Sermon: Let love be genuine (Aug. 30, 2026)

Pentecost 14A
August 30, 2026
Romans 12:9-21

INTRODUCTION

Last week we witnessed one of Peter’s shining moments, as he correctly identified Jesus as the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. Jesus in turn says he will build his Church upon this rock. The shine didn’t last long, though. Today, Peter the rock will turn into a stumbling block, as he rebukes Jesus for saying that the Son of Man will have to suffer and die. And wouldn’t you? Who wants a suffering savior – wouldn’t we rather have an all-powerful one? 

Of course, we know that Jesus is right on this one: suffering, and self-denial, and sacrifice are all a part of the life of faith. Even all the nice “marks of a Christian” that Paul will outline in our second reading require some sacrifice and self-denial at times. Turns out, Christianity isn’t about serving ourselves and doing what is best for us, but about doing whatever it takes to live out the gospel of Jesus Christ, to take up our cross and self-sacrificially love our neighbor. Our readings today address this head on. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

This week, after the world learned of the death of Dolly Parton, my social media feed was flooded with tributes to this famous and fabulous singer, songwriter, and philanthropist. One quote I saw said, “Her politics were people. Her politics were love, kindness, and compassion.” I couldn’t help but notice how seamlessly this observation brought to mind today’s reading from Romans, in which Paul exhorts the Christian community to, “Let love be genuine.” Dolly certainly did that!

I love this text. I even included it in our wedding, as a sort of guideline for what I wanted our life together to be like. My young-and-in-love self didn’t yet fully know just how difficult it is to live this way, especially when conflicts arise – whether in a couple or family, or in a church community, or anywhere. In fact, read alongside our Gospel reading, about denying yourself, losing yourself, and taking up your cross to follow Jesus, we really begin to see how much self-giving (or even self-losing) is required to live a Christian life. 

It’s true: for a community that claims love of God and neighbor as a foundational tenet, it is surprisingly difficult to live together in loving Christian community. It never has been easy. It wasn’t for the Christians Paul was writing to, and it isn’t for us now. Preacher and author Barbara Brown Taylor imagines how this looks: “There were black eyes and bad feelings all over the place,” she writes. “Marcus went to the midweek service so he would not have to sit in the same room with Clovis on Sunday; Lucius was so mad at both of them that he had quit coming to church at all; and Chloe had just bought herself a pit bull to keep her pagan neighbors from cutting through her yard.” I find myself both chuckling and nodding at this fictional description – the details are different, but the feelings are familiar.

So how do we find a way back to faithful living, when conflicts arise? How do we, as Jesus says, “deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Jesus”? Paul’s words in Romans move us in that direction – so that maybe we can lose some of those oh-so-human struggles and feelings, and move toward genuine love. Each fragment of this text could be its own sermon, so in the interest of time, let’s look at just the first few verses. 

Paul starts out by saying, “Let love be genuine.” This reads as a sort of thesis statement, with the rest of the paragraph showing us concretely what genuine love looks like. 

First, it means that we “hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good.” I had the chance this week to sit on a panel with a local rabbi and a local imam, as a part of a retreat called Prayers for Peace. The retreat was focused on how we can unify our prayers, across religious tradition, toward praying together for peace. At one point the conversation turned toward the reality that none of us is all good or all bad. Each of the three faith leaders present spoke about how our respective traditions speak to this. The rabbi talked about how we are always faced with the decision between good deeds (mitzvot) and bad deeds (averot), and we always try to make the right choice, yet sometimes fail. I spoke about Luther’s assertion that we are all simultaneously saint and sinner, declared righteous in baptism, yet still captive to sin, and always trying to live into our saintly nature. The point for all of us, though, was that we do the very best we can, to turn from evil and cling to what is good. That is what we must do if we want to let love be genuine. It isn’t always clear, of course – there is far more gray in the world than there is black and white. The call here isn’t to be perfect, nor is it to ignore that evil exists. It is to recognize that there is both good and evil, and then to do the best we can to cling to the good.

Paul goes on to say, “love one another with mutual affection.” Other versions of the Bible translate this not as “mutual affection,” but as something more like “brotherly love” – the sort of love you find in a family. Now, that may not always be a helpful image for everyone. Families are not without conflict, struggle, and tension. At their worst, families can be some of the most difficult and conflicted communities we are a part of. But at their best, families are made up of people who continue to love one another in spite of those struggles and conflicts. Families – whether biological families, or church families, or found families – are people who understand that they belong together, and who are committed to working through all those struggles. They are going to find a way to live together, to “let mutual love continue.” 

“Outdo one another in showing honor,” Paul goes on. “Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord.” The phrase that comes to my mind here is seemingly contradictory: zealous humility. When you show honor to someone, you defer to them, you give them priority and respect. That takes humility. But also, do that with zeal, with enthusiasm. Or at least, do it with intention. It reminds me of Martin Luther’s explanation of the 8th commandment, about not bearing false witness. Not only should we refrain from speaking badly about someone, but we should go the other way, intentionally speaking well of them, and interpreting their words and actions in the best possible light. Honoring them proactively. Boy, going back to Jesus’ call to deny yourself – doing this does sometimes require a denial of self. Because sometimes, I really would rather speak badly about someone, especially if it makes me look a little better. It’s that whole idea of blowing out someone else’s candle to make your own shine more brightly. But it never works. Instead, Paul says, shine an affirming light on the other.

And by doing this, we are serving the Lord. This was another point of commonality this week with my interfaith colleagues. All three of our traditions believe that humans are created in God’s image. We all have some teaching that says that when we serve the lowly, it is as if we serve God himself. So when we take the extra effort to show honor to our neighbor in need, even when it means downplaying ourselves, we are honoring God, serving the Lord.

Paul then writes: “Rejoice in hope.” One more story from my interfaith panel this week. The last question we were asked was, “Do you believe that peace is possible?” The rabbi immediately gave an enthusiastic, “Yes!” and the imam added, “Yes, but we may never see it.” That is where hope comes in – as Paul writes elsewhere in Romans, “Hope that is seen is not hope, for who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” And that is how we approach the hope of a world better than we have. The rabbi shared a teaching from rabbinic tradition that says that if you are in the middle of planting a tree, improving the world, and the messiah should come over the hill toward you, finish planting the tree before you go to him. Keep working for a better world, keep working toward love and peace, until the very last moment. That is hope, the sort of hope in which we can rejoice.

“Be patient in suffering.” This is a tough one, and really makes me think about the Gospel, about taking up our cross. Because this is all really hard. God’s time is not our time, and things never seem to happen at the time and in the way we want them to. Sometimes as Christians we are called to live with things that are difficult, to be patient with others, to bear burdens that we'd rather not carry. But a bit of patience – with God, with each other, even with ourselves and our own lack of ability to deny the part of ourselves that is unsatisfied or frustrated – a bit of patience goes a long way toward living lives of genuine love together. And so we are patient in suffering, erring on the side of love, and trusting that God does have this in hand.

Paul then exhorts that we should, “Persevere in prayer.” This is an essential part of living in genuine love. I have heard it said that it is impossible to hate someone for whom you are praying. A friend of mine tells a story about a family conflict she had, where she had been deeply hurt by a family member. She hated him, and did not want to forgive him. She didn’t even want to want to forgive him. When she was finally able to pray about the situation, her prayer was to want to want to want to forgive him. Then it became, to want to want to forgive him. Eventually that prayer became that she would want to forgive him, and then finally, she was able to pray for the ability to forgive him. She persevered in prayer until she got to the point where the hatred melted away and she could once again be in relationship with this person. And so we are called to persevere in prayer, and to let the warmth of God's love melt the hardness of our own hearts.

Paul concludes here by saying, “contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.” In other words, the Christian life is one of giving. So often, especially in a world aimed at selling us stuff (whether that’s ideas, information, or physical stuff), we approach things in terms of receiving. What can I get out of this relationship? What is this person offering to me? When what we are receiving is frustration or offense, we are quick to bail. “I don’t need this in my life!”

How would it transform our relationships if we thought instead in terms of giving? How can I help that person? How can I be supportive to them? What could I do to be a bearer of Christ’s love for this person?  Often it may be just a smile, or a word, or a simple act of kindness. It could be to empathize with them, and extend compassion. But if it shifts our attitude from one of “what you can do for me” to “what I can do for you,” then it can actually end up bearing more fruit in our own life than in the other person’s. We receive something after all.

It all comes back to that opening thesis: “Let love be genuine.” The call to genuine love, even within the Christian community, is not an easy thing! It often requires us to deny ourselves, and to take up our cross. But it is our calling. And with the calling, it is a promise that by God's grace evil will be overcome with good. That we will glimpse that peace that seems so elusive. That we will see and experience the new life that Christ died and rose again to give to us. 

Let us pray… Loving God, you call us to let love be genuine. In our difficult relationships, help us to be patient, to give honor, to pray persistently, and to strive always toward the life you died and rose to give to us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Who is Jesus to you? (August 23, 2026)

Pentecost 13A
August 23, 2026
Matthew 16:13-20

INTRODUCTION

Today’s readings will reflect on the question of what it means to be a Christian, a follower of Christ, not just in the safety of the church community, but in the world. “Do not be conformed to this world,” Paul exhorts, “but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God.” It’s a tall order! It is so easy to become conformed to this word, and all of its division and brokenness, and to be influenced by so many worldly powers and persuasions instead of the Gospel we proclaim. 

Isaiah reminds us to remember where we came from, to find our footing in that. And in Matthew, Peter will make a bold claim about who Christ is, even against the backdrop of a city known for its political and worldly influence – making Peter’s declaration of Jesus as the Messiah, over and against even the powerful worldly leaders for whom Caesarea Philippi is named, all the more remarkable! 

Jesus will ask the disciples in Matthew today, “Who do you say that I am?” As you listen to today’s readings, ponder that question for yourself. Who do you say that Jesus is? Who is Jesus for you personally, for the Church, for our hurting world? Let’s listen.

Different faces of Jesus

[READ]

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

I attended a funeral last week, not as the officiant but as a part of the congregation gathered in the funeral home. The officiant was not a pastor, but someone the funeral home has on a list of people who can do your funeral for you if you need them. But he was Lutheran, and so was the deceased, so I was hopeful it would be a service similar to what I usually lead for funerals.

I was disappointed. Nothing was specifically offensive or bad about it. Memories were shared, a prayer, some poetry, a few songs, some brief scripture. What was missing was almost anything at all about Jesus. I mean, I heard Jesus’ name a couple of times, but there was nothing about the resurrection or baptism, nothing about Christ’s victory over death, nothing about the forgiveness of sins and life everlasting. There was no mention of this woman’s faith in God, her connection to a church (though I know she had one), or how God was present with her in her final, suffering years on earth. There was no commendation at the end, in which we commend the deceased into the arms of God and into everlasting peace (though I admit I whispered this prayer over her myself when I paid my final respects). 

I left feeling sort of empty and without hope. Not once in this funeral liturgy did we hear an answer to Jesus’ famous question that he asks today: “Who do you say that I am?” Funerals are the best place to hear that answer, when hearts are broken and aching, to hear some hope and good news! Jesus is savior, redeemer, and friend! Jesus is with us when we suffer! Jesus is more powerful than our pain and grief – and at the same time, he is with us in it, weeping along with us! Because of Jesus, we need not fear the grave! Jesus shows us the way to heaven! 

So many wonderful ways to talk about who Jesus is when we are confronted with our mortality and that of our loved ones. But when asked this question, this officiant did not boldly take the opportunity Peter did, to say, “Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the Living God!” Instead, he said, “She had a nice life that touched a lot of people. And now, we go on.”

Disappointed as I was, this experience did also get me thinking about how often we fall short ourselves of confessing who Jesus is, even in the times where it really, truly matters. When I’m at a funeral, the answer to the question of who Jesus is, is what I already said: redeemer, powerful victor over death, merciful comforter, companion in suffering. But other times, I might answer the question differently. When I’m joyful, laughing at some stupid joke with my friends, I see Jesus as the giver of joy! When I’m trying to navigate the complex emotions of the tweens in my house, I see Jesus as the incarnate God who understands human emotion because he experienced it himself, and I see him as my guide while I try to be the best mom I can be. When I’m troubled because I have said or done something to hurt someone, I see Jesus as the one who forgives, the Great Physician who heals body, mind and spirit, the companion who never leaves my side even when I’m being kind of a jerk. My answer to Jesus’ question, “Who do you say that I am?” changes, depending on what I’m experiencing.

I was talking about this with my spiritual director this week. Though she is now a Methodist, she grew up in a tradition in which personal testimony was a regular part of worship. “I’m grateful for that,” she said, “because hearing it so often and practicing it myself meant that as an adult, I’m very comfortable talking about my faith, and about how I experience God in my life.” Many of the people she sees in spiritual direction never learned that skill, and that is unfortunately the case for many Lutherans, who are not used to speaking publicly about faith! 

So today, I wanted to give you a chance to hear testimony. I’ve already shared some of mine. I also asked Deacon Emily if she would share her own. Then I’m going to leave a couple of minutes during which you can, if you’re so inclined, share your answer to Jesus’ question, “Who do you say that I am?” If you prefer, we’ve left the back of the bulletin blank, so you can write your own answer, or we can give you a mic if you’d like to share your Jesus story with others. Deacon Emily, the floor is yours!

[After Emily:] Now it’s your turn? Who do you say Jesus is?

[After a couple of minutes]

I hope you will continue to think and pray about this question, and try to articulate who Jesus is for you. Peter certainly gets us much of the way there: Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God. But what does that really look like for you in your real life? Who is Jesus Christ to you?

Let us pray… Jesus, Messiah, Son of the living God: we long to know you, to know who you are with us and for us. Reveal yourself to us, so that we would be able to know you, more and more fully. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

Sermon: Great is her faith: lessons from the Canaanite woman (Aug. 16, 2026)

Pentecost 12A
August 16, 2026
Matthew 15:10-28

INTRODUCTION

Today’s readings urge us to question what, exactly, makes a person “good” or faithful or worthy of love and grace. More specifically, they bring up the question of whether one’s race or ethnicity, or their adherence to the law, is what wins them God’s favor. Isaiah makes a bold claim that God’s house “shall be a house of prayer for all people,” regardless of their foreign status. Paul’s letter to the Romans astutely points out that we are all disobedient, but that our disobedience is what makes God’s immense mercy such a gift. 

Matthew gives us two stories that illustrate this point in different ways. Once again, we are right on the tails of the last few stories – the death of John the Baptist, the feeding of the 5000, Jesus’ desperate attempts to get a moment alone to pray, and the walking on water and stilling the storm. Now Jesus begins challenging some of the Pharisees on laws surrounding cleanliness and diet. In short, he says: it’s not what you eat that matters, but what you say that defiles. 

From there, though, Jesus moves into a foreign country, Tyre and Sidon. This is a land of Gentiles, non-Jews, people outside of the children of Israel. Yet even in a foreign land, Jesus’ reputation precedes him, and a woman approaches him and asks for help for her daughter. And, well, Jesus doesn’t at first respond as mercifully as you might expect, in an interaction that has baffled commentators for generations. 

Judgment of others who are different is rampant in our world, and always has been. As you listen, consider how these texts can help us to reflect on our own human condition, and what they say to our engagement with those who are different from us. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

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

When I was in seminary, I remember there was a preaching series in chapel one year in which they invited the Yale Divinity School faculty to preach on some of the most difficult texts in the Bible. Great idea, right? I remember that this story of the Canaanite woman was one of the texts they preached. 

Unfortunately, I don’t recall anything about the sermon, not even who preached it. But I remember that it is difficult, and every time it comes up, I remember that again. The Jesus we encounter here is… challenging. We have come to expect Jesus will be a model of mercy, compassion, and open-heartedness, even and especially to outsiders and others like this woman. But here, we watch as Jesus first ignores the Gentile, Canaanite woman who is desperately seeking help for her ailing daughter; then he says, “I’m not here for you;” then he comes right out and calls her a dog, likely a racial slur. It is cringy to say the least. What do we do with this Jesus?

Scholars have puzzled over this interaction for centuries. What’s going on here? Perhaps he is testing the woman’s faith. Perhaps he is showing us another example of how God can change God’s mind, as sometimes happens in stories from the Old Testament. Perhaps he is demonstrating what it looks like to be a learner, showing us how to learn from someone who is different from you. 

Looking at the last four sermons I have preached on this text, I have always focused on trying to figure out what is going on with Jesus, and with good reason! But this time around, I’m drawn instead to focus on the woman, and what she can teach us about faith and how to approach Jesus. Because if I’m honest, this chick rocks. I love her! And while focusing on Jesus is never a bad thing, I think we miss something in this text if we don’t also take the chance to learn from this strong, courageous, persistent woman, whose faith Jesus whole-heartedly praises. It’s kind of amazing her story even made it into the Bible, but it’s there for a reason, and so it’s worth paying attention to!

So, what can we learn from her? First of all, this woman shows us to come before Jesus with courage. She had no standing to approach Jesus – women in this time and place were not supposed to talk to strange men, to be so assertive, especially with a respected teacher, which is probably why the disciples want to send her away, and why Jesus at first just ignores her. She is out of order. But she has a need, and she knows Jesus can meet it. She believes in his compassion. So she gathers up all her faith and courage, and her love for her ailing daughter, and she goes against the cultural norm, and approaches Jesus. 

I sometimes hear people say, “I don’t want to bother God with my problems, which are relatively small compared to things like world hunger and war. My things don’t matter that much.” But this woman shows us that they do. That your life, and your challenges, and the things that break your heart, matter to Jesus. Now maybe it feels at first like they don’t matter to him, like he’s just ignoring you or saying no. I’ve offered my share of prayers that include some version of, “Hello?? Are you there? Are you even listening to me??” But nevertheless, she persists in asking, until she knows that she and her important concern have been heard. Great is her faith!

Second, this courageous woman shows us that sometimes challenging authority is necessary. That word, “authority,” can have a different connotation to different people. Some may hear it as oppressive, or forceful, and some may perceive authority as safety, or a guide. The sort of authority Jesus possesses is a loving authority; despite his tough words in this passage, I still believe his ultimately goal is love and life. But even loving authority can stand to be challenged. And she does, because she believes that Jesus would never reject a child, and he wouldn’t reject her. She believes in the breadth of his compassion, that God’s love is larger than what others believe is possible. And she is right! Great is her faith!

A third way this woman demonstrates faith is in how she responds to Jesus’ difficult response to her request. I notice this especially in light of the story right before this, about how what comes out of the mouth is what defiles. I’m sure we have all had experience of defiling words coming out of our mouths, especially when provoked, and also of defiling words coming at us from someone else! It’s not pretty, and it tends to escalate quickly, the more attacked, and thus defensive, people get. 

This woman shows us a different way. She doesn’t say, “I’m not a dog!” or, “Is one of us supposed to be the dog in this scenario??” She doesn’t say, “Hey, that’s really rude!” Even in her distress over the daughter, she is able to receive his comment, and then with some rhetorical jujutsu, she uses his metaphor to destabilize and take down his argument. “Ok, maybe I am a dog. But even so, you should help me because even dogs get crumbs from the master’s table.” What an exceptionally sharp response! Ah, I love her! She doesn’t offend him. She’s not sarcastic. She doesn’t attack. She is not unkind, and doesn’t make it personal. She enters into a rhetorical battle with this respected teacher, talking to him on his own terms, to convince him that she and her daughter are worthy of his attention and mercy right now, not later. Great is her faith!

And this impresses Jesus mightily! This is the moment that you can practically see Jesus’ mission burst open, no longer for only the children of the house of Israel, but for all children of God. At the end of Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus will send out the disciples to baptize and proclaim the gospel to all nations, not just the house of Israel. This woman shows us, by her faith, that her life, her daughter’s life, Canaanite lives, foreigners’ lives, the lives of outsiders – that their lives matter. And Jesus thinks so, too. This woman shows us that the love of God is always greater than the boundaries we would try to draw around it. Great is her faith!

Sometimes this is good news for us, because we are the ones who would have been outside the boundaries, and now, thanks to this woman’s faith, we see that we are included. Sometimes we are on the other side of this conversation, and ours are the eyes that had to be opened, so that we could see that our willingness to love and include and show mercy and compassion has been too narrow – but now we can see the expansiveness of God’s mission, and by that revelation we are invited to be a part of it. 

Either way, it is good news for a world in need. Jesus is for us, for all of us, including the foreigners, the outsiders, and those outside the fold. God’s mercy is for everyone, even those who have no business asking for it, who society tells us should just be quiet. God’s love and compassion are for all of this hurting world. 

And so, let us go out with this woman’s courageous faith, willing to ask God for what we know is right, good, and loving. Let us be willing to stand up to those with power, to proclaim that God’s love and mercy are always bigger than the boundaries we draw around them. Let us go with gentle and humble hearts, not on the attack, not to offend, but to engage with the hurt and pain of this world, with the goal of finding compassion and care for those most in need. And let us go with great faith that God sees us and hears us in our need.

Let us pray… Merciful God, thank you for models such as this woman, who acted with such courage, faith, and determination, and who showed us the breadth of your mercy. Make us so faithful! In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Peter and Jesus on the water (August 9, 2026)

Pentecost 11A
August 9, 2026
Matthew 14:22-33

INTRODUCTION

We get two famous stories today: Elijah and what is sometimes called the “still small voice,” and Jesus walking on water. Here is their larger context:

Elijah is a prophet, which is not an easy job because you have to tell difficult truths to powerful people who, turns out, don’t like having their power questioned. This is what he has been doing to King Ahab and his wife Jezebel, telling them they are worshiping false gods, and oopsies, he also just killed a bunch of prophets of Ba-al (the false god). Jezebel is especially angry, and has sent her people out to hunt down Elijah and kill him. Elijah, who has tried to be faithful, is at his wits’ end. He heads off to Mount Horeb, ready to give up. In today’s reading, an exhausted Elijah tells God, “I just can’t do this anymore.” And God shows up for him, listens, and tells him, “Okay, I hear you. Let’s have you pass the torch to new leadership.” 

The Gospel reading features a literal storm, but it also feels metaphorical for anyone who has felt like they are drowning and losing faith. The story by itself is meaningful and powerful, but let’s look more at what sort of space Jesus is in here: just before this, Jesus has been rejected in his hometown, he has learned his relative John the Baptist has been killed by King Herod in the most degrading way possible, and when he tries to get some time alone to process everything, crowds find him, and he is called upon to feed them – 5000 of them. Finally, he makes his disciples go ahead of him so he can finally get some much-needed “Me Time,” but soon enough, a storm hits the disciples’ boat, and once again, Jesus shows up – walking on the water of all things! – and takes care of it.

Both stories may feel fantastic and far removed, but the themes are very relatable. We have all felt these feelings: we’ve been overwhelmed, stressed, grieving, tired, and we have all longed to hear God’s voice in the midst of it all. As you listen, remember those feelings, and hear what God has to say to you today. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

Last week when we were in Costa Rica, one of the cool animals we got to see was the basilisk lizard, or more colloquially known as the Jesus Christ lizard. You know why? Because this little guy runs water! After worship, go Google “Jesus Christ lizard” and watch a video, preferably one that’s in slow-mo. Imagine Jesus running like that across the Sea of Galilee. I dare you not to laugh.

Point is, this scene of Jesus walking on water is so connected with people’s understanding of Jesus and his power, that even the animal kingdom knows about it. And it is amazing, sure. But if I’m honest, cool as this trick is, Jesus’ ability to walk on water is not the part of this passage that stirs my heart.

As is often the case for me, it is Jesus’ interaction with Peter, and its resonance with my own experience of faith, that truly moves me.

But before I get to that, let me ask you a question. Thinking of your own life, what is the lesson you have learned in life that has most shaped who you are, the one that lives in your body, that changed how you move through the world? This is a question that minister, leadership consultant and public theologian Zina Jacque has asked in various settings as a part of her work. “Don’t tell me what it is,” she says. “Just hold it in mind.” Then she asks, “Did you learn that lesson during a time of ease?” It doesn’t matter the setting, she says. Every time she asks, no more than 5% of the room has learned their most formative lesson when everything was going well. Most of us learn our most crucial lessons during the trying moments of our lives. Does that check out for you? It does me!

This is what we see happen in today’s Gospel story. The first thing to notice is when this event takes place: “early in the morning.” The Greek there actually says during the “fourth watch,” referring to the hours between 3am and 6am, that time of the morning that is still dark, that is, in fact, the darkest. 

Have you ever noticed how important things happen during these hours? This is when the Israelites escaped Egypt through the Red Sea. In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus begins his ministry by rising at this early, pre-dawn time to pray by himself. And most famously, it is at this dark hour that the women discovered the stone rolled away from the empty tomb. The fourth watch, the darkest part of the night, is often when something new is born.

And here is where the disciples find themselves, in the fourth watch, with the wind against them, being battered by the waves. 

Life feels like that sometimes, right? Like things are so dark we can’t see the way forward, like we are being tossed about by a storm, like the waves are battering us – or, another translation of that word is “harassing” or “tormenting,” as in, they were being tormented by the waves. Oof! I spoke with someone recently who is having the hardest summer of their life: they're in the middle of a divorce after a nearly four decade long marriage, their teenage son’s best friend recently took his own life, their father just died suddenly, and mom is going on hospice. That is being tormented by the waves of life, all in one summer! Like the Psalmist laments, “Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck!” (Ps. 69) What new thing could possibly be born in the midst of such a storm?

Many of you know, I spent a year as a missionary in Slovakia. Now, I have had my share of hardship in life, but this year remains one of my most stormy. I was desperately lonely. I struggled to learn the language. I didn’t understand what God’s purpose was for me in that place to which I thought I’d been called, especially when multiple difficult things were happening closer to home that I felt I should be present for. One of those tragedies at home caused for me one of the biggest faith crises I have ever endured. And yet, I also always remember: it was there, where the ground on which I had always stood was unsteady, where a storm tried to shake my inmost calm, that I discerned a call to ministry. Would I have heard that call if I’d been doing something else, closer to home? I dunno, probably eventually. God is pretty relentless with these things. But I didn’t. I heard it there, during the fourth watch, in the midst of the storm. 

Now I want to return to where I started – not with the Jesus lizard (though this is your reminder to be sure to google it later!), but with Peter. It is his response to all this, and Jesus’ response to him, that speaks to me about when I face these storms, these fourth watch moments in life. First of all, Peter turns toward Jesus, and he trusts him. I mean personally, I think he must have been out of his mind to say, “Cool, yeah, it's Jesus, so I’m going to step out of the boat in the midst of this storm and walk out to him like it’s an average Tuesday.” Who does that? Well, Peter, apparently! He trusts Jesus against all odds. And notice, he walks on the water, too. He does not immediately sink. It isn’t until he notices that the wind is still awfully strong that he begins to falter. Like the Psalmist, he cries out, “Lord, save me!” The waters have come up to his neck.

And this is the key moment for me: Peter has recognized that he cannot do it on his own, that faith in Christ and his salvation is not up to him alone. And so, Jesus immediately reaches out, takes his hand, and catches him. It brings to mind a line from the Small Catechism. In Martin Luther’s explanation of the 3rd article of the creed, he writes, “I believe that I cannot by my own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ, my Lord, or come to him; but the Holy Spirit has called me by the Gospel… and kept me in the true faith.” 

Did you hear that? We cannot by our own reason or strength believe in Jesus or come to him. We can take those first, brave, faithful steps. We can come to the font, ready to receive God’s grace. We can study scripture and pray and join in Christian community to help us become stronger, to help us endure the storms and survive and learn from the difficult fourth watch lessons that come our way. But we cannot get there by our own reason or strength. Eventually we will waver and falter. We will notice the wind and waves and be afraid; the grief of the divorce or the untimely death will become unbearable; the pressures of life will exhaust us; we will long to be anywhere other than where we are… and it is here, during the fourth watch, when Jesus will reach out, take our hand, and catch us. He has been there all along, of course – but here is where he makes sure we know it.

You see, no matter how fearful, or doubtful, or exhausted we are, Jesus will never grow tired of coming toward us to close the gap. It may not be in the way we expected – perhaps he shows up not in the wind or earthquake or fire, but in the sound of sheer silence. But whatever the case, Jesus will always come and take our hand. He saves us, beckoning us when we are unsure, grabbing our hand when we start to drown, helping us to stay afloat when the waters come up to our necks, and climbing into the wind-battered boat with us. 

In the end, this isn’t a story about Peter’s strong faith, nor about ours. As always, it is a story about Christ, and his saving action. It is about Christ, calling out to us, over the tempestuous winds, and into our tempestuous hearts, saying, “Have courage. It is I. Do not be afraid.”

Let us pray… God of the storm, when the wind is against us, when the waters are up to our neck, when we are afraid and unsure… come to us. Give us your hand. And let this bring peace to our souls. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Who are weeds and who are wheat? (July 19, 2026)

Pentecost 11A
July 19, 2026
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

INTRODUCTION

Today we continue through Matthew’s parabolic discourse, this series of parables. Remember last week I mentioned that Matthew has set up his Gospel with five discourses – the first is the Sermon on the Mount (instructions for faith), the second is the missionary discourse (instructions for the apostles proclaiming the kingdom of God), and now we are into the parable discourse, which will teach us some truths about God. Today’s story is the parable of the wheat and the weeds, in which an enemy sows weeds among the good seed, and the farmer tells the workers not to pull the weeds, but to wait until the harvest, when all will be sorted out. This powerful parable, along with the other readings today, bring up some tough questions about evil – where it comes from and why it is among us. Each reading offers a directive that brings us both comfort and discomfort: wait. God’s got this under control. Evil and suffering will, finally, come to an end. “Hope for what you do not see,” Paul urges in our reading from Romans, “and wait for it with patience.” 

In the midst of so many unknowns in our world, that “wait and see” message can be a difficult one to hear. But friends, do hear it today. And try to find in it some comfort and solace for whatever uncertainty you face, as we wait with patience “for the glory about to be revealed to us.” Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

There are precious few parables for which Jesus offers an explanation. One we heard last week – the Parable of the Sower – and I think the only other one is the one we just heard, the Parable of the Wheat and the Weeds (or you may know it as “the Wheat and the Tares.”). I have mixed feelings about Jesus providing an explanation. I appreciate that he’s done some of the work for me as the preacher, but I think his simple, allegorical explanation lures us into a false sense of clarity about what the parable means – when really, there is still so much here for us to wrestle with! So, friends, let’s wrestle!

The first thing that strikes me is who sows the evil: that it is not God. This gets at the age-old question about the origin of evil, and how it can exist if God is indeed good. Here, Jesus tells us: the Son of Man sowed good seed, but an enemy came and sowed the weeds in and among the good seed. But interestingly, when the workers want to remove the evil weeds, the landowner (presumably God) says don’t do it. Let the weeds grow alongside the wheat, and he will sort it out later. 

Now why would he say a thing like that, and what has that got to do with our own life and faith? 

First of all, it turns out that wheat and tares are nearly impossible to tell apart, and, they are so

intertwined with the wheat, as the landowner points out, that trying to take out the one would undoubtedly uproot the other, and then where would we be? With no harvest at all! 

This feels very relatable: we also cannot always tell the difference between wheat and weed, either literally or metaphorically, though we may think we can. And, sometimes removing what we would call a weed is disruptive to the ecosystem. Look at dandelions. They have many nutritional benefits, and are some of the first flowers to appear for the pollinators, which then helps all of the other food and flowers to grow. Removing them messes with the whole ecosystem! Yet people spend time and money to remove these “weeds” from their lawn because what, they’re ugly? Why do we get to decide it is a weed? Just think of the negative impacts of removing all the dandelions! 

If it’s tricky with plants, it is even trickier with humans. Pick any politician, and some people will consider them a weed who needs to be pulled and burned, and some will see them as wheat that is making society better. Some ne’er-do-well on the street, a clear weed, may also be a devoted brother or grandson. Someone may be nice to your face, but she’s an opportunist who would push you in front of a bus if it means she’ll get ahead. I am certain that in some people’s minds, I am very much a weed – because of my political affiliation, or because I’m a woman pastor, or because I support LGBTQ+ people. And then to others, I am seen as wheat – for the exact same reasons!

Sometimes, we would go so far as to label an entire group of people as weeds (especially if it is a group we don’t really understand), because this means we can dismiss them, even judge them or think we get to decide what is best for them. And this keeps us from having to do the much harder work of loving them. I know I can and have slipped into that temptation.

Well, Jesus says, don’t do that. Let the wheat and the weeds grow together – because, frankly, you don’t know what you are doing. Only God knows our hearts, our deeds, our intentions, our value, and so only God can make the judgment. 

Of course this opens another whole can of worms: If we’re supposed to just let the wheat and weeds grow together, does that mean we should sit back and never call out the evil among us, letting it wreak havoc? That’s the ditch on the other side of the road: on one side we judge people and try to eliminate whomever we deem to be a weed; or, on the other, we do nothing, letting evil go unpunished. 

But of course, there is a road between these two ditches. And here’s one distinction: there is a difference between judging a person as evil or good, and identifying their deeds as such. “A tree is known by its fruit,” Jesus says, in the chapter just before this one. Someone could be basically good, but make bad choices, and vice versa. And for a Christian, the good fruit we’re looking for is the fruit of love. And the other fruits of the Spirit, too – joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. But the greatest of these is love. And that love should mark all of our interactions, whether with wheat or with what we would call weeds. 

Now, before I go any further, I want you to ask yourself: as I have been talking about weeds and wheat, good and evil, have you been thinking about other people who fall into each category… or are you wondering if you are, yourself, weed or wheat? 

I think sometimes in conversations like this, it feels safer to point outward, to consider whether other people and their actions are good or evil. But the real kicker of this parable comes when we point inward: what is the good or bad fruit that we are producing? And do we, maybe, produce a bit of both?

The truth is, I don’t think this parable is about people who are all good, or all bad, because such people don’t exist. None of us are always children of the kingdom, or always children of the evil one. We are all “simultaneously saint and sinner,” as Martin Luther says. And, this parable is not about everyone else; it is about us, about our own saintly and sinful hearts. 

So this brings us back to an earlier question: does that mean God wants us to let evil grow in our own hearts alongside the good, until the “end of the age” and God’ll sort it out then? What are we supposed to do with that?? 

Thankfully, we have a way of dealing with the weeds that are burned at the end of the age, that doesn’t require us to wait that long. Did you know, that every week in worship, we have a mini-apocalypse, a reckoning, a great revealing? It’s right at the beginning, before we do anything else: the confession. In these few minutes, we have a chance to come before God and say, “God, there are some weeds growing in and among the good wheat you planted in my heart. I know it is in there, but I admit, I can’t always see it or tell the difference. I try to do good, and it comes out bad. And if I’m honest, sometimes I don’t even try to do good – when I make a snarky comment, or judge bad drivers, or even other things I don’t feel comfortable saying in church. I know the weeds are in there, and I know you know which ones they are, even if I don’t always. And so, I come to you today, God, and I ask you to separate those weeds from the wheat, the bad from the good. Gather up the wheat, that it would be nourishment for my faith and for the world. And as for the weeds – just burn them up, Lord. I may weep and gnash my teeth, because it is hard to change my ways that are planted so deeply within. The weeds always seem to come back! But burn them up, anyway. And when I mess up again, do it again. So that eventually, in the final judgment, I can come before you as the best version of myself.”

And then, remarkably, God does! We hear those words of forgiveness. The slate is wiped clean. Our sin is burned up, and utterly destroyed, and we are left as the saints God named us to be in our baptism. And by his death and resurrection, Christ promises that this will never stop being the case. 

And then in our worship, sins forgiven, we collectively move into a hymn of praise – unburdened by all those weeds, as we worship our God of love and forgiveness.

Will we mess up again? Yeah. We will. But again and again, we return to God and pray the same prayer – “take away my sin” – and we are, again, forgiven. And we are again reminded that the burden of sin is not our end point, but that God is always making things new. And from there it becomes possible to be sent out not to judge the world, but to love and serve the world in Jesus’ name. Thanks be to God!

Let us pray… Gracious God, this world is full of both weeds and wheat, and we don’t always know the difference – even when it is growing in our own hearts! But you do. Help us to trust you to remove our sin, so that we would be sent out to nourish the world with your goodness. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.   

Sermon: Love and serve recklessly (July 12, 2026)

Pentecost 10A
July 12, 2026
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

INTRODUCTION

Of the four Gospels, the Gospel of Matthew is the most meticulously organized. One feature of his Gospel is that during this middle part of the Gospel, Matthew sets up five distinct discourses. The first is the Sermon on the Mount, which outlines the basic tenets of Christian faith. Then we get the missionary discourse, instructions for the twelve apostles as they are sent out to proclaim the good news of the kingdom. Today we begin the third discourse, the “parabolic discourse” – for the next few weeks, we’ll be hearing a lot of parables.

So, first question is: what is a parable? Parables in the Bible are stories that teach us something about God. The word in Greek literally means, “throw alongside,” so often what you’ll see is something very common thrown alongside something else to help us understand that latter thing better. Today’s parable, for example, is the parable of the sower – an everyday image of planting, used to show us how the Word of God takes root for us. Jesus explains its meaning, but there are still many questions: for example, what does each soil represent in today’s world? What can be done to cultivate soil so that it will be good and ready to receive God’s word?

Our first reading and Psalm are chosen to echo the planting image. Isaiah offers a poetic vision for a people in exile. He describes how all of creation praises and celebrates God for the ways God’s word waters and nourishes its growth. As you listen to that one, just hear the hope in it. Hear the joy. Let it be a word of hope, joy and peace for you, one that replenishes your soul. 

Finally, in Romans, Paul will talk about what brings life, and what brings death. Listen for where you might find life these days. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

Each time I read this parable, I am struck by the recklessness of the sower. I’m no gardener, but even I know you shouldn’t just be throwing seeds willy-nilly! It’s not good stewardship; indeed, it is a waste of resources. If the sower is supposed to represent God here (and it seems like this is the intention), what does this tell us about God? 

Well, it says that God is reckless in how God scatters seed. In other words, that where we might be stingy or calculating in how we administer grace or love or compassion, God is not. God gives and gives and gives of these things so essential to his character, and if those on whom it falls do not receive it, that’s no matter to God. God will just keep tossing it until something does take root. And that, it turns out, is a God I do want: one who is not selective or exclusive, who gives freely and extravagantly, so even if I’m too hard-headed or hard-hearted to receive it, I’ll have another chance. That is pretty darn good news, I’d say!

As I started digging into this text this week, I got to thinking about our synod’s current focus on experimentation. Even when we experiment, it is usually with caution, right, after counting the cost, communicating thoroughly, etc. That’s all appropriate! But I came across this quote, and I felt very called out. Preacher Elisabeth Johnson wrote in a commentary on this text, “Too often we play it safe, sowing the word only where we are confident it will be well received, and only where those who receive it are likely to become contributing members of our congregations. In the name of stewardship, we hold tightly to our resources, wanting to make sure that nothing is wasted. We stifle creativity and energy for mission, resisting new ideas for fear they might not work -- as though mistakes or failure were to be avoided at all costs. Jesus' approach to mission is quite at odds with our play-it-safe instincts.” (Does that land for anyone else?)

Well, I was working on this sermon while I was at LCLC, church camp, with four of our young members. Camp is a place where worship is creative and there is a lot of improvisation around activities. Since I’m still sort of in camp mode, I thought we’d try something different for the sermon this week, something in the spirit of the reckless sower, who casts seed every which way without counting the cost. Don’t worry, this experiment won’t cost a dime. One place we do experiment more freely, is in play, and so, I’d like to spend the rest of the sermon playing an improv game (because it’s my birthday today and I love improv, so I hope you will humor me!). In this game, we will design a grand, new ministry, letting our imaginations go wild, and see what we can come up with. I wonder if there are four volunteers who will help me play….

Okay, to start, we need to go over some rules of improv. One is that we are not here to make anyone look bad; we want to build each other up. An important way we do that is: “yes-and.” That means that when someone says something, you don’t say, “No, that won’t work.” You say, “YES, that’s absolutely a good idea, AND I’m going to take it and add onto it.” We’re not just throwing out random, disconnected ideas; we are building on each other’s ideas. You want to build a fountain that has fruit punch instead of water? Yes! And let’s make sure there’s also a cup station so people can drink it. Get it? 

Second rule: there is no idea too crazy or outlandish. The point is not to create something we will actually carry out. The point is to be reckless in our idea-giving (and maybe even to have some laughs along the way). After a few minutes of playing the game, we will invite the whole congregation to join us in reflecting on it, noticing what themes they observed, where there was excitement, etc. Okay?

Now, here is your set-up: A generous, billionaire donor has approached St. Paul’s with a desire to fund and sustain whatever ministry we want to do, that will make Rochester a better place. Cost and resources are no issue. What should we do?

[Play for 3 minutes]

Awesome. Now, what did you hear? What ideas did you like? Where did you hear excitement? [2 min]

I think a lot of the time, our vision for ministry gets stifled by our practical concerns. “Is this sustainable? Who will run this?” While those are important questions, they can also really suck the air out of an idea! My hope with this activity was to give you a sense of what it is like to be the reckless sower, who throws the good news of God’s grace and compassion every which way, without worrying about how practical it is to forgive sinners or love outcasts or find the lost. I thought it was pretty fun! 

As we look toward the coming months, and as we continue to work toward clarifying our mission, I pray that, even as we continue to be the faithful stewards we are so good at being, that we will also channel the reckless sower and dream big about how God is using St. Paul’s to spread God’s love far and wide. I’m glad to be on this journey with you!

Let us pray… Reckless Sower, we often default to be being careful in how we love – but you don’t! You love without counting the cost. Make us brave and bold in our witness, so that we might show as many people as possible the bigness of your love. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: What is freedom? (July 5, 2026)

Pentecost 5A
July 5, 2026
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

INTRODUCTION

In light of this weekend being the semiquincentennial (that’s a big word I recently learned!), it seemed only natural to approach this week’s texts with an eye toward freedom: what it looks like in our particular moment in history, and what it looks like for Lutheran Christians who start worship each week declaring not our freedom, but rather, that we are “captive to sin and cannot free ourselves.” With this lens, I noticed a few things, and want to ask you some questions to ponder for each reading while you listen:

Zechariah speaks to “prisoners of hope.” What do you suppose that means, to be a prisoner of hope? Where do you find the sort of hope to which you’d want to be a prisoner?

In Romans, Paul talks frankly about his captivity to his own bad decisions and judgment. “What’s wrong with me?” he asks. “I do not do the good I want, but the very evil I do not want is what I do.” Oh brother, I can relate! Why is that we struggle so much to get out from the burden of our poor choices?

And finally in the Gospel, Jesus will use the image of a yoke, presenting it as an image of comfort, as he calls upon us to take on his yoke, which is “easy” or light. How does it feel to celebrate freedom, even as we are yoked to Jesus?

Maybe you’ll hear other echoes of freedom in these texts. Listen carefully, to what God is saying to you this day.

[READ]

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

In general, when it comes to preaching, I try to follow the advice of theologian Karl Barth: preach with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Sometimes that means I venture into topics people might call “political,” but I work pretty hard at not being partisan, and I always strive to preach the gospel. Sometimes, frankly, speaking a word of Gospel to a current reality, even a political reality, is called for. What’s the point of the gospel if it is disconnected from our lives, if it doesn’t help us make sense of what is going on in the world around us? We are not, after all, Christian or the Church in a vacuum! 

This weekend, as America celebrates our semiquincentennial, I think it feels appropriate to lean a little

more into our identity as both Americans and Christians. Now, don’t worry, I’m still not planning to be political or partisan (I promise you, I will always preach the gospel!). But I do want to talk today about a foundational value for both Christians and Americans: freedom. As I said in my introduction, I find in today’s texts many points that draw me into thinking about freedom – in this case, not American freedom, but our Christian freedom. The two are sometimes conflated, and increasingly so as many in the upper levels of government would like to see America be a Christian nation, never mind what our first amendment guarantees for people of all faith traditions. But while there are certainly shared values and some harmony between American ideals and Christian ideals, American freedom and Christian freedom are also quite different. 

American freedom allows us to do, say, and believe whatever we want. And there is a sense of autonomy that goes with that, of rugged individualism, of personal work ethic: if you want to succeed, and you work hard, you will succeed! That’s the American dream!

Christian freedom, on the other hand, looks beyond our own desires. It compels us to use our personal freedoms not to serve ourselves, but to serve one another. As Christians, we believe not so much in the power of the individual, since we are all, as we say, “captive to sin and cannot free ourselves”; rather, we believe in the power of Christ, who has taken away the burden of sin, so that it no longer has such power over us. Because of Christ, our freedom looks instead like the ability to freely love and serve God and neighbor. That is: our freedom is not, ultimately, for us, but for our neighbor. (Of course, in some cases, our American freedom compels us to this, as well – we see it in military service members willing to give their lives for others, and in public servants and first responders, and activists who stand up for principles that will lead to liberty and justice for all, not just themselves. But I would argue that while American freedom sometimes is used for the benefit of others, Christian freedom always is.)

While this idea of freedom for others is hopeful and worthy of gratitude, today’s text from Romans shows us that this freedom business is also incredibly difficult – because even as we know what God desires from us and for us, it isn’t so easy to follow through. Paul offers this startling confession: “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

That is the difficulty with freedom, right? As well-intentioned as we may be, and even as certain as we may be at any given time about the rightness of our decisions, it seems too often that we end up doing the wrong thing. How many times have you said something like, “I shouldn’t say this, or do this, but….” Because, as Paul says, sin is constantly lurking at the door, just waiting for us, in all our freedom, to slip up a little bit so that sin can creep in there and take over our better judgment. “I know I shouldn’t, but…” is a constant refrain in our lives. 

“I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” The first time I heard, really heard these words, I felt an immediate kinship with Paul. He suddenly became a real person to me, not just some writer and scholar from long ago. I realized: he struggled, too. This important man, with many churches named for him, including this one, whose writings made it into the Bible – even he struggled with sin, struggled to avoid doing things he knew were the wrong things to do. Turns out, we are all together in this human condition, where we mean well, but end up doing the very thing we know we shouldn’t. It happens in the highest levels of government and the Church, and it happens in our daily lives.

Even as misery enjoys company, though, we cannot stay there – and Paul doesn’t. Just when we start to feel that there is no hope, that our Christian or American freedom will only get us into trouble because as willing as our hearts may be, our flesh is too darn weak to uphold God’s law… Paul looks outward. “Wretched man that I am!” he exclaims. “Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” We are not left on our own. We have the great gift of knowing that Jesus has our backs in this. As much as we love our American freedom, even the brilliance of the founding fathers could not guarantee that.

Anne Lamott, in her book, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith, reflects on the growth and wisdom she has experienced in her life. She goes on for some pages about everything she has learned and gained through the various trials and stages of her life. She also comments, however, that she is not thrilled with what age and gravity have done to her body. In her wry, raw way, she writes, “Left to my own devices, would I trade all [that I have gained] for firm thighs, fewer wrinkles, a better memory? You bet I would. That is why it’s such a blessing that I am not left to my own devices.” Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!

And this brings us to Jesus’ wonderful words of comfort in our Gospel lesson, which are an assurance that we will never be left to our own devices, left to fend for ourselves, left always to do the right thing with the freedom we have been given, even as sin is lurking close at hand. Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you…” I used to think that taking Jesus’ yoke upon me was something like taking up Jesus’ cross – that is, taking on a burden, perhaps the burden of seeking justice in the world, or fixing all the broken systems, or feeding the hungry, with us pulling the load and Christ as the driver. But the thing about a yoke is that it is not for one animal. It is for two, two animals who are bound together to walk side-by-side and be a more powerful team than one can be alone. So when Christ bids us take his yoke upon us, he means that we should come and be yoked with him, bound together side-by-side – so that suddenly our personal burden no longer feels quite so heavy, because we bear it with Christ. Our freedom, which so often leads us into sin, is no longer about our individual abilities or effort, nor is it about our downfall, because we make decisions with Christ by our side, bearing some of the weight. 

It is not only our personal burdens that are carried in this way. Under Christ’s yoke, we are prepared to bear the burdens of the world, even those we feel so heavily right now, and perhaps especially as we celebrate our Semiquincentennial. I love my country, and I cry with pride nearly every time I sing our National Anthem... and at the same time, there is much in our country to grieve right now. And so, with our God-given freedom for service, and with the strength of Christ and his yoke on our team, we do the hard work that we are called to do: standing up to the oppressor, seeking justice for the needy, showing mercy and compassion to those who are suffering, working toward a more perfect union. These are what our Christian freedom compels us to do, and now we are given the promise that we need not bear the burden of those tasks alone. 

Freedom is a wonderful, beautiful thing, a gift worth celebrating, that has come to us by the grace of God through Jesus Christ. And, it can also be a burden, as we don’t always use it wisely, for the building up of others, but rather, we use it for our own self-promotion or self-preservation. Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord that we are not left to our own devices in this world, but rather are given the gift of Jesus’ own yoke, and the knowledge of God’s strength in carrying the burden of this world. May we use this gift for the benefit of our neighbor.

Let us pray… We give you thanks, O Lord, for our freedom. But even more we give you thanks that even in that freedom, we are not left to our own devices, but are always accompanied by the gentle, humble yoke of your Son. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.