Sermon: Go to where Jesus is (January 18, 2026)

Epiphany 2A
January 18, 2026
John 1:29-42

INTRODUCTION

The season of Epiphany is all about the revelation of God in the world, and today’s texts continue that theme. In fact, they give us a sense that we are a part of that revelation – we, as a servant people, are given as a light to the nations, Isaiah says. The Psalm talks about living out God’s will in the world. Paul tells the Corinthians that the testimony of Christ has been strengthened in them. The point is consistent: we are a part of what reveals Christ to the world!

This is perhaps clearest of all in the Gospel reading. First, we’ll see John the Baptist, pointing to Christ. That’s his whole thing, in John’s Gospel – in Matthew, Mark and Luke, he is the Baptist, but in John, he is a witness, pointing and testifying to who Christ is. He’ll do it twice today, calling Jesus the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. But the remarkable thing is, when he points out Jesus, people start following Jesus. They want to know more. That is what happens when we point out the amazing ways Jesus shows up the world – people want to know more!

So, listen in these texts for the incredible ways God is being revealed – and let that inspire you to find God revealed in other ways, both around you and through you. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ Amen.

When you see John the Baptist, or John the Witness, portrayed in art, you will often see him depicted as pointing. That is his primary role in John’s Gospel: to point to Christ, and testify to who he is. We saw it during Advent in Matthew’s Gospel. Now in John’s Gospel, during the season of Epiphany, we see it again. In today’s passage, twice, he points to Jesus and says, “Look, it’s the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”

John’s pointing reminded me of what I talked about in my sermon last week – do you remember? (It’s okay if you don’t, I often don’t remember my own sermons!) I talked about how my star gift was helping me cope with the deluge of heart-breaking news these days. By viewing the world and the news through the lens of my star gift, which is “appreciation,” I was able to find God at work, even in the heartbreak, and this became a lifeline that kept me from falling into despair during a tough news week. I hope my experience encouraged you to try the same this past week, and that if you did, that it helped you. 

But in today’s text, John and his pointing pushed me to take it even a step further – that is, not only to notice for myself where I was seeing God, but to then point to it and speak it aloud. “Look! There’s the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” Look, the one who came to draw us into relationship with the living God! Look, the one who so loves the world, that he came to dwell with us! Look! 

When John points to Jesus, an amazing thing happens: first, of course, people take notice. And then, they follow him. They go to where Jesus is. 

This may seem like a nothingburger. I know I have read right on through this part many times and noticed nothing especially remarkable about it. But here is what I recognized this time: Andrew and his friend following Jesus is an invitation to us, to also go to where Jesus is. When someone points him out, we don’t just shrug, say, “Huh, cool,” and stay where you are, or even turn a different way. No, now that we know where Jesus is, we go to where he is.

What brought this to light for me was what happens next. After Andrew and his friend start following Jesus, Jesus turns around and asks them, “What are you looking for?” The new disciples’ answer is another question: “Rabbi, where are you staying?” That word, “staying,” is translated from the Greek, meno, a word often translated as “abide.” The word appears in John’s Gospel some 40 times. Abiding is a big deal to John, because in John’s Gospel, to abide with Jesus is what it means to have faith. Faith, or belief, is having a relationship with Jesus. So when the disciples ask Jesus, “Where are you staying,” or, “Where do you abide?” the implication in the question is, “Where do you abide – so that we can abide there, too. So that we can be close to you. So that we can be in relationship with you.”

And Jesus’ response to this is an invitation: “Come and see.” Come and see where I am. Come here, to where I am. Come – come and see.

This feels incredibly important to me right now. Last week we talked about noticing where Jesus is. This week, we see that the importance of pointing it out, pointing to where Jesus is, is so that we will know to go where Jesus is. And when we go there, we will come to know more deeply who Jesus is, and be in closer relationship with him.

So where is Jesus? Where do you see him? 

I can see a lot of places where he is not, places where we never, in all of scripture, see Jesus go. Jesus is not in acts of violence or aggression. Later in John’s Gospel he tells the disciples to put down their swords, because violence is not what he is about. Jesus is not in the act of sending away people who are considered outsiders. Indeed, shortly after this interaction, Jesus will have a long conversation, the longest one he has with anyone in scripture, on the outskirts of town with a Samaritan woman by a well, a woman who is as much of an outsider as they come. Jesus is not in words and acts of retribution and retaliation. During his trial, not once does he resort to self-defense or attack, though he literally has the power of God on his side and would definitely win. 

So if he’s not there, then, where is he? If you were going to point to where Jesus is, today, in 2026 America, where would you point?

Most obviously and frequently, Jesus is with those in need, and specifically, with those who are in the most need. Again and again, Jesus puts himself on the side of the poor, the sick, the hungry, the stranger, the outcast. So if I had to guess, if I had to point somewhere to show where Jesus is today, I would point to him among those who are losing their healthcare benefits and are not sure how they will afford to keep living. I would point to him among those who can’t afford groceries, who depend upon SNAP benefits to feed their families. I would point to him among those who came to our country as refugees or asylum seekers, who fled their homes to find a safer life for themselves and their families. I would point to Jesus among those who are grieving, those who are lonely, those who are victims of violence of any kind. I would point to Jesus among the immigrant community in the Twin Cities who are afraid to leave their homes to go to work or to buy groceries or to take their kids to school. I would also point to Jesus among those who are responding to that fear by delivering groceries to those families, walking their kids to school for them, and keeping watch over the school playground during recess (these are all things that friends of mine who live in Minneapolis are doing right now for their neighbors). I would point to Jesus among those who call for peaceful resistance to violence, and who step in to help their neighbors, even when it is dangerous. I would point to Jesus among people in power who use that power to help the most vulnerable, rather than to help or enrich themselves. 

“Rabbi, where are you staying?” I think Jesus is staying, abiding, in all of these places. If we want to see Jesus, if we want to know Jesus, if we want to be in relationship with Jesus – then that is where we should look, among those who are most vulnerable and afraid. 

And, like Andrew and his friend, that is also where we are invited, by Christ himself, to “come and see.” To follow Jesus into those places of most need, as well as into places of courageous love and devoted compassion, so that we might dwell with him there.

It is difficult work, being a following Jesus, especially when he is always leading us into the hard places! But his promise to us is that when we do, we will, like Andrew, be able to say, “We have found the Messiah” – the one who will save us from our sin, who will draw us close to God, who will give and has already given everything in order to give us life. Come and see, and what you will see is life everlasting.

Let us pray… Lamb of God, we long to see you. Show us where you are, so that we might abide there with you, and find in you everything we are looking for. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Seeing God revealed in world news (January 11, 2025)

Baptism of our Lord (A)
January 11, 2026
Matthew 3:13-17

INTRODUCTION

On this first Sunday after Epiphany, we celebrate the Baptism of our Lord. We jump from the baby being visited by kings from afar, to a 30-year-old Jesus at the river Jordan, asking his eccentric cousin John to baptize him. Christians have long had questions about this event – why would Jesus have to be baptized if he is without sin? One reason is that by being baptized himself, Jesus ties himself closer to us and our own experience. And so, as we observe Jesus’ baptism, we can learn something about our own. 

The other appointed readings for this day set up this story nicely. In Isaiah, we will hear one of what are called the Servant Songs – poems about God’s “servant” who looks to us an awful lot like Jesus, but whom we could also interpret and understand as “servant people.” As you listen to Isaiah, I encourage you to think about it that way: as referring not to Jesus, or not only to Jesus, but to servant people, those who claim faith in God – that includes us! 

In Acts, we will hear another baptism story, though we don’t actually hear the part about the baptism. We will hear Peter’s speech before the baptism, in which he declares that “God shows no partiality” – he says this because Cornelius and his family are Gentiles (non-Jews), and in fact are the first Gentiles to believe in Christ and be baptized. In this story, we will see how the love of God is not limited only to those who are like us, but is for everyone. An important message in these divided times!  

As you listen to these texts, watch for any baptismal connections. Water, voice, call, washing – any images at all that help you to reflect on the continuing meaning of your baptism in your life of faith. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

In Bible study a few weeks ago, we were talking about the story of Balaam’s donkey striking up a conversation with Balaam (yes, there is a story in the Bible about a talking donkey!), and then Balaam sees an angel of the Lord blocking his path. As we discussed the story, someone lamented something that I have heard and felt myself many times before. He said, “I have never had an experience like this, like people so often do in the Bible, where God speaks clearly to me, or an angel shows up right in my path. Why doesn’t God communicate with us like this anymore – or at least, why doesn’t God communicate with me like this?” My guess is that most if not all of us have had this same thought at some point in our life of faith! Certainly, all of us there that day had felt that way. 

Today, on the Baptism of our Lord, we read yet another story of a miraculous revelation of God in a way that seems foreign to us now in the 21st century. The beginning seems ordinary enough, but then the heavens are opened, and the Holy Spirit descends like a dove alighting on Jesus, and then there is what we imagine is a booming voice from heaven, introducing Jesus as God’s Son, the beloved. It all sounds so magical and mystical. 

I want that. Why have I never heard a voice like that from heaven? Why do I never encounter God in ways like this?

This question seems even more at front of mind during this season of Epiphany. The very word, epiphany, means “revelation,” implying what is sometimes called a “thin place,” where the veil between heaven and earth is less opaque, and we can get a little closer to witnessing and experiencing or at least catching sight of the living God. And yet… I am still not hearing any voices from heaven, are you? I’m lucky if I hear even a whisper. 

As I’ve reflected on this this week, I’ve also been watching the news, with a continually breaking heart. The news from Venezuela. The news of a woman shot and killed in Minneapolis by federal agents, and then two shot in Portland. And worst of all, the way people comment on these events, full of the assumptions and presumed know-how of an armchair expert, but without a bit of human compassion, as if the people involved are not human beings at all. I find myself begging God, “Now would be a good time to show up, God! Now would be the time to bring out that voice from heaven, and send down your Holy Spirit to bring peace and comfort to an aching and broken people! Where are you, God?”

My friends, it is one of those weeks where I entered my sermon-writing process with more questions than answers. I would love to have some words of hope for you and your broken hearts, whatever is making them feel broken today, which may or may not be what breaks mine. The best I can do, is take you along on my own journey of grappling with all this with what I hope is a faithful heart.

So, where my mind went as I began wrestling with what to say was to our Star Gifts from last week. If you were here last week, you picked up a star gift, with the charge to watch for ways this coming year that God is made manifest or visible through the gift written on your star. As I thought about this, I wondered if our stars can guide us in finding and experiencing a thin place – a place where we can see God more clearly, where we may not hear a booming voice from heaven, or see the heavens torn open and the Spirit descend, but we may, nonetheless, witness God speaking or acting in the world. That appearance may not make for such a splashy story that it would be recorded in scripture to inspire future generations of the faithful, but is nonetheless a real way that God showed up.

I’m feeling this possibility as a balm and a lifeline this week. It is guiding the way that I look for God, even in the midst of heartbreak and fear. My star gift is appreciation. So as I was grappling with the news of the week and trying to make sense of it, I sought to pull myself out of despair, by looking for things I appreciate. I appreciate when our elected leaders speak up for the vulnerable. I appreciate when people are able to speak with nuance, such that, even if I disagree with their outcome, I can still respect their viewpoint as one that sees the world in more shades than two. I appreciate people who are willing to be far braver than I think I could be, like a white, male pastor I read about who literally stood beside a Hispanic female protester in Minneapolis who was being harassed by agents, and said, “Leave her alone and take me instead,” literally putting himself on the line to protect someone more vulnerable than him. As I took notice of the things I appreciated, rather than the things that cause me to despair, I started to see God, and feel God’s presence in the mud.

My mom told me her star gift was “speaking,” and so I also looked at the week through that gift. As I prepared for this sermon, I watched and listened and read lots of words about the week’s events, and it was fairly easy to discern which ones revealed God, and which ones revealed human brokenness. I knew I was hearing God speaking when my heart was moved toward courageous love of neighbor. In those cases, my mind returned to the words we heard today from the prophet Isaiah: “I have called you in righteousness; I have taken you by the hand and kept you; I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind.”

This beautiful passage from Isaiah made me think of our own baptismal call. I asked one of my colleagues whom I saw on Thursday, how the week’s events were informing her preaching this week. She said, “I’m preaching about how Jesus was baptized into a revolution – and so are we.” That got me thinking: baptism is pretty revolutionary! Look at our liturgy: the pastor asks the candidate for baptism, “Do you renounce the devil, and all the forces that defy God?” And they answer, “I renounce them!” “Renounce” is a strong word, not to be taken lightly! It’s a rejection, a refusal to participate in anything that goes against what is of God – that goes against what is love. In addition, in baptism we promise to “care for others and the world God made, and work for justice and peace.” That’s a quote from the baptismal liturgy. And working for justice and peace can indeed be revolutionary! That work tends to upset those who crave power.

So what does that revolutionary baptismal call look like in this moment in history? What does it look like in your social circles and daily life – to “work for justice and peace,” to “care for others,” to “renounce the devil and the forces that defy God?” Well, I do not think it looks like turning a blind eye to pain and minding your own business, much as we may like to. It does not look like sadly shaking our heads and saying, “Well that’s an unfortunate consequence of their decisions,” blaming victims for their own suffering. But it does, I think, look like speaking out when something looks fishy, or what we’re seeing with our own eyes doesn’t match what we’re being told, or it just doesn’t feel right. It does look speaking love and compassion more loudly than human brokenness. It does look like approaching a complicated situation with curiosity rather than assumptions, and remembering, before making judgments, that no one but God knows the whole story. It does look like listening to and learning from people with a different life experience and perspective, knowing that when we better understand another human, we can better understand the God in whose image every human is made. It does look like the servant or “servant people” Isaiah describes, who frees those who are captive, and establishes justice on the earth, who is a light to the nations. 

I am still thinking about that desire to see and experience God in the same sort of revelatory ways we see in the Bible. I think God is showing up all the time, if we have eyes to see. God is showing up in the ways we are inspired to work toward goodness rather than hate, toward understanding rather than division, toward love rather than fear. God shows up whenever we see glimpses of those new things God promised would spring forth. If a thing looks like love, it is of God. If a thing looks like mercy, it is of God. If a thing looks like liberation from fear and death – it is of God. We, as a people baptized into that same revolutionary love that Jesus was, are called upon to be a light to the nations, declaring that love and that divine presence in any and every way we can. May God be with us, and visible to us and through us, as we do!

Let us pray… God, we long to see you, see you breaking in through the cracks of our broken world. Give us the eyes to see you revealed. And give us the courage to reveal you to others, through our love and care and pursuit of justice. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Incarnation is transformation (Christmas Eve, 2025)

Christmas Eve 2025

We have a weekly Friday movie night tradition in my family. And as soon as Thanksgiving is in the rearview mirror, it is all Christmas movies for the next month. Is that true for anyone else? Well, whether it is or not, take a moment right now to tell someone sitting near you what your favorite Christmas movie is. …

When I was growing up, the movie we watched every year was A Christmas Carol (the one starring George C. Scott as Scrooge – this is the best one, and I will not be convinced otherwise). This classic Charles Dickens story has endured and been made and remade for so many reasons, but one is that we love a compelling transformation story. A miserly curmudgeon is visited by four ghosts who show him his life from different perspectives, past, present, and future. As we watch (or read), the audience, too, is brought into reflecting on how our own life experiences shape us and our values, how our current way of being in the world affects others, and how this might play out into the future. By the time Scrooge wakes up on Christmas morning, a dramatically changed man, we, too, feel that maybe there is hope for a brighter future for ourselves. I am not ashamed to admit that I cry every time when Scrooge shouts down to the boy to go buy the turkey in the shop window, “the one as big as he is,” and bring it to the Cratchits’ house! We love a transformation! And I think we love it, in part, because if we see it play out on the screen, we believe it becomes possible also for us. There is hope for humanity yet!

Unfortunately, my kids still find my preferred version of A Christmas Carol too scary. (I mean, I get it – I used to be convinced, even into my teens, that Marley’s ghost, with all his chains, was going to appear from out of my parents’ bathroom! But I digress.) One of my kids’ favorite movies is The Grinch. Anyone else? This is another story of a dramatic transformation. The movie expands upon the classic Dr. Seuss book, providing a backstory for why “Mr. Grinch” hates Christmas so much. He was emotionally wounded as a child by something that happened on Christmas, and has carried that pain ever since – not unlike Ebenezer Scrooge. It has caused him to pull away from community, and instead, glower down at anyone who dares to be joyful or happy, especially at this time of year that is so painful for him. Indeed, his past trauma has shrunk his heart by two sizes. 

Green hair or not, we know what that is like, right, to carry pain from past hurt along with us. We know how it colors the way we see the world! Scrooge knew about that, too! 

The Grinch plans to steal Christmas joy from the Whos in Whoville, but his plan fails – instead, he witnesses the people of Whoville holding hands and singing, even without any trees, lights, or presents, just like they do every year. Christmas joy could not be stolen from them, and the Grinch is so moved by this, his heart grows three sizes! The movie adds a layer to the book, saying that the kindness extended by sweet little Cindy Lou Who makes the Grinch brave enough to vulnerably join the Whos in Whoville for their Christmas feast. He is even invited to carve the roast beast. For the first time in his life, the Grinch experiences loving community.

I could go on and on. Christmas movie after beloved Christmas movie tells a similar story: someone is in pain, is struggling, and sometimes even causes others harm because of it. They struggle because of grief, or past hurts, or greed, or pride, or disappointments, or feeling unseen, or any number of other human failings and vulnerabilities. And over the course of the story, they are transformed. Their hearts are turned, or they grow three sizes. They are healed. But this transformation doesn’t come as a result of an expensive gift, or relentlessly jolly music, or even delicious cookies. They are transformed by kindness, by honesty with self and others, by caring… they are transformed by love.  

And that, my friends, is the story of Christmas – the real Christmas, the one we celebrate here tonight. That is the story of the incarnation. It is the story of God looking at a world full of people who are struggling and in pain due to grief, pride, disappointments, self-absorption, bitterness and resentment. God looks at them, at us, and knows, whether we know it or not, that we need a transformation. And so to bring that about, God enacts the most profound and powerful sort of love: he comes to dwell with us. Becomes one of us. Has compassion for us by feeling our same pain with us, and walking in our skin, our shoes. Yes, God comes down, and becomes flesh and blood, right alongside our flesh and blood, and in doing so, God loves us, in the most concrete sort of way. As a beloved Christina Rossetti poem says, “Love came down at Christmas, love all lovely, love divine. Love was born at Christmas; star and angels gave the sign.” And this love transforms the world. Transforms us.

Christmas movies tell this story of the incarnation in various, mostly secular ways – a green-haired, grumpy loner, a miserly curmudgeon, a full-sized elf trying to find his birth dad, a kid left home alone, a depressed banker wanting to end his life. And we also have our own stories that paint how we understand Christmas – stories when things went awry, or when we were grieving someone dear to us, or when the most unexpected surprise came our way. But they all point to the same underlying truth: that pain and greed and pride and darkness are a part of life, but they are not the end of the story. They can be overcome by love and light. That transformative love may not change our physical circumstances – nothing changed in Whoville or in 1840s Victorian London – but it does have the power to change us, and grow our hearts. And then we have the eyes to see how, by this love, God is changing the world, both now and hereafter.

I love the words of tonight’s offertory hymn. The last verse says:

Love has come, and never will leave us.

Love is life everlasting and free.

Love is Jesus, within and among us.

Love is the peace our hearts are seeking.

This, you see, is how this gift of love transforms us and the world. It does not leave, no matter how deep our pain. It is everlasting and free, no matter how miserly, grinchy, selfish, or otherwise terrible we are, and it offers us life unlike anything we have previously known or experienced. It brings us peace, because we know we are not left to face the pain alone. 

Now, we can do everything in our power, like the Grinch, to stop this gift of love from coming, or we can grumble and complain about it like Scrooge, but that will not stop it from coming. Love will come, has come, and never will leave us.

Where do you see it, tonight, my friends? Where have you seen it this year – this relentless love, coming to be born in our world and in our hearts, coming with the power to transform us? How has that love caused your heart to grow in size? How has it changed your outlook? How is the love come down at Christmas casting light through the cracks of our broken world – and how is that love beckoning you to be a part of that shining light?

I’m sure we will be watching more Christmas movies in the next couple of weeks while the kids are off from school. And I, for one, will be watching for those transformations. And, because stories – whether from the Bible or from Hallmark – often compel us to look also at our own lives, I will also be watching for the ways God’s love, born at Christmas, is working in my own heart this season and throughout the year, to transform me and bring me freedom, peace, inspiration, and the promise of life everlasting.

Let us pray… Incarnate Love, when we are stuck in our own pain and sadness, you come down to be with us. Come to us also this year, and transform us, so that we would see your loving presence among us, and be a part of your saving work. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Go and tell John what you hear and see (Dec. 14, 2025)

Advent 3A
December 14, 2025
Matthew 11:2-22; Isaiah 35:1-10

INTRODUCTION

The third Sunday of Advent is known as Gaudete Sunday, or “Rejoice!” Sunday. It offers us a bit of respite from all these difficult, end-times-y texts. Great, right? So where does the Gospel reading drop us? In prison, of course, with a doubting John the Baptist. 

Last week’s confidence has apparently waned: since we last saw John in the wilderness, he has gotten himself arrested for criticizing King Herod’s marriage practices. And he is starting to wonder why things aren’t looking the way he thought they would. But Jesus’ words, we hope, will set him back on track.

Isaiah is far more joyful. Last week’s reading from Isaiah was from before the exile, as the Assyrians are about to attack. Today’s text is written while the Israelites are in exile, in Babylon, and offers them a vision of healing and restoration – a joyous procession out of Babylon through the blooming desert, and back to Jerusalem and the land promised to their ancestors. It is truly beautiful poetry. 

Lots going on in these texts. Take them all in, and listen for a word that will speak joy to whatever ails your heart this day. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from the One who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.

Can I be real with you for a moment? I love the Advent season and all the declarations of the light shining in the darkness and the coming Messiah saving us all… but this has been a difficult year for a lot of vulnerable people, and so many things I read in the news are so distressing, my heart just aches. And when I proclaim all these wonderful Advent promises, I admit that sometimes I feel like I am trying to convince myself, as well as you, that they are true. I mean, I believe them, I do, deep in my heart… but then something else discouraging happens, and my heart breaks again and it becomes difficult to believe that God’s reign will ever come to be. When will the Prince of Peace break into our world for real? How are we to rejoice on this Gaudete Sunday when there is so much pain and sadness all around us? 

All this is to say that I really needed to hear this story today about John the Baptist, doubting in prison. 

John, with all his fiery passion about the coming Messiah. 

John, who had the guts to call the religious elites a brood of vipers and tell them to change their ways. 

John, who recognized Jesus even when they were both in utero, as someone who would bring about the dawn from on high. 

John, who now sits in prison for his outspokenness, and is beginning to wonder, “Was I wrong? Is this really the guy? All those things I preached about – are they really going to happen? Because this is not looking like I thought it would look. Did I get this one wrong, and go to prison for the wrong guy?”

Now, his doubts, by themselves, are not very hopeful. But I find it very powerful when I can see my own questions and concerns represented in scripture, even and especially in the heart of a faith hero like John the Baptist. Because then, I can see the response to those concerns as a response also to my own aching heart.

And that is what happens. Jesus tells the messenger to tell John what he hears and sees: 

That those who lacked understanding are finding clarity. 

Those who were at the end of their rope and couldn’t take another step are finding a way forward. 

Those who were ill in mind or body are finding healing. 

Those who couldn’t receive the good news have had their hearts opened. 

Those whose lives were ending are finding new life. 

The poor have good news brought to them.

Jesus could have just said, “Yeah, I’m the guy.” Instead, he invites the messenger, and John, to look around and see the effects of Jesus’ power on the world around him. And then, to tell about it.

I needed that advice this week. Because it can be all too easy to get bogged down by the bad news. And when you wake up each day and expect bad news, that is indeed what you will find. Yet I will tell you, this week for me was full of glimpses of the joy, the life, that Jesus tells John and the messenger to look for. And, because Jesus urges the messenger to tell John about it, I’m going to follow suit, and tell you about the ways God’s power has been on display.

This week, I had a chance to tour Loop Ministries, which is housed at Lutheran Church of the Incarnate Word on East Ave, to see them in action as they packed and handed out bags. The director was thrilled to meet me and give me a tour, saying we were one of their most generous donors. She said, “Because of the extra financial gifts you have given us recently, we were able to purchase some special items for those we serve. This month, each family gets to choose to add coffee, tea, or hot chocolate to their bag, which we can’t normally offer. And we made these little holiday gift bags with some candy in them to give each family. These are a luxury to our families, and we’re glad to give them. But I’ll tell you, it is really a boost to our volunteers. When we see people’s faces light up, it really energizes our volunteers – which we really need after such a tough year with so much increased need.” Our gifts to Loop Ministries make this small but tangible difference for hungry people, and those who serve them. 

On Wednesday, I went with members of our Endowment Committee to deliver the disbursement checks from our endowment fund for this year. Our endowment account did very well this year, and we were able to be quite generous. First, we delivered $10,000 to Bethany House, which provides transitional housing to women and children experiencing homelessness. The woman who received the check, the House Manager, cried when we gave it to her. She said, “This place is so important to me. I grew up homeless, and I have been in and out of this house with my children, trying to get my feet on the ground. Finally, I was able to become resident staff and now house manager, and I have some stability in my life. I used to be afraid of public speaking, but now I get to go places and tell them about the wonderful work we are doing here at Bethany House. Just yesterday we had a board meeting, and we weren’t sure how much longer we can sustain this program. But this gift will make such a huge difference for us. Thank you so much!” Bethany House is changing the lives of women and children, and we get to be a part of that.

Then we went to Rochester Hope, where many of us volunteered last month. We had been impressed by
their “choice pantry,” which allows anyone to come get whatever and however much food they need, no questions asked. But as anyone who was there can tell you, it was cramped quarters for how many they serve (as many as 400 people a week)! For them, we had a check for $80,000, which will go toward the extension they are currently building. That addition will provide a larger pantry and more storage space. They, too, teared up in shock and delight at this gift. The director just kept looking down at the check and smiling. The poor have good news brought to them.

Finally, we went to St. Peter’s Kitchen, which provides hot meals six days a week (that’s nearly 160,000 meals served last year), as well as a choice pantry and various social services. Both they and Loop Ministries get volunteer help from adults with disabilities, and there was a very cheerful atmosphere as

they worked. When we handed the CEO a check for $20,000, he was literally knocked off his feet! He gasped and fell backward on the pew behind him, hand to heart, speechless. “I didn’t expect this!” he finally exclaimed. “This is incredible!” 

“Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” What do you see and hear? Where are you seeing glimpses of light and life in the gloom of the world? What lives are being changed? Who needs to hear about it?

In the darkness that threatens to overwhelm, these are signs of Christ’s light, signs of joy. As small as a holiday bag with candy inside, and as big as a building project that provides more food to more people, and everything in between. Jesus’ call to us is to notice them, to name them, to go and tell about them – about the ways that God is bringing new life to places where life seemed impossible. We at St. Paul’s were a part of God’s work, the work of the coming Messiah, in a very real way this week. And when we tell others about it, God shines that light even brighter into our community. 

So be strong, people of St. Paul’s, and do not fear. Here is your God, who will come and save us all.

Let us pray… God of joy, we thank you for our many resources and the ways that we, with your help, can use them to make our corner of the world a better place. We pray for those who will benefit from our recent gifts to Loop, Rochester Hope, Bethany House, and St. Peter’s Kitchen, that through these gifts, they will see your light, and be able to bear witness to that light for others. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: The Process and Peace of Repentance (Dec. 7. 2025)

Advent 2A
December 7, 2025
Matthew 3:1-12

INTRODUCTION

Traditionally the second week of Advent is known as “Peace Sunday,” and we will see that theme especially in today’s famous reading from Isaiah: the description of the Peaceable Kingdom, where the wolf lies with the lamb, and other predators live in peace with their prey, and a little child leads them. It is what we hope for and picture when those angels sing to the shepherds in the fields, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace among those whom he favors.” And that description of a peaceful kingdom was very good news for Isaiah’s audience, who were living under threat of the Assyrian army, which had already destroyed the northern kingdom of Israel and were likely heading south next, to Judah. Israel is living in a time when the people don’t trust their leaders to be faithful, and their hope is lost because the line of King David, from whom they were expecting a Messiah to come and save them all, has been cut off. But here, Isaiah promises that from the stump of David’s family tree (Jesse is David’s father), a sprout has sprung – there is yet hope!

As for the Gospel… this second Sunday of Advent we encounter John the Baptist in the wilderness and his cries for all to “repent!” John is always a centerpiece of the Advent season, as he heralds the Lord’s coming. Difficult as his message of repentance is to hear, it is a necessary one for the preparation of our hearts. Today he says so quite extremely, so, buckle up. Both the nice text from Isaiah and the difficult one from Matthew can bring peace, if we hear them with open hearts. So, let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from the One who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.

So what do you think: if I could somehow arrange to have John the Baptist come here as a guest preacher, how do you think he would be received? Do you think you would leave the sanctuary, shake his hand, and say, “Thanks for your sermon today, pastor!” Or maybe… leave before he was finished?

I can’t say John’s strong words would make me want to hang around and thank him! On the surface, at least, this sermon is more in the fire and brimstone preaching genre that makes me pretty uncomfortable. I don’t always need to feel good when I’m listening to a sermon, but I at least appreciate not being likened to a brood of vipers, ya know?

Yet if we dig a little deeper into this scene and John’s words, what appear on the surface to be very judgmental and accusatory words are actually words of hope and transformation (serpentine insults aside!).

First, a little biblical history. Matthew is going to great lengths here to identify John the Baptist with Elijah, the 9th century prophet who was whisked off into heaven by a chariot of fire. In Jewish belief, the return of Elijah would herald the coming of the Messiah – and with it, great hope! So when Matthew paints John as Elijah (for example, by his strange clothing of camel’s hair and a leather belt, and his location in the wilderness), he is starting us off by saying: “God is on the move! God has raised up another Elijah in the wilderness. The dawn of a new day is upon us, and we know this because Elijah (or someone like him) has returned.” It is no wonder people flocked to the wilderness to hear what John had to say! So, we’re starting from a place of hope, which helps us see the rest of John’s sermon through that hopeful lens.

Though John’s words in this text are directed at the Pharisees and Sadducees, but they are just as important for us. The meaning of that word, repentance, is not merely saying “I’m sorry,” or confessing your sins at the beginning of the liturgy each week. When John says, “Repent!” he is calling upon people to change their hearts, to turn around and reorient toward a new way of living. It is certainly possible and even reasonable to take this call to repentance personally. Someone telling you, “You need to change,” can be pretty tough to hear! But also… don’t we all already know it, know that we need a change? Is there anyone among us who is completely content with their life, their relationship with God, their prayer life, their relationships with family, friends, and colleagues? Is there anyone here who is immune to greed, self-absorption, apathy or anger? 

Speaking personally, I’m fairly content – I have a job I love, a family I cherish, I live in a beautiful place and have a roof over my head and food on the table. But there are plenty of times a week or even a day when I feel unsettled, unsatisfied, or a sense of longing. Plenty of times when I long for my heart to be changed: to be more oriented toward God than toward myself, and toward radical love of neighbor. John is speaking to that: “change your heart!” he says. “God is coming near, and a new day is upon us! Out with the old ways, and in with the new! Change your heart, change your life!”

Consider for a moment, be honest: how does that message land with you? To me, it feels both hopeful (as I said, I do often long for a change, even if I can’t always pinpoint what I envision that change to be), and it also feels exhausting and a bit scary or intimidating. After all, what if the change is hard? What if it requires too much from me? Isn’t it easier just to stay the way I am, because it’s pretty good, and at least it is known? Even if the future is hopeful – what if getting there is too much?

Well, John’s response to these fears is not especially compassionate (John was not known for his bedside manner). Instead, he draws upon another image that on its surface is terrifying, but actually offers life: that of the separation of chaff and wheat. It sounds very judgmental, right? A separation of good (wheat) and bad (the chaff that will be burned). But this is referring to a farming practice wherein the husk is removed from the grain, and allowed to be blown away by the wind and burned. These husks, together, are called chaff. You see? Each grain of wheat has both grain, which is to be preserved, and chaff, which is to be discarded. We are all made up of both grain and chaff, and the goal is to save every grain, and do away with the chaff. So although we may be tempted to hear this image as a separation of good people from bad people, it is actually speaking to the wheat and the chaff within each heart. As Russian author Alexsandr Solzhenitsyn says, “The line separating good and evil passes not [between groups, or between people] – but right through every human heart.” 

So John asks us in this Advent season: what is the chaff that needs to be burned, in order to prepare our hearts for our Lord’s coming? What husks are getting in the way of our ability to see and welcome God’s presence among us? Anxieties, apathy, or greed? Judgment of others? Bitterness over past wrongs? A brain that is overactive with worry? Coping habits that draw our attention away from trust in God, and toward trust in our faulty human ways?

John’s dynamic sermon on this second Sunday of Advent tells us that it doesn’t have to be that way. The coming of Christ means restoration and empowerment, hope and new life. And it also does mean peace – the peace that comes from shedding those traits and patterns that cause distress to us and our communities, that keep us from living peacefully with one another. With the chaff gone, we can heal as individuals and communities. Of course, separating the wheat from the chaff may not be an easy process. But allowing the chaff to burn away, as difficult as it may be to watch our old ways shrivel up, will bring us to new life. It will do away with all the junk that clutters our minds and hearts, and prepare room instead to receive the Lord of Love, the Prince of Peace.

Let us pray… Emmanuel, so much gets in the way of us finding peace – in our hearts and in our world. Let every heart prepare you room, so that we might get closer to your vision of living peacefully with one another. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: What's behind the curtain? (November 30, 2025)

Advent 1A
November 30, 2025
Matthew 24:36:44

INTRODUCTION

On the first Sunday of Advent, which begins the new church year, we hear a lot of, “Pay attention, and look at this new thing that God is doing! Don’t miss it!” We’ll see that theme very strongly in both Paul’s letter to the Romans and in the Gospel reading. In Isaiah, we get a glimpse of what that new thing might mean for our broken world – it could be a world in which all people will gather on God’s holy mountain, and there will be no more weapons or war, because they’ll be turned into tools for feeding people. This comes as good news to a nation that is, in the 8th century BCE, being pummeled by the army of the Assyrian Empire; Isaiah speaks these words of hope and new life into a context of suffering, anxiety, and imminent imperial conquest. 

The Psalm also reflects on this world of peace. And in all four readings, we’ll see bits of the persistent Advent themes we think about every year: we wait, we watch, we hope, even as we anticipate the light of God breaking into the darkness of our lives.

Throughout Advent, we encounter the ways God shows up, sometimes where we least expect it, and pulls us into the future of hope and promise – even if it wasn’t a part of our original plan. So as you listen today, watch for those surprising moments in the texts, words or themes of the unexpected – and think about the ways God has shown up in your life in unexpected ways. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace form the one who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.

Along with millions of other people, Grace and I saw the movie, Wicked: For Good last weekend. In case you aren’t familiar, Wicked (originally a book, then a Broadway musical, now a two-part blockbuster hit), tells the backstory of the Wicked Witch of the West and Glinda the Good Witch from Wizard of Oz. The two women were friends back at school, and this may come as a shock, but Elphaba (the so-called Wicked Witch) is actually the moral hero of the story, and is not wicked at all. Things aren’t always what they seem – which of course is a sentiment also classically described in The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy and her friends discover that the all-power Wizard is just a little man behind a curtain. Wicked takes this idea further, and digs into the reality that there is much more than we realize that lies behind the curtain – someone’s true moral character, the childhood that formed them, their motivations and intentions which may appear good on the surface but are actually evil. Turns out, the world is a morally complex place.

Well, since seeing the movie, Grace and I have had many conversations about it. So when I asked her this week, just to make conversation on the way to school, what I should write my sermon about, she said, without missing a beat, “Wicked.” I said, “Honestly, that’s not a bad idea.” Because Advent, especially this first Sunday, is all about pulling back the curtain and revealing what is behind it. This reading from Matthew is what we call “apocalyptic,” the end of the world as we know it – and the meaning of that word, apocalypse, is a sort of unveiling. It is pulling back the curtain to reveal what was there all along, but we were unable to see it (whether due to circumstance or choice). Being in the midst of apocalypse is a scary and anxious place to be, because suddenly all the things you thought you knew are revealed to be illusions and lies. It is very unsettling and disruptive to the status quo. But it is also the first step toward getting to the truth.

The Wicked story really gets at this. At the beginning, Elphaba (remember, she becomes the Wicked Witch) wants nothing more than to meet “our Wonderful Wizard,” who she believes truly has the power and the will to make the world a better and more just place. But when she meets him, she discover not only that he is merely a man who is good at illusions. He also is the mastermind behind what she perceives to be one of the greatest injustices currently plaguing the Land of Oz. The very thing she hoped he would help fix, he is in fact causing! She is soon caught in the web of the lies of the powerful, and she is used as a tool for their purposes. When she tries to unveil this truth and reveal who the wizard really is, the powers that be paint her instead as the villain – those in power paint her not as the good and morally just Elphaba, but the Wicked Witch, to be feared by all. That is where the first movie ends – the second movie digs deeper still into the human inclination to grasp yet more tightly to our illusions, because they are what we have always known, and even if they are wrong, these lies are what have given people a sense of security, false and unjust as it may be. Elphaba, for her part, steadfastly refuses to look away from those being harmed by these illusions.

I was struck, while watching this movie taking place in an imaginary land, how relatable this was. We see today, too, in our own lives and in the world more broadly, how resistant we are to acknowledging when we’ve been duped; that the leaders we trusted have created a common enemy, even sometimes out of someone good, so we have something external on which to blame our unease and to direct our attention away from the real problem; how willing we are to believe anything that promises to lower our anxiety. We want to protect ourselves from the dangers that lurk round every corner. And this sometimes keeps our eyes closed to the realities that exist that need to be addressed, whether in our own hearts, or in the world around us. The curtain needs to be pulled back. The truth needs to be reckoned with. Even if it does terrify us and make us feel ashamed. 

But the disruption of Advent comes into our lives, and first acknowledges our fear. We hear this story from Matthew that is full of anxiety that echoes our own – anxiety about the future, the unknown, about what may lie hidden beyond the curtain. We are told to “keep awake,” to keep watch – not for dangerous and scary things to happen (though sometimes they do), but for the Lord himself to break into that fear, even when we least expect it, like a thief in the night. God breaks in so that he can be present with us. 

You see, that is the promise of Advent: not that we will be immune to danger and anxiety, not that pulling back the veil will be smooth and everything will happen just as we wanted or hoped… but that when those things happen, we are not alone. We are created for more than fear, because God himself, whose birth we watch, wait, and hope for, has promised to come and be both with us and for us. 

With that promise, we can face the realities that lie behind the curtain. We can endure the moment when everything we thought we knew comes crashing to the ground. We can stand firmly in the promises of God, to love us, to know us, and to be present with us, even in the middle of the night when the world is darkest. Jesus will do what it takes to get to us, even break down our barriers and break into our hearts like a thief, even and especially at the darkest hour.

And so, let us light candles, to remind us that we do not face the shadows alone. Indeed, the light of the world has already come, shining in the darkness to illumine our lives, to lead us forth not in fear but in courage. Let us string lights on trees and homes. Let us keep awake and watchful for the ways God is already breaking into our fear and anxiety, so that when illusions fall away, we are left with the truth of God’s loving presence, lighting our way and encouraging each step toward something new. Come – let us walk in the light of the Lord!

Let us pray… Lord God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown.  Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Sermon: President Jesus? (November 23, 2025)

Christ the King/Reign of Christ (C)
November 23, 2025
Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 46;
Colossians 1:11-20; Luke 23:33-43

INTRODUCTION

On this last Sunday of the church year, we celebrate Christ the King Sunday, sometimes called Reign of Christ. Interestingly, this is a fairly new addition to the church year – this year is the day’s 100th birthday! Pope Pius XI instituted it in 1925 (and Lutherans adopted it some 50 years later). In a world then ravaged by World War I, and the emergence of communism in Russia, secularism in the west, and fascism in Spain and Italy (with Germany close behind), it was hoped that raising up Christ’s humble kingship would offer a counter, a needed alternative to these scary regimes. Now, still 100 years later, stating the need for this alternative sort of reign still matters! We are still constantly reckoning with the goals and ways of earthly world leaders versus the way that God rules.

Today’s texts offer us some different pictures of what a godly rule looks like. You will see a God who protects, and gathers together rather than scatters, and rescues, and reconciles, and forgives – we will even see in our Gospel reading which takes us to Jesus’ crucifixion, a king who forgives criminals with his last breath. Ours is certainly a remarkable king! As you listen to these texts, listen for what else you notice about the nature of our true king, and what his nature says about what we are called to be and do. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from the one who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.

Luke’s passion story, part of which we just heard, includes my favorite moment of all the passion narratives. It is unique to Luke’s Gospel: it is the moment when Jesus hangs on the cross, having been beaten, flogged, and mocked, and now he forgives those who persecute him, and tells the criminal beside him, “Today you will be with me in paradise.” I find this exchange absolutely stunning, as flummoxing as it is comforting. For Jesus to offer forgiveness and salvation in this context – I think incredulously, “What are you doing, Jesus??” and then in amazement, “Who am I, that my God would do this also for me?” As I said, I find it stunning.

Of course the other depictions we hear today of our divine king are also stunning. In Jeremiah, he is a shepherd, gathering the sheep together rather than dividing and destroying them. In the Psalm, God is our refuge and strength and a very present help in time of danger. Colossians focuses on Christ’s “strength” and “glorious power,” which he shares with us. 

These are all good descriptions of what I would expect from a king, and indeed what first century Jews expected of a king: someone mighty, who saves, and leads, and unites, and protects, and inspires, and brings peace to a hurting people! Yes, please! But then we get to Luke’s description of the kingly Christ, and we are stopped in our tracks. This is not the picture of a king that first century Jews expected, nor is it the one that we would wish for or describe, if left to our own devices. This so-called king, with his crown of thorns, looks weak, beaten down by the enemy, complacent. There is nothing of the “glorious power” of Colossians, nor the refuge and strength from the Psalm, nor the protector from Jeremiah. 

What do we do with this disconnect? It has brought up two questions for me this week: first, if this is indeed our king, this man hanging on a cross, accepting abuse, forgiving his persecutors, and inviting criminals to join him in paradise – if this is our king, then what does it mean for us as followers of this king? And second, does this picture inform what we should expect of our secular rulers?

First, what does such a king mean for that king’s followers? Generally, we imagine that the followers will emulate their leader, right? Well here, Jesus shows us something about how to handle conflict. Here he is, in the midst of the worst moment of his life. His adversaries are angry and cruel. He’s been publicly flogged, beaten within an inch of his life, and now hangs on a cross to die, while those who love him stand by and say nothing. In the face of any one of those things, I’d expect Jesus to react by lashing out at his betrayers, or seeking revenge, or insulting people back – that’s certainly what I would want to do! But instead, Jesus forgives them. He side-steps that visceral human reaction we often have to stressful or painful situations, and he simply forgives those causing him harm, and offers salvation even to criminals. 

That is the king that God gave to God’s broken people: not a ruler who lashes out, who wields the sword, who attacks and counter-attacks, who uses people’s faults against them, nor even one who saves himself, when he totally could have. He could have snapped his fingers and used his glorious power to get out of the whole thing! But no, the king that God gives to God’s broken and wayward people is one who willingly makes himself vulnerable, who responds to threats with peace, who forgives to the very end, and who offers us the promise of salvation.

And so, to return to my first question: what does this mean for us, as followers of this ruler? Once again, I am both comforted and threatened by the answer, for to be followers of this ruler means to strive for the same: to answer attacks with love, not hatred or even apathy; to respond to other’s cruelty with understanding and compassion, not sword and shield; to constantly remind each other of our dependence on God for our salvation, rather than on fleeting worldly promises. It is a tall order, one that can only be met with the love, power and support of that same king who calls us to this seemingly impossible task. 

So, if we expect this from Christ’s followers, what about that second question: is this sort of leadership and behavior what we expect also from our worldly leaders? I have really struggled with this one, because while I want to think I would seek a leader like Jesus, I also think, “This sort of kingship would never work in the real world.” It’s all well and good for Jesus to be this way, but a president? I mean, be honest: if Jesus ran for president, do you think he would get elected? I admit, I don’t. We seek outwardly powerful people to be our leaders, just like centuries of Jews, who were asking God for a mighty ruler to fight off their oppressors and use a strong arm to save them from their enemies. Except, that “powerful” ruler they requested came as a babe in a manger, and grew up a homeless peasant, and spent his life fraternizing not with the rich and powerful but with the marginalized, who didn’t punish but forgave the most despised of society (including those who hurt and accused him!), who lifted up and fought for the lowly, and who, in the end, brought all people to himself. 

All this, yet his “strength” and “glorious power” came from his very willingness to be vulnerable, from his willingness to forgive, from his attention to the poor and needy, the marginalized and disenfranchised. This is still, decidedly, powerful, but it’s a power unlike what we are accustomed to seeing. 

Yet what if we did expect this from our leaders? What would such leadership look like in today’s world? If Jesus were president, whom would he defend, with whom would he fraternize, and to whom would he reach out? 

This week I attended a presentation on the ELCA’s newest social statement, called Faith and Civic Life: For the Well-being of All. Social statements are study documents meant to govern and guide the moral discernment of our members. This one, as you might guess from the title, provides a Lutheran view on living out our faith, and the call to care for all creation, in the public sphere. The presentation got me thinking deeply about what our call to be Christ-like means in our civic life, or said another way, how to be patriotic Americans who are also living out our faith in civil society. I wonder if part of it might be to ask these questions about how Christ would reign in America today, and then to hold our elected leaders accountable to that – accountable to caring for the most vulnerable among us, and to seeking peace and reconciliation. The social statement talks about how Luther understood God to be working not only in the heavenly realm, but also in the temporal or earthly realm, and in a democracy, we have a role and voice in that, as well. We provide and communicate the voice and will of God, as we understand it through Jesus Christ, in civil society. This is the argument for engaging in faith-based advocacy.

And then beyond that, living out our faith in public means we fight for those same things President Jesus would. To work in whatever way we are able to bring about Christ’s reign here on earth, through our prayers and petitions, our love and compassion, our faith-full voices. We bring about Christ’s reign through our willingness to use our particular gifts and positions for helping those in need, but also through our willingness to forgive, and to show God’s love through word and deed to the people who Jesus himself cared for and prioritized: the hungry, the stranger, the sick, and the marginalized. 

So that is my Christ the King Sunday hope and prayer this year: that we would all seriously consider how Christ would reign in this time and place, and then do all we can to make that reign a reality, in America and in the world – not by making this a “Christian nation,” but by making it a nation that acts like Christ.  May we all seek first the kingdom of God and its righteousness, knowing that Christ, our true king, works with us, providing us what we need to do it.

Let us pray… Christ, our King, we thank you for being our ultimate ruler, for showing us what a just society, a righteous kingdom, can look like, and for empowering us to seek that kingdom. Guide us to work with you to bring that kingdom upon this earth, by the strength of your glorious power. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.