Why We Can’t Avoid the Cross

Sermon preached Sunday, August 30, 2026, the Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost. 

 

The other day I was scrolling through Facebook and noticed that one of my friends was getting ready to embark on a 30-day no sugar challenge.

 

I see those kinds of things a lot—do you?

 

A special diet challenge. A fitness challenge, like do a set of pushups everyday for 60 days. A reading challenge: read this many books over the course of the year. A financial challenge: put this much money aside each week.

 

No matter what aspect of our lives we’re seeking to improve, we seem to be more willing to try if we see it as a “challenge,” not just a change to our lives.

 

And I think that’s because the word “challenge” makes it seems temporary. It’s got a time limit—you only need to not eat french fries for this very specific amount of time. You only need to find time in your schedule to work out for 30 days, then you can relax. Once those sixty days are up, you can go back to buying a coffee on your way to work day.

 

Because actually changing the way we live, taking on something that could upset the balance of our lives—even for a good reason!—that’s uncomfortable. And I want to avoid being uncomfortable, don’t you?

 

I bring all of this up because Jesus offers quite the challenge in this morning’s Gospel, although, of course, it doesn’t come with any kind of end date. He tells the disciples what’s going to happen to him—it’s the first prediction of his death. He tells them he will suffer, be killed and, finally, raised. The disciples, however, only seem to hear the parts about suffering and death, and don’t want any of it. They don’t seem to hear Jesus predicting his resurrection.

 

Peter, speaking on behalf of all the disciples, takes him aside and rebukes him (can you imagine rebuking Jesus?). And just like that, Peter goes from being blessed in the text last week to being called “Satan,” ha satan, the Adversary, this week.

 

Peter is showing the reaction we’d all likely have. We don’t want to hear that the people we love will suffer or die. It’s human nature to avoid pain and death.

 

But then Jesus gives the real challenge. Hear it again:

 

“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

 

This challenge, uttered so closely after Jesus’ first prediction of his suffering and death, comes as a surprise to the disciples. Up until now, their life hasn’t been all that difficult. They’ve heard lots of wonderful sermons, some great parables, they’ve seen miracles performed and been empowered by Jesus to perform miracles. They’ve had a few run-ins with the Pharisees or Scribes, sure, but those have largely been battles of words and Jesus always comes out on top.

 

This isn’t the first warning that Jesus has given them that their path won’t be easy—earlier Jesus warns them that they may not be accepted when they go out and what to do if they aren’t—but these are pretty stark and bleak terms.

 

Take up your cross and follow me.

Any who want to save their life will lose it.

 

Remember here what the cross meant to these people. It wasn’t a symbol of salvation, hung up or worn to remind us of our faith—it was a representation of death, torture and an empire that crushed any resistance under its foot. It was a very real and visceral threat. After a salve rebellion, Roman soldiers crucified the defeated fighters and lined the road with them, stretching for miles as a reminder and deterred to others. Crucifixion was the chosen means of death when the Roman Empire wanted to keep people in their place.

 

 

 

The disciples don’t want the cross. The disciples don’t want to lose their life. They want the miracles! They want the blessings! They want the crowds of admirers and the occasional victory after verbal sparring with the religious elites. They don’t want the hard, the painful, the uncomfortable or, especially, the fatal.

 

Neither do we, for that matter. We don’t want the hard either. We want the blessings, the sermons, the teaching. We want the miracles!

 

But life isn’t all miracles.

 

Life is good times and bad. Easy and hard. We welcome new life and mourn death. We celebrate successes and grieve failures.

 

Jesus tells us that if we want to become his follower we must take up our cross.

 

Taking up our cross means taking up the difficult, uncomfortable and painful things—perhaps even fatal things. It’s not something any of us are eager to do. And it’s not something they can give up in thirty or sixty or ninety days.

 

The truth of the matter, though, is that the cross is there whether we take it up or not. It dogs our steps, casts a shadow on our days. I said before that life isn’t all miracles—because it’s not. We can ignore parts of our lives, parts of our world, but that doesn’t mean they go away.

We can try to ignore it when sickness invades our homes and our communities. We can try to pretend that people aren’t fighting disease or that we ourselves will never be unhealthy. We can come up with excuses or platitudes without ever naming death for what it is.

 

And we can try to ignore the needs in our community: the hunger, the poverty, the injustice that rears its head whenever it is given an opportunity. We can pretend that what happens to our neighbor doesn’t have any effect on us. It’s safer and less risky for us stay silent and stay home.

 

When we recognize the harmful things in the world and try to do something about them, we are putting ourselves at risk. We may offend our friends or neighbors who would prefer to keep ignoring. We may find ourselves in the position of being “that friend” who always goes on about social justice issues or brings up uncomfortable topics. We may cause people to face their own crosses, which, like us, they are reluctant to do.

 

But if we do risk it, if we put ourselves on the line, if we engage the hurt, engage the pain, engage the cross of our lives, instead of running away from it, something remarkable happens. Just as Jesus was resurrected after his crucifixion, if we take up our cross, God will bring new life out of it.

 

 

Only by recognizing that we are sick can we be healed. Only be realizing our privileges can we fight the disenfranchisement of others. Only by hearing the needs of our world can we attempt to meet them. It’s tough work. I don’t want to minimize it or say that it’s easy. Discipleship is hard but it’s what we’re called to.

 

Because new life can only come out of death. Jesus can only be resurrected after he died. We can only live after we lose our lives for the sake of the Gospel.

 

Find the cross in your life, the crosses in your life and take them up. Accept the challenge.

 

God’s got new life waiting.

Amen.

 

Persistence and the Big Picture

Sermon preached Sunday, August 16, 2026, the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA.

 

There’s nothing easy about today’s Gospel reading. It’s honestly pretty uncomfortable. This does not sound like the Jesus we know and love. Why does he act this way?

 

We can make excuses for Jesus: we can say that he’s testing her, or testing the disciples, just trying to see if they come up with the right answer…but does that sound like the Jesus we know and love? Someone who is always asking trick questions to see if you’re up to snuff? Someone who treats other people like pawns to prove a point?

 

Other times, we might not explain away the behavior, but say that it’s understandable that he’s being short with her: he’s tired, he’s hungry, he’s stressed out. All of which is likely true…but that’s just another way of explaining away what Jesus says without actually dealing with what he says.

 

And what he says is, essentially, “Stop bugging me. You’re not worth my time. You’re like a mangy dog.”

 

And that, beloved, is something we have to deal with.

We cannot assert any one motivation into the text that is not shown to be there. We can wonder, we can hypothesize or question or test out theories…but we can’t say for certain.

 

We don’t know why exactly Jesus is acting this way, but he is. We can’t ignore that.

So if we don’t know the why, let’s focus on what we do know: in this story, a woman comes to Jesus for help and is ignored and cast aside. She refuses to go away quietly and instead she keeps fighting to get help for her daughter, even lowering herself to be compared to a dog to make her point.

 

And, in the end, it is her persistence that results in healing for her daughter. Jesus says, “Great is your faith,” and it was her faith…but her faith in Jesus that if she never relented, he would finally respond to her in love.

 

Persistence can be really hard. Think about times when you’ve had to be persistent:

• When you have to call any kind of customer service because something was screwy and you need to address it
• When you’re pursuing a degree or searching for a new job
• When you’re training for a marathon, or practicing for a sport
• When you’re practicing an instrument or developing any new skill
• When you’re training a pet

 

I could go on and on, right? And with how many of these things is it easier to just stop? After getting the run around from customer service reps, how often do you just hang up because it’s not worth it? How many of us with that maybe we had practiced that instrument we played when we were younger a little bit more? Do any of you remember studying for a final or sending out yet another job application and wondering if it was even worth the effort?

 

The thing is, nine times out of ten, when persistence is needed, the results are rewarding. Whether it’s getting out from under a cable contract that doesn’t work for you any more, or something much more meaningful like a honed talent in music or woodworking or an expansion of knowledge and thinking skills, in all of these cases the persistence pays off. It makes a difference. The end result is something better or further than where things were before.

 

But stopping doesn’t do it. If you give up or stop before the goal is reached, you end up just as far away as when you started. I think, when it comes to faith, it’s something similar. When we aren’t persistent in our faith, we get distracted, we lose sight of the big picture. We forget why we’re even doing it in the first place. We might go through the motions: attend worship, read our Bible, but in a perfunctory way, engage in corporate prayer, but neglect our personal prayer life…and completely forget about why we do any of it—lose sight of the bigger picture of who God is and what God is calling us to do…kind of like Jesus, honestly.

 

Let me explain what I mean by that. In this story, for whatever reasons we want to ascribe, Jesus turns this Canaanite woman away. It seems like he wants nothing to do with her. It seems like he’s got tunnel vision that he’s there for the children of Israel. It seems like he hasn’t got time to deal with her nonsense. She’s not of his tribe.

 

For us, as listeners to this story, it seems that Jesus has forgotten about the bigger picture. He lost sight of the fact that he came for all people of all nations, not just Israel. He is Savior to every being on this earth. His initial reaction to the Canaanite woman doesn’t reflect this, doesn’t reflect that he remembers this.

 

…but her persistence, her refusal to let him off the hook, that’s the thing in the narrative that finally makes it click, makes it clear, makes Jesus react in the way we have expected him to all along: “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”

 

This life of faith, the work we are invited into as children of God requires persistence. We are called to be persistent in our prayer, in our pursuit of justice, in our compassion for our neighbor, in our advocacy for the unheard, and in our care for the creation around us. The powers that be, the status quo, the systems and individuals that seek to block the reign of God from breaking in will not be removed and will not be thrown down otherwise.

 

God’s work in the world invites, encourages, and empowers our persistence.

 

Weariness is natural—no one can go full speed all the time! Even Jesus took breaks to collect himself and refresh. It’s normal to grow weary and lose sight of what we’re doing and why we’re doing it—the big picture of God’s calling. …but that’s why we return to worship and return to the Word and return to the sacraments…to refresh and sustain ourselves and prepare to continue the work ahead.

 

Eat this bread. Drink this wine. Remind yourself of your baptism. And persist in God’s loving and redeeming work.

 

Amen.

What Does Welcome Mean?

Sermon preached Sunday, June 28, 2026, the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA.

“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me.”

That’s what Jesus says: “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me.”

When you hear the word, “welcome,” what do you think of? How do you like to be welcomed? Do you like to be welcomed with a drink, like when someone brings out an nice tray of lemonade? Do you like to be welcomed with a snack—some cheese and crackers or cookies? Have you noticed that there are some people who take such deep joy in welcoming people with a snack or with something to drink? It’s a sign that they have prepared for your visit or a sign that they are happy to see you.

In my second call, there was one woman I would visit regularly. Every time, without fail, she would have homemade cookies and tea ready for me. I quickly learned to show up to her house with an appetite because she rarely let me leave without eating at least three of those cookies and taking a container full with me when I left.

On the other hand, what are the things that make you feel unwelcome? You know, when you when you knock on the door and the person opens the door but then they refuse to get out of the doorway. Or when there’s no place for you to sit? Or when no one offers to take your coat. Those are things that make us feel UN-welcomed, right? They make us feel like our host would be so much happier if we’d just go away, that we’re imposing on someone’s life just by being present.

Jesus says, “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me,” and so whoever welcomes us welcomes Christ. We are called, then, to prepare a welcome for other people—and not just in our home! Not just in our home, but it’s everywhere. In our community, in our church, everywhere. We are called to make every place we inhabit a place of welcome where people feel seen and loved and taken for who they are.

When we welcome people, we do not say, “You are welcome, but only if you think the exact same way that we do or only if you look the exact same way that we do or only if you live the exact same way we do.” That is not welcome or, more specifically, that is not God’s welcome. That is a welcome born out of our own sinful impulses that expects everyone to conform to our way of being.

We also cannot welcome people into spaces where they might not be safe, either in body or soul. We cannot say, “You are welcome but some people here might deny your identity.” We cannot say, “You are welcome but some people here might not believe what you have to say when you describe your life experiences.” We cannot say, “You are welcome here but some of us might not be willing to sacrifice for you.”

All people are welcome, but not all behavior is welcome. And someone who abuses or harms or disrespects others in the community is welcome—but only once they stop the hurtful behavior and seek reconciliation. They are not unwelcome because of who they are, but because of the actions they choose to do.

God’s welcome is one of utter selflessness of sacrifice—of putting the one who is being welcomed above the one who is doing the welcoming.

“Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me.”

This reminds me of another really important point: I honestly don’t think that all of the onus is on the welcome. I think that we have a responsibly as guests. When we are out in the community, when we are in someone else’s space, when we are in someone else’s home, we are the guest and as the guest, we are called to help the one who is welcoming us see the love of God through us and what we do.

So, what makes a rude guest? Obviously, this notion of a rude or good guest varies a lot on your relationship with that person, but what’s your take? I’ll take suggestions what makes a rude guest—go ahead and give me some examples!

Maybe someone who puts their feet up on the furniture? Maybe someone who, without asking, starts going through your fridge to see if there is a snack they might have? Maybe someone who treats your pets poorly or who disciplines your children for doing something they are allowed to do?

Alright, let’s flip the coin: what makes a lovely guest? What makes the kind of person that you actually wouldn’t mind if they stayed just a little bit longer?

Someone who, if they make a mess, tides up after themselves? I mean, how awesome is it when you have a guest stay at your home and before they leave they ask if they should strip the bed or put the towels they used by the washer? What else makes a lovely guest? Someone who brings a bottle of wine maybe or something else when they come to visit? What makes a good guest for you?

Jesus says, “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me.” We are called in this in this verse to be both the gracious host and the gentle guest. We are called to be someone who exudes the love of Christ in what we do and how we behave towards those who welcome us and how we behave towards those who come to us for welcome.

“Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me.”

In the church, in our community, in our world: let us be beacons of Christ’s love and welcome.

Amen.

Should We Expect a Struggle?

Sermon preached Sunday, June 21, 2026, the Third Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA.

Today’s Gospel is not an easy one to hear or preach on. It never is. And every three years, when it comes up again, I look back to see what I said the last time, thinking that things are different this time.

But, I’ve gotta say…not much has changed! Cycle after cycle, these words are prescient. They feel like they have an immediacy to the moment we are currently living in.

Our passions and disagreements don’t seem to have been toned down—if anything, they’ve ratcheted up more! It is getting harder and harder to have simple conversations about our beliefs without facing scorn or derision from some people.

And maybe that’s to be expected. In our readings today, we hear all about what happens to people following the Word of God…and it’s not pretty! They are denounced, they are weary, they suffer reproach. They become strangers to their own families and are mocked day and night. This is not just a loss of supremacy or of privilege. This is real oppression and opposition. These do not sound like happy lives.

And then Jesus says the harshest words: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.” (Matthew 10:34-36)

That’s not what I want to hear, and I doubt it’s what  you want to hear, either. These three verses are hard for us to take. We struggle to make sense of them, because how could this be what Jesus wants? How could this be part of God’s plan to bring about reconciliation? Division? Violence? Broken relationships?

I’m not going to tell you that I know exactly what Jesus is trying to say here, because I don’t. It’s one of the questions on my ever-growing list of things I’d love to ask God. But, here’s where I tend to end up: What if this violence and discord is not what Jesus wants, but is simply a result of his work being done in the world—at least at first? What if God uses disruption in order to, eventually, get us to renewal?

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. often talked about this idea. He wrote that the only way to get from point A, the problem, to point B, the solution is through struggle. There is no other way, because the status quo needs to be disrupted in order for something new and more life-giving to come out of it.

Isn’t that what happened with the Civil Rights movement? Change didn’t come by asking nicely. That was tried, and it failed. It came through sit-ins at lunch counters, boycotting busses, protesting, and marching.

We are celebrating the United States’ 250^th anniversary in two weeks. Our country, from its earliest beginnings, was a result of unrest, of people deciding that they had enough with the way things were and decided to change things. The Boston Tea Party was a violent and destructive—disruptive—message to the Crown that certain things just weren’t going to stand anymore. Revolution does not come about by polite request.

There are all sorts of Biblical examples of when God decides that things “as they are” aren’t working and that something needs to change—so God acts and disrupts the world.

Think of the world before the flood. Wickedness had spread through the land and people had forgotten whose they were. Things could have remained that way, but God chose to disrupt and bring the flood, giving the earth a fresh start.

Or think about the Israelites in Egypt. They were enslaved and mistreated. God could have let things be and waited it out in hopes things would get better, but instead God heard the cries of the people and disrupted the Egyptians’ law & order by bringing about plagues to secure the Israelites’ freedom.

Or what about Esther? At her cousin’s urging, she put herself in the running to be the next queen of Persia, which led to her marrying the king. When her cousin found out about a plot to essentially murder all Jews living in the land, she could have protected herself by staying quiet and not disturbing the king…but she didn’t. She took a chance and broke the rules—disrupted the palace order—by going to the King unannounced to plead for her people.

And then there’s the biggest disruption of all: Jesus himself. Humanity was finding ways to live and survive on earth and some people were even making efforts to be closer to God. But God saw that no matter what we did, we would always fall short due to our sin—So God chose, once again, to disrupt. God disrupted the world by taking on our human form and coming to live with us that we might all be reconciled to God. The Romans didn’t like it. The religious authorities didn’t like it. Jesus was killed because he was disrupting their way of life.

We are afraid of disruptions and things that disturb our order, but we can also see that they are not always bad, not when they help us pave the way towards justice and equality and peace. Disruption solely for the sake of violence, for oppression, for harming one another is never the answer. But a disruption that breaks us out of indifference? A disruption that highlights the cracks in the façade? A disruption that shows us there is another way forward? That’s another story.

We are tempted towards calm and complacency, wanting everyone to sit down and follow the rules even when they are fair or unjust. We don’t like to be shaken from the status quo. It leads to uncertainty and it’s unsettling…but sometimes it’s also necessary.

There are things that are legal, that we, as a society, seem to accept, that I cannot call just or life-giving. I argue that if we are going to live as disciples, we are called to step it up and occasionally disrupt.

One of the biggest historical examples of this idea is slavery. Slavery was written into the laws. It was supported by many churches. It was seen as a smart, economical way to run a farm. Legal, yes. Accepted, yes. Just? Of course not. We know that, and so did those engaging in it at the time. But dismantling it took disruption. It took decades, and longer, of protests, law-breaking, and, eventually, a civil war to abolish slavery in the United States.

If we look at the world around us today, we see cases and circumstances all around us in which things happen to people that are technically legal but are actively harming people.

• Predatory payday loans that trap people in a cycle of debt
• Intentionally keeping people at just below full-time hours to get out of paying benefits or a living wage
• Raising the price on medications solely for increasing profit
• Discrimination based on things not specifically listed in anti-discrimination
• Unsafe labor conditions that we seem to be okay with because we can get our goods cheaper

I could keep going. These aren’t easy things to talk about. Many of them are “hot button” issues that we avoid at all costs. But these things are not just. They hurt people. They hurt society. They hurt the Body of Christ.

We are called, as disciples of Jesus, to work against things that hurt us, that hurt any part of God’s creation. When we do that, when we call out injustice, we will sometimes find ourselves being disruptive. We might be called agitators. We might be told that we aren’t patriotic or Christian or that we just hate that there are people who work hard to earn lots of money. It’s hard work. It’s scary work. It’s dangerous work.

…but we need not be afraid to do it. God is with us. The prophet Jeremiah declares, “But the Lord is with me like a dread warrior; therefore, my persecutors will stumble, and they will not prevail.” (Jeremiah 10:11) Jesus tells it even more plainly: “²⁶’So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. ²⁷What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops.’” (Matthew 10:26-27)

Discipleship is not being complacent.  Discipleship is seeking ways to live out God’s mission in the world now, creating a community where everyone is cared for and has a voice at the table. God gives us the strength, God gives us the courage, God gives us the passion to be a little disruptive, for the sake of the Gospel.

Amen.

How Does Discipleship Begin?

Sermon preached Sunday, June 7, 2026, the Second Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA.

Today is a rare occasion. I’ve been ordained for just under twelve years…and I have never preached on this lectionary day. Sometimes it’s because Easter has been late enough that it gets skipped. Three years ago, I was at synod assembly. It’s a little exciting when this happens—almost like I have a completely blank slate with no past-sermon baggage creeping in on the edges.

So, as I was going through the readings, I noticed that there is a theme that comes up the Gospel account. There are really four distinct encounters, beginning with a call story. This is pretty appropriate, as I pointed out last week that the next two months really invite us to think about discipleship in the Gospel readings featured.

I have not gone through all four Gospels to check it out, but I think that the disciple Matthew’s call story may be the shortest one we get. If not, it’s definitely tied for the shortest. Jesus is walking by, sees him sitting at the tax collecting station, and simply says, “Follow me.”

One statement. One invitation. And Matthew gets up, leaves what he has behind, and follows Jesus.

This is immediately followed by Jesus eating dinner with tax collectors and sinners and Pharisees questioning his actions. How does Jesus respond? “I have not come to call the righteous but the sinners.”

Suddenly another religious leader shows up and begs Jesus to come and raise his daughter. While his is on his way, a woman who has been bleeding for twelve years touches his cloak and Jesus declares that her faith has made her well, before finishing his walk and proclaiming that the daughter is not dead, but sleeping.

Four little vignettes crammed into thirteen verses. And three of them make a similar point.

Matthew the tax collector turned disciple. Jesus coming for the sinners, not the righteous. The woman, made unclean by her bleeding, coming to Jesus anyway.

These stories make one point plain: We don’t need to be perfect. We don’t need to meet some invisible or impossible to achieve standard to get to Jesus. Our discipleship, our choosing to follow Jesus, is not contingent on us already having it all figured out.

What does that mean for us? We are encouraged to follow Jesus without having it all figured out, living lives of discipleship as we bump and struggle along, doing our best to seek God’s will for us and the world around us. We don’t need to wait until we feel good enough, ready enough, Christian enough, holy enough, to embrace our own discipleship.

And we are asked to guard ourselves against two very common pitfalls.

The first is letting perfection be the enemy of the good. Getting so caught up in whether or not something is done in the exact right way or the exact way we would do it, that we ignore the fact that it got done in the first place.

A silly example of this probably happens in your home, either now or as you were growing up. Tell me if this sounds familiar: someone else offers to do a chore that you normally do, like loading the dishwasher. You look at the loaded dishwasher, and it looks nothing like how you would load it. They loaded it wrong. …and yet…the dishes still got clean.

When we try something new, when we are learning and growing, we will make mistakes. We will do things incorrectly, imperfectly. But just as we would not tell a Kindergartener that they aren’t allowed to write anymore because they drew the letter “B” backwards, God does not tell us to disengage from ministry when we get mixed up.

Discipleship is not about flipping a switch and all of a sudden being a “perfect Christian,” whatever that means. It’s about seeking out God, striving to follow Jesus, attempting to live in a way that ushers in the reign of God. Doing our best, every day, to do what God calls us to do: feed people, seek justice, care for the earth, provide for others and love our neighbor.

Which leads the other pitfall: can we even picture a world in which all this happens? Can we envision where God is leading us without knowing exactly how we’ll get there? In other words, it’s easy to get stuck in the current reality when we can’t see the way forward. But if we believe that God makes all things new, if we believe that the reign of God will be justice and peace and without hunger and need, can we live into that vision, start working towards it, when we don’t have a roadmap for how to get there.

The obstacles are huge. There are systemic issues of injustice. Cultural issues of prejudice and conflict. Environmental issues that stem from our human actions and are causing real harm here and now. Our own individual and corporate sinfulness that keeps us acting in our own self-interest instead of focusing on our communal identity.

But if we have the vision, that gives us a place to start. It gives us hope to sustain us. It gives us something to hold on to.

A colleague of mine likes to say, “Provision follows vision.” In her ministry, she has seen, time and time again, this to be true. There is a vision in her community about what they want to do, who they want to be for the people around them. They know it will take money and resources, which they have very little of, but they know where they want to go. And, more than once, these vision conversations have been followed by a run-in, a meeting with a neighbor, and connection made at a community event, which has opened up the doors to get to that vision. She has seen grants come through, monetary gifts directly for whatever ministry they were hoping to get started, volunteers step up to make things happen.

Just this week, she shared another example. Her congregation saw the food insecurity in their neighborhood. They knew they wanted to be part of the solution. As they vocalized this vision of being able to feed others, a donation came through of a small outdoor shed with shelves. And another member said, “Let’s fill it up!” Today, they are taking all the food that has been provided to fill this donated shed and they will bless it and thank God for it before putting it out to be shared in their community.

They knew they wanted to feed people before they knew what the feeding would entail. They knew the vision before they knew how it was going to come about.

Provision follows vision. God comes through.

Our inability to see the end of the road, or even most of the map, doesn’t mean we can’t begin. In discipleship, it is so often just about doing the next right thing.

What do people need? What can we provide? How can we be the hands and feet of Christ in this desperate, hurting world?

And so, we work to avoid both sides of a ditch. And when we find that middle ground, we thrive in our discipleship. We push against our inclinations to be perfect and let ourselves embrace the imperfect way we engage in God’s mission. And we work towards a future, God’s future, that we envision, even before we know exactly how we’ll get there.

We know where God is leading us. We know that God will be with us, every step of the way. And we know that God is ready for our enthusiasm and passion and participation, in whatever way that shows up—as a tax collector who leaves it all behind, as an outcast woman who bravely takes her chance because her faith is well-placed, as a man who pleads to have his daughter back.

After all, Jesus came for us, not those in no need of help. Jesus came for us.

Amen.

How Do We Remember?

Sermon preached Sunday, May 31, 2026, Holy Trinity Sunday, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA.

Summer is about to begin…for a lot of people it has begun! School is out. The trees are back to their lush, green fullness. Memorial Day was last week. It’s summertime!

For the church, the “summer” really sets in next week. After a winter and spring full of festivals and special seasons, we keep barreling on until today: Holy Trinity Sunday. It’s the last festival before the long season of “Ordinary Time” when each Sunday is numbered by how far removed it is from Pentecost. Next week will be the second Sunday after Pentecost, the 14^th will be the Third Sunday after Pentecost, etc. Ordinary Time…not called “ordinary” because these weeks are plain or boring or simple…but because they are ordered—numbered. And the color for these Sundays is green because this is our growing season. A season oriented around how we can grow in our faith and in our daily living.

…But all that starts next week. We’ve still got one more festival to go, and it’s a doozy. Holy Trinity Sunday. This Sunday is the bane of many a preacher’s existence. While we have lots of analogies and symbols to help us think about the Trinity and any attempt to really hash out what the Trinity means and how it all works is bound to lead somewhere dangerous. It’s a common saying that if you preach on the Trinity long enough, you’re guaranteed to commit heresy.

We preachers explore a lot of analogies and symbols and examples to speak about how the Trinity is interconnected. The truth is, however, we can’t explain it. It’s a holy mystery. It’s a doctrine of the church that we confess, but can’t explain.

…So, I’m not going to try. I’m not going to try and explain how the three persons of the Holy Trinity are at once the same and unique. How are there three distinct persons and one God? It’s enough for us to know that God has come to us in these various was and that God has come to us relentlessly throughout time, from the first moment of creation to today.

Alright…if we aren’t going to try and explain the Trinity, what are we going to talk about? What should our focus be?

Well, to begin, I’d like to direct your attention to one of my favorite things about the Gospel of Matthew. Each Gospel is a little different and they have their own special characteristics. Today’s Gospel reading comes from the very end of Matthew. We often call these verses the “Great Commission,” when Jesus tells the disciples to go out and make disciples of all nations. And then he tells them something incredibly important: “Remember, I am with you to the end of the age.”

Jesus is saying, “I am with you.” God is saying, “I am with you.” Where else in Matthew do we hear that God is with us? Any ideas? Can anyone recall another place in scripture when we hear that God is with us?

Remember these words from the beginning of Matthew’s Gospel? “All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call him Emmanuel,’ which means, ‘God is with us.’” (Matthew 1:22-23)

Emmanuel. God is with us. Remember, I am with you to the end of the age. Isn’t that neat? Matthew book-ends his Gospel with a reminder of God’s abiding presence.

Our Triune God does not leave. God is with us. And Jesus calls us to remember that.

How do we remember? What do we do to recall this incredible promise?

We remember through scripture, when we tell and retell the stories of God’s action. We hear about the times when God got involved in the lives of ordinary people and made incredible things happen. Stories about Noah and Moses and Deborah and Ruth; stories about the life and death of Jesus; stories about the earliest Christians figuring out what they believed and how they should interact with the world.

We remember through prayer, when we talk to God and plead for God’s continued presence. We thank God for what God has already done and offer hope for what God will do.

We remember though baptism and every time we cross ourselves. We remember that we are marked with the cross of Christ and that nothing can separate us from God. We remember that we are redeemed and loved and precious children of God.

We remember through Communion when bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ and I say the words “Do this in remembrance of me.” We remember God’s sacrificial love and the incredible mystery of God coming to us in ordinary elements.

And, quite simply, we remember by the way we live our lives—by living lives of discipleship.

Discipleship is one of those words that gets used frequently in church circles, but there’s not always a lot of thought given to what it really is and what it looks like in practice.

Throughout June and July, our appointed Gospel readings are going to take us on a little journey exploring this topic. We will hear Jesus’ advice and warnings for his followers. We’ll think about how we are called to be disciples of Christ and that discipleship moves out beyond gathering for worship.

To be a disciple in its simplest terms means to adhere to the teachings or beliefs of another. When it’s put that way, we might think we could get away with a purely intellectual exercise. Jesus said to love my neighbor. Check. I thoughtfully agree that yes, I should love my neighbor. Jesus told a parable about feeding the hungry and clothing the naked and visiting the imprisoned. Got it. I am totally on board with this. Those would be good things to do. Jesus said that anyone who lives by the sword will die by the sword. Okay. I understand. But, I mean, who really even uses swords today, anyway, right?

Do you see what we can do? We can totally remove ourselves from the call of discipleship by simply deciding if we “agree” or not with God’s mission. Agreeing isn’t enough. Even recognizing this call isn’t enough…discipleship requires more of us—it requires all of us. Over the next several weeks we’ll look deeper into what that looks like…but, for now, simply know that our discipleship can change the way we live our entire lives.

And when we live as disciples of Christ our lives become beacons, shining out the message of the Gospel to everyone we encounter. Our lives become acts of remembrance in and of themselves. They become one more tool to remind us that God is with us: yesterday, today and always.

To the end of the age.

Amen.

God’s Love, Translated

Sermon preached Sunday, May 24, 2026, Pentecost Sunday, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour, North Chesterfield, VA.

Pentecost definitely ranks up there with my favorite feast days. What’s not to like about a day filled with fire and wind and the chaotic sound of many different languages and the baptism of three thousand people? It’s just a really great story that has inspired the church for two thousand years!

Along with many other congregations, we also celebrate the Rite of Confirmation on this day. And we choose this day because we believe that as our young people take on the baptismal vows for themselves, they will be filled anew with the Holy Spirit and encouraged and sustained in whatever vocation God is calling them to. Confirmation is not an ending or a graduation, but a continuation of what God has been up to in that person’s life. Pentecost is a way and not just a day.

When Pentecost comes up each year, when this reading from Acts is appointed, it is our job as the church to think about what the Holy Spirit would inspire in us if we were in that room? What is the Holy Spirit trying to inspire in us today? The Church now looks very different than it did back then. A variety of languages is not what’s needed to spread the Word today, although we do need some translations.

We need to find ways to translate the love of God in tangible ways: in love, in service, in generosity. And the only way we can do that is by the Holy Spirit working in us and through us to make it happen.

We live in a very different world than Jesus and those first disciples did. We know more. We understand more about our creation, about our bodies, about the way world works. And, as we have come to learn and understand more, it’s meant that we also learn and understand more about scripture—but only if we are able to do the translation.

Our faith does not need to live in opposition to science or medicine or psychology just because those things weren’t known the way that they are now. Instead, we translate the Gospel, incorporating what we have learned. The Holy Spirit has moved throughout human history, revealing God’s will and desire for the world.

At creation, God’s Spirit moved over the waters and called forth order and life out of chaos.

Mary became pregnant with Jesus as the Spirit overshadowed her.

The Church burst out from hiding when the Spirit showed up on Pentecost.

The revelation of creation. The revelation of Christ. The revelation of the Church. The Holy Spirit revealing a new thing God was doing. New and not always welcome. But reflecting God’s will and desire nonetheless.

What is God’s will and desire? We know that it is to be reconciled with us, to be reconciled with all of creation. Our God is a God of love. Loving God and loving our neighbor are the commandments Jesus says everything else flows from. God loves us and desires nothing more than that we love God and love our neighbor—and that our love shows up in action.

We feed each other. We cloth each other. We care for each other. We advocate and protect each other. We love each other, as God as first loved us.

This past week there has been one story that has been dominating my social media feeds. If you’re not someone who follows a bunch of faith leaders or church folk, you may not have seen it. In the late 90’s, there was a song that came out that dominated the Christian music scene called, “Testify to Love.” Does anyone remember that song? I didn’t listen to a lot of contemporary Christian music, but I’d heard a cover of it on the soundtrack from “Touched by an Angel,” a TV show that maybe some of you also remember. I loved it.

Anyway, the song was put out by the band Avalon. One of the band members and main vocalists in the group, Michael Passons, was kicked out the group not too long after the band topped the charts with “Testify to Love.” You see, Passons was discovered to be gay and asked to participate in conversion therapy. When he refused, he was kicked out and basically shunned from the Christian music scene.

Fast-forward to this past week. Over the last several years, Passons has been making music again. Another artist named Ty Herndon contacted him and wanted to re-record “Testify to Love,” but with a new, more honest angle. The rerecording would not be about Passons hiding who he was to be in a community of faith. On the contrary, this new recording, which also includes Melissa Greene, another former member of the band Avalon, would be a reclaiming of what this song had always been about in Passons’ mind.

The single was released on Tuesday. When she was asked about recording the song, former bandmate Greene said, “Today, a song I’ve sung a thousand times gets to mean what it always said.”

No, the Bible has not changed. God has not changed. We are not inventing ideas about God from thin air. But as we translate God into our lives with the help of the Holy Spirit, we understand more of what God is revealing. We understand more about what it means to love the way God calls us to.

That’s really what Pentecost is about. The tongues of fire appeared and all of a sudden the disciples were inspired and gifted to proclaim the good news about Jesus in new ways. Groups of people who had previously been excluded, were explicitly invited in, as the disciples spoke to them in their own language. Pentecost is not just about an engaging sermon Peter gave that brought a host of people to baptism—it’s about how God’s love and grace is radical and abundant and our understanding of it has the ability to expand and grow as the Holy Spirit moves in us.

The Spirit, after all, is never static, any more than the wind is or any more than our breath is. God’s Spirit is constantly on the move, taking the church into unexpected places where God is ready to meet us.

As a way to close my sermon this morning, I’d like us to listen to that song I spoke about before. In case it’s hard to hear the lyrics perfectly, here are a couple lines I want to highlight for you:

From the mountains to the valleys
From the rivers to the sea
Every hand that reaches out
Every hand that reaches out to offer peace
Every simple act of mercy
Every step to kingdom come
All the hope in every heart will speak what love has done

And the chorus:

For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love
I’ll be a witness in the silences when words are not enough
With every breath I take, I will give thanks to God above
For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love

I will testify to that love and I hope you will, too.

Love that changes the way we understand ourselves and the world around us.

Love that breaks down barriers instead of building walls.

Love that searches for reconciliation instead of retaliation.

Love that is so deep, so vast, so undeserved, that we don’t always know what to do with it, but the Spirit leads us on and helps us translate that love for our world today.

Amen.

Hope and Life

Sermon preached Sunday, May 3, 2026, the Fifth Sunday of Easter, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA.

It almost feels like we go back in time during these weeks after Easter. The first two weeks continue the narrative of what is happening right after the resurrection. We hear the story of Thomas and the Road to Emmaus. …but then we’re back in the middle of the Gospel of John here, with last week’s passage about the Good Shepherd and this week this passage taken from the Last Supper.

I mean, our lectionary readings typically don’t care too much about timelines. We jump around Jesus’ life and ministry all the time, throughout the year. But still, it’s interesting. Part of the reason we do this is that we just don’t have that many post-resurrection appearances of Jesus—certainly not enough to cover the whole Easter season.

But I think there’s another angle here. It almost strikes me as a flashback, like in a movie where, towards the end, the characters start to remember things they learned along the way as they suddenly become important pieces of a much larger puzzle. In fiction, it’s usually because things have reached their climax. The protagonist is in a bind, or feels like there’s no way forward…and then *click* all those clues they’d encountered made the path ahead clear.

And that makes sense to me, as I think about these post-Easter texts. That’s kind of where the disciples are, right? They’ve been through this massive trauma. They know that Jesus is alive, but the future is still up in the air. They are still trying to discern where they go from here. And so they—and we!—kind of flashback to some of the things Jesus told them before everything fell apart.

We know that things for the early church weren’t easy. Today, [in the second service] we hear of the stoning of Stephen, the first identified martyr in Christianity, but certainly not the last. We have this letter, First Peter, that is striving to encourage and strengthen a people who are striving to live a holy life in a world that is seeking to keep them down.

And so, for those early believers—and for us—we have these reminders of the good, reminders of the promises, reminders of the hope. Hope that is laid out in First Peter.

Hope that looks like being living stones, shaped and built upon by God. Hope that looks like being chosen and claimed by God. Hope that looks like mercy and salvation, unearned and yet freely given. Living stones.

There are two mentions of stones in this morning’s readings—the second in the passage from Acts. But these stones are not hopeful. They are not living. They are not building up the body of Christ. On the contrary, they are bringing death. While pre-conversion Paul looks on, Stephen is killed for his faith as stones are thrown at him.

It’s a juxtaposition, how our lectionary pairs these readings together. Stones as life and stones as death. It highlights how closely life an death can be paired sometimes, and how meaningful life can be when it has come so close to death.

I can’t ever hear the phrase “living stones” without thinking of one of the most transformative experiences I had on my internship.

I did my internship in Vancouver, Washington, just across the river from Portland, Oregon. One of the ministries our congregation supported was Living Stones, another worshipping community in the Southwest Washington Synod. What made this congregation unique? It is housed entirely within the walls of the Washington Corrections Center in Shelton, Washington.

This prison has medium, close, and maximum security units. The chaplain, at least at the time, I’m not sure who is there now, really wanted a worship and community life to be developed that would not only inspire inmates while they were incarcerated, but could really empower change and new life when they were released.

As a result, Living Stones not only held Sunday worship, but Bible Studies and spirituality groups. The connections were intentional with other synod congregations and went two ways. Every week, members from other ELCA churches around the synod came to worship with these men. I got to go when it was my internship congregation’s turn.

It was a powerful experience. It made all of us appreciate how dehumanizing incarceration can be, as we were not allowed to take anything, even an ID, inside with us. But the service was familiar. The pastor preached and presided at the table, but all other roles were filled with one of the members of Living Stones, and these men also served as the altar care team. As the service went on, it was easy to settle into just worshipping together and forgetting about the things that were dividing us.

I mentioned that the relationships went two ways. We were welcomed in by this community when we visited. And when members got out of prison, congregations were ready to welcome them and help them get resettled. When a prisoner is released, they are released back to the community that they were arrested in—in other words, they are released back into the exact environment that led them to prison in the first place. It’s the environment with the same people, gangs, lack of resources, and struggles that they’d already known. It’s one of the reasons why recidivism rates are so high.

In an attempt to combat this, Living Stones builds relationships with congregations closest to these areas of release. The churches help with securing housing, help in searching for jobs, food, clothes, and more. They are a built in community apart from one that the individual might not want to go back to.

This community within the Washington Corrections Center adopted the name Living Stones because they are living this relationship between stones that bring hope and stones that bring death. They are on the line. The stones of the prison walls remind them of the trouble in their life. They are oppressive. They are confining. For some, they bring death. For all, they bring pain.

And yet, together, these men became hope for each other. The congregations they connected to offered more hope. As long as they were in community with one another, they could still be these living stones, a chosen people, a people who are receiving God’s mercy, regardless of their past mistakes.

And so, every time I read this bit from First Peter, I think of them.

And I think about how all of us kind of live this line, though to different extents. We are all made to be living stones, not because of our perfect actions or because we always make the right choice or because we have never erred. No, we are living stones because God has made us so.

The Gospel of John text about there being many rooms prepared for us by God is a common one done at funerals. And it makes perfect sense. There is little that is more comforting when mourning a loved one than to be reminded that God is ready and waiting to receive them. It is a word of comfort, a word of hope, a word of life.

All together, these readings remind us no matter what—no matter what we face, what we’ve done wrong, how we have hurt and been hurt—no matter what comes our way God is with us. God can bring life out of it all—even stones meant to kill us.

Amen.   

How Do We Live As Sheep?

Sermon preached Sunday, April 27, 2026, the Fourth Sunday of Easter, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, Va. 

It’s the Fourth Sunday of Easter which means that it is Good Shepherd Sunday. Every year, this particular Sunday is used to highlight the ways in which Jesus identifies as a shepherd to God’s flock and we are left to ponder what that might mean: how does God relate to us as a shepherd? How are we sometimes like sheep?

 

Anytime there are these Sundays that come year after year, the first instinct among many preachers is to wonder if there is anything new to say. I am not immune to this. I gathered at a text study on Tuesday morning and all of us were feeling a similar sentiment. Until, that is, we actually started talking about it. That’s the thing with scripture: there is always more to discover, more to uncover, more angles to approach a text from.

 

For instance, a colleague shared an insight about sheep gates that I had never encountered before. In this part of the ancient world, sheep folds were made of stones stacked in a circle that left a small opening. There was no wooden gate on hinges that closed the sheep in. Instead, the shepherd himself would lie down in the opening. When Jesus says, “I am the gate,” it’s less figurative than we tend to understand it! The shepherds were literally the gates for the sheep.

 

And that leads to this new mental picture for me: Jesus, laying down in the middle of a gap in the sheep fold stones. Just settling right down on the ground for the night so that any dangers would have to go through him and the sheep aren’t able to wander off into danger.

 

That’s a new image for many of us, I think, but a kind of lovely one. It reminds me a bit of when my daughter asks me or my husband to sit by her door at bedtime until she falls asleep.

 

Jesus, in this instance, is a “gate keeper,” but that term has a different connotation today, doesn’t it? Gate keeping is when certain folks try to exclude others for all kinds of reasons. In sports, it might mean saying that someone is not a real baseball fan if they can’t name the career stat line of their favorite player. In music, it might mean saying that someone is a fake fan if they don’t know every word of every song from an artist’s debut album. In social circles, it might mean excluding folks for not having the right clothes, or wearing the right brands, or knowing the right people.

 

It can take all kinds of forms, but the general idea is that “undesirable” or “undeserving” people are kept out so that the crowd within stays select and exclusionary.

 

This doesn’t sound like something Jesus would be into, does it?

 

Yes, Jesus is “gate keeping,” but in almost the opposite way. Every sheep who wants to be in the fold is welcomed in and kept safe. Jesus, as the keeper of the gateway, operates to exclude the dangers, not others who the current sheep think should be kept out. This gate keeping is ensuring safety and security and comfort and peace for the vulnerable, as all threats are guarded against.

 

That’s a big job.

 

We know that the job is not too big for God. And we also know that there are ways we get to participate.

 

The reading from Acts we get this morning is one of my favorites. It describes the way the early church is functioning and presents this beautiful setting where everything is working well:

 

[The baptized] devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.

 

Awe came upon everyone because many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved. (Acts 2:42-27)

They are worshipping together, praying for and with each other. They are sharing resources. They are abundant in their gratitude and praise and, as time goes on, more and more folks are joining their community.

 

There may have been a temptation in those early days to gate keep, to exclude those who had not been Jesus followers before the news of the resurrection broke. I could imagine one of the disciples saying to another, “Do we really have to be here together with all these bandwagon believers?” If there was any of that sentiment here, we don’t hear about it because it’s obvious that the writer of Luke is more concerned with reminding us about the goal of being God’s flock: that we work together and support one another.

 

If one sheep’s wool is a different color or texture, they are welcomed into the fold.

 

If a sheep has a limb that didn’t develop correctly, they are welcomed.

 

If a sheep is slower than the rest, they are welcomed.

 

If a sheep makes mistakes, they are welcomed.

 

All sheep, are welcomed, regardless of what kind of standards might try to be imposed by the sheep who were there first or the ones who are the fastest or smartest or have the fluffiest wool.

 

And by that same notion, all of us are welcomed, regardless of those same silly, useless standards others may try to impose on us. It’s not about being perfect, or know the Bible the best or having been a Christian the longest, or how well connected to the church our family is. It’s also not about some invented hierarchy of sin or definitions of the word that either ignore or distort biblical and historical context.

 

It is about God. It is about Jesus, the Good Shepherd, having space in the fold for all of us, sins and all, and inviting us in.

 

Inviting us in, and then laying down in the entryway to protect us. Some of it is from the physical, but so much of it is from the mental and emotional and spiritual. When we are reminded of the sphere of love we are contained within, it is harder for others’ jibes, sneers, distain, or misguided harm disguised as help to get through.

 

And here’s one other thing I’ve been thinking about this week. I talk a lot about how we are the hands and feet of God in the world. St. Theresa of Avila has that wonderful blessing about how Christ has no hands or feet in the world now but ours. The ELCA’s tagline has been God’s Work, Our Hands.

 

…and so what does it mean in this instance? Could it be that we, at times, are called to step and in lay down in the gateway? Could it be that we are called to protect those in our midst who are vulnerable when threats come near? Could it be that, when we are threatened, we can look to our community, look to one another in this room, and expect to be cared for and kept safe?

 

Jesus is the Gate. But we also don’t get to abdicate our own role in the community. The image painted in Acts is one where the people are supported and inspired and cared for by God and still they embody and enact that care amongst themselves.

 

Sheep are herd animals. They look to their shepherd for guidance and are led to safety, but they also need and rely on one another in how they live.

 

And how does God intend for us to live?

 

Psalm 23 has something to say about that:

 

“Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” (Psalm 23:6)

 

Together, and with God, we encounter God’s goodness and mercy and get to be vessels and vehicles of it! In community, sharing burdens and multiplying joys, we see the reign of God breaking in and feel like we are dwelling in God’s house here and now.

 

Amen.

Where Does God Show Up?

Sermon preached Sunday, April 19, 2026, the Third Sunday of Easter, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

Do you remember the homeless Jesus statue?

 

Several years ago, there were lots of stories about it circulating around.

 

Basically, there was an art installation outside of an Episcopal church in North Carolina. It’s a park bench with a man wrapped up in a blanket. His hands and face are covered, but his feet are exposed, showing the wounds from crucifixion.

 

The piece got mixed reactions from the community. Some people were really unhappy with it. They felt it made their neighborhood look unsavory. They worried that it would be an invitation for actual homeless people to make their neighborhood home. Still others thought it was insulting to depict God in such a way—it was demeaning to their faith and the community in general.

 

One person believed that it was not a statue at all—but a real person—and she called the cops. She called the police on Jesus!

 

But there are others from the congregation and surrounding area who saw this statue differently—they saw it and felt a visceral connection to their own faith. The priest of the congregation said, “It gives authenticity to our church.”

 

Some people would sit down next to the homeless Jesus and touch his feet or head while they pray. They were reminded that Jesus really had no home. He moved from place to place and, luckily, people often invited him to stay with them. For all intents and purposes, Jesus was homeless.

In the years since, these statues have appeared in many other places, with a similar mix of reactions, but the goal is not just to gain attention.

 

The statue was supposed to remind people of a passage in the Gospel of Matthew: Jesus says to those welcomed into glory, “Come, inherit the kingdom, for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to eat, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” They ask, “When did we see you?” And Jesus responds, “Just as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:31-40, paraphrased)

 

Jesus reminds his listeners that God can be found in the stranger…and in fact that God can choose to come to us in unexpected and unassuming ways.

 

There’s certainly a history of this sort of thing happening in the Bible. In the book of Genesis, the LORD appears to Abraham, but Abraham doesn’t know it. He is sitting at the entrance of his tent and looks up to see three men. Abraham invites them to sit, and eat and drink and it isn’t until much later that he realizes that God had been by to visit him.

 

And then, of course, there is the Gospel reading from this morning—yet another way in which God appears through a stranger.

 

Two men are walking along a road to the village of Emmaus. A stranger appears and begins walking with them. The stranger asks what the two men are talking about and they tell him all about Jesus, and how he died, and how he was the Messiah. They talk about the empty tomb, but not about the resurrection, and the stranger (Jesus!) gets frustrated that they still don’t get what’s happened. He explains everything that’s been prophesied and everything that has happened…but they still just see a stranger.

 

It isn’t until they are sitting around a table, when he blessed and broke bread, that these two men finally see and recognize Jesus for who he is. Their engagement with this stranger brought them into the presence of God.

 

Reading this story, it can seem a bit silly. How could these two men not know the stranger was Jesus? How could they not recognize him? He’s talking about scripture, prophets, and how Jesus fulfills all of the promises about the Messiah. Weren’t they his followers when he was doing ministry before?

 

And yet…until Jesus sits down with them to share a meal, they don’t recognize him.

 

It’s easy to feel superior to these men: surely we would have seen Jesus for who he is! …but we’re often just as dense as those two men when it comes to seeing Jesus in our lives.

 

We’re part of a world that doesn’t expect to see God breaking in. We’re used to everything being scientific, or factual, or always having a rational explanation. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing—science gives us an awful lot of benefits!— but sometimes we end up explaining away any sense of awe or mystery.

 

Like those two men, we can find ourselves unable to see God walking beside us, unable to see God talking to us about fulfilled promises and risen saviors. We so often only see what we want to see, or only see what we think we should see or what others have told us to see.

 

But, somehow, God still manages to pop up. Jesus still manages to insert himself into our lives, whether we’re looking for it or not.

 

I’m sure we all have a story (or have all at least heard) a story about a person who was just going about their lives when God showed up to surprise them. God wasn’t recognizable at first, but eventually they came to realize that they had been close to the divine. As they have told the story and thought about their experience, the presence of God was unveiled, not unlike in the Emmaus text.

 

I was able to witness one of these moments close to fifteen years ago, now. It was in between my first and second years of seminary. I was working in a hospital as a chaplain intern. It was my night on-call, but I was expecting a quiet evening—even though we were a level-one trauma center, I had never been called in after normal business hours.

 

This particular night, though, that wasn’t the case. I got paged and hurried down to the Emergency Room. I found the nurse who had paged me and she filled me in on what had just happened.

 

A father and son were driving across an overpass when they were hit by a semi-truck. Their car caught fire. The son managed to get out of the car but his only escape from the burning wreckage was to jump off the overpass onto the highway below. The father never made it out of the car and was dead by the time paramedics got to him. The son had been brought into the ER and was being worked on. He had burns over large parts of his body, along with broken bones and internal bleeding.

 

After taking a moment to compose myself, I entered the consultation room where this young man’s mother was waiting. She had gotten the phone call that her husband and son had been in an accident and got a ride to the hospital with a good friend a neighbor. It was heartbreaking to be with her. To hear her tell me that she had called her other son and told him about the accident—but she didn’t tell him that his father had already died. She told me she didn’t want him that upset while he had to drive.

 

So I sat with this woman and her friends and some family members who had trickled in. They talked about the man who had died. We prayed together. I accompanied the woman to the bathroom where she broke down in my arms, sobbing. I made her drink some water and take small bites of food someone had brought back from the café down the hall.

 

At one point, this woman stepped out of the room for a few minutes. The friends and family still in the room started sharing stories about this man who had so recently died. They told me how he used to love playing jokes, how he was the nicest man you’d ever meet, how he was generous, and trusting, and loved music. When the woman walked back in, they continued with these stories and, though sorrow still hung heavy, there were also some smiles, some laughter, and a sense that this community was going to hold this hurting family together.

 

I realized something at that moment. I had come into that situation expecting to “bring the Jesus,” if you will. I had assumed that God would be working through me to bring some small, tiny measure of comfort and peace to these people…but God had a surprise for me.

 

Yes, certainly, God was doing something through me, but God was also doing something rather remarkable through all of these people in this family’s life. God was there in the stories, the laughter, the tears, the jokes, the love these people shared.

 

God likes to pop up when we don’t expect it. But I also take great comfort and joy in the knowledge that I know some places where God always shows up.

In the story of two men on the road to Emmaus, Jesus appears in the breaking of bread. It serves as a reminder that God is always present in the bread and wine we share together in communion. It’s not something that we can explain or every even fully understand, but it’s true.

 

So in bread and wine.

 

Water and the words of scripture.

 

Our friends.

 

Our family.

 

The convenience store down the street.

 

The courthouse.

 

The museum.

 

Or even the homeless man on the bench.

 

God is there, whether we’re aware of it or not.

 

Amen.