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Sacred Mysteries

This week’s sacred story comes from John 12:1-8 where Jesus is hanging out with friends over dinner when things get a little intimate. Read the full story here.


I wonder…When have you felt closest to God? What was around you? Who was around you? What do you see, feel, taste, smell, hear? I wonder. ..Have you ever felt so close to God that you felt a part of God- one with your Creator? Your Liberator? Your Sustainer? What was that like?

I bet it wasn’t in a zero-gravity chamber of silence by yourself. I bet there was something around you that played a part – the scent of something soothing or stringent that filled your nostrils - carried on a soft breeze or a powerful wind, the touch of a hand on your shoulder holding you steady or pushing you forward, in the ache of your side – sore from laughing, or in the sting of tears that burn hot on your cheeks, in the sound of a song or a voice that reaches into your soul or the splash of water at bath time, the sight of something beautiful and/or broken – wildflowers along the bayou or a haunting yet holy hospital bed, the taste of something delightful, earthy, shared.

Perhaps you have known the closeness of God in the mystical birth of a new baby, flush, crying, and raw. Perhaps you have felt God nearest standing next to a loved one preparing to die or already gone.

Jesus doesn’t exist in a zero-gravity vacuum either. God is not kept in a pristine museum within a protective glass shield.

Here, with the crucifixion on the horizon, God has gathered with friends - people who have seen each other at their highs and lows. They have shared the mundane task of washing dishes together, the depths of grief, and the miracle of life restored.  Here they sit around the dinner table together, talking about that crazy thing they overheard at the market today and the way their knee has really been hurting them lately. Jesus is in there - in the midst of people and moments that share the intimacy of the nitty gritty of life, the details, the nooks and crannies of what we really are when we’re not putting on a show.

As the evening winds down and the plates are emptied, they linger together. Mary of Bethany places herself at the feet of Jesus, at the feet of her Rabbi, the place of a disciple. She pulls out this really fancy perfumed oil…like Gucci level stuff, worth more than a day laborer would make in an entire year. She doesn’t hold back on the good stuff, but pours it out, filling the whole room with its sweetness. She dips her hand into the oil and rubs it into the calloused feet of a savior, a mark of blessing but also a ritual for burial.  She pulls her dark coarse hair over her shoulder and pats Jesus’s feet dry. This act is both deeply human and humble-using what it at hand and her very body, and divinely luxurious-extending beyond the typical. This is a rare and precious thing.

The juxtaposition of the moment got me thinking about what is luxury? What is truly liberating and what is performative justice – what do we, like Judas, want to appear as saying the righteous thing, but have prioritized our own  benefit whether financial or social over actual impact? Often we associate luxury with expensive, something’s enormous cash value. This week I was introduce to a wonderful little Instagram account called PreachersNSneakers that posts pictures of celebrity preachers and then where you can by the sneakers they're seen wearing on stage for $500-$5000 a pair. And those pastors aren't putting those fancy sneaks on the feet of Christ headed to the cross. Designer labels are one kind of luxury. And it's this understanding of luxury and wealth that is what Judas gets stuck son as he tries to mansplain to Mary why she's doing it wrong.  Um, actually….


But Mary and Jesus model a different kind of extravagance, one that recognizes the elevation of everyday moments as they transcend the typical. It’s rare, special, set apart...and rare doesn't necessarily mean expensive. To me, sitting still with a cup of coffee and finally reading the magazines that have been sitting on my end table seems like luxury...because it doesn't happen that often. Standing at the kitchen counter while everyone in the family's works together to peel potatoes, snap beans, and carefully measure ingredients for dinner feels extravagant because somehow time seems to flatten and there's somehow beauty in things that are really just mechanical.

I have always been frustrated by the false dichotomy of the world, the lie that we always hear that things are either this or that. Someone is either good or bad. Something is either secular or religious. Something is either holy or profane, human or divine. In Jesus, and as we see in this text, the dividing wall is dissolved.

Judas says that the perfume should have been sold and the money should have been given to the poor….after he skimmed what I'm sure is what he considered a fair portion for himself off the top.  But Jesus says no, that marking this rare moment with rare substance is holy. This is not a license to dismiss the poor or ignore poverty altogether. That would put us right back into the false dichotomy that Care for the poor and care for the spiritual are mutually exclusive, you can either do one or the other, that you have physicality over here and spirituality over there. God brings them together in a hands-on way, in the flesh, in bodies, in everyday transcendent rarities.

Healing and wholeness, experiences of the divine come to us not just in word but when those words connection with action, where they break through the plane of abstract ideas to tangible reality - touch, taste, smell, sound, the sight of something rich and delightful. God gives us these sense not only for our survival, but for our delight, our healing, for our connection to a God who must also be a sensual God.  

In the Lutheran tradition we use the word sacrament to talking about things that are a combination of divine promise, earthly elements and Christ’s command. This officially points us to two rarefied gifts in particular, communion and baptism, as they embody God’s promise for new life with everyday items of food, drink. Jesus explicitly told us to do these things, to notice how God is at work particularly in these things, and how God is re-membered/put together and is made known in full when we do them.

So with those parameters, the Lutheran church officially recognizes these two things as sacraments - communion and baptism.  But the word sacrament literally means sacred mystery. When you think about those moments when you've felt close to God, doesn't it feel like sacred mystery best describes that experience? So our lives are filled with things that remain sacramental, holy and mysteriously so. These things reveal/create a thin space where the divine and the daily come so close to each other that we know there's something more to this thing.  I think back to the moment Mary, the mother of Jesus and Elizabeth got together while pregnant and Elizabeth noticed the movement of her body as a reaction to God’s activity in that moment, that her growing womb was dancing around in joy. Isn't that a holy mystery? Likewise I find it to be sacramental when we are crying with a friend in grief, in a comforting and safe embrace when we've felt raw and vulnerable, in the sweet taste of birthday cake shared with friends and family.

Naming these thing as holy may seem decadent, indulgent, a bit of a stretch...but that's what God seems to be all about.

The impact of these sacramental gifts doesn't remain in only that moment, but prepares us for things to come.  As this anointing of Jesus prepares him for the trial, crucifixion, and burial to come. So may our anointing strengthen us for the work or justice, soften us to see beauty in the midst of struggle, and fill us with hope for what is possible in Christ. Amen.  

The Prodigal

This week’s sacred story comes from Luke 15:1-3, 11-32 where Jesus tells a parable of dysfunctional family and the love of God that overflows, even there. Read the full story here.

Guest preaching this week is our own Community Coordinator, Shannon Schaefer.

“The Prodigal Son” by He Qi

“The Prodigal Son” by He Qi

"This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."

When our sacred story begins tonight, Jesus is teaching, and the tax collectors and sinners - the scoundrels, the up-to-no-goods, the scandalous, the shameful, the worthless on-the-margins spectacles with unseemly reputations - these are the ones who come to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and Scribes - the pious, the law-abiding, the privileged socially and religious elite, the ones who are the gate-keepers for who is 'in' and who is 'out' - they grumble against Jesus.

"He welcomes sinners and eats with them."

Some have suggested that the reason Jesus is so often the target of the religious elites' grumbling is that Jesus himself is a Pharisee. Jesus knows the law and prophets. He speaks in the synagogues and has access to the temple. As a religious elite himself, he's constantly in conversation with the Jewish tradition, and yet also constantly clarifying and redefining the heart of that tradition. In other words, the Pharisees are conservatives who want the time-honored traditions of Judaism to be upheld, and to stick very close to the status quo.

And Jesus is sort of a Pharisee gone rogue, gone progressive. He's reinterpreting the core tenets of the Jewish faith. We hear this in the gospels where Jesus says, "You have heard it said... but I say..." For instance, in Matthew 5, Jesus says, "You have heard it said 'you shall not commit murder and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment. But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgement." 

He's reinterpreting his tradition and clarifying what's most important. And he does it even in his practices, his actions in the world with others. Pharisees didn't associate with sinners, and definitely didn't eat with them.

But Jesus does.

His teaching is not simply to other elites, but Jesus goes to the masses, the everyday trying-to-make-it folks, and spends his energy there. The tax collectors and sinners come to listen. "He welcomes them and eats with them," the Pharisees grumble.

“The Prodigal Son” - Jesus Mafa

“The Prodigal Son” - Jesus Mafa

So Jesus turns to them with a story: "There was a man who had two sons."

For the Pharisees, who have spent the better part of their lives reading and studying the Hebrew scriptures, a number of old stories should come to mind as Jesus tells this tale. In Ancient Near Eastern Cultures, which includes Israel, the typical way of things is that the oldest son of a father would inherit the biggest portion of the father's property and receive the birthright blessing. In a patriarchal society, it's how things "should go."

But one very interesting detail is that the Hebrew scriptures continually upend this patriarchal paradigm.  Abraham is a father with two sons, Ishmael and Isaac. Ishmael is the older brother, but Isaac, the younger one, is the one through whom God's promises are enacted. Isaac has two sons, Esau and Jacob. Esau is the older brother, but Jacob tricks his father and steals the birthright. He's the one who gets the blessing, though he's the younger. Jacob has many sons, but it's his youngest two, Joseph and Benjamin, he loves most. When Joseph brings his own sons, Ephraim and Manasseh, to the bedside of his dying father, Jacob blesses the younger son more. Joseph corrects his father, putting Jacob's right hand on the older, but Jacob switches his hands back to bless the younger grandson with the better blessing, saying, "the younger brother shall be greater than the older." Jesse has many sons, but it is his youngest, David, who becomes 'the' David, King David, the one after God's heart. All of these stories are in the cultural memory of the pharisees as Jesus tells this story.

"A man had two sons and the younger one came asking for his inheritance."

I imagine those hearing might be poised and ready for the younger son to get what's coming to him. After all, he has some serious audacity: "Why don't you just go die already so I can have your stuff?" In effect, that's what he says to his father. So when the younger son returns, the hearers are ready for some justice. What a punk kid! Pardon, but what an ass! Maybe the father won't even let him return as a servant!

But it's the father who has the audacity.

That father, he's at the edge of his property. He's been watching, waiting, scanning the horizon, ready to run, to embrace. He has a calf ready for the celebrating, with robes and ring prepared, and the younger son doesn't get justice, but utter and unbelievable mercy.


"Un-freaking-real," the pharisees must be thinking. It's what the older brother thinks.

He's kept the law. He's played by the rules. He's played it safe, set aside his wants and desires to stay in the father's house, poised for that blessing. And when the younger son is celebrated, he's utterly resentful. He tried so hard to earn the love that was his all along. The Pharisees are the older brother in the story. As the religious elite, they've kept close to the law, earning their upstanding status and favor with God and society.

Who is Jesus then? If the Pharisees are the older brother...

Here we get into the intricacies of the Trinity, this idea that the One God is also a Three-ness. We can't explain it - it's a mystery. But Jesus, as the one who is both fully God and fully human being, is both the father and the prodigal son - the younger son - in the parable. Jesus as the father figure is the option that I think instinctively makes the most immediate sense to us. He welcomes and eats with tax collectors and sinners. It's this, his mercy and disregard for social convention, that gets the Pharisees grumbling. He celebrates the far-off ones who come to listen to him. Here the divinity, the God-ness, of Jesus is on full display.

But Jesus is also, I would argue, the younger son in this story.

From the Pharisees' perspective, his progressive reinterpretation of the Jewish tradition and welcoming of the non-elite as disciples and friends is akin to taking a rich inheritance, squandering it, and feeding the swine. They stayed close to God, they think, while Jesus in their view strays. But more than the Pharisees' view of Jesus's faith and practice, it is the incarnation that allows Jesus to be the prodigal younger son. The idea of the incarnation is that in Jesus, God takes on a human body, and in so doing makes it possible for human beings to return to fellowship and communion with God. Jesus, then, is God in our body, and on the cross, he walks the path of the prodigal son, taking his divine inheritance from the Father God and spending it lavishly on the tax collectors and sinners - on us.

In 2 Corinthians 5, Paul says that the work God does in Jesus is the work of reconciliation, the work of bringing human beings back home to God. He says in verse 21, "For our sake," - for yours and mine - "For our sake, God made Jesus to be sin who knew no sin that in Jesus we might become the righteousness of God." So this story of the prodigal son, it points to the cross. It points to the mercy and embrace we are being offered.

Did you hear what the father in the parable says to the older son? He says this:

"But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and was found."This brother of yours was dead. And he has come to life. He was lost and now is found. Dead and come to life. This is the cross, and this is resurrection. Lost and now is found. This is the journey of God in our human flesh, coming into our midst, into our bodies, the move from divinity toward humanity and then the return home to the love of God.

St. Athanasius, who lived in the 4th century, says that Jesus is God becoming human, so that human beings can become God. In other words, Jesus is the path of our restoration to the divine image. We are made to look like God, be like God, but we fall short because of sin. But Jesus makes it possible again. And in the story, the robes and the ring are perhaps our return to that divine image. This coming home to God is a journey, a path we travel. And the reality of our lives - of my life - is that we are often going out from God and coming back to God.

The good news is that God is always waiting, fatted calf, rings, robe, embrace, ready for me - for you - to come home, and to know mercy. Our return to the table of communion each week is a metaphor for the road back to God. Every week, we leave this place and go back out in to the wild of the world, like prodigals, taking the riches of the table with us. And every week, we come back to this place where we can be a kind of home for one another - looked for, known, embraced, and the table is set for celebration. We enact the welcome of God together. We have been dead and are moving toward life. We have been lost and are being found. And we find one another. Paul says that Jesus is God reconciling with us. But then he goes on to say that that work of reconciling others to God is also our work, our ministry.

“The Return of the Prodigal Son” - Rembrandt

“The Return of the Prodigal Son” - Rembrandt

I wonder, who in your life do you to need to return to?

Who have you judged like the older brother and where are you trying to earn love?

And who can you be home for? In other words, how can you embody the mercy and embrace of God for someone else?

For more reading on this story and how it subverts and shapes our understanding of God, check out:
”The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming” - by Henri Nouwen

What's the Word?

This week’s sacred story comes from Genesis 18:20-33 where Abraham goes back and forth with God to see how few people would prevent God from destroying the city of Sodom and Luke 13:1-9 where Jesus tells a parable about a fruitless fig tree.


Sometimes I just don’t know what to do with parts of the bible that are like this one. It seems so dark and violent, even heartless.  

When I feel stumped or frustrated like this, and sometimes even when I’m overly excited about a text, running away with it…far far down a rabbit hole that may or may not be God’s leading but possibly my own, that’s when I lean on the Lutheran tradition of how we read the bible. Not only how to read scripture, but how do we view it, what is its purpose, how do we understand it, engage it.  Martin Luther, in his writings, wrote that the bible is the “cradle where Christ is laid.” That is, the Bible holds Christ. It becomes the frame that helps us to see Christ, so whenever we approach this sacred text, we should be looking for how Christ is revealed in it. Where is the Good News, the Gospel in each line? But the important distinction here is that the Bible is NOT Christ; scripture is NOT God.  So even as we cherish this library, we acknowledge its boundaries. The Bible is not sacred not because it is worthy or worship in itself, but because it points us to God. So I would say that yes, I’m a bible-believing Christian. But before and above that I am a Christ-believing Christian. CHRIST is the Word of God made flesh. The Greek word used for word is “logos.” It points to an understanding that the Word is more than text on a page. Here is an understanding of “word” that I living, moving, affecting.  Which rings so true as we know that the words people say impact us, shape us, the words we say and names we use matter in a formative way. And so while the Bible is most certainly the Word of God, it is obviously not the only Word God ever spoke or speaks.

When Shannon (our Community Coordinator) and I read this text, she noticed that there was something that sounded familiar…

It reminded her of the Story of Abraham pleading for Sodom as the gardener pleads for the fig tree.  This particular moment of judgement on the city also seems dark and violent, even heartless. But it is also deeply misunderstood. This story is one where culture has made damning connections between this sacred text and rather than connecting it within the larger frame of scripture, it becomes connected to fears outside of the Bible.  

After the verses we read from Genesis, the story continues to fill in the backstory of why God is considering destruction of the city. Two angels were walking by and Isaac spot them, not really knowing who or what they are, only that they are strangers in town and so his faith compels him to welcome them into his home. Meanwhile, word gets out across town and soon a mob of men surrounds the house and insists that the strangers be thrown out into the street so that they can be “known”…in the biblical sense.  Isaac refuses to let his guests become victims, and they narrowly get away to safety within the house. Now some take this backstory to mean that same-gender desire was the reason for God’s wrath on Sodom, but this isn’t really accurate and misses the bigger picture that God is about throughout scripture. First of all, the mob isn’t lusting after the angels, but seeking to assault them. Such violence is never about sexuality, it is always about power. There is no love in their hearts but a desire to demean and exploit. The people have come to see strangers not as angels to be welcomed and cared for, but objects they’re entitled to and have possession over. In the Kingdom of God, that is simply not the way it’s going to work.  In the Kingdom of God, the dignity of all people is affirmed, and bodies are not abused but elevated, we know God in body and blood. In the Kingdom of God, creation is not objectified and exploited, valued only for how it might be used by those in power, seen only for what it can produce.

Now this, this reminds me of the Gospel - Jesus’s parable about the fruitless fig tree. The gardener sees life where the planter only sees opportunity costs, what he might be missing out on. The gardener does not measure the worth of the tree by how it can be immediately exploited, but nurtures and cares for the tree so that it might grow in the future.  In an ancient Roman world where the power of empire is pressed down onto and people are only as good as their usefulness, Jesus says this system is a lie.

The people ask about the slain Galileans and wonder what their fate will be or how they can be different. Jesus says, repent or perish. Well, here’s a spoiler, we’re all going to perish. That’s what the ashes of Ash Wednesday remind us of. Death, in and of itself is a neutral thing, neither good nor bad. But if we’re only looking at death, only ever worried about how to avoid it, we’ll miss everything else. Repentance means change. The Greek word there is metanoia, literally…think bigger. Jesus invites us to see the big picture, the connections between old and new and the way in which they together point to a whole other thing – resurrection. Unless we think bigger, all we’ll see is death and a story that ends there.  But Jesus is telling a story that goes on and on and on. Word without end.

Just as Shannon drew a connection between the gospel word the word of Genesis, God has been revealed in such connections for generations. Martin Luther talked about using scripture to interpret scripture.  So no one piece stands alone, but we look for how the larger witness of the scripture and what God is and is about, to help us understand this particular piece. Any Jewish person of Jesus’ time would know the stories of the Torah well.  Not just the rabbis, but everyone. So when one writer or text used a phrase of image that connected to another writing or story, they would easily be able to make that connection and find new meaning in the two being drawn together. The Word held riches not just what in was said before, or what was being said now, but in how they together create something new, something bigger. The Word of God draws us backward – to our history, to God’s persistence with us throughout time, to our grounding; and yet it also pulls us forward – pointing toward possibility and promise.

God’s word is still being spoken, still being heard, still creating.

I want to invite you to use today’s gospel reading to create a new Word, a poem, through a method called Blackout poetry.  Blackout poetry is when a page of text is completely blacked out (colored over so that it is no longer visible) except for a select few words. When only these words are visible, a brand new Word is created from the existing text.

Blackout Bible Poetry.png

If you have a printer, print out the reading from the Gospel of Luke and use this as your source page. If not, find a newspaper of other text. God can be revealed there too.

So yes, you have permission to write on this page, to mark it up. You’re not being sacrilegious, you’re not literally blotting out scripture, and you’re not trying to recreate scripture, but you’re engaging it, responding to it, wrestling with it as Abraham’s grandson Jacob wrestled with God and seeing what new Word God may be revealing to you, through you. Using a pen or pencil, you’re going to follow the guide below to select a few key words and phrases, then a few more, and then finally to shade out the rest of the page so that only the words you highlighted remain visible to create a kind of poem.

1.      Scan over the page and put boxes around the key words or phrases that for whatever reason, really strike you. They may hold particular meaning or significance, or just stand out to you.

2.      Look over and read the whole page again. This time, use a pencil to lightly circle any words that connect to the word(s) you put boxes around. Resonant words might be expressive or evocative, but for whatever reason, these are the words on the page that stick with you. Avoid circling more than three words in a row.

3.      Then, just shade out all the other words on the page, so that only your boxed and circled words remain visible. For doodlers, you can create art that connects back to your new poem on top of the “blackout” words.

For more blackout bible poetry, and our divine subversive inspiration, check out this insta account:

To share your creation with our community, post a pic and use the hashtag #kindredlent

Comfort, Conflict, and the Cross

This week’s sacred story comes from Luke 13:31-35 where Jesus laments over Jerusalem, but also makes a bold and sassy declaration of his work, even in the face of power. Read the full story here.


Guest Preaching this week is one of +KINDRED’s own, Kinnon Falk.

We often use the Bible as a source of hope and relief. We highlight positive little verses that give us strength in the time of trial. Platitudes that act as spiritual comfort food (kind of like the soup we share in worship). And while these things are in scripture, the reality is that much of the Bible’s contents are Discomfort Food. The gospel does not always bring reassurance or ease of mind; it’s usually high conflict.

There is high conflict in this passage. Jesus is threatened with death, and yet, he persisted. He knows that the path he is on is going to be uncomfortable and (spoiler alert!) ultimately lead to his death.

His dogged persistence in the face of resistance is admirable. Nobody likes discomfort, least of all, me. I’m the kind of guy who takes the max dosage of Advil as soon as I feel a headache coming on. I’ll get up in the middle of the night and fix the sheets if they’re messed up and tickling my toes in a weird way. I will go way out of my way to avoid the slightest physical discomfort. And if I do experience discomfort, you’re probably going to know about it. I gave up carbs for lent, and most of you probably know that already. If you know me well you might understand that I live by the adage of “I can survive pretty much anything, as long as I get to bitch and moan about it constantly.”

But Jesus wasn’t intimidated by the difficulties he saw ahead. He said, “I must be on my way.” He wasn’t a whiner like me. Not about his own suffering anyway. He does make some complaints about how he wants to gather the children of Jerusalem under his wings like a mother hen gathers her chicks, but they just won’t cooperate. Like any parent, Jesus knew what it was like to herd cats.

Lots of prophets have had this issue. Think of Moses trying to gather the scattered tribes of Israel. Moses is the prophet who suffered for the sins of his people and stepped into the breach between them and God. This is a scriptural trope: God’s people mess up; God has to send someone to save them.

Now it’s probably not a coincidence that Jesus uses this chicken metaphor here after just calling Herod (who is the embodiment of the Roman Empire) a fox. The Romans were pretty tolerant of local religions. They only demanded that people’s first allegiance be to the emperor. Then, they could do whatever they wanted.

But Jesus had a different, contradictory message. He taught that only God was worthy of praise. And that, right there, was a threat to Rome. As a prophet, Jesus knew this threat that Christians posed would lead to much pain for his followers. And so he was offering to be like that divine feminine image of a mother hen, willing to die to protect her offspring from the fox.

Jesus wasn’t scared of Herod or the discomfort that the Empire would ultimately cause him. His journey in this passage is not about his encounter with authority, but about his ongoing ministry of liberation from demons and disease that demonstrate the presence of a different empire, the Empire of God.

Jesus was on a journey of love, but he knew the road would not be easy. And he sees the need to protect his followers from this. To experience Jesus’ ministry and his compassion one would have to operate contrary to the prevailing domination system that was guided by coercion and control.

The question for his followers was “is that what we want? Do we want this transformative life if it is going to cause us suffering and pain? Do we want to follow the example of Christ, even though it might lead us into uncomfortable situations? Do we want to do God’s work, even if it doesn’t give us clear rewards? Do we want to swallow that discomfort food, or would we rather just have the mashed potatoes and gravy?”

And so now I have some questions for you. I want you to take a few minutes and answer these questions:

Who am I?

What do I LOVE to do ?

Who do I do it for ???

What do they need ??

How will they change or be transformed- when I do what I love to do ?

These are the types of discussions that Jesus’ early followers had as they struggled to live in their tumultuous world… A world that Jesus knew all too well.

As Jesus went about his daily work of healing and deliverance, he was also keenly aware of his destination. He knew he was headed to Jerusalem and to his death. While Herod wants to kill Jesus, it is clear that Jesus is in charge of his own timetable. Today and tomorrow Jesus will continue his daily work, and Jesus is the one who will complete that work on the third day. (sound familiar?) Throughout Lent, we are preparing ourselves to experience Jesus’ cross. This passage calls us to do so by considering whether our lives lead appropriately to that cross. But Jesus’ work of healing and deliverance does not end with his crucifixion. No. It is made perfect and complete by his resurrection.

Give it away, give it away, give it away, give it away now

This week’s sacred story comes after Jesus gets some disturbing news and tries to find the time and space to get away from it all…and still…crazy wondrous life-giving things still happen. Read the full story of Matthew 14:13-33 here.

feeding 5000.jpg

Now when Jesus heard this…

Jesus has just heard that John, known by many as the Baptist, but known to Christ as his friend and cousin, and companion in preaching good news...

Jesus heard that John whom he knew and loved was violently martyred by the King he criticized. And so Jesus, as God and as human being….grieves and mourns, and wants to get away from it all for a bit.  He seeks to escape into the wilderness, the dessert, a deserted place. I find so much solace and solidarity in knowing that even God experiences trauma and emotional, physical, spiritual exhaustion. It reminds me that I am not weak or lesser or lazy for having experiencing those things too.

This story of violent and oppressive power is nothing new, and yet neither has it withered in time.   The ancient Pharaohs of Egypt sought to destroy the Hebrew people through the annihilation of its first born sons, then by increasingly cruel slavery that would have the people work themselves to death. Empire and kings are always doing this, convincing or compelling us to sacrifice ourselves in the name of some greater good – a good that never seems to reach anyone beyond the top of the pyramid. But in these ancient times of emotional, physical, and spiritual exhaustion, God led the people away from it all, into the wilderness.  And there, when the hour was late and there was little to no food to be found, God fed the masses with blessed bread from heaven and they were satisfied, and there was extra to go around. There, in the midst of the storm of military might bearing down on them, pinning them against the wall of water that was the Red Sea until all hope seemed to be lost and they thought God has gone from them and had left them to die…God reveals God’s control over the waters, makes a way through the storm and saves those crying out for help. God assures the disciples in the boat in the same way that God reveals Godself to Moses: it is I, the great I am.

The story of an invested, compassionate, and saving God is nothing new, and yet has not withered with time.  Just as Moses led the people to a promised land, flowing with milk and honey, so Jesus reveals a new kingdom, a new way that is marked by compassion, abundance, and a different kind of power than that which is typical of empire and rulers. Even while God grieves and seeks to tend to God’s own need for space, care, and healing, God can also see the needs of others, sees their humanity alongside its own. Jesus views this with compassion instead of inconvenience. In this world, I think we fear practices of compassion because we know that our energy and capacity are limited and to extend it to others would sometimes mean withdrawing it from ourselves.  And in this world, recognizing our limits and caring for ourselves through rest and retreat is good and holy and healthy. But in the new promised land, the new kingdom that Jesus is bring about, the limitations fall away and there is enough compassion to go around. Like the disciples, we worry that there simply is not enough food or resources to meet everyone’s basic needs; we worry that we are not enough to do or be what God says we are and can do. And yet, in the new way that God is creating, there is not only enough, but more than enough, and people are satisfied, full, whole. Like Peter, we find ourselves in rickety boats far from the safety of land and surrounded by threatening water and wind, we wish for God to draw near and to give us the power to defy . But when that divine presence and power arrives, all the times we’ve stumbled and struggled before won’t let us believe it’s really possible. And yet, in this world of greater possibilities than we can even imagine, God is still committed to lifting us up and out of death.

These stories of feeding 5,000 people (not including women and children, cuz…you know…patriarchy is nothing new either) and the story of walking on water, these are often described as miracles.  To our modern, cynical, educated ears the claim of a miracle may seem a little extreme, and even cause us to dismiss them thinking that well, sure, that’s easy for JESUS to say and do, the whole God thing and all. But in this new kingdom and in this new kind of king, power is not hoarded, but is extended.  God isn’t worried that giving power away will diminish it. God knows there is more than enough to go around, and so Jesus tell the disciples that THEY will be the ones doing the feeding, walking on water, and even greater things than this. Jesus blesses the bread, but then tells the disciples to be the ones who give the people something to eat.   Jesus shows up amidst and above the crashing waves, but then invites Peter to get out there and join him. Jesus shows us what is not only possible, not only probable, but PROMISED through God. It is a way of life-giving life that we don’t just witness or inherit, but one in which we are empowered to be partners in the creation and cultivation. God reveals a world in which care and compassion are not opposed to power, but intertwined with it. This is a gospel, a message of good news, that meets me where I’m at but does not leave me there. And that scares the crap out me, but it also gives me so much hope that my heart could burst.  And for all of that, I give thanks. Amen.

The kingdom is heaven is like...

This week’s sacred story comes from Matthew 13, where Jesus teaches through a series of three vivid stories, three parables of everyday life where the hearer is invited to draw conclusions for themselves. The parable of wheat and weeds, the mustard seed, and yeast. Read the full story here.


This time last year my mom and I went out to raised garden beds outside our farmhouse. The beds are made from old railroad ties for the borders and fertile dirt from the edges of our pond.  We began to work to clear away old things that had been growing there and prepare the soil for something new. Then we started planting zinnia seeds and other wildflowers for harvest at my brothers wedding which would be that summer. We could envision the beautiful bouquets we would have in June. As weeks went on we’d go out and check on their progress and see how these little seedlings were emerging. Bright green shoots and leaves unfolded from the dark rich earth. And I remember furiously googling images of what zinnias seedlings look like so we could discern which seedlings we had intended and which others may have gotten into the mix, intending to remove whatever was taking up room we intended for something else. But it was nearly impossible to tell which leaves were which and so we just had to let them all grow up together.  We set a sprinkler that cast water over all the beds and we cared for each plant the same. When June came, we had a garden full of flowers, more than enough for . We had plenty of zinnias, and even a few surprise flowers that added a beautiful diversity that we hadn’t planned for. Even the long grasses that had no flowers at all, added something to the arrangements. And as all these filled the garden, I’ll tell you, the bees and the butterflies didn’t care which was which, but enjoyed the nectar of all the flowers.


Jesus taught through stories which portray rich images and invite us the hearers to paint the picture. They invites us to imagine where we find ourselves in the story, to wonder together about what the parables reveal about God and ourselves? These parables draw on the everyday life of people working in fields, going to the market, and cooking in their homes. Jesus reveals truth through stories, where the meaning is made somewhere in between the word spoken and how we experience them, where the answers aren’t always clear, and there’s room left for mystery.  

So here are a few things that the original hearers would have known and understood, that might impact the way you hear the stories, these parables:

The weeds or tares, the mustard and the yeast would all be considered at the least....inconvenient, contaminants, undesirables, pollutants, invasive, an onslaught, ruinous.

First, let’s look at wheat and tares….the seedlings actually look so much alike you literally can’t tell the difference. Even adolescent plants look exactly the same. It isn’t until they mature that the wheat reveals its fruit, a full and lush head of grain, bowing under the weight of its produce, while the tare remains a light and hollow imitation with no real nutritional value. And fire, throughout the bible and Jewish tradition is not a means of destruction but of purification. It is always a refiners fire, skimming away the part which surrounds on the surface to reveal the central nature and value of a thing. And yet, in this parable, both wheat and tare are nurtured together side by side. Such is the kingdom of heaven.

As for mustard - it can either be considered a crop or an invasive species. When grown on purpose by farmers, it is brought to market either for its greens or for grinding down the seeds for seasoning. Either way, it would never be allowed to grow to the point where it becomes a full blown tree. And yet, as it is allowed to grow wild, the plant finds value not for what it can be sold for, not what it can produce, but for simply for being what it is. One plants a mustard seed because one would like to grow some mustard. Such an farmer would view birds as pests. And yet, in this parable, the greatest thing about the mustard seed is that it provides refuge for the very pests the planter wants to keep away. Such is the kingdom of heaven.

Yeast is an agent of growth, the leaven, the expansive force that transforms flour into what we enjoy as bread. It is also something foreign, something from outside the oil and water intentionally included in bread.  It’s essentially like a contaminant. Yeast didn’t come in yeast packets from the store, but from the air and environment and time. This yeast was a wild force of fermentation which cannot be contained to a carefully controlled portion of the flour, but changes all of it. Every household in the ancient world would have made bread every day. It was a staple food. But yeast is also an element forbidden from the Passover.  Faithful Jews were to remove every trace of it from their homes in preparation for rest. In this parable, yeast is uncontainable against traditions of holiness, hidden out of view and yet the kingdom of heaven is like it.


So, knowing these things, how then do we hear these stories and make meaning from them? What do they tell us about God?  about ourselves? How would you tell a story that points toward that kind of meaning? What does this remind you of? What picture comes to mind?

Perhaps we are the wheat, waiting for the day when, even as we are cut down, we bear fruit that nourishes the world.  Perhaps we are the field, growing both that which nourishes and that which is hollow inside of us at the same time. Perhaps we are the slaves, clumsily suggesting what we think is helpful without fulling understanding what the master knows and yet still commissioned to care for the field so that all might flourish and grow, to bring life to all, to bring life without preconceptions of who deserves it or what such a life should look like. Perhaps we are the mustard trees, that grow beyond the boundaries the world would try to set for us, offering something of value just by being what we are. Perhaps we are the birds find a home in the wide branches, who finally allow ourselves to  find our home and our rest, and to nurture that space for a while. Perhaps we are the flour or the yeast, considered a staple to society or something to be hidden and yet both are joined together to rise and grow and create something new altogether, something delicious and nourishing. Perhaps we are the baker that, even in our attempts to control or appear perfect or put together, unknowingly contributes to something vivacious and expansive.

Perhaps the kingdom of heaven is like a family table, where homeless and housed, privileged and poor break bread together and aren’t always sure how to do that, how to trust one another, how to be generous with one another but also respect the dignity and boundaries of each, and yet...we are mixed together as flour and yeast, becoming intertwined so that we all are changed into a new thing altogether, bread that rises and grows and feeds. Perhaps the kingdom of heaven is not so far away.

If the kingdom of heaven is like a mixed bag of things we don’t always understand or agree on and yet somehow bears life, provides a nest, expands  and nourishes….then perhaps the kingdom of heaven is not so far away. Amen.

The Gospel according to Ice Cube

This week’s sacred story comes from Matthew 7:1-14, 24-29 where Jesus continues to preach on the intersection of faith and life. Read the full text here.


Sometimes faith and life are thought of as opposing forces, like magnets pushing away from each other. Faith is over here, life is over there and we just hope that maybe, one day, with all our spiritual strength we can pull these two opposing forces together. But if that’s the way it is, then I’d give up on God and religion too, because that seems hopeless. I might be able to pull it off once or twice or for a little while, but I can’t sustain that kinda union with my own two hands. Jesus says something different.  Jesus says faith and life are already tied together, one reflects and informs the other. Jesus says you actually can’t separate the two, even if you wanted to. The Good News of Jesus isn’t just about heady ideals, but shapes our very being and thus our actions. The Gospel refuses to let us compartmentalize, it invites us to engage. If God really is over, with, and in all things, if every one of us is truly created in the image of God, declared blessed, and if nothing can take that away from us, if that Good News is true...then what does that mean for the way we live? How does that shape our our habits, our choices, our relationships, our understanding and practice of justice?

Jesus teaches, guides us in this way. So here we go, Jesus proclaims...“Judge not”….well, I can go ahead and sit down because I’ve already failed. Let’s be honest, I make some judgments. And while I do relish the gossipy self-righteous moments of judgment a little too much, that’s not actually what Jesus is talking about. Here, the word we read as judgment would actually be better translated as condemnation. Jesus cautions us…not to be so bold as to speak on behalf of God and make ULTIMATE judgments that declare people in or out of God’s love and mercy, and that doing so says more about us than those we cast judgement on. And thus says the Lord your God - “you better check yourself before you wreck yourself.”

Judgement is healthy and necessary; condemnation and condescension is where we get into trouble. I remember when I first took a Myers-Briggs personality test, I was so glad I didn’t have a strong J in my character. That J for judging held a negative connotation for me. “Judgement” was for sticks in the mud and people who need everything to be black and white. For me, judging was that thing that super-pompous jerks do to make themselves feel superior or reveals some narrow-minded worldview. But we make judgments every day - which car seat is best for my family, whether it is better for me to spend my time going on a walk or catching up on messages, whether I should continue a relationship that isn’t life-giving, whether I should get a hamburger or chicken nuggets for lunch. Judgement is healthy and necessary, so let’s not throw judgement out with the bathwater. BUT, in the kingdom of God that Jesus is preaching, CONDEMNATION is not a tool we get to use to edge others out of the God-market.

This past week, I was so disturbed. After the State of the Union address, I saw a relative post to Facebook “I can’t believe all of them so-called women allowing late term abortions. May they burn in hell.” See that’s not just judgement, that’s condemnation and it has no place among our life together as God’s people. And that is equally true of similar posts that mock a more conservative view and dismisses people as worthless and irredeemable. God has declared each one of us as precious and beloved, and no one has the authority to take that away from us, no matter what. And when we participate in condemning others, it doesn’t just hurt them, it eats away at our own souls as well. THAT’s why Jesus tells us, “do not condemn others, and you won’t end up condemning yourself in the process.”

But let’s talk about what this way of life ISN’T.  This isn’t a command to roll over in the name of nice, or getting along, or pretending not to care about the things God has given us a passion for.  

The church and the people of God have struggled in to find their place in the modern world not because we aren’t hip enough, or make enough Ice Cube references in our sermons, but because we lack clarity in what we’re about and why, or we don’t exhibit that clearly. Being wishy-washy is no way to live either. That doesn’t mean we can’t be open to multiple perspectives, but avoiding clarity on the pretense that it makes us more compassionate or enlightened...doesn’t pan out either. I think people leave the church and religion just as much as when we dance around subjects and wind up saying nothing of substance at all. Because people can smell the BS from a mile away and don’t need church for more of that as if we can’t readily find THAT gospel just about everywhere else.

Here’s what I think Jesus IS trying to say. If we hope to call ourselves followers of this Christ, we are called to the work of self-awareness, which brings us to humility, which leads us to mutuality. When we can look at ourselves honestly, without the fear of having to be justified on our own and so somehow perfect, we can see ourselves as God sees us - imperfect and flawed and yet beautiful and blessed. When we don’t have to spend so much energy hiding the log in our own eye because we think it will condemn us, we can actually go about the work of removing it as best as we can, usually with a community to help us.

This is where what is often called “The Golden Rule” can be problematic. “Do to others what you would have them do to you” is only good news if we would have others extend us grace, encouragement, and forgiveness. Unfortunately, we often would have others do shame and condemnation to us instead. How can we hope for others to treat us with kindnesses that we don’t offer ourselves? How can we treat others with kindnesses we don’t expect for ourselves? Yes, we should do to others what we would hope others would do for us in light of grace. But perhaps the Golden rule should also go on to clarify - do unto yourself what you would do for others - extend grace, encourage, forgive.

We all have logs in our eyes, things that make us blind or indifferent to the ways we hurt others - both individually and as a culture. When we recognize that we’re imperfect and yet still valuable to God and others, we have the humility to acknowledge God’s grace toward others who are also imperfect. We recognize that, in the eyes of God, we’re on the same playing field. We can work together to bear witness to God’s kingdom of mutuality, or reciprocal care and grace.

But mutuality and grace doesn’t mean I’m going to do your work for you. Part of doing the work of self-awareness is recognizing your boundaries and your limits. It is not your job to save the whole world. You can not single-handedly remove the log from someone else eye when they’ve got a death grip on that sucker. You can let that go. Don’t keep throwing good energy at something that will trample your spirit or maul your soul. That doesn’t mean you’re giving up or giving up hope, but you can take a break or let others take up that work for a while. It’s not up to you to save the whole world, that’s already been done.

Do you not know that every gate belongs to god, every place where walls are opened, whether narrow or wide? There is nowhere you or anyone else can go, that God is not also there alongside you, loving you, even when you follow destruction. So do not be discouraged or forlorn if you find yourself somewhere other than where you hoped you would be, God is still with you. It’s true, God make judgments over us and all of creation...and on our own merits, we fall short. But God does not condemn us because God sees us for more than our merits.  God sees us as her own beloved child, imperfectly flawed and yet perfectly loved. God lets the system of merits, of score-keeping, and all those systems of superiority go. On the cross, God shows that they would rather die than participate in our power games. In the resurrection. God proclaims that nothing can stop God’s love for us, not even death. God is the only one with the power to make ultimate judgments, to bless or condemn, and God chooses blessing for all of us, even with that giant log still stuck in our eyeballs. And if God doesn’t condemn, how could we dare? Let us go from here, knowing that we we have work to do, holy work. But also that God is with us in that work, blessing us in ways we don’t always know how to receive or echo, even while we’re still in the mess and glory of it all. Amen.

Letting Go of Performance Anxiety

This week’s sacred story comes from Matthew 6:7-21 where Jesus preaches about a bold and simple faith where we can rid of all the extra BS we layer on in order to put on a good performance for God, ourselves, and others . Read the full text here.


Yesterday my daughter was at a birthday party for a friend. The invitation was decorated with balloons and a piñata, confetti and color. And there was a note from the girl’s parents requesting that we don’t bring a gift. I’m noticing this trend more in circles where children already have plenty, and I’m starting to see the appeal myself. Over the years, our kiddo has amassed no small amount of figurines and baubles, legos and craft supplies. She enjoys them…for a while…until the next new treasure comes along. Somehow we’ve allowed it to get to a place where she has so many toys, that nearly none of them actually hold value to her anymore.  She tires of them quickly and seeks novelty over something she might truly hold dear in any enduring way. And I can’t really point the finger. I do the same thing with my thrift store finds. And we all live in the same single-use society addicted to the disposable.

In this part of Jesus’ sermon on the mount, in his preaching and teaching to a wide community of all different kinds of listeners with all different kinds of religious backgrounds...the words of “consuming, heaping, and hoarding,” turns to “broken, rusted, and ruined.” Ironically, treating things in a preservationist way, trying to keep them perfect and private, actually destroys them and makes them disfigured/distorted. Things of beauty and joy are turned to obligation and pride.

This isn’t a “woe to you who have stuff” sermon, because excess comes in many forms. Our treasures take on many shapes. We treasure not just our money but our energy. We value our public persona and how we are thought of by others. We put our trust in ourselves above all else. And maybe you don’t expect a preacher to say this, but I think we should. We should care about and tend to all these treasures. But we should also be mindful of how much weight we give them to dictate our lives and our identity. Jesus stops the car so we can get out for a second and look around and wonder what those treasures are really about, wonder why we have the habits we do, and evaluate if they really embody what we hope.

I want to invite you to take a moment, take a few deep breaths, and reflect to yourself: What do you spend our time on? Look back at today or yesterday, and moment by moment, hour by hour, what did you spend your time doing? What do you invest your energy in? Not just what we ideally spend our time and energy and treasure on, but actually in reality.

Are you putting more stock in appearances or substance?  Appearances and our public expression matter, but is maintaining that side of the equation so consuming that it forces you to sacrifice substance? Do you worry more about crafting a pleasing personality or the illusion that everything is fine… OR the kind of relationship with yourself and others that can handle both the joy and the grit of life? Do you dwell in drama or in depth?  This isn’t a “woe to you who do frivolous things” sermon, because frivolity is needed on occasion. But it is an invitation to think about what we do and why, even the things that seem positive from the outside. Is it from the heart or what we think we SHOULD do?

Jesus seems to point out that what we think we SHOULD spend our time one can be just as distracting as anything else.  As religious folk, we can get caught up thinking we don’t pray as well as others or we’re not as good at faith as we should be, but God does not desire long-winded prayers or eloquent fluffy speech or ritual of any kind for their own sake. In Jesus’ time, the thinking was that a good prayer should go on and on or a good person should spend extensive amounts of time in prayer.  I think we still kinda think that But when it’s not from the heart, it’s still just fluff. It reminds me of when I had to write papers for school and I was still several hundred words short of what the teacher told us we had to write, so I’d just start adding adjectives in random places, or repeating the same ideas in ever-so-slightly different ways. But doing so didn’t add any real content to anything, because it came from a place where it was something I was told I HAD to do.

Jesus shows how being in relationship with God can be simple, without all the trappings of performance.  There are so many places in our lives where we feel like we have to perform, being this or that in order to be accepted or valued.  God knows, that I’m constantly burdened by the voices in my head, question, “am I doing this mom thing right? Am I juggling all of life with the grace an poise expected of me by culture?” And Jesus says, that’s not the way it is with God. God invites us to simplicity not because “less is more” is a pleasing design aesthetic, but because God doesn’t need all the extra fluff from us in order to love us. We don’t have to turn simplicity into one more obligation or idol (which happens), but we are freed from all SHOULD’s that someone told us we had to be and do in order to be loved. If God’s love and grace becomes one more thing to do or perform or hoard, then our heart gets hardened toward what is offered as a gift. But when we live into that simple truth of God’s unconditional love for us, we also see greater health in our heart and our souls. Jesus tells us we don’t need all the clutter and it’s not good for us anyway.

Science has shown that clutter causes stress, being surrounded by an excess of things makes us anxious. But I think we can follow the same reasoning to extend beyond our things and into our whole lives. They are often cluttered with the constant need to perform or put on a good face, or the right face, filling up our schedules until we frantically fear the loss of time or that our time will be stolen from us, even a few minutes. But God loves us and cares for us without the fuss we put on, without our having secured it and locked it away  for safe-keeping.

Jesus gives us a tool to remind us, to find our center when we get distracted, to bring us back to basics. Jesus gives us a prayer that reflects God’s intimate care and astounding glory. The prayer Jesus gives doesn’t need to be a script, but a model.  Bold and simple. It’s bold in the way we are empowered to claim intimacy and familiarity with the creator of the cosmos by relating to them as family. It is simple in that it doesn’t try to capture everything at once – it is simply a petition for God’s will to be done, for basic needs like food, for relationship through forgiveness, and for safety. This is one way for our hearts to be nurtured and for us to find healing and hope with God alongside us. But it’s not the only way to pray nor even the best way to pray, but it is a good way.

Perhaps when we find ourselves in need of grounding, when we’re overrun with stimuli or too many options or we’re fatigued from fussing, or we discover we’re losing a bit of ourselves in the performance of life or faith...this prayer or another practice of simplicity and boldness, can provide us with a place where we can clear away all the extra BS, bear our true selves and our true heart before God, and know that we are deeply loved just as we are. And knowing that, experiencing that...deep in our bones...changes that way we relate to ourselves and to others and to our stuff. It shows us a fullness of life that all the fluff could never deliver. May this moment of worship be a time and space where you can put down the facades and the defenses and experience the liberating truth of Christ, which is this: God hears you, God knows you, God sees you, God wants you, God loves you...right here, right now, just as you are.  Amen.

The Wilderness in Humanity

This week’s sacred story comes from Matthew 4:1-17 where, after being baptized, Jesus is drawn into wilderness and joins in the deeply human experience of temptation . Read the full text here.


The wilderness is a dangerous place. There, you don't have the things that normally protect you. People can get lost there. The wilderness can also be a beautiful place, if you can learn to appreciate it for what it is, instead of resenting it for what it's not.  

The wild and isolated places in nature are a fair reflection of the vulnerable and solitary places in our own lives. When by choice or by circumstance, we find ourselves standing alone, in the midst of a world we cannot ultimately control.  But that does not mean we are doomed or helpless. Standing alone can also be brave and necessary. I saw an article this past week that talked about Mary Oliver as the poet who saw the wilderness in humanity. It reminded me that we are created in harmony with wildness. God has made us with the same resilience as the cedars that takes root on windy mountain tops, yet stand for 100s of years.  It's who we are. This is the nature of humanity. It's is a humanity that Jesus shares.

Immediately following his baptism, after it’s made public and clear that his identity is as one who is good and beloved in the eyes of God, immediately life gets hard. Jesus is alone in the wilderness and is brought face to face with a competing voice that wants to undermine those proclamations and promises.  

A life in God doesn't mean that everything will now magically be easy or that you'll be prosperous and perfect. And I know that I've personally heard that message a few times before, but I don't hear it's translation very often. Because if life with God doesn't mean that life will be easy, if even Jesus has a hard time...that also means that when my life is hard, it's not just because I'm just a crap person.

The Devil tries to reduce the comprehensive Word of God into sound bytes, which in turn, reduces the divine promises of life and love to a transactional God, a tit for tat system of redemption, and a formulaic faith.  This casts the contradictions of the Bible (which starts with Genesis 1 and 2), as a problem to distract us and a weapon to be wielded, rather than a testament to the wide range of God throughout time. The devil is all about tricking us into believing that things are smaller or less than than the fullness of what they really are. Jesus points to a bigger picture.

The temptations presented boil down to our most basic needs, and twisted to prey on our most elemental fears: our physical need twisted into a fear of scarcity, our need for safety twisted into a question of Gods fidelity, our desire for power and control twisted into a desire for acquisition and dominance.  The Devil tries to make claims about who Jesus is, who Gods is and how God is, that utilize half-truths (also known as lies) and then twists them to undermine the full truth of who we are created to be.

What are the claims you hear and experience that make you question and wrestle with who God has declared you to be as beloved? What is around you that contradicts God’s promise that you will be cared for, that God will never forsake you, and that you are already powerful?

What gives you strength/courage to stand up to and defy those claims? Those forces?

God isn't above temptation, watching from afar in order to test us. God, in Jesus, through the Spirit, is drawn right into the thick of the wilderness too. God knows what it is to question and be questioned in the ways that matter most, to feel utterly alone.

Temptation isn’t a test of faith where we have to prove ourselves good enough for God, or suffer in order to be loved. It is what it is. God loves us at our best and our worst, and bids us to remember that even in the wilderness...Love is the way, and the truth, and the life.

Jesus doesn't overcome this temptation by being so divine that he is immune, because at the same time he is just as deeply human as we are. He answers these half-truths of the Devil by sinking his hips deep into the full truth of who he is. And God says that this is who we are, too. We are beloved, we belong, and we are already powerful.  This was a guiding light for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who we remember this weekend, that we are indeed already powerful, that all people have dignity and agency and can make a powerful difference, but through nonviolence, through building bridge where there was division.

This is what Jesus is steeped in and comes to embrace as he begins the part of his life which we call public ministry, which changes the world. Imagine how the world will be changed as we sink into and embrace our identity as beloved and powerful? It is nothing particularly fancy or magical, but it is simple and true...which is both more difficult and more liberating.

Hear a final Word from Mary Oliver, through her poem, “Wild Geese”

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—

over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.


Perfectionists and Weirdos, Welcome

This week’s sacred story comes from Matthew 3:1-17 where John the Baptist is (surprise) baptizing people of every kind, including Jesus. Read the full story here.

Art by He Qi

Art by He Qi

I’m a pretty cynical, skeptical person in general. But I'm especially skeptical of any guy covered in animal pelts, snacking on bugs, and hollering, “repent! The end is near!” And the reason I'm so skeptical isn't just the weird factor, but because often those same people claim some kind of direct and exclusive connection to God - that they know some divine secret that they’re lording over others. Either that or they manipulate people with fear - they twist the message to say “repent...or else.” But I can't just write this one off because:

  1. Something seems just a little bit different about this one, and

  2. Jesus shows up. So that seems kinda important.

What’s different about what John is saying is that he isn’t preaching ”repent...or else.” John proclaims “the kingdom of God is near.” Perhaps the Kingdom of God is a kind of end, as it promises the world be set aright, and we are all too familiar with the ways it is currently wonky and broken. The good news that John preaches, that has attracted this large group of people to follow him and come down to the river, is a message and a world of hope and possibility and inclusion and healing.  The baptism he invites people into is one of cleansing and new life. THAT’s something people want to be a part of.

Meanwhile, The Pharisees and Sadducees - the religious leaders who are certain they have it all figured out and that they’re doing it all right (or at least they know all the right things to do and are getting better and better at doing them all the time) - are watching from the sidelines, making sure John doesn’t go off script or say anything that conflicts with the rules of the church. Yet, even as they stand guard in the name of all that’s “right,” they too draw near to the water to join in this baptismal promise. It has been my experience that those who cling most to the doing things right are most in need of freedom from those heavy expectations.

John is skeptical of their intentions and he doesn’t even try to hide it. “You brood of vipers!” he hurls at them. At the heart of this baptism isn’t just a superficial ritual that gets you “in” or functions as an insurance policy for an afterlife and John wants to make sure they and everyone in earshot, gets that. This baptism is about life-giving change.  Repentance doesn’t just mean being ashamed of how bad we are, it literally means to turn. It is a turn from the habits of heart and mind that lead to death, isolation, and fear. It is a turn toward a way of life that begets life - bearing fruit. It points to a fuller life that is on the way - one where we, the wheat, are no longer need of all our self-protective measures, the extra chaf we create around us. We are freed from all the extra things we do to try and be good and valuable on our own, and revealed to be something of value anyway.

This is the distinction John wants to emphasize. The distinction between the appearance of life in God, and the depth of life with God. It’s like the practice of tidying up - you can purge your things and get rid of all that clutters your space, but the real cleansing comes as we address why we accumulate, consume, cling to and hoard.  Or we can do okay at staying sober, for awhile, but it’s not the same as diving into why we self-medicate, dull or distract ourselves, reaching for fuller answers about what we are trying to cover up or fill? I’m not sure if the Pharisees or Sadducees understood or were ready for that kind of baptism. I’m not sure anyone else is either. And we don’t read anything in scripture that says that disqualifies them or prevents us from experiencing it anyway.  

Baptism is about being changed, not just on the outside, but entirely. And that’s not the same as being perfect. Jesus shows up and wants to be baptized too. Jesus has no need of an initiation ritual, of being made perfect, or a heavenly insurance policy. But we need Jesus to wade into the waters of life with us - to come over here with us - where its murky and swirling or stagnant. We need Jesus to transform our misplaced expectations and failed attempts at fixing everything ourselves. We need Jesus to turn us from our ways of death toward life-giving life.

Jesus enters the depths with us, and emerges to show us what it’s like when righteousness is fulfilled, when we and the whole world is set aright. It looks like the fullness of God on display- Creator, Savior, and Sustainer.  It sounds like being publicly named and claimed by God as beloved - when all the fluff is washed away and what remains is still declared as valuable and beautiful in the eyes of God. It feels like being a part of a community where there’s a place for everyone - an endless fabric woven together through water - where the perfectionists and the weirdos all are welcome.  It’s not just not just one moment or a single day, but an ongoing reality of being cleansed and embraced by God which defines and shapes us every day, turning us again and again and again toward life. THAT’S something that draws me in, or rather...that draws near to me. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Where God Appears

This week’s sacred story comes from Matthew 2:1-23 where Magi follow the wild star, defy a tyrant king, and the Holy Family flee as refugees. Read the full story here.

It’s a new year and perhaps some of you have been reflecting on what has passed and what lies before you, what has been a blessing to you, good for your health and your wholeness and what you hope for. This moment, moving between old and new, invites us to reflect on the world around us and the world within us. This moment both suspends and extends time, and offers us a chance to see its vastness which we often miss. This moment allows us to take a step back from the fray, and in doing so, to see ourselves with deep honesty. As I read and reflected on this sacred story and my place in it, I was brought to the honest admission that I’m more like Herod than I want to acknowledge.

We are alike in that we will tell ourselves and others whatever lies are needed to have our way above God’s way. These lies take all shapes: that I don’t have enough, that I am not enough, that “others” are a threat to me or the cause of all my suffering, that I must protect myself and the world from these “dangers” at all costs, and that this is the kind half-life God wants for me. All of these put me at the center and so even if they’re awful, I cling to them. Things can easily begin to escalate. As more and more power is invested in “our way”, the result can be proportionately brutal resistance to the Prince of Peace - to the point that even children become pawns in a game and collateral damage along the way.

And this messy reality is exactly what God steps into. God with us, taking on the fullness of the fragility and beauty of human life in Christ, doesn’t skip around the rough places. The birth of God isn’t just halos and singing angels. Before Jesus’ first birthday, he and the rest of the Holy Family become refugees - leaving everything, risking everything to escape the gang of Herod - to have even a chance at survival.

“Refugees: La Sagrada Familia” by Kelly Latimore -

“Refugees: La Sagrada Familia” by Kelly Latimore -

While the story we read unfolds over a matter of a few sentences and paragraphs, the lived experience takes place over weeks, and even years, and hundreds and hundreds of miles. First, they walk about 100 miles from Galilee to Bethlehem (while super pregnant) to be registered as a family. Then, a caravan of mystics and Astronomers who don’t share the same Jewish faith as Mary and Joseph, the ones we call Magi, journey from foreign lands, night after night after night after night after night, following their curiosity and questions, to see this mystery for themselves.  They come with gifts that represent a sacred life and death and the work in between. God has taken on skin and now these strangers risk their own skin, defying the direct orders of a tyrant, for the sake of truth and justice. Perceived (and rightly so) as a threat to the Roman Empire and its appointed rulers, politicians like Herod, the young parents and their new baby then flee and live maybe a few years as refugees in the foreign country of Egypt with different traditions, ethnicities and religion than their own. Eventually, regional politics allow this wandering family to walk hundreds of miles and miles and miles more to return to their hometown of Nazareth.  They’re “home” but they’re also different because of their lived experiences, the people they’ve met and the worlds they inhabit, and...there are still complications.

Clearly God isn’t about a quick fix, but in this for the long haul. Jesus spends his whole life traveling the range from the margins and fringes of society to the halls of power, back and forth, again and again. That’s a lot of layers of meaning and relationship and geography. Epiphany, is a moment for us to take a step back and take in the vastness of it all. From the beginning, God has experienced and connected to and been a part of the whole world as far as the gospel writer of Matthew knew it. God is political, God is trans-national, tran-ethnic, God is beyond even a single religion or tradition. Essentially, this holy scripture  (with all its messiness and drama) still reveals that there is no place, no people, no one outside of God’s redemption, not even Herod, not even me. Nothing remains untouched or unchanged by the Good News of God moving, suffering, loving, hoping, transforming...with us.

God appears in the midst of our mess. But God does not show up merely to show solidarity with our mess, but to transform it in radical ways and make us part of that transformation in ways that often surprise us. Here we witness a God who is clearly on the move. May we, like the wise ones of the world, follow our questions and curiosity toward the beauty of mystery. May God open our hearts and our minds to the ways in which this mysterious love enfolds us and changes us. May we reflect God’s shining light to all whom we encounter just as we recognize God’s light greeting us through them as well. Amen.

f J e O a Y r

This week’s sacred story comes from Isaiah 42:1-9. You can read the full text here. We also experience the story of the shepherds through Godly Play, watch it here. (Stop at 8:09 to leave a little mystery for future weeks).


JOY in the midst of fear.

The weeks leading up to the mystery of Christmas are full of wonder - Not just the wide-eyed bushy-tailed adoring wonder of awe and delight, but also the wonder of questions, confusion, and chaos.  Through the prophet Isaiah, we see God’s promise to bring forth justice. In the story of Godly Play, the poor and outcast shepherds are invited to Bethlehem, to go and see a child who is changing everything.  It IS wonder-FUL. This season is mixed with many kinds of wonder. For each promise of joy, there is also a kind of loss…fear…grief. 

Bringing forth justice also means letting former things pass away. Going to Bethlehem means leaving the fields that are home. This changing reality disrupts our expectations and our plans.  Whether people or places or our situation changes for better or for worse, there is still an experience of grief.  We have lost something. The way we imagined things would be. We experience all kinds of loss – the loss of a person, the loss of an identity, the loss of a dream, the loss of a relationship, the loss of work or of meaningful work,  the loss of health, the loss of something so small we didn’t even realized we cared so much about it until it was no longer there.

The process of letting go, of letting former things be former things is difficult, and frightening, and long, and not a straight line of progress we can push through. When we’re in the midst of it, the promise of “new things” that God is doing? Seems vague, even hollow.  How could it be anything else when the ground seems to continually move underneath us? Sometimes even a song of joy, peace, and goodwill…sound frightening because it’s different than what we know or are experiencing.  Like the whole of life, in this season of Advent, joy and fear are all tangled up together.


It’s like that jumbled pile of cords that…even once you’ve figured out which one is your headphones, which one is the power cord, which ones go to this or that, even once you’ve worked them free…it’s like a law of the universe that they’ll end up tangled again. And when I get so frustrated and hopeless with it all that I throw the ball of cords against the wall and vow to go off the grid and give up on everything, when my heart is beating so loudly it seems to be the only thing I can hear…another voice enters the conversation.  Scripture tells us that the angels proclaim to quivering souls, “do not be afraid.” But my heart hears, “I know. I know it’s frustrating and crazy and wild and impossible and painful and just all too much. I know…do not be afraid.”

Only when I feel like the one who speaks hope has actually heard and understood my sorrow and complexity, can I also hear and maybe even possibly understand this word of hope. Only then can I release a little bit of the former things in order to be open for a new thing, because I don’t feel like I holding the former thing by myself.  Only in this kind of sacred community which has space for both joy and pain, frustration and delight, can I begin to imagine that the light has not gone out, but is changing. 

So I wonder….which part of you or your life is marked by grief, loss, hurt or confusion? For what part of your soul, do you long to hear God’s voice declare, “I know. I know.” ?

And holding this in your mind and in your heart, I invite you to pray with me: O God of former things and new things, we ask you to make your presence known. Sit with us in our waiting and our wondering. Speak your word of comfort and of hope to us, remind us that we’re not alone. Guard and guide us as we encounter the tangles of life. Help us in our work along this way. Put a song of joy in the air, and help us to hear it.  Keep singing to us; sing good news of joy and peace and goodwill until the rhythm of our hearts take up the tune as well. We are restless, but we find rest in you. We pray in the name of the child born in Bethlehem, who is changing everything. Amen.

Prepare ye...for an arrival

This week’s sacred story comes from Esther 4:1-17. You can read the full story here.

We also experience the story of the Holy Family through Godly Play. Watch it here (stop at 5:42 to leave a little mystery for future weeks).


Everything is changing.  This is the time to prepare.  This is the time to prepare for a transition.  This is the time to prepare for an arrival.

During this time many people are hosting guests and getting ready for other people to come into their sacred space. Friends, family, co-workers, neighbors, and plus ones are coming over. How do you get ready to welcome them? As my brother and his wife prepared for our arrival at Thanksgiving, they cleaned up space in the attic for us to stay, made sure they had food we liked (sugary cereals and fresh Brooklyn bagels), shifted their plans and schedules to make time to spend with us, and they checked in with us as made the journey. Sometimes there was a lot to physically and practically DO to get ready, and sometimes, the waiting was just…waiting.

As Mark and I prepared for the arrival of our baby, Marley, we were preparing to welcome a child into our home and into our family, but also preparing to become parents. Sometimes it seems it takes just as much if not more preparation to become pregnant. And even then, the road may take you to a different place than you thought. For us, along the way, this meant lots of checkups and the doctor’s office to tend to our health, gathering all the stuff a baby needs, and learning how it all works.  Seriously, it practically requires a training course to be able to set up and take down a pack-n-play crib. But it is even more subtle to try and learn how to respond to the all cries and colors and all the needs of an infant that you still don’t really know yet.

 As we prepare for an arrival, we prepare for something other- something different and distinct from ourselves to come into our midst. And that will certainly change our routines.

 Mary prepares for pregnancy, for travel, for birth, for motherhood. She may not have had google or a library or Target, but she had the wisdom and generosity of family, friends, elders, and even angels.


Queen Esther is confronted by the cries of her uncle Mordecai and essentially the whole Hebrew people, who face genocide from a political rival who has successfully blamed them for every bad thing in the kingdom. I imagine Esther prepares by weighing her options and their potential for survival, then practicing her speech to the king - what she will wear, what she will say, evaluating what resources she has in relationship to make a difference.


While Esther now has the title of queen, she’s still an ethnic minority, the daughter of a people who can’t go home, a foreigner, and…a woman in the ancient world.  Mary is an unwed mother without much money or an important family name to protect her. Esther and Mary are nobody special.  They are just names of people we would otherwise pass by. And yet, they are crucial to God’s work and word in the world.  We would not know divine liberation and we would not have Christmas without these women, and without the ways they wrestled with getting ready.

What’s unique about the story of Esther is that the name of God is virtually never mentioned, bringing us to ask, where is God in this story? But perhaps unlike other stories and experience, because this story is part of our sacred text, we expect to find God here, even in the in between moments.  We get ready to see God in between the lines here We prepare for God to arrive.

So I wonder, what if you saw your life as part for God’s sacred story? And expected God to show up? To be there, even in the middle parts between the bigger moments, even when you think you’re nobody special? I wonder how you prepare for the arrival of joy, of hope, of peace, of love – in others distinct and different from you.  But also, I wonder how you prepare for the arrival of joy, hope, peace, and love…not just outside and around you, but in you. I wonder how this changes your routine and your heart. Let it be. Amen.

Stop. Watch. Pay attention

This week’s sacred story comes from the prophet Habakkuk, specifically Habakkuk 1:1-7; 2:1-4; 3:[3b-6], 17-19. For the full story, read here. In addition to the scripture text, we experience the story of prophet through Godly Play. Watch it here (stop at 3:50 to leave a little mystery for future weeks).

habakkuk (1).jpg

Prophets, like Habakkuk, are often described as messengers. A prophet usually rises from among an anxious and waiting people.  They often speak of an impending transition, a shift, a change – in thinking and in practice.


Sometimes, the word of a prophet can be considered as harsh, speaking critically to a people who have lost their way. But Jewish scholar, Abraham Heschel, reflected that it is not a world devoid of meaning that evokes the prophet’s consternation, but a world deaf to meaning. Again, it is not a world devoid of meaning that evokes the prophet’s consternation, but a world deaf to meaning. Stop. Watch. Pay attention.  Something incredible is going to happen here.

In these days, it seems as though our world is longing for something to change. 


We read, see, and hear

Violence, injustice, destruction

In our families, in our work, in our relationships

In tear gas, in discrimination, in the well-being of our climate

We long for a change, a transition something else, to peace, equality, and life.

Transitions are that time in between. The space between what was and what will be, between remembering, and grief, and lament…and hope…and fear.

I want to invite you to remember a time when you were in transition. If you feel you’re in transition now, think of another time in the past. Think of a time in between coming from something, and going to something else.  Perhaps it was something beyond your control. Maybe it was a “come to Jesus” moment. Maybe it was a time where you didn’t know what would come next or weren’t sure.

Got a memory in mind?

Now, I want you to reflect on…in what ways was God with you in that transition? 

In what ways was God pointing/leading you forward?

How does the recognition of God in your life then, help you to reflect on what God is doing in you now?

Tonight begins the Jewish celebration of Hanukkah, the festival of lights, which remembers the time that the people only had enough oil in the temple lamps to last a single day, and they feared running out before the celebration was over. But the oil didn’t run out. There was enough to last.

The prophet Habakkuk remind us that when the promised new day seems to tarry, to take too damn long, we are reminded that it IS coming. And that we can release our worries for rejoicing, in a defiant hallelujah that refuses to be silenced.  Rejoice: to echo joy again. Because we do not live in a world devoid of joy, but one that is often blind to it. In these days we are reminded that when the night seems darkest, there is always enough light for today.

What do you want, God?

This week’s sacred story comes from the prophet Micah, specifically Micah [1:3-5]; 5:2-5a; 6:6-8 . For the full story, read here.


Isn't it amazing how bargaining with God and bribery in general remains pretty much the same whether you're in the ancient Middle East or modern day Texas? As a parent, I am not 100% against bribery - a system of popsicle-based rewards has its place. And as a human, I am not immune to this habit of trying to make God exist on my terms. It starts of fairly reasonable. With what shall I come before God on high? Burnt offering and yearling livestock is pretty standard and actually a part of the ancient tradition. But when that hasn't made me feel good enough, things start to get desperate - more extreme and ultimately ridiculous? Thousands of rams? Who even has that? Rivers of oil? Ain't nobody in the world got that. Perhaps we even come to the point of trying to appease and/or control God with our bodies or the bodies of others. We wake up hungover from exhaustive attempts to be happy, or worthy, or in charge of it all and make offers that we still don't have the ability to keep.

You may not try offer God rivers of oil or your first born, but we try plenty of other things. Even if our head knows better, our broken hearts tell us that maybe….maybe we'd actually have value to God and the world if we just volunteered more, if we read the right articles, if we stayed sober longer, if we called our parents more, if we were nicer, if we put on a better show of how good we are.  

When we are subject to the world, the answer to salvation is that we can always be and do more, more, more. We transfer that system onto God and we expect that God must also want bigger and better from us in order for us to belong. The prophet Micah reminds the people what we always seem to forget - that God’s love and will for us is not up in some lofty far off place, but all around us, right in front of us. God’s way is not always grand and dramatic, it is most often simple and steady.  Like last week with Naaman - healing didn't happen with some over the top gesture or fancy quest, but simply to go and wash in the river. Micah tells us that in this same way of being - the child who will be born – the Christ, comes not from the biggest baddest tribe of Israel, but one of the smallest.

With so much happening in the world, ANOTHER mass shooting in Thousand Oaks when we’re still reeling for the one in Pittsburgh, and then whole towns destroyed by fires just up the road from there, remembering our veterans who take great risks in the name of the well being of others, who do not always come back whole, remembering the 89th anniversary of atrocities like Kristallnacht when hateful rhetoric and anti-Jewish legislation bubbled over into mass violence, killing, and destruction of Jewish life,  ...with all this, plus our own messes...

we want God do something, or tell us what to do...anything! And ideally, the magic solution to it all would also somehow also make us the heroes and the saviors of our own souls. What do you want from us God? Shall we solve global warming? cure all diseases? Find the solution to gun violence? Drive out every speck of racism? Fix every broken heart? Snap our fingers and end addiction?

In a world where we’re wrestling with the lines between truth and falsehoods, trying desperately to have a definition of what is good – here we already have an answer:

Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly.

It's not grandiose, but simple.  and yet...not an easy path to follow. Justice is slow work, but the beat is steady over time.  Kindness isn’t dramatic, but is gently softens our own hearts and perhaps those around us. Humility with God doesn't necessarily  change what's around us, but perhaps it changes what's within us.

What is justice anyway? Where have you seen justice rising? What are some examples of kindness in action? Where have you been humbled? Where have you experienced the humility of someone else inspiring you?

The prophet Micah tell us that all this doesn't just happen on its own nor is it anything we do ourselves, but WITH God. I find that when I’m scattered, frustrated, overwhelmed, confused I’m also usually ignoring God. Micah reminds us to make sure that we are still clearing space to see our connection to God – in prayer, in silence, in community, but with intention.  It doesn't necessarily change our feelings, but I think it opens us up to new ones.

Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly with God isn't really an answer to how we fix everything. That's what the child born in Bethlehem is for. But it does guide us in how to keep going day by day. For those times when it all seems too much and you don't know where to start, it's that playlist gets you putting one foot in front of the other again. It's that steady beat like the voice of Mavis Staples belting out “keep your eyes on the prize, hold on”

Sources of Hebrew wisdom offer it this way, saying:

"Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it."

We won't save the world or ourselves.  We can't. We don't have to. God has already done that for us all. God declares us good from the beginning and shows us what good can do, day by day.  

A Disruptive Borderless God

The Sacred Story comes from 1 Kings 5:1-5; 8:1-13 - a story of King Solomon’s misguided construction of a fabulous temple cage for God. Read the full story here.

We just celebrated my daughter’s 7th birthday yesterday. We…ok, I…envisioned this epic Double Dare theme.  I thought I could keep things simple and unfussy but still special. Preparations definitely started out that way, but then I remembered that given the opportunity I will fuss and fluff as much as there is time. So I scoured pinterest for activities and décor ideas, I ordered safety goggles for every single child to protect them from the buckets of slime I now had recipes for. Somehow our “simple celebration” required my husband and I to stay up late making a giant paper mache nose.  On the big day I got her flowers and filled her bed with balloons, because I do want her to know that this day is special and I want her to feel honored and cherished. And I think she did experience that through all the fanfare and fun. But our love for her is reflected best…not by lavish gifts or on a single special occasion, but in the daily minutia of living in love. She experiences my love even more profoundly when I put down my phone, look her in the eye, and listen to the drama of her day as we build legos together. Our relationship is honored and nourished when she gets to tell me about her friends, the people that she loves, when she gets to show me her discoveries, and we all get to spend quality time together.

King Solomon builds this grand temple which God is indeed worthy of, but misses the mark because he does so at the expense of real people and real relationship. In between these chapters we know the Solomon uses oppressive labor practices that are eerily similar to the Israelites bondage in Egypt.  The stunning temple is built on the backs of the underpaid working poor, and the priests and elders get all the glory in the end. While he makes a big show, Solomon stops really listening to God.


We hear Solomon proclaim, “The Lord has said that he would dwell in thick darkness. 13 I have built you an exalted house, a place for you to dwell in forever.” It’s as if Solomon thinks he has outdone God by finding a way to contain the uncontainable, the silver bullet for the divine, for with Solomon all things are possible. His motives are warped into an aim of making God proud, and he at least subconsciously holds the expectation that building a glorious temple would give him a bit of an edge in the market on God. Still, the Lord’s presence amidst the dark clouds re-asserts divine freedom, especially against the temptation to idolatry, which is another word for the human attempt to limit divine freedom and manage divine access.  God’s glory disrupts all activity in the temple because God cannot be housed by it, cannot truly live in it, nor be contained by it, let alone forever. God extends beyond these walls to inhabit the amorphous and unstructured, uncontainable cloud.”


It’s a lesson that apparently we never quite learn. When the Lord our God gave the Church rest on every side, we set our sights on rebuilding St.Peter’s Basilica in Rome into the stunning structure it is today. I have walked the sacred halls of that place for myself and was indeed more inspired than I ever thought I would be.

But the oppressive cost of grandeur was again born by the most vulnerable. The temple would be financed, at least in part, by the sale of forgiveness which most affected the poor.  Construction began in 1506, and by 1517…tensions bubbled over. 501 years ago Martin Luther took a hammer and nail to the pretty temple doors in Wittenburg and posted his 95 Theses – 95 statements of faith, a list of 95 ways in which the church had deviated from its call to be a carrier of the Gospel and must now return to its true self, to re-focus the church on God.  In these statements, Luther reminds us of the limitations of people and priests to proffer salvation and lifts up the limitless grace of God.

Essentially Luther claims that no one can buy or sell forgiveness, no gold can achieve salvation, no grandeur can fully capture God, no one has a corner on the God market, and thus no human being can be denied direct access to the divine. This is true especially, ESPECIALLY as the means of grace are exploited and abused at the victimization of the most vulnerable, the poor. At its heart, the Reformation speaks against a containable and compartmentalized God and thus a compartmentalized faith.

God is boundless, borderless, and so is our way of being in God.  God’s loves for us extends to our whole selves and so we are wrapped up in a love, a faith that isn’t only on paper, not just in our heads, or only when we step inside a church building…it is how we live and move and have our being.  

How do the people around us know that God loves them? that the church wants to be a part of that love? Perhaps more than great music, big programs, or even dynamic preaching… is the day in and day out relationships.  Perhaps this holy love is best seen and experienced when we are thoughtful about our words and actions - how they might spread violence or support dignity. God’s promise of love for the world is revealed as true when speak up for even those who we disagree with politically. Divine love is known when people stand up for each other across race, and nationality, and religion. Without an awareness of this kind of love were are a clanging symbols, noisy gongs, desperate for the attention of the world and of God, but missing it all around us. If we are silent about this kind of love in the face of hurtful words, even ones we brush off as not a big deal to us, then we become a part of the same temple built on the suffering of the vulnerable.

From the splendor of Solomon in the Old Testament, to the temple veil being torn in two at Jesus’ crucifixion, to the affluence of the European Renaissance, and into our own time… God invites us to imagine that the temple is not the building, but Christ. Place matters, but it is not our center.  God is our center. The kingdom of God is not brick, but embodied. We can be a part of building a house for the lord our God, but it is built not of stone, but of people. God dwells not only among pillars or tablets, but in us and around us. Many church buildings look like fortresses, but the true stronghold resides not within walls, but in God. Our relationship with God in honored and nurtured by grace, not grandeur. God’s love is experienced not just on special occasions but in the day to day realities of life.


The Reformation isn’t only a moment in history, but an ongoing movement that continues to shape us.  We are a resurrection people. Our identity is rooted in allowing the old things to pass away and in being made new every single day. It’s who we are.  It’s how we are. Because of God. Because of Christ. Luther felt compelled to speak up when it seemed as though the people of God placed all their eternal hopes on the Pope and on paper rather than the Gospel. For Luther, the way to re-center the church on Christ was to value scripture over tradition, faith over works, and grace over merit. We still miss the mark.  We forget our true foundation. What do we need to do to re-align ourselves again with Jesus? As individuals and as a church. It won’t ultimately save us, and it won’t give us the corner on the God-market, but perhaps it will reveal the ways in which the limitless love and pervasive presence of God dwells among us.

Queen Bathsheba Too

The Sacred Story comes from 2 Samuel 11:1-5, 26-27; 12:1-9 and Psalm 51:1-9. Clink the links to read the full story - a story of David and Bathsheba, of the abuse of power and God’s ongoing work of transformation.

The bible is not a series of disconnected stories, it is a single narrative that points to one person, to the One who is true and better.   These stories are our stories, as we point to one who is true and better than anything we can comprehend. These stories are about us, because God is about the lives of everyday people, but the true subject of these stories is God.  


God uses all types of people to tell this story – people like David, Uriah, Bathsheba, and Nathan. God is present with David, who was thing gangly underdog of a boy who defeats giants, becomes a national hero and was known as a man after God’s own heart. David who nevertheless has his ego run away with him to the detriment and demise of real live people around him.  David, who objectifies Bathsheba and then tries to cover up his actions by sending her husband, Uriah, to the front lines of a war as a means of murder.

God is present in Uriah - a soldier betrayed by the leader he serves and is treated as disposable.

God is present in Bathsheba – who is at all not a seductress, but someone following the rules of ritual cleansing, someone who follows God’s laws of mourning, and yet still becomes a victim of the powerful.  She is a common woman of Israel, with no particular notoriety, she is a survivor, and a grieving widow. Bathsheba endures erasure as her name begins to disappear from the text after verse 5. So many victims are “disappeared” as their stories go untold and their pain is unrealized or ignored. Bathsheba as a woman in her society, was powerless to call David to account for what he had done to her. Bathsheba continues to be a victim and yet her situation is overlooked. At verse 26, her name is taken away and she is referred to simply as “the wife of Uriah.” But God knows her name and her story. Whether recorded or not, God saw what had been done to Bathsheba. She too was a child of God, with all the rights and privileges of God’s favor. The Story of God includes her story.


God is present in Nathan – someone sent by God with the courage to confront a man he knew was capable of violence and murder.

This is God’s story.  These are God’s people.  This is our story.

What David did to Bathsheba was assault.  As king, someone with authority over Bathsheba and any person in Israel and as the one with power over anyone else in this situation, consent is simply impossible. I just want to be very clear that when we talk about David’s brokenness here, we’re not talking about what Bathsheba looked like or was wearing, we’re not talking about a “mistake,” and we’re not talking about adultery – we’re talking about violence. This isn’t about intimacy, it’s about power.  He abused his position of power. He did not consider the consequences of his actions, or he considered himself excused from those consequences. Even when we look at Nathan’s parable, the issue is that the rich man was not willing to give up his assumed privilege, but abused his authority to take what he thought he was entitled to.


Like David, we find that it is easier to name the brokenness of others rather than our own. We desperately want to believe that this exists apart from us, and apart from our involvement.  It’s something that happens over there, amongst those bad apples.  Tsk tsk, what a shame. It also seems that it is even easier to name the brokenness of others when that “other” is someone we consider to be outside our tribe.  When someone’s abusive behaviors exposed, we get a twisted sense of glee or feel sense of betrayal that is dependent on whether or not they align with our politics, our worldview, or even our church denomination – someone we considered one “us”. Our feelings of how bad the offense is…may seem to shift whether the perpetrator is Bill O’Reilly, or our Olympic gymnastics staff, or clergy, or Matt Lauer, or Roger Ailes, or Kevin Spacey, or Garrison Keilor…

God speaks through Nathan to disrupt this toxic behavior. It’s not that David doesn’t know right from wrong, but he is blind to his part in it.  I’m not even going to address the problematic part of comparing women to livestock, but Nathan does speak God’s redemption to David.


Redemption comes not because what happened wasn’t THAT bad, nor even because David says “I’m sorry.” David is only able to plead forgiveness, because another comes alongside him to help him understand the depth of what he’s done, and helps him recognize his identity as something other than this. In this sacred story and in our world today, I hear the question - how can there be healing and reconciliation after a violation? What does the road back look like for someone who has harmed others?

It turns out that honesty isn’t just a virtue; it is a catalyst for transformation.

What changes David isn’t shame, it’s love. That doesn’t mean he’s exempt from the consequences of his actions, but even guilt and punishment won’t transform him like love does. What changes him is his deep relationship with Nathan, who is able to reflect with him, in profound honesty.  I don’t even think I’d categorize this as tough love, it’s a liberating love, although it can certainly be confrontational and uncomfortable. But when we are deeply loved, we are also deeply known. In the midst of love we can be honest about ourselves and be released from the masks we keep up in order to seem valuable to the world. This is the truth in which God sees us, and even so God still loves us.  This is a divine truth! But more often it comes to us not as a voice from a cloud, but in the embrace of a friend as the house of cards comes tumbling down.

The prophet Nathan is someone that helps David to recognize for himself that his identity doesn’t rest on his power over others.

In the midst of the last several years of headlines, the growth of the “Me Too” movement, and the increasing entrenchment of political tribalism, there is a Word of redemption here for us too. This story highlights how women have been dealing with this for thousands and thousands of years, so it’s understable that patience and second chances are running low.  But what does redemption look like in this era?

Perhaps redemption looks like the courage of modern prophets to speak truth and confront people they are close to, especially men speaking to other men. Redemption calls us to speak up and say, “that joke isn’t funny,” “you keep interrupting her,” or “there’s absolutely no need to comment on what she’s wearing.”

Perhaps redemption is revealed when, in the clear light of day, those who have caused harm can confront their own brokenness, without dodging the consequences, and then begin to join the day in and day out work of proclaiming the dignity of all people.

Perhaps redemption comes as we pray for our leaders – that they may be wise and compassionate, aware of their influence and the vulnerability of others. And that we, the ones they are called to serve, hold them to account on behalf of the vulnerable.

Perhaps redemption looks like unearthing stories of hurt that we thought we had to hide until now. Perhaps it is most powerful in the assurance that our stories are already known and seen by God, whether or not anyone else acknowledges them.

Redemption is surely what God is still doing in these days and throughout time, and has already accomplished.  It is the promise that God, in Jesus, is a true and better David – a king and a leader that does not abuse their power, but lays it down for the sake of the powerless. This is the kind of world-altering redemption that has already changed the game and is yet unfurling still before our eyes. This is a kind of hope that doesn’t hinge on how well we can all get along, but yet invites us to discover a way forward in wholeness. Amen.

Not a Tame God

This week’s sacred story comes from Joshua 24:1-26 where the covenant between God and the people is renewed. Read the full story here. Or watch an 8.5 minute synopsis of the whole book of Joshua here.


A whole generation has passed since God met with Moses on the mountain to give the people the 10 best ways to live. After breaking the covenant, renewing it, and wandering across the spiritual and physical desert for 40 years, Moses and the people who fled Egypt are gone. Joshua carried on. In his leadership and after their committing incredible violence, God brings the people to the land that was promised generations ago.  For this moment, the people don’t have to worry about fighting or how they go on.  In this particular moment they are safe and have all that they need.

It is the turning of the season. In these pivotal moments of our stories, the places where we know things are changing…we have a chance to think about what has been and what could be. On the cusp of transition, in order to step forward, we reflect.  We remember our stories, we remember the people and places who shape us.  Joshua reflects on what God has done.

It has made me stop for a moment, and think about what God has done, where God has been in my own life lately.

After several years of praying and searching, God has provided my husband with meaningful work that utilizes his gifts and fills him with life. Each day, God grants us safety, the health of our family, and food on our table. In these last few weeks which have been emotionally and physically exhausting, God has provided for me much-needed moments of rest, even if it’s just a couple hours in the wilderness that my soul craves for renewal.  God has connected me with a spiritual director who grounds me and yet something about that grounding is also a challenge, an act of resistance.   God has blessed me with a church family that cares enough to let me brag about my brilliant 1st grader and preach the bold Word that God has placed in my heart and on my tongue.

When I think on the story of +KINDRED, I think about how… when we needed our first dinner church meal; folks from Celebration Lutheran in Cypress drove into the heart of the city to take care of that for us. I think about how God through our friends in the community have invited us to join them in advocacy with the LGBTQ community, adding to the voices calling for the dignity of immigrants, and organizing for better justice and resources for the poor.  I think about how God has enabled us through the generosity of many to keep food on these tables. I think about this building we occupy. This past week someone mentioned to me that, “I don’t think anyone realizes how much happens here.”  I give thanks for a place of beauty to gather together – a place to keep us warm or cool, dry and safe – if only for an hour or two at a time. I give thanks for all the conversation that reveal deep relationship where we can let our guards down and be honest with one another about what is really going on in our lives.

I want to invite you to think about what God has done and where God has been for you…even just recently.  God promises to be with all of us, so I know there’s some way in which God is present and active in your life. If you struggle to think of how or where that is, think about - Where have you experienced love? Joy? Generosity? Hope?

Go ahead. If you’re reading this on your screen take a few deep breaths, close your eyes, and take a moment to just be.


In remembrance of God’s work in our lives and in the world, what will we do?  Joshua asks the people, in light of where they have been and where they are now, who will they serve and how they will live. The people are quick to respond with their devotion to God. But Joshua follows up, essentially inviting them to stop and really think about who God is, who it is that they want to serve and follow.  Joshua reminds them that God isn’t a fluffy bunny, but is a God beyond their controlling. This reminds me of one of my favorite moments from C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe with its beautiful allegory of God.  Toward the beginning, as the children are just discovering this incredible world, they ask about who Aslan is:

“Aslan is a lion- the Lion, the great Lion." "Ooh" said Susan. "I'd thought he was a man. Is he-quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion"..."Safe?" said Mr Beaver ..."Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.”

Toward the end, as they have grown to love this Aslan and wonder what life will be like now, Mr. Beaver tells them:

“He'll be coming and going" he had said. "One day you'll see him and another you won't. He doesn't like being tied down--and of course he has other countries to attend to. It's quite all right. He'll often drop in. Only you mustn't press him. He's wild, you know. Not like a tame lion.”


As the people profess their commitment to God, Joshua essentially asks them, “are you sure?” They respond with an enthusiastic yes, which I believe they whole heartedly believe.  But as for me and my house, I would say….

No, I’m not sure.  I’m not sure I fully understand who God is or what God is up to. There are many days where I’m not sure I want to be a part of it, whatever it is. And yet, I look back at my story, at God’s story, at the ways in which they are intertwined and I can’t shake the sense that I’m tied to the ship anyway.

This covenant with God seems to be something that is about an ongoing renewal. Like with baptism, this isn’t just an event that happens once, but is an ongoing thing – we die and rise anew each day. The covenant is renewed with each communion as we are reminded and reconnected with who God is for us and in us. In Christ, God establishes the covenant again – one which points to the new and greater Joshua, Yeshua, Jesu, Jesus - who wins the day not with violence, but with non-violence, and grants us not just temporary rest but rest eternal in which we are witnesses to the full glory of God. Amen.


A Covenant is Not a Contract

First, we read the sacred story of God giving the Ten Commandments to the newly liberated Israelites. Read the full story of Exodus 19:3-7; 20:1-17 here.

Then, we experience the story told through Godly Play as a story of the Ten Best Ways. Watch the story here.

I think when most of us think of the Ten Commandments, we think of them as rules, which is….only kind of true.  It seems the Commandments are less like the instruction booklet that comes with a board game, and more like the rule of life held by monastic communities.  Every order of monks and nuns has a Rule of Life which is like a handbook on what they value and what rhythms of life will allow them to hold those values…together. God shows them these 10 best ways in order  to guide and guard them as a people, to help them unlearn the habits of empire that were ingrained in them in Egypt. To help them find a new way that serves life and community rather than death and ego.


When Jesus was asked to name the greatest commandment, he summarized them all as an extension of loving God above all else with our whole selves.  He said it is to love God with all your heart, and all you soul, and all you mind.  And what naturally follows is to love your neighbor as yourself. Love God. Love people.  All the other commandments hang on these two. These are the core values for this rule of life. Here God shows Moses and the people what that looks like in practice. We humans are gonna need specifics when it comes to how we practice love in concrete ways. Beyond even then 10 commandments, the people will eventually have as many as 613 commandments in the whole Torah to specify how to live together as God’s people.

But underneath it all, at the foundation, is a promise - a promise of liberation and a promise of relationship; a promise that God will never leave us and that no matter what…God loves us. At the root of it all is God’s big wide covenant, which extends to all of creation through Christ.

A covenant is different than a contract, it's the mutual binding of lives together. Rather than something that protects its own interest from the other, it builds a new thing alongside one another. A contract connects two things with a sense of obligation, a covenant not only connects but integrates them in love, care, and hope.

We can easily harbor bitterness toward God and religion for the feeling that we are being asked to live up to an impossible standard in order to earn God’s approval. Fair enough. This is too often the what we hear either explicitly or implicitly from churches and teachers. But it was never the law that saves, it was always the covenant. It has always been God’s faithfulness to us, even when we mess it up, even to the point of death, so that we would have life and life abundant.

The commandments are given, the covenant is made on stone, not because God looks at the people she freed and says “ok, now you owe me,” but as a gift that will allow them to experience freedom that isn’t just in name only, but in practice. These “best ways of living” are the scaffolding which supports and facilitates the promised freedom. It is the organizational foundation that allows for even greater creativity and more profound love. It brings our hope out of theory and into practice.


If you were to receive the commandments for a community of faith, what would they be?

What are the things that you think would help a community live into God’s hope for us?  What really practical pieces are needed to support this life together? What do needs to be established as important for loving God? And for loving neighbor?

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