John (Gospel) | Rev. Christopher Marlin-Warfield

Wednesday, December 26, 2018 | Sermon Florida Memory, via Flickr Commons

The Christmas Story

God loved the world like this:

In the days when Israel was ruled by Rome, God sent an angel to a young woman named Mary, who was engaged to a man named Joseph, and that angel said,

You will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.

And when it was time for Mary to have her son, she and Joseph was in the town of Bethlehem. And because there was no room at the inn, they stayed in a stable. And Mary gave birth to the her son. And because they were in a stable, she took that Son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger. And the Son of the Most High was made low.

And in that same region there were shepherds: dirty, and smelly, and hanging out with sheep all the time. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them and said,

Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.

And that angel and a host of angels sang: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

And the shepherds went to Bethlehem, and found a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger. And they ran around telling everyone. The lowly telling the world about the Son of the Most High… made low.

And that is how the Word of God, who is with God and who is God, a light in the darkness through whom all things were made, came into the world to be one of us.

God loved the world like this: He made himself low for our sake. He made herself low… for us.

For the last four Sundays, we have been in the season of Advent. We have lit candles for hope and peace and joy and love. We have prepared for Jesus Christ to come into the world.

And now, on Christmas Eve, we stand on the threshold. We wait in holy anticipation for God to enter this world. Not as a conquering supernatural creature, but as a baby. Not in a palace in the capital of an empire, but in a manger in a small town in a backwater province. Not welcomed by kings and potentates, but by shepherds.

And we light a candle for Christ… our light in the darkness.

We know who we are through the stories that we tell. And we tell this story: that God came into the world as one of us, that God came into the world among the poor, and that if we want to find God we look among the least of us.

We know who we are through the stories that we tell. And this is a story that you’ve heard before. You’ve heard it on its own.

You’ve heard it mashed together with other stories in a Christmas pageant. You’ve heard Linus tell it, standing in a spotlight on a stage in a school auditorium, near a sad and small Christmas tree sitting on Schroeder’s little piano.

It’s a story that we hear every year. And we can get so used to it that it can fade into the background. It can become just this story that we tell amid all of the other things that happen during the Christmas season.

A few years ago, in my last job, I was flying home from Biloxi. I had been there for a board meeting or a staff development event or something. And I was at my usual layover in Atlanta or Dallas-Fort Worth. And I had done that thing where you wait for a couple of hours at the gate… and then you get on the plane… and then they discover a problem… and then you get off the plane… and then you go to another gate and wait there.

And I was tired and crabby and I just wanted to go home. And this guy started talking to me. And, somewhere in there he asked me what I did. And most of you know that I was a fundraiser for an organization that helps people living in poverty. So I slipped into fundraiser mode and told him what I did and what my employer did… and I think I stopped just short of asking him for money.

And then he asked me how I liked it. And—because I was tired and crabby and I just wanted to go home—I said something like this: “It’s okay. I get to eat food and live indoors.”

And a guy who was standing a little bit ahead of us in line looked back and said, “So you’re better off than the people you’re serving.”

I had gotten so wrapped up in my life and my work and my stress that I had forgotten why I did it. I was so tired that I had forgotten that there are people who drink so that it’s easier to sleep on the concrete under a bridge. I was so crabby that I had forgotten that there are people who are at the end of their ropes. I wanted to get home so badly that I had forgotten that there were people with no home to go to.

And I know that Christ was among them.

I know that it is Christmas Eve. This is a night of celebration and family and community and love. Christ is coming into the world! As a baby… in a small town in a backwater province… wrapped in cloth and laid in a manger… visited by shepherds.

But I can tell you that Christ has been here all along. He stays out of the way during the day, and sleeps on a bench in Lincoln Park at night, and goes to the Referral Center when he can.

She is sitting in a detention center at the border… and in a refugee camp in Jordan… and in a prison cell in Fort Madison.

They are walking out of their house because their parents didn’t accept them, and they are desperately seeking a community that will welcome them in, and give them a hug, and tell them that they are the precious child of a loving God.

Christ has been here all along. And we meet him in the hungry and the thirsty and the lonely, the naked and the sick and the imprisoned. And we tell this story—about a baby wrapped in cloth and laid in a manger—so that we can remember that.

Christ has been here all along. And we meet him in the hungry and the thirsty and the lonely, the naked and the sick and the imprisoned. Click To Tweet

We know who we are through the stories that we tell. And the Christmas story is about a poor and vulnerable God, who we meet among poor and vulnerable people, and who we serve through love and generosity.

It is, as G.K. Chesterton said, a story “built upon a beautiful and intentional paradox; that the birth of the homeless should be celebrated in every home.”

It can be hard to remember that. It can be hard to remember that when we’re dealing with all of the stresses of our lives, like when we’re in an airport and we’re tired and we’re crabby and we just want to go home.

And it can be hard to remember during the holidays, when we have families to entertain, and parties to attend, and decorations to put up, and presents to buy, and food to cook.

So we light a candle. We light a candle for Christ.

We light a candle for a little baby who was wrapped in cloth and laid in a manger… and for every baby who needs love… which means, for every baby.

We light a candle for a man who ended up on the wrong side of power… and for everyone who is marginalized and threatened and hurt.

We light a candle for a God who loved the world like this: She made herself low for our sake… she became a light in the darkness, for us.

We light a candle… for Christ.

And we don’t just do that this week. We don’t just do that tonight.

Every week, someone carries a light into this sanctuary and places it on these candles on this table. They are symbols of the light of Christ, the light that shines in the darkness and that the darkness cannot overcome, the true light that enlightens everyone.

And every week, someone takes this these symbolic lights out of this sanctuary.

And, it’s true, all of us carry the light of Christ… in our hearts… out into the world.

And, it’s also true, all of us go into the world to look for that light, to look for Jesus in the places where he hangs out today… in the mangers of our world… among the shepherds of our world.

And every week, every day, every hour, we have the chance to bring good news of great joy to all people, to share good will with all of our neighbors, and, through our actions, to praise God.

Every week, every day, every hour, we have the chance to bring good news of great joy to all people, to share good will with all of our neighbors, and, through our actions, to praise God. Click To Tweet

Gloria in excelsis Deo. Glory to God in the highest!

Monday, May 28, 2018 | Sermon

Again, from Above, of Water and Spirit

Today is Trinity Sunday, a day when churches around the world — not just the United Church of Christ, but Catholics and Anglicans and Lutherans and Presbyterians and Methodists — recognize and celebrate one of the great mysteries of our faith. We worship one God in three Persons: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

It is easily one of the hardest bits of our faith to grasp. If it sounds difficult and nonsensical, that’s because it is. It’s difficult and nonsensical and true. It’s one of those things about God that we just can’t get our heads around. It’s one of those things about God that we can’t understand. And I cannot explain it.

There’s a video that shows up on my Facebook feed almost every year around this time. I’ll post it on the website along with this sermon.

In it, two Irishmen named Donall and Conall meet St. Patrick. And they ask him to explain the Trinity. But, since they’re just simple Irishmen without fancy theological educations, they ask him to explain it in simple terms. With an analogy.

So Patrick starts this way. The Trinity is like water. Water is always water, but it can be a liquid or a solid or a gas. Water or ice or vapor. But Donall and Conall and quick to point out that he’s saying that there’s one God in three forms, not three Persons who are one God. That’s modalism. And it’s a heresy.

So Patrick switches gears. The Trinity is like the sun. There is the star and the light and the heat. But Donall and Conall correct him. He’s saying that the Father creates the Son and the Spirit and that they’re not coeternal and equal. That’s Arianism. And it’s a heresy.

So Patrick switches gears again. The Trinity is like a three leaf clover. And Donall and Conall stop him before he even gets started. He was about to say that the Father and the Son and the Spirit are like leaves of a clover, different parts of one thing. But they aren’t different parts of God. They are God. Patrick was about to confess partialism. And that’s a heresy.

And they go around a bit more and Patrick finally gets fed up and says that the Trinity is a mystery that cannot be comprehended by human reason, but is understood only through faith. We worship one God in trinity, and trinity in unity, neither confounding the persons nor dividing the essence, each person God and Lord, equal in glory and coeternal in majesty.

And Donall and Conall ask why he didn’t just say that to start with, with suggest celebrating their conversion by putting on big green foam hats and drinking too much.

And the Trinity really is that hard to get. I do have a fancy theological education and I spend time with this stuff. I can tell you about it. I can recite the mystery. I can say and believe that we worship one God in three divine persons. But I can tell you that I also don’t get it and I cannot explain it in any way that really satisfies me.

Which brings me to our reading from John.

In the other gospels, there’s a scene where a rich young man comes to Jesus and asks what he has to do to inherit eternal life. And Jesus says to him, “You know the commandments. Keep them.”

And the rich young man says, “I have kept them since my youth.”

And Jesus says, “Then there’s just one more thing. Sell all that you have and distribute the money to the poor and follow me.”
In this passage in John, Nicodemus is a Pharisee, a leader of the Jews, and a teacher of Israel. And he doesn’t ask what he has to do to inherit eternal life, but Jesus tells him, anyway: You must be born again, from above, of water and spirit.

And where the other gospels are clear, that’s a little opaque. And Nicodemus is understandably confused. And Jesus is a little condescending about that.

“You’re a teacher of Israel,” he says, “and you don’t understand these things?”

But then he goes on, “I have been telling you what is true. I have testified to what I’ve seen. But you don’t get it. And if I’ve been telling you about earthly things and you’re not getting it, how are you going to get it if I tell you about heavenly things? Look, I know about heavenly things because I’ve been there. You’re just going to have to believe in me.”

Or something like that.

Now, I have had plenty of people ask me if I’m born again. I’ve had people encourage me to get born again. I have had people pressure me to say the sinner’s prayer and sign the back page of the pamphlet and be born of of water and spirit. And maybe you have, too.

And I gotta tell you. I’m kind of with Nicodemus here.

Now, I have had plenty of people ask me if I’m born again. And maybe you have, too. And I gotta tell you. I’m kind of with Nicodemus here. Click To Tweet

Now don’t get me wrong, I proclaim Jesus my lord and savior. I proclaim Jesus the lord and savior of the whole world. I have been changed by Christ and by the faith that I put in him. I sometimes even do my best to follow him. I repent on a regular basis. And I have confidence that he has saved me. And I kind of even know what I mean by that.

And, maybe, I’ve been born again, from above, of water and spirit. But I don’t know. Because I don’t know what that means. Should I have had a big conversion moment? Should I have passed through the dark night of the soul? Should I be able to point to the day and time and place that I was born again, from above, of water and spirit? Or can it be a gradual thing? A slow realization of what happened when I wasn’t paying attention?

And if I appear ignorant it is because I am ignorant. God is far bigger and more majestic than I can imagine. I see through a glass darkly, at best. There are a few things that I’m very confident about. But even though I am a preacher and a teacher in this congregation, I do not understand all of these things. If I appear ignorant it is because I am ignorant.

And that’s okay. Today’s reading from Isaiah is a reminder of that.

Isaiah was one of the great prophets. He was one of the big guys. And in the sixth chapter of his book, he receives a vision. He sees God, sitting on a throne, filling the temple, with angels attending him. And he says aloud, “Woe is me. I am lost. I am a man of unclean lips and I live among a people of unclean lips and yet I have seen the Lord.”

Isaiah sees God and it is too much.

And an angel swoops down to him, holding a hot coal with a pair of tongs. And the angel puts the coal to Isaiah’s lips and tells him that his suit has departed and his sin has been blotted out.

And God asks, “Who shall I send? Who will deliver my message to the people?”

And Isaiah, with his coal stained lips, can say, “Here am I; send me.”

But even that doesn’t mean that Isaiah gets everything. What he gets is what God has given him. He has his message and his mission. And I bet that if you asked him to explain the trinity, he would be lost. And if you asked him if he was born again, from above, of water and spirit, he would just give you a confused look.

You see, it wasn’t given to Isaiah to understand all things. It was given to Isaiah to understand the message that he was to deliver.

And I think that the same is true of me and of you.

John Dorhauer, the General Minister and President of the United Church of Christ, once said something like this. Denominations — you know, the United Church of Christ, the Catholics, the Anglicans, the Lutherans, the Presbyterians, the Methodists, and so on — denominations exist because people get together and say, “If not for us, this aspect of the gospel will be forgotten. This part of the gospel will be overlooked.”

And I think that something like that is true for each of us. We are not given to understand everything. We are certainly not given to understand everything about God. But we are each given to understand something. We are each carrying a little part of the Kingdom of God.

And, at the same time, we are not responsible for everything. It is not my job to create heaven on earth. It is not your job to realize the Kingdom of God. But we are each responsible for something. We are each carrying a little part of the Kingdom of God.

And when we come together — when we each bring our little piece to the table — we can join God in doing something amazing. We can see a new heaven and a new earth rise around us. We can see a new Garden of Eden blossom around us. We can see the Kingdom of God live within us.

And then, maybe, we will understand.

And when we come together we can join God in doing something amazing. We can see the Kingdom of God live within us. And then, maybe, we will understand. Click To Tweet

Monday, May 7, 2018 | Sermon

An Ever-Widening Circle

Previously, at First Congregational United Church of Christ.

A couple of weeks ago, when we were having our annual celebration of extravagant welcome, I preached on the beginning of the story of Peter and Cornelius. To recap, since it’s important:

Peter was an apostle of Jesus Christ. And he knew that the church was a community of Jewish people who followed the Jewish messiah who would restore the homeland of the Jewish people, who were the chosen people of the Jewish God.

But God had told a man — a gentile — named Cornelius to send men to Peter. And he did.

And to prepare Peter, God sent him a vision of unclean foods and told him, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” And Peter knew that this vision and this statement wasn’t about food… it was about people.

So, when the men who Cornelius sent to Peter showed up, Peter went with them (even though they were gentiles) and went to Cornelius’ household (even though they were gentiles) and preached the good news to them (even though they were gentiles).

And now we’re here. But, like any other time when there’s a good ‘previously on…’, we’ll get to that later.

In today’s reading from John, Jesus is giving his disciples a commandment. With a catch.

“Love one another,” he tells them, “as I have loved you.”

Now, Jesus isn’t saying this as a king to his people… or as a messiah to his nation… or as a master to his servants… or as a teacher to his students… or even as a pastor to his congregation. He’s saying it as a man to his friends. He has shared everything with them. But now he’s getting ready to leave them and it’s hard and all he wants is for them to love each other as he has loved them.

Now, we are in the season of Easter. Today is the sixth Sunday of Easter and we have heard the full story. We know that Jesus will be betrayed and arrested and crucified and buried. And we know that Jesus will rise. But this passage in John takes place before that. Jesus knows what is coming. And he knows that the disciples will rejoice in the resurrection. But he also knows that before they rejoice in the resurrection, they will mourn in the betrayal and arrest and crucifixion and burial. And he is preparing them.

What should they do when he’s gone?

“Love one another,” he tells them, “as I have loved you.”

And that’s a good commandment. But, as I said, there’s a catch.

“No one has greater love than this,” he continues, “to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

“Love one another,” he tells them, “as I have loved you.” And that’s a good commandment. But, as I said, there’s a catch. “No one has greater love than this,” he continues, “to lay down one's life for one's friends.” Click To Tweet

You see, God loved the world like this. God sent his only begotten son into the world, as flesh and blood. And that son suffered and died. And that son came into the world so that we might live through him.

And Jesus loved us like this. He was that son. He laid down his life. He came into the world so that we might live through him.

And all he wants us to do is love one another like that. So… easy, right?

Now, I think we established early in my tenure here that I am a nerd. And we all know that my day off is Friday. Which is a perfect combination because a lot of new movies — like, for example, Avengers: Infinity War — open on Thursday nights. And so, at noon a couple of Fridays ago, I was sitting in an IMAX theater with my 3D glasses and popcorn-for-lunch. And I was watching the greatest superhero team-up of all time fight some super-villains over the fate of the universe.

And… I like to imagine myself among those heroes. It’s a bit of escapism. Maybe Chris Marlin-Warfield, mild-mannered out-of-shape pastor, could put on a silly costume and fight intergalactic evil.

I think all of use have those fantasies. At least a little bit. We imagine ourselves as heroes. We imagine that we would run into the burning building, or towards the gunfire, or right at the intergalactic evil. We imagine that we would win the day for justice and righteousness. Even if it meant sacrificing ourselves.

And that’s easy to imagine. It’s harder to do. And that’s okay. I’m not going to ask you to run into a burning building or towards the gunfire. Because I don’t think that Jesus is saying something as simple as, “be the hero who dies saving everyone else.”

But I am going to ask you to run right at the intergalactic evil. Because I think Jesus is asking us to do something much harder than being the hero who dies saving everyone else. I think he is asking us to be the the heroes who live for each other.

When we see someone who is hungry, to give them something to eat. When we see a stranger, to welcome them. When we see someone who is in prison, to sit with them. If only for a moment, to lay down our own lives, and help someone else carry the burdens of their own.

Because God loved the world like this. He came into the world as this man Jesus. He walked alongside us. He carried our burdens. He laughed with us and cried with us and healed us. He was with us. And he still is. And he always will be.

And there is no greater love than this: to lay down one’s life — to lay aside one’s divinity and power and majesty — for one’s friends.

And that brings me back around to Peter and Cornelius.

You see, it is, in its own weird way, easy to lay down our lives for our friends. Our friends are exactly the kinds of people we would want to lay down our lives for. That’s why they’re our friends, right?

A long time ago, I was unemployed for a while and my friends helped me out. And when our friends have been down on their luck, Mariah and I have helped them out. It’s what friends do.

But God keeps expanding the circle of friendship.

When Peter delivers the good news to Cornelius and his household, God pours the holy spirit out on them. And the Jewish Christians who have come along with Peter were amazed. They couldn’t believe it. They knew that the church was a community of Jewish people who followed the Jewish messiah who would restore the homeland of the Jewish people, who were the chosen people of the Jewish God. And here was God pouring the holy spirit out on these gentiles.

God is widening the circle… and Peter sees it.

“Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people,” he says, “who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?”

And they are baptized.

And… when Jesus is talking to his disciples — when he gives them that commandment — he tells them a deep truth. They didn’t choose him. He chose them.

And Cornelius did not choose God. And Peter did not choose Cornelius. God chose Cornelius and his household and poured out the holy spirit. God showed Peter that the circle of the chosen people was bigger than Peter thought. And I will insist that God has made that circle infinitely big. I will insist that God has chosen everyone. I will insist that the world is awash in the holy spirit.

And so when Jesus says, “love one another as I have loved you,” he is saying, “love everyone as I have loved you.”

And Jesus loved us like this. God laid aside her divinity and her power and her majesty for a world that she loved and that was broken. And God came into the world as one of us and walked alongside us and carried our burdens and laughter with us and cried with us and healed us. God was with us in the person of Jesus the Christ. And God is still with us. And God always will be with us.

And there is no greater love than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.

Christ’s love is an ever-widening circle. And Christ calls us — Christ commands us — to let our love be an ever-widening circle. To love our friends. To welcome new people as our friends. To open ourselves up to new friendships. And to love those friends as Christ has loved us.

Or, to put that another way, Christ calls us — Christ commands us — to be the church. Hallelujah. Amen.

Christ’s love is an ever-widening circle. And so when Jesus says, “love one another as I have loved you,” he is saying, “love everyone as I have loved you.” Click To Tweet

Monday, April 9, 2018 | Sermon

A Sign and a Wonder

This sermon was delivered at First Congregational United Church of Christ in DeWitt, Iowa, on April 8, 2018. The scriptures for this sermon are John 20:19-31 and Acts 4:32-35.

There are stories about Bill Murray; you know, the guy from Groundhog Day.

Some of them are not true. And the stories that aren’t true tend to follow the same format: Bill Murray walks up to someone when no one else is around, does something weird, and tells the one person who is there, “no one will ever believe you.”

So, for example: One time, when I was driving a long way and it was late, I stopped at a Wendy’s. The place was empty. I got my food and sat down for a late dinner when Bill Murray — you know, the guy from Ghostbusters — walked in. He walked right up to my table, picked up my burger, unwrapped it, and took a big bite. Then he looked me right in the eyes, slapped my burger down on the table, and said, “no one will ever believe you.”

And then he just walked out. And that story is not true.

But some of the stories are true. One time, Bill Murray — you know, the guy from Lost in Translation — walked into a bar in Austin, Texas, during the SXSW Festival with two of the guys from Wu-Tang Clan and started bartending.

And no matter what someone ordered, he only served shots of tequila. And that story is true.

And it’s not just stories about Bill Murray; you know the guy from Rushmore. Some stories are true and some stories are not true.

And I’ve always felt a little bad for Thomas.

Last week, we heard Mark’s version of Easter morning. This week, our gospel reading starts with John’s version of Easter evening. But we have to start by backing up… just a little.

In the gospel of John, on Easter morning, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb alone. She saw that the stone had been rolled away, and she ran to get Peter and another disciple. And Peter and that other disciple went into the tomb and saw that it was empty. And they went home.

But Mary Magdalene stayed at the tomb. And she saw Jesus. And she talked to Jesus. And then she went to the disciples and said, “I have seen the Lord.”

And I don’t know if they believed her. Because on the evening of the first day of the week — so this is Easter evening — some of the disciples were together. Judas probably wasn’t there. He betrayed Jesus. He probably wasn’t hanging out with the other disciples. And Thomas wasn’t there. We don’t know why. He was just gone.

And the disciples were together, locked in a house, because they were afraid. Mary Magdalene had told them the good news… and they were still afraid.

And on the evening of the first day of the week, Jesus appeared to some of the disciples. He greeted them. He showed them the nail marks in his hands. He showed them the spear wound in his side. And he breathed on them and gave them the Holy Spirit. And they rejoiced.

Sometime later, the disciples who were together that evening — who had seen Jesus that evening — told Thomas about this. And he didn’t believe them. “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands,” he said, “and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

And then, about a week later — so this is a week after Easter — Jesus appeared to the disciples while Thomas was with them. And he said, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.”

And Thomas believed. Here was Jesus — with nail marks and a spear wound — and Thomas saw and believed.

And Jesus chided him.

“Have you believed because you have seen me?” he asked, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

And we call Thomas ‘Doubting Thomas’. We have the nerve to do that. We, who want to know it there’s video of Bill Murray — you know, the guy from Rushmore — serving tequila shots as SXSW, have the nerve to say that Thomas wasn’t trusting enough. Thomas, whose friends were saying that Jesus — you know, the guy who was crucified and buried — was had risen from the dead.

Thomas just wanted some evidence.

And that’s okay. We know what that’s like. We live in an age when people demand evidence. And we should demand evidence. Evidence is not the opposite of faith. Faith needs evidence. And that’s okay.

Thomas just wanted some evidence. We know what that’s like. We live in an age when people demand evidence. And we should demand evidence. Evidence is not the opposite of faith. Faith needs evidence. And that’s okay. Click To Tweet

Three things are true.

First, most of the disciples believed that Christ had risen because they saw Jesus, and the nail marks in his hands, and the spear wound in his side. They knew Jesus. They had seen him turn water to wine. They had seen him heal a paralyzed man. They had seen him raise Lazarus from the dead. But they believed because they saw Jesus.

Second, Thomas believed that Christ had risen because he saw Jesus, and put his finger in the nail marks in his hands, and put his hand in the spear wound in his side. He knew Jesus. He had seen him turn a few loaves and fish into a feast. He had seem him heal a woman with hemorrhages. He had seen him forgive sins. But he believed because he saw Jesus.

Third, Jesus said, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” And while he said that to Thomas, I think he meant it for all of them. Because all of them had seen.

The disciples saw the risen Lord. They had their evidence.

But it is also true that there are people who have not seen Jesus, or the nail marks in his hands, or the spear wound in his side. But even they have seen something. Even we have seen something. We have seen the power of Christ. We have seen the signs and wonders that Christ has done.

Because, when we are the church, we are one of those signs. When we are the church, we are one of those wonders.

When we are the church, we are one of those signs. When we are the church, we are one of those wonders. Click To Tweet

Later — after Jesus had ascended into heaven, after Matthias had been chosen to replace Judas, after Pentecost, after Peter and John defended themselves in front of the high priest — the believers were together.

And they were of one heart and one soul. And they held everything in common. And they gave their testimony.

And there wasn’t a person in need among them. If there was someone in need, they gave to them. Even if it meant selling their land and houses, they did it.

Do you want to see a sign and a wonder? Do you want to see evidence of the transformative power of Christ?

Find a community that is so willing to share that there is not a person in need among them. Find a community that is so open and welcoming that every outcast feels at home the moment they walk in the door. Find a community that loves everyone just they way they are and too much to leave them that way.

Find a community that protects the environment, cares for the poor, forgives readily, rejects racism, fights for the powerless, shares its resources, embraces diversity, loves God, and enjoys this life.

Find the church.

When the disciples gathered together on an Easter evening a long time ago, they weren’t asking for evidence. And I doubt they were expecting a miracle. But they saw Jesus, and the nail marks in his hands, and the spear wound in his side. And they believed. And they were changed.

When they told Thomas, who wasn’t there, he didn’t believe them. But later, he saw Jesus. he put his finger in the nail marks and his hand in the spear wound. And he believed. And he was changed.

Right now, there are people — people in your lives, people in this sanctuary — who are desperate for evidence that power and violence and death will not win. Right now, there are people — in your lives and in this sanctuary — who are desperate for evidence that this is a world ruled by justice and peace and love.

Right now, there are people who are desperate for evidence that there is more magic in this world than Bill Murray — you know, the guy from What About Bob? — serving tequila shots. People who are desperate for evidence that there is a God who hears their prayers, who dances with them when they are joyful, who mourns with them when they cry, who loves them just they way they are and too much to leave them that way.

We are that evidence. I am that evidence. You are that evidence.

I know. That’s a huge responsibility. That’s a big ask. We’re not always going to be good at it.

But I have faith that God is working in me, because I have seen how God has changed me. I have faith that Jesus is showing me the nail marks in this world and the spear wounds in the side of the oppressed. I have faith that the Spirit is moving me.

And I have faith that the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit are at work in you, too.

I have faith that God is working in me, because I have seen how God has changed me. I have faith that Jesus is showing me the spear wounds in the side of the oppressed. I have faith that the Spirit is moving me. And in you, too. Click To Tweet

And when someone asks for evidence of a loving God, I have faith that I can point to this congregation — this congregation that, at its best, protects the environment, cares for the poor, forgives readily, rejects racism, fights for the powerless, shares its resources, embraces diversity, loves God, and enjoys this life — and say, “here are people who have been transformed by Christ.”

And then I can tell a story about the Christ we have been transformed by: you know, the Christ who was born in a manger in an occupied land, who was betrayed by his friend and crucified by the powers of this world, and who showed us once and for all that death does not have the final word and that this is a world ruled by love. Amen.

Friday, March 30, 2018 | Sermon

A Meditation for Maundy Thursday

This meditation was delivered at First Congregational United Church of Christ in DeWitt, Iowa, on March 29, 2018 (Maundy Thursday). The scripture was John 13:1-17, 31b-35.

Those of you who are members of First Congregational United Church of Christ might have read the little bio of me that you received before you called me as your pastor. And, of you did, you might remember that about a year ago, I was consecrated as a diakonal minister by the United Church of Christ’s Council for Health and Human Services Ministries.

And as part of that, I got this bowl, and this towel, and this story.

In the 1850s or so, the Evangelical Church of the Prussian Union — one of the predecessors to the United Church of Christ — sent Louis Edward Nollau to the United States to minister to the First Nations people of the Pacific Northwest. On his way across America, he ended up stuck in St. Louis. So he became the pastor of St. Peter’s Evangelical Church.

And he founded some nonprofit organizations. One of them was an orphanage.

When he proposed the idea of an orphanage to the congregation at St. Peter’s, they said, “Rev. Nollau, we don’t have what we need to open an orphanage.” And he replied, “We have exactly what we need… we have an orphan.”

A boy named Henry Sam moved into the parsonage, and more joined him. And that community became the German Protestant Children’s Home, and then Evangelical Children’s Home. Today, it’s named Every Child’s Hope, it’s way more than an orphanage, and it serves more than 1,400 children every year.

All because there was an orphan, and there was someone who understood today’s gospel reading.

Jesus washed his disciples’ feet. He washed them to make a point about how they should treat each other; how we should treat each other.

Today is Maundy Thursday. The word ‘maundy’ comes from a Latin phrase: mandatum novum do vobis ut diligatis invicem sicut dilexi vos: A new command I give you: Love one another as I love you.

Jesus loved his disciples by washing their feet. He washed them to make a point about how they should treat each other; how we should treat each other. And he washed their feet because they were dirty.

We have all that we need to love one another as Jesus has loved us. We have people who are hungry and who are thirsty and who are strangers. We have people who are naked and who are sick and who are in prison.

All that Pastor Nollau and his congregation needed to open an orphanage was an orphan. All that we need to love one another is someone who needs to be loved; which is to say, anyone at all.

Amen.

Monday, March 19, 2018 | Sermon

Will You Be Transformed?

This sermon was delivered at First Congregational United Church of Christ in DeWitt, Iowa, on March 18, 2018. The scriptures for this sermon are Jeremiah 31:31-34 and John 12:20-33.

Some of you may know that, before I came to serve as your pastor, I worked for Back Bay Mission. The Mission is a community ministry of the United Church of Christ in Biloxi, Mississippi. And it has a variety of programs centered on helping people who live in poverty. There’s a day center, a housing rehabilitation program, a community garden, and supportive housing… among other things.

And one of the most powerful programs there is the mission trip program. Every year, hundreds of people from dozens of congregations go to the Mission to work in its ministries. They repair houses, serve people in the food pantry, clean showers in the day center, and meet people living in poverty or homelessness on the Mississippi Gulf Coast.

One of the groups that comes every year is a huge youth group from one of Chicago’s affluent western suburbs. There are always young people in this group who have never really encountered someone who is experiencing homelessness. Sure, they’ve seen people on the streets asking for money, and they’ve almost certainly known a classmate who was staying with relatives, but they’ve never talked to a homeless person about being homeless.

Well, one year this group was sitting in the common room listening to one of the people who the Mission had been serving. Mr. Jesse is a 70-something-year-old veteran who had been on the streets for years before the Mission got him in an apartment. And he told his story.

And when he was done, this young woman raised her hand. Mr. Jesse called on her, and she cocked her head to one side – you could see the wheels turning – and she asked, “You mean we don’t just house veterans? That’s not something we just do?”
And that’s a good question. It cuts to the heart of who we are as a society. We don’t just house vets. We don’t just house anyone. We don’t just feed people. We don’t just provide healthcare for people. We don’t just welcome people.

We don’t just do these things. We just don’t do these things.

In today’s gospel reading, we’re given a frightening image.

“Very truly,” says Jesus, “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. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also.”

And that’s scary because, not to spoil the story, I think something bad is going to happen to Jesus. ‘Those who love their life must lose it’ and ‘whoever serves me must follow me’ sound a lot like Jesus is asking us, “Would you die for this?”

That’s a good question. It might even be an important question.

You might know about RuPaul Charles. He’s an actor, model, singer, author, and, yes, drag queen. He’s probably the most commercially successful drag queen in history. And he has this great quote: we’re born naked, the rest is drag. Not just the clothes, hairstyles, and makeup, but the respectability, civility, politeness, and propriety. All of us lead lives that are performances. At least a little bit.

And ‘what would you die for?’ is a good question to strip away the drag and figure out who we are underneath. Not ‘what do you fantasize about dying for?’ This isn’t about being an action hero. What would you die for? What would you run into a burning building to save? Who would you take a bullet for? Really. Like, really really.

‘What would you die for?’ is a good question. It might even be an important question. But it’s not the question Jesus is asking.

There’s another question that goes along with ‘What would you die for?’ And that question is ‘What would you live for?’ It’s a good question. It might even be an important question. It is certainly a hard question.

All of us lead lives that are performances. At least a little bit. And it’s easy to slide into the performance and start living for other people’s expectations. It’s easy to slide into the performance and live the lives that other people have planned for us. It’s easy to slide into the performance and live a life that isn’t our own.

And ‘what would you live for’ is a good question to strip away the drag and figure out who we are underneath. What would you spend every day doing? Who would you spend every hour with?

‘What would you live for?’ is a good question. It might even be an important question. But it’s still not the question Jesus is asking.

Jesus is asking a much scarier question.

And it’s scary because, not to spoil the story, something amazing is going to happen to Jesus. He is like a grain of wheat that falls into the earth and dies… and bears much fruit. He is the judgement of the world, who drives out the ruler of this world, and draws all people to himself. He strips away the drag and shows us who we are underneath.

The question Jesus is asking is, ‘Will you be transformed?’

The prophet Jeremiah tells us that the day is coming when God will make a new covenant with his people. It won’t be a covenant that’s written on paper or carved in stone. It won’t be a set of rules that we try — and fail — to follow. It will be inside of us. It will be written on our hearts. It will be part of who we are.

Jesus is calling us into that life. Jesus is calling us into knowing God. Jesus is calling us into being the people of God.

And that’s scary.

It’s scary because all of us lead lives that are performances. At least a little bit. And following Jesus — going where Jesus is — means giving up those performances. It means not living the lives that other people expect. It means not living the lives that other people have planned for us. It means not living the lives that aren’t our own. It means taking off the drag and standing naked before world, as who God means for us to be: servants of Christ and servants to each other.

It means housing people and feeding people and caring for people and welcoming people. No matter who they are. No matter where they are on life’s journey. No matter what.

I don’t know what happened to the young woman who asked Mr. Jesse that question — “You mean we don’t just house veterans? That’s not something we just do?” — on a mission trip to Biloxi, Mississippi. But I have faith that somewhere on that trip — sometime while she was rebuilding a house or cleaning showers or handing out food or talking to someone she was serving — she met Jesus. And I have faith that she was changed. Maybe not all at once, but a little. I have faith that a word of God’s law was written on her heart. I have faith that Christ drew her a little closer to himself.

And I have faith that the same thing can happen to us. Whether in Jamaica or Haiti, whether in Kentucky or Colorado, whether in Biloxi or right here in DeWitt, when we serve, we give ourselves the opportunity to meet Jesus. And when we meet Jesus, we are transformed. Maybe not all at once, but a little. A word of God’s law is written on our hearts. Christ draws us a little closer.

When we serve, we meet Jesus. When we meet Jesus, we are transformed. A word of God’s law is written on our hearts. Christ draws us a little closer. Click To Tweet

And as we continue to serve day by day, our heart become cleaner and our spirits become more willing.

Because it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying to the ways of the world — to the lives that the rulers of this world demand from us — that we are born to eternal life.

Monday, March 12, 2018 | Sermon

Even Me. Even You.

This sermon was delivered at First Congregational United Church of Christ in DeWitt, Iowa, on March 11, 2018. The scriptures for this sermon are Ephesians 2:1-10 and John 3:14-21.

When I was in college, I met some Christians who believed in the contract. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the contract, but I’ve seen it many times. It’s usually at the end of a thin little pamphlet.

These pamphlets lay out a version of Christianity that’s neat and simple and clean. God is good and you are a sinner. And because God is good and you are a sinner, God has no choice but to condemn you to eternal punishment in hell. But God sent his — and in these pamphlets, God is emphatically a him — God sent his son to take your punishment. Christ died on the cross in your place. He took the punishment you so richly deserve. And if you accept him as your personal lord and savior, you can trade eternal hellfire for eternal bliss. And you should do it now. Because you could die.

That’s the first part of the contract: believe these things.

Then these pamphlets have some version of the sinner’s prayer:

Dear Lord Jesus, I know that I am a sinner, and I ask for Your forgiveness. I believe You died for my sins and rose from the dead. I turn from my sins and invite You to come into my heart and life. I want to trust and follow You as my Lord and Savior. In Your Name. Amen. ¹Billy Graham’s Sinner’s Prayer, from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sinner%27s_prayer

That’s the second part of the contract: say this prayer.

And then, right below that prayer, there’s a place to sign and date. And there are a lot of people who can tell you the year and month and day — the hour and the minute — that they signed on the dotted line and gave their life to Jesus Christ.

That’s the third part of the contract: sign here.

And that’s okay. Different people walk different paths. Different people have different stories. And while I might not have signed a contract on the back of a pamphlet, other people have. And that matters to them. And the fact that it matters to them, matters to me.

These Christians who I knew believed in the contract. Maybe not literally — most of them had probably never signed the back of a pamphlet — but they believed in it all the same. They believed the things they were supposed to believe. They prayed the sinner’s prayer. They knew when they had accepted Jesus as their personal lord and savior.

And I was never one of them.

Don’t get me wrong. I get it. It would be nice to have that kind of control over my fate. It would be nice to be that sure of my salvation. It would be nice if I could guarantee eternal life just by believing these things and saying this prayer and signing on the dotted line. It would be nice.

And there’s always the temptation to believe that I have that power. To think that I’m in control. To think that I am the master of my fate and the captain of my soul.

But I don’t. I’m not in control. I’m neither a master nor a captain. Thank God.

There’s something that comes along with the temptation to be in control: the temptation to judge. And there’s something that comes along with the temptation to judge: the temptation to condemn. If I know the list of things that we have to believe, then I can scrutinize your beliefs and tell you where you fall short. If I know the prayer that we have to pray, then I can listen to your prayer and tell you which words are wrong. If I know that my signature is on the contract, then I can tell you why it’s wrong if yours isn’t.

And I can look at the world and all of its horrors — its poverty and exploitation and oppression and war and hatred; or, in simpler language, its sin — can condemn it. I can do that. I’m good at it.

But I don’t have that power. I’m not in control. I’m neither a master nor a captain. Thank God.

Because when God saw this world — its poverty and exploitation and oppression and war and hatred; or, in simpler language, its sin — God did not condemn it. God loved it.

And God loved the world this way: God gave his only begotten son so that everyone who had faith in him would not perish, but have eternal life. God did not send her son to condemn the world, but to save it.

And that means all of it. Not half of it. Not some of it. But the entire world.

We are in the middle of Lent. We’re almost to the end. Soon, we’ll remember that Jesus was betrayed, that he died, that he was buried, and that he rose again.

We are in the middle of Lent. We’re almost to the end. For not, we remember that we have been dead. We have been dead through our trespasses. We have been dead through poverty and exploitation and oppression and war and hatred. In the simplest of language, we have been dead through sin.

That doesn’t mean we’ve been in the ground; it means something worse. It might seem hard to believe, but we have been walking around like zombies. We’ve been missing out on the chance to really live. We have stayed in the dark because we’ve been too afraid to to let the world see us. We’ve stayed in the dark because we’ve been too afraid to let God see us.

We’ve been so afraid that God will condemn us, that we’ve condemned ourselves.

We’ve been so afraid that God is like us, that we’ve condemned ourselves.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. Even in this season of Lent — even in this season of prayer and penance — there is good news. Especially in this season of Lent — especially in this season of prayer and penance — there is good news.

Because God saw us, dead through our sin, shambling in the dark, and loved us. And God loved us this way: God gave his only begotten son so that everyone who had faith in him would not perish, but have eternal life. God did not send her son to condemn the world, but to save it.

And that means all of it. Not half of it. Not some of it. But the entire world. Even you. Even me.

Now, I want to be fair. The pamphlets are right. I am a sinner. I am a sinner because I choose to sin. I am a sinner because I’m caught up in systems that leave me no choice but to sin. I am trapped in a world where I do not know how to be the person who I believe God is calling me to be. The pamphlets are right. I am a sinner.

And if it were up to me, I would condemn myself.

And I want to be even more fair. The pamphlets are right. I can be sure of my salvation. I can know that eternal and abundant life is there. The pamphlets are right. Another life is possible.

But here is something I am sure of, here is a way that the pamphlets are wrong: There is nothing I can do that will save me.

There is nothing that I can believe that will make God love me. There is no prayer I can say that will make God save me from my sin. There is nowhere I can sign that will make God extend her grace to me.

Because God has always loved me. God has already saved me. God is grace-filled and grace-giving. That is who God is.

Grace is not a contract. Grace is not a deal. Grace is a gift.

And there is nothing we can do to earn it. God gives it to us because that’s who God is.

Being a Christian — having faith in Christ — doesn’t mean believing a list of things or praying a certain way or praying or signing on the dotted line. Christians around the world and throughout history have believed so many things and prayed in so many ways. Being Christian must be about more than the list of things we believe or the ways that we pray.

Being a Christian means — at least in part — trusting that God is rich in mercy. It means trusting that even when we were dead through our sins, God raised us up. It means trusting that we do not need to stay in the darkness and condemn ourselves for our sins. It means trusting that we can step into the light, in all of our brokenness, and God will still love us.

Being Christian means trusting that we can step into the light, in all of our brokenness, and God will still love us. Click To Tweet

That is why I can be sure of my salvation. That is why I can know that eternal and abundant life is there. That is the other life that is possible.

And it means trusting that this is true for everyone. Not half of us. Not some of us. But the entire world. Even me. Even you.

And here’s the thing. That work is much harder than believing the things and saying the prayer and signing on the dotted line. That work is much more important than having a moment of conversion. That work is much braver than judging ourselves and the world. Because when we can walk into the light and open up to God — when we can be vulnerable to God’s love — then we can begin to love others.

And then we can be what God intended us for be: created in Jesus Christ for good works, which God created beforehand to be our way of life. Amen.

Footnotes [ + ]

Monday, March 5, 2018 | Sermon

Sometimes, We Flip Tables

This sermon was delivered at First Congregational United Church of Christ in DeWitt, Iowa, on March 4, 2018. The scriptures for this sermon are Exodus 20:1-17 and John 2:13-22.

When I was in elementary school — and, probably when you were in elementary school — every classroom had rules. They were written on the chalkboard, or printed on a poster, or tacked to a bulletin board. And they were things like ‘Respect Others’ and ‘Follow Directions the First Time They’re Given’ and ‘Keep Hands, Feet, and Objects to Yourself’. And they always had capital letters. Because they were, with capital letters, The Rules.

When I was in high school and college, there were these bracelets… and bookmarks and coffee mugs and t-shirts and baseball caps and dozens or hundreds our thousands of other products with four letters and a question mark on them. WWJD? What Would Jesus Do?

And while that question might feel a little bit circa-1996, it’s part of an ancient tradition. Augustine, way back in the fifth century, wrote an essay on the Gospel of John — and our gospel reading today comes from John — where he told people that, in Christ, God had become low for them. And while we might be too proud to imitate a lowly person, we should at least try to imitate the lowly God. ¹Augustine, In Iohannis evangelium, tractatus 25, 16

‘What would Jesus do?’ is an ancient question.

And something I’ve noticed over the years is that a lot of people answer that question with some version of The Rules.

Sometimes, The Rules are a kind of fruit of the spirit thing. Jesus would be loving and joyful and peaceful and patient and kind and good and faithful and gentle and self-controlled.

Sometimes, The Rules are a rundown of the ten commandments we heard from the book of Exodus today. Jesus would worship God alone, keep the sabbath, and honor his mother and father. And Jesus would never worship idols, take God’s name in vain, murder, commit adultery, steal, bear false witness, or covet his neighbor’s stuff.

Sometimes, The Rules are a blend of Biblical commandments and cultural preferences. Jesus would preach against abortion and same-sex marriage. Jesus would support a lower corporate tax rate and be tough on crime.

And sometimes — especially in Sunday School classrooms and with small children — The Rules are the same ones that are posted in elementary school classrooms across the country. Jesus would respect others and follow directions the first time they’re given and keep his hands, feet, and objects to himself.

And I get it. Rules are useful. Rules matter. Rules are important. And we need rules in classrooms and workplaces and, yes, churches. Don’t murder is a good rule. Try to be kind is a good rule. Go 25 miles an hour near schools when children are present is a good rule.

But here’s the thing. Sometimes the rules aren’t enough.

In today’s gospel reading, it’a almost Passover. Families are coming, from near and far, to the temple in Jerusalem to make their sacrifice: a lamb or a goat, one year old and without blemish. And, while they’re here, they’ll pay their temple tax.

But some families are traveling a long way. And it’s hard to travel with an animal. So it makes sense to have some people at the temple who can sell an animal for the sacrifice. And folks have set up shop. There is always a marketplace in the outer court of the temple, and there are always people selling lambs and goats and cattle and doves. If anyone needs to make a sacrifice — and people have to make sacrifices — they can buy the appropriate animal right here at the temple.

And because some of those families are traveling a long way, they might not have the right money to pay the temple tax. So it makes sense to have some people at the temple who can exchange money. And folks have set up shop.

But there’s always a problem when you have some people who have to do something — like bring a sacrifice to the temple or pay a temple tax — and some other people who are ready to make money off of that. The people who are selling sacrificial offerings are charging too much. And the people who are exchanging money are using unfair exchange rates and charging unreasonable fees.

And, of course, it’s the people who are using all that they have to get to the temple and offer their sacrifice and pay their tax who are getting hurt.

And none of that is against the rules. I mean, sure, you shouldn’t exploit the poor and you should be fair in business. But, strictly speaking, there’s no rule against charging a lot for an animal. Strictly speaking, there’s no law against taking advantage of the exchange rate. It’s how the market works. Demand is high, prices are high.

We all know this story.

We all know some business that found a way to make money while following the letter of the law and skirting the spirit. We all know someone who can bend the rules to their advantage without ever quite breaking them. It’s how the world works. My clothes are affordable because someone somewhere is paid far too little. My phone is affordable — I mean, barely affordable — because a child is working in a rare earth mine somewhere in Africa. And his family lives on a dollar a day.

And it’s how the temple worked; at least a little bit. The temple needed that marketplace, and the people in that marketplace needed to make money. And that meant taking money from people who gave everything they had to get to Jerusalem at Passover.

The ancient Roman Empire was not a place of economic equality. A few people were very rich. A few more people were economically secure. And most people — the vast majority of people — barely scraped by or didn’t scrape by at all.

And, sometimes, the answer to ‘What would Jesus do?’ is ‘Flip some tables and chase people with a whip.’

Sometimes, the answer to ‘What would Jesus do?’ is ‘Flip some tables and chase people with a whip.’ Click To Tweet

This is not a Jesus who is loving and joyful and peaceful and patient and kind and good and faithful and gentle and self-controlled.

This is not a Jesus who respects others and follows directions the first time they’re given and keeps his hands, feet, and objects to himself.

This is a Jesus who is face to face with the fact that the rules don’t always work. This is a Jesus who is face to face with the fact that people will find brilliant ways to follow the rules and exploit the poor.

This is a Jesus who is angry. Who is mad. Who is willing to burn the whole thing down.

And we need to take that seriously.

We’re in the midst of Lent, a time when we make a point of turning back towards God. Of praying for forgiveness for the things we have done and left undone, said and left unsaid, thought and left unthought. Of contemplating how we can do a better job of imitating Christ, the lowly God.

And today is Sunday, which is always a celebration of Easter, when Christ rose. It is a day of joy and gladness. Of wondering how we can do a better job of imitating Christ, the risen Son.

And today is also a communion Sunday, when we gather at Christ’s table to remember his sacrifice and take part in the bread of life and the cup of blessing. Of asking how we can do a better job of imitating Christ, who invites everyone into his kingdom.

Today is a day to ask, ‘What would Jesus do?’

And, yeah, sometimes the answer to that question is to cultivate the fruits of the spirit. Some days, we work on love and joy and peace and patience and kindness and goodness and faithfulness and gentleness and self-control.

And, yeah, sometimes the answer to that question is to look at the ten commandments. Some days, we work on worshipping God alone, keeping the sabbath, and honoring our mothers and fathers. Some days, we work on getting out of the systems that push us towards idol worship, taking God’s name in vain, murdering, committing adultery, stealing, bearing false witness, and coveting our neighbor’s stuff.

And, yeah, sometimes the answer to that question is to follow the rules. Some days, we work on respecting others and following directions the first time they’re given and keeping our hands, feet, and objects to ourselves.

But sometimes we ask ourselves whether we’re angry enough at the injustices of the world. Sometimes we ask ourselves if we’re mad enough that the powerful can play by the rules and still hurt the weak, and that the weak can play by the rules and still be hurt.

Sometimes, we ask ourselves whether we are foolish enough to burn the whole thing down and faithful enough to trust that God will build something better. Click To Tweet

Are we willing to disrupt business as usual? Are we ready to flip some tables? Are we filled with zeal not only for God’s house, but for God’s kingdom?

Because when we are, we move that much closer to not just asking what Jesus would do, but to doing what Jesus would do. To imitating the God who became low for us, and to creating a world of greater justice and mercy for all. Amen.

Footnotes [ + ]

Thursday, March 24, 2016 | Quote

John 13:3-7 (for Maundy Thursday)

Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”

Rev. Christopher Marlin-Warfield

The Christmas Story

Again, from Above, of Water and Spirit

An Ever-Widening Circle

A Sign and a Wonder

A Meditation for Maundy Thursday

Will You Be Transformed?

Even Me. Even You.

Sometimes, We Flip Tables

John 13:3-7 (for Maundy Thursday)

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