Then they said to him, “What must we do to perform the works of God?” Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.” So they said to him, “What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you? What work are you performing? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written, ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat.’” Then Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” They said to him, “Sir, give us this bread always.” Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

John 6:24-35

My sermon from the 11th Sunday after Pentecost (August 4, 2024) on John 6:24-35.

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Every vacation I go on comes with its own challenges, stresses, and headaches. There’s the large packing list I’ll diligently put together only to forget something important like shirts or socks. There’s the fun that comes trying to find parking at the airport and figuring out how to feed three kids who don’t all like the same things. Vacations are full of new experiences that bring great fun, joy, and a little stress. And the one thing that is practically guaranteed to happen every time I travel is that I won’t have any idea how to turn the hotel’s shower on. Bathtubs have been around for thousands of years and the first patent for a mechanical shower was issued in the mid 1700s. Indoor plumbing is a gift that has changed the world but there doesn’t seem to be any standard when it comes to which knob, button, or doohickey will send the water from the tub’s faucet into the shower. Often it’s a handle that needs to be turned in a specific way, a little button hidden in some secret compartment that needs to be pushed or, like it was in Colorado this week, a round circular knob on the underside of the faucet that needed to be turned and pulled out. Vacations are amazing yet can also be stressful even when things are going according to plan. But we, as a people, have decided to increase that stress by encouraging a bit of misunderstanding whenever we’re trying to get clean. Misunderstanding shows up on any journey that we take. And as we saw in today’s reading from the gospel according to John, misunderstanding is also what happens whenever we journey with our God.

So like I said last week, we’ll spend the rest of August hanging out in John’s version of the only miracle that appears in all four of the gospels. One of the many differences between John’s version and all the others is how much talking Jesus does. One of the hallmarks of the gospel according to John is how miracles, teachings, or sermons are often followed by a long back-and-forth between Jesus and whoever is around him. And that’s because, for John, these miracles – which is a word he never uses to describe what Jesus did – are never an end in themselves. Jesus’ work is a sign of what happens when God’s kingdom comes near. When God shows up, people are healed, fed, cherished, and drawn into life-giving relationships transforming them into something more. The miracle wasn’t how Jesus turned a boy’s lunch into a feast for 5,000 that only satisfied this current moment. The true miracle was the building of a connection showing how we always have a seat at Jesus’ table. This is why, I think, John’s Jesus did more than empower the disciples to feed those around him. Instead, Jesus took the time to feed everyone himself. He didn’t treat the people in the crowd as merely a showcase for what amazing things he could do. He treated people as people, inviting them to learn and grow while being sustained by the One who took the time to look them in the eye and know their entire story. After the crowd was fed, they didn’t necessarily understand what Jesus was up to but they sensed something was different. They recognized how Jesus was building a future for, and with, each of them. The crowd responded by wanting to crown Jesus as a king – revealing their misunderstanding of who Jesus chose to be. He wasn’t interested in wielding power over them; he wanted to connect with them so they could discover how abundance, rather than scarcity, was the life God wanted for us all. The crowd didn’t get it but Jesus didn’t let their lack of understanding diminish the love he had for them. And so, later on, when the crowd tracked him down after he went somewhere new, Jesus kept talking because not understanding what God is up to is one of the most human, and faithful things, we get to work through.

The crowd, like when we are standing before a shower that won’t turn on no matter how many calls to the front desk we make, wasn’t sure what Jesus was up to. But when he moved, they followed and had the courage to ask “how long” when they reached him. That might not have been the question we would ask if we ran into Jesus on the street but it does model, for us, how following Jesus doesn’t mean we can’t question Jesus when we’re with him. Now I’ll admit it seems a little odd to give you permission to question God since other stories and verses in our Bible are often interpreted to imply we shouldn’t. But I’ve often found that faith – which, in ancient Greek is the same word for trust – is shaped through the questions we share. Our relationships with each other and with our God are crafted and formed through a trust that doesn’t push aside our wonder. Rather, Jesus always keeps talking because God is big enough to hold whatever question we have. Jesus doesn’t build our faith and our trust merely through amazing feats of power. Instead, Jesus gives us his constant presence even when misunderstanding is all we have. Jesus didn’t give up on the crowd even though they didn’t fully get what God was up to. And in the relationship God already made with you in your baptism, God has already promised to never give up on you too. Jesus stuck around because sticking around is what God is all about. And we are invited to bring to God our questions, our worries, and even our doubts. We are allowed to be completely ourselves since whatever is stirring within our heart doesn’t mean we are far from our God. I know we sometimes assume that misunderstanding is why our sorrow, grief, and hurt linger more than we expect. But life is sometimes very full – and it isn’t understanding that will make our emotions melt away. Misunderstanding is, instead, simply what happens since we’re human – and pretending to know what we don’t know is often the easiest way to harm ourselves and others. The way through our misunderstanding isn’t to ignore our questions but to embrace them; to ask “when,” “what,” “why,” and even “how come.” And when we ask them, we’re invited to not only bring them to God through our worship and our prayers but also to one another. When we invest our time and energy in exploring our misunderstandings, long held thoughts that made us who we are are then transformed into something holy and true. And when these same questions are ones that cannot be answered, it’s perfectly okay to sit with them – surrounded by a community of faith, and a God, who will never let us go. Asking these kinds of questions might make us feel pretty awkward or leave us feeling vulnerable when those around us ask things we don’t have an answer to. But if Jesus was willing to engage with the questions and misunderstanding the crowd near the Sea of Galilee shared with him nearly 2000 years ago, he’s more than willing to sit with all our questions and misunderstanding too. When we find ourselves confused, unsure, with way too many “whys” and “how comes” and “wonderings” about what might be – we are then invited to cling to the answer we’ll hear Jesus keep giving: you are, even now, with your God and Jesus will feed, protect, and carry you through.

Amen.

After this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, also called the Sea of Tiberias. A large crowd kept following him, because they saw the signs that he was doing for the sick. Jesus went up the mountain and sat down there with his disciples. Now the Passover, the festival of the Jews, was near. When he looked up and saw a large crowd coming toward him, Jesus said to Philip, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” He said this to test him, for he himself knew what he was going to do. Philip answered him, “Six months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.” One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to him, “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?” Jesus said, “Make the people sit down.” Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all. Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.” So they gathered them up, and from the fragments of the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten, they filled twelve baskets. When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, “This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.”

When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself. When evening came, his disciples went down to the sea, got into a boat, and started across the sea to Capernaum. It was now dark, and Jesus had not yet come to them. The sea became rough because a strong wind was blowing. When they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the sea and coming near the boat, and they were terrified. But he said to them, “It is I; do not be afraid.” Then they wanted to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the land toward which they were going.

John 6:1-21

My sermon from the 11th Sunday after Pentecost (August 4, 2024) on John 6:24-35.

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I don’t follow every sport but when the Olympics kick off, my daily mood is dictated by how well team USA does in mixed doubles badminton, marathon race walking, and in the Women’s Kayak Four 500m canoe sprint. The Olympic games, at their best, transform our innate competitiveness into a collaborative spectacle where we raise each other up rather than teach one another down. And one way we do that is by how varied sports can be. Our attention is usually focused on the individual athletes themselves. But getting to the Olympics takes a lot more than simply doing really well at some national events. A recent news article in the Washington Post described, in detail, what some athletes need to do to make sure their gear makes it to the games. Unlike a swimmer or a sprinter who can pack their jersey in their carry-on luggage, a pole vaulter, an equestrian, and a paralympic wheelchair basketball player tend to carry a few more things. These athletes, who spent years training their bodies to do incredible things, sometimes spend roughly the same amount of time trying to get their gear to an international competition. Olympians tend to be more than simply amazing athletes; they’re also their own roadies, equipment managers, and travel agents. Standing on the Olympic stage is an incredible accomplishment; but it takes more than just winning a competition to make that future come about. 

Over the last few months, we’ve spent the majority of our time listening to Mark’s version of Jesus’ life and ministry. But starting today and through the end of August, we’ll spend most of our time in John, chapter six. This is the beginning of John’s version of the only miracle that appears in all four versions of Jesus’ life. And it starts with Jesus, his friends, and a large crowd, sitting on a mountain. We would expect, I think, for Jesus to head to Jerusalem since the festival of Passover was near. He chose, however, to stay on the road – inviting folks far and wide to discover what the kingdom of God was all about. Jesus, throughout his journeys, regularly drew religious leaders and those looking to grow in their spiritual life to him. But the vast majority of those who came to see Jesus simply hoped he could heal them. The crowd who came to see Jesus while he was sitting on that mountain top was not some anonymous mass of humanity looking for only one thing. It was, instead, a community of individual people who had their own stories, histories, and experiences. When Jesus looked up at them, he knew they were more than simply whatever it was that brought them to that place. They weren’t there to simply showcase the kind of healing he could do. They were real people who deserved to be cherished and known. In their worries, fears, and needs – Jesus recognized how they longed for a future where they could safely belong. He wasn’t interested in only their current moment; he wanted them to have what they needed to live into what they could be. He knew they would need words, encouragement, and their own gear to enter into the future that had already come. Jesus, then, became his own event planner, roadie, and equipment manager. He paid attention to what he and his friends had – and what the large crowd would need. Jesus didn’t just see them – he looked up to them – which is, quite frankly, a difficult thing to do when you’re already on-top of a mountain. Yet this looking up wasn’t merely a physical act – it was also a metaphorical one since looking up was what a student would do when they connected with the One who they wanted to learn from. Jesus didn’t just see the crowd; he wanted to connect with those within it too. And when they showed up, he invited them to assume the pose of every disciple by sitting down next to him. Their healing would matter but it wouldn’t be the end-all/be-all for what their future might be. And that’s because the One who was with them, the One who already saw them, and the One who would give them all that he had – including his words, his forgiveness, his body, and his blood – would now carry them into a different kind of future – one that will never end. 

Now having what we actually need to live into that future isn’t always easy to figure out. We know we at least need the basics – like food, shelter, safety, and a community who we can count on when things get hard. But we also need those more intangible things that let us be honest about who we truly are. We need the space, courage, and strength to confess we’re not always the hero we imagine ourselves to be. And our own selfishness,  self-centeredness, and sin can be a tool that distorts our own understanding of who our God truly is. We need more than simply a few words, a couple of teachings, and a verse taken out of context to live into whatever future might be. What we need are our own tools, gifts, and spiritual gear to transform our lives and our souls – Which is what God, in Jesus, does. It begins with a bit of water and words poured over us, claiming and including us in what God is already up to. These tools are then expanded as we grow into a community of faith who love and serve and remind ourselves that we are never finished in becoming who God calls us to be. We are fed through words and songs, scripture and good news, and the commitment we make to each other to not let this current moment be the only moment that shapes who we get to be. Our journey isn’t easy and it might feel as if the spiritual gear we carry isn’t big enough to face all that life might bring. And when that happens, we might doubt our faith, our strength, or even that we’re loved. But if an Olympian has to stuff two disassembled BMX bikes into suitcases to get them to Paris; if the kayakers have to rent boats that barely float because the one they stored in a nearby country over a year ago couldn’t, because of brand new custom regulations, cross over the border; and if a $7,500 specialized wheelchair for basketball has to fly over the ocean sandwiched between the luggage tourists packed for the flight, you – as you are right now – have all you need to be the beloved child of God you truly are. You are loved; you are valued; and, in your baptism, God proclaimed how you were necessary for God’s future to be made whole. And when that future feels scary or small or way too short – trust that the journey you are on isn’t only about today but includes the forever that God, in Jesus’ birth, Jesus’ death, and Jesus’ resurrection, has already begun. 

Amen. 

The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

When they had crossed over [after the feeding of the 5,000 and walking on water], [Jesus and the disciples] came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

My sermon from the 9th Sunday after Pentecost (July 21, 2024) on Mark 6:30-34, 53-56.

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So how do you feel when you’re interrupted? 

Being interrupted isn’t very fun. Sometimes when the interruption is small – like when a spammer calls our cell phone or we catch our kid rooting through our bag while we’re busying singing the opening hymn – we end up being annoyed but we get over it pretty quickly. Other interruptions, though, make us feel as if we don’t even matter. When I think about interruptions, I tend to remember all those times when someone spoke over me. It’s the type of interruption that not only disrupts our train of thought but unravels whatever I planned to do next. Our focus, our attention, and our energy is then diverted to what that other person decided was a priority over us. And while some of these interruptions aren’t really a big deal, they can leave us feeling overwhelmed especially when they happen over and over again. Being interrupted has a way of making us feel small and undervalued which is especially unnerving in our culture since people are taught how they’re allowed to interrupt anyone because they have certain gender, or presitage, or a big fancy bank account. When we’re interrupted, the feelings we feel linger and they can grow into a kind of resentment that will change how we interact with ourselves and with others. Learning how to process being interrupted is often harder than learning how to not interrupt others in the first place. And when we take a moment to look at how Jesus responded to all the interruptions that showed up in his earthly ministry, we notice that anger, frustration, and resentment are not the only things that can influence what we say and do.

Our reading today from the gospel according to Mark begins with the disciples being completely exhausted. Two weeks ago, we heard how Jesus sent them out, two by two, to bring grace and wholeness to others. Their journey required them to depend on the hospitality of strangers which, in itself, is pretty scary. And after meeting a bunch of new people, listening to their stories, and inviting them to experience the love God already had for them, they returned to Jesus full of all kinds of feelings. They were excited to share with him all they had done as well as express all the frustrations they experienced too. They need to process with Jesus and with one another all they had lived through. In other words, the disciples were looking to vent – to spiritually, mentally, and emotional decompress all they had experienced in the days and weeks since they last saw Jesus. And this need wasn’t something that they only saw themselves; Jesus recognized it too. So rather than sending them on another mission, Jesus became his own travel agent, organizing an all inclusive retreat where his friends could just get away from all. But when they finally arrived at the so-called deserted place, they ran into a crowd of people waiting for them. 

Now it’s kind of surprising how, in an era without social media and cellphones, everyone knew exactly where Jesus planned to be. Word had quickly spread and a crowd of desperate people, as well as their family and friends, gathered to meet him. The people there weren’t on their own version of a spiritual retreat. They were, instead, people with physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual needs. When they heard Jesus was heading to a place near them, they interrupted their lives because they needed someone who could interrupt whatever they were living through. The crowd waiting for Jesus and the disciples were the same kinds of people they had already met in towns, synagogues, and along the shore of the Sea of Galilee. And so I don’t think it’s too hard to imagine how Jesus’ friends felt when they looked out and saw all the stressful and exhausting work they had tried to leave behind. The disciples, I think, weren’t trying to be mean. They were simply tired. They needed to find a place where they could vent and be cared for too. But when they ended up at their vacation destination, it was interrupted by an incredible amount of human need. I imagine many of us, in our own way, know what it’s like when the break we need is interrupted by whatever real life brings. Even if that interruption is something small silly, when we’re exhausted, worn out, and overwhelmed by it all – a lot of grief, anger, and resentment comes out. It’s not difficult to realize how we would have acted in their situation and so we should give the disciples a pass for whatever they want to do. But instead of focusing on how the disciples reacted to this interruption, Mark choose to focus on how the One who would often go off on his own to pray; the One who could get mad; the One who was sometimes frustrated, sad, full of joy, and incredibly worn out; Mark invited to pay attention to what Jesus chose to do. He is the Son of God but he’s also pretty human too. He, along with the disciples, were tired and worn out in this so-called deserted place. But when his break was interrupted by the kinds of people he regularly met, Jesus, in the words of Pastor Joanna Harader, performed a miracle we often overlook.“In the midst of his own exhaustion,” Jesus responded to the crowd not with “exasperation but with compassion.” He recognized their pain, their suffering, and the hurt that had consumed their lives. And Jesus didn’t simply heal them; he taught them, included them, and in the story from the verses we don’t hear today – he fed them too. Jesus, in other words, simply loved them because his compassion recognized how they were already beloved children of God. 

Jesus’ decision to respond to interruptions with compassion rather than anger or frustration isn’t always easy to do. When we are tired, exhausted, and completely worn out – even listening to someone else feels impossible. Taking the time to recharge our body, our soul, and our mind is something we’re supposed to do. And if you need to vent, simply ask – and remember it’s okay to tell those around you that you really do need help. Jesus knows we can’t go through life on our own which is why he made sure to connect us to each other. We are called to not only take care of each other but to be a people who protect each other too. And when you need to recharge, we all have an obligation to not only tend to your spiritual needs but to your emotional, mental, and physical needs too. We are called to be compassionate with each other so that we can learn how to respond to every interruption with compassion too. Now there are some things that do more than simply interrupt the words coming out of our mouths. There are other kinds of interruptions that utterly upend and transform the lives we planned to live. Those interruption are literally life changing and we can become quickly overwhelmed by all we’re living through. And when that kind of interruption happens, I hope you can experience deep compassion for yourself and through others while you mourn and rage. You are not defined by the worst thing that has happened to you. You are a beloved child of God. And there’s nothing that can happen to you that will ever interrupt the eternal connection that God, through Jesus, has already made with you.

Amen.