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. 

Sermon: Opportunities to testify (Nov. 16, 2025)

Pentecost 23C
November 16, 2025
2 Thessalonians 3; Luke 21:5-19

INTRODUCTION

Always on this last Sunday before Christ the King Sunday, we hear texts about the end of the world. The idea here is that this week we hear about how the end is coming, then next week we hear about Christ’s second coming, when the King will come and reign over all, and then the next week we begin Advent, when we turn our hearts toward remembering Christ’s first coming, even as we still wait in hopeful expectation for that day when the Prince of Peace will come again. Cool, right? Lectionary for the win.

Our first reading today comes from Malachi, the very last book of the Old Testament. After Malachi’s prophecy, there is a 400-year gap before Jesus (aka the Sun of Righteousness) comes to save us from our sins. Our reading from Thessalonians takes us to just after the resurrection, when believers were expecting Jesus to return at any moment. As a result, they had ceased to work or do anything, thinking, what was the point anyway, if Jesus was coming back soon? Paul tells them this is the wrong attitude; instead, they should always strive to do the right thing, whether Jesus comes in 5 minutes, or 5000 years. 

In our Gospel lesson, Jesus warns the disciples about the end of the world, and the signs that will make clear this is about to happen. Some of the signs sound uncomfortably like what we can see looking around the world today. But, Jesus assures them, even in this, God has a purpose, so trust in that.

It’s not a particularly warm-fuzzy message, from any of these texts, but then again, neither is life always full of warm fuzzies. As you listen, remember a time in your life (or it may be right now!), where it felt like life as you knew it was crumbling around you, and consider: where did God show up, or where did God’s purpose become clear in that? Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

I was so moved last week by many people’s willingness to tell their stories from our day of service. I didn’t really know what to expect, because Lutherans are generally allergic to the idea of “testimony.” But friends, you delivered! You testified to the ways God was present in and among us as we served our community. And I thank you for your witness!

Maybe this is why the line that jumped off the page for me in our Gospel reading today was, “This will give you an opportunity to testify.” That line always takes me by surprise. I’ve gotten so caught up by that point in the despair of all this end-of-the-world fear and destruction – famines, earthquakes, nations rising against nations, all that. I’ve gone down the same road every generation before us has, wondering, “Boy, this sounds a lot like the world today – is this the end times?” As my brow furrows more and more, suddenly we read this line: “This will give you an opportunity to testify.” Huh! A classic reframing! I can practically hear the voice of the therapist, saying, “Every obstacle is an opportunity!” In this text, the “opportunity” Jesus is speaking of is getting arrested, and being brought before high-ranking officials. Once you have an audience with the people in power, he says, use it to testify!

But it got me thinking: in today’s world, intentionally getting yourself arrested can be a form of protest, but also, we don’t need to be arrested to have a platform. In a democratic republic, the idea is that we all have a voice. With media, both traditional and digital, we can easily communicate our testimony to hundreds if not thousands of people any time we want. 

So the real question is not, how do I get myself a platform to offer my testimony, but rather, what is it that I need to testify in this time and place in which we currently find ourselves? What word of hope is needed? And second, how will I offer it?

Of course, the answer to the first question, what shall we testify, depends partly on the audience, and the particular struggles they are enduring. Some things we share – we all suffer from the human condition, and there are some environmental or societal things we are mutually experiencing. Some things are unique – maybe this week you lost your job, or your loved one is dying, or someone important to you just dropped on you a difficult truth and now you are left to deal with the rubble left behind. 

But no matter what mutual or unique challenges we are facing, there is a message in this passage that speaks to us all. It is a message worth testifying any day of the week, into any challenge, big or small. It is the message on which our entire faith is based, and here is what it is: that God wins every time. That resurrection is real, but that before resurrection can occur, something must die. That temples will be destroyed, walls will come tumbling down, relationships will be tried, governments will falter and fall – and this is devastating and terrifying, but it is not the end of God’s story. Because the end of God’s story is always, always new life. And new life cannot come about unless something first dies. Jesus does not mince words about how difficult this will be. But he also assures us, “Not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.” In other words, have faith. God has got this, and God has got you. Trust in God.

It is a powerful testimony, both to hear and to give. But the next question is, how do we give it? Well, the first answer to that seems obvious: you give it by giving it! Don’t be like the Christians in Thessalonica who say, “Oh Jesus is returning soon? Cool, that means I don’t have to do anything.” No, it doesn’t matter if Jesus is coming tomorrow or in 1000 years – we continue to live and speak and act like Christ’s followers, because that is what we are. 

Second, a testimony can be given in any number of ways. I have a card in my office that my parents gave me for my ordination. It is a quote attributed to St. Francis of Assisi that says, “Preach the gospel at all times. If necessary, use words.” So sometimes we testify to our belief that God always wins, that new life always follows death, with our words, like I’m doing now. 

But sometimes we testify by gathering food from our neighbors to feed the hungry, or writing cards to people who are lonely. Sometimes we testify by singing God’s praise from the choir loft, inspiring devotion in the hearts of listeners. Sometimes we testify by going into the streets with a sign or making a phone call urging lawmakers to feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, and care for the sick, as Jesus taught. Sometimes we testify by giving generously – by looking at the ministry of St. Paul’s, seeing how that ministry is transforming lives, and saying, “I want to be a part of that. I will testify, make a statement of my faith, with my wallet.” 

You see, every way that we live has the potential to be a testimony to the life and hope that we believe comes from Jesus Christ. How easy it can sometimes be to slip into despair, grieving like those who have no hope. To get caught up in the doom and gloom. I know, friends, I have been there, too! But every act of joy that works against the fear is a testimony. Every kind act or word is a light scattering the darkness. Every dollar given toward bringing someone life testifies to the God who is the resurrection and the life. When we live our lives like a testimony to God’s goodness, we may not stop fearful occurrences from happening, but we will remember and proclaim who gets the final word, and that with Christ, that final word is always resurrection. So let us take our opportunities to testify, however they may come, and never grow weary in doing what is right.

Let us pray… God of life, the world can be a fearful and discouraging place. Let us not slip into despair. Instead, give us the courage to testify, in word and deed, to your goodness, your light, and the promise of new life. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Telling about signs of the living God (Nov. 9, 2025)

Pentecost 22C
November 9, 2025
Job 19:23-27a; Luke 20:27-38

INTRODUCTION

You may have noticed we are only doing a couple of the assigned readings for today. That’s because I wanted to leave some extra time for the sharing that will happen later: during the sermon, I will be letting you do some of the work, sharing stories either from yesterday’s day of service, or any time recently that you have seen God’s work among us. Consider yourself warned!

Meanwhile, let me give you some background info on these two readings we will hear. The first is Job. Job was a blameless and upright man who had it all… until the devil made a deal with God that he could get Job to curse God to his face. God says, “Game on.” What follows is a sort of thought experiment about the suffering of innocents, as Job endures all manner of suffering, losing all his property, his family, his health. Job’s well-intentioned friends come to him and try to comfort him by trying to explain his suffering. Job is frustrated and discouraged, but remains faithful. The passage we will hear comes from this part of the story. Finally, Job gets an audience with God, and the gist is basically this: the cause of suffering is more complex than we can possibly understand, and for all that we cannot understand, we must trust in God.

Over in Luke now, we’ll get a group of Sadducees trying to trap Jesus. They ask him about something called levirate law, which says that if a woman’s husband dies childless, then the woman marries her husband’s brother, to keep the family blood line going. But the Sadducees take this to an extreme hypothetical – if a woman marries all seven brothers and remains childless, then to whom does she belong in the resurrection? (They are trying to reveal the logical fallacy of an afterlife.) As always, Jesus will cleverly find his way out of the trap – I’ll let you listen to how he does it.

Ok, there’s the context. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

One part of being a pastor that I am so grateful for is that every week I am forced to articulate my faith – for sermons, of course, and myriad other ways. I sometimes wonder what state my faith would be in now, in my 40s, if I hadn’t practiced putting my faith into words for so many years. If I had just let my faith sit there, unspoken outside of the Sunday liturgy. Would I have remained as faithful? I’d like to think so, but the statistics on church membership among people in my generation don’t support that assumption. 

Again and again, I see research that says that an important sign of a healthy and vibrant congregation is that the members can articulate their faith. For all of the wonderful things about Lutherans, talking about faith is not something we excel at. We prefer to keep our thoughts and feelings held close, perhaps due to our largely German and Scandinavian heritage, and not impose too much on others. As a result, we don’t get much practice at telling the story of our faith: those instances when we felt God so closely, or when we were deeply moved by the way God turned an ending into a beginning, or when God showed up in an unexpected way. When was the last time you shared a story like that, a story about God moving in your life?

Job’s words today point us toward a different way. “O, that my words were written down!” he cries. “[O, that] they were engraved on a rock forever!” You see, Job knows the power of testimony. His cry here is not for God to fix everything. No, he wants his faith story preserved. Even before Job believes in redemption, he believes in the power of testimony. And boy, does he give it, in these powerful lines that follow: “I know that my Redeemer lives! …After my skin has been destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God!”

So how can we learn to do as Job does? 

There is a line in our Gospel reading that can help guide us. Jesus tells the Sadducees, who don’t believe in the resurrection, that God “is God not of the dead but of the living.” In other words, the promise of resurrection is not for later, after death, but rather, is alive and at work right here, right now, among the living. And so, if we want to find stories to tell of God’s redeeming work among us, to tell the stories, share the testimonies, engrave the words of faith right here, today, in this world, we need look no further than: places where there is life. The God of the living goes to places of death and despair, and brings to them life and hope. To tell the story of the living God, we share the glimpses we catch even now of the resurrection.

That’s where you come in. I warned you that I’d be asking you to share some stories today! I want you to tell some stories about the God of the living, the Redeemer, the one who makes all things new – stories of resurrection life breaking into our world today. Many of us participated yesterday in service projects. Maybe you’d like to share a story from that – a moment you saw God at work, a relationship you made, a moment when you saw or experienced hope. Maybe you’d like to share about a time from any day when forgiveness released shame, or when an act of great courage helped someone else. A time when death didn’t have the final word. All of these are resurrection moments, when we, like Job, see that our Redeemer lives, and in telling them, we all see God!

I’m going to give you some time now to think about a story to tell, and then we’ll take some time to tell them. You can write it down and read it, or bring it up here and I will read it for you (please write legibly!). Or you can just speak from the heart. It doesn’t need to be long – even a sentence will do! Whether or not you share, I encourage you to participate in some way, because it is in the telling of faith that our faith grows deeper and stronger. 

[Time to write and share]

I finished our time by sharing this quote from the Pope’s first Apostolic Declaration:

Let us pray… Redeemer, God of the living, thank you for being alive among us today, and every day, for showing up in our lives in ways we expect, and ways we don’t. Keep showing up, God. Open our eyes to see you, and hearts and mouths to tell about it. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

To watch the service, and hear some of the stories that were shared, watch the livestream on YouTube (sermon starts around 21 min):

Sermon: The vulnerability of sainthood (Nov. 2, 2025)

All Saints Day (C)
November 2, 2025
Luke 6:20-31

INTRODUCTION

The Festival of All Saints is a beautiful day on the liturgical calendar in which we not only remember those who have died in the past year, and those who were baptized, but also think more generally about the promise of everlasting life, even as we continue to struggle in this life. Our readings reflect this. I’ll be preaching on Luke and giving some insight into his Sermon on a Level Place (not to be confused with Matthew’s version, the Sermon on the Mount), but in this time I want to say a bit about the strange passage we’re about to hear from Daniel. 

This passage, as Daniel will tell us, is a vision. So, it is full of symbolism and in its weirdness, it also gives great hope to a suffering people. If you don’t think it is weird, and you want a little post-Halloween scare, go ahead and find it in the Bible so you can read those missing verses. It describes some truly terrifying beasts, which, we’ll come to find out, represent four political rulers who arise and bring fear to the people. The promise in this passage is: earthly kings will come and go. They may be really, truly terrifying and awful. But they are not the end of the story. God’s kingdom will reign in the end, and God will win! How’s that for a good word??

As you listen, think about what gives you hope when life is difficult. Is it the faithfulness of the people we remember today for All Saints? The strong, life-giving word of God? Both? Something else? Let’s listen today for the hope.

 [READ]

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

The lectionary leaves out the set-up for Jesus’ sermon today, so I want to read it for you. As I read, I invite you to close your eyes and try to imagine the scene: the sights, the smells, the feeling, the mood. Fair warning, I’m going to ask you to share with a neighbor after. Ok, listen: “[Jesus had just been on a mountain, praying with his 12 apostles, but now] he came down and stood on a level place, with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. And everyone in the crowd was trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them. Then Jesus looked up at his disciples, [the crowd gathered,] and he started to speak.” 

What do you notice about this scene, as you imagine it? Turn to someone sitting near you and tell them something about what you noticed…

Here are a couple things that I notice. First, it’s chaotic. Did you notice that too? I hadn’t really thought of that before, but the crowd is huge, and they are all in need of something. They are desperate, they are broken, they are longing for healing. I also notice that it is close – the people are all touching Jesus, grasping for his power and healing, and he is right there with them, close enough to touch. 

So, then I wonder: why do these things strike me? 

I think it’s because when I imagine the Sermon on the Mount, Matthew’s version of this sermon, I guess I always imagined Jesus as up, away, ready to help even as he is sort of a safe distance from the needs of the crowd, but Luke does not let us go there. In Luke, Jesus is accessible, he is in it with them, in it with us. 

And I guess this is both a comfort and a bit unnerving. It’s a comfort because of course we want Jesus to be accessible to us. That was the whole point of the incarnation, of God becoming human, so that God would be close to us and we to God, and we would know that love more profoundly than we ever had before. But it is also unnerving because if Jesus is accessible to me… then that means I am accessible to Jesus. And there are parts of me that I’d rather keep hidden – from you, from Jesus, even from myself. Having Jesus quite so close as this makes me feel a bit vulnerable.

Vulnerability. It’s not a warm fuzzy word, is it? To be vulnerable is to be exposed and unprotected against getting hurt. It is admitting we don’t have it all together. It is recognizing in ourselves where there is pain and brokenness, and then letting that be seen by someone else. And while I am an absolute proponent of vulnerability and authenticity and making genuine connection with one another… vulnerability is still just a scary word. 

Yet I wonder if it is what we are called to explore on this All Saints Day, for a couple reasons. The first is that, based on the sermon Jesus preaches to this crowd, it seems that vulnerability might be a part of what it means to be a saint. Usually when we think of saints, we think of people who have been particularly faithful. But in fact, in the Lutheran tradition, we believe that everyone who is baptized in Christ Jesus is a saint (even as we remain sinners), because we are all claimed and loved by God, and promised forgiveness and eternal life, and we are all, in our baptism, called into a life of faithful living. 

Faithful living means a lot of things. It means some of those things Jesus mentions in the second part of his sermon today – about loving your enemies, turning the other cheek, etc. It means reading scripture, and spending time in prayer, and study, and in fellowship with other Christians. It means being generous of heart and resources.

But another part of faithful, saintly living is recognizing our need for God’s grace and mercy. It is acknowledging that while we may put on a happy face and nice suit or sweater, we don’t really have it all together. It is coming into God’s presence not to prove to God, ourselves and everyone that we are good, but rather to say, “I’m not, and I need God’s mercy.” And that is what Jesus is getting at in his sermon on the plain. Blessed are you who are hungry, poor, grieving, accused, he says, because it is only when we are so physically, mentally, and emotionally compromised that we are able to recognize and receive God’s grace and mercy. As one preacher asks, “What is the promise of mercy to those who are not weak, forgiveness to those who have not sinned, grace to those who do not need it, or life to those not dead? It is at best meaningless, and more likely downright offensive.” You see, we can only truly appreciate the blessing Jesus offers, when we truly need it.

The woes go on to seal the deal. Woe to you who don’t have these needs, because as long as you are surrounded in comforts, you cannot receive what God has to offer. It is not until we are vulnerable, and recognize our brokenness that we will turn to God and be in a place to receive mercy. Now, comforts aren’t a bad thing, inherently, but Jesus’ sermon, especially those woes, the warnings, push us to ask ourselves: what if the things in my life, the very things I thought of as blessings, are actually diminishing my capacity to know God and receive his grace and mercy with a truly grateful heart? Maybe they aren’t getting in the way – but Jesus asks us today to take a good hard look to make sure of that!

There’s another reason I think vulnerability is a good thing to talk about today, on All Saints Day. Each year on this day, we remember those saints who have gone before us, who have died in the faith. So each year we remember together the ultimate vulnerability that we all share: we all will die. We all have or will experience someone we love dying. It’s a fact we desperately try to avoid or deny. Yet on this day, we celebrate that this ultimate vulnerability, the one we dread, is not to be feared, because Jesus showed us that death leads to life. When we are baptized, you see, when we become saints, we are baptized into Christ’s death and also into his resurrection, so, as Paul writes, “If we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” 

That’s a lot of churchy language – what it comes down to is this: when Jesus rose from the dead, he showed us that the ultimate vulnerability that many of us fear the most, death itself, is not to be feared. Not only is it not to be feared, but it is the very means by which God’s promise of new life comes to be. For the saints we celebrate today, and for us eventually, that looks like their entry into eternal life. For us day to day, as we still walk this earth and live this life, this ultimate promise gives us the courage we need to be vulnerable right now, in the more mundane things of our daily lives, to be real about our need for God’s grace and mercy in all those things we face. This sort of vulnerability leads to meaningful connection, with God and others, and that sort of connection gives us life. 

All Saints Day is not just a day we look backward, remembering the saints whom we have lost. It is also a day for looking forward, toward the hope of new life that is promised to humanity in the resurrection, and to each of us when we are baptized into that promise. Thanks be to God!

Let us pray… Eternal God, we don’t like to admit when we are broken, even though you have told us and shown us that where there is pain and brokenness, there also is Christ. Make us courageous in our authenticity and vulnerability, so that our hearts would be ready to receive your grace and mercy. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Sometimes faith is like this. (October 19, 2025)

Pentecost 19C
October 19, 2025 (Confirmation Day)
Genesis 32, Luke 18, Psalm 121

INTRODUCTION

Luke will tell us at the beginning of our Gospel reading today that the parable Jesus tells is about “the need to pray always and not to lose heart.” But I think this story, and all our texts, are about much more than prayer – they are about the joys and challenges of living a life of faith, and the many different forms our prayer – that is, our relationship with God – can take!

Though I’ll be touching on several readings in my sermon, I want to give you some context for our first reading in particular, because it is such a richer story when you know what’s happening here. Here’s what you should know: since Jacob was a baby, he has been a trickster, one who has been especially hard on his twin brother, Esau. In fact, his brother was so mad that Jacob stole his birthright and blessing right out from under him, that he threatened to kill Jacob. So Jacob had to run off to family in a different town, where he acquired two wives, two handmaids, 12 children, and a bunch of livestock. But now Jacob has angered that family, too, and is heading back to his family of origin, hoping that Esau will receive and forgive him. Terrified and alone, in today’s story Jacob will encounter some unidentified being who it seems might be God, and, as Old Testament scholar Rachel Wrenn comments, the ensuing wrestling match is “perhaps the best description of the life of faith in the entire Bible.” This encounter sets us up well to hear from 2 Timothy, and the danger of false teachings, and from Luke, about a widow so persistent she will not stop asking for justice until it comes.

As you listen, recall some of the more challenging moments in your own life of faith, as well as some of the rewarding ones. Where did you see God, both in the challenges and in the rewards? Let’s listen.

 [READ]

Paul Granlund's portrayal of Jacob wrestling,
at Gustavus Adolphus College in St. Peter, MN

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

What does a life of faith look like? 

Today, four young people in our congregation will stand before you and affirm the promises made in baptism, essentially saying, “Yes, now that I can think, act, and believe for myself, I am here to say that I believe those things that were promised at my baptism, and I promise, with God’s help, to keep living into the covenant of baptism and this life of faith to the best of my ability.” It is an opportunity for all of us to recall those promises for ourselves, and to reflect on this question: what does it look like to live a life of faith? 

Sometimes faith is easy and satisfying. In one-on-one sessions with each of these fine young people, I asked them to describe their faith to me, and tell me when and where they notice it. They thoughtfully talked about Jesus as a friend, a companion, like a big brother who can be counted on. They said they lean on God especially when they are struggling and need support during hard times. They said they feel God’s presence especially in community, and when they feel close to nature, for example at camp at LCLC. Yes! All of this makes my pastor heart sing, to hear that they know this faith will be there for them in all of these times.

But I have to tell you also – while faith in Christ is a comfort during hard times, it does not always make us feel good in the moment. Sometimes, faith is like a wrestling match – which is why I love this story about Jacob wrestling with God through the night. Sometimes faith is reading a passage in scripture and saying, “Wait, what? This doesn’t sit right,” and wrestling with it until we can find some grace in there. Sometimes faith is praying our hearts out in the wee hours of the morning, and waiting for a response, and getting nothing, but coming back the next day to pray again. It is asking, “Why, God? Why this? Why now? Please help!” and not getting the answer we want right away, or ever. Yes, sometimes faith is a wrestling match, and one we’d rather not be a part of.

But often in faith, and also like Jacob, this wrestling match with God becomes a blessing. We don’t always see that in the midst of the match, but as the sun begins to peek over the horizon, and day begins to break, we can look around and say, “Where is the blessing here?” and lo and behold, we see it. I have told these kids about one of my own wrestling matches when I was their age and I was diagnosed with cancer for the first time. It is not easy to see blessing under the shadow of cancer, but through that experience, I can see now that I was immensely blessed, because I learned so much about myself, about being a part of a church community and youth group, and about God. And the thing about wrestling is that it cannot be done without being contact with the one with whom you are wrestling; through that dark night of the soul, when he was afraid and alone, Jacob never lost contact with God. And he left the encounter changed – a changed name, a limp, and a heart humbled and ready to encounter his brother in the next scene. Sometimes, faith is like that.

How else does faith look? Sometimes, faith looks like a call to seek justice for the oppressed and vulnerable, and speaking truth to power, like in this parable from Luke. In fact, this is explicitly one of the promises our confirmands will make today, and that their parents made on their behalf over a decade ago: “to strive for justice and peace in all the earth.” Yes, justice-seeking is such an important part of faith, it is mentioned right there in the baptismal liturgy! But what does it mean?

First of all, this sort of justice is not the vengeance, “they got what they deserve” sort. That sort of justice is in God’s hands, not ours. No, this sort of justice is the sort that goes hand-in-hand with peace: a state in which everyone has what they need. And when everyone has what they need, then we can experience peace. Know justice, know peace. And this widow in Jesus’ parable knows what it takes. It takes standing up to powerful people to demand it, even if you have comparatively less power. Who is weaker and more vulnerable than a widow? (At least this is true in biblical times, when women required a man for security and income.) Yet this woman asks and asks, even knowing how powerful and unjust this judge is. And to be clear, this is no demure widow. The word that is translated here as “coming to wear me out”? The first definition listed for that Greek word is, “to beat black and blue, to smite so as to cause bruises and livid spots.” Even the second, less graphic definition shows her scrappiness: “to give one intolerable annoyance.” That is what it means to “strive for justice and peace.” It is relentlessly calling and visiting the people in power, even and especially the unjust ones, until they hear you. It is repeating yourself over and over again. It is punching in the face the very idea of injustice. That is how baptismal faith looks. And, Luke tells us, that is sometimes how prayer looks – not just folding your hands before bed in the safety of your bedroom, but like action, like doing something to bring about what you know is right. 

The Rev. Dr. Barbara Lundblad preached a powerful sermon on this text at the Festival of Homiletics in 2019. She asserted that if we pray without also working for justice, our prayers are empty. If we work for justice without prayer, we will think it all depends on us. If we pray and work for justice, but without faith, we will fall into despair when justice isn't done. Prayer and justice and faith: what Jesus had joined together, let no one set asunder. [as paraphrased on Pulpit Fiction podcast] 

Which brings me to the last thing I’ll offer today about what a life of faith looks like: it looks like trust. In other words, while our baptism calls us into wrestling with God in difficult times, and participating with God in bringing about God’s kingdom here on earth, in the end we trust that God has this under control. As the Psalmist beautifully articulates, “I lift up my eyes to the hills; from where is my help to come? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.” The promise of that help is why we can be so bold as to baptize our children, and why these young people can stand before you today and recommit to living into their baptismal promises. It is because we trust that God will watch over us as we sleep, and be the shade at our right hand. We trust that God will preserve us from all evil, and keep our life. We trust that God will watch over our going out and our coming in, from this time – whether baptism, or confirmation, or while we are praying or wrestling or punching injustice in the face, or even on some random, uneventful Tuesday – God will watch over us from this time forth forevermore.

I pray for each of these incredible, faithful young people – for Noah, Alice, Nate, and Max – as they embrace and step more fully into these promises today. And I pray for all of us, that as we wrestle and pray and strive for justice and peace in all the earth, that we would always believe in our hearts and know deep in our bones that God walks right beside us, all along the way, assuring us that eventually the morning will dawn, the blessing will be given, and justice, peace, and new life will come.

Let us pray… God of justice and peace, it is not always easy to be faithful. Give us the courage to do it anyway: to wrestle, to pray, to stand up against injustice, and to trust you through it all. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.  

Sermon: How to restore community (October 12, 2025)

Pentecost 18C
October 12, 2025
Luke 17:11-19

INTRODUCTION

Today we have pretty strong themes of healing, mercy, and thanksgiving. We’ll hear two stories about God healing the leprosy of a foreigner: first the wonderful story of Naaman, the Aramean warrior (that is, an enemy of Israel) who gets a lesson in humility when first, he listens to the advice of a slave girl, and then listens to his servants, and then listens to the advice of a Jewish prophet to wash in the dirty Jordan river. Sure enough, his willingness to listen (however initially hesitant) brings about his healing, and his declaration of God’s power. 

This story sets up well the Gospel reading. Again, we’ll hear a story of God healing a skin disease for an “other” – in this case, a Samaritan, the contemporary adversary of the Jews. A large rift existed between Jews and Samaritans, but the main issue is regarding where one should worship. How remarkable, then, that the one Samaritan leper’s response will be one of worship – he worships Jesus, and Jesus will commend him for it. It would be unexpected for a Jewish audience! In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus is always flipping the narrative and blurring the lines of who is in and who is out. 

As you listen today, just… be grateful. Remember the ways God has been good to you, and listen with a heart full of gratitude. Let’s listen.

[READ]

JESUS MAFA. Healing of the ten lepers, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=48295 [retrieved October 14, 2025]. Original source: http://www.librairie-emmanuel.fr (contact page: https://www.librairie-emmanuel.fr/contact).

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

“What is required to restore community?”

This question was asked as a part of one of the presidential debates back in 2019 (a lifetime ago!). It feels all the more important now, 6 years later. How do we heal the divide and restore community?  

It is a question I know is heavy on the hearts of many Americans. And our faith, and our study of God’s good Word, can help us answer it because turns out Jesus was all about restoring community. Today’s Gospel reading is one example. In this story of the ten lepers being healed, these men are literally restored to community (with their disease, they were likely cut off to some extent from society and healing allows them to reenter). But the story can also give us some insight into restoring our own communities.

The first guidance comes from a seemingly insignificant detail: the location of the story. The story is set, “between Samaria and Galilee.” In other words, this encounter doesn’t happen on anyone’s home turf. It happens in an in-between place, which in the Bible traditionally indicates a place of uncertainty and the danger that comes with that – but also it is a place of encounter and the possibilities that come with that. So that’s our first clue for restoring community: restoration of community requires us to venture out of our comfort zones, out of our siloes of familiarity and like-minded people. That could happen any number of ways – what media we consume, whom we spend time with, how and where we travel, etc. Point is: as long as we stay in our safe zone, it will be difficult to restore community, because we are too stuck in that place. Seek out some of those in-between, less stable places, where your heart will be more ready for transformation.

The second lesson this story can teach us is: to see the “other,” even an enemy, not as an adversary, but as a teacher. In Luke’s telling in these few verses, he makes sure we know just how other this fellow is. First, he has a highly contagious skin disease that has left him on the literal margins. All ten of these guys were hanging out in that in-between place, between Galilee and Samaria, probably because there was no place for them in the city itself. They are physically outsiders. Then, after the one returns to thank Jesus, Luke ominously tells us, “And he was a Samaritan,” a statement that would have been accompanied by dramatic music if this were a movie. Samaritans and Jews had a centuries-long enmity, dating back to the Babylonian exile, when some of the Jews who were left in Israel after the mass deportation by the Assyrian army, intermarried with the Assyrians who settled in Israel. Consequently, though they shared roots with Jews, these Samaritans were racially impure, and the practice of their faith had evolved into something different from Jews. “Samaritan” had become synonymous with “apostate” and “adversary.” So when Luke says, “And he was a Samaritan,” that is bad news bears.

And then, in case it wasn’t already clear enough, when Jesus commends this Samaritan for returning to give thanks and praise to God, Jesus says, “Did none of them return to give glory to God except this foreigner?” This foreigner. This outsider. This guy who, I’m sure you all noticed but I’m saying it again just to be sure, looks, lives, and acts in a strange way, differently from you, who doesn’t belong here. Yet he is the one who shows us all what it looks like to love, praise, and thank God, the giver of all blessing. Not any of you insiders; this outsider.

That is a common theme throughout Luke’s Gospel. He brought it up as a part of Jesus’ first sermon in chapter 4, in which Jesus mentions the faithfulness of outsiders and foreigners – that upset the folks in his hometown so much, they tried to throw him off a cliff! He did it again in chapter 10 when Jesus told a parable about another Samaritan, a good one, who was the only one who helped a man beaten on the side of the road when a couple of religious Jewish authorities had passed right on by. This Samaritan, he said, has shown us what it looks like to love your neighbor: showing mercy. And now, another Samaritan, this one not just a story but a real flesh and blood one, is teaching all those insiders traveling with Jesus, what it looks like to love your God with heart and soul and mind and strength. It looks like worship, thanks, and praise.

Can this insight help us to restore community? Absolutely! Because so much of our division is due to our differences. Certainly race is an issue, like in this story, and also country of origin – immigrants, migrants, and refugees are very much under attack in our country right now, both in the rhetoric used against them and physically, as those with darker skin and/or accented English are rounded up and detained or deported. But could these foreigners actually be teachers placed by God into our midst? What could they be teaching us about God? 

But even beyond differences in race and nationality – how about those who are foreign to us ideologically? Politically? Religiously? What would happen if we saw these others – these people who are foreigners to our way of thinking and being – not as adversaries, but as people who can teach us something, even something holy? You don’t have to agree with someone on everything to learn something from them. When we see them this way, we see them not as adversaries, but as fellow humans, as beloved, as valuable – rather than as enemies who need to be punished, mocked, or eliminated.

And finally, Jesus teaches us in this story by his celebration of this foreigner, who “turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet, and thanked him.” That wasn’t what the law required of this man – he was supposed to show himself to the priest, as Jesus said, because that was what was done in those days to be declared clean. And he could have, and he still would have been healed, like the other nine. He could have gone quietly on his way, and gone about his life. But no, this man instead puts praise and thanks first. He puts God first. He orients himself and his sight toward the God from whom all blessings flow. 

And this, too, helps us in restoring community. Because humans are, sad to say, naturally pretty selfish and prideful beings. There is a reason Genesis identifies pride as the first sin, why pride is considered the worst of the seven deadly sins, and why Martin Luther defined sin as being turned in on ourselves, more focused on our own desires than anything else. But this guy shows us how to pull ourselves out of our own navels and look outside of ourselves, and toward God – as the provider, the healer, the divine giver. In this way, praise and thanksgiving is an antidote to pride, because it orients us outward and upward, rather than inward. When we are oriented toward God, then neighbor love and care for community is a natural consequence and expression of that. That orientation toward God and community is an essential step in restoring community.

None of it is easy. It can be fun, and exciting, don’t get me wrong, but it can also be scary and disruptive. We’re so tired, after all, and it is a lot easier to just keep along our same path, grumbling and shaking our heads at “those people,” assuming they are wrong and we are right. I can tell you, I know how tempting that is. I sure hate being out of my comfort zone! Sometimes it is more fun just to cast stones from the safety of my living room, rather than allow my heart to be moved and changed. But God never promised that the work of restoration would be easy. It surely didn’t come easily for God; indeed it cost the ultimate price! But the reward was great – reconciliation of community, redemption, and new life. New life, which won’t be without its own challenges, but in which we are, just the same, assured of abundant and eternal life with Christ, and the peace and joy that this brings. 

Let us pray… God, you are worthy to be praised. Orient our hearts toward you, so that we would see all of your children through the light of your eyes. Open us to be learners, to be taught by that which is different, and always to return to you with thanks and praise. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.