Pocket Sized Pastor*

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.