Abiding in God’s Love

Sermon preached Sunday, May 5, 2024, the Sixth Sunday of Easter, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

This morning we hear again from Jesus’ final meal with his disciples. In this passage, which is also usually read on Maundy Thursday, Jesus tells his disciples that the most important commandment he can give them is to love…and not only love, but to abide in the love God has already given them.

“As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. ¹⁰If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love…” (John 15:9-10a)

 

Abide. That’s an interesting word choice. It can mean a lot of different things. We might say that we “abide by the rules” or that we “can’t abide rudeness.” It can also mean to remain with or to dwell or to endure. It’s one of those incredibly ambiguous terms that can include several larger themes, and even trying to go back to the original language doesn’t help us out much—in Greek, it still covers the same variety of meanings.

I think it is with this intentional ambiguity that Jesus tells his disciples—and tells us—to abide in his love.

All too often, we think of love as a noun—as a feeling. Something that makes us feel warm and comfortable and joyful. We think of love as something that we sense, or something that is so ephemeral or intangible that it simply is or isn’t. We either love someone or we don’t—we either “feel love” for something or we don’t.

But love is much, much more than that. I think we do much better when we think of love as a verb—as a term of action.

One of the most popular readings at weddings is from First Corinthians, chapter 13. I think that all but one or two of the weddings I’ve officiated and been to have included this piece of scripture, as did my own! Most of you could probably recite it with me, but in case you need a reminder, here’s what it says:

^“4Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant⁵or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;⁶it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. ⁷It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

When I preach on this text at weddings, I use it to remind people that all too often “love” becomes simply a word without a whole lot of meaning. Love can’t exist in a vacuum. You can say you love someone or something all you want, but if your actions don’t witness to it, your love is empty.

I illustrate this point by re-reading those four verses, but adding in the word “behavior.”

“Loving behavior is patient; loving behavior is kind; loving behavior is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. Loving behavior does not insist on its own way; loving behavior is not irritable or resentful; loving behavior does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. Loving behavior bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

We love one another through what we do and what we say, simply saying that we love our neighbor doesn’t mean much if we aren’t living out that love.

When Jesus says, “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you,” this sense of action is what we should think of. After all, when we talk about God’s love for us and how that love has been shown, we talk about God’s actions.

We talk about God’s love through creation, how God brought order in the universe out of chaos, how God designed an ecosystem to sustain such abundant life, and how God created us in the divine image and called us good, and how we see God’s love in every detail and in every step.

We talk about God’s love through the stories of our Israelite ancestors: God leading them out of Egypt and slavery, God providing manna and water for them in the wilderness, God healing people, God lifting up and calling prophets, and God finding a way for people when it looked like all hope was lost.

And, of course, we talk about God’s love through the cross and through every part of God’s incarnation through Jesus Christ: taking on our flesh and living among us, suffering death at our hands, and rising to share with us new life—all because God loves us and wants to be reconciled with us in spite of our sinfulness.

And these are just the things that God has done collectively for our world and for all of humanity. I know that many of us have our own stories of what we have seen God do in our own lives, moments when we have seen healing or restoration or peace.

Without these actions, would we know God’s love? Without the cross, would we have evidence enough that God actually cares for us, actually loves us? Everything God does is for us, for the creation God so lovingly formed.

Jesus says, “love one another as I have loved you.”

If that is our calling, if that is the last and greatest commandment Jesus gives us, then the love Jesus shows—the actions of Jesus can give us some guidance.

Jesus showed love by healing the sick, like when he came upon the paralytic by the pool of Siloam who kept missing his chance to enter the water and be healed, until Jesus came along and made him walk.

Jesus showed love by engaging with people no one else would, like the Samaritan Woman who Jesus meets at a well when anyone else might have steadfastly ignored her.

Jesus showed love by feeding people who were hungry, like when he took five loaves of bread and two fish and feed an enormous crowd with twelve baskets-full to spare.

Jesus comforted the afraid, like when his disciples were terrified on a boat in the sea and Jesus walked across the water to be with them.

Jesus showed love by standing up for people facing unjust circumstances, like the woman caught in adultery who had no chance to defend herself and whose punishment was disproportionate to her accused crime.

Jesus showed love by dying for us and, in his own words, drawing all people to himself.

Jesus says, “love one another as I have loved you.” This is how we do it, through the example God has given us. Healing, comforting, restoring, feeding, building relationships, sheltering, helping, being compassionate, becoming vulnerable for the sake of others…these are the actions of love.

When we do these things, we are already abiding in God’s love: living in it, dwelling in it, surrounded by it, and sustained by it—Love that found it’s home in us through our baptism.

When you were baptized, and every time you have affirmed your baptism since then, promises have been made. You might remember some of them: to live among God’s faithful people, to come to worship, to read scripture, and to pray—but do you remember what else is promised?

In our rite of baptism we ask if you promise to do these things, “so that you may learn to trust God, proclaim Christ through word and deed, care for others and the world God made, and work for justice and peace.”

It’s there, from the beginning, from the entry rite of our faith. From the day we enter the community of faith, we commit ourselves to the work of love.

Every week. Every day. Abiding in the abundant love of God.

Amen.

Peace over Fear

Sermon preached Sunday, April 7, 2024, the Second Sunday of Easter, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

What does the word “peace” mean for you?

There are lots of ways it can be used, right? I use it to sign off on emails, or use as a verb, saying I “peaced out” of somewhere. It can be something internal, a quietness felt inside. It can be a lack of external strife. It can be a legal, political thing, or an adjustive to describe a sleeping baby.

This complexity is nothing new. Even in Jesus’ time, the word we translate as “peace” meant different things to different people. To the Romans, it meant a pause in the violence they used to maintain control, it meant that the people were being appropriately docile and there were no active rebellions to put down. Even more philosophically, to both Romans and Greeks, it had connotations of being at peace within one’s self, the absence of conflict.[i]

…but to Jesus, to the disciples, to those who held the Hebrew notion of shalom, peace was used in a much more interpersonal context and, in the Gospel of John, it is used sparingly, on just three occasions, and always from the mouth of Jesus.

In Chapter 14: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” (John 14:27)

In Chapter 16: “I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace.” (16:33a)

And, finally, we have our reading today. Jesus greets his disciples with peace as they are huddled away from the world.

Let’s remember what’s happening here. The scene opens later on the day of resurrection. Mary Magdalene has presumably already come to tell the disciples that she saw the resurrected Christ. So are they out sharing the news? Nope, they’re locked in the house because of the disciples’ fear. We don’t know if they believed Mary or not, but even if they did, it wasn’t enough to get them back out into the world. Their fear has taken over.

Jesus arrives and offers them his presence and his peace.

Then we learn of Thomas. He wasn’t there when Jesus originally showed up. He, unlike the others, had left the room. But fear still has some hold on him, because he is unable or unwilling to believe what the disciples and Mary Magdalene have reported: that Jesus has, in fact, risen from the dead.
It takes Jesus’ presence and Jesus’ peace, once again, to lead Thomas into a new place, into a place of trust and faith.

Fear is such a powerful force. It manifests in so many ways. Fear can make us selfish. Fear can make us silent. Fear can make us still, paralyzed from taking action.

We’re too afraid of being taken advantage of, so we refuse to make ourselves too vulnerable. We don’t give our money or resources away because of the tiniest of chances that they could be used in a way that we don’t approve of, or that could come back to hurt us, or leave us without enough to get by. How many times do we see someone hungry or asking for help and our first reaction is to wonder if they really need that money or if they really have kids at home?

We’re too afraid too afraid of what others might say about us, so we refuse to make a speak out against unjust systems or oppression. A theologian of the cross calls a thing what it is, but we all too often prevaricate or allow for “both sides” to have equal footing even in settings where there are really not two equivalent sides to a debate. How many times do we hedge around saying that a statement was racist, a policy is discriminatory, an airstrike unjust?

We’re too afraid of the scale at which the world hurts, so we refuse to move on anything. People are hungry. People need shelter. People are being killed. The earth is crying out. Waters are tainted. Diseases spread. Cancer develops. There is so much to do. How many times do we tell ourselves that our efforts are worth it because they won’t make any kind of difference?

This is what fear does. Fear exposes us to everything that has gone wrong and everything that could possibly go wrong and it convinces us that the best option we have is to lock ourselves away in a room. The best option we have is stay selfish and silent and still.

But God doesn’t let that be the end of the story. God, who is no stranger to fear, took on a symbol of horror in the cross and doesn’t let us be trapped and paralyzed by the fears of this world.

In the times we are most afraid, Jesus comes and meets us. In the places we lock ourselves away, Jesus enters in and greets us.

“Peace be with you.”

Jesus gives us peace.

Not just the absence of violence. Not just the quieting of inner turmoil. And not really the docile quiet imposed by a domineering oppressor.

This peace is shalom.

Biblical scholar Michael Joseph Brown explains it this way: He writes that the Jewish people “tended to use the term primarily for interpersonal or social relations, where it comes very close to meaning justice. When justice is done, it is seen as God’s gift to the people, and prosperity comes to the people when they live faithfully under the divine covenant.”[ii]

And so we understand that the peace Jesus gives alleviates and mitigates fear not by instantaneous magic, but by investing in community and by enabling others to invest in each other.

The disciples, after Jesus appears that first time in the house, they rejoice and share the news with Thomas when he arrives. We presume, from this point, that they are now engaged in the work of evangelism and discipleship, reengaging the community of Jesus believers that has been a bit scattered since the crucifixion.

Thomas holds himself somewhat apart. His fear did not keep him in the house, but it did keep him from believing what his friends had so excitedly reported to him. And so, when Jesus appears and gives him his peace, he is restored back in community with the other disciples and they can move forward.

Some of you know this, but for those of you who don’t, during the Easter Season, our first reading comes from the Book of Acts, instead of an Old Testament reading. It is a small sampling of scenes from the early church as it developed post-resurrection.

And it developed out of this peace that Jesus gives.

Going back to Dr. Browns explanation of peace, we see the fruit of this peace is justice and prosperity as they live in community with one another. Does that sound like anything you’ve heard recently?

“Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.” (Acts 4:32-35)

After his resurrection, Jesus brought this deep and abiding peace to his friends and disciples and some really incredible things happened. They supported one another, cared for one another, and managed, for a time at least, to not let their fear get in the way.

Eventually, it happened. Fear got the better of the Church. Fear still gets the better of the Church far more often than we’d like to admit, highlighting our foibles instead of our strengths.

But Jesus still meets us, greets us, offers us peace, embodied in one another, that can quiet that fear, sometimes for a brief moment, sometimes for long stretches. Peace that can embolden us to share when we want to be selfish, to speak up when it feels safer to be silent, and to step out in faith when it is easier to stand still.

Amen.

[i] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/second-sunday-of-easter-2/commentary-on-john-2019-31-20

[ii] Ibid.

Liberating Joy

Sermon preached Sunday, March 3, 2024, the Third Sunday in Lent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

Persistent Joy. That was two weeks ago.

Expectant Joy. Last Sunday.

And today? Liberating joy. How is joy part of liberation? How does God liberate us? What does it mean to be liberated?

Let’s start with the temple.

The Temple in Jerusalem was a key part of life for a first century Jew like Jesus. It’s hard for us to understand just what it represented and the incredibly important role it played.

The temple, at least the first one, was built by King Solomon, son of King David, because God required a permanent home. Since the time Moses came down the mountain with the Ten Commandments, the Israelites has carried the commandments and, in essence, the presence of God in the Ark of The Covenant—a name that might sound familiar if you’re an Indiana Jones fan.

They carried God’s dwelling place around with them, until finally God said that it was not right that he had no real place to call home. And so, Solomon built a great temple. It took lots of special offerings and years to build, but it was lauded for its beauty and design. Unfortunately, it was not to stand forever. It was destroyed by the Babylonians nearly six hundred years before Christ was born.

It was eventually rebuilt, after the Israelites returned from exile enforced by those same Babylonians. After years of having no place to properly worship God, they were able to rebuild God’s house. It was bigger now, the temple complex was spread out, containing a series of areas that eventually led to the Holy of Holies, where God’s presence was. The Court of Gentiles (or non-Jews), The Court of Women, The Court of Israel for the men, and the Court of Priests. This was the temple Jesus knew, the temple Jesus and his disciples walk into at the beginning of John’s Gospel.

Since the temple was God’s house, it is where Jews would offer sacrifices to God, or come to pray on special festival days. It wasn’t that God couldn’t be found anywhere else, but one was guaranteed to find God at the temple. Up until this point, this was the common thought: if I want to encounter God, I need to be there.

But, as usual, Jesus has more to say. When we hear this story about the money changers and the merchants selling animals, we picture all of this happening in the heart of the temple. We might imagine animals being placed upon the altar, or the sounds of coins clinking overshadowing the practice of worship. But these things would have been happening in the court of the Gentiles, in the outermost part of the temple complex.

If we were to compare this story to our own churches, this is not Jesus acting in the Sanctuary, or even in the Admin or Education wings. This would be Jesus our in the parking lot, maybe even standing out by the entrance sign. Jesus has left the building.

And that’s the point. Jesus speaks on this day about how the temple will be destroyed and raised up again in three days. He is obliquely referring to himself, but no one else understands that—no one else understands that he is now the temple. He is now where God is present, where people can be sure to encounter God.

This was scary sounding to his disciples and to everyone else who was listening. All of a sudden, the world has been busted open and the rules don’t seem to apply the way they did before. That is a scary proposition! God gave the Israelites the law as a gift, as a sign of love…does the law even matter anymore?

When our way of understanding the world is upended, we can fall back into rigidity and legalism…or we can lean in and embrace a newly discovered sense of freedom and liberty. While being held in a loving relationship with God, there is openness and joy in what new things we might soon encounter.

God dwells wherever Jesus dwells. God goes wherever Jesus goes.

We might call a church a “House of God,” but God is not exclusively located there. Jesus spent time in local synagogues, interacting with the local people of the established religion. He didn’t ignore them; he spent time with people like Nicodemus, a Pharisee who came to Jesus in the middle of the night to learn.

But because of Jesus’ actions, God can be found in so many other places.

Jesus often went to the edges, to the borders and crossed them. He engaged in a conversation with a Samaritan woman at a well. If you remember anything about the relationship between Jews and Samaritans, you know it wasn’t good. Each group believed the other to be worshipping God at the wrong place, to be unclean, to be, at their core, bad people where were to be avoided at all costs. And here Jesus is, inviting a Samaritan into dialogue and bringing her and her entire village to faith.

Jesus heals a blind man, who many believed was blind because he or his parents had committed some unpardonable sin. Jesus restores his sight, even though it is the Sabbath and some might think he is “doing work on the Lord’s day.”  He does not let human rules get in the way of God’s grace. Time and time again, Jesus can be found with those whom society often overlooks. The poor, the hungry, the outcast, the ones who live on the fringes.

God is not kept in a box, God has been taken free-range of our world and we get to join in! We get to encounter God in the world and let the joy of that encounter break us open in ways we can’t imagine, let the joy of that encounter fill us with new passion for the gospel and enthusiasm for God’s mission and work.

Maybe that’s something to think about this week. Maybe we can keep our eyes peeled for where God might show up. And maybe we can use that to discover where we might be most called to do the work of God.

If we spot God in the midst of an interaction with someone living on the street, what can we do to join God there? If God is advocating for justice and peace in a public forum, can we add in our own voice? If God is offering care to the sick, can our hands help? If God is comforting the grieving or consoling the bereft can we provide our own shoulders to lean on as well?

It’s a deceptively simple formula: find where God has already decided to dwell and foster joy, and take up residency there ourselves. But it takes courage on our part, and creativity. We cannot limit ourselves to what we have always done or where we have always gone. It means expanding our ideas of where we can encounter God. It is taking the joy God has given us and allowing it to liberate us.

God has left the building, abounding in steadfast joy and love. Let’s go find out where God’s gone!

Amen.

Vocational Joy

Sermon preached Sunday, March 17, 2024, the Fifth Sunday in Lent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

We’ve come to the Fifth Sunday in Lent and the last of the Sundays we’re focusing on a particular kind of joy. Today, it is vocational joy.

The word vocation can be a tricky one. Oftentimes, it is used as a substitute for “occupation.” Certainly, sometimes our vocation plays out through our occupation, but that is certainly not a requirement. Sure, we may be a teacher and our vocation is to share knowledge and to help people grow. Or we may be a healthcare worker and our vocation is to help people heal or feel their best physically. They don’t have to be connected, by they also don’t have to inhabit completely different silos in our lives.

My favorite understanding of vocation comes from Frederik Buechner—maybe you’ve heard it before: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”[i] If that is our framework, then our vocation is so much more than what we do to earn a living or support ourselves or our family.

Our vocation is a calling from God that leads us deeper into discipleship while, at the same time, blesses us with a sense of purpose and joy. Sometimes our vocations seem to appear easily in front of us, ready for us to take them on. Other times, they may require some searching, both within ourselves and in the world around us. In any case, our life can present us with a string of consecutive vocations, or more than one vocation at a time that we need to balance.

It is tempting to hear Buechner’s words (“…where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”) and believe that this is an easy thing or believe that once you have discerned your vocation everything you do in service to it will be smooth sailing. And not only will it be easy, but because it is where our deep gladness leads us, it must always be a place of unbridled happiness.

This just simply isn’t the case. The deep hunger of the world is a yawning chasm of pain and suffering and, frequently, literal hunger. It is where people are vulnerable and tired and rarely the best versions of themselves, displaying anger, selfishness, and distain. Our gladness certainly helps encourage and energize our work, but it doesn’t make everything simple and cheerful. Meeting the world’s needs in this way requires bravery and tenacity, not to mention abundant compassion energy. It requires faith and trust that God will not call us to a place where God will not accompany us.

…and God has already gone anywhere we might go.

This morning’s Gospel reading takes place after Jesus has triumphantly entered Jerusalem. I love the way a colleague sets the scene:

“The whole city is talking about Jesus. Just before this Sunday’s verses begin, the crowd that witnessed Lazarus’ raising was testifying, and their story was compelling. Now, these Greeks want to see Jesus! Everyone wants to see Jesus! It’s all very glorious and shiny. But Jesus can perceive the cross in the near distance. He recognizes that he has arrived precisely where God has called him to be. Here, he will be led into pain, suffering, and even death. The world’s deep hunger is about to gulp him down.”[ii]

Jesus and his disciples are approached by a group of Greeks. “Sir, we wish to see Jesus,” they say to Philip. And what is Jesus’ answer? He tells them how they will see Jesus: “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”[iii]

Jesus goes on to say that his heart is troubled but that he cannot turn away from the path laid out before him, the path that will lead, inevitably, to the cross. “…it is for this reason that I have come to this hour,” he declares.[iv]

Could this be Jesus’ declaration of vocation? Could this be an asserting of God’s vocation?

Where deep gladness and deep hunger meet…
God’s greatest desire throughout scripture is reconciliation with creation. To have renewed relationships, to have lasting covenants, to love humanity as deeply as love can go. Is it too much of a stretch to say that God’s deep gladness is found by being in relationship with the world God created?

…and the deep hunger of our world is a resounding echo of that desire, or maybe its mirror image, only separated by a chasm of sin, of stubbornness and pride and an inability to not make idols out of wealth and power. The world has a deep hunger and deep need for God’s grace and salvation, but we just keep pushing it away, favoring instead all the ways that provide instant gratification or individual comfort at the expense our neighbors.

And so, for God, where else could this lead but the cross? Where else could this all lead but a symbol of humanities depravity, of the ugliness we inflict on ourselves, on each other, and, now, on God? This instrument of execution used by the Romans stands in for every way in which humanity rebels against God…and by meeting humanity’s hunger for love and grace and salvation there, God turns it on its head.

In Christ’s passion, we see highlighted the just some of the foibles and deep sin that God came to overcome:

• Judas and other Zealots unable to see a God who doesn’t not rule by force.
• The religious leaders unwilling to cede their self-important power.
• The Roman authorities subjugating through violence any threat to their farce of peace.
• Masses of humanity that shout “Hosanna!” one day and “Crucify him!” another when things get hard or didn’t happen the way they expected.
• Disciples who are quick to doubt and forget what they’d learned and experienced while they were with Jesus.

And so, God goes to the cross because it is through the cross, through confronting death and rising to new life, that God responds to the deep hunger of our sin, and responds, finally, with the deep gladness and joy of the resurrection. It is not easy, but it is who God is, who God is for us. Where we might say God finds vocational joy.

Not simple. Not easy. Not always cheerful and happy…but needed. And real. And for our sake.

Amen.

[i] Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC (New York: Harper and Row, 1973), 95.

[ii] Barn Geese Worship Sermon Notes.

[iii] John 12:23-25. NRSV.

[iv] John 12:27b. NRSV.

Transformative Joy

Sermon preached Sunday, March 10, 2024, the Fourth Sunday in Lent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA.  

Let’s talk about Transformative Joy. This morning’s readings are such great examples of the ways God can take something and turn it on its head, transform it into something else completely. In the story from Numbers and in the Gospel reading, we see death transformed into life.

The stories about the Israelites wandering in the desert for forty years are relatively well known to many of us. You may remember the story of God providing manna for the people to eat when they didn’t have food, or God providing water from a rock when they didn’t have anything to drink. The ten commandments? That happened during this time. The worship of a golden calf? That happened here, too!

Chances are, though, if you start naming stories about what happened, today’s reading from Numbers isn’t in the top five. Despite the fact that this story is always the first reading on the Fourth Sunday of Lent during year two of our three year reading cycle, it’s one that we’re prone to forget about.

I think part of the reason for this is that it comes across as supernatural in a superstitious and almost magical way. The serpent on the staff becomes a totem, something that will provide a cure for the poisonous snakes just by looking at it. What we forget, though, is that the healing does not come through the action of gazing on the snake itself. Looking is the act of repentance—healing only comes through God.

The Gospel reading refers directly to this Old Testament narrative and Jesus compares himself to this serpent…but there’s a difference. Whereas the snake is the object of fear and danger, Jesus is the representation of salvation and healing. Instead, the cross itself is the thing we wish to be saved from.

In both cases, we are asked to look at things that are killing us: the poisonous snake and the cross, which represents all of the ways we harm one another and seek to destroy the things we don’t understand, namely a God who defies our expectations. The cross embodies our unwillingness to accept and embrace justice and love over power and violence. It contains all the ways in which we refuse to listen to God’s Word, all the ways we actively work against it.

Why is this the case? Why are we called to look here? Why were the Israelites asked to look at the snake? Why do we make the cross the focal point in our worship space? It’s not magic. It’s not superstition. It is a recognition that only by identifying the things that hurt us, the things that are slowly killing us, can we move forward. The Israelites faced the source of their death and God healed them. We face the cross, the symbol of our own death, the symbol of our sin, of all the things that keep us from new and abundant life with God, and God reminds us that even this horrific tool of death can play a role in our salvation.

It’s like going to the doctor. You can go and have blood drawn and your heart and lungs listened to, and tests taken, but what would happen if you just left? What would happen if you never got the results back? What would happen if you never faced that you had high blood pressure, or diabetes, or cancer? Would refusing to look at your illness make it go away? Of course not. We have to face the diagnosis in order to know how to address it.

It’s like having a conflict with a spouse or a friend or a coworker. You can pretend like it never happened, paste a pleasant, if fake, smile on your face every time you see them. But what would happen? Would things actually get better? Or would resentment seethe underneath the surface until it came out sidewise and your relationship was ruined beyond repair? It takes courage to confront conflict, to decide to work through it and address it—we have to face it in order to transform it into something else entirely.

It’s like thinking that, as a society, problems like racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, economic disparity, and education gaps will all sort themselves out if we’d just stop talking about them, as if the only reason these things happen is because we keep bringing them up.

But think about that for a minute. Would slavery ever have ended in this country if abolitionists just decided to stop talking about it and waited patiently until slave holders came around to their way of thinking? It never would have happened. Would women have been given the vote if they never marched and demanded that their voice be heard? Would we have weekends, safer working conditions, and a minimum wage if workers assumed that their employers would choose fairness and employee welfare over profit?

We don’t like to have the boat rocked. We like the status quo because we know what to expect. We are tempted to keep things the way things are if “the way things are” is working for us.

We know from history that talking about our societal and systemic problems don’t actually make them worse, rather they highlight and bring into the open all the things that live in the shadows. We have to face the ways in which sin manifests itself if we want to participate in dismantling it. We have to face the ugliness of ourselves and our capacity for destruction to be transformed into participants of God’s new creation.

This work is hard. This work is sometimes painful. This work can also be incredibly rewarding. And this is work we do not undertake alone. We face the things that hurt us—hurt our bodies, hurt our spirits, hurt our society, hurt our world—always with God by our side, and only through God’s grace and strength.

The central verse in the Gospel reading today is perhaps the most well-known and well-loved verses in the Bible: John 3:16. “⁶For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” It’s a verse you’ve likely heard a lot. Maybe you have it memorized. But when you really think about it, what does it mean for you? How does it influence your life? Does it provide comfort? Or hope? Or inspiration? Or courage?

For me, when I hear these words or read them, I am reminded that God’s love is ever-expanding and abundant. It sticks with me. It will never leave me. This love is so incredible that God chose to inhabit our world, inhabit our bodies, and endure the shame and pain of the cross. Through this incredible act of irrevocable love, we are given healing, wholeness, salvation…and freedom. Freedom from everything that hurts us, everything that kills us slowly from within and without, everything represented by that instrument of torture, the cross. We face the cross, we look to the cross, and we are transformed, because we know that Christ has triumphed over it and, through Christ, so have we.

This is God’s doing, not ours. It is God’s power, not ours.

God tells Moses to put a bronze serpent on a pole to be lifted up, so that everyone who looks on it may life. Jesus tells all who will listen that he will be lifted up, so that everyone who believes will have eternal life. Elsewhere in the Gospel of John, Jesus goes further and says that when he is lifted up, he will draw all peoples to himself. This is God’s act of reconciliation and new life and transformation.

We know that God’s transformative joy finds us every time we courageously face those things that threaten us, both from within and without, and embraces us with love.

Amen.

Showing Up

Sermon preached Sunday, January 14, 2023, the Second Sunday after Epiphany, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

There are times in life when it seems as if one has to have the “right” knowledge or the “right” qualifications in order to be included.

School often feels like that, or at least it did for me, especially when I was younger. Maybe it’s because I was in Honors and Advanced Placement classes, but I felt like I needed to be as smart as everyone else in the class to be taken seriously. I had to agree with the prevailing opinions about certain novels or refrain from asking questions when I didn’t understand something for fear of seeming different, or not good enough, or an “outsider.”

Maybe you’ve felt that way at work. Maybe you’ve started a new job and don’t want to ask for clarification or help because you want people to know you’re competent right off the bat. You’ve got this, you tell yourself. You might fear not knowing as much as your coworkers and being written off as not good enough for the job. If you reveal yourself to not be on the same page as everyone else, you might risk your position or status.

But it’s not just about knowledge, about hoping that you know enough to blend in, it’s also about a certain way of thinking. So often, being a part of a group, a class, a workplace—being a part of something means ascribing to a certain set of rules or a statement of values, right off the bat. Many colleges have incoming freshmen sign an academic integrity pledge, promising not to plagiarize or cheat during their years there. When you start a new job, you’re often given a code of conduct to read and agree to on your first day. When you join a club, there are often regulations about how that club is run and how its members behave that you are expected to adhere to.

I might be making all of these examples sound bad. They’re not, at least not always. Asking students not to cheat or employees to maintain a certain standard of professionalism is a good thing. There are certainly good reasons to have these sorts of practices in place. But I still can’t help picturing a certain scene from the movie Mean Girls when the main character is finally allowed to sit with the “cool” girls and is told: “You can’t wear a tank top two days in a row, and you can only wear your hair in a ponytail once a week…and we only wear jeans or track pants on Fridays.” These are the rules she must follow, the philosophy she must ascribe to if she wants to belong to this particular group of girls.

You might be wondering at this point where in the world I’m going with this—what does Mean Girls have to do with our reading about Samuel or Nathanael? I promise, I’m getting there! In the world we live in, you often have to have things figured out before you join in, or you are expected to agree to statements of values or beliefs right away. Not always, but often.

Discipleship, on the other hand, works a little differently. Faith is not necessarily always believing the “correct” thing or stating the “correct” stance on a particular issue. Faith is much more nuanced than that—there’s much more to it than a static list of rules and “I believe” statements. We have creeds. Our national denomination has social statements. I have a large collection of writings of Martin Luther and other church theologians in my office, but I don’t make you all take a pledge or sign an elaborate statement of faith before you can worship here. There is more to living in faith community than that, more to being a disciple than that.

Just look at the two call stories we heard this morning: the stories of Samuel and Nathanael.

Samuel is a boy when God first speaks to him. He doesn’t understand that God is calling his name, he thinks it is Eli, his guardian, for all intents and purposes. He obeys what he thinks is Eli’s request for his presence, until finally Eli determines that God is calling the boy. Does Eli teach Samuel all about the proper points of faith, or the proper way to pray or offer sacrifices, or make sure that Samuel knows all the finer points of Jewish law? Does Eli wait until Samuel can recite a perfect proclamation of faith?

Nope. Eli tells Samuel to listen, to discern, and then to offer his presence. Samuel lays down, he hears a voice calling his name, determines that it is the Lord and says, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” All Samuel does is be present and listen to what God has to say.

In Nathanael’s case, he is approached by a friend. Phillip has already met Jesus, has already been called by Jesus into a life of discipleship. He wants to share this with Nathanael. Phillip tells his friend about Jesus and Nathanael’s reaction is…skeptical…at best: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Phillip doesn’t try and explain how Jesus fulfills the law and prophets. He doesn’t go into a lengthy monologue about the promised Messiah and how Jesus is it.

Nope. Phillip simply suggests to Nathanael, “Come and see.” All Nathanael does is go with is friend, all he does is show up and Jesus is there to meet him.

There are no prerequisites for experiencing God. No list of questions to be answered or qualifications to meet for faith or discipleship. Confusion is okay. Skepticism is okay. Questions are okay. It’s okay not to always be sure where God is calling you, if God is calling you, or even who God is.

Discipleship is about showing up. Discipleship is about presence far more than knowledge or certainty.

How do we show up? How do you show up? Well, you showed up here, this morning, didn’t you? Your faith might not be solid right now, but you showed up. You could be struggling with doubts and uncertainties, but you showed up. On the other hand, you might be bursting with joy and love for God, and you showed up, too. This is a place for people at all places along the spectrum of faith, from doubters and skeptics to confident proclaimers: all who come together and show up.

In a couple minutes, we’ll all show up together at the table. With outstretched hands we will all receive bread and wine, body and blood of Jesus Christ, broken and shed for each of us. Not because we have this whole “real presence of Christ” thing figured out, or because we agree one hundred percent with the people who join us in communion, but we receive the body and blood, broken and shed for us because God showed up to provide it and we showed up to eat and drink it.

We can show up in the rest of our lives as well. Listening for the voice of God. Discerning God’s voice and presence above the din around us and responding “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” Perhaps expressing our skepticism at doing something new, or going somewhere we’ve never been before, but deciding to “Go and see” anyway. Opening ourselves up to seeing and experiencing God in places we’d never expect.

Showing up, because God has already shown up for us. Shown up in bread and wine. Shown up in baptismal water. Shown up as God on earth in human form, walking on our ground, eating with us, drinking with us, laughing with us, crying with us, living with us. God has shown up out of abundant, over-flowing love for us.

Come and see.

Speak, Lord.

Here I am.

Amen.

Testimony

Sermon preached Sunday, December 10, 2023, the Third Sunday of Advent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour, in North Chesterfield, VA. 

It might seem like a bit of déjà vu this morning. It’s the second week in a row that we’re hearing from John the Baptist—just from a different Gospel. The message is generally the same: there is still the quotation from Isaiah about the voice crying out. But, in this morning’s reading, the focus is on John’s role as “the one who testifies,” and not just the one who cries out or the one who baptizes.

John, in this morning’s reading, is first and foremost a witness who testifies to the identity of Jesus and the power of God.

And John is not the only one to testify in this way.

Later, Jesus will have a conversation will a woman at a well and she will share her encounter with her town. The evangelist writes, “Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony…” (4:39)

Jesus tells the disciples, “You search the scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that testify on my behalf.” (5:39)

When Jesus enters Jerusalem on what we now call Palm Sunday, those who had witnessed him raise Lazarus from the dead were there as well and it is written, “So the crowd that had been with him when he called Lazarus out of the tomb and raised him from the dead continued to testify.” (12:17)

There are more examples. The Gospel of John is filled with person after person recognizing who Jesus is and then sharing that witness, telling others about who Jesus is and what Jesus has done.

They are testifying to God’s work of salvation, done in coming to live in our world, to die in our world, and finally to rise again among us. They are testifying that “God so loved the world that—“ Can you finish the sentence? It’s from the Gospel of John. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” (3:16)

John the baptizer is questioned by the religious authorities because they aren’t sure he has the right to testify. They aren’t sure he has the right to speak about God in this way.

This Advent, I want you to think about your own testimony. If someone asked you to share your faith, what would you say?

Would you talk about baptism and how God has claimed you and promised to love and forgive you?

Would you talk about communion and how Christ has promised to meet us there and feed us with himself?

Would you talk about the hope of the resurrection and how you trust that God has the final word?

What would be your testimony?

It’s important to know what we might say, and it’s important to not be afraid to share our faith. We don’t need to stop people on the street and make them listen to us against their will. We don’t need to broadcast in some of the obvious ways that probably make many of us uncomfortable—but our faith is meant to be shared: in words, and in deeds.

We share our faith by recounting God’s acts in our lives. By showing compassion for others. By advocating for justice and mercy. By fighting for peace in a world bent on war and violence. As Christians, our testimony can take many shapes.

Ultimately, though, it’s Jesus’ own testimony that is critical.

Seven times, in the Gospel of John, Jesus says, “I am.” Think about that for a second. In our reading this morning, John is asked, “Who are you? Are you Elijah? Are you the prophet?” And he responds with, “I am not.”

While John is reminding people of who he is (a witness) and who he is not (the Messiah, Elijah or the prophet), Jesus declares, “I am.”

I am…what, exactly? What does Jesus say about himself?

“I AM the bread of life.” (John 6:48)

“I AM the light of the world” (John 8:12)

“I AM the door” (John 10:9)

“I AM the good shepherd” (John 10:11)

“I AM the resurrection and the life” (John 11:35)

“I AM the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6)

“I AM the true vine” (John 15:1)

Over and over again Jesus not only provides rich imagery for who he is and what his work will be, but he also asserts that he is.

This is not a far-off promise and some fuzzy, nebulous dream. Jesus is.

Jesus is present, Jesus is ready and Jesus has work to do—in the world and in each one of us.

And that work? That work of justice and peace and compassion and light? That work becomes our testimony. Through us, God continues to find ways to testify to who God is and what God does.

Testimonies of hope, grace, and love.

Amen.

A Big Sunday to Ask the Right Questions

Sermon preached Sunday, October 29, 2023, Reformation Sunday, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in Chesterfield, VA. 

This feels like a big Sunday for my first Sunday back with you all.

It’s a big Sunday for me: first time getting two kids out the door for church by myself. Getting adjusted to this new phase of life—and experiencing deep gratitude that this congregation is what it is and the support I feel from all of you.

It’s a big Sunday for LCOS! It’s Reformation Sunday, when we remember and reaffirm that we are always changing and growing as people of faith, both individually and as an institution. And it’s also Commitment Sunday, when we ask all of you to take time in prayer and thought and discern what your gifts of time, talent, and treasure will be in the coming year.

And, it cannot be ignored, it is such a tumultuous time in our world. I haven’t been with you the past two weeks, when violence in Israel and Gaza reached a new level, a level that has not come down yet. I don’t know the answer, but I know that violence against civilians is certainly not it and that the human cost is horrifying. A whole population, a whole religion, a whole ethnic group cannot be judged by it’s government or militants.

It is here that I must also add that our own religious heritage has not had the best record, with Martin Luther penning anti-semitic writings, including one titled “On the Jews and Their Lies.” It is a heritage we must reckon with, and the ELCA has taken some steps towards that, particularly with a document written in 1994 and revised and reaffirmed in 2021, titled “A Declaration of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America to the Jewish Community.”[1] (It’s a lovely statement and I encourage you to read it. I’ve put a copy up on the bulletin board in the Narthex.)

All of this is to say, there is a lot to consider, a lot to think about when we think of the current reforming of the church. To that end, I think we need to be sure we’re asking the right questions.

It’s not, “How do we keep the church growing so that our congregation can pay it’s bills?”

It’s not, “What program or Bible Study do we adopt to folks know how righteous and faithful we are?”

It’s not, “What cool thing should we do in worship to prove how hip and cool we are?”

No. No, I think a much better question is, “What are we doing and what can we do to show the world the depth and breadth of God’s love?”

That’s what motivated Martin Luther. He looked around him and only saw images of a judging God, a God who was far more apt to condemn than to who mercy. And then he read scripture. He read Paul’s words about grace. He seemed to see a new image of God, the image we hear of EIGHT times in scripture, a God who is “slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” EIGHT separate times in scripture, God is described like that.

Once Luther came to know this God, this God of love and compassion and mercy and hope, he couldn’t help himself—he had to get the word out the best he could, even under threat of death. That’s what so much of the rest of his life was about: making sure that everyone knew how much God loved them.

Siblings in Christ, this is our mission as disciples of Christ: to show and share God’s love in such a way that people cannot help but experience that love and grace through us.

What are the ways this has happened for you? When have you experienced God’s grace in an undeniable way?

It’s sharing time! Take a minute and share with someone next to you or near you a time you experienced God’s grace, particularly through another person.

[When all have shared…]

Maybe it was through the support of a friend during a tough time.

Maybe it was holding a new and precious life in your hands.

Maybe it was sharing your story, warts and all, and being heard and believed.

Maybe it was an unexpected gift that got you through a tough time financially.

I really don’t know, but you do. You know when you’ve felt it. And while we might not always know for sure when others have felt God’s love through us, we hope and trust and pray that it happens—that it has happened and that it will continue to happen.

On this special Sunday, this Reformation Sunday, this Commitment Sunday, I encourage us to commit to that ideal of the reformation, to commit to the showing and sharing of God’s love with each other, with our neighbors, throughout our community and around the world.

Jesus says, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples and you will know the truth and the truth will set you free.” That’s what we’re talking about here: freedom. Freedom to love God and the world and freedom to be loved by God and our community. What a great way to be a reforming Church.

Amen.

[1]download.elca.org/ELCA%20Resource%20Repository/Declaration_Of_The_ELCA_To_The_Jewish_Community.pdf?_ga=2.136534960.1611600654.1698336679-185543691.1685643436&_gac=1.215551717.1698336679.CjwKCAjwnOipBhBQEiwACyGLuo0nnw17OaWOgZHO_wJbLPWJmdgNoAe9RpwW1xkKKnzM6T8PupSgexoC9OgQAvD_BwE

We are God’s

Sermon preached Sunday, May 21, 2023, the Seventh Sunday of Easter, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

This morning’s texts, especially those from Acts and 1 Peter, have a sense of urgency to them, don’t they? They are forward looking—upward looking, really, if we want to be honest, as Jesus ascends into heaven and the disciples are left with trying to decide how to move forward and continue the mission Jesus began.

Some of these words, these phrases, can sound quite worrisome:

“Do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal…”

“…rejoice insofar as you are sharing in Christ’s sufferings…”

“Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour…”

Dang. Right? Those are some worrisome things.

Full disclosure here, I can’t read that particular verse without thinking of days spent working at church camp. The Lutheran band Lost and Found has a song called “Lions” that we sang quite a bit:

“Satan prowls like a roaring lion seeking whom he will devour, and I know that though he keeps on trying he’s no match for Jesus’ power baby…oh them lions they can eat my body but they can’t swallow my soul, no, no, no, they keep on trying to crash my party but they can’t get control.”

Even then, it doesn’t sound that great, right? I mean, do I really want lions to eat my body, even if they can’t swallow my soul? Ideally, I’d like to hang on to both!

But the point that the song makes is one that is important for us to remember when we hear these words that can send a cold shock into our system: that is, the dangers, the suffering, the trials that we may go through in this life, particularly the trials that we might face because of our faith, cannot and will not separate us from God.

When the Gospels and Acts and even 1 Peter were being written, persecution, discrimination, and death were all very real threats for followers of Jesus. They were, after all, worshipping someone who the Roman Empire had executed as a criminal and the leader of an uprising. It wasn’t a good look. From the beginning, the Romans were skeptical, and many Jewish leaders feared being too accommodating of this new “Jesus movement” within Judaism because of how the Romans might decide it reflected on them. It was a self-preservation thing.

Throughout history, there have been times when Christianity has been persecuted and followers of Christ have had to make choices between their faith and personal safety and security. Luther and other protestant reformers made choices to stand for their theological beliefs and some endured martyrdom, loss of status or wealth, or exile as a result.

Every age has seen it happen somewhere…but we would be wise to be cautious about when and where we place ourselves under the persecuted mantel.

There are some who will always believe that the Christian faith, as a whole, is under attack. But in this country, right now, that is not the case. Our faith in Christ is not under threat, evidenced by our ability to gather, to publicize, to share and announce and post video of what we do here together, without fear of reprisal. What we see instead, is the convergence of different understandings of our faith, of what it means to follow Jesus, of what our calling is in the world around us. That is where we see conflict. That is where some feel their faith is being persecuted because others do not view issues in the same way, even those who profess the same faith in Christ.

Do you see the difference here?

It might seem like semantics, or like it doesn’t really matter, but I think it does. I think it matters how we, as followers of Christ, place ourselves in the narrative of suffering and persecution. Because they are not trivial things. They have been real concerns for our forbears in the faith and I think it cheapens what they experienced when we take for granted the privileged place that Christianity has at this moment.

We are able to worship freely, read scripture openly, and proclaim our faith proudly. True, the ubiquitousness or power of the broader Church does not quite occupy the place it had fifty years ago, or even five hundred years ago, but that’s not necessarily a detriment. The Church has often done it’s best work when it’s working from the underside, working against the established power of the day. It may not be as popular or as fashionable to be a follower of Jesus. There may be some who don’t understand. But there is nothing threatening our lives or livelihood based solely on the fact that we profess Christ as Lord—there may be issues that arise from how some Christians choose to live that out, but that’s a different story.

Still, there may be times when we, collectively, or as individuals, face trials. Trials of faith, of our heart, of our bodies. And when we face those trials, I am grateful for Jesus’ words in his farewell discourse. Let me share them with you again, and think about how you might hear these words when you are suffering, or feeling alone:

“I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. ⁷Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; ⁸for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. ⁹I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. ¹⁰All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them. ¹¹And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.” (John 17:6-11)

We are God’s.

When we object to injustice and inequity and are told we’re asking for too much, we are God’s.

When we advocate for the voices on the margins and are told to stop stirring up trouble, we are God’s.

When we pursue means to address poverty and hunger and are threatened with loss of our own wealth or status, we are God’s.

When we proclaim, loudly and boldly, God’s love for every inch of creation and every living thing, and are called heretical or not-Christian enough…we are God’s.

God claimed us in baptism, reminds us of how much we are loved every time we partake in communion…and we are protected and entrusted by God. No matter what we endure, how far we may stray, whatever mistakes we might make or opposition we might face: we are God’s beloved, precious and holy.

So, in the immortal words of Lost and Found, “Oh, the lions they can eat my body, but they can’t swallow my soul. They keep on trying to crash my party but they can’t get control.”

That control belongs to God.

Just like us.

Amen.

What’s Next?

Sermon preached Sunday, May 7, 2023, the Fifth Sunday of Easter, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

Today’s Gospel reading is most commonly heard at funerals. In fact, if I went back through every funeral I’ve ever presided over, I’d be willing to bet that over half, if not closer to two thirds or more, have used this excerpt from the Gospel of John over any other passage found in our four Gospels.

These verses are comforting. When we are forced to look death in the face, it’s helpful to hear this promise from Jesus that we are not alone. God is with us and God has prepared a place for us when we breathe our last.

But because I’m so used to preaching on this text at funerals…I spent a lot of time pondering what good news these words might be to us when we aren’t as emotionally raw. What do these promises mean to us when we aren’t mourning? What is the Word we need to hear today?

And that got me thinking to what Word the disciples needed to hear, needed to remember.

Four weeks ago, we celebrated the resurrection. And then we followed that up with two weeks of post-resurrection appearances—basically, we journeyed with those early followers of Jesus as they processed what happened and began to spread the news.

But the last two weeks? We’ve kind of gone back in time, haven’t we? We’re back to hearing things Jesus said before his passion while he was teaching. Why is that?

Well, it’s partly because there’s not that many more post-resurrection accounts in our Gospels to pull from—we wouldn’t have enough to go the whole season of Easter until Ascension Day on May 18^th.

But I also think it’s because it’s where the disciples and followers of Jesus’ mindset was. Yes, Jesus is back and dwelling among them, but there is still a lot to figure out. Where do they go from here? What are the most important things that need to be remembered and shared from Jesus’ ministry?

And that’s why I think these Gospel readings in these weeks of the Easter Season are included. In my mind, it’s a window into the psyche of those early followers asking the question “What now? What’s next?” and leaning on these snippets for inspiration and guidance.

If I approach the text in this way, I’m left asking these questions for myself and for our community of faith today: “What now? What’s next?”

The initial mission and work of the Church was simply to share the story, share the account of Jesus’ ministry and teaching and death and resurrection and share how God came to dwell among us and usher in a new way of life. That, for the most part, has been done. There may be some tiny region of the world where this message has never been shared, but I am skeptical. Missionary movements of the past and the current inter-connectedness of our world mean that there are very few individuals who have not heard of Jesus or who have not heard of the basic tenets of Christianity, regardless of what faith tradition, if any, they belong to.

So just getting the story out there is not our “what’s next?”

And attempting to “save souls” or “get converts” shouldn’t really be, either. Christians of the past, as well as the present, have taken on that particular mantle and it has not often been beneficial to those who were being “saved.” Missionary schools in this country and Canada stripped native peoples of their cultural heritage and language in the name of “saving them.” Slave traders and holders used the notion of bondage as a way of “taming” and “saving” people they saw as savages or heathens. Even today, attempts to “save people” often seem more about fear or emotional manipulation than about sharing the freeing, inspiring love of God in a way that genuinely changes lives and reflects the reign of God.

So, siblings in Christ, what is our “next”? Looking at the words of Jesus that have inspired and encouraged believers for two thousand years, what are we to do post-resurrection, two thousand years on from those earliest days?

Jesus says, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also.” (John 14:6-7a)

More often than not, we hear this in a very exclusionary way: “Believe in Jesus or you won’t be able to come to the Father!”

But I think it is richer than that, more nuanced than that. God came to us in human form, introduced us to Jesus, so that we might have a new way of relating to and understanding God. Through Jesus, we bear witness to a God who feels sorrow and joy, pain and passion. Through Jesus, through his death and resurrection, we are assured there is nothing we can experience that God is separate from, even death. Through Jesus, God decided to give up the trappings of divinity to be reconciled to us.

And that is why no one comes to the Father except through Jesus, because it is by Jesus’ actions that we know him, know the Father and Creator, that we know the Holy Spirit.

Phillip and Thomas (and probably most of the other folks listening) are really struggling to understand what Jesus is saying. And so when Philip says to Jesus, “Show us the Father, and we shall be satisfied,” you can almost feel the frustration in Jesus’ response:

“Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? ¹⁰Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. ¹¹Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. ¹²Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father.” (John 14: 9-12)

So, it is knowing Jesus, knowing the Father, knowing God, both from experiencing God through the works of God’s own’s self and from the works of God lived out through our hands and feet and words. This is what’s next, what is our calling as we go into the future.

What’s next for us, fellow disciples of Christ? What shall we do, following the works Jesus did in his time walking this earth?

What’s next? We heal people. Maybe not through miraculous instances that make the blind see, but through supportive care, seeking resources and provisions to enable healing of body and mind and soul. And through caring and cooperative relationships to strengthen community ties and build bridges instead of animosity.

What’s next? We feed people. Both immediately via food pantries and feeding programs, but also through advocacy for ease of access and working to reduce and eliminate food deserts.

What’s next? We clothe and house people. We shelter them from the immediate threat of inclement weather, and also work towards fair and affordable means to get out of debt and find secure accommodations.

What’s next? We speak up for all voices that continue to go unheard, lifting up everyone who has historically been excluded from the larger narrative and paving the way for all who continue to be kept at the margins.

What’s next? We tell people how much they are loved by God, especially those who haven’t heard it before and especially those who have been told that God will only love them if they change.

What’s next?

The details and particulars are as yet unknown, but the goal is the same: to do our part in living out the reign of God in our world today and, through our actions, allowing people to know Jesus, the way, the truth, and the life.

Amen.