Sermon: The call to pour yourself out for the needy (Aug. 24, 2025)

Pentecost 11C
August 24, 2025
Isaiah 58:9b-14; Luke 13:10-17

INTRODUCTION 

The theme to watch for in today’s readings is: sabbath, the 3rd commandment (“remember the Sabbath, to keep it holy”), and what sabbath means for a life of faith. So before we go any further, let’s remember what we already know about sabbath. Here’s a little quiz: do you remember what is the rationale behind keeping the Sabbath? [God rested on the 7th day.] Right, God did it, so we should too. It’s a day of rest, a day we don’t work. That’s what Genesis and Exodus tell us. BUT, for a bonus point: the 10 commandments also appear in Deuteronomy. Anyone know what the rationale for sabbath is there? The explanation there says, “Remember that you [the Israelites] were slaves in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out of there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day.” See here, the Sabbath isn’t so much about rest as it is about redemption, about freedom. “Remember that I am the God who frees you from what holds you captive,” God says, and implied then is, “On the Sabbath, use this time to remember how I free you.”

So as you listen to today’s texts, especially Isaiah and Luke, remember that the sabbath is about freedom and redemption. What does that freedom look like in each text? What does it look like for you, as you observe the sabbath? From what do you, or our communities, need redemption, and how would it feel to have it, and what role could you play in bringing it about? Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

If I asked you to share your call story, what would you tell me? You might look at me funny – what’s a call story? You might say, “Call stories are something pastors have, and I’m not a pastor.” It’s true that this is a question often referring to pastors, but it is not exclusively for pastors! What I mean when I say “call story” is, what is the path that led you to the particular ministry in which you are engaged – not only pastoral ministry, but any ministry! Martin Luther talked about “the priesthood of all believers,” the understanding that no matter what your job or how you spend your days, you can serve God. A teacher, a doctor, a stay-at-home parent, a custodian, an artist – whatever it is you do that brings you joy and fulfills you, you have the capacity to serve God through that thing. As Frederick Buechner once said, your vocation, or your call, is “where the world’s greatest need and our deepest gladness meet.”

So let me change the question: what is it in this world that brings you deep gladness? And how have you, through that gladness, met the world’s needs? How have you seen your deepest gladness meet the world’s greatest need?

Today’s reading from Isaiah is about observing the sabbath, but it is also about this sort of call. Isaiah is writing about the best way to serve God, and to keep the sabbath. It is not about praying the right words or showing up to worship. Sabbath is about freeing the oppressed, loosening the bonds of injustice, feeding the hungry and housing the homeless. All of that comes just before today’s reading, but then there is this line toward the beginning of today’s reading: “if you offer your food to the hungry,” it says. But this doesn’t really capture the Hebrew. In Hebrew, it is more like, “if you pour yourself out for the hungry.” There is some word play on the word “nephesh” which means self or soul. “If you pour out your nephesh and satisfy the nephesh of the afflicted, the Lord will satisfy your nephesh.” It is a promise: as you give yourself for the sake of the needy, you in turn find your true self. You fulfill your call.

So then when Isaiah goes on, we can picture how that feels, to have found our own true calling in this act of serving: it feels like your light rising in the darkness, like your gloom becoming like the noonday. It feels like a watered garden, like a spring of water whose waters never fail. It results in the breach being repaired, and the streets being restored. 

In short: when the world’s greatest need meets our deepest gladness, there is life and restoration. That is a call story!

Now, a call story doesn’t have to be lofty and out of reach. It can simply be an articulation of how the particular work you do is making the world better. I asked my housecleaner once if she enjoys her work. “Yes,” she said. “I like that every day I get to make people’s lives better. I get to lighten their load a little bit, remove a stressor, and when I leave, I can see the difference.” I also asked the woman doing my nails, on a recent three-generation mani-pedi girl’s day, what she enjoyed about her work. She said, “I love working on people’s feet. Our feet work so hard, and I like treating them well. Plus I get to know people and hear their stories and just listen. A lot of times, this is the only place people have just to talk and be listened to.” Both of them, you see, housecleaner and nail technician, are fulfilling their calling.

So I ask again: what is your deepest gladness? What makes you come alive? What gifts, when you put them to use, light up the world, even just a little bit?

I have been thinking about this question a lot this week, as I have been working with council to create a Ministry Site Profile for St. Paul’s. In case you missed this, we are using some of our Keymel Bequest, the part we set aside for Mission Expansion, to fund a new position that will be a Minister of Community Connections, or something like that (we haven’t settled on a title yet!). We are hoping this person, who might be a pastor, or may be a deacon or other lay professional, will help us do exactly what I am talking about with Isaiah: first of all, help us discover what are our very best gifts and deepest gladness – both as individuals and as a congregation. We hope this person will help us discern what are the greatest needs in our community, by spending some time in the community (and empowering us to do the same). We’re especially interested in learning from and working more closely with some of our mission partners, such as the various organizations to whom we have recently given donations. And finally, we hope that, together, we will discover “where the world’s greatest need and our deepest gladness meet.” That is, where can our particular gifts as individuals and as a congregation best meet the needs of our surrounding community, so that we can, as our vision statement says, “spread the word of God, build a strong community, and make the world a better place”?

All this will require some buy-in from the congregation, some discernment and personal exploration and openness to the Spirit. But I am hopeful that the result will be discovering some ministry opportunities that will excite our congregation, so that people would feel a deeper sense of ownership and enthusiasm about what we are doing here. When we are engaged in the thing to which God has brought us and called us and guided us, Isaiah tells us we will feel like a watered garden, one that can feed and nourish the world – because we are not merely pursuing our own interests, but are pouring ourselves out for others. When we fulfill our call, we join in a dance of deep delight. 

So this is my ask for you, as we continue to work toward calling a new deacon or pastor to join our staff and work with us on this: think about the question I have been posing throughout this sermon. What is your deepest gladness, what lights you up, and the world around you, and how can that gladness join with the joy and delight of others in this congregation, to meet the world’s needs, and help to free people from whatever holds them captive? For that is the purpose of the sabbath: to free and be set free from captivity, so that we all might find life.

Let us pray… God of delight, you have gifted each of us in ways that bring us such gladness. Help us discern how that deep gladness can meet the world’s great need, so that we would fulfill our call. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Let us run with perseverance the race set before us (Aug. 17, 2025)

Pentecost 13C
August 17, 2025
Jeremiah 23:23-29; Hebrews 11:29-12:2; Luke 12:49-56

INTRODUCTION

Warning: if you were looking for some comforting, feel-good texts from scripture this morning, you may be disappointed by what you’re about to hear. God says in Jeremiah that God’s word – the very word we so often look to for comfort – comes like a fire, and like a hammer breaking a rock in pieces. Not exactly what I’m looking for when I seek comfort!

But wait, it gets worse. Hebrews goes through a litany of people of faith over the generations who have trusted in God but who never received what they were promised. Ugh.

Then we get to Luke, we will find a stressed-out Jesus on his way to his death in Jerusalem. He offers these troubling words: “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”  Now that is definitely not something that brings me comfort! 

Readings like these can rattle us, but also, in naming a difficult reality, they can also help us look more deeply at the struggles we face. So as you listen, lean into these difficult words. Notice what they stir up in you. Notice how and why they feel uncomfortable to you. And we’ll see what I can do in the sermon about finding some good news to bring to that discomfort. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

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

We are so excited today to be welcoming Andrew as our new music director! Andrew and I had lunch together this week and talked about some of the wonderful ideas he has for our music ministry here at St. Paul’s. I hope you’ll stay for the lovely coffee hour reception we have planned after worship to welcome him. What a great day, full of joy and celebration!

…Until… we read the appointed readings for the day. Upon reading them early this week, my heart sank. God’s word like a fire, like a hammer breaking rock. People of faith who lived difficult, courageous lives but never received what was promised. And Jesus, the very Prince of Peace, telling us, “Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth?” Why yes, Jesus, yes I do. That’s literally what the angel said when you were born. That’s what your uncle Zechariah said about you. Peace is exactly what we were expecting! “No, I tell you, but rather, division!” Sigh, great. Like we needed more division in the world. This is not the set of texts I wanted to welcome Andrew, and frankly, it’s not ever a set of texts that feels very good to read any time, especially not in a world that is full of enough conflict and division.

Now feels like a good time to mention that not everything in the Bible is prescriptive, telling us how things should be or will be. Some texts, like these ones, are descriptive, telling us how things are. And I feel like we can get on board with that assessment. We don’t feel God’s peace as often as we’d like. We do know division, and conflict. We do feel broken, and burned, and like the promises for which we have been waiting and watching and living aren’t ever going to come. So in that way, these texts don’t offer the kind of comfort that says, “It’s gonna be fine, don’t you worry!” But they do offer the comfort of saying, “Yeah, life is sometimes hard, painful, divisive. It stinks. You’re not alone in feeling that. Humans throughout time have experienced it, too. And God loved them, and was with them, and Jesus died and rose for them, just like God does all that for you.”

Looking at it this way draws my attention toward this beautiful text from Hebrews. This passage is sometimes called the Faith Hall of Fame – a list of faith giants whose stories can be read throughout the pages of scripture. And to finish off this litany, the author gives us this powerful line: “Since therefore we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.” It is a long and dense sentence. Let’s break it down together.

“Since therefore we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses…” Ah, this is one of my favorite images in scripture. We are surrounded, on every side like a great cloud, by people who get us and guide us. This is the bit that reminds us that we are not alone in our struggles. The writer of Hebrews has just recounted the many challenges faced by people of faith, then says, “You see? You aren’t alone.” And boy, what a comfort that can be. Sometimes in our pain, that is just that we need – for someone to see us, for someone to recognize that it hurts, for someone to crawl down into the hole with us, not to tell us, “Don’t worry, stop crying, it’ll all be okay,” but rather, “I can see that you are worried and in pain. Know that you are not alone in this dark hole.” Part of the beauty of being a part of a communal faith like Christianity and the Church, not just an individual one with your own personal Jesus, is that we are assured that we do not have to go it alone. That cloud of witnesses extends also here today, sitting all around you. We are in this thing, this life, this struggle, together.

Next: “let us lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely.” This image of being burdened, and then unburdened, is also a powerful one. It can be tempting, can’t it, to let all our stuff, all our baggage, weigh us down, and make us want to give up or wallow or complain and never move. Who among us does not have baggage? Who among us does not carry regrets? It is a condition we all know so well. And so, Hebrews beckons us to put it down. We’re not perfect, and we won’t be able to live perfectly a life of faith. If you look closely at those “great” witnesses that get mentioned, among them you will find a prostitute, an adulterer, multiple murderers (including one who killed his own daughter), people driven by greed and power, people riddled with doubt and insecurity. They are not perfect, by any stretch. And neither are we. 

So let us lay that aside, and do as Hebrews says next: “let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.” You see, we are not perfect, and we don’t need to be – because Jesus is. Jesus perfects our faith. If we were already perfect, we would have no need for Jesus. It is Jesus’ love and grace that make us saints. It is Jesus’ resurrection that brings us life. It is not our own perfect running of this race, in which our shoes never come untied, our foot never catches on a hurdle, and we never shove another runner out of the way in order to get ahead. No, all those things will happen in this race or have already. But when we continue to set our sight on Jesus, who is the perfector of faith, then we will always know where we are going, despite how we may get disoriented, or how many times we may trip and fall. We can persevere because we look always to Jesus.

And finally, Hebrews describes what is so great about Jesus: “for the sake of the joy that was set before him [he] endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.” In other words, Jesus is the one who is willing to get down in that dark hole with us and our shame. Jesus is the one who is willing to go to the very depths of shame and pain for the sake of our redemption, our chance at healing, at finding wholeness and purpose and hope. He did that for us – and now, he sits at the finish line, having “taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.”

And that, that is something that can give us immense comfort: that even in the midst of inevitable division and brokenness, and poor decisions and regret, and conflict in families and in countries – even in the midst of all that, Jesus is waiting for us at the finish line, showing us where to go, pointing out the cloud of witnesses who surround us as we run with perseverance this race, finding us in whatever dark holes we dig ourselves or get thrown into, and telling us, “I know, life isn’t fair, and this is a really tough time. I have been there too. I have endured that shame, that pain. You are not alone, and you never will be. Now, follow me – the finish line is this way.”

So, maybe this is the perfect set of texts as we welcome a new staff member, and as we prepare to begin another school year, another program year. I suspect Andrew will hit some wrong notes this year (maybe he already has, though I’m sure none of us noticed!). I am certain I will at some point say the wrong thing, or not show up when or how I should have. I’m just as sure that you won’t be perfect in whatever you endeavor, and that all of us will feel the pain of conflict and division and brokenness. But more than that, I am sure that there is grace for that. I am sure that Jesus bears it with us, and perfects our faith by forgiving us, setting us on our feet, and pointing out to us once again the way toward love and hope and newness of life.

Let us pray… Pioneer and perfector of faith, you have surrounded us with such a great cloud of witnesses. Help us to lay aside every burden, and the sin that clings so closely, so that we could run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking always, always, toward you. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.  

Sermon: Hope when it seems impossible (August 10, 2025)

Pentecost 12C
August 7, 2016
Genesis 15:1-6; Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16

INTRODUCTION

The first and second readings today complement each other so well, I just couldn’t help preaching on them! So as much as I like Luke, I’m going to focus this introduction on their context.

First, the story about Abram, later Abraham, who was promised many times by God that he would be the father of a great nation, and yet at 100 years old he and his wife Sarai were still childless. In today’s text, Abram really starts to doubt, and wonders if maybe this heir God has been promising him will end up being his servant, Eliezer, not his own flesh and blood. But God assures him once more that the promise will be fulfilled, in a beautifully mystical expression of that promise. 

This moment is so important, in fact, that the writer of Hebrews will pick it up centuries later. As a whole, the book of Hebrews aims to bring encouragement to discouraged Christians, urging them to persevere in faith. In today’s reading, the author uses the story of Abraham and Sarah to show how God has been and will be faithful, even when it seems impossible. 

All of our texts are about what it means to have faith, even in the face of discouragement. As you listen, think about a time in your own life when you have found it difficult to keep the faith, when God’s promises seemed too big, too impossible, and what it was like trying to hold onto that faith anyway. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

“Waitin’ for the whales to come… waitin’ for the whales to come… Been up since the crack of dawn. Waitin’ for the whales to come. I paid my money, and I’m waitin’ for the whales to come.”

This is a song by singer/songwriter Claire Holley, and was introduced to me by a friend from seminary. He thought it was such an apt commentary on life: you wait and wait for something to come, do all the things you are expected to do to make that thing happen, and it just seems like you still wait and wait for the thing you really want to happen, to finally happen.

This song always pops into my head when I read the texts for today – not only as a metaphor for life, but a metaphor for faith. Faith can in some ways be the same, can’t it? You pray, you wait, you pray some more, you read your Bible looking for answers, you pray some more… but you just have to wait and wait until you see some response from God. “Waitin’ for the whales to come…”

That’s why Abraham is the classic biblical model of faith – and we see the height of his faithfulness in today’s short reading. Abraham (at this point, still Abram) speaks to God in distress, reminding God that while He promised Abram many descendants, here Abram remains, growing old in years and still childless. Abram is getting understandably worried. At this point, Abram is afraid that his servant Eliezer will be his sole heir. Abram has been waiting for those proverbial whales to come for so long already, and it’s getting to be too late; and he is losing hope. BUT, the author of Genesis says, God tells him, “No, Abram, I got this! I told you I would! Don’t you worry: your own flesh and blood will be your heir, not your servant.” Then to prove his point, he takes Abram out into the starry, starry night and, in what I have always thought was one of the most mysterious and quietly dramatic expressions of promise in the Bible, says, “Look at all those stars. That’s how many descendants you will have – more than you can even count.” 

And then I think the most unbelievable statement in the Old Testament: “He believed the Lord.” Abram believed! When there was no reason in the world to believe, beyond God’s word, Abram believed. He’d been out since the crack of dawn watching for those whales, and nothing, but God said it would happen, and so Abram believed. 

Faith. This moment is one of the most enduring expressions of faith we have in scripture. It is so significant, in fact, that the author of Hebrews used it as the example in his or her own homily on faith, which we also heard today. It is a beautifully poetic piece of scripture, in which the author also defines what faith is: 

“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” I have long loved this definition of faith, but the way our world is right now, hearing these assuring words feels like salve to my heavy and wounded heart. On the one hand, we see brokenness, and violence, and hunger, and dishonesty, every day on the news. Everyone has found someone to hate, someone to tear down. We watch out for ourselves, while compassion, empathy, mercy and humility seem to be in increasingly short supply, and those most on the margins – the ones Jesus explicitly told us to care for – suffer the most for it. Everyone seems to be so good at finding everyone else’s brokenness and darkness, their very worst thoughts, intentions and traits, and there doesn’t seem to be enough grace to go around. 

In the midst of all this, the question that keeps arising for me is: how is a faithful Christian supposed to respond to this? How do we engage with each other in productive ways, in our dialogue and our actions? How do we respond in our prayers? Sometimes, it feels like we pray and pray for resolution – for kindness and goodness to prevail, for God’s will to become clear, for mercy and understanding and forgiveness and reconciliation – and it doesn’t make any difference. The next day we get up and there is something else on the news that breaks our hearts, or makes us feel sick. And we keep on waiting for those whales to come. How do we continue to be faithful in this climate – not to mention in any number of personal struggles in which all hope seems to be lost, and everywhere we look is just more discouragement?

Into this heartbreak and discouragement come these words from Hebrews: “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” It is, as I said, a salve to a wounded heart – encouragement to continue hoping, encouragement that our hoping, though it may not result in just what we had planned, will ultimately not be in vain.

Some years ago, during Vacation Bible School in my previous call, we were raising money to help build a well that would provide fresh water to a place that doesn’t currently have access. One day, as we wrapped up for the day, one of the preschoolers came up to me, very distraught. She had conflated Jesus’ story, with the well-building, and thought that Jesus had fallen into the well and couldn’t get out! Through tears she told me how concerned she was about Jesus. As much as I assured her, she was so shaken. I told her, “Jesus is so good, he will win every single time! Even when he died, he came back to life – nothing can beat him! Even if he did fall into a well, he would be just fine.” She was unconvinced. I gave her a hug, which seemed to help a bit. But I was struck how this worry and fear begins even at this early age: even when we do have faith, it is hard to hold onto hope when life seems dismal. In this 4-year-old’s world, the situation was hopeless: that well was so deep, so how would Jesus survive it? But Hebrews invites us to hold onto hope even when things do seem impossibly bad.

But Hebrews is not only about encouragement to keep hoping. I read these compelling words from Hebrews also as a challenge, urging us not just to quietly hope in our hearts, but to actually practice hope, to let it compel us to get in there and do something: to give money to build a well, to speak words of love into a world of hate, to support someone who is stuck in that dark place. Practicing hope could be building communities of belonging even for those who hold different views, and practice having respectful dialogue (this is work, by the way, that I believe the Church is uniquely suited to do!). Sometimes practicing hope looks like kindness, sometimes it looks like educating yourself about both sides of an issue and then speaking aloud a difficult truth, sometimes it looks like getting physically and emotionally involved in a cause that is important to you. Whatever it is, I believe that hope has the power to motivate us, to move us, and to change us.

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Faith is actively watching for the whales, even when it seems unlikely they will ever show up. Faith is not an “out,” not a reason to say, “Oh, God’s got this under control, so I’ll just sit back and wait” (though to be clear: God does have this under control!) Faith is understanding that God might be using us to bring about the kingdom promised to us in our Gospel lesson, when Jesus tells us, “Have no fear, little flock, for the Father has chosen to give you the kingdom.” It’s hard to believe it, sometimes, when that kingdom seems so far off in the distance. But hold fast to hope, my friends: God might be using us to share that news with others, or to get out there and work for peace, or to share love and kindness instead of hate and exclusion. 

God might be using us in any number of ways, but as we act for and with God, we are also assured that someday, somehow, the kingdom will come, and God will win. The whales will come. Jesus will get safely out of the well. Love and justice will prevail. Meanwhile, we continue to live in the assurance of things we hope, to be convicted in the things we don’t yet see, but that God has promised. God be with us as we live in this hope and this faith. 

Let us pray… Faithful God, when life seems dismal, grant us faith: assurance in your promises, hope in the things we cannot see, and hearts to work to bring about the kingdom you have chosen to give us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.