Ash Wednesday Sermon: It aches to be human.

Ash Wednesday
Feb. 18, 2026
Isaiah 58:1-12

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

It aches to be human.

I want to start this Ash Wednesday, this Lenten season, by simply acknowledging that fact. To be human is to ache; we come out of the womb crying and we don’t ever really stop. 

Certainly, we ache over things in the world, especially things over which we have little or no control. I have been learning about poverty in preparation for this season, and it aches to hear about the endless cycle of poverty and the sheer number of children affected, even in this, a country with such immense wealth. In Rochester, a whopping 40-50% of children live in poverty.

It aches to know that smart people have some really solid and proven ideas to fix poverty in America, and yet we choose not to do them. 

We also ache to watch the news, and again, to feel helpless as we watch people around the world and at home suffering horrific atrocities – natural disasters, corrupt governments, people hungry for power at any cost, even the cost of their own neighbors’ and citizens’ lives and well-being.

But this Ash Wednesday, the human ache I’m really thinking about is not just a result of something out there somewhere, but rather, the one we feel in our own soul. Sometimes it is circumstantial: a new diagnosis, a strained relationship with a spouse or child, the loss of independence, a struggle with self-understanding. But even those acute circumstances aside, we as humans often endure a persistent ache, a longing… even, a hunger. 

Lent, and Ash Wednesday in particular, is an invitation to be honest about our ache, whatever it may be. As we will hear in a moment before the imposition of ashes, it is also an invitation into certain disciplines, including self-examination, repentance, as well as fasting, almsgiving, and prayer. Those disciplines are designed, in part, to make us aware of and to respond to our spiritual restlessness. But on Ash Wednesday, it begins with a simple acknowledgement: that is aches to be human, and that includes all of us.

Why is that admission so difficult for us? I suppose it is because we hate to admit that we don’t have it all together. We don’t want to admit weakness, and we might not even know how to name what is off in our hearts. In our reading from Isaiah, the people think they are doing pretty well, fasting and worshiping God, and I’m sure it didn’t feel great to hear the prophet tell them, “That’s not what I’m looking! The fast that I choose is not just to talk the talk, but to walk the walk of freeing the oppressed and caring for the needy.” No one likes to be told they are doing it wrong. Similar in the Gospel, in which Jesus calls out the hypocrites who act all holy, but who are missing the point. Humans have never wanted to admit they are wrong, that they do not always know what is best!

Well, maybe except for David, who wrote today’s Psalm. “Indeed, you delight in truth deep within me,” he sings, “and would have me know wisdom deep within… Create in me a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within me.” Yes, yes, this is what I want, too! I want to know truth and wisdom deep within, to know what is really going on with my heart. I want a right spirit within me! I want for the ache to go away – not just the ache of watching a broken world go about being broken, but the ache I feel deep in my soul, that feeling of being unsettled, unfinished. That feeling of desire. That feeling of longing. That feeling of… a spiritual hunger.

Yes, we would often like that ache, that hunger, to go away. But on this Ash Wednesday, I’m wondering whether making it disappear is really the point. If we didn’t ache, would we also lose our drive to turn toward God? What if that ache is there precisely to compel us to seek out our God, the only one who can truly satisfy? 

Father Ron Rolheiser says it this way: “I think [that ache we’re all born with] is the most basic thing inside of us. If you remember Descartes’ famous line, I think therefore I am – well, St. Augustine goes deeper. The deepest thing is, I desire, therefore I am… He says, You have made us for yourself, Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you. To me that’s the deepest truth of my life. And I think it’s the deepest truth in everybody’s lives—whether it’s recognized or not.” 

This Lent, we will be learning about and responding to physical hunger – in our community and in the world. But we will also be considering our various spiritual hungers, our human aches, in Sunday sermons throughout the season. We hunger for fulfillment and meaning, we hunger for security. We hunger for belonging and acceptance, for forgiveness and reconciliation. We hunger for truth. We hunger for life. 

But really, that all comes back to that Augustine quote: our hearts are restless until they find their rest in God. 

Ash Wednesday invites us into that truth. On this strange and honest day in the church year, we come to somber worship, and we are honest with ourselves and with God: that we hunger and ache in mind and spirit. That we do not have it all together. That we don’t always know what to do, or how to feed our deepest hunger. That we have not always loved God with all our heart and mind and soul and strength, and our neighbor as ourselves. We have judged falsely, and been negligent in prayer – and all the other things our confession in a moment will go through. And we ache. 

Acknowledging all that is a necessary first step. But we receive something else today that is just as necessary. After we confess, we come forward to receive ashes on our forehead, in the shape of a cross. The ashes remind us of our sin that draws us from God, and the reality that our time on earth is fleeting. We are dust, and we shall return to dust. But they are not smudged indiscriminately on our faces. They are traced with intention on top and in the shape of the cross traced on our foreheads at our baptism. In that way, they serve as promise: that God never leaves us alone in the ache. That God draws near to us in that place, even as the same ache drives us toward God. And that the death of Christ means life for us – a life that will, eventually, mean the end to all our aches and pains and sufferings, because we will be alive together forever with Christ. 

Baptism was the beginning of that journey to eternal life, and acknowledging the ache between here and there is how we continue it, knowing that each spiritual hunger pang we feel is a reminder to turn once again toward God. 

The ache of being human is not going away, this side of heaven. But neither is the promise, and certainly, neither is the grace. Because even as our souls seek God, God is always, always, seeking us.

Let us pray… God, draw near to our aching, restless hearts. And let each pang and desire and longing direct and drive us toward your presence, so that we might find our rest in you. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Bad Bunny and the accompaniment mission model

As a spiritual leader, I'm always interested to see (and try to understand) whatever is the moral outrage de jour. This week, of course, it is the SuperBowl halftime show, featuring Grammy-winner and top-streamed artist globally, Bad Bunny, a Catholic and American citizen of proud Puerto Rican heritage.

Conservative America pushed against this selection, for a range of reasons, and Turning Point USA put on an alternative halftime show featuring Kid Rock. To start, I simply don't understand how Kid Rock is the family-friendly, moral high ground here. Dude's lyrics in a 2001 called pedophilia "mandatory," and when given the chance, he showed no remorse for this - even as the world is grappling with the release of the Epstein files. 

Lots of people have written thoughtful pieces on the beauty of Bad Bunny's presentation, and the incongruity of calling Kid Rock the faithful, All-American alternative, so I'll leave that to them. 

What I want to address is the idea held by so many "Christians" that because the vast majority of Bad Bunny's performance was in Spanish, it was un-American. 

First of all, Spanish is the most common non-English language spoken by Americans at home (13-14%). That's significant. Along with this, representation matters. Think of the kids at home who speak Spanish, hearing and seeing a native Spanish speaker perform in their language on this biggest of American stages. Suddenly, they can see themselves there. They see that they belong in their country. It's not unlike my friend's AuDHD daughter watching with delight as neurodivergent ice skater Amber Glenn won a gold medal. When minorities are celebrated and lifted up, we are celebrating the beautiful diversity that makes America the incredible place it is. 

But I'm also thinking about this as a Lutheran pastor. In my denomination, the ELCA, we are committed to a model of mission we call "accompaniment." It is a counter to the colonialist model of mission that says, "We have something you don't have, and you will be better if we give you our thing" - whether that thing is our tools, our music, our clothing, or our way of operating in the world. This sends the message, "Our way is best. You don't have anything of value to offer me." And also implied, "I am the one in power here." This model is manifest in a white supremacist mindset - something of which we are becoming increasingly aware but which has been a part of America since the Mayflower landed.

The accompaniment model sees this as an affront to each of our uniquely beautiful identities as children of God, made in God's image. The ELCA defines accompaniment as "walking together in a solidarity that practices interdependence and mutuality." It embraces values like mutuality (mission "with" and "among," not "to"), inclusivity (relationships that don't exclude or divide), vulnerability (opening ourselves to others), empowerment (correcting imbalance of power, including recognizing and letting go of our own power), and sustainability (imbedding mission in ongoing relationships and communities). 

What's this got to do with Bad Bunny's halftime show? Well, I'm noticing how "colonialist" (or white nationalist) the reaction to the mere fact of his performance is, even before we get to the performance content. The expectation is that a performer at the SuperBowl must perform primarily in English. What if instead we went in with an accompaniment mindset - with values like mutuality inclusivity, vulnerability, empowerment and sustainability in the forefront? What if we asked questions (of ourselves and our children) like:

What must it be like for people whose primary language is other than English to operate in a mostly-English world? (As someone who lived in a non-English-speaking country as a Lutheran missionary for a year, I'll tell you that hearing English delighted me every single time it happened!)

How does it feel for a Spanish-speaking kid to hear their own language used and celebrated on this national stage?

If something about this performance makes me uncomfortable, why is that? Is it because it is unfamiliar to me and different from my own culture? Or is it the content or presentation itself? Why?

What can I learn about my own cherished culture, by watching this celebration of a different one (that also exists in my country)?

What can I learn about Puerto Rico and its culture from this - knowing that PR is an American territory about which I know very little?

What do I have in common with this celebration of Latino culture? What do we share?

What is different that I actually kind of like? What do I wish my own culture had more of? (In interfaith dialogue, this is called "holy envy" - what do I see in a different tradition that I wish my own had more of?)

It makes me sad how many people were simply unwilling to engage in this opportunity to learn, to see how another kind of American understands this identity we share. I believe such exposure helps us understand our colorful country better, and to value it more deeply and more complexly. But I also believe deep in my being that the more we are willing to learn from people who are different from us, the better we can know God, who made all humankind in God's image. 

(Disclaimer: I don't know if this image is copyrighted! But I'm seeing it all over social media, so I'm hoping it is okay to use it here, since I'm not profiting on it.)

Sermon: Being salt and light (Feb. 8, 2026)

Epiphany 5A
February 8, 2026 – Emily’s Installation
Isaiah 58:1-12; Matthew 5:13-20

INTRODUCTION

Today’s lectionary drops us into what is called “Third Isaiah,” the part of Isaiah that is speaking to the Israelites as they are returning from being in exile for the past 70 years. After the Jerusalem Temple had been destroyed by the Babylonian Army, the Israelites had been sent away to live in Babylon, away from all that they knew about faith. Now, they are back, and they’re trying to figure out how to live lives of faith in their drastically changed circumstances. They are fasting, which is a good faith practice, but even as they fast (and wonder why God isn’t impressed by this), they are still oppressing their workers, and doing all kinds of things that are the opposite of what their faith calls them to. Isaiah calls them back to the essence of their faith: share bread with the hungry, free the oppressed, clothe the naked, restore the breach, repair the streets. Do these things, and you will see God working among you. Do these things, he says, and your light will shine.

That light bit ties us right into the Gospel reading, as Jesus tells us we are the light of the world. Today’s reading continues the Sermon on the Mount. Last week we heard the Beatitudes, in which Jesus speaks to a crowd of broken and hurting people and calls them blessed. Today he tells those same people that they are the salt of the earth and the light of the world. Salt and light: two precious things that are essential for life! And Jesus says we are like that, too!

As you listen, hear not only the instructions of Isaiah, but the affirmations in Matthew. So often we hear in the Bible things that we should do or be. In Matthew, Jesus will tell us how God already sees us. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

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

“You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.” 

I think, in a world which so often places demands on us, we might be tempted to hear these exhortations from Jesus as commands. “You ought to be the salt of the earth. You should be more like the light of the world.” But no – right here at the beginning of his sermon, Jesus starts by telling people not what they should be, but what they already are. It is not so much command as it is promise, an identity we already possess as baptized and beloved children of God. You are the light of the world. You are the salt of the earth. That is how God sees us. And when we know that about ourselves, it becomes easier to live into that identity, right? 

Maybe you don’t believe me. Good people of St. Paul’s, I will prove this to you. 

A couple years ago, when St. Paul’s received a large bequest, the very first thing you did was give away 10% of it, a tithe. Then you decided we should give away another 20% more of it, and to put another quarter of it in an endowment fund so that we can continue to give away large sums of money every year to people in need. Per our vision statement, you are “making the world a better place.” You are the light of the world. 

You have donated a crazy amount of food and goods over the years to Loop Ministries, Pittsford Food Cupboard, ESWA, Rochester Hope, and many more local organizations. You serve on boards for these and other organizations that are doing such good work toward helping those in our community who are in need. You use your connections and passions to make our larger community a great place to live. You are “building a strong community.” You are the salt of the earth.

You use your unique and abundant gifts to help this congregation and its ministries to run smoothly – whether that is making food, decorating, organizing things or information, working with technology, supporting our staff, making decisions about our finances or our building, making quilts, teaching children, making music, creating and polishing healthy policies… the list of skills and gifts put to work here is endless! And you share them joyfully, and generously. You are the salt of the earth!

You also care for one another, giving rides to members who can’t drive, sending cards and delivering meals, checking in on each other, going grocery shopping, or simply spending the time to go visit one another. You sing in the choir, or sit on the council, or make the coffee and treats or order the cake, or help lead worship, or plan fellowship events or service opportunities. You care about justice, and work toward it in your free time, writing letters, making calls, showing up. You pray for one another and the world God made. You are the light of the world!

With a diversity of people and gifts in this place, you manage to serve a diversity of needs in the world. You, my dear people, are already the salt of the earth and the light of the world.

Of course, how it looks to be salt and light in the world is always changing as the world around us changes, and as different needs arise. And sometimes our diversity of gifts also extends to a diversity of opinions, and thus different ideas of how being salt and light should look. We all care deeply about different things, and want our energy as a congregation to go in different directions. While our diversity of gifts and opinions can certainly be an advantage, sometimes those differences can make it hard to focus our saltiness and light in the same direction at the same time! We have different priorities.

In a moment, we will formally install Deacon Emily as our new Minister of Community Connections and Outreach. The role of a deacon is to serve as a bridge between church and world, and to equip the saints (that’s you!) to lead a living, active, and caring Christian life. To that end, one of the main things she will be doing with us is helping us know how we, in all our diversity of skills and opinions, are called to be the salt of the earth and the light of the world in this time and place. She will help us discover our passions, and the needs of the world, and to see where those things overlap. She will listen deeply to us, and help us listen deeply to each other and to the Word of God, to determine where our passions, both collective and unique, might align with the world’s need for salt and light, and help us discover how to meet that need sustainably and joyfully. Having spent the past weeks getting to know Deacon Emily, I know she will do a faithful job of this, and I hope that we will all be open to hearing how God and our community are calling us to be salt and light in this time and place.

We may very well discover what we didn’t even know we had in common, and we may also find a lot of things about which we still differ. But there is, of course, one very important thing that holds us all together in this work, and that is our belief that our loving God not only made each of us so beautifully unique, but also understands our brokenness; that this God loves us so much as to send us Jesus, to first proclaim to us our belovedness, our blessedness, to promise us we are already salt and light, to teach us to love our neighbors as ourselves, and finally to take all of our brokenness with him to the cross, bury it deep in a tomb, and rise again to bring us new life, new hope, new opportunity. We are all held together by a love that could do that for this here bunch of sinners, and by a love that then motivates and empowers us to be the salt and the light, to share that message with the world in word and in deed. 

I’m so excited to see what God will do here at St. Paul’s in the coming years, through us, through Deacon Emily, and through our work together with our various community partners. Will we do more of what Isaiah implores – “Share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to clothe them”? Will we work toward being, as Isaiah says, a “repairer of the breach, a restorer of streets to live in”? Will we build new relationships with new communities, or deepen existing ones? There’s no end to the possibilities of ways to be salt and light in this world. I can’t wait to see!

Whatever happens, I know that God will use our gifts and our passions, our differences, and our similarities in a way that lets us spread God’s love further than we could have alone. Thanks be to God for making us salt and light, so that together we might bring God’s own life and brightness to a world in need. 

Let us pray… God of life, we thank you for the assurance that we are the light of the world and the salt of the earth. Embolden us to live out this God-given identity in ways that bring life and hope to our community. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

A time to pray in every season under heaven (prayers for parents)

 I have been invited again to write some prayers for a parent resource, "Unbridled Prayers," out of Augsburg Fortress - daily prayers written by parents, for parents. This is the app - check it out! Some really lovely prayers (I did October and December, 2025). 

Anyway, I'm working on prayers for September 2026, and got this idea to use Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 as a template: "For everything there is a season, a time for everything under heaven." Below are the prayers I have written using that passage. I hope you enjoy! Now - go download the app so you can read these prayers, written by a different person each month, every day!

Image by JasmineGreen

God of the changing seasons, the Bible says, “For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven.” I notice this especially in September as we start a new school year. September always feels like a bridge between what was and what will be. I’m here for it, God. Help me let go of what needs to go, and accept what needs to come about. Amen. 

“…a time to be born and a time to die.”

How is my baby this big, God?! Wasn’t it just yesterday I was holding that wee bundle, with only beginnings ahead of us? Now every day I wonder, “Will this be the last time?” The last time they run into my arms after school? The last time their squishy little hand slips into mine? The last time they say “aminals” instead of “animals”? I am grateful for all the new things being born; make me also grateful for the things that, due to the miracle of growing up, are no more. Amen.

“…a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted.”

God of seeds, planted in fertile brains, thank you for the ways my child’s teachers plant seeds in their mind, seeds that are nourished and grow in so many awesome ways. When the time comes, make my kid bold enough to harvest what has been sown in them. Amen.

“…a time to kill and a time to heal.”

God of relationships, these budding and dying friendships are so hard on my child’s tender heart. Help them know, when friend troubles arise, when it is worth seeking healing in a relationship, and when it is okay just to accept that this person is not really the kind of friend that they want in their life. Give them a heart that can forgive, either way. Amen.

“…a time to break down and a time to build up.”

Holy Spirit, I want for my kid to be the one who encourages others, who builds people up and makes others feel confident… and not the one who tears down the other kids. Help me model building up, so that this will be a natural expression also for my child. While you’re at it, give my child the confidence to succeed, too! Amen.

“…a time to weep and a time to laugh.” 

God of dripping tears and belly laughs, the emotions are So Big at this age. I never know when the waterworks will turn on, whether that was a laugh or a scream, or whether a tickle or a joke are what is needed, or just a cuddle. Help me navigate my kid’s emotions (and my own!), and to know when is the time to weep, and when it is time to laugh. Amen.

“…a time to mourn and a time to dance.”

God, my child’s first pet died. Though she had this carnival goldfish for all of 6 days, she is devastated. Her grief is real. Give me the wisdom to navigate grief with my child, to give them space to lament, to name things, to take each loss seriously whether it’s big or small, and finally, to move with them from mourning into dancing – at whatever pace they (and not I) set for the journey. Amen.

“…a time to throw away stones and a time to gather stones together.”

God, I have so many hopes and dreams for my child – for their success, their learning, their faith. When they encounter barriers, make them wise in overcoming them. When a roadblock seems to stop progress, give them creativity to find a way around. And together, let us find ways to take what would have stopped them, and use it instead to build something great. Amen. 

“…a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing.”

God of cuddles, thank you for every single hug my child gives me, for every time they just want to be close to me (even when I could really use some personal space), for the safety they feel by being near me. When I do need that personal space, give me calm and loving words to express my need, so that my child never doubts how much I love them. Amen.

“…a time to seek and a time to lose.”

Why God, why are there no more pairs of socks - why only one of each? And where are my keys? And why is nothing where it should be?? Why do I spend half my morning looking for something someone has lost? In the midst of it all, God, help me not to lose also my mind! And when I do have energy to seek, let me use it to seek your face… not my car keys. Amen.

“…a time to keep and a time to throw away.”

God of memories and mementos, everything my kids create is so very precious. And also, it is just so much. Help me be discerning about what to keep and what to toss. Make me grateful for every beautiful example of the ways my kid is developing, and for every wonderful moment we’ve shared, but also to balance that with wanting a calm and clutter-free space. Amen.

“…a time to tear and a time to sew.”

God, for reals: is it actually possible for my child to own even one piece of clothing that does not immediately get torn or stained? Will there ever be a time when we can own nice things, and they will stay nice? Give me the patience for laundry, and mending, and accepting that this is our current time in life, and that is okay. It is a blessing, even. But also… just one pair of pants without holes would be good, please and thank you. Amen.

“…a time to keep silent and a time to speak.”

God, I love the sound of my children, I really do… but I thank you for the moments when I have a calm and peaceful house with no child sounds in it. Let me not feel guilty for loving this time without my child nearby. And then, let me be even more grateful when they are near once again, asking me, again, for a snack. Amen.

“…a time to love and a time to hate.”

Oh, my God… I love my child. I love them, so so much. But I am, sometimes, just so mad at them. I hate their behavior. I hate that they don’t listen. I hate that I yell and turn into someone I don’t want to be, and I hate that I blame them for it. Help me deal with my own stuff so that I can separate their behavior from my reaction to their behavior, and never, ever forget how much I love them. Amen.

“…a time for war and a time for peace.”

God, my heart aches when I read the news. All I want is a peaceful world for my child, and for all children, but there is so much to be afraid of out there. Today I pray for peace, Lord. Peace in my home, in my town, in my nation, and in the world. Let my child know nothing of conflict and war, but if they must, give them confidence in me as their safe place. Amen.

Sermon: Walk humbly with your God (Feb. 1, 2026)

Epiphany 4A
February 2, 2014
Micah 6:1-8

INTRODUCTION

Today we get to hear a whole lineup of great texts. First, from Micah. You likely have heard before the final verse of our passage: “Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God.” But maybe you are less familiar with the lead up. Picture this: it is the 8th century BCE, and Israel is in a tough spot – not only is the Assyrian army about to attack, but the leaders of Israel have strayed, trampling the poor rather than leading with justice and mercy. But, Micah says, it’s not too late to change your ways! The passage begins with God saying, “What more could I have done for you, people? Answer me!” Caught in their own mess, the people respond by offering God all manner of outrageous and extravagant offerings. And Micah says that what God has wanted all along from them is not stuff, but rather, to live a life of justice, mercy, and humility, not only when they are in trouble, but every day.

The Gospel reading brings us the beloved Beatitudes from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. This is Jesus’ first sermon, first teaching, in Matthew’s Gospel, and he’s really laying out his mission and purpose, showing us what that kingdom of heaven he’s been proclaiming really looks like. And it’s not what we think! The message of the Beatitudes is completely counterintuitive, blessing those who we would not ordinarily think of as blessed. 

Micah, Matthew, and maybe even 1 Corinthians are texts that will be familiar to many. But as you listen today, try to hear them anew. We all come here each week with particular joys and celebrations, pains and struggles, and this word can speak differently to us depending on what we bring. Let God’s word speak to you wherever you are today. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

I was a young and idealistic recent college graduate. I had in my hand a Bachelor’s degree in music and religion. I had completed a thesis exploring what it means in Lutheran theology to love and serve your neighbor. I had wept over Luther’s powerful words, and had pored over the poignant words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. I had grappled so deeply with their insights that I couldn’t see myself doing anything after college but being God’s hands in the world. And so, I applied to serve as an ELCA Young Adult in Global Mission, for a one-year mission abroad. I was assigned to spend my year of global mission in a village in Slovakia.

I was thrilled. The program suited me and my interests so well. The description I received for my site included building a village youth group, working with the choir, and helping develop church programing. All of the things I loved and would be so good at with my particular skill set. I couldn’t wait to begin.

The week after I arrived with the five other Americans spending the year in Slovakia, Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast. We six Americans huddled around a computer, watching footage and reading reports of what was happening at home. We were devastated, and riddled with guilt. Here we thought we were going to serve some people in need abroad, but instead we were watching the struggles of people in our own country. Why weren’t we there helping them? My conviction about being in Slovakia to serve the Lord started to wane. 

A few weeks later, I arrived in my village. I met the pastor, a Slovak and German speaking Elvis Presley look-alike. Between my little bit of German, and his little bit of English, Pastor Miroslav told me what I would be doing that year for them: I would be teaching English to middle schoolers.

What? Are you sure? I wasn’t prepared for teaching English in any way – I had no experience, no education classes, no materials, not really any desire. There was also already an English teacher in the village. I would just be following her around and correcting the students’ grammar and pronunciation. This wasn’t quite what I had in mind for my year of global mission. And especially once I saw how apathetic the kids were about learning English at all, any desire I might have had disappeared. In my mind, I had no purpose there at all – I would just be doing something they already had someone to do, that I wasn’t even any good at, that no one seemed to really want me doing anyway. I was good at so many things. I had so many skills and talents – why weren’t they utilizing those, so I could, you know, feel good about my contribution?

All of that wisdom and knowledge I had acquired through my years of schooling suddenly meant nothing. All of those talents and skills I was so proud of didn’t really help at all with the work God had called me to in that village. I was desperately lonely. Even though I had many things in my life there that were worthy of deep and heartfelt gratitude, I felt emptied of many of the things that I loved about life. All year long, I doubted why I was even there, what God could possibly have had in mind sending me to this place. 

Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20. It wasn’t until well through the year and after I returned that I began to make some sense of that time. I had gone to Slovakia with a list of skills and gifts I thought I should use. Notice the pronouns there – I thought that I should use them. I had an agenda. I had a vision of what that year was going to be like. It was not until I was stripped of the comfort and familiarity of that, that I saw what God needed me to see: it was there, in Slovakia, you see, out of my comfort zone, that I discerned a call to be a pastor.

In our reading today from Micah, God is calling out Israel for their infidelity and injustice. In response, Israel begs, “With what shall I come before the Lord?” What can I do to make it up to you, God? They proceed to list several outrageous offerings – thousands of rams, rivers full of oil, even a firstborn child, presumably acting under the assumption that these physical gifts would make God happy and set things right. 

But God will not have any of it: “What do I require of you but these three things,” God says. “Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God.” 

I get the first two. Doing justice, loving kindness – that is what I was trying to do when I volunteered to spend the year in a Slovak village. That is what we as the church are always striving to do – to be God’s hands and God’s love in the world. But walking humbly with our God… that is something altogether different. 

What does that look like, to walk humbly with our God? Apparently it does not look like me bringing my fancy degree and skill set to Slovakia to offer what I think Slovakia needs. It does not look like a thousand rams or rivers full of oil. I suspect it doesn’t look like a lot of things we try to do on our own. So, what does it look like?

Deacon Emily doesn’t start officially until tomorrow, but this week we had a chance to sit and chat about some upcoming things. She made the observation that this congregation has so many wonderful things going on, and so many capable people to do them, but she wondered if there might be a bit of burnout. She said in her own life she has experienced this happening when she gets too focused on the serving part of her call to Word and Service, and not enough on the word part. “I need that reminder sometimes,” she said, “to stop doing, and take some time to dwell in the Word, and listen to God, so I can be fed and nourished. That is what gives me the strength and fortitude, even if I don’t have the energy, to be able to keep going and doing God’s work.”

Boy did that hit home! How quickly I want to move to relying on my own skills and talents (just like I expected to do in Slovakia) and forget to listen – listen both to God in the Word, and to those I want to serve. Instead, I think, “Oh I know what is needed, and I know just how to fix this!” without taking the time to simply sit, listen, receive, and be fed. 

The Rev. Stephen Bouman, who served as bishop of the Metro NY Synod, described this as engaging in the three Great Listenings: listening to God, listening to each other, and listening to the world. He describes this a model for mission, in which we first listen to God in the Word, and then go sit at the literal or metaphorical kitchen tables where stories and values are passed from generation to generation. We sit at the kitchen tables of others, bringing no agenda, in fact bringing nothing at all but ears to hear and eyes to see what that other person has to offer. And there, we listen – to God, to each other, and to the world.

As I consider this as a ministry model, I feel exhilarated – but also terribly vulnerable in the same way I felt vulnerable when I discovered that nothing about my time in Slovakia would be as I had envisioned it. It takes a lot of courage to go into something with no expectation or preparation, to leave behind the idea that we must do something, and instead simply to be open to what God might do or say to and for us in that situation. It’s also just really hard.

But it also seems to me, that this is getting a lot closer to what it means to “walk humbly with your God.” To enter into prayer, yes, but into everything we do simply ready to receive what is offered. To empty ourselves of what we think we should offer, and instead to hear, through the Word and through our neighbors, what God has to offer. 

It is counter-cultural. It is scary. But putting aside the expectation of contributing something important or fixing something, and instead simply being open to receive – is this not what grace is like, the very grace on which our faith depends and is built? For when we are able to put aside our frantic and overly extravagant offerings, and stop talking for just a moment, and instead listen and hear – listen to each other and the world, and to the Word of God – we will discover what God is giving us. We will find the hand of God reaching out to us to offer love, grace, and mercy – offered not because of our credentials or our talents, but simply because God is God, and grace and unmerited love are what God is all about. 

Let us pray… Gracious God, we are always so eager to do, do, do. Help us remember also to listen to your will and your promise of grace, so that we might not only know how to do justice and love kindness, but also to walk humbly with you. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Following Jesus into the suffering (January 25, 2026)

Epiphany 3A
January 25, 2026
Matthew 4:12-23

INTRODUCTION

Last week we heard John’s story about Jesus calling Peter and Andrew, the first disciples. Today we’ll hear Matthew’s version of the same event (which is actually considerably different!). Now, Matthew’s audience is primarily Jewish, and so you will often see him framing events as a fulfillment of Hebrew scripture (“This was to fulfill what the prophet said”). We’ll hear the scripture Matthew refers to as our first reading today, a text from Isaiah that you may remember from Christmas Eve. Matthew’s mention of the location of Jesus’ ministry makes it clear that Jesus is in territory that is occupied by Rome, and in the fishing village of Capernaum of Galilee. And just as God came to the Israelites in Isaiah’s time, when Assyria was the oppressor de jour, God comes in the person of Jesus to Galilee, where the oppressor is now Rome.

Another thing to remember – one of the themes in Matthew is his use of the name, “Emmanuel,” God-with-us. So all this geographical stuff hits home the point that there is no territory or situation that is off-limits for God. God is with us, as our light and our salvation, and will come to us whoever is in charge, wherever we may be, whatever we are doing. Whether we are living under oppressive rule, as in Isaiah, or dealing with intra-church conflict, like the congregation Paul is writing to in Corinth, or even today, as we deal with whatever it is we are dealing with. That is a recurring theme throughout Matthew: that God is Emmanuel, God with us, no matter what. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Faith leaders compelled by their faith to stand (or kneel)
with immigrants at MSP airport.

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

I had a completely different sermon all ready to preach for you today. It was about evangelism, and what it looks like to be fishers of people. 

But I have also, like I know many of you, been following the news, especially for the past 48 hours. Maybe you saw in the news how hundreds of faith leaders came to Minneapolis on Thursday and Friday, compelled by their faith to stand with immigrants and refugees, whom scripture tells us repeatedly to welcome and care for. Some engaged in acts of civil disobedience, in the tradition of Martin Luther King, Jr., and were arrested at the airport from which so many have been deported, even as the clergy sang hymns and prayed aloud the Lord’s Prayer. 

Maybe you also saw on the news thousands of Minnesotans marching through Minneapolis, a city with a rich immigrant community, in temperatures well below zero, demanding their streets back from federal agents who have been terrorizing them and their neighbors – including children as young as preschoolers and even a 6-month-old, and an elderly naturalized citizen. Maybe you didn’t understand why people were marching, or maybe you were inspired by their devoted patriotism, or impressed by the fact that with so many thousands of people there were no arrests, because it was entirely peaceful. 

Whatever feeling you had about Friday’s event, maybe it was completely shattered by the news yesterday about the death of 37-year-old ICU nurse, Alex Pretti. I won’t recount the details here. But I encourage you, if you haven’t already, to watch the videos for yourself. I know it is difficult, but what I’m hearing from my friends and colleagues on the ground in Minneapolis is, “Please don’t look away from what is happening. Amplify the stories of the people here. We are scared, and angry. We are also stepping up to help each other – we are Minnesotans after all, and being nice is our nature – but we are terrified and exhausted, and we need you not to ignore what is happening here.” 

My heart aches, my friends. I have shed tears, as I know many of you have as well, for our neighbors in Minnesota, and especially those who are immigrants, most of whom are contributing members of their communities, not committing crimes, certainly not violent ones, and are just going about their lives. I have both friends and family in the Twin Cities, some of whom are immigrants; this feels really close.

Each week, I try to get up here and talk about what our faith has to say about the state of being human. Sometimes this means talking about our personal struggles, of which there are plenty. Sometimes I offer instruction on a life of faith – that’s what my sermon on being fishers of people would have done. And sometimes, I try to do as 20th century theologian Karl Barth suggested, and hold the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other, and try to make sense of the news through the lens of scripture. That’s what I’m going to do today.

I have much to say about this, much more than will fit in a 12 minute sermon. I’ve thought about it a lot, though I haven’t been very successful at putting my own thoughts into words, at least not written ones. But here’s what I’ve got for you:

Today, we hear Matthew’s version of the calling of the first disciples. Jesus has just learned his cousin, John the Baptist, is in prison. John had spoken up to the ruling authorities (namely, King Herod) about the king’s ungodly behavior, and gotten himself arrested for it. (Hm, hard not to picture those faith leaders at the airport... Standing up to those in power, it seems, sometimes has this consequence!) 

After settling in Galilee, Jesus begins his ministry, calling his first disciples – two pairs of fishermen. All four of them drop their nets and immediately begin to follow Jesus. 

Out of these few verses, I have a couple of questions for you: First, what do you personally need to leave behind, what nets do you need to drop, in order to follow Jesus? Maybe you need to drop a previous world view or understanding. I can relate to that. Maybe you need to let go of fear – that one is definitely true for me! I admit it is why I am preaching a bit bolder sermon today. I’m trying to leave behind my fear. Or maybe you need to leave behind your blinders – this one is also true for me. I’d so often rather avoid painful realities than have to face them! What do you need to leave behind? What is keeping you from living fully into your identity as a disciple of Christ, who loved indiscriminately, who cared for the outsider, who spoke truth to power and was killed by the government for doing so?

Okay, once we’ve dropped our proverbial nets, the next question is, what does it then look like to follow Jesus today, in today’s world with today’s challenges and heartbreaks? How are you actively following Jesus in this moment?

In thinking about my friends’ and colleagues’ pleas not to look away, I can’t help but think that part of following Jesus is exactly that: to follow Jesus, even into the pain, and be willing to see the suffering of our neighbor in need. It would be… maybe not easy, but at least possible to ignore the news and go about our business. It would be easy to choose which version of the story best fits our preferred reality, and close our ears to anything uncomfortable. But our neighbors who are suffering and scared are asking us not to do that. And so sometimes the way to follow Jesus is to follow him into the places of suffering – if not physically, then at least with our hearts, our awareness, our prayers, our phone calls and letters, and if it is possible, our checkbooks. There are many funds set up to help people in harm’s way get basic necessities. If you are so inclined to give, and aren’t sure how, here are some links. 

How else might it look to be a follower of Jesus in this particular moment? Are you willing to do it?

I have been very moved, in watching videos of protests in Minneapolis, by how many of them include singing (probably because there are so many Lutherans in Minnesota!). One song in particular that I’ve heard a couple of times goes like this:

H-o-o-old on… ho-o-ld o-o-on. My dear ones. He-e-re comes the dawn.

What a beautiful expression of love of neighbor. Here are people who are doing their best to put love in action. Some of them are Christians, even Lutherans, who are driven by their faith to be out there in frigid temperatures to show care for their immigrant neighbors, and they are singing, in harmony, “Hold on dear ones.” I love it so much. But I especially love that last line. “Here comes the dawn.” That, my friends, is what we call hope. 

Did you notice the reference to the dawn in the Gospel reading today? Quoting Isaiah, it says, “The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death, light has dawned.” 

Dawn – the time of hope and newness. The time of possibility. Dawn is the time the women came to the tomb to find that the teacher they had followed, who had been hung on a cross and buried, had been raised. Dawn is the time of resurrection, of new life.

We followers of Christ can be a part of that dawn, that hope. Following in Christ’s footsteps, we can fiercely and relentlessly love our neighbors, especially those in the most need. We can keep our eyes open to see the suffering. We can put our hands, hearts, phones, pens, and checkbooks to work. 

And we can do all of this assured that God can, and will, bring about the dawn. God always does. Just hold on.

Please pray with me: Hold on. Hold on, my dear ones. Here comes the dawn.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

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

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

INTRODUCTION

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

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

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

[READ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So where is Jesus? Where do you see him? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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