I Must Be On My Way -- Second Sunday of Lent

Luke 13:31-35

March 16, 2025

            I am not a fan of storms. I am quite afraid of them actually. Seeing the level of destruction that so many communities from Missouri to Mississippi experienced over the last 48 hours, I’m probably not unwise to be nervous around severe storms. And seeing as how storms are getting more severe, my fear of them probably won’t be disappearing anytime soon.

            When I was in third or fourth grade, my class was enjoying its regular visit to the school library. There was a terrible thunderstorm happening outside, and I was afraid. While other kids sat at tables reading their library books, I found a quiet table off to the side, crawled under it, and read my book until it was time to go back to class. My teacher and the librarian apparently thought this behavior was “unusual’ and told my parents about it. My parents asked me about it, and I told them. We were having a bad thunderstorm. I’m afraid of storms, so I crawled under a table and read my book. It made me feel safer, and I was able to keep my fear under control. I have no idea what my parents told my teacher in response, but mom and dad seemed to accept my behavior without worry. What I learned from that incident was that I was going to have to hide my fear in other ways than crawling under tables because that drew unwanted attention.

            I was afraid, terribly afraid of that storm, but I didn’t want to let others know just how afraid I was. It was better to be thought of as different or weird than it was to be seen as afraid. I didn’t want to be called a “chicken.” That was way worse than being called weird.  

            I’m not exactly sure when the word chicken began to be used as a slang synonym for cowardly or afraid. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first known reference to someone being a “chicken” is found in a William Shakespeare work circa 1616. There may have been references even before that. Whenever this began, clearly using the word chicken to describe a cowardly person has been in use for a long time now, which is why it seems strange to our ears that Jesus would describe himself as a “chicken.” Debie Thomas wrote that if we were asked to draw a symbol or metaphor for Jesus, she doubted that any of us would choose to draw a chicken. Even if chicken was not equated with cowardly in Jesus’ context, it still seems an odd metaphor to use.

            Our story begins when some helpful Pharisees approached Jesus and warned him away from entering Jerusalem. “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.”

            But Jesus refused to be scared off by their warning.

            “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’”

            “Go and tell that fox for me.” Jesus swatted away their warning as you would an annoying fly. I’m sure his response would have surprised, if not shocked, the Pharisees and probably anyone else privy to that conversation. Herod was a dangerous man and a dangerous ruler. This was the same Herod who, to save face in front of his guests and to placate the desires of his wife and stepdaughter, had John the Baptist – whom he liked – beheaded. He was not a tyrant whose bark was worse than his bite. His bite was bad.

            Some scholars question the motives of the Pharisees who warned him. Perhaps they understood that Jesus going into Jerusalem would cause more trouble for them than they could handle. So if they could keep Jesus out of Jerusalem by warning him about Herod, then it would make life easier for them as well. Or maybe this was the Pharisees’ way of pushing Jesus in a direction that would eventually bring him more trouble than less. But Jesus could not have cared less about their warning or Herod for that matter. He was not going to be bullied into staying away from Jerusalem. Jesus had kingdom work to do. He had a ministry and a mission and a purpose to fulfill. He would not be kept out of Jerusalem because Herod was breathing threats against him.

            His words, “because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem,” makes it clear that he knew the dangers the city held for him. He knew where his path would lead. He had been trying to make that clear to the disciples for some time. In Jerusalem lay the cross. In Jerusalem lay death. Herod’s threats meant nothing to Jesus. He had work to do, and he was going to do it.

            Yet as he pondered Jerusalem, Jesus’ irritation gave way to lament.

            “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”

            There’s that chicken metaphor again. But reading these words of Jesus have made me question our association of chicken with cowardly. Have you seen a mother hen protecting her chicks? She literally covers them with her body, and she’ll face off against any predator with killer ferocity. And that’s what Jesus wanted to do. His words, and the overall tone of this passage is one of lament.

When Jesus speaks these words about Jerusalem, he is lamenting. And his poignant lament tears at my heart every time I read these verses. The imagery Jesus used to describe himself paints a vivid picture of the people in that great city. If a mother hen moves with purpose to protect her chicks from danger, gathering them under her, spreading out her body like a shield over them, chicks seem to do the opposite. They move frantically but without purpose. They may see where they are, but they are lost. They need the mother hen to pull them into the safety and shelter of her wings. They need her to orient them and guide them. But until they are gathered, they are vulnerable and alone.

            So too were the people of Jerusalem. The further we move through this season, the more abundantly clear this will become. The people were lost. They killed their prophets, the people who came to bring them God’s word. They stoned those who came to lead them back to the right path. And they would kill the One who wanted only to gather them together like a hen gathers her chicks.

            It would be understandable, then, if Jesus had walked away from all of it, if Jesus had turned and traveled in the opposite direction of Jerusalem. After all, the Pharisees were warning him about Herod. Jerusalem had a reputation for killing prophets. His cousin John had already been unjustly executed. His disciples still did not fully understand why he did what he did. I don’t think anyone would have blamed him if he had thrown his hands up in despair and frustration and walked away. But that was not Jesus. His irritation, his lament and grief could not keep him from going where he knew he was called to go.

            “I must be on my way.”

            We talked last week about the very real temptation Jesus faced in the wilderness, and I suspect that the temptation to choose another direction, geographically and spiritually, was strong. Jesus was not a coward, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t feel fear. That didn’t mean that he didn’t feel trepidation and anxiety at what lay ahead in Jerusalem, the city that killed its prophets and stoned those who longed to help.

            But if Jesus felt those very real feelings, he didn’t let them stop him. He knew he must be on his way, and so he was. Jesus may have been afraid – I know I would have been – but he trusted God more than any fear he might have felt. Jesus’ trust in God was stronger than his fears. His trust in God’s call was greater than his anxieties. He understood that Jerusalem would most likely turn on him the same way it had turned on prophets before him, but he never let that deter him from his call, his purpose, his identity as God’s son.

            “I must be on my way.”

            The world feels like an incredibly scary place these days, and there are Herods aplenty. It would be easy to be overwhelmed with anxiety, and sometimes I feel like I am. There are many times when I long for nothing more than a good book and a table to crawl under; a place where I can cherish at least the illusion of safety and security. But we are called to go with Jesus to Jerusalem. We are called to face the Herods of the world. We are called to be on our way.

            My sister, who has traveled all over and made her home in another country for most of her adult life, told me once that she was always afraid to do things, to try things, but in spite of her fear she did the new things, the scary things anyway.

            As the church, we are also called to do things that may feel frightening, that go against the grain of the world. After all we are called to be a light on a hill when the world prefers darkness, and the salt of the earth, when most would prefer a different seasoning. We are called to do what is hard, what is scary, what is right, no matter how much the darkness and fear of the world threatens to overwhelm us. We are called to carry our own crosses. We are called to go with Jesus to Jerusalem. We are called to be on our way.

            In this season of Lent and always, we must be on our way.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Amen.”

            Amen.

 

 

 

It Is Written -- First Sunday of Lent

Luke 4:1-13

March 9, 2025

 

            Many years ago, I served a small country church in a temporary pastoral position. They were a nice congregation, and it was a sweet church. I was there during Lent and the church had regular meals together. After one of these meals, a friendly complaint was made by one group in the congregation. The complaint was that when it came to the desserts there were too many chocolate ones. There were folks in the church who had given up chocolate for Lent and would appreciate a non-chocolate dessert alternative being offered. After this “suggestion” some other folks piped up and said they were giving up sweets altogether, so how about not having any desserts at all? I think the dinner coordinators were willing to offer a non-chocolate goody or two, but no desserts at all was not an option. Never gonna happen my friend.

            This was a relatively light-hearted controversy; no one was truly offended or upset by what was offered or not offered at these meals. The folks who gave up chocolate just didn’t want to be overly tempted to break their chosen Lenten fast. And since I used to regularly give up chocolate for this season, I didn’t mind having other sweet treats offered instead. But I began to wonder then about what real temptation is. It’s something I still wrestle with today, especially when I must confront the temptations Jesus faced in his time in the wilderness, the story we always read on this first Sunday of Lent.

            When it comes to Jesus’ time in the wilderness, the oft-quoted phrase is that Jesus was tempted in every way, just as we are, but he did not sin. While this is true, I think that it leads us to interpret it in two ways which are not helpful. First, I think it makes me want to diminish the depth, the seriousness of his temptations, as though the only temptation Jesus faced was trivial, such as “If the devil shows me one more M&Ms commercial, I am going to lose it!” I doubt that the devil would have wasted this golden opportunity to lead the Son of God astray with a temptation that was small or insignificant.  

            And the second troubling interpretation that we turn to is that Jesus was tempted, sure, but he was Jesus, which means he couldn’t sin, not really. I know that I’ve preached on this before, but I think it bears repeating. I wouldn’t be surprised if deep down a lot of folks believe that while Jesus may have been fully human as well as fully divine, when it came to temptation his divinity took over. He may have been human, but his divine side stopped him from doing the wrong thing. But this would mean that Jesus wasn’t so much a savior as he was a superhero. Unlike the rest of us, he could laugh in the face of temptation, because he knew that he was immune to such things.

            But that would mean that he wasn’t really tempted then, just as we are. To be tempted as we are, even if he didn’t fall into the tempter’s trap, means that Jesus was really tempted. Really tempted. He had to be. If this story of Jesus’ time in the wilderness is to teach us something, open our minds and eyes and hearts to something about God and Jesus and wilderness living, then Jesus must have been truly tempted. He must have felt the longing that we feel when we are faced with a temptation. There must have been teeth to those temptations or otherwise what’s the point?

            So, let’s think about what true temptation is, and let’s consider the temptations that Jesus faced. A long time ago, a mentor in ministry told me that true temptation comes disguised as light. True temptation looks like it’s the good thing, the right thing. I talk about chocolate being my temptation, but I already know that too much chocolate isn’t going to be good for me. It won’t be good for my physical health or my mental health, so it’s a temptation, sure, but one that could lead me away from God? Hmm, probably not. It’s more a temptation to feel guilty. But, what if I were offered the chance to feed people – thousands and thousands and thousands of people? There are so many, too many, hungry people in this world, people who are literally starving to death, and what if I was offered the ability to feed them easily and quickly by turning one thing into another. That’s temptation. That’s temptation dressed up as light.

            I read a commentary by theologian Dan Clandennin that mentioned priest and theologian, Henri Nowen. Nowen wrote about these three temptations and the first temptation he termed as “relevance.” Jesus had been in the wilderness for 40 days and he had been fasting for 40 days. So, when Luke writes that he was “famished,” it is a sure bet that he was just that – famished, ravenous, starving. The devil is a wily opportunist, so he sees tells Jesus to prove himself and feed himself at the same time.

            “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.”

            In other words, make yourself relevant, Jesus. Prove your identity, do something that you really need right now, and something that the world needs as well. Be relevant. How does the temptation to be relevant work in our world today? How does it work in the church? I ask myself so many times, what do I need to do to appeal to people? What does the church need to do to be relevant to the world beyond these doors? Note, that the question is not about what God is calling me to do or calling the church to do. It’s not asking about the people who need our care or witnessing to the gospel or speaking truth to power. I mean there’s nothing wrong with wanting to appeal to people, but if the need to be relevant for relevancy’ sake lies at the heart of that, then we need to consider that we are facing a temptation that can take us down a wrong path.

            The next temptation Jesus faces is about power. The devil takes Jesus up – somewhere – and shows him all the kingdoms of the world and tells him that he will give Jesus all their glory, and all authority over every kingdom, over all people. All Jesus must do is worship him. This seems like the most obvious of the temptations. Being offered power of this kind is definitely a temptation. We know this already. None of us would succumb to this, much less Jesus. But power is interesting. One of the first lessons a professor taught us at the beginning of my doctoral work was that power is not good and power is not bad. Power is, in fact, neutral. It’s what we do with it, how we use it, how we wield it against or for others. There’s nothing wrong with having power. Power gives us agency and voice. Collective power can bring about necessary change, good change. But there’s a reason that absolute power corrupts absolutely.

How many leaders, religious leaders, have fallen because of power; their use of it and even more so, their abuse of it? Yet, many people who ultimately abuse power and use it to exploit others may begin thinking, believing that they will use their power for the good. They will use it to do good things, to help others. And that’s where the temptation lies. Jesus could have taken the devil’s offer and used the power he wielded over all the kingdoms of the world for good – at least at first. But when would that power have gone from being a force for good into a force for evil? By his very willingness to go to the cross, Jesus turned power on its head. Jesus chose powerlessness to reveal that the greatest power has nothing to do with kingdoms and authority and control.

            The final temptation that Luke describes is the devil taking Jesus to the pinnacle of the temple in Jerusalem and telling him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’”

            Nowen calls this the temptation to do something spectacular. This is the temptation to spectacle. Do something amazing. Do something showy. Not only will it prove your identity, Jesus, but it will look incredible too. Nowen wrote these words long before social media came into being. But in our social media world, spectacular sells doesn’t it? Spectacular goes viral, spectacle gets the most likes and hits and views. I won’t lie, there is something deeply satisfying about getting a lot of likes for a post or having people share something I wrote or created. It is great for the ego. But therein lies the temptation. Whatever builds my ego up can just as easily tear it down, and if it becomes more and more about me, then it becomes less and less about the One who calls me. You might be able to make the claim that Jesus’s healings and exorcisms and mass feedings bordered on spectacle and the spectacular. Yet, the most spectacular trick he could have done was to get down off that cross, but he didn’t. None of what Jesus did was about spectacle, but it was about furthering God’s kingdom. It is tempting to think that our righteousness can best be portrayed in the spectacular, but maybe our faith is really lived in the quiet, in the everyday, in the ordinary.

            Jesus, hungry and vulnerable and weak, faced three temptations; temptations that don’t seem so strange and foreign to our lives after all. But even in his vulnerability Jesus didn’t give into temptation. He didn’t give into the devil’s deceits. Why? Was it because he was secretly a superhero or because he had the advantage of divinity to help him? I don’t think so. I think that what Jesus had was full knowledge, full understanding, full comprehension of love; God’s love, sacrificial love, agape love. Jesus was fully human, as fully human as we are meant to be, as we are created and called to be. He knew and lived and breathed Love. Jesus was not a superhero savior. He didn’t have a secret ability that we don’t have access to. He was filled with the Holy Spirit, he was filled with God, he was filled with Love.

            The good news is that the power of love that filled Jesus can fill us as well. The good news is that the power of the Holy Spirit is our power too. The good and glorious news is that temptation will return again, but it does not have the last word. Love is the beginning and love is the end, and it is Love that walks with us in the wilderness. It is written. Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Amen.”

 

           

           

           

Weighed Down -- Transfiguration Sunday

Luke 9:28-43

March 2, 2025

 

            Getting a glimpse of the top of the mountain, the peak of a mountain is not as easy as you think. Not always. We might see the summits of a mountain in movies, because they have airplanes and videographers who can capture the moment when the peak of a mountain can be seen clearly in glorious sunlight. But when you are looking to see that peak from the ground, it can be much harder. It was in Alaska. Many years ago, I took a train trip on Alaska Railway from Anchorage to Fairbanks and back again with a stop in Denali National Park. All the way up to Fairbanks, there was no clear glimpse of the top of Denali.

The stayover in Denali National Park did not provide me with a clear glimpse of the peak of the mountain. I remember when we stopped in the National Park, there was an older gentleman who had been on the train as well. He was talking to a person who was booking helicopter rides that promised to get you as close to the summit without actually climbing to it as possible. The person booking the flights asked the man what he hoped to get from his experience riding in a helicopter, and he replied, “I want to see the top of the mountain.” She smiled and laughed a little nervously, and said, “ Well, sir, there’s no guarantee of that.”

She was right. There was no guarantee. After staying in the park for a couple of days, I went on to Fairbanks, stayed there overnight, then headed back down to Anchorage. I had given up any hope of seeing the top of Denali and was thinking about other things. Suddenly one of the conductors on the train ran through the cars crying, “You have a clear view of Denali! You can see all of Denali!”

I’ve never seen so many passengers jump up at one time with cameras ready and start taking pictures. But there it was – this elusive mountain with its peak usually hidden in clouds. There it was, right in front of us, shining in the sun that had emerged from the clouds at just the right moment. And it was visible for a long time after. That beautiful mountain casts a long shadow across that landscape, and I watched it until finally the train took us out of view.

I’ve spent more time than I care to admit as a pastor trying to explain the transfiguration of Jesus on that other mountaintop so long ago. I’ve searched for analogies and groped for metaphors, trying to envision what this strange occurrence of transfiguration might have been like, what it might have looked like. But I still have nothing. There is no explaining it, there is no analogy or metaphor available to me in the English language – or any other language – that can effectively capture what happened on that mountaintop. All I can really say for sure is that the disciples got a glimpse of Jesus in the fullness of his glory, glory that must have seemed as otherworldly and elusive to them as seeing the top of Denali was to me.

Jesus takes only three disciples with him to the top of the mountain – Peter, James, and John. Jesus wants to go up the mountain to spend time in prayer. While he was praying, his appearance changed. His face changed. His clothes became dazzling white. Elijah and Moses suddenly appear with him in their glory, and they talk to Jesus about his departure which will be accomplished in Jerusalem. The disciples were weighed down with sleep. I’d probably be sleepy too if I had just hiked up a mountain. But they managed to stay awake and because they did, they witnessed this strange transfiguration of Jesus into his glory. 

We know how Peter tried to capture this moment. He wanted to make three dwellings, one for Jesus, one for Elijah, and one for Moses, but even before the words left his mouth, a thick cloud overshadowed and enveloped them. If they weren’t already bewildered and scared at what they were seeing, they were now completely terrified. I don’t know if they could see anything in that cloud, but they could hear. From the cloud comes the voice of God, a voice that proclaimed,

“This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”

Just as quickly as the cloud had enclosed and shrouded them, it was gone. The voice was gone. Elijah and Moses were gone. Jesus was the Jesus they thought they knew once more, standing there alone. In other gospel accounts, as they make their way back down the mountain, Jesus tells them not to tell anyone about what they’ve seen and heard. In Luke, that warning seems to be unnecessary or just unrecorded. In Luke’s account the disciples keep silent all on their own.

The next day they head back down the mountain to the valley, and there they were greeted by a mess. A crowd of people rushed up to them, and from the crowd a man, a father, emerged and begged Jesus for help for his son. According to the father, a spirit seizes his son, convulsing him until he foams at the mouth, mauls him, and will not leave his poor boy in peace. The father told Jesus that he begged Jesus’ disciples – we suppose the other nine who did not go up on the mountain – to heal him but they could not do it. Jesus’ response to this father’s agonizing plea is not what we’d expect. He becomes impatient, even a little angry, and says,        

“You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?”

Then in my mind I hear him almost growl at the father, “Bring your son here.”

Jesus rebukes the spirit, heals the boy, and gives him back to his father, whole and healthy once more. And our part of the story for today ends with, “And all were astounded at the greatness of God.”

But why does Jesus seem angry and impatient? With whom was he angry and impatient? Was he frustrated with the remaining disciples for not being able to heal the boy? Was he impatient with the crowds for closing in on him and demanding he care for them once more? Maybe Jesus had needed his transfiguration, not just to enlighten the disciples, but to reassure him. After all he and Elijah and Moses were not just chatting about the weather in their glory, but Jesus’ impending departure from this world. They were discussing Jerusalem. They were speaking of the cross. Jesus knew what lay ahead. He knew where he was going and why, but surely our fully human Messiah experienced moments when he was weighed down not only with sleep but with apprehension, anxiety, and fear. Maybe some part of him wanted to remain on that mountaintop as well. Maybe Jesus felt the shock of returning to the valley as keenly as the disciples must have.

Theologian Debie Thomas points out that we, all of us in the church, tend to think of these two stories as separate incidents. But while Jesus and the three disciples were on top of that mountain, the valley was not frozen in stasis. It’s quite possible that the other disciples spent a sleepless night trying to heal the man’s son and failing. It’s quite possible that the crowds of folks waited all night for Jesus to return. It’s highly possible that the father held his son as tightly as he could until another convulsion took hold of him, and then he could watch in horror as the seizure shook his child. The mountaintop and the valley don’t happen separately from one another. They happen at the same time. As Thomas wrote, one person could be sitting in a pew having a mountaintop experience, filled with the power of the Spirit, while another person just a few pews over could be living in the agony of the valley. In a few minutes we will gather for communion together. One person could come to this meal filled with the power of the Spirit, and another could come overwhelmed in pain and grief.

And let’s expand this from individual experiences to communal, to cultural, to national and international.

While some countries may believe they are experiencing a mountaintop moment, other countries, other children of God, are living in valleys that are shadowed by war and oppression and ongoing violence. And none of us know when we will be called or forced back into that valley, while others climb the mountain in our stead.

The two do not happen separate from one another – the mountaintop and the valley are simultaneous. There is not one without the other. But even so mountaintop experiences are far more fleeting than life in the valley. Jesus did not stay on that mountain. He came back down to the valley. He may have been weighed down with trepidation, with anxiety, with fear, just as we all are, but he never resisted what the valley asked of him. He didn’t stay on that mountaintop, nor can we.

The season of Epiphany ends today with the Transfiguration. This has been a season of revelation, of seeing the light of God, the glory of God, but now we are called back down to the valley. In Lent we are called to face the valley of the shadow of death, to walk as closely as we can where Jesus walked, to pick up our own crosses and follow him. We are called to walk in the valley, trusting that we are not alone, hopeful that the light will return on the other side.

We are called to be in the valley, even if we feel weighed down and afraid, because most of life happens in the valley. God’s children, all of God’s children, need us in the valley. Suffering is real in the valley and so is our call, our command to serve. The voice of God may be thundering in a cloud on the mountaintop, but we are called to be in the valley, with Jesus, walking, working, and waiting, and trust that even in the valley we will still be astounded by the glory of God. Thanks be to God.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

 

A Good Measure

Luke 6:27-38

February 23, 2025

 

            Many years ago, I went to see a movie with a friend of mine. There is one character in this movie that you didn’t like from the very beginning. He wasn’t so bad at first, but he soon reveals himself to be a sniveling weasel, who would do anything to save his own skin. At the end of the movie, he proves this to be true once more and betrays someone the other characters cared deeply about. Another character finally has enough and punches this character – hard. When this long-awaited punch lands, you could hear people throughout the audience say, “Yes!” At that moment, my friend leaned over to me and said, “Man, that felt good.”

            He was right. It did feel good. I wasn’t one of the ones who said, “Yes” out loud when the punch landed, but I was thinking it. That punch felt good. In fact it felt great. It was the punch that everyone had been waiting for. It felt well deserved, and long overdue. It felt like justice.

            But ever since then, I’ve found myself wondering if punching someone, even if you think they really deserve to be punched, would really feel that good. I know that punches can hurt – not just the one being punched, but the one doing the punching. I used to be a devotee of a cardio kickboxing class in Oklahoma, and I know that without gloves on, it hurt like the dickens to punch that bag with any force. But it’s not just the physical pain from punching that doesn’t feel good. I can’t help but wonder if punching another person would bring satisfaction or would it bring shame?

            Then I read these verses from Luke, essentially Part Two of the Sermon the Plain, the sermon from the level and leveling place, and I groan. I might inwardly question the gratification that would come from punching someone but that doesn’t mean I want to be reminded about forgiveness. And it definitely does not mean that I want to be told – even by Jesus – to love my enemies. I may realize that going around punching people is a bad idea, but must I go so far as to love them?

            Yet, right after Jesus delivers his blessings and woes, he says just that.

            “But I say to you that listen, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

            Do to others as you would have them do to you; what we often call the Golden Rule. This maxim is found in other places besides these words from our Christian scripture. It is found in other religions and in secular ethical and moral treatises. Moral philosopher, Immanuel Kant, used the Golden Rule as the basis of his Categorical Imperative. In other words, this Golden Rule is found far and wide, but that doesn’t make it any easier to put into practice.

            Let’s be brutally honest here, none of this is easy to put into practice. Jesus is known for saying some pretty challenging things, but I think these words must be some of the hardest. They are hard because they are counterintuitive and countercultural. To consider someone an enemy in the first place surely means that you don’t love them. But Jesus says to all who would listen to do just that. Love your enemies. Seek the good for them. Help them if they need it. Treat them as human, even if they are opposed to you and yours. If someone hates you, your first instinct is not to do good to or for them, but Jesus proclaims that we should. If someone curses me, why in the world would I bless them? But here it is in black and white. These words of Jesus are so hard because they call us to do the exact opposite of what our instincts tell us to do, what our culture tells us to do, what our human understanding of justice requires. We want the punch that feels good, but Jesus says do the opposite. These words from Jesus hard to hear, and they are even harder to practice.

            Have you ever had to forgive someone who really hurt you, betrayed you, wounded you or caused you harm? Was it easy? It hasn’t been for me. It hasn’t happened quickly either. Forgiveness, in the scriptural sense, is not a feeling, it is an action. Just like love, it is a verb, not a warm fuzzy emotion. Often when I must forgive someone, and that includes myself, I have to do it again and again and again. I forgive and then something or someone triggers that pain and hurt, and I have to forgive all over again. Debie Thomas wrote that forgiveness is like ascending a spiral staircase. You keep going around and around trying to forgive, and it looks as though you’ll never leave the pain and hurt behind. But eventually, if you keep going up, you begin to see the top, the goal, rather than what’s behind you.

            But when it comes to forgiveness, I also want to make it clear that these words of Jesus have too often been used to keep people who are abused and violated in their place. Forgiveness does not equal relationship. Expecting someone who has been abused to stay in relationship with the abuser does not put Jesus’ words into practice. Yes, we are called to forgive but sometimes forgiveness is more about taking care of yourself then it is about absolving the other person. Because to live in a state of unforgiveness does not just affect us spiritually, it has psychological and physiological consequences as well. It causes an enormous amount of stress and keeps us in a constant state of fight or flight. That’s hard on our bodies and hard on our psyches and hard on our souls.

            You may have heard the expression that not forgiving someone or holding onto anger against someone is like taking poison and expecting the other person to die. Sometimes forgiveness is more about freeing ourselves than it is the other person. Forgiving can mean relinquishing the hold someone else has on us. Forgiving can free us from pain and bitterness even if doesn’t result in reconciliation.

            I also don’t believe that Jesus, through these words, is calling us to accept evil. We are called again and again to speak truth to power. Jesus certainly did. We are called to stand up to evil, to denounce it, and work to eradicate it. That’s what Jesus did. But that doesn’t mean that we are to respond to evil in kind. Responding to evil with evil only increases evil, and worse, the evil we denounce in another may become the evil we carry in ourselves.

            I wonder if Jesus is trying to get those who would listen to understand that to live in the realm of God’s kingdom is to live out this call from this level and leveling place. I think that if we lived out his words, if we loved our enemies and blessed those who curse us and turned the other cheek and willingly gave up not only our coats but our shirts, if we actually did to others as we would have them do to us, our world would be a different place.

            What does it mean to love more than just the people we already love? Sometimes loving the people we already love is hard enough, let’s not add enemies to the list. My kids would probably confess that they love me as their mom, but I know that they have found it hard at times to love me just because I’m their mom. Yet they still love me, and I them. Our relationship is built on love. That’s not going to change. But enemies? People who have wronged us? Are you kidding me, Jesus? We’re called to love them too? Yes.

            Think about it. If we were to actually strive to live out these words, to put them into practice daily, no matter how hard it is – and it is incredibly hard – we and the world around us could be transformed. It seems to me that these are probably the most transformative words in all of scripture. Love your enemies. Bless those who curse you. Give to those who take from you. Forgive as you have been forgiven. Do not judge. Do not condemn. Give and give and give some more. Give in good measure, not because you expect a reward but because that’s what we are called to do. And I realize that it seems as if Jesus is speaking in terms of reward. The measure we give is the measure we will get back. But maybe it’s not about reward as much as it about putting all this powerful love and kindness and compassion into the world and realizing that when we do that over and over again, it comes back around. The measure we give is the measure we receive.

            What would this world look like if we did this? What would our church, our community look like if we put these challenging, difficult, painfully hard words of Jesus into practice? What wounds would be healed? What pain would be lessened? What violence would be mitigated? What freedom, true freedom, would we experience? The measure we give is the measure we receive.

            I freely admit that I don’t want to hear these words from Jesus most of the time. They are just too hard, to difficult. They require more from me than I think I can give. They require more of me than I believe I can do. But I also believe that the moments when I witness forgiveness, when I see love for enemy, when I am able to recognize that a good measure is being given, that I get a glimpse of God’s kingdom here in our midst. In those moments when I see these words of Jesus enacted, when I manage to live them myself, I get a glimpse of the kingdom that Jesus proclaimed was fulfilled with his coming. It’s not as far off as I believe it to be. It’s right here. It’s right here. If only we could see it. If only we could hear it. If only we could live it.

            “A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.” What we put into this world is what we get back. May we put in good measure after good measure after good measure of loving enemies, blessing rather than cursing, giving rather than getting, and embodying the loving and leveling mercy of God in Jesus the Christ.

            Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.
            Amen.

           

             

A Level Place

Luke 6:17-26

February 16, 2025

 

            If you remember the 90’s, perhaps you also remember the television show, Mad About You. The two main characters of this show, Jamie and Paul Buchman, were a newly married couple and the show follows them as they navigate marriage, in-laws, friendship, money, the demands of work, losing jobs, changing jobs, infertility and childrearing. In other words, it is a show based on real life issues that couples deal with but with a lot of humor thrown into the mix.

            In one episode, Jamie and her sister Lisa must meet briefly before they head off into the rest of their day. You need to know that Jamie is the organized sister – always prepared, efficient, hard-working, and focused. Lisa is the scatter brained sister – always unprepared, unorganized, follows a whim then abandons that whim to randomly follow another. Jamie is married and working and building her life. Lisa is single, perpetually unemployed, and seems to be drifting without any real goals for the future.

            Anyway, when they meet, they accidentally switch bags. Lisa is on her way for a job interview and Jamie is on her way to meet with a new client. Because this is a sitcom, they both run into mishaps. But because they’ve accidentally switched purses, Lisa is suddenly prepared for mishaps. She gets a run in her stocking; she finds the extra pair Jamie keeps in her purse. It starts to rain; there is an umbrella ready to go in Jamie’s bag. Her hair needs to be brushed; aha there’s a brush and a hair clip in the bag. Everything Lisa could possibly need to make a good impression on a potential employer is in that bag, so she arrives at her interview neat, well-groomed, and organized.

            You can see what’s coming next – Jamie experiences the opposite. Everything she needs to make a good impression on a new client is not in Lisa’s bag. There’s no umbrella, no extra pair of stockings, no hair clip and brush, no nothing that would help her stay organized and prepared. She runs into meet her client looking bedraggled and scatterbrained and just a plain old mess. And this is all because they switched bags without knowing it.

            Of course, this is a sitcom, so the point is to make people laugh and the resolution lies in switching the bags back. But it makes me wonder if what’s hidden in this episode is a good reminder that control is more illusion than reality. Jamie thought she was prepared for everything but losing her bag, even temporarily, changed all that. Lisa getting Jamie’s bag was just random luck, but it changed the course of her day. No matter what we do or how we plan, life has a way of leveling us.

            We have reached the moment in Luke’s gospel where Jesus gives his Sermon on the Plain. To some, this is merely Luke’s version of Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount and the Beatitudes. But you may have already noticed that while Matthew gives his beatitudes a more spiritual tone – as in “blessed are the poor in spirit,” – Luke offers no such softening. Luke says outright, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.”

            And unlike Matthew, who makes the Beatitudes a list of blessings only, Luke also includes a list of woes. If those who are poor are blessed, then woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. If those who are hungry now are blessed, then woe to those who are full now, for you will be hungry. If you are blessed because now you weep, but one day you will laugh, then woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep.

            In Matthew’s version, Jesus is preaching from the mountaintop. But Luke writes that Jesus has come down from the mountain and is now standing on a level place telling all who would listen that life has a way of leveling us. Jesus was on the mountain choosing his twelve disciples, also naming them apostles. He has been healing and teaching and preaching his way through the countryside, ever since he stood up in his hometown synagogue and proclaimed that he was the fulfillment of the scripture.

            Now he has come down the mountain with his disciples and is standing on this level place. And before him are a great crowd of people, a multitude of folks from all over – from Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. The fact that folks are there from Tyre and Sidon also suggests that Gentiles are in the crowd as well as Jews. These people, Jew or Gentile, had come to be healed of their diseases and freed from their unclean spirits. And his healing was so powerful that it flowed from him. The people longed to touch him, because just touching him would make them well.

            Then, looking at his disciples, he begins to speak his blessings and woes. Maybe he wanted the disciples especially to understand what they had signed up for, what following Jesus really meant. While he directed his gaze at his disciples, he was speaking to the whole crowd. The blessings and the woes were for all to hear. And there is nothing prescriptive in his words. He is not telling people how to act in response to these blessings and woes. Do this. Don’t do that. It’s important to observe that these woes are not curses, they are warnings.

            Does this mean it is better to be poor than rich? No. Jesus was in no way glamorizing poverty. Jesus came to heal, to bless, and to offer abundance. And there is nothing glamorous about poverty or hunger or destitution. It isn’t romantic. It isn’t just a simpler way of life. Extreme poverty, which we see in this country and all over the world, is just that, extreme. It is extreme in its misery, and it is extreme in its consequences. No, Jesus wasn’t saying that it’s better to be poor. Jesus was telling those who were suffering that God was with them, and that they were not forgotten. The kingdom of God turns everything upside down, and what they don’t have now, they will have one day.

            So that must mean that Jesus is saying that to be well off is wrong, to be happy is bad, to be filled with laughter is a curse and an evil? No. Again, Jesus was not cursing those who had more. Jesus was warning them. Life has a way of leveling us. And when we are full, when we can pay the bills and enjoy life, when we have much to laugh about, when we are comfortable, when we are the opposite of suffering, we also can become complacent. That’s when it is far too easy to believe that we have life under control, that we have control. And when we think we are in control, it is far too easy to believe that we don’t need God. Or even if we believe that we do need God, we may not live as though we do. But when we’re struggling, when we must face suffering, our need for God becomes readily apparent.

            Woe to those who have enough now, who laugh now, who seem to have it all together now, because it is far too easy to push God out. It is far too easy to think that we have done it all.

            Are you uncomfortable yet? I know I am. It is hard not to read these words without nervously gulping in response. Because I know right now which side of this I fall on. As I said, ever since Jesus stood up in the synagogue in his hometown, he has been preaching and teaching and healing his way to this moment, as well as revealing his power over nature itself and calling the unlikely and unexpected to follow him. And from the beginning, indeed from Mary’s song that the poor are lifted up and the rich brought low, Luke has made it clear that those who are poor, those who are reviled, those who mourn, those who are condemned as sinners, those who are marginalized, those who are the least of these are the ones that Jesus, and through him God, favors.

            Does that mean that I am not favored by God or loved by God or granted grace and mercy by God? No, but it does mean that I cannot take for granted all that I have, and I cannot believe that what I have comes through my hard work alone. Life can turn on a dime, and life has a way of leveling us. So whether I am on the woe side or the blessed, I cannot take anything for granted. I need God all the time. I have control over so little, even though I like to believe otherwise. The only sure thing, the only steadfast thing is God. Life has a way of leveling us, and Jesus stood on that level place and reminded all who would hear that nothing we create is sure, but God is.

            Many years ago in Oklahoma, I got to know an unhoused man named Mark. I didn’t know his story or his background. I just knew that he was sad most of the time, probably clinically depressed, and I also knew that he was intelligent and kind. He asked to pray with him sometimes, and one time I remember bowing my head and getting a glimpse of his hands folded in prayer. My hands were clean and relatively soft, but his hands were scarred and stiff. There was dirt under his nails, and although I think we were about the same age, his hands looked years older than mine did at the time. I couldn’t get his hands out of my mind. I knew that when he was born, he had tiny soft little hands like I did, like all babies do. I wondered when he was born, did someone hold him lovingly in their arms like I was held? Did someone sing lullabies and read to him, like I was sung to and read to? Why did his life go one way and mine another? Was it because I was loved more or worked harder or just because? If life had gone differently for both of us, would he be praying for me and not the other way around?

            There was nothing glamorous about Mark’s hands. There was nothing romantic or special about the way he lived. But I saw God in his hands. I felt God with us in that prayer. And I knew, for at least a moment, that life has a way of leveling us, and that thinking we can count on ourselves alone is folly. Woe to those who think they don’t need God. Woe to those who think they are in control. Woe to those who forget that life has a way of leveling us. But blessed are those who remember. Jesus wasn’t cursing, he was warning, he was reminding. At every moment we need God, in every circumstance, we need God, in the good and the bad, in the joy and in the sorrow, we need God. Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

           

           

           

           

Do Not Be Afraid

Luke 5:1-11

Isaiah 6:1-13

February 9, 2025

 

            Brent and I have a running joke, and I tell this story with his permission. Whenever I’m working on something, usually making dinner, Brent will come into the kitchen and ask what he can do to help. I’ll tell him something like “set the table,” or “grab drinks,” and so on. But regardless of what I ask him to do, he always says, “I don’t wanna do that.” Then, without exception, he goes above and beyond to help me. It’s a small thing, I realize, but it makes us both laugh, and that’s important.

            I must admit, when I read our passage from Isaiah for this morning, our running joke immediately came into my head. This passage describes Isaiah’s call from God to be a prophet to God’s people. The first eight verses are better known to many of us because we hear them quite often in the church year. I mainly associate them with Advent, but certainly Isaiah is read at different times and in different seasons.

            These first verses begin by setting Isaiah’s call in the specific chronological time of King Uzziah’s death. Isaiah has a vision. He sees the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty. The hem, just the hem, of the Lord’s robe filled the temple. I confess that I don’t know what the dimensions of the ancient temple were but imagine if we had this vision today and imagine what it would be like to see the hem – just the hem – of the Lord’s robe filling every inch of space in our sanctuary, top to bottom, back to front, and side to side. And that’s just the hem! Can you imagine how big the full robe would be?!

            That would be overwhelming on its own, but along with the hem that filled the temple, there were seraphs attending the Lord. I used to lump seraphs together with cherubim, which meant that I had the idealized belief that somehow they were cute, cuddly creatures like the cherubs we see depicted on Valentines Day cards. But actually, seraphs are more like snakes with wings, which means they would be snakes that could fly. Snakes that can fly. I still get scared at the flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. Flying snakes are the stuff of my nightmares. I cannot imagine how terrifying it would have been to watch seraphs flying around. And not only were they flying, but they were also “calling to one another.” I think our English translation softens this somewhat. I suspect that their call would have been more like thundering screeches because the text tells us that the pivots on the thresholds of the temple shook at their calling voices and the whole temple filled up with smoke. So, not the cherubs on Valentines.

            All of this is terrifying, but Isaiah is especially terrified because the overwhelming glory of God brings into sharp relief his own failures, faults, and shortcomings. He recognizes immediately that he is “a man of unclean lips,” and that he lives among people who are the same. In response to his lament, one of the seraphs picks up a live coal with tongs and touches Isaiah’s lips with it. It must have been unbelievably painful, but it is the cleansing he needs. His guilt is departed, and his sin is blotted out. Then Isaiah hears the voice of the Lord calling,

            “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?”

            Isaiah, now forgiven and freed, responds with great eagerness, “Here am I; send me!”

            This is where we usually end the story. One of my favorite hymns, “Here I Am, Lord,” is based on this ending of the story. Whenever I read these first eight verses, I always want to reclaim Isaiah’s eagerness at answering God’s call for myself. But … the story does not end here. It goes on. Because now that Isaiah has said “yes” to God’s call, he has to hear what God is calling him to do.

            God tells him to say to God’s people, “Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand. Make the mind of this people dull and stop their ears and shut they eyes so that they may not look with their eyes and listen with their ears and comprehend with their minds, and turn and be healed.”

            Isaiah responds by saying, “How long, O Lord?” One commentator I read wrote that while this sounds like Isaiah wants to know his specific time frame for doing this, it’s really a lament. It is Isaiah’s wail at what he is being asked to say. It is a more emotional version of, “I don’t wanna do that.” But this isn’t a joke. Isaiah has volunteered to answer God’s call to do something hard and unlikely and unlovely and scary and … hard. Again, the commentator wrote that God is telling Isaiah to go and fail. We think of a prophet’s call as one where the prophet convinces the people to return to God, to turn back and turn around. But God is saying the exact opposite. To claim that this is an easy call is an understatement.

            The call that Jesus makes to Simon, James, and John seems light and carefree in comparison. Luke puts his own spin on this call to these fishermen. In Matthew and Mark there is a sense that while the fishermen might have heard about Jesus through the stories that were beginning to circulate about him. But in the verses just before ours this morning, we read about Jesus healing Simon’s mother-in-law. It’s clear that Simon has encountered Jesus before.

            In our story, the crowds are pressing in on Jesus to hear the Word of God from him. In order to keep teaching them without being knocked down, Jesus gets into Simon’s boat and asks Simon to row away from the shore a little. Then Jesus sits in the boat and continues to teach the people. When he was finished, Jesus asked Simon to go out to the deep water and “let down your nets for a catch.” Simon, a professional fisherman, tells Jesus that they have been out all night. They have let down their nets again and again and again, but they caught nothing. Then Simon utters these words, “Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.”

            Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets. Essayist Debie Thomas writes that Simon is at the point of complete exhaustion. He is frustrated. He has tried everything he knows to do, and he was a professional fisherman, so he knew a lot. He knows that there are no options left. And it is in this moment of resignation, despair, exhaustion, frustration, that he is open to any other suggestions. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.

            And does Jesus make good or what?! They caught so many fish their nets were beginning to break. Their partners in the other boat had to come and help them so the one boat wouldn’t capsize. Both boats were filled to the brim with fish!

            When Simon Peter sees this, when he realizes just what Jesus has done, when he gets a glimpse of the power that Jesus has, he also sees his own sinfulness, his deeply flawed sinful self. And just as Isaiah recognized this about himself and cried, “Woe is me,” Simon Peter falls down on his knees before Jesus and says,

            “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!”

            But Jesus says, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.”

            Do not be afraid. I know that Jesus was referring to Simon Peter’s fear and amazement in that moment, but I also wonder if Jesus was speaking to the future as well. Following Jesus would not be easy. In fact, it would be spectacularly difficult. There would be times when Simon Peter might think, if not speak aloud, “I don’t wanna do that.”

            Answering a call to follow, to serve, to walk the narrow path of discipleship and servanthood is not easy. I don’t think it’s meant to be. God told Isaiah to go and fail at bringing the people back to God. Jesus will tell anyone who listens that the first must be last and the last first, that if they want to follow him, they must also pick up their own crosses, that following him means leaving behind home and safety and security and even those they may love the most. None of it will be easy. It is one thing to worship Jesus; it’s another thing to follow. And Jesus is calling them to follow.

            But as Thomas points out, when Jesus called these first disciples, he called them not to become different people but to follow him as they people they are. He spoke to this professional fisherman, a man who knew what he was doing when it came to casting nets and respecting the sea and its power. Simon Peter was a fisherman. So, Jesus did not say, “Follow me and you will be healing people as a doctor heals or herding people as a shepherd herds his flock.” Jesus said,

            “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.”

            Do not be afraid. I call you as you are. I call you to use the gifts and talents and skills you already possess. Will I challenge you to do more? Yes. Will I call on you to do what you think and believe that you cannot do? Yes. But do not be afraid because who you are is enough.

            Isn’t that what most of us want to hear, long to hear? That we are enough. Jesus does not call us to transform into someone completely unlike ourselves. Jesus does not call us to become someone else. Jesus calls us to be us.

            There is a beautiful scene in the television show, Young Sheldon, when Sheldon, a boy from East Texas and raised in a Southern Baptist family, has convinced himself that the best scientists are Jewish. He wants to be like Einstein, so he thinks that if he converts to Judaism he will be like Einstein. He goes so far as to call a synagogue and speak with the rabbi about converting. The rabbi tells him to not worry about converting to Judaism but to be the best Sheldon he can be. Because someday when he goes to Heaven and meets God, God will not ask him, “Why weren’t you Einstein?” God will ask him, “Why weren’t you Sheldon?”

            We are called to follow Jesus, and I think it is safe to say that following Jesus is not easy. It’s not supposed to be. It is going to be hard, and it is going to challenge us. It is going to call us to do difficult and even scary things. There may be times when we wonder if we’ve done the right thing, if we say to ourselves and to God, “I don’t wanna do that.” But do not be afraid because we are called to be ourselves – to be Amy and Charlie and Charlotte and Anne and Emmy and Sam and Brianna and Garrison and Andrew and Barbara and Brent and Cacey and Linda and Sarah Ella and Betty and John and Sherry and Matthew. We are called to be ourselves, so do not be afraid. Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

           

Love and Consequences

Luke 4:21-30

I Corinthians 13:1-13

February 2, 2025

 

            I have had friends, clergy friends, who have returned to the church they grew up in to serve as the pastor. To be honest, doing that hasn’t always worked out so well. If there is anyone in that church who remembers them as a child or as a youth – even a youth who was active in the life of the church, a youth who participated in worship – it is very hard for those who remember the child before to accept the adult and pastor they are now. It’s incredibly hard to see this child of the church as pastor. It can be even harder to receive and accept their leadership, pastoral care, and church administration.

            I have not had that same experience because the church I grew up in does not exist anymore, and, even if it did, it was a denomination that does not welcome women ministers. But I do remember what it was like to preach in front of family and friends for the first time and see their struggle to reconcile the kid they knew with the person I am up here. My sweet dad was nothing but supportive of me, from the moment I felt called to seminary, and in every call I’ve had since. But he told me one time, many years ago, that while he absolutely believed in me and believed in my call, he struggled to see me as a pastor until the first time he saw me in the pulpit. Then it clicked.

            All this is to say that I understand why the people of Jesus’ hometown might have resisted seeing their hometown boy go from carpenter’s son to healing, teaching phenom. They’d heard the stories circulating about him, and now he was here, home, back where he came from, back where it all began. What can Joseph’s son possibly have to teach us, to tell us?

            But if we read Luke’s telling of this story carefully, the people don’t initially seem to doubt Jesus, do they? If anything, Jesus seems to be the one who goes after them. Jesus reads the scroll from Isaiah and declares to the people in that synagogue that the words of the prophet have now been fulfilled in their hearing. That would have been the moment for the people who knew him when to scoff or shake their heads in disbelief or even jeer at him. But what does the scripture say?

            “All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, ‘Is not this Joseph’s son?”

            Unless I’m missing something, there doesn’t seem to be any antagonism on the people’s part. They seem positive and receptive to Jesus’ words. They seem eager to hear more, to see more from him. They are astonished, to be sure, but not hostile. Not yet.

            But with his next words, Jesus seems to go on the offensive.

            “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’ And he said, ‘Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown.’”

            Then Jesus goes on to tell them that in the time of Elijah, when there was a famine in Israel and there were many widows who needed help, Elijah was sent only to the widow of Zarephath in Sidon, a widow not of Israel but a foreigner. And what of Elisha? Of all the lepers that could have been cleansed, Elisha was sent only to Naaman the Syrian, another outsider, another foreigner.

            Jesus made it clear from the get-go that any expectations they might have of him as the hometown boy made good, they needed to let them go. He wasn’t there to fulfill their expectations. He wasn’t their to be their personal messiah. He wasn’t there to play favorites just because this was his hometown.

            Was Jesus saying this to be mean? Was he directing his words at his former bullies or the kids who once taunted him? Was he trying to rub his healing power in their collective face? Of course not. This wasn’t an attempt to get back at people or to have revenge on those who may have discounted him at one time. But Jesus was making it very clear that just because this was his hometown didn’t mean that they had special favor with God. The two examples he gave about Elijah and Elisha show that God goes to the outsiders. God moves among the marginalized. If they really believed him when he read those words about good news to the poor and release to the captives and sight to the blind and the oppressed going free and the year of Jubilee proclaimed, then they also needed to believe that just because they occupied his hometown did not mean they ranked above the other. God sent prophets to the margins, to the outsiders, to the foreigners, to the strangers, and he would go to those same people.  

            Now the people turn on him. They become so angry, so enraged they chase him out of town, and up to the edge of the hill the town was built upon so they can hurl him off the cliff. He escapes their clutches and goes on his way, But that does not diminish the violent response the people had to his words.

            Was Jesus just trying to provoke them or did he enrage them because he spoke a hard and stinging truth? And what was that truth? It wasn’t that God didn’t love them or care for them, but that he came not to curry favor but to upend expectations. He came to turn everything they thought they knew and understood about God upside down. He came to fulfil what Isaiah prophesied. He came not for the ones in the upper echelons of society, for those in power, but for those at the bottom, for those on the edges, for those who were dismissed or forgotten or exploited or all the above. His words evoked a bitter truth – that proximity to him did not mean they could take God for granted. God was doing a new thing through him. They could either join him or not.

            It’s interesting to read this story from Luke through the lens of our verses from I Corinthians and vice versa. Go ahead, admit it, when we hear these words from I Corinthians chapter 13, don’t we all think of brides and grooms, of wedding dresses and tuxedos, of flower girls and ring bearers, and couples standing in front of the officiant promising to love each other in the way that Paul defines love? How could we not? These verses are read at weddings all the time. They are quoted in beautiful script on wedding invitations and programs. It’s hard not to think of them as being solely connected to starry eyed couples on the precipice of a new life together.

            But that’s not who Paul was writing these words to. It’s not that they can’t apply to couples. Anyone who has been married for more than five minutes knows that there are times in a relationship when you need to be reminded that love is patient and kind. But Paul was writing to a church in crisis. The Corinthian church was filled with conflict. That’s why Paul was writing to them. They were taking sides; they were dividing into factions. People who had the gift of speaking in tongues were considered spiritually superior to those who didn’t. The most vulnerable in their midst were being forgotten. They were arguing over whose baptism was the best. They were a mess! The Corinthian church was a mess.

            In Chapter 12, Paul has written about the importance of all spiritual gifts. They were all needed and had their place in the community. He wrote to them about the body and its many members. There was no member of the body that was dispensable or disposable. In fact, the smallest, seemingly most insignificant member was the one that was indispensable. But now he brings all this home in these words about love.

            No matter what your gifts are, no matter what member of the body you are, if you don’t have love then your gifts all come to nothing. If you can speak in the tongues of the angels themselves, but you don’t have love, that language is worthless. Its nothing more than the clanging of cymbals. If you have superior knowledge but your knowledge is not grounded in love, then it’s pointless and fruitless. If you are generous to the point of giving everything you own away, but you don’t do it out of love and for love, then your gesture is empty.

            You have no patience with one another, you show no kindness to one another, but love is exactly that – patient and kind. You boast to one another. You are jealous of one another. But love is neither of those things. You say your way or the highway, but love does not insist on its own way. You rejoice when someone else messes up, but that’s not love. Love bears all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

            All of theses gifts and talents that you hold so dear, they’re going to end. They will die with you. But love does not come to an end. You think you know everything, you think you can see everything, but you can only see a glimpse of what the full truth and knowledge is. Children may bicker and quarrel, but childishness needs to be left behind. You need to grow up. You need to grow up spiritually and leave those childish ways behind. You need to have faith, and you need to have hope, but most importantly you need to have love. You need to love.

            It seems to me that both Jesus and Paul were trying to convey the same message. Jesus wanted his hometown to understand that they could not be complacent in their faith just because they were his hometown. They could not take God for granted. God was doing a new thing through him, and they were invited to come along but on God’s terms not theirs. And God’s terms were about love – love as action, love as a verb, love with its work boots on, seeking out the lost and the forgotten. Though it may not seem like it, Jesus was speaking to his hometown with love.

            And Paul wanted the church in Corinth, a church that came together because of their faith in Jesus the Christ, to understand that their fighting and grasping and grappling was pulling them away from Christ and one another, not the other way around. They were missing the point because they were missing the love. And if anyone understood what the power of love could do, it was Paul. It changed him from Saul to Paul, from being a vengeful, vicious, violent threat-breathing persecutor to a man willing to die for the One, the Love that saved him, that struck him blind on that road to Damasus so that he might finally see.

            Jesus and Paul both spoke the truth in love and faced the consequences of doing so. Are we able to do the same? Are we able to face the consequences of love?

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.