Sermon: New life isn't easy (April 27, 2025)

Easter 2C
April 27, 2025
John 20:19-31

INTRODUCTION:

Alleluia! Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

Most people know that Christmas is not just one day, but 12 days, but did you know that Easter is not one day, but seven weeks? Yay, Christ is risen indeed!

During this 7-week Easter season, the lectionary gives us readings from Acts rather than an Old Testament reading. This is so that we can see and hear how the Early Church dealt with the news of the resurrection, how the news shaped their faith and their church, and so also how it shapes ours. 

For the second reading we will be hearing this season from Revelation – a book that has a reputation of being sort of bizarre and troubling in its depiction of the end of the world. But really, it is a deeply symbolic book that paints a picture of hope in the midst of despair, famine, conflict, and war. The Book of Revelation shows us how God is present, not absent, how Christ is the self-giving Lamb, and how people are called repeatedly into a circle of praise and worship. All hopeful images, and all appropriate themes for the Easter season!

And finally, during these six remaining Sundays of Easter, we will hear from John’s Gospel. This 2nd Sunday of Easter, we always hear the story of Jesus appearing to his fearful disciples in the locked upper room on the evening of Easter. Since we read Luke’s resurrection story last week, not John’s let me refresh you on John’s version, which happened right before this. In John’s version of the resurrection, Mary Magdalene goes alone to the tomb, and finds Jesus is missing. She runs to tell the disciples, and Peter and the so-called “other disciple” run to check it out, and then leave the scene, puzzled. Mary stays, crying in the garden, and is approached by Jesus, whom she thinks is the gardener, until he calls her by name. Then she recognizes him, and runs to tell the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!” And that’s where today’s reading picks up, in the evening of that same day. You can imagine some of the emotions in that room!  

As you listen, listen as one who is still excited, mystified, and perhaps a little scared about this earth-shattering news of the resurrection. For this news is still all of these things, 2000 years later! Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

I mentioned several weeks ago that I had purchased a new coffee table. Well now we have added to the living room a new couch and matching chair. Woo! This was stressful, as it was both expensive, and required a complete rearrangement of our living room – and as soon as we have forked over the $3000-some dollars for couch and chair, I started having doubts and regrets. What if it doesn’t work in the space after all? What if it’s uncomfortable for cuddling with my kids? What if we hate the way it changes the

New couch and chair, new arrangement
(old coffee table!) - more pieces still in the works!

flow of how we move around our living space? We’ll have to change our patterns and habits. Agh! Everything will change! 

I’ve always been this way. I am a visionary, a dreamer, a wannabe risk-taker… but as soon as it looks like something might actually become of my dreams, I come up with all the reasons it probably won’t really work. This is often human nature: we are resistant to change, even as we may long for it – because we don’t want to change our daily routine, we are afraid of the unknown, we prefer to understand how things will work, and we definitely do not want to regret anything.

I imagine the disciples felt some of these things at their Easter evening gathering in the upper room. It’s not that they didn’t believe Mary, about Jesus having risen from the dead (though that may have been part of it). But more, they didn’t know what this would mean for their lives going forward. They were without their beloved teacher, the one they had left everything to follow. He had upset the authorities so much that he had been killed. And now they likely feared that, because they were his disciples, their lives were also in danger. They didn’t know what to do. Furthermore, I’m sure they felt some regret, wishing they had been bold enough to do something to prevent Jesus’ death – I imagine their conversations between Friday and Sunday were full of “if onlys” and “what ifs.” Well now, according to Mary Magdalene, they have gotten what they wanted – Jesus was back, he was alive! – but instead of joy they are filled with fear, such fear, that they have locked themselves away in the upper room. Fear, worry, regret – all feelings we are all too familiar with.

When Jesus then appears to them in that place of fear and regret, everything changes! But even as they rejoiced that Jesus was, indeed, alive, I suspect there was still some fear there. After all, one week later, they are still in that locked upper room! But now, of course, the cause of their fear has changed. Before Jesus appeared to them, their primary fear was death: Jesus had been killed, and as his disciples, they feared that something similar might happen to them. But then Jesus comes to them, and tells them, “As the Father sent me, so I send you.” And now? Now their fear is not only of death, but of this new life that they are being sent into by the Resurrected Christ.

We talk a lot about new life during this Eastertide: all the ways that God takes the old, dead things in our lives and turns them into new opportunities, new beginnings, new perspectives. It seems like pretty good news, right? New things often are. New clothes, new house, new couch, new vocation – all have positive connotations. 

But not all new things are good. In fact, new things can often be frustrating or even scary, because they are unfamiliar and full of the unknown. I mean, we really needed a new couch, but even though the prospect of a new couch excited me, I was also filled with dread that we would regret it, that it was costly, that things to which we’d grown accustomed would have to change, that the new wouldn’t live up the comfortable (if also stained and saggy) ways of the old.

If I can be that cautious and resistant about living room furniture, just imagine how the disciples felt, hearing their once-dead-now-living teacher tell them, “Hey guys. Peace. I’m alive. And, I’m here to tell you, that I’m sending you out to carry on my mission in the world – you know, the mission that got me hung on a cross this weekend. Cool, right? Ok, peace out!” Uh, yeah, I imagine if I were among the disciples, I would have stayed locked safely in that upper room a little longer, too. I would be doubting my own abilities, not to mention my own courage, to carry out this mission Jesus was giving us, doubting whether Jesus really meant to put us in such danger, doubting whether I really wanted to keep doing this, or just get back to my safe, familiar life from before, which might not have been perfect, but was at least known.

But that’s the catch about Easter, you see – after the resurrection, there is no going back to your safe, familiar life. With the resurrection, everything changes – and not just the furniture! Life can no longer be the same. Death and fear are defeated, and life becomes new. 

Okay, so what does that new life look like? Jesus says to the disciples gathered there, “As the Father sent me, so I send you.” In other words, that new life looks like living the way Jesus commanded and demonstrated throughout his ministry: like, humbly washing the feet of one another – even those who would betray, deny, or abandon you. Like, reaching out to and standing up for those on the margins, like listening to women, and reaching out to the outsider, and feeding the hungry, and freeing the prisoner, and liberating the oppressed. New life looks like forgiveness, and like self-sacrifice. It looks like striving to be in relationship with one another even when it is difficult, and bringing light into the darkness, and proclaiming life into the places where stinky death tries to win. 

It’s a tall order, even an impossible one. Or it would be, if it not for the other gifts Jesus offers to the disciples locked in the upper room. First of all, Jesus offers peace. Three times in this passage we hear this from Jesus: “peace be with you.” What comforting words for those of us who find the prospect of new life to be terrifying – especially a self-sacrificing, world-order-turning, risky, humble life of service. Perhaps as the disciples consider what this new life will mean, they are thinking, like I did about my new couch, “Wait, are we sure about this? What if it doesn’t work? What it is too big a task for us? What if it’s uncomfortable? What if we hate the way it changes the flow of how we live our lives? We’re going to have to change our patterns and habits. Do we really want to do this?” And to this fear of change and regret, Jesus offers, three times, “Peace be with you.”

And secondly, Jesus offers them the gift of the Holy Spirit. “He breathed on them,” John tells us, “and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’” With this gift, Jesus offers to his disciples the very same gift that God offered humanity when he breathed into Adam’s nostrils and made life come about. God’s breath has this kind of power: the power to bring to life, to comfort, to support, to sustain, to encourage, to empower. Christ breathes on his disciples – and on us – and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” And suddenly we have the power to fulfill his mission, to do his work in the world, despite what fears and hesitations we may have. We have what we need. 

Peace be with you, siblings in Christ. As God the Father sent Christ into our world and our lives to show us what love and service look like, to show us that life will always overcome death, so Christ now sends us to continue bringing this message to the world, offering us peace in the midst of our fear, doubt and regret, sustaining us with his breath, and empowering us, always, with the Holy Spirit.

Let us pray… Risen Christ, breathe your empowering breath on us as we continue to walk into resurrected life. Come to us in our fears and our doubts and offer us your peace, and show us how to live out your gospel in all that we do. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Easter reflects real life (April 20, 2025)

Easter Sunday
April 20, 2025
Luke 24:1-12

by He Qi

Alleluia! Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia! Grace to you and peace from our risen Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. 

My daughter recently asked me what my favorite holiday is. After thinking a moment, I said, “Easter. It’s pure joy. Beautiful flowers, great music, everyone comes to church in their nicest clothes. It’s just lovely.” But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true – that is, I do love Easter, but it is not pure joy, as a careful reading of Luke or really any of the Gospels will tell you. In fact, in Luke’s telling of the resurrection, there isn’t really any joy at all!  Reading through Luke’s account, here is what I do see: the women are perplexed and terrified, and finally remembering and sharing; and from the 11, we get distrust and lack of belief, as they dismiss the women’s story as nonsense; and from Peter, willingness and amazement, but not joy. There’s not a joyful person in the whole lot of them!

Of course, I can’t say I blame them. Even though Jesus told them he would die and rise again, actually to see it happen is something else altogether! Plus, they don’t actually see it happen – Jesus makes no appearance on Easter morning; he won’t show up until later that evening. It’s hard to believe something so out of the ordinary with so little evidence to go on.

But all of this, and the fact that the first Easter isn’t pure joy, makes the day and this story all the more special to me – because the world we live in is never pure joy either. It’s full of grief, and anger, and mental illness, and addiction, and estranged family members, and conflict within and between both families and nations. All those feelings I mentioned above? Those are our real lives. We are perplexed that anyone could possibly say or think or do the things they do. We are terrified about the ramifications of actions and decisions of those we disagree with, especially when those people are in positions of power. We share things we know are important, only to be dismissed and told that our deeply held convictions are nonsense. We are distrustful of each other, and of authority, and the press, and refuse to believe anything that pushes against our values. And, sometimes, like Peter, we are amazed in what I think might be a good way – a way that opens our hearts to the possibility of hope, and something more than our jaded or grief-stricken world view had previously allowed. 

In short: the Easter story is not joyful, but it does reflect real life, in all its complexity and nuance. 

So then, how do we approach this story – a mind-blowing story from 2000 years ago that reflects our current human condition while at the same time being completely apart from anything we have ourselves witnessed? How do we approach it?

I offer you three words of caution, and three suggestions. 

First, resist trying to define or explain Easter. We love to know things, right, and we tend to trust facts and certainties and verifiable data. But the resurrection defies that effort. To define Easter is to miss the mystery and potential of what God is doing. Just like the twilight “early dawn” hour in which Luke places this story, which is still a little fuzzy but is yet full of what could be – we must approach the resurrection as the mystery that it is: full of potential and uncertainty. Come to it not with a fact-seeking mind, but with a wondering mind. And don’t approach it just once, but again and again. Which of the many emotions and experiences resonate with you today? Is it the sadness and sorrow? The fear? The perplexity? The disbelief? The amazement? Enter into the story through that emotion or experience, and let the good news speak to it: the good news that God is working a new thing, a mysterious thing that we cannot yet, in this twilight hour, fully understand, that we may never understand this side of heaven. Approach the resurrection like a mystery, not a news story. 

Second, do not assume that Easter is over once you leave the church building or turn off the TV or computer today. It is not finished once the last egg has been found and the ham has been packed up and put in the fridge. No, Easter is a call to action. We know all too well that the wounds and sorrows and loneliness we may or may not have left at the door when we came to church today still remain when we walk out that door again. They did for those first witnesses, too. Jesus was raised, but his wounds remained. The brutal and corrupt empire – the one they all thought Jesus would overthrow – was still in power. The disciples still lived with the guilt of having abandoned Jesus in his hour of need, and who knows what other pains they carried. Maybe some of the same ones we do. 

And yet now, they carry them with the knowledge that God is redeeming and restoring the world. They carry them with the knowledge that as heavy and thick as fear and death and grief and endings can feel when we are in the middle of enduring them, they are not the end of the story. And so, Easter is a call to action, a call which asks us, “And what role will you play in God’s story of redemption?” In what ways will you live to bring about healing and encouragement, justice and kindness, in this world that is still so troubled? Jesus didn’t die and rise to make all those things go away; Easter isn’t a magic cure-all for whatever ails us. No, the resurrection is a promise that enables us to persevere through death, just like Jesus, and keep bringing life into a world so riddled with death. And it is an invitation to be a part of that work. So, how will you participate in the Easter story? How will you work with God to bring about redemption?

And that brings me to the third thing that Easter is not: Easter is not an anomaly, a once-in-a-lifetime thing, never to be repeated. I mean, in one sense it is – that particular moment in time in which the incarnate God was raised from the dead will not be repeated. But Easter is better thought of as an icon of the work that God is doing, has been doing, and will continue to do, in and around us every day. There will always be pain and sadness – and God will always be there with us in it. There will always be fear and perplexity and distrust – and God will always be there saying, “But I am trustworthy.” There will always be death – and from it, God will always bring about some form of new life.  

And this is why today, when we celebrate Easter, it is a joy. Maybe not pure joy, for we are human after all, and experience all the diversity of emotion that goes with that. But Easter is joy nonetheless, because it assures us that whatever suffering we are enduring, it is not the end of the story. When we experience the betrayal of Judas on Maundy Thursday; when we feel guilty for having failed to stand our ground like Peter on Good Friday; when our friends abandon us in our hour of need; when we are mocked, or when we are the ones doing the mocking; even when life and light itself seems to be sealed up in a tomb – all of this is along the road to redemption, to resurrection, to new life. None of this is enough to defeat God, or keep God from victory. That is the iconic story that is told on every Easter, and on every day in between Easters: that death does not win. God does.

I don’t like having to live through Good Friday any more than the rest of you. It is all the emotions we have already mentioned and then some. We doubt, and cry, and exclaim in disbelief, and sometimes shout in anger and exasperation. We wonder – “when will this end?” and too often, it takes a lot longer than three days to get to the end. Yet I am encouraged by this iconic Easter story, which assures us again and again that after the night comes that twilight hour, when new life starts to come into view. We may not yet see it clearly or at all. We may still be perplexed and afraid of how the world has shifted beneath our feet. And when someone points it out, we may not even believe it at first. But eventually, our hearts become more willing to venture into the empty tomb. And they crack open enough to be amazed that once again, God has come through, and brought out of the worst of fear and death, the promise of a new and glorious life. 

Alleluia! Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia! 

Let us pray… Risen Christ, we come today with so many emotions in our hearts about so many things. Speak to us exactly where we are at, and bring our aching hearts into a place that is ready to receive the good news of new life. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.  

Sermon: Fill up on good things (Maundy Thursday)

 Maundy Thursday Sermon
April 17, 2025

The other day, I had a made a nice dinner for my family – a new recipe, one I was looking forward to sharing with them. It had enough familiar elements that the kids might actually eat it, but it also introduced them to some new, healthy food and flavors, and best of all, it was easy to make. I was hoping to add it to the rotation for easy weeknight meals. 

But Grace was complaining of a tummy ache, and couldn’t possibly eat another bite. I then found out that she had acquired and eaten almost an entire bag of jellybeans. Isaac, who was also not eating, had apparently eaten his weight in chips that afternoon. Both had filled their tummies up with delicious things that were not good for them, leaving no room for the things that would actually nourish their bodies. Needless to say, I was not impressed.

I recently read an essay that began, “My Lenten mantra this year is, ‘Fill up on good things.’” It made me think of that dinner (and so many others like it), but also about all the ways that we, and not only children, and not only with food, fill up on bad things, soul-sucking and joy-draining things. We fill up our time, our bodies, our consciousness, with things that we know aren’t good for us, or that negatively affect our mood or health, and yet we can’t seem to pull ourselves away. Sometimes we don’t do this on purpose – the bad things just come from places out of our control, sometimes in a deluge, and there seems to be no escape from them. Either way, once we are full of that negative stuff, there often isn’t any space left to fill up on the good things. 

In this essay, written by Holly Wolsey Soper in 2011, she reflects on a trip she took to the Holy Land. She tells this story:

In the West Bank, the Quaker Meeting House in Ramallah might be the one place you can imagine Palestinians and Israelis living together in peace. Around a lovely wooden table in a sun-drenched room, Christian author and activist Jean Zaru shared her rich experience and faith with us, along with cookies and fruit. She knew that by the midpoint of our trip we would have had our fill of bad things, from suicide bombers to disputed settlements. 

So, she broke open her heart and preached. “Hope,” she said, “is an act of resistance. There's nothing abstract about it. Hope is not real until you bring it into your life, test it, prove it… Some people may say I am less because I am a Palestinian and a woman. No, because God dwells in my soul, and I can see God in everyone, every brother and sister, Jew, Muslim, Christian. I do not worship a God who makes ‘good ones’ and ‘bad ones.’” 

She’s not naïve. In 1948, when the state of Israel was created, her village was overwhelmed with refugees. Then her only brother, exiled, was lost in the war in Lebanon. She’s seen her share of bad things, but she has spent her life filling up on good things. 

Now, with the peace process all but dead, she finds hope in her Muslim sisters in Gaza. As soon as the war ended, they began clearing the rubble. With half the schools destroyed, they salvaged books, put up tents, and began to teach.

In other words, they filled up on good things. They understood the pain, the cause for despair, the ruins all around them; no one could accuse them of being Pollyannas.  And yet, in the face of those ruins, they each picked up a stone - and began to rebuild.  

I love that – “they each picked up a stone and began to rebuild.” Rebuild goodness and hope even in the midst of so many bad things. 

And there are so many bad things out there to fill up on. I know I can think of some of the junk that fills the spaces in my heart that I would rather be filled up with hope, and joy, and love. But it can be so hard to make that shift when the bad things are so relentless. 

And so I am grateful, in the midst of all that badness, for Maundy Thursday, and this beautiful story about Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. Consider their context here. Tensions have been rising for quite a while, but especially for the past few days, as Jesus knows the authorities are out to get him. Jesus knows that Judas is about to betray him – in fact, right after Jesus washes his feet, in those verses that are missing from our Gospel reading tonight, Judas will leave, at Jesus’ urging, to do exactly that, go betray him. As Judas leaves, John ominously tells the reader, “And it was night.” For John the evangelist, “night” equals the opposite of knowing, the opposite of God’s presence, the opposite of the light shining in the darkness, of the Light of the World.

It was night… but then, into that night, that very Light shining in the darkness turns to his disciples and says, “I give you a new commandment, to love one another.” Yes, it is in this dark, midnight moment, when Jesus is about to be betrayed, and denied, and abandoned, wrongfully convicted and then killed, when everyone is extremely anxious and concerned and tensions are high, into this that Jesus utters his famous “new commandment,” to love one another as he has loved us.

“Fill up on good things.” These are the good things Jesus is filling them up on in this moment – sharing a meal and fellowship, honesty with one another, service and humility toward one another, love of one another. Good things. These next three days will be the hardest of Jesus’ life, and of their lives, and they will need fuel for the journey. They might be inclined to wallow in grief and sadness, or to be filled with rage at Judas or at the Jewish authorities, or the Roman government. They might fill up on fear and shouting, and blame, and tearing one another down – and I wouldn’t blame them! It’s unfortunately a very human inclination whenever we feel threatened and afraid. But on his last night with them, Jesus instead urges them to fill up on good things: love for one another. Care for one another. Humility, and kindness, and mutuality. 

This sort of love is an act of resistance, my friends, resistance against a power that would oppress us. Such a power would fill us with fear, and try to push us into despair. But when we are driven by love, then we fill ourselves and those with whom we share it with good things, with things stronger than fear and despair. 

That love is our hope. It’s the sort of hope that allows us to sort through ruins and salvage books, and set up tents for teaching, and pick up stones and rebuild. It’s the sort of hope that fuels us to join with others and take a stand for what is right. It’s the sort of hope that brings light into darkness, and energizes us to get through the demoralizing and terrifying days ahead, the days that will, by God’s power, eventually end in resurrection and new life.

It was night. And Jesus said, “Love one another.” Judas betrayed Jesus. And Jesus said, “Love one another.” Later that night, in the garden, the disciples took up arms when Jesus was taken away. And Jesus said, “Put down the weapons, and love one another.” By this, everyone will know we are Jesus’ disciples: if we have love for one another.

And so, let us resist the bad things – resist by sharing meals together, resist by standing up for the vulnerable, resist by serving those in need. Resist the bad things by being peaceful but assertive, by taking action, by using our voices on behalf of those who have no voice. Resist the bad things, so that all God’s children might be filled up on good things.

Let us pray… Lord Jesus, on this night that was so full of fear, anxiety, and darkness, you commanded us to love one another. Show us what it means to love in the midst of our own nights, our own fears and anxieties. Let people see us and our love, and know that we are followers of you, the Light of the World. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Waste vs. costly love (April 6, 2025)

Lent 5C
April 6, 2025
John 12:1-8

INTRODUCTION

Things are really heating up in the Jesus story – you can practically hear suspenseful music telling us, “Something is afoot!” Right before today’s story, Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. This event was so shocking that, according to John, it was the impetus for wanting to kill both Jesus and Lazarus. Lazarus is the brother of Mary and Martha, in whose house we find ourselves today. Just after this story, just as in our church year, John takes us to Palm Sunday, and Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, and not long after that will be Maundy Thursday, when Jesus will be the one kneeling at the disciples’ feet, washing them and wiping them with the towel around his waist. Mary’s actions today, anointing Jesus’ feet, foreshadow this event – and just as Jesus’ act of foot-washing is an act of love for neighbor, Mary’s is an act of love for Jesus. Context is everything for this story!

The other readings are lovely, and I’ll just let them speak for themselves today. As you listen to all the readings, notice the ways they celebrate the abundant love and generosity God has shown to us, especially as we draw closer to Holy Week and the time when we remember the ultimate act of self-giving love. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

Bad news: for the second week in a row, I find myself resonating more with the guy who appears to be the villain in the story than with the hero. Last week, it was the elder brother in the Prodigal Son parable – and his simmering resentment that his deadbeat little brother squandered his inheritance and then got a party anyway. This week, it is Judas who says aloud what I am thinking. In response to Mary’s tender, generous act of love and devotion toward Jesus, Judas scoffs, “That oil was worth a year’s wages! Shouldn’t it have been sold and the proceeds given to the poor?” Um… yeah, Jesus, shouldn’t it? I mean, isn’t that kind of what you’re all about? And honestly, Jesus’ response doesn’t make me feel much better: “The poor you will always have with you,” he says, “but you will not always have me.” What are we to make of that? Jesus couldn’t possibly care more about himself than the poor, right?

This line is one frequently taken out of context and misinterpreted. And yet at this time, when so many of the services that help and support the poor and vulnerable people of our country are seeing cuts in the name of government efficiency, it feels all the more important for us to understand what this statement means – what Jesus meant when he said it, and what it means for us in 2025. 

First, what it meant in Jesus’ context. Often, what Jesus says is not original to him. Remember, he is a rabbi, a teacher of the law, the Torah, and so often he is quoting the sacred scripture of his people. And so, to understand what he is getting at, we need to look at what text and context he is referencing. This is one such case. The idea that “the poor you will always have with you” comes from Deuteronomy 15. In this chapter, Moses is giving a speech to the Israelites as they prepare finally, after 40 years of wandering in the wilderness, to enter the Promised Land. Moses describes what life will be like in this place of abundance, and how a society formed by God’s word should function. One guideline for this society is that every so often, every seven years, there should be what is called a “sabbatical year,” in which all debts are forgiven and debt slaves are released. It was meant to be a way to sort of reset the economy and keep the wealth somewhat evenly distributed. Still, even with this, Moses explains, there will remain some people in need. So Israel should never cease being generous. Even if they are in year 5 or 6, nearing that seventh year of debt forgiveness, do not get stingy, he says. “Do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbor.” 

Yet even with communal systems in place to safeguard against mass poverty, there will remain some who are needier than others. And so, Moses says, “Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.’” 

That is the line and the context to which Jesus alludes in his rebuke to Judas. It is not that Judas or any of us should not care about the poor; we absolutely should. Generosity and care for our needy neighbor is a fundamental part of the practice of faith, and it always will be. That will never change.

Ok, so, what about this other bit, about how “you will not always have me”? Well, we know, even if they haven’t yet figured it out, that Jesus is a short timer. He’s got about a week left with them in his fleshly, incarnated form. So, he’s simply saying what is true: “If you want to help the poor – and you should – you will have every opportunity to do so. Take it. But in this case, Mary has chosen to show love and generosity to me, because she will not have that chance much longer.” He is about to die, and he lifts up Mary for her faithfulness, tenderness, generosity and devotion in this sacred hour nearing his death. He has pointed out her commitment to costly love.

And yet to Judas, and perhaps to us, Mary’s act of love seems wasteful. In fact, we might see any extravagant act of love that does not yield a tangible result as wasteful. How can we tell the difference between what is waste, and what is costly love?

This brings us to how this text speaks to us in 2025. Goodness knows, the concept of “waste” has been very much in our awareness these weeks, as the Department for Government Efficiency has been looking through our government spending to determine what they deem to be “wasteful,” and cutting it – including many programs that specifically serve lower-income Americans. But this encounter between Jesus and Mary calls into question what is considered waste, versus what is better described as costly love. John points out that even things that seem like prudent financial decisions (selling the perfume and giving the proceeds to the poor) can in fact have a sinister underbelly (the possibility of stealing from the common purse such that money intended for the poor goes into someone else’s pocket instead). So, in the end, what really is “waste,” and what is “costly love,” and how do we know the difference?

Given Jesus’ reference to Deuteronomy 15, not to mention countless other references throughout scripture, both Old and New Testaments, giving to the poor is never a waste – at least not when that money is, in fact, going to the poor and not into the purse of a thief like Judas! But this story of tender generosity and devotion also shows us that any act of love is not a waste, costly though it may be. Any time we love our neighbor as ourselves, it is not a waste. Any time we put aside our own self-interest, and focus on the need of another, or the greater good, it is not a waste. Indeed, it is what our faith calls us to.

So, how does costly love look today, then? 

It might look like giving a record-breaking 25-hour speech on the Senate floor, in which you tell real stories of real Americans in need, and quote scripture, and call upon your colleagues to rise to this moral moment and do the right thing.

It might look like joining millions of people around the country to show up to a public action even when you’d rather not go out in the rain, all to say, “We care about what happens to people who depend upon the government spending that is being decried as wasteful. We care about people’s rights and safety. We care about the poor and vulnerable, and it is not a waste to feed people, and provide them safe housing, and healthcare, and libraries.”

Costly love might be literally costly – a large donation, even one slightly beyond your usual level of comfort, to someone who needs it more than you do. As one stewardship expert says, “Don’t give until it hurts. Give until it feels good.”

But costly love could also look quieter and more private than that: It also might look like listening to your child or spouse or friend talk about something important to them, even though you are so tired you can hardly stand it. It might look like reading a book by or about a different life experience from your own, for the sole purpose of getting out of your comfort zone and seeing the world through the eyes of another. It might look like praying for your enemy, for Judas, or for whoever it is that is stealing from those in need or working against your best interest.

Of course, Jesus doesn’t ask more of us than what he himself is about to do. After this loving encounter with Mary, who gives everything she has to kneel at his feet and show him her love, Jesus will enter Jerusalem on a donkey to cries of Hosanna! He will kneel at his disciples’ feet, even Judas, and wash them, saying, “I give you a new commandment, to love one another as I have loved you.” He will willingly give himself up to the authorities, imploring Peter as he does not to respond with violence, because such behavior is of this world, not God’s kingdom. He will give himself up to die, on our behalf, and hang from a cross – still smelling of that perfume that Mary poured so generously on his feet to show her devotion. And then Jesus will rise again, to show us that nothing, not even death, will ever keep us from God’s love in Christ Jesus. This act is the costliest of love. And it is exactly what enables us to give our own costly love in service to our neighbor in need. How will we give generously, tenderly, to show our love to our neighbor, and to this world God loves so much?

Let us pray… Gracious God, we so often count the cost, not wanting to give more than is absolutely necessary. But you, Lord, gave it all. Give us hearts like Mary’s, ready to pour out whatever costly love will serve and heal the world. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.