Sermon: The Story of our Hearts (Oct. 25, 2026)

Reformation Day
October 25, 206
Romans
Jeremiah 31:31-34

INTRODUCTION

Happy Reformation Day! Each of today’s readings has a particular connection to Reformation Day, the day we remember Martin Luther first posting his 95 Theses on the door of the church, 95 ways he felt the Church needed to change, which started more than the conversation he intended it to: it started a revolution.

So let’s look at these texts: first, we’ll hear from Jeremiah, about a “new covenant” that will not be external, but so internal and intimate that it will be “written on your hearts.” Israel at this time is in exile, away from all they have known, and preparing to return to Jerusalem. During a time of great turmoil, the prophet reminds them of what can never be taken from them: the promise that God is always with them, and forgives all their iniquity.

Psalm 46 is the text on which Martin Luther based his epic hymn, A Mighty Fortress. The hymn is a paraphrase, but see if you can find some similar imagery when we’ll sing the Psalm in a moment, as we heard in that hymn this morning.

The Romans reading is what finally smacked Luther over the head about the true Gospel of Jesus Christ: that a person is justified, or saved, not by works (such as buying indulgences, or even good deeds), but by grace through faith alone. And finally in John, Jesus promises that the truth of this gospel message is indeed what sets us free from our enslavement to sin, and allows us to live freely in love.

Today, to close out our stewardship campaign, the theme was supposed to be, “The Story of Freedom (Not Captivity),” but I decided to change it to, “The Story of Our Hearts.” I hope no one too disappointed. ;) As you listen, think about what deep truths and stories are written on your heart that form your faith. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

Is it just me, or did the Psalm today, which we sing every Reformation Day, have particular resonance this year? “The nations rage, and the kingdoms shake…” and, “behold the one who makes wars to cease in all the world…” and, that beloved verse I so often gravitate toward, “Be still, then, and know that I am God.” As we near the end of a volatile midterm election season (don’t forget to vote!), and wars do indeed rage around the world, and climate change, and AI, and just, All The Things… the world feels a bit chaotic. And maybe, just maybe, you are feeling some of that chaos even in your personal life, because the general atmosphere of the world we live in tends to have an effect on our emotions and the ways we interact with each other. I’ve heard from many a sense of being a bit unsettled these days.

Perhaps that is why I’m drawn to these words from Jeremiah, about how God’s law and promises will be written on our hearts – right where we cannot forget them. That feels so important to me, because in a world where the ground is shifting and nations rage and fear and worry abounds… I need, we need, to remember what will never change – those stories and beliefs that God has written on our hearts, those things we know deep in our being. The story of our hearts.

We’ve been talking a lot this month about story. We’ve heard stories from members’ lives, we’ve looked at Jesus’ stories, and through Story Matters sessions with Deacon Emily we have explored some of our favorite Bible stories, seeking to find what God might be saying to us through them. These stories, all of them, are some of the ones written on our hearts, the ones that have shaped us into who we are today, that form our opinions, our ways of moving and being in the world, and how we respond to what’s going on around us. What are some of the stories written on your heart? How have they shaped you? What is a story about when, in an hour in which everything felt up in the air, the promises of God helped you to find your footing in the midst of the chaos? What are the stories of your heart?

It doesn’t have to be a Big Important Story. Here’s a fairly mundane one from my life about when the things written on my heart grounded me. When Grace was a baby, she was a pretty good sleeper, but some nights, sleep just wouldn’t come. I’d rock her and sing all the songs I knew, and often the songs that came to mind were the ones we sing in the liturgy – the songs and texts that were written on my heart from a very early age. I’d sing her Kyries and Lamb of Gods and Holden Evening Prayer. I sang her the Lord’s Prayer. As I sang them, she would calm down, because I would calm down – returning to the stories written on our hearts has that effect on us. I sang these songs as a child, they are the ones that came to mind without even trying when I was exhausted and calming a fussy baby. And I’m sure these will be the last songs I am singing someday in a nursing home (or maybe that Grace will be singing to me, as I remember singing them to my grandma in her last years)! They are the promises of God that ground me in shifting sand, that comfort me in uncertainty, that sustain me in exhaustion – these songs of the liturgy contain the promises that are written on my heart. 

“I will put my law within them,” God says to Israel, “and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.” What has God written on your heart? What has God written there that cannot be taken away by economic inflation, or political turmoil, or social unrest, or just a fussy baby? What is your solid foundation during times of reformation?

Today’s readings offer some good ones. Most essentially, is what Jeremiah just said: “I will be their God, and they shall be my people.” Isn’t this a remarkable promise? Jeremiah is speaking to a rebellious people who have really blown it a number of times. And yet, God still says, “I know times are tough right now and the future looks grim. I know things haven’t been perfect, but this is true: I have not given up on you, nor will I. I am not going anywhere.” To me, this is perhaps the promise written most deeply on my heart, a promise we all received in baptism: that God will never, ever let us go. That whatever earthly foundations may shake, God remains trustworthy and true. In short, God has got this.

Another truth written on my heart, having grown up Lutheran and especially since studying Luther’s theology in college and grad school, is what we read in Romans. “All have fallen short of the glory of God; they are now justified by his grace as gift, through the redemption that is in Jesus Christ.” Now, I know Paul’s writing can be hard to follow at times, so let me make this clear: even though we can all be real jerks sometimes, and frequently fall short of what God had hoped for us, God still makes things right, forgives our sins, longs to be in relationship with us, promises us salvation, and does all of this not because we have earned it or deserve it, but because Christ has. Furthermore, that goes for you, for your neighbor with the wrong yard signs, for that troll on social media, for your crazy uncle – we have all fallen short of the glory of God, every last one of us, and Jesus has brought all of us back into relationship with God, even so. 

Friends, I remember the day this was etched indelibly on my heart – reading Luther’s theology for a class my senior year in college on my dorm room bed, I read Luther’s writings on this and tears streamed down my face. I don’t remember what was going on in my life that would solicit such a response, but I do remember being moved then and there to pursue a life of service, first as a missionary, and then as a pastor. That is a story of my heart.

So those are a couple from me, a couple of truths and stories of my heart that hold me steady when the world around me is changing, sometimes in ways I like and sometimes in ways that terrify me. When hoards of devils fill the land and threaten to devour us, we can stand unmoved in our God’s promise that we belong to him, and he to us, and nothing can change that. When we are ashamed at how we have acted or not acted, or said something we know was hurtful, or just get too big for our britches, we know that God’s grace is big enough to hold us still, that we are still beloved and forgiven. Furthermore, we know that this is not because of us, but because of Christ, so there is nothing we can do to change it or mess it up. Christ is made our sure foundation.

These truths, these stories, written on our hearts, are stronger than the deluge of false information and phony promises the world offers us. They free us from the fears, anxieties, and rage that would try to drag us under, or would shake our foundations. And with that freedom, even as the world changes all around us, we can stand strong and firm in the knowledge that God has got all of this under control. Thanks be to God!

Let us pray… Steadfast God, in a chaotic world, help us to trust the truths you have written on our hearts, and to find our foundation in you. Free us from anxiety and fear, so that we would be freed for your service. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: The Story of Release (Not Holding On) (Oct. 18, 2026)

 Pentecost 21A – “The story of release (not holding on)”
October 19, 2026
Matthew 22:15-22

INTRODUCTION

Religion and politics. The two things you should never talk about in polite company, right? And certainly not together! Yet today the lectionary brings these two together in an undeniable way. In the Isaiah text, the prophet announces that God is using a Gentile king, the Persian Cyrus, someone who “does not know God,” to bring about God’s purpose of bringing the Israelites out of Babylonian captivity, out of exile, and back to Jerusalem to rebuild the Temple. It’s a story by which we see how God can use even an unfaithful, secular ruler to bring about God’s justice and plan. 

Then in Matthew, some Jewish leaders try to trick Jesus – again – with a question about taxation, and whether taxes should be paid to the emperor, the king. It doesn’t get much more political than that! And to be sure, this is no idle inquiry – this question about taxation is a particularly hot button issue of the day, one of the hottest. This is all made more intense by the broader setting – Monday of Holy Week. Earlier that day, Jesus has “cleansed the temple,” turning over the money-changers tables because of the financial corruption going on. Then he has delivered a couple of hard-hitting and pointed parables. The atmosphere is hot to the touch. 

The stewardship theme today is “The Story of Release (Not Holding On).” As you listen today, consider what perspectives, ways of life or thinking, or possessions you try to hold onto, and what it feels like when you are able to loosen your grip a bit. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

This little vignette from Jesus’ life, “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s,” has over the years been used for political purposes, endorsing willing participation in civic systems. And understandably so! What is more political, what feels more relevant to our civic life, than a dispute about tax policy? 

But of course, the question I bring to the text each week is not, “What can we learn about politics, or taxation?” My question is, “Where is the good news in this text? Where is the promise?”

This week I’m also thinking about our stewardship theme, which is “the story of release (not holding on).” I will admit to you that as I started preparing this sermon, I was puzzled as to why Deacon Emily and I had selected that theme for this Sunday! I mean, as a stewardship concept, it’s not bad – so much of our resistance to giving is a desire to hold onto what is ours because it gives us comfort or a sense of safety and security, and because, frankly, it is hard to let go! There is real power and liberation in the ability to let go of things that are holding us back. Sue will share an example in today’s temple talk that I suspect you will be able to relate to about the power and freedom of letting go. And I can think of several Gospel readings that would have supported that theme of release very well. But what about this text brought to our minds all those weeks ago, the idea of release?

The key is in that sermon-guiding question I posed: where is the good news in this text? To get at the answer, we need a bit more context on what exactly is going on here. 

The economic system in 1st century Palestine, as you can imagine, was different from ours today. I don’t understand the ins and outs of 1st century tax code, but what I do know is this: Israel is under the rule of an oppressive Roman empire, and so for Israel, to pay taxes to Rome was to participate in their own subjugation. Another thing to know is that there were several different taxes that they had to pay, and they required different coinage. The kind of coin used to pay Roman taxes was one that had Caesar’s face on it, and the words, “Tiberius Caesar, son of the divine Augustus, Emperor.” So, in addition to contributing to their own oppression, the use of these coins broke two Jewish laws: they contained a graven image of a secular ruler, and a blasphemous statement about him being divine. Insult to injury. You can see why paying Roman taxes was such a hot button issue for Israel.

The Pharisees and the Herodians who have teamed up to trap Jesus have nothing in common other than their disdain for Jesus – certainly they had different opinions about taxation! The Pharisees, along with the Jewish masses, were against paying Roman taxes, where the Herodians were Roman sympathizers, who benefitted from these same taxes. No matter which way Jesus’ answer goes, it seems, he is going to upset someone and potentially get himself in big trouble. It’s a very good trap.

Okay, so with all that in mind, let’s look at Jesus’ clever answer. He asks them to pull out a coin, the type for paying Roman taxes, which they do. He asks, “Whose image is on it, and whose likeness?” It is the same language used in Genesis 1, when God “created humans in his image, according to his likeness.” Here, on this coin, the answer is Caesar. And so, Jesus says, “It belongs to Caesar then. So give it to him.” But then the next bit: “and give to God what is God’s.” If we use Jesus’ definition of what indicates ownership, then what belongs to God? It is the thing that bears his image: humans, who are made in his image, according to his likeness. We are what belongs to God, what is to be given to God.

Now, to return to the original question, which guides every sermon: where is the good news in this text? It is definitely not in an oppressive tax system, nor is it in enemies teaming up to trap Jesus. That’s obvious. Less obvious, is that as well as this would fit with a stewardship sermon, the good news is not in the implication that if we are what bears God’s image, then we should give ourselves to God – everything we have and everything we are – since Jesus says, “give to God what is God’s.” Now, don’t get me wrong, that is not a bad thing to do; indeed it is a good thing! Giving yourself to God describes a Christian life, this recognition that since all we have and all we are belongs to God, we should give back willingly from all of our resources: our selves, our time, and our possessions, all signs of God’s gracious love. That message would also go really well with the stewardship theme today, to “release and not hold on.” To give, and give some more, and more different ways! These are all good things to do, and we should do them!

But the gospel is a promise, and a promise doesn’t generally include the phrase “you should.” It is not one more thing we need to do. The gospel is a gift. Is there a promise in belonging to God? Is there a gift in the story of release, and not holding on?

Let me ask you something. Have you ever looked at a situation in your life, and thought, “This all depends on me. If I fail, I will be letting people down, or they will judge me. I’m the only one who can fix this. No one is going to do this for me. I’m on my own here. If I don’t fix it, people will get hurt.” Or perhaps, “I have already failed, and it is all my fault.” 

How do those statements feel to hear, to live under? For me, they feel as oppressive as a Roman Empire. The pressure is sometimes too much to take, feeling like I’m all on my own, that it is up to me to fix it, that other’s well-being depends on me, or it’s my fault it broke in the first place. It sucks all the joy out of a task. What could have been a loving act or even fun, becomes drudgery, a duty. And the more I depend on or blame myself, the more I feel like if I don’t hold on, then everything will fall apart. And it will be my fault.

Now, hear the promise in these words: “give to God what belongs to God.” Release all that junk you’re holding onto: the blame, the expectations, the shame, the self-imposed duty. Release the pressure you’ve put yourself under. I don’t mean cast the blame on God, nor to shirk your responsibilities. But do let God hold some of your burden with you, so you are not holding onto it alone. Release it, rather than holding on. “Give to God what belongs to God.”

That is a promise. Give to God what is God’s – not only in the sense of giving yourself in terms of tasks and resources, but in the sense of giving God your wounded and stressed-out heart. Give it to God, so that you can once again find joy and peace in your daily work. Without all the shame and blame and expectation we love to hold onto, giving of time and resources can once again become a joy, something we do out of love. It’s no longer drudgery, but an act of gratitude. And I don’t know about you, but I am a much more satisfied and cheerful giver when I’m not giving from underneath a 10-ton weight on my heart, but rather, out of a sense of joy in God’s presence. It feels less like duty and more like a way to worship the God who provides all things, who made me in their image, who calls me his own, and because of that, promises never to forsake me. 

That is a God to whom I want to belong, a God to whom I want to give. It’s a God to whom I want to release all the things that would keep me from the joy of giving of my time, my talents, and my treasure. The work of release is such hard work – whether it’s a mindset, an expectation, or physical things, there is so much connected to it all, and it feels very vulnerable to let it go. It has protected us, we think, for so long. But my friends, it hasn’t protected you. God has protected you all along. And the living and true God will continue to care for that which bears his beautiful image. 

Let us pray… Liberating God, we hold onto so much junk, both physical and emotional, thinking it will protect us. Give us the courage to release it, so that we could lovingly live into our identity as your beloveds, created in your image. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: The Story of Trusting God (Not Ourselves) (Oct. 11, 2026)

Pentecost 20A
October 11, 2026
Isaiah 25:1-9; Psalm 23; Philippians 4:1-9

INTRODUCTION

Last week I mentioned that in the Gospel narrative, we are currently in Holy Week. That’s important to remember today, because as Jesus gets closer to his death, his teachings and interactions are getting increasingly intense. Like when a parent nicely asks their kid to clean their room several times, but the kid doesn’t actually hear them until the parent is yelling at them – well, Jesus is at the yelling stage. Intensity is high, time is short, and Jesus needs them to hear this message. So, his rhetoric is getting quite extreme. At least that is how I am choosing to interpret the harshness and violence of the parable we will hear today about a wedding banquet gone horribly wrong.

I have preached on this difficult parable before, but I’m not going to today. Today’s stewardship theme is “The Story of Trusting God (Not Ourselves).” So, instead of Matthew, I’ll be preaching on the beautiful images of trust and abundance we find in the other three readings. Isaiah speaks to a people who have no reason to celebrate with joy, due to foreign invaders causing perpetual fear and destruction. But here, Isaiah speaks of a rich and satisfying feast, at which God will wipe away tears, and where the people will rejoice and be glad in his salvation. It is a hope for the future, assuring the people that while things are bad now, they can trust God that this better future is coming. 

Psalm 23 also delivers a call to trust God – in the midst of dark valleys and at tables full of enemies, God is with us, and our cup overflows with his goodness. 

Paul’s letter to the Philippians rounds us out, with a call to rejoice, and praise, and relish in the goodness of Christ, who will guard our hearts and minds, and who sooths our worries with the peace that surpasses all understanding. 

Hold tightly to the promises you hear in those first three readings, friends. Then, as you listen to the difficult gospel lesson, recall the ways we can trust in God, even in the midst of the difficulty life can sometimes bring. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

Today’s stewardship theme is “The Story of Trusting God (Not Ourselves).” Of all the stewardship themes we will pursue this month, this one may be the most difficult. Perhaps that is why the theme of trusting God comes up so frequently in scripture – trusting God has always been a necessary part of faith… and God’s people have always struggled with it! The Bible is full of such stories, in which people choose to take matters into their own hands, rather than do what God told them to do. Adam and Eve, desiring to be like God, believe the snake rather than God, and eat the forbidden fruit. Jonah is asked to prophesy to the Ninevites, and literally runs in the opposite direction only to be caught in a storm, thrown overboard, and swallowed by a big fish. King Ahaz, against God’s orders and Isaiah’s warnings, buddies up with the enemy in order to fight off another enemy, and the whole kingdom falls and the people are sent into exile in Babylon. 

Over and over again. In fact, most of the Old Testament is this cycle of: God said to do this, people did something different, God sent messengers to remind them to trust him, they still do something different. Chaos ensues, the people come crawling back to God, God forgives, everything is good for a bit… and then people again choose to trust themselves instead of God, and the cycle continues. 

We’re not much better. I know I think pretty highly of myself and my ability to make good decisions, even if I know in my gut that it is not what God was pushing me to do. God usually ends up getting God’s way eventually, but it is a mighty feat to get my heart to a place where I trust God more than I trust myself.

Maybe you can think of your own stories of times when you trusted God, and times when you didn’t, and perhaps even times when you didn’t at first, but then came around. Since we are focused this month on telling our own stories in the context of God’s story, I have invited someone to share a story of immense trust in God. Full disclosure, this one is also a part of my story, but I don’t remember it because I was only one year old at the time; but the trust that my parents put in God’s path for them absolutely played a pivotal role in my own story – and ultimately yours, as it brought me here to you. I’d like to invite Lois to share her story.

[Mom share story about Dad moving from ministry in UMC to Lutheran, and waiting for a call to a Lutheran church. It was June, and since he was not renewing his call at their UMC congregation, and they were living in a parsonage, they would be both jobless and homeless on July 1, with a 1-year-old and a 4-year-old. Still, they trusted where God was leading, and God came through. Dad served at Peace Lutheran for nearly 30 years, and it is the place that formed me and ultimately led to me pursuing ministry myself.]

What stories did that bring to mind for you from your own life? What are some of the times you have trusted God, despite the unknowns before you, and God came through? 

In thinking about this story this week, I found myself drawn to both the Psalm and Philippians. Psalm 23 is the ultimate Psalm of trust. The Psalmist begins by saying simply and with confidence: God is my shepherd who cares for me and provides for me; therefore, there is nothing that I lack. I have all I need. The Psalmist takes us into dark valleys, and to tables full of enemies and fears, affirming again that God is continually present, providing abundantly, through everything we face.

It’s beautiful and inspiring. And, I have to say, I also appreciate that in his letter to the Philippians, Paul acknowledges that there is still worry and anxiety associated with the leap to trust God. “Do not be anxious about anything,” Paul writes, “but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” 

“Do not be anxious…” Ha, easy for him to say! The reality is that we are anxious, we do worry! I’m sure that even though my parents trusted God was leading them somewhere, they were still anxious about the very real possibility of being homeless and jobless with two little kids in just three weeks! It’s hard not to worry! 

These days, I suspect a lot of our worries are about money. I know that’s true for me; I am paying almost twice as much at the grocery store these days as I was a couple years ago, not to mention the cost of fuel! The cost of healthcare is going up as much as 15% in the coming year. There is so much to worry about, and money tops the list for a lot of us. We long for that peace that surpasses all understanding, that comes from complete trust, to be louder than the worries. 

Paul’s advice is predictable: pray, both with supplication and thanksgiving. Ask for things you need, yes, but also, thank God for what you already have – and perhaps focus especially on the thanksgiving! Because a regular practice of thanksgiving helps us to see how God has already provided for us, and abundantly so. Our cups runneth over! Gratitude orients our hearts toward trust by showing us God’s history of coming through for us, in big ways – like a life-changing job coming through just in time – and in any number of small ways.

Every year during the stewardship campaign, we invite you to “prayerfully consider” what you will give this year. When you do that, I hope you will include prayers of thanksgiving for all the ways your trust in God has been justified before, when God did indeed provide, even when you may have felt anxious. And I hope those prayers will lead to a decision to trust God in the form of your giving to St. Paul’s. The story my mom shared about their leap of faith in 1984 is a once or twice a lifetime sort of story. But our practice of giving to God through our church is a way that we can practice trust every year, every month, or even every week. Speaking for myself, I give monthly, and on the first of each month when I get an email saying my gift to St. Paul’s has left my bank account… it hurts a little at first, when I imagine also my grocery bill, my car payments, my mortgage… My instinct is to trust myself, to rely on myself, to hold onto that money. 

But I am learning to see that gift instead as a concrete expression of my trust in a God who has never let me down. I see the amount, I take a breath, and I think, “Thank you God. I trust you. And I know, although this feels big right now, that you will not let me down this time either.” It is honestly one of my most important and prayerful acts of faith and trust each month. The size of the gift is enough for me to feel it – and this is how it strengthens and increases my trust in God every time I give it. It is a regular exercise for my trust muscles. 

How about you? In what ways do you or can you concretely trust God? Is there a way you could you come to trust God more? Join me in praying about it, so that our trust in God’s providence might always increase.

Let us pray… God, help us to trust in you with all our heart. Thank you for all the ways you have come through for us before. Now, help us to trust that you will do so again. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: The Story of Stewardship (Not Ownership) (Oct. 4, 2026)

Pentecost 19A
October 4, 2026
Matthew 21:33-46

INTRODUCTION:

A lot has recently happened in the Gospel of Matthew, much of which we skipped, so let’s reorient ourselves. Narratively speaking, we are currently in Holy Week, the last week of Jesus’ life. Just yesterday, Jesus triumphantly entered Jerusalem on a donkey, to cheers and waving palms. He then went to the Temple, and turned over the tables of the money changers in a fit of righteous anger. Now it is Monday of that week (we’ll stay in Holy Week for the next several Sundays). In today’s reading, Jesus tells us another parable, this one about wicked tenants who are called upon to care for a vineyard. They are not negligent in their duties, but they do lose sight of who really owns this vineyard… to tragic results. Jesus is not making any friends with this one – Matthew tells us that after telling this story, the chief priests and Pharisees want to arrest him, which they will do just three days later. 

The parable Jesus tells is one that Jesus’ listeners would definitely have recognized; it is a clear reference to our reading from Isaiah – a love-song about how God cared for this vineyard and hoped for great things for it, but has been disappointed that it yields only rotten grapes. (Fun fact: the word for “rotten grapes” means something like, “stink-berries,” which makes me giggle.) 

Today we begin a series on stewardship, and this week’s theme is about the story of stewardship, not ownership. What’s the difference? See if you can spot it in these readings. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

Jesus loved to teach using stories. Parables, we call them. And I gotta say, I think it’s a brilliant idea. Because stories are dynamic. They can get at a truth in a relatable way, a way that strict facts simply can’t, and they can exaggerate certain elements for effect. They present deep truths in a playful way, and hearing that truth with a posture of play opens our minds to receive it. They tickle our imagination and help us to go deeper. What better mode to talk about the ways of God, who transcends all that is concrete and knowable! 

That’s why we decided to make this year’s stewardship campaign one that is based on the idea of story, the story of stewardship! Throughout the month, we’ll incorporate stories of various kinds into our ministry – for example, Story Matters gatherings, Bible stories around the campfire, personal stories shared during worship, individuals writing a money autobiography, and maybe even some videos throughout the month. As we share these stories, I hope that you will find new and compelling ways to enter God’s overarching story, and in particular, the story of stewardship.

It’s appropriate, then, that we start the month with one of Jesus’ own stories: the parable of the wicked tenants. I love how Jesus uses this troubling narrative about a landowner who lovingly builds a vineyard, just like the one in today’s reading from Isaiah. He entrusts it to some tenants, who care for it well enough… only they lose track of who actually owns this land. They are doing all the work, they think, and they are entitled to its fruits! They refuse to hand over the goods when the landowner’s servants come to collect. They get unreasonably violent in their opposition (this is one of those “exaggerated for effect” moments), because they are empowered by their own sense of entitlement and false ownership. Finally, the owner sends his own son, and they think this is their chance: kill the son, and the vineyard will be theirs! 

The brilliance of the story is that although it is tragic, it seems harmless enough as a story… but Jesus uses it to show the Pharisees the danger of their ways. The Pharisees think they are condemning these tenants who are undeniably wicked to a miserable death – until they realize that Jesus has used this story to cause them to condemn themselves! 

Ahh! That is the power of story, my friends! Taken at face value, it means one thing. Taken as an allegory, as this one traditionally is, it takes on a new meaning.

But a good story can go even deeper than that when we do the work of seeing ourselves in the story as well. We can start by asking some questions of the narrative. For example, what do we think is going on with these tenants? Why are they acting this way? What motivates them? And (and here’s the kicker), are we ever motivated by the same things, such that we act in similar ways? 

If I had to guess, I would say these tenants have lost the plot. They care for this vineyard, yes, but they did not build it. They do not own the land. They are workers in the field, entrusted with the care of the vineyard. Oh, but we humans do like to own things, don’t we? We love to have a place to call our own. We take pride in what is ours. It makes us feel settled, and successful, and safe. And so, when we work hard for something, we are resistant to letting it go – just like these tenants (who I no longer want to call wicked because I admit I’m starting to see myself in them!). They worked hard for the fruit of the land, and they believe it rightfully belongs to them.

But that was never the intention. The owner intended that the tenants would steward, or manage the land. The tenants would, in return, get a place to live, a place to work, a community, a livelihood, security, safety… but ultimately it did not belong to them. They were stewards, not owners.

Do you see yourself in the story yet? Have you ever been resistant to giving up what was entrusted to you – whether your time, your treasure, or other resources? Have you ever felt entitled to what you have earned because you worked hard for it, so why should you share? Or, taking a step out of the story itself: have you ever, like the Pharisees, condemned someone else’s actions, only to realize that you have behaved the same way? Have you ever resented someone for pointing that out to you?

The reality is that in our own stewardship stories that we could tell, we often confuse ownership with stewardship. We give ourselves a lot of credit for our various accomplishments and material success, and figure we are owed what we have. 

A wonderful little text that has become a part of my own stewardship story, especially as I consider the difference between ownership and stewardship, is from Luther’s Small Catechism, his explanation of the first article of the creed. It’s printed in your bulletin, right beside the creed. When we confess, “I believe in God the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth,” Luther says that what this means is, 

I believe that God has created me

        and all that exists.

He has given me and still preserves

my body and soul with all their powers.

He provides me with food and clothing,

        home and family, daily work, 

        and all I need from day to day.

God also protects me in time of danger

        and guards me from every evil.

All this he does out of fatherly and divine

        goodness and mercy,

        though I do not deserve it.

Therefore I surely ought to thank and praise,

        serve and obey him.

This is most certainly true.

You see, when we confess that God is the creator of all, we are confessing that God is also the owner of all, and that we are entrusted with bits of God’s creation: our bodies and souls, our homes and families, our ability to work, all we need from day to day. And all this God does, not because we are entitled to it for being such good, hard-working people, but rather, “out of fatherly and divine goodness and mercy, though [we] do not deserve it.” That mindset is the difference between ownership and stewardship.

Luther also gives us some guidance on how to live into this stewardship mindset, to make it a part of our story. He writes, “[We] surely ought to thank and praise, serve and obey him.” What does that look like? How do thanking, praising, serving, and obeying become a part of our stewardship story?

First, we thank. We make a habit of thanking God for all that we have, because the very act of gratitude helps us to take notice, and give credit where credit is due. God has given to us, and we are humbled and grateful.

Next, we praise God, praise that God would honor us with these gifts – once again recognizing that it is only because of God’s fatherly and divine goodness and mercy that we have them at all, and we are filled with joy at what has been given to us.

Then, we serve, both God and neighbor, by using these God-given resources to make our communities and the world better. We make faithful and wise decisions with the money and other resources of which we are stewards, that have been entrusted to us, as individuals and as a Church. And we also remember to give some of that away to those who are in greater need. Letting some of our resources go to serve others is an essential practice for remembering who is the true owner.

And finally, we obey. How easy it is to fall into striving to accomplish the will of our own sinful hearts! But here we are reminded always to pursue not our will, but the will of the Divine Owner of all that we have.

So… how would you tell your own stewardship story? What are the key events, the turning points, the “a-ha” moments when God’s goodness became clear to you? When have you thanked, praised, served, and obeyed, and how did God show up for you in that? 

This week we will send out all the stewardship materials (pledge cards and whatnot), and included in that, as well as in the newsletter, you will find a tool called a Money Autobiography to help you begin to think about your own stewardship story. You can write it out, or just talk about it with God or a loved one. However you do it, I hope you will enter with me this month into exploring the story God is telling through your stewardship of his providence. 

As my closing prayer today, I’d like to have us read together Luther’s explanation of the first article of the creed, in the center fold of your bulletin. Let us pray…

I believe that God has created me

        and all that exists.

He has given me and still preserves

my body and soul with all their powers.

He provides me with food and clothing,

        home and family, daily work, 

        and all I need from day to day.

God also protects me in time of danger

        and guards me from every evil.

All this he does out of fatherly and divine

        goodness and mercy,

        though I do not deserve it.

Therefore I surely ought to thank and praise,

        serve and obey him.

This is most certainly true.

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

Sermon: What the kingdom of heaven is like (Sept. 20, 2026)

Pentecost 17A
September 20, 2026
Matthew 20:1-16 (starting one verse earlier)

INTRODUCTION:

Today’s readings address one of the most basic values of humanity: fairness. From as early as nine months, humans demonstrate a sense of what is fair and what is not. And today’s readings will challenge our understanding of fairness. In Jonah, we’ll hear the lesser-known part of the story – Jonah has already been eaten and burped back up by the large fish (has hopefully showered), and has preached his short sermon about repentance to the people of Ninevah. Now he sits back to see God’s retribution on those sinful Assyrians, Israel’s enemies. Frankly, Jonah is looking forward to it! They deserve punishment! But God changes God’s mind… and Jonah is not impressed! 

The parable of the workers in the field definitely challenges our sensibilities about fairness, as people who work one hour get paid the same as those who work 12. Our gut will say, “That’s not right!” But notice, Jesus doesn’t introduce the parable with, “This is how to run a business.” He says, “The kingdom of heaven is like this.” 

In both stories we will see what it looks like, as Paul writes in Philippians, to “live a life worthy of the gospel” – and it might not look like our gut thinks it should! As you listen, notice how these stories make you feel – do they offend you? Do they make you feel a sense of justice, or frustration? Imagine yourself in the position of Jonah, of the 12-hour workers, and also, of the 1-hour workers. How do you experience the story in their shoes? Let’s listen.

[READ]

The Red Vineyard, Van Gogh

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

When I was a kid, we had a copy Marlo Thomas’s book, Free to be…a Family. One of my favorite stories in it was about a family with three kids. The parents were committed to treating the kids fairly. The first was born, and they named him George. Then they had a little girl, who, in the name of fairness, they also named George. Their third child, another boy, was named… George. All three were given the same weekly allowance. They dressed the same. When one celebrated a birthday, they all celebrated. When one of the kids broke their wrist, they all got a cast. Eventually, the kids started to realize that this effort at being completely fair was not fair at all. They talked to their parents about it, and adjustments were made. The kids do, however, all decide to continue going by their shared given name of George. 

It’s a cute story, and it was the first time I remember my simple, child’s understanding of fairness being challenged in a way that really stuck with me. 

Jesus’ parable, though, is next level. Like last week’s parable, this one leaves us feeling offended, troubled, even shocked, because it challenges our sensibilities. We are conditioned to see the world in this particular way: that you do work, and are rewarded for it. You do less, you get less. This has worked well for societies for much of human history, as it motivates people to work. After all, why would anyone even bother to work hard if they can get the same reward for doing less? 

Jesus’ famous line, “The last shall be first and the first shall be last,” bookends this parable, so we ought to know right up front that what he’s about to say is really going to mess with our understanding of how things ought to work. He begins the story by saying that the kingdom of heaven is like this landowner… and yet, even though we know the kingdom of heaven is topsy-turvy, we are still shocked by his so-called “generosity.” But why would we still expect the landowner to operate by the same principles as our broken world, full of pain and war and hunger? 

Because we are just that conditioned to think that way. And yet, if we pull out of this parable for a moment and just consider what we expect the kingdom of heaven is like (rather than what a business is like), we might not be so surprised after all. For example, in the kingdom of heaven, which is not necessarily just an afterlife but is a place where God is the ruler and everything functions according to God’s will – in the kingdom of heaven: 

• Is anyone hungry?

• Does anyone have to work three jobs, and still struggle to make ends meet?

• Is anyone homeless?

• Are there rich and poor, and different economic and social classes?

• Do people look down upon other people, or say they are less worthy, less deserving, or are not equal to them?

No. I think that in God’s economy, under God’s reign, everyone has what they need. As it’s described in Revelation, “They will hunger no more and thirst no more… and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” That’s what the kingdom of heaven is like!

And in this story, that is what the landowner, who is like the kingdom of heaven, is like. He gives to all the workers one denarius, which is what was understood to be a wage that covers one’s daily needs, one’s “daily bread” if you will. It’s not extravagant, but it is enough. For him, the question is not, “Did they work enough hours to deserve a day’s wage?” In God’s economy, the question is, “Did everyone get paid enough to feed their family?” 

It sounds good in theory. But from our deeply embedded worldly way of seeing things, this is troubling – because if someone can get paid the same whether they work one hour or twelve, what’s to keep everyone from doing less next time, knowing they’ll get paid anyway, right? 

I remember once in a Bible study, I suggested that God’s forgiveness and grace might be big enough that even someone like Hitler could be saved – that even if there is a hell, God’s grace is so big that no one is there. Someone asked, incredulous, “Well then what’s the point? What’s the point of trying to be a good person and do the right thing and live a Christian life, if everyone is going to heaven anyway?” 

Well? What do you think? If God’s reign is such that even the people who only work one hour get everything the people who worked all day get… then what is the point in doing more than the bare minimum, not only practically but on a cosmic level? What’s the point?

The theological answer I think I gave that day, like a good Lutheran, was that we don’t do good works in order to be saved, but rather, because we already are saved. Good works spring naturally out of our saved nature! And I stand by that. But also, we strive for such a world as Jesus describes because life here and now is better when we do, for us and for others. God’s order doesn’t make sense to our human ways of operating, given the formation we have in a fairness and reward-based economy, because God’s grace is inherently unfair. Grace is, by definition, a gift we do not deserve and did nothing to earn. The economy Jesus describes here is not what humans envision, but what God envisions – and if God designed it, we know it is good. So, when we strive for that goodness, our lives and the lives of our neighbors are better, and more whole. 

Now, to be clear, I’m not advocating for a communist government here. I know that practically speaking, that doesn’t work in the real world. But even within capitalism, the question that guides Christians who strive for the kingdom of heaven here and now should not be, “Do they deserve that?” If we are to live by the rules of God’s economy, the question should be, “Do they have what they need to live, to be healthy and whole?” And if the answer is no… then what can we do about it?

When we are baptized, we are given citizenship in God’s kingdom, the kingdom of heaven – this kingdom that Jesus describes. That means we subscribe to God’s way of doing things, even amidst the world telling us to view it otherwise. Many of us were baptized as babies, when we didn’t know better (or rather, when we lived in such a way that mirrored this economy, because don’t we all try to give babies exactly what they need when they need it, not as a reward but as a gift, even though they have done nothing to deserve it besides being cute?). 

But in confirmation, once we have learned more about both God and the ways of the world, young people have a chance to stand before the congregation and say, “I still want to do this. I still want to strive for grace, and love, and compassion, over contempt and division and a reward-based economy in which some are more worthy than others. I still choose love.” 

Today, Emma will reiterate the promises made at her baptism, and she will own them for herself: “to live among God’s faithful people, to hear the word of God and share in the Lord’s Supper, to proclaim the good news of God in Christ through word and deed, to serve all people, following the example of Jesus, and to strive for justice and peace in all the earth.” In short, she will promise, to the best of her ability and with God’s help, to live according to the teachings and guidelines of the kingdom of heaven that Jesus lays out, here and throughout his ministry. 

It won’t be easy. And that is why we, her church community, will also gather around her both physically and with our prayers. We will pray for her, that by God’s help and guidance, she will find both the will and the way to live into God’s mission for her. 

And as we do that, we will also remember that we, too, are called to live into that mission that we share: to serve all people, following Jesus’ example, to strive for justice and peace in all the earth, to live with an eye always toward love, mercy, grace and compassion toward our neighbor. May the God who has given us the will to do these things also graciously give us the strength and compassion to perform them. 

Let us pray… Gracious God, we don’t always understand your ways, but we know that they are good. Help us, even when the world would say otherwise, to live lives worthy of the gospel. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen

Sermon: Forgive us our sins as we forgive (Sept. 13, 2026)

Pentecost 16A

September 13, 2026

Matt. 18:21-35; Psalm 103:1-13

INTRODUCTION

In last week’s readings, we dealt with how to hold one another accountable in a faithful community, dealing with the inevitable situation in which one person wrongs another. Today’s Gospel reading is right on the tails of that conversation. Peter, wondering just how far to push this, asks, “Ok, but how many times do we have to do this? How many times should we forgive? As many as seven?” And Jesus will open up the depth of God’s forgiveness, with his famous formula: “not seven, but seventy-seven times.” In other words: don’t ever stop.

This depth of forgiveness is nothing new to people of faith. Our first reading shows this. Today we’ll hear the stunning conclusion of the Joseph saga. You know this story – Joseph’s brothers, the sons of Jacob, are jealous of him and his technicolored coat, and they sell him off into slavery and pretend he is dead. He has a rough go of it in Egypt, but eventually ends up as Pharaoh’s second-in-command, having used his gift of dream interpretation to save Egypt and surrounding areas from a seven-year famine. Now his brothers have come crawling to him for help, not knowing it is Joseph – until he reveals himself. Assuming there is no way Joseph will ever forgive them (and really, would you?), they try one more time to fool him, but Joseph won’t have it. Instead, he forgives them, telling them that what they intended for evil, God used for good. 

We have all been in a situation of either needing to ask or offer forgiveness. Neither position is an easy one. As you listen today, think about your own experiences with forgiveness, and consider what light today’s lessons might shed on the situation. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

    “If my brother or sister sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” 

Dear Peter, always so eager to please. The more I preach, the more affection I grow for this impulsive and flawed disciple, and the more of myself I see in him. I imagine what must be going on in Peter’s life that he thought to ask this question. Has he just had a fight with his spouse, because she has done that thing again that he just can’t stand and for goodness’ sake why won’t she stop it already?? Have and the Sons of Thunder gotten under his skin, with their ridiculous antics? Has he already started to wonder if maybe Judas Iscariot has some different priorities than the rest of them, and when Peter brought it up to him, Judas said something pretty hurtful and Peter is licking his wounds about it? Who has sinned against Peter, that made him want to ask this question?

Whatever it is, I really believe that Peter asks this question of Jesus in good faith. Maybe he would prefer not to have to forgive someone who has wronged him at all, so the fact that he is even willing is remarkable. How many of us hold grudges that we struggle to let go? I can think of a few folks who have hurt me, folks who I thought I had forgiven until suddenly I start griping about them all over again and I think, “Hm, maybe I haven’t really let that go like I thought I had.” And I see Peter looking at the situation and thinking, “You know, I’ll betcha Jesus is going to say I should not only forgive, but do it more than once. That seems like a Jesus-y thing to say. I know: I will overshoot. I’ll ask if maybe… seven times is enough – because seven is a whole lot, the number of completion even. Oh yes, seven, this will impress Jesus, and show him that I’m really starting to get what he’s been trying to teach us.” 

        Well, once again, Jesus has something more to teach Peter, and us. “Not seven, I tell you, but seventy-seven times.” (Ah, I feel crushed on Peter’s behalf!) What Jesus is really saying here, of course, is, “It’s never enough times. There is not a point at which forgiving is done. So just keep doing it.”

Then to hit home the point, Jesus tells this parable, one which should leave us feeling outraged! A man is forgiven an exorbitant amount – it might as well be a gazillion dollars, for there is no way that the 1st century equivalent of a middle class guy with a family to support is going to ever be able to pay it back. It’s millions of dollars! He and his family are about to be sent to jail, but the man begs for mercy, promising to pay it back. He will not; it is impossible. And in a moment of sheer grace, the king decides to cancel the debt, and sends him on his way. 

        Oh, how I wish the parable ended here! Wouldn’t that be a nice analogy for how gracious God is with us? A perfect illustration of how Jesus died for all our sins, and so our debt of sin is completely erased, and we can live in spiritual freedom for the rest of our days? 

        But human nature is not so clean-cut as that. For the man leaves that place, and immediately finds someone who owes him money, a much more reasonable amount, like a few thousand dollars. He violently asks the debtor to pay, and when he can’t, when the debtor begs in the same way the servant has just done before the king, he has the man thrown in prison. 

        By now, the reader should be utterly aghast. How ungrateful this man is! How absurd to have received a life-changing forgiveness of debt, to have mercy shown to him that he did nothing to deserve, and then to turn around and be utterly unmerciful to his neighbor! 

        To me, this moment, when we all feel aghast at the absurdity of the man’s behavior, is the moment of truth. For this may be just a story, but we live this reality every day – and we are, I hate to say, often not the good guy in this story. We are the ones who have been forgiven massive debt – our sins wiped clean each day – and yet still go about our lives often oblivious, ungrateful, unmerciful, and demanding of others to pay us what they owe. We are the ones who struggle to forgive. 

        Now, that’s not true all the time. I know sometimes we humans are able to forgive, even incredible wrongs, and we are grateful, and we do recognize the gifts we have been given, even gifts we do not deserve. But there is also a reason that, when the disciples asked Jesus to teach them how to pray, Jesus included this phrase: “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.” Lutherans usually use the word trespasses or sins instead of debts, but same idea: we pray that God would help us to forgive others, just as we have been forgiven. 

        Or what if it means, “Forgive me in the same fashion, by the same measure, that I forgive others.” Oof, how would that go for us? It reminds me of a convicting reframing I heard posed about this text. When Peter asks, “How often should I forgive?” Jesus answers, “Well, it depends. How often do you want God to forgive you?”

        The next part of the parable is the part I wish wasn’t there. The king finds out about the ungrateful, unmerciful servant, and is rightfully outraged. “Seriously, man?” he says. “I forgave you all that debt, and you turn around and you can’t even do a fraction of the same? I was merciful to you, and you couldn’t show any mercy at all to someone else?” I don’t like it because it sounds like God’s grace is conditional, and forgiveness has strings attached. “I will only forgive you if…” I don’t like it because the punishment is so very severe – not only is the servant jailed, but now also tortured until he can repay, which of course will be never. That is… tough to swallow. It makes me worry: is that truly how God deals with us?

        I don’t like it, but it is important that this part is in there, too. Because not forgiving, not having mercy, not treating your neighbor with compassion is a sort of torture. As author Anne Lamott quips, “Not forgiving is like drinking rat poison and waiting for the rat to die.” The unmerciful servant is tortured by “the jailors” – and that is how all those resentments and grudges that we hold onto can feel, right? We are held captive by them, and cannot free ourselves. We cannot shake them. And as long as we cannot shake them, we also cannot be free.

        I think this parable is intentionally extreme to show us just how seriously Jesus takes this teaching. The extreme nature of it is meant to shock us, to shock us into recognizing the transformation that is so needed in our own hearts. It urges us to look deep within in order to see what jails us, what tortures us by its relentless presence, by the real estate it is taking up in there. 

        Forgiving once is hard. Forgiving seven times, to Peter’s credit, is harder. But forgiving seventy-seven times is sometimes what is necessary, in order to continually wipe clean the junk that would try to keep us from living fully into the life that God wants for us – a life in which we are not held back by fear, resentment, anger, and grudges, and so we are able instead to extend love, mercy, and compassion to our neighbor in need. 

        Jesus does this for us. He wiped the slate clean in our baptism. He wipes it clean every time we come to him, ready to repent. He wipes it clean each time we come to this table and hear those words, “Given for you.” He does not want us to suffer – that is why he shows us a different path. And when we fall off that path, he guides us back, showing us again that even though we are sometimes unmerciful and ungrateful, God is, as the Psalmist says, “full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.” 

        Let us pray… Merciful God, we struggle to forgive, to let go of fear and grudges. Help us to forgive others as you have forgiven us, to trust in your love and compassion, and to live into the freedom you have won for us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Practical guidance on managing conflict (Sept. 6, 2026)

Pentecost 15A
September 6, 2026
Matthew 18:15-20

INTRODUCTION

Here’s a fun fact about Matthew’s Gospel: his is the only Gospel that talks about the formation of the Church, and Jesus’ passing his authority to the disciples. Remember a couple weeks ago, Jesus told Peter, “On this rock I will build my church?” Matthew is the only one who includes that bit. And today we get another example of this interest in the Church, as Jesus shares an important teaching about managing conflict in the Church (everyone’s favorite topic to avoid!). Seldom do we get such straightforward instructions from Jesus, and yet, when the opportunities come to follow Jesus’ sage advice on conflict management, we often do not take it.

Our readings today are all about how we conduct ourselves in the face of conflict and wrong-doing. I’m certain there is something in here for everyone today, so listen carefully to what the Spirit is saying to you this day. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

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

One of the best things about having siblings is that you get to learn from a very early age the art of conflict management. When my kids were ages 1 and 2, it usually involved Grace swatting at her brother and saying, “No, Isaac!” when he was doing something she didn’t like. That’s 2-year-old conflict management. By the time they were 3 and 4, and both had developed a sense of both personal agency and justice, conflict management turned into a blaming game: “He bit me!” “Well, she pushed me!” “Well, he wouldn’t let me play with that toy!” Even when I would then enter with my motherly wisdom and suggest maybe everyone had a part to play in the conflict, and perhaps we could all apologize for something… it quickly reverted back to a game of chicken and egg blaming, seeking to figure out who had offended first and worst. That is preschool conflict management. 

Surely by the time we get to be adults, we are better at this, right? And definitely we in the church, in a place that gathers around the promise of love and forgiveness – we have found a way to be in a community without conflict, right? 

Ah, not so. Anyone who has been around the church – or any community, really – knows that conflict is very much a part of being in any community. Community and relationship offer us many gifts, but it is also very hard work, and no one is immune to conflict: not couples who are madly in love, not best friends, not extended families, and no, not even the church. We may not swat at each other and say, “No!” (or maybe we do!), but we still lash out at each other, and often in more painful ways. We may not hit and bite and cry for a mommy-intervention, but we do triangulate and gossip, and we attack with our words, intending to wound, and we assume we are right and they are wrong, and we point fingers rather than noticing our own part in the brokenness. Or sometimes, as I know I am often guilty of, we just shove away our hurt feelings, until finally one small thing sets us off, and we can’t take it anymore and start yelling. 

Conflict management may change form as we grow in years and maturity, but it is always difficult. That is why Jesus offers us this bit of instruction on how to manage the conflicts that arise within the beloved community of the church. The first thing to notice here, is that Jesus felt the need to say this at all. Jesus knows, you see, that being a part of a church community does not immunize us from conflict. When we gather in community, it is not a matter of if, but when challenges arise. That’s not always a bad thing – conflict, when handled well, can strengthen a community! What makes a congregation healthy is not whether there is conflict, but rather, how it is handled when there is. 

Jesus’ first instruction is pretty simple: tell the person about it, right to their face. If someone wrongs you, “sins against you,” he says, tell them. In other words, don’t tell someone else about it. Don’t start the gossip chain. Don’t unload your anxiety about a situation onto someone who doesn’t need to be involved: go right to the source. And don’t do it passive aggressively, either – or active aggressively for that matter! Be direct, but be kind, be humble – and be willing to recognize your own role in the situation. Interpersonal conflict is seldom one-sided. Don’t assume you already know the whole story – be willing to listen to the other person, and their particular pain, too (which may or may not have anything to do with you!). Usually difficult behavior comes out of some sort of brokenness that the offender is experiencing. I heard a cute way to say this: don’t confront them, but “care-front” them. Bring sandwiches, and speak to each other with care and compassion. This is the stuff of relationship building. It is confronting someone who has wronged you with the understanding that both parties are captive to sin and cannot free themselves, and both need daily forgiveness. If you are able to hear each other and recognize your shared humanity, your mutual pain, Jesus says, you will have regained that relationship.

Sometimes, though, even a good sandwich and all the best hopes and intentions in the world don’t result in a good conversation. So Jesus offers another suggestion: bring in a neutral third party. If misunderstanding and inadequate communication is still a problem, ask someone to help you understand each other. This is the role of community, isn’t it? To care for one another, to help each be our best selves, to hold each other accountable. Again, helping others to communicate with one another lovingly, seeking to understand each other’s mutual brokenness, is hard work – how much easier it would be just to take sides! – but it is the work that the Church is called to do.

Yet even this does not always work. Jesus’ next suggestion really ups the ante: if you’re still struggling, bring it to the whole church. Let everyone who has pledged to follow Jesus listen with care to those involved, surrounding them in love and compassion, even while striving to hold everyone accountable. 

And sometimes, even this won’t work. Jesus’ next words sound at first very harsh: “if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let that one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.” Our first thought is: hold on, Jesus, let that one be like these despised members of society? Does he mean we should kick them out of the community? But that doesn’t sound like Jesus!

Ah, and you see, that’s the key. That doesn’t sound like Jesus. Because how does Jesus treat tax collectors? He welcomes them and eats with them! Matthew himself, the author of this gospel, was a tax collector! And how does Jesus treat Gentiles? He heals them and loves them and welcomes them! Remember the story we heard a couple weeks ago about the Canaanite (Gentile) woman who wanted a few crumbs from the table, and wanted her daughter to be healed? Jesus said her faith was great, and he healed her daughter! When Jesus invites us to treat someone with whom we are struggling to be in relationship, like a tax collector or a Gentile, he is inviting us to treat these outsiders like he does: with love and compassion. That doesn’t mean you should stay in a close relationship with someone who has hurt you. But it does mean that we are called to continue to love them with the love of Jesus, and view them as flawed but still beautiful and beloved children of God.

In this way, Jesus’ advice to the Church in today’s reading is not meant to be a legalistic formula for dealing with church conflict. Really, his advice is simpler than that: love one another, and in the face of conflict, try everything you can to restore relationship with one another. Reach out. Listen. Surround the person with loving community. When you’ve tried everything, still never stop loving them with the love of Christ.

That’s a pretty tall order. It is only possible because of this last line in our text today: “Where two or three are gathered in my name,” Jesus says, “I am there among you.” We’ve heard this line so many times before, but seeing it here, in its context, makes all the difference. Jesus makes this promise right on the tails of talking about the challenges and requirements of living in Christian community – he makes it because he knows how difficult community can be. Rewarding, yes, and life-giving, and healing… but also a whole lot of work, and very trying at times. And so he promises: I am with you in that important work. When you strive for love, strive for relationship, strive for compassion and building up and growth – I am with you. When your humanity and brokenness rub each other the wrong way – I am with you. When you are challenged and discouraged by each other – I am with you. Whenever you are together in my name – I am with you. And I will not leave you to do the difficult work of relationship alone.

This strikes me as especially important at this time, as the laid-back summer mindset gives way to a new school year and program year, and with all the activities starting up again we feel that familiar stress. And when we are stressed and over-worked, we are all that much more susceptible to snapping at each other. As we interact with more people, meet new people, find ourselves in new communities… these words from Jesus are even more important to remember: not only to do everything in our power to build loving, healing relationships with one another, and to reach out especially to those marginalized and vulnerable, but to remember that in all we do together in Jesus’ name, we do it also with Jesus’ presence, and with the promise of his own self-giving love, grace, and joy. 

Let us pray… God of community, you call us into loving, compassionate relationships with one another. Give us the wisdom to build these relationships, to nurture them and help them grow. And when we struggle, remind us that you are there with us, loving us and forgiving us, as we continue to strive to live your loving way in the world. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.