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.

Expectant Joy

Sermon Preached Sunday, February 25, 2024, the Second Sunday in Lent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

Our Lutheran Tradition likes to hold things in tension.

Saint and sinner.

Law and Gospel.

Already and not yet.

It’s that last one that we’re drawn to today. On this second Sunday in our Seed of Joy series, we’re exploring the notion of Expectant Joy, joy that perhaps has not yet arrived in full, but is waiting just beyond in the wings.

I imagine you’ve experienced this kind of joy.

As a child, it’s that feeling when you go to bed on Christmas Eve or the night before your birthday, giddy with excitement and happiness because you know the next day has wonders awaiting you.

As we grow, maybe we’ve felt that joy before a graduation, or before moving into a new place you’ve been looking forward to living in. If you’ve gotten married, it’s likely you’ve felt this in the time between your engagement and the wedding day itself, the planning and preparation tinged with joy because you knew that special day was coming.

There is expectant joy when ourselves or a loved one is planning to add to their family, whether by pregnancy or adoption. Expectant joy, though tempered by worry, when a promising treatment is undergone for a scary diagnosis. Expectant joy when we make plans to see friends or family or just a trip to relax.

It’s something that I think is pretty well baked into our lives, this notion that we can feel these early precursors of joy even if the joyful event or moment or experience is still far off.

A friend of mine put it this way: “…This is joy that we know is coming, but it is not here yet in its fullness. Expectant joy trembles with shimmering possibility that has not yet come into being but will, and that sheer potential is enough to lighten loads, strengthen hearts, unbind minds, and stir hopes. Practicing expectant joy might look absurd: it’s an act that resists rationalization and believes six impossible things before breakfast, à la Alice in Wonderland. Expectant joy invites our faith, and on the grayest days, it demands our trust.”[i]

This joy is present throughout scripture, as God’s people wait for relationship, wait for deliverance, wait for a promised land, wait for a messiah, wait for the return of Christ. It is also especially present in the readings assigned this morning.

Abram is promised a multitude of descendants, too many to count. The joy he feels at this is immediate, in some ways, because God is enacting this covenant with him, even going so far as to adding God’s spirit to his name…but it is also expectant. Abraham will not live to see all of these descendants come to pass.

Paul echoes this, reminding the listeners in Rome that they are heirs of this covenant…and what are heirs but expectant recipients of a gift? A gift that is still not fully realized and so their joy—and ours—inhabits that in-between space of already and not yet.

The Gospel reading gets at it a little more directly. Jesus is preaching about what the disciples can expect…and it certainly doesn’t seem to joyful, does it? Suffering, rejection, death…no, these are things that anyone would want to avoid.

And Peter does. He tries to correct, to redirect Jesus, to keep him from saying these horrific things. But Jesus knows that it is only through this process, this struggle, that true and full joy can come in the moment of resurrection, in the moment of reconciliation with God. And so Jesus’ response comes quickly: he rebukes Peter, tells him to get behind him.

I have to admit, I’ve always heard this in a “get out of my way” sense. Like, “Get behind me, Peter, get out of my way, fall in line, back off.” But, this year, for whatever reason, every conversation I’ve had about this text, everything I’ve read, has made the same point that is now so obvious to me I can’t believe I ever missed it.

Jesus says, “Get behind me.” Not to leave Peter behind or to shut him out, but because it is only by getting behind Jesus that Peter can follow. He is still very much part of this community and Jesus still very much wants his presence and participation…but Peter is confronted with his own need to learn how to follow.

Isn’t it the same for us? Peter has to learn to follow Jesus because he wants, more than anything, to avoid the path of the cross, for himself, for his friends, for Jesus. Why would he ever choose that? But in following Jesus, we see that the cross is where God meets us: in suffering, in the pain and need of the world, in the place where all pretense and performance and pride is stripped away. And when we meet God there, we see the joy waiting on the other side: the resurrection, the hope of new life, the restoration of relationship and community and identity.

To borrow a little more from my friend again: “Christians live in between the right now and the not yet. The present moment is often fraught with grief: neither the world nor we ourselves are as God desires. Creation is rife with violence and division, suffering and hate, and we don’t know if we will see it change in our lifetimes. But God will fulfill all that God has promised. That joy is with us even in the midst of the not yet, and it has the power to shape our encounter with the right now. Through this complexity, God invites and equips us to cultivate expectant joy, a persistent trust in God’s future promises that empowers us to work toward God’s vision immediately.”[ii]

How do we attempt to live in that expectant joy? This is not an easy task, I know. The temptation is to put on rose-colored glasses and lean into empty optimism that simply brushes aside or seeks to minimize our hurts and pain. This is not the way.

No, instead, we are called to lean into honest trust—not because we are naïve, but because God is faithful. I turn again to my friend because she just puts it too beautifully: “In this Lenten season, we might begin by embracing joy even when there’s no good reason to feel it; by trusting God’s promise even when the world thinks it’s a foolish thing to do; by hoping against hope that everything God has offered to us is on its way, and may even be arriving now, in us, around us, and through us.”[iii]

In your moments of pain and hurt, where have you been reminded of God’s promise? What has enabled you to feel expectant joy? May we seek to be the face, the hands, the feet, the words of that promise for one another.

Amen.

[i] Victoria Larson, Barn Geese Worship, Seed of Joy, Preaching Notes.

[ii] Ibid.

[iii] Ibid.

Persistent Joy

Sermon preached Sunday, February 18, 2024, the First Sunday of Lent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

On Wednesday we began a new Lenten series. Throughout the weeks of Lent and up through Easter Sunday, we will be reflecting on the idea of Joy. Where do we experience joy? How do we experience it? How is the complexity of joy like the complexity of God and our relationships with God and with others? Each week we examine another facet. Today? Persistent joy.

With that lens in mind, we approach this morning’s text. We began with a familiar story, the story of Noah. Noah and the Ark is one of those stories that the church teaches even very young children. Every time we see a rainbow in the sky, we remember this account!

But how often, really, do we take the time to think about what’s really happening here? Yes, God promises to never flood the earth again—but it’s bigger than that. The bow in the sky is a reminder of the covenant that God makes—not just with humanity, but with all of creation. God makes a covenant to be the God of this earth and to stick it out, through thick and thin. God promises persistence.

There’s a phrase that I’m going to sound hopelessly uncool for saying, but this is God’s promise to be the ride-or-die divinity for this world. Come what may, God will not abandon us, God will not wipe us out and start over, God will do whatever it takes to stay in relationship with us.

And this first covenant is one that God proves over and over again throughout scriptures. When things get tough, God adapts and finds new ways to reach us. God makes new covenants, but they never erase this primary one.

And this primary covenant finds it’s most fitting confirmation in the person of Jesus.

The lengths that Jesus goes through to evidence how much God loves us are incredible.

His ministry begins with forty days in the desert. Forty days without food, or water, or company, aside from wild beasts and angels, or a comfortable place to rest his head. And, if that wasn’t enough, Satan tempts him—adding even more difficulty to an already trying time.

The following weeks and months are full of conflict and trouble and constantly highlight how much easier it would be for Jesus to just capitulate. To give up. To leave humanity to our own devices.

And, of course, in this season of Lent, we know that the most trying days of all lie ahead. Jesus will be betrayed. Arrested. Mocked. Tortured. Convicted in a sham trial. Executed by the state.

Do you see? God is even more than “ride or die.” God is “ride and die.” Not only will God go to any length to be reconciled to us in life—but God is willing to go further, even to death.

From the first book of the Bible to the last, from Genesis to Revelation, we learn of our God who makes a covenant with us and never relents. Not when Jesus dies. Not when we die. We are God’s, in life and death. There is nothing we can do about it and nothing God will do about it.

In that, there is our salvation. In that, there is deep and abiding joy because we know, deep down, that nothing can separate us from God.

That’s what the rainbow really says. In the end, God hangs up the bow, God hangs up a weapon. God hangs up a promise. A promise of relationship, a promise of salvation, and a promise of persistent joy.

Consider so many moments in human history when the main theme was struggle. In battles against oppression, in the face of poverty, in the midst of grief and loss, in natural disaster devastation. Somehow, someway, even in heartbreaking and bleak times, glimmers of joy manage to shine through.

I think about the civil rights movement of the 1960s and the songs that rang out loudly during marches. I think about Dr. King who leads into his famous lines about his dream with the words, “Let us not wallow in the valley of despair…” and then paints a joyful image of justice and equitable life for all.
I think about the pandemic, especially those early days when we knew so little about COVID-19, we didn’t know exactly how it spread, we knew even less about the long-term impacts, and the medical field was struggling to provide help at the large scale required. We were isolated. We were scared. We were worried: about our health, our finances, our food supply, our toilet paper supply. …and yet, joy persisted. We discovered new ways to stay connected with loved ones. (In my household, we started doing Zoom happy hours with friends who lived across the county and wondered why we hadn’t thought to do that before now!) Actor and director John Krasinski even did a whole show from inside his house highlighting good news stories that were coming out from around the world, helping us all laugh and smile and not feel quite so alone.

And I think about my own growing up in California and the wildfire threats that came around, that still come around with increasing frequency. The worst part about wildfires, in my opinion, is that they can last a while, they can move and shift and change directions quickly and can last weeks. A tornado, a hurricane, a mudslide, a flood, all can be catastrophic, but usually don’t linger.

On year when I was in high school, we were out of school for two weeks due to both direct threat from the fire and from the poor air quality. (In southern California our classroom windows were slats, our hallways all outdoors and we had no central air.) It was always an anxiety producing time and I have very distinct memories of being glued to the news coverage when a fire was raging while I was in Ohio at college. I couldn’t look away, so worried I was that the fire would take my family’s home or threaten a friend.

And one day, a friend posted a story on Facebook. She worked at Starbucks at the time, in the area of the fire but not so close that her store was closed. She posted a selfie of her and who else but the then-Governor of California, Arnold Schwarzenegger, who had come in with his team for coffee while taking a break from touring the devastation.

Obviously, none of us wanted the fire to happen, we would never trade a celebrity selfie for the horror of a fire cresting over a hill and hopping a freeway…but it was a small moment of persistent joy that came through nonetheless.

Joy, persistent as a weed that continues to pop up no matter how many times you think you’ve gotten the last of it. That is God’s promise to us: even in the bleakest moments, God’s love, light, grace, salvation, and joy is there with us.

Amen.

One-on-One: Nicodemus

Sermon Preached Sunday, March 5, 2023, the Second Sunday of Lent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour, in North Chesterfield, VA. 

As I said last week, all of the Gospel readings for the season of Lent this year have some kind of one-on-one interaction with Jesus. At least, that’s how I see it. So last week, Jesus had his one-on-one with the devil, responding to the devil’s temptations with the word of God. And this week, we have a one-on-one with Nicodemus.

Nicodemus is a Pharisee, meaning he is a religious leader well-versed in God’s law, the words the prophets, and the promises God has made to the people of Israel. He has all the credentials for recognizing the Messiah in his midst—or at least it seems that way. Out of all the people who should be prepared for God’s promise to come to fruition, a man like Nicodemus we’d think should be at the top of the list!

And yes, he isn’t.

Oh, sure, he’s not at the bottom, rejecting Jesus outright. But he’s also not ready to drop everything and follow him, the way Jesus’ disciples were just a chapter or two earlier in the Gospel of John.

Nicodemus is intrigued. He’s curious. But he’s also unwilling to risk the life he’s known and his livelihood before he’s one hundred percent positive. So he comes to Jesus at night, under the cover of shadows, to ask some questions and try to get it all figured out, try to wrap his head intellectually around what’s happening so that he can maybe, just maybe, decide whether Jesus is worth it. He’s not ready to fully commit.

His conversation with Jesus jumps pretty quickly into this back and forth about being born “from above.” It’s also translated sometimes as being “born again,” but Jesus notes that most importantly, it means being born “of water and Spirit.” Right off the bat, Jesus is making a connection to baptism, one that Nicodemus struggles to comprehend. He is stuck on the physical realities and questions of “how,” while Jesus is quickly moving on to the ramifications of what it means, namely that he was not sent into the world to condemn the world but that the world might be saved through him.

Nicodemus doesn’t come to that place of full commitment in this conversation. In fact, it is unclear if he ever does. Nicodemus is only mentioned two other times in the Bible, and none of them are as a public and open supporter of Jesus. He comes up again in Chapter 7, in a conversation with other Pharisees about how a person—how Jesus—can not be condemned without being heard. And then he comes back for a final time in John alongside Joseph of Arimathea to take Jesus’ body and lay it in the tomb. It’s unclear and unknowable where Nicodemus’ faith resided by the end of his life, but it seems that, at least while Jesus was alive, he was unable to “take the plunge,” as it were.

In some ways, this is an excellent mirror to hold up when we talk about baptism. Jesus tells Nicodemus that a person must be born from above, must be born of water and Spirit to enter the reign of God and Nicodemus isn’t at a place to do it yet. He can’t embrace a way of faith different than that he was currently walking on. …but that’s what baptism is. Baptism is embracing a new way of being, a new way of living, a new identity in Christ. Baptism is a full commitment to what God is doing in the world and what God is doing in us.

That commitment is ours, in a way, in that we can choose whether or not we are baptized. Even in traditions like ours, when we baptize at infants, we offer the opportunity to affirm our baptism when we are confirmed, and at various points throughout our life. But the bigger commitment is on God’s end. God commits to loving us, forgiving us, saving us, and grafting us into this body of God’s beloved children.

Baptism, at its roots, is a dangerous thing. It’s hard sometimes to remember that at this stage of Christianity, but it’s true, for multiple reasons. Being baptized as a Christian in the ancient world, particularly in times when Christians were a threatened minority, put you at risk. You could be setting yourself up for ostracization, exclusion, discrimination, or even death. And even the act of baptism itself is supposed to feel a bit dangerous. When a person is lowered into the water, what happens if they don’t come back up? They die. The rite, as originally imagined, mimicked literal drowning and resurrection.

Yet even today, the bigger, broader dangers and implications remain. Another pastor has put it this way:

“Of all the journeys that we will make, our baptismal voyage is the most decisive. It may be naïve to suggest that tiny babies are more alert than adults to the cataclysmic baptismal clash between God and the devil, but I think not. As pastors plunge them into fonts, pools, or rivers, the adults may blithely smile as if nothing more dramatic than a splashy church debutant ball is occurring; the little ones, however, realize they are engaged in the titanic maritime battle of their lives, the one between life and death. As they scream bloody murder and reach out to be rescued, they sense that mighty Leviathan [the ancient sea monster] prowls immediately below the surface of the raging water and they need to be saved. Only the God who calls them by name can vanquish the sea monsters and deliver them to sheltered shores.” (Wilbert Miller, Sundays and Seasons Preaching, 2023, pg. 99)

When Jesus says, “You must be born from above,” it’s not about a pretty, sanitized ritual that checks a box. You know, “baby is born, schedule the baptism.” No, it is embarking on this new, dangerous way of life that connects each newly baptized person with the broad history of God’s children and God’s creation that has come before.

Paul, in his letter to the Romans, makes the point that, by virtue of our baptism, by virtue of our joining into this new life, we have been made descendants of Abraham, no different than those descendants by blood or by the law. And if we look back at all the figures who populate that broad family tree, we see our ancestors in the faith. We see the dangers and pitfalls and conflicts that our discipleship may bring us. And we also see the joy and hope and promise fulfillment that God provides.

The one-on-one that Jesus has with Nicodemus sets the stage for what we as believers and disciples of Jesus can expect. It provides hope in the kingdom God is ushering in and the salvation brought through Christ.

Amen.

One-on-One: The Devil

Sermon preached Sunday, February 26, 2023, the First Sunday in Lent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

The purple is out, the Alleluias are gone, and Lent has officially begun. Our seasonal changes in the church year lend themselves to sermon series—and oftentimes, I don’t even have to change the lectionary texts! This year, the Gospel texts during Lent feature several encounters that Jesus has: with the devil, with Nicodemus, with the Samaritan woman at the well, with the man born blind, and with his friend Lazarus. Each week, we’ll take a look at these stories and explore what impact these particular encounters have on Jesus, on the implications of the Gospel, and on us.

We begin this first week of Lent, as we always do, with the story of Jesus going into the wilderness for forty days to be tempted by the devil. This happens just after Jesus is baptized, when a voice from above calls out, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” (Matthew 3:17) Immediately, Jesus is led by the Spirit into the wilderness.

The gospel text tells us that he goes there specifically to be tempted by the devil, although it’s unclear why. Whatever God’s reasoning, Jesus goes and the devil comes to test him.

The devil says, “Create some food for yourself!” And Jesus responds with words from Deuteronomy: “One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”

The devil comes back with, “Why not jump off this highest part of the temple since angels will be sure to catch you?” The devil can quote scripture, too, and uses Psalm 91 to try and convince Jesus. Once again, Jesus quotes Deuteronomy, quotes the Law and states that no one is to put God to the test.

Finally, in a last-ditch effort, the devil tries to tempt Jesus with an easy life: wealth, power, military might…a life quite different from the one Jesus has led so far and quite different from the path to the cross laid out before him. An easy life, and all Jesus has to do is fall down in worship. And just like before, Jesus comes back with words from Deuteronomy about how God is to be worshiped.

Three temptations, trying to get at Jesus from different angles. The devil tries to attack through Jesus’ hunger, Jesus’ divine powers that never get to be displayed to their full advantage, and Jesus’ bleak future filled with adversity, torture, and death. But none of the devil’s suggestions work. None of the temptations take. Jesus is able to resist them all.

So, what does this one-on-one tell us? What is the impact here on Jesus and on his ministry?

I like to think of Jesus’ time in the desert as a time of preparation—a time of getting things together and making sure that he is ready for everything that is about to come. He’s just been baptized, so his ministry has been inaugurated…but he hasn’t actually done anything yet. No acts of power, no miracles, no teachings. His first act of ministry is this time in the desert.

The first thing he does to care for us is to take on the devil, head-on. He is faced with temptation because we are. If Christ is to be fully human, that’ll include facing forces that will try to sway him away from serving God. Of course, Christ overcomes these temptations and eventually comes back into society and jumps right in, proclaiming that the kingdom of heaven has come near and calling his first disciples.

As he embarks on his ministry, Jesus leads by example. He feeds people who are hungry. He blessed people who are normally overlooked. He comforts people who are afraid. He heals people who are sick. He lifts up love as the highest authority: love of God and love of our neighbor.

And that time Jesus spent in the wilderness? That was an example, too.

God knows that we are tempted, all the time, by all kinds of things.

There are the small things, like the temptation to stay up late and finish a book because it’s really good and you have just a few more chapters left but you have to get up early for work. Anyone else face that temptation? Or maybe it’s the more common temptation of whether or not to have that last cup of coffee in the afternoon…the caffeine couldn’t effect your sleep that much, right?

But we are tempted by other things, too, things that are central to how we live in our world, to how we relate to our neighbor and God.

We are tempted to hoard our money and goods. Maybe not as bad as the hoarders who have magazines dating back twenty years and so many piles of stuff that a path has to be created to move around their house…but we’re tempted to hoard none the less. When we go through our homes to clean stuff out, we reminisce and think about all the “what ifs.” What if I end up needing that next year? What if I decide to pick up that random hobby I did for two weeks three years ago again? What if I am able to fit back into that pant size I haven’t worn since college? How can I be more generous with my money? What if I end up needing it more down the road?

But possessions aren’t the only thing we’re tempted by. We’re tempted by control, especially control of our bodies and our health.

When I got pregnant the first time, I was amazed at the attempts to control everything that permeate pregnancy and early parenthood. There were articles about how to never get morning sickness, how to avoid stretch marks, how to have a “belly-only” pregnancy, how to ensure that you won’t have a c-section, how to have an “easy” or “pain-free” labor—without medication!

And then after the baby comes, be sure to read about how you can definitely get your baby sleeping through the night at four weeks old! Find out the surefire way to triple your milk supply! Buy this product or that product that will magically make your baby fall asleep or make them a genius or prevent them from feeling teething pain!

It’s ridiculous. Every person is different. Every pregnancy is different and every baby is different, but man do we want to be able to control as much as we can! And this occurs in all kinds of ways, not just around mothers and babies.

Do this workout three times a week and see these exact results! Eat this superfood and watch your health improve with no other changes to your lifestyle! Have this procedure or take this medication and you can be sure that you’ll live a long healthy life! Adopt this daily habit and see your wealth triple! Realistically, we know that there are no guarantees… but, man, are we tempted by the thought of one.

We’re also tempted by ideas of our own importance. We get so set in our own ways and so set in our own ideas that we stop listening to others and even sometimes stop listening to God. We convince ourselves that we know everything and understand how everything works and so we don’t take the time to hear what anyone else has to say.

This is something I’ve seen to an increasing degree in our public discourse. When someone says something we don’t agree with, we tend to just write them off instead of really trying to hear their point of view. By listening, we won’t always reach an agreement, but at least we’d be in a better place than if we just ignore them all together.

So yes, we are tempted—and in more ways than I’ve just mentioned. But we have Jesus to look to. Now we know that we can’t resist temptation like Jesus can—and God definitely knows that we can’t—so what are we to do with this story? It’s aspirational, certainly. But it’s not the most realistic for a humanity that is steeped in sin and who constantly need God to forgive us.

Instead, I think Jesus is giving us tools. What do we do when we are tempted? Go back to the Word of God. Listen to what God is saying. We won’t get it right every time, but at least some of the time we’ll have a fighting chance.

When you’re facing temptation, in whatever form that might take, remember that we can find strength and resolve in the Word of God. Words that remind us who we are and who we belong to. Words that remind us to show compassion and generosity. Words that remind us to seek justice and peace. Remember that God’s presence is always with us. And remember that Jesus has been there. Jesus was tempted and overcame so that we might find forgiveness when we fail to resist temptation ourselves.

Amen.

Where is God?

Sermon preached Sunday, March 7, 2021, the Third Sunday in Lent, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA.

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 a tent called 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 rebuilt 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 Adult Faith Formation Room or Karns Hall. 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.

So what does that say about where God’s house is? What does that say about where God dwells?

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.

And if God was in those places then…we know that God is in those places now. They might look different though—maybe we need to look a little harder for them.

Where are the places we would rather not go? What are the borders we’d rather not cross? Where are the people we think are “too different,” if not “unclean”?  [beat]

Are we willing to look for God in the parking lot? Out on the streets of Littlestown? Across the invisible lines that separate our communities into the “good” and “bad” parts of town? God is on the move, God is out and about, God has left the building—not forever and not completely—but this—the sanctuary of St. John’s—is not the only place we will encounter God. Surely the past year has taught us that much.

But this place still holds sway. We know that God is here. God is in water that we may touch and cross ourselves with, water that reminds us of God’s promises to us in baptism. God is in bread and wine, in these elements that become for us the body and blood of Christ. And God is in the Word: scripture read and hymns sung, as we proclaim God’s good news for us. It is so easy to only seek to encounter God here, or to simply return here without looking for God when we’re out and about in our everyday life. But if God has left the building, and we, too, will leave this building, why do we assume that we won’t run into God? After all, we run into other congregation members, friends, co-workers, acquaintances and all sorts of other characters—why not God?

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 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.

God has left the building. Let’s go find out where God’s gone! Amen.

What It Means To Suffer

Sermon preached Sunday, February 28, 2021, the Second Sunday in Lent, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. 

“Then Jesus began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed…”

Jesus warns his disciples that suffering is coming, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it. Jesus warns us that suffering is part of a package deal.

But our culture has a funny relationship with suffering—or, rather, we have a funny relationship with what we call suffering.

There is some suffering we say is “deserved.” Because Joe made poor decisions, he is now homeless and hungry—he is getting what he deserves. Jane brings it on herself because is too trusting and lets people take advantage of her. And if that group over there would only do things our way, they wouldn’t be in the terrible position they are now. We can’t always explain why bad things happen, and so we assign blame to the victims.

And then there’s the other end of the spectrum: holy, or righteous, suffering. This happens when someone’s faith is just “being tested” by the cancer slowly taking their life or the demoralizing process of losing their job—if they can make it through stoically, they’ll have proved the strength of their faith! This way of thinking doesn’t allow for people in the midst of hardship to share their frustrations, fears and prayers for comfort. Instead, it tells them to keep quiet, unless they are rejoicing for what they do have.

And then, finally, we have the most ridiculous: the Olympics of Suffering. If you’ve never witnessed this in action, this is what it sounds like:

Person One says: “Oh my goodness, I am SOOO busy! I just don’t know how I’m going to get everything done with work and the kids, and then my car broke down last week and the baby has a cough and gas prices keep going up and that restaurant down the street that I love is closing.”

And Person Two says: “You think that’s bad? My knee has been acting up because of all of this terrible rain that’s flooding my front yard and when I went to pick up my new prescription at the Pharmacy I had to wait forty-five minutes because they screwed up the refill and by the time I finally got home last night I was too exhausted to do anything but microwave some leftovers for dinner.

And Person One returns with: “Oh I know! I had to order pizza for the family because I didn’t have time to cook and the dishwasher wouldn’t start for some reason so I had to do all the dishes by hand.”

And again, Person Two: “At least you have a dishwasher to start with! I always have to do dishes by hand and inevitably the dog will jump up on me while I’m in the middle of it and make me splash water all over myself.”

…okay. So I’m exaggerating—but not by much! I have heard so many conversations similar to this and, I’m sorry to say, I’ve participated in my fair share. The Olympics of Suffering triggers something in us, something about trying to be the one who works hardest or the one who does alright despite having the most difficult life. I don’t know. But this one-upping the bad things that happen to us can’t be all that healthy.

It’s not healthy, but it also distorts our perception of reality. It’s important to note that “…not all suffering is the cross, and not all suffering is simply to be accepted.”

This means that when Jesus says he must undergo suffering, he’s not talking about our Olympics of Suffering. That suffering is not the cross. He’s not talking about “righteous” or “holy” suffering the way that we do. He’s not talking about “deserved” suffering. That suffering is not to be simply accepted. He’s talking about real suffering of body and spirit as he is arrested, beaten, tortured, mocked and executed.

When Jesus says that any who want to become his followers are to take up their cross, we need to discern what is the cross and what is not—what is suffering and what are exaggerated first-world problems, as well as what suffering is done as a witness to the Gospel and what suffering is not acceptable.

Having to wait in line or eat pizza for dinner because you are too tired to cook is not suffering for the sake of God’s work. And living on the street or being diagnosed with an incurable illness or being born into unimaginable poverty—while it is suffering—should not be accepted because “Jesus said we had to take up our cross.”

Jesus suffers because of who he associates with, what he says, and what he does. Jesus is constantly surrounded by people on the fringes of society, if not outside of it completely. He builds relationship with women, Samaritans, children, tax collectors, the unclean, the poor. He identifies with the last and the least and cries out for justice on their behalf.

Jesus preaches Good News that is not reserved for the religious elite. His words of hope and healing are not meant just for those who are already assured of God’s love, but for those who had been told time and time again that they were not good enough, or healthy enough, or faithful enough.

Jesus embodies a new way of being with others that involves humbling himself and becoming a servant to all, not merely those who had the social or political status to warrant it. Jesus served in actions: feeding crowds, healing the sick, forgiving sins, washing feet and, importantly, Jesus cried out for justice. Jesus cried out that God’s will would be done on earth.

The powers at the time attempted to silence him because he stood up for all whose voices were unheard—and Power thrives on keeping the powerless silent. Jesus speaks up, calls out hypocrites, proclaims the undeserved love of God, and ushers in a kingdom of reconciliation. That’s the work of God. And that’s the work that Jesus suffered for.

No, not all suffering is the cross and not all suffering is to be accepted—but don’t be surprised if taking up your own cross results in some suffering.

When you join your voice with someone who’s voice has been ignored—they are not voiceless! Just not heard—you may upset those who have chosen not to listen. When you feed the hungry or clothe the naked, you may be told that they deserve their lot in life and that you shouldn’t waste your resources on them. When you choose to forgive the person who wrongs you or show love to your enemies instead of hate, you may confuse the hard-hearted people who believe compassion is the same as weakness.

But in all of these things, you are doing God’s work, the work God has called you to in baptism, the work you are able to do because of the body and blood of Christ which sustain you week after week.

There may be some suffering. There’s no point in denying that. But suffering for the sake of the Christ, taking up our own cross, speaking out for the last and least among us—these will never be in vain. This is God at work, bringing in the kingdom. Amen.

One-on-One: The Raising of Lazarus

Sermon preached Sunday, March 29, 2020, the Fifth Sunday in Lent, streamed live from my home in Gettysburg, PA due to Covid-19.

It’s time to talk about our last one-on-one with Jesus. None of us had any idea that we would find ourselves in the middle of a global pandemic when I planned out this sermon series, but the Spirit, as always, found a way. Even in the stories of the woman at the well and the man born blind, God has had something to say to us to calm our anxieties and fears. …and today isn’t any different. In the story of Lazarus, we hear a word of hope, comfort, and resilience.

 

Truth be told, there are actually two one-on-ones here, one with Martha as Jesus arrives in town and then the brief one with Lazarus when Jesus calls him out of the tomb. In my original plans, I was going to focus on Lazarus, on the way Jesus orders, “Unbind him, and let him go.” I think it’s important to explore all the ways we are bound up in things, all the ways we are bound up in sin and how God frees us.

 

But today, I think maybe we’re all feeling a little more like Martha: grieving, confused, hurt. Why did her brother get sick and die? Why didn’t Jesus show up soon? Why didn’t Jesus prevent this from happening?

 

These are the kinds of questions we ask in crisis: where is God? Why doesn’t God act? Why do people we know and love get sick and die? The desire to answer these questions is intense and palpable…but these aren’t questions we are able to answer. Some people try. Some attempt to say that God doesn’t act because you haven’t prayed hard enough or been faithful enough. Some attempt to say that people get sick and die because something they did in their life led to it. Some attempt to say that God is actually absent, that God has abandoned us because of our sins and mistakes.

 

Let me put it plainly: those people are wrong.

 

Our beautiful world, created in perfection, has been corrupted, like everything else, by sin. And as a result, we experience disease and death. But God is never absent. God never abandons us. As we hear reports of COVID-19 patients who are unable to have any family or friends at their sides, we can be assured that God has never left them.

 

As hard as it may be to believe, God is still present and God is still working. Earlier in the week, I asked members of St. John’s on Facebook to share with me the places they’ve seen God. A compilation of the pictures will be posted soon and the pictures will get included in the May Newsletter, but it was a great exercise in trying to find the beauty and hope in a bleak and scary time. A lot of posts, including mine, had to do with nature, but there were also comments about people and pets and even a nice cup of tea!

 

God is in every healthcare professional who is making due with limited supplies and unbelievable exhaustion and stress. God is in the people whose job it is to clean and sanitize every inch and every piece of linen in our hospitals. God is in the grocery store workers who must continue to expose themselves so that we can trample over them in our attempt to get the last carton of eggs. God is in so many places and so many people who are doing their best and attempting to serve their neighbor.

 

So, if you haven’t share with me yet, where do you see God? If you’re on Facebook, post a picture. If you’re not, email me or send a card to church. Let’s help each other catch glimpses of God in the midst of what feels like a world falling apart. God will hold us together.

Amen.

One-on-One: The Man Born Blind

Sermon preached Sunday, March 22, 2020, the Fourth Sunday in Lent, in Gettysburg, PA, from my dining room table. This was the second Sunday St. John’s was closed due to Covid-19.

I made a conscious decision this week to not stray from the lectionary. I thought about it. I thought about if there were other texts that you all might need to hear preached on more. I wondered if I would be able to preach to this really strange time we’re in using my original Lenten sermon series theme.

But I think we need at least some things to stay the same right now. We’re worshipping in a totally different way. Some of you are tuning in to watch this live, or listen to it through a Zoom phone call, and others of you are pulling up or stumbling across this video later on Sunday or maybe even some day later in the week. This service is being held from my dining room and not our sanctuary. Our music will be acapella. We will not have communion.

We are all missing each other and missing the normal, everyday things we kind of took for granted. In that vein, I’m trying to keep our Sunday worship as typical as I can, recognizing that we are facing some severe limitations. But with grace we’ll make it through.

When I first began to think about how I would preach on this story about the man born blind, I had no idea what I was going to say, how I would be able to tie it to anything that would be meaningful for us right now. I can only thank the Holy Spirit for helping me pull something together.

Our sermon series for Lent is on these one-on-one interactions Jesus has with different individuals. So far, we’ve explored his time with the devil in the wilderness, his nighttime conversation with Nicodemus, and his visit with the woman at the well. Today, it’s all about this man born blind.

Jesus is walking with his disciples and they pass a man begging on the side of the road. He is blind and Jesus’ disciples ask him that pointed question: “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus counters by saying that it’s not the man or his parents, but that he is blind so that God’s works might be revealed through him.

It’s human nature to want to find someone or something to blame when bad things happen. Right now, we’re seeing this all over the place. People want to be able to feel superior to others, to have someone or something to be angry at. Despite scientific evidence to the contrary, some people still insist that this virus is humanmade in Chinese laboratories. Others insist it was first spread by American soldiers. The genetic makeup shows us that it developed naturally.

Even if we aren’t looking to blame someone for where it came from, we have folks who are looking for people to blame for where we are now. Folks who were early adopters to physical distancing are blaming everyone who isn’t taking everything as seriously as they are. Folks who don’t see this virus as a big threat are blaming the governor or store owners or other public officials for what they see as an overreaction.

So, who sinned? Why are we facing this crisis?

We know the answer to the question who sinned, don’t we? All of us. We’ve all sinned. We’ve all, in some way or another and all have a role to play. After all, even if we follow all the recommended guidelines, there is still a chance that we have already transmitted the virus without knowing it, since we have it without symptoms, or maybe the symptoms just haven’t shown up yet.

So we’ve all sinned. Let’s get that out of the way. We all fall short, in this and in every way.

But that’s not the reason why we’re facing this crisis. We are facing it because our creation is broken. Ever since we left the garden, creation has been imperfect and disease is a part of that. We are facing this crisis because our world tends to value money over people, encouraging profits instead of taking precautions. We are facing this crisis because we have systematically lowered our investment in public health over the past several decades.

It’s not one political party over another. It’s not one presidential or gubernatorial administration over another. It’s our very human reaction of valuing our selves and our possessions and wealth over the hard to define and ethereal notion of “the other.”

Where do we go from here? In the Gospel reading, Jesus uses the man’s blindness to point to God, to point to God’s power and grace and love.

Can we do that? Can we use this stressful and unprecedented time to point to God’s love and compassion? How might we go about that?

For any of us who are able to work from home or who are secure enough financially, we can try out best to support the people and small businesses in our community. We can do what we can to help out those who are still needing to report to work. We can be the hands and feet of Jesus in the moment by showing up, even by virtue or a phone call or food delivery.

We can also point to God’s love by refusing to let xenophobia win the day. This virus may have first moved into humans in China but it is now truly a global threat. We must defend our siblings of Asian descent who are facing undue discrimination and, in some cases, physical violence.

We can point to God’s love by doing what we can to protect those most at risk. This is how we show love for our neighbor right now: by staying away, in case we are infected.

And, finally, we can point to God’s love by remaining a strong community of faith, working together to stay supportive and connected while we are physically distancing ourselves. This is a chance to grow in faith and to grow in relationship with one another and with God.

Today we begin another week. It’s hard to know what this week will hold, but know this: God is with us, even when everything feels strange.

Amen.