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. 

Sermon: Seeing God revealed in world news (January 11, 2025)

Baptism of our Lord (A)
January 11, 2026
Matthew 3:13-17

INTRODUCTION

On this first Sunday after Epiphany, we celebrate the Baptism of our Lord. We jump from the baby being visited by kings from afar, to a 30-year-old Jesus at the river Jordan, asking his eccentric cousin John to baptize him. Christians have long had questions about this event – why would Jesus have to be baptized if he is without sin? One reason is that by being baptized himself, Jesus ties himself closer to us and our own experience. And so, as we observe Jesus’ baptism, we can learn something about our own. 

The other appointed readings for this day set up this story nicely. In Isaiah, we will hear one of what are called the Servant Songs – poems about God’s “servant” who looks to us an awful lot like Jesus, but whom we could also interpret and understand as “servant people.” As you listen to Isaiah, I encourage you to think about it that way: as referring not to Jesus, or not only to Jesus, but to servant people, those who claim faith in God – that includes us! 

In Acts, we will hear another baptism story, though we don’t actually hear the part about the baptism. We will hear Peter’s speech before the baptism, in which he declares that “God shows no partiality” – he says this because Cornelius and his family are Gentiles (non-Jews), and in fact are the first Gentiles to believe in Christ and be baptized. In this story, we will see how the love of God is not limited only to those who are like us, but is for everyone. An important message in these divided times!  

As you listen to these texts, watch for any baptismal connections. Water, voice, call, washing – any images at all that help you to reflect on the continuing meaning of your baptism in your life of faith. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

In Bible study a few weeks ago, we were talking about the story of Balaam’s donkey striking up a conversation with Balaam (yes, there is a story in the Bible about a talking donkey!), and then Balaam sees an angel of the Lord blocking his path. As we discussed the story, someone lamented something that I have heard and felt myself many times before. He said, “I have never had an experience like this, like people so often do in the Bible, where God speaks clearly to me, or an angel shows up right in my path. Why doesn’t God communicate with us like this anymore – or at least, why doesn’t God communicate with me like this?” My guess is that most if not all of us have had this same thought at some point in our life of faith! Certainly, all of us there that day had felt that way. 

Today, on the Baptism of our Lord, we read yet another story of a miraculous revelation of God in a way that seems foreign to us now in the 21st century. The beginning seems ordinary enough, but then the heavens are opened, and the Holy Spirit descends like a dove alighting on Jesus, and then there is what we imagine is a booming voice from heaven, introducing Jesus as God’s Son, the beloved. It all sounds so magical and mystical. 

I want that. Why have I never heard a voice like that from heaven? Why do I never encounter God in ways like this?

This question seems even more at front of mind during this season of Epiphany. The very word, epiphany, means “revelation,” implying what is sometimes called a “thin place,” where the veil between heaven and earth is less opaque, and we can get a little closer to witnessing and experiencing or at least catching sight of the living God. And yet… I am still not hearing any voices from heaven, are you? I’m lucky if I hear even a whisper. 

As I’ve reflected on this this week, I’ve also been watching the news, with a continually breaking heart. The news from Venezuela. The news of a woman shot and killed in Minneapolis by federal agents, and then two shot in Portland. And worst of all, the way people comment on these events, full of the assumptions and presumed know-how of an armchair expert, but without a bit of human compassion, as if the people involved are not human beings at all. I find myself begging God, “Now would be a good time to show up, God! Now would be the time to bring out that voice from heaven, and send down your Holy Spirit to bring peace and comfort to an aching and broken people! Where are you, God?”

My friends, it is one of those weeks where I entered my sermon-writing process with more questions than answers. I would love to have some words of hope for you and your broken hearts, whatever is making them feel broken today, which may or may not be what breaks mine. The best I can do, is take you along on my own journey of grappling with all this with what I hope is a faithful heart.

So, where my mind went as I began wrestling with what to say was to our Star Gifts from last week. If you were here last week, you picked up a star gift, with the charge to watch for ways this coming year that God is made manifest or visible through the gift written on your star. As I thought about this, I wondered if our stars can guide us in finding and experiencing a thin place – a place where we can see God more clearly, where we may not hear a booming voice from heaven, or see the heavens torn open and the Spirit descend, but we may, nonetheless, witness God speaking or acting in the world. That appearance may not make for such a splashy story that it would be recorded in scripture to inspire future generations of the faithful, but is nonetheless a real way that God showed up.

I’m feeling this possibility as a balm and a lifeline this week. It is guiding the way that I look for God, even in the midst of heartbreak and fear. My star gift is appreciation. So as I was grappling with the news of the week and trying to make sense of it, I sought to pull myself out of despair, by looking for things I appreciate. I appreciate when our elected leaders speak up for the vulnerable. I appreciate when people are able to speak with nuance, such that, even if I disagree with their outcome, I can still respect their viewpoint as one that sees the world in more shades than two. I appreciate people who are willing to be far braver than I think I could be, like a white, male pastor I read about who literally stood beside a Hispanic female protester in Minneapolis who was being harassed by agents, and said, “Leave her alone and take me instead,” literally putting himself on the line to protect someone more vulnerable than him. As I took notice of the things I appreciated, rather than the things that cause me to despair, I started to see God, and feel God’s presence in the mud.

My mom told me her star gift was “speaking,” and so I also looked at the week through that gift. As I prepared for this sermon, I watched and listened and read lots of words about the week’s events, and it was fairly easy to discern which ones revealed God, and which ones revealed human brokenness. I knew I was hearing God speaking when my heart was moved toward courageous love of neighbor. In those cases, my mind returned to the words we heard today from the prophet Isaiah: “I have called you in righteousness; I have taken you by the hand and kept you; I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind.”

This beautiful passage from Isaiah made me think of our own baptismal call. I asked one of my colleagues whom I saw on Thursday, how the week’s events were informing her preaching this week. She said, “I’m preaching about how Jesus was baptized into a revolution – and so are we.” That got me thinking: baptism is pretty revolutionary! Look at our liturgy: the pastor asks the candidate for baptism, “Do you renounce the devil, and all the forces that defy God?” And they answer, “I renounce them!” “Renounce” is a strong word, not to be taken lightly! It’s a rejection, a refusal to participate in anything that goes against what is of God – that goes against what is love. In addition, in baptism we promise to “care for others and the world God made, and work for justice and peace.” That’s a quote from the baptismal liturgy. And working for justice and peace can indeed be revolutionary! That work tends to upset those who crave power.

So what does that revolutionary baptismal call look like in this moment in history? What does it look like in your social circles and daily life – to “work for justice and peace,” to “care for others,” to “renounce the devil and the forces that defy God?” Well, I do not think it looks like turning a blind eye to pain and minding your own business, much as we may like to. It does not look like sadly shaking our heads and saying, “Well that’s an unfortunate consequence of their decisions,” blaming victims for their own suffering. But it does, I think, look like speaking out when something looks fishy, or what we’re seeing with our own eyes doesn’t match what we’re being told, or it just doesn’t feel right. It does look speaking love and compassion more loudly than human brokenness. It does look like approaching a complicated situation with curiosity rather than assumptions, and remembering, before making judgments, that no one but God knows the whole story. It does look like listening to and learning from people with a different life experience and perspective, knowing that when we better understand another human, we can better understand the God in whose image every human is made. It does look like the servant or “servant people” Isaiah describes, who frees those who are captive, and establishes justice on the earth, who is a light to the nations. 

I am still thinking about that desire to see and experience God in the same sort of revelatory ways we see in the Bible. I think God is showing up all the time, if we have eyes to see. God is showing up in the ways we are inspired to work toward goodness rather than hate, toward understanding rather than division, toward love rather than fear. God shows up whenever we see glimpses of those new things God promised would spring forth. If a thing looks like love, it is of God. If a thing looks like mercy, it is of God. If a thing looks like liberation from fear and death – it is of God. We, as a people baptized into that same revolutionary love that Jesus was, are called upon to be a light to the nations, declaring that love and that divine presence in any and every way we can. May God be with us, and visible to us and through us, as we do!

Let us pray… God, we long to see you, see you breaking in through the cracks of our broken world. Give us the eyes to see you revealed. And give us the courage to reveal you to others, through our love and care and pursuit of justice. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Incarnation is transformation (Christmas Eve, 2025)

Christmas Eve 2025

We have a weekly Friday movie night tradition in my family. And as soon as Thanksgiving is in the rearview mirror, it is all Christmas movies for the next month. Is that true for anyone else? Well, whether it is or not, take a moment right now to tell someone sitting near you what your favorite Christmas movie is. …

When I was growing up, the movie we watched every year was A Christmas Carol (the one starring George C. Scott as Scrooge – this is the best one, and I will not be convinced otherwise). This classic Charles Dickens story has endured and been made and remade for so many reasons, but one is that we love a compelling transformation story. A miserly curmudgeon is visited by four ghosts who show him his life from different perspectives, past, present, and future. As we watch (or read), the audience, too, is brought into reflecting on how our own life experiences shape us and our values, how our current way of being in the world affects others, and how this might play out into the future. By the time Scrooge wakes up on Christmas morning, a dramatically changed man, we, too, feel that maybe there is hope for a brighter future for ourselves. I am not ashamed to admit that I cry every time when Scrooge shouts down to the boy to go buy the turkey in the shop window, “the one as big as he is,” and bring it to the Cratchits’ house! We love a transformation! And I think we love it, in part, because if we see it play out on the screen, we believe it becomes possible also for us. There is hope for humanity yet!

Unfortunately, my kids still find my preferred version of A Christmas Carol too scary. (I mean, I get it – I used to be convinced, even into my teens, that Marley’s ghost, with all his chains, was going to appear from out of my parents’ bathroom! But I digress.) One of my kids’ favorite movies is The Grinch. Anyone else? This is another story of a dramatic transformation. The movie expands upon the classic Dr. Seuss book, providing a backstory for why “Mr. Grinch” hates Christmas so much. He was emotionally wounded as a child by something that happened on Christmas, and has carried that pain ever since – not unlike Ebenezer Scrooge. It has caused him to pull away from community, and instead, glower down at anyone who dares to be joyful or happy, especially at this time of year that is so painful for him. Indeed, his past trauma has shrunk his heart by two sizes. 

Green hair or not, we know what that is like, right, to carry pain from past hurt along with us. We know how it colors the way we see the world! Scrooge knew about that, too! 

The Grinch plans to steal Christmas joy from the Whos in Whoville, but his plan fails – instead, he witnesses the people of Whoville holding hands and singing, even without any trees, lights, or presents, just like they do every year. Christmas joy could not be stolen from them, and the Grinch is so moved by this, his heart grows three sizes! The movie adds a layer to the book, saying that the kindness extended by sweet little Cindy Lou Who makes the Grinch brave enough to vulnerably join the Whos in Whoville for their Christmas feast. He is even invited to carve the roast beast. For the first time in his life, the Grinch experiences loving community.

I could go on and on. Christmas movie after beloved Christmas movie tells a similar story: someone is in pain, is struggling, and sometimes even causes others harm because of it. They struggle because of grief, or past hurts, or greed, or pride, or disappointments, or feeling unseen, or any number of other human failings and vulnerabilities. And over the course of the story, they are transformed. Their hearts are turned, or they grow three sizes. They are healed. But this transformation doesn’t come as a result of an expensive gift, or relentlessly jolly music, or even delicious cookies. They are transformed by kindness, by honesty with self and others, by caring… they are transformed by love.  

And that, my friends, is the story of Christmas – the real Christmas, the one we celebrate here tonight. That is the story of the incarnation. It is the story of God looking at a world full of people who are struggling and in pain due to grief, pride, disappointments, self-absorption, bitterness and resentment. God looks at them, at us, and knows, whether we know it or not, that we need a transformation. And so to bring that about, God enacts the most profound and powerful sort of love: he comes to dwell with us. Becomes one of us. Has compassion for us by feeling our same pain with us, and walking in our skin, our shoes. Yes, God comes down, and becomes flesh and blood, right alongside our flesh and blood, and in doing so, God loves us, in the most concrete sort of way. As a beloved Christina Rossetti poem says, “Love came down at Christmas, love all lovely, love divine. Love was born at Christmas; star and angels gave the sign.” And this love transforms the world. Transforms us.

Christmas movies tell this story of the incarnation in various, mostly secular ways – a green-haired, grumpy loner, a miserly curmudgeon, a full-sized elf trying to find his birth dad, a kid left home alone, a depressed banker wanting to end his life. And we also have our own stories that paint how we understand Christmas – stories when things went awry, or when we were grieving someone dear to us, or when the most unexpected surprise came our way. But they all point to the same underlying truth: that pain and greed and pride and darkness are a part of life, but they are not the end of the story. They can be overcome by love and light. That transformative love may not change our physical circumstances – nothing changed in Whoville or in 1840s Victorian London – but it does have the power to change us, and grow our hearts. And then we have the eyes to see how, by this love, God is changing the world, both now and hereafter.

I love the words of tonight’s offertory hymn. The last verse says:

Love has come, and never will leave us.

Love is life everlasting and free.

Love is Jesus, within and among us.

Love is the peace our hearts are seeking.

This, you see, is how this gift of love transforms us and the world. It does not leave, no matter how deep our pain. It is everlasting and free, no matter how miserly, grinchy, selfish, or otherwise terrible we are, and it offers us life unlike anything we have previously known or experienced. It brings us peace, because we know we are not left to face the pain alone. 

Now, we can do everything in our power, like the Grinch, to stop this gift of love from coming, or we can grumble and complain about it like Scrooge, but that will not stop it from coming. Love will come, has come, and never will leave us.

Where do you see it, tonight, my friends? Where have you seen it this year – this relentless love, coming to be born in our world and in our hearts, coming with the power to transform us? How has that love caused your heart to grow in size? How has it changed your outlook? How is the love come down at Christmas casting light through the cracks of our broken world – and how is that love beckoning you to be a part of that shining light?

I’m sure we will be watching more Christmas movies in the next couple of weeks while the kids are off from school. And I, for one, will be watching for those transformations. And, because stories – whether from the Bible or from Hallmark – often compel us to look also at our own lives, I will also be watching for the ways God’s love, born at Christmas, is working in my own heart this season and throughout the year, to transform me and bring me freedom, peace, inspiration, and the promise of life everlasting.

Let us pray… Incarnate Love, when we are stuck in our own pain and sadness, you come down to be with us. Come to us also this year, and transform us, so that we would see your loving presence among us, and be a part of your saving work. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Go and tell John what you hear and see (Dec. 14, 2025)

Advent 3A
December 14, 2025
Matthew 11:2-22; Isaiah 35:1-10

INTRODUCTION

The third Sunday of Advent is known as Gaudete Sunday, or “Rejoice!” Sunday. It offers us a bit of respite from all these difficult, end-times-y texts. Great, right? So where does the Gospel reading drop us? In prison, of course, with a doubting John the Baptist. 

Last week’s confidence has apparently waned: since we last saw John in the wilderness, he has gotten himself arrested for criticizing King Herod’s marriage practices. And he is starting to wonder why things aren’t looking the way he thought they would. But Jesus’ words, we hope, will set him back on track.

Isaiah is far more joyful. Last week’s reading from Isaiah was from before the exile, as the Assyrians are about to attack. Today’s text is written while the Israelites are in exile, in Babylon, and offers them a vision of healing and restoration – a joyous procession out of Babylon through the blooming desert, and back to Jerusalem and the land promised to their ancestors. It is truly beautiful poetry. 

Lots going on in these texts. Take them all in, and listen for a word that will speak joy to whatever ails your heart this day. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

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

Can I be real with you for a moment? I love the Advent season and all the declarations of the light shining in the darkness and the coming Messiah saving us all… but this has been a difficult year for a lot of vulnerable people, and so many things I read in the news are so distressing, my heart just aches. And when I proclaim all these wonderful Advent promises, I admit that sometimes I feel like I am trying to convince myself, as well as you, that they are true. I mean, I believe them, I do, deep in my heart… but then something else discouraging happens, and my heart breaks again and it becomes difficult to believe that God’s reign will ever come to be. When will the Prince of Peace break into our world for real? How are we to rejoice on this Gaudete Sunday when there is so much pain and sadness all around us? 

All this is to say that I really needed to hear this story today about John the Baptist, doubting in prison. 

John, with all his fiery passion about the coming Messiah. 

John, who had the guts to call the religious elites a brood of vipers and tell them to change their ways. 

John, who recognized Jesus even when they were both in utero, as someone who would bring about the dawn from on high. 

John, who now sits in prison for his outspokenness, and is beginning to wonder, “Was I wrong? Is this really the guy? All those things I preached about – are they really going to happen? Because this is not looking like I thought it would look. Did I get this one wrong, and go to prison for the wrong guy?”

Now, his doubts, by themselves, are not very hopeful. But I find it very powerful when I can see my own questions and concerns represented in scripture, even and especially in the heart of a faith hero like John the Baptist. Because then, I can see the response to those concerns as a response also to my own aching heart.

And that is what happens. Jesus tells the messenger to tell John what he hears and sees: 

That those who lacked understanding are finding clarity. 

Those who were at the end of their rope and couldn’t take another step are finding a way forward. 

Those who were ill in mind or body are finding healing. 

Those who couldn’t receive the good news have had their hearts opened. 

Those whose lives were ending are finding new life. 

The poor have good news brought to them.

Jesus could have just said, “Yeah, I’m the guy.” Instead, he invites the messenger, and John, to look around and see the effects of Jesus’ power on the world around him. And then, to tell about it.

I needed that advice this week. Because it can be all too easy to get bogged down by the bad news. And when you wake up each day and expect bad news, that is indeed what you will find. Yet I will tell you, this week for me was full of glimpses of the joy, the life, that Jesus tells John and the messenger to look for. And, because Jesus urges the messenger to tell John about it, I’m going to follow suit, and tell you about the ways God’s power has been on display.

This week, I had a chance to tour Loop Ministries, which is housed at Lutheran Church of the Incarnate Word on East Ave, to see them in action as they packed and handed out bags. The director was thrilled to meet me and give me a tour, saying we were one of their most generous donors. She said, “Because of the extra financial gifts you have given us recently, we were able to purchase some special items for those we serve. This month, each family gets to choose to add coffee, tea, or hot chocolate to their bag, which we can’t normally offer. And we made these little holiday gift bags with some candy in them to give each family. These are a luxury to our families, and we’re glad to give them. But I’ll tell you, it is really a boost to our volunteers. When we see people’s faces light up, it really energizes our volunteers – which we really need after such a tough year with so much increased need.” Our gifts to Loop Ministries make this small but tangible difference for hungry people, and those who serve them. 

On Wednesday, I went with members of our Endowment Committee to deliver the disbursement checks from our endowment fund for this year. Our endowment account did very well this year, and we were able to be quite generous. First, we delivered $10,000 to Bethany House, which provides transitional housing to women and children experiencing homelessness. The woman who received the check, the House Manager, cried when we gave it to her. She said, “This place is so important to me. I grew up homeless, and I have been in and out of this house with my children, trying to get my feet on the ground. Finally, I was able to become resident staff and now house manager, and I have some stability in my life. I used to be afraid of public speaking, but now I get to go places and tell them about the wonderful work we are doing here at Bethany House. Just yesterday we had a board meeting, and we weren’t sure how much longer we can sustain this program. But this gift will make such a huge difference for us. Thank you so much!” Bethany House is changing the lives of women and children, and we get to be a part of that.

Then we went to Rochester Hope, where many of us volunteered last month. We had been impressed by
their “choice pantry,” which allows anyone to come get whatever and however much food they need, no questions asked. But as anyone who was there can tell you, it was cramped quarters for how many they serve (as many as 400 people a week)! For them, we had a check for $80,000, which will go toward the extension they are currently building. That addition will provide a larger pantry and more storage space. They, too, teared up in shock and delight at this gift. The director just kept looking down at the check and smiling. The poor have good news brought to them.

Finally, we went to St. Peter’s Kitchen, which provides hot meals six days a week (that’s nearly 160,000 meals served last year), as well as a choice pantry and various social services. Both they and Loop Ministries get volunteer help from adults with disabilities, and there was a very cheerful atmosphere as

they worked. When we handed the CEO a check for $20,000, he was literally knocked off his feet! He gasped and fell backward on the pew behind him, hand to heart, speechless. “I didn’t expect this!” he finally exclaimed. “This is incredible!” 

“Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” What do you see and hear? Where are you seeing glimpses of light and life in the gloom of the world? What lives are being changed? Who needs to hear about it?

In the darkness that threatens to overwhelm, these are signs of Christ’s light, signs of joy. As small as a holiday bag with candy inside, and as big as a building project that provides more food to more people, and everything in between. Jesus’ call to us is to notice them, to name them, to go and tell about them – about the ways that God is bringing new life to places where life seemed impossible. We at St. Paul’s were a part of God’s work, the work of the coming Messiah, in a very real way this week. And when we tell others about it, God shines that light even brighter into our community. 

So be strong, people of St. Paul’s, and do not fear. Here is your God, who will come and save us all.

Let us pray… God of joy, we thank you for our many resources and the ways that we, with your help, can use them to make our corner of the world a better place. We pray for those who will benefit from our recent gifts to Loop, Rochester Hope, Bethany House, and St. Peter’s Kitchen, that through these gifts, they will see your light, and be able to bear witness to that light for others. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: The Process and Peace of Repentance (Dec. 7. 2025)

Advent 2A
December 7, 2025
Matthew 3:1-12

INTRODUCTION

Traditionally the second week of Advent is known as “Peace Sunday,” and we will see that theme especially in today’s famous reading from Isaiah: the description of the Peaceable Kingdom, where the wolf lies with the lamb, and other predators live in peace with their prey, and a little child leads them. It is what we hope for and picture when those angels sing to the shepherds in the fields, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace among those whom he favors.” And that description of a peaceful kingdom was very good news for Isaiah’s audience, who were living under threat of the Assyrian army, which had already destroyed the northern kingdom of Israel and were likely heading south next, to Judah. Israel is living in a time when the people don’t trust their leaders to be faithful, and their hope is lost because the line of King David, from whom they were expecting a Messiah to come and save them all, has been cut off. But here, Isaiah promises that from the stump of David’s family tree (Jesse is David’s father), a sprout has sprung – there is yet hope!

As for the Gospel… this second Sunday of Advent we encounter John the Baptist in the wilderness and his cries for all to “repent!” John is always a centerpiece of the Advent season, as he heralds the Lord’s coming. Difficult as his message of repentance is to hear, it is a necessary one for the preparation of our hearts. Today he says so quite extremely, so, buckle up. Both the nice text from Isaiah and the difficult one from Matthew can bring peace, if we hear them with open hearts. So, let’s listen.

[READ]

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

So what do you think: if I could somehow arrange to have John the Baptist come here as a guest preacher, how do you think he would be received? Do you think you would leave the sanctuary, shake his hand, and say, “Thanks for your sermon today, pastor!” Or maybe… leave before he was finished?

I can’t say John’s strong words would make me want to hang around and thank him! On the surface, at least, this sermon is more in the fire and brimstone preaching genre that makes me pretty uncomfortable. I don’t always need to feel good when I’m listening to a sermon, but I at least appreciate not being likened to a brood of vipers, ya know?

Yet if we dig a little deeper into this scene and John’s words, what appear on the surface to be very judgmental and accusatory words are actually words of hope and transformation (serpentine insults aside!).

First, a little biblical history. Matthew is going to great lengths here to identify John the Baptist with Elijah, the 9th century prophet who was whisked off into heaven by a chariot of fire. In Jewish belief, the return of Elijah would herald the coming of the Messiah – and with it, great hope! So when Matthew paints John as Elijah (for example, by his strange clothing of camel’s hair and a leather belt, and his location in the wilderness), he is starting us off by saying: “God is on the move! God has raised up another Elijah in the wilderness. The dawn of a new day is upon us, and we know this because Elijah (or someone like him) has returned.” It is no wonder people flocked to the wilderness to hear what John had to say! So, we’re starting from a place of hope, which helps us see the rest of John’s sermon through that hopeful lens.

Though John’s words in this text are directed at the Pharisees and Sadducees, but they are just as important for us. The meaning of that word, repentance, is not merely saying “I’m sorry,” or confessing your sins at the beginning of the liturgy each week. When John says, “Repent!” he is calling upon people to change their hearts, to turn around and reorient toward a new way of living. It is certainly possible and even reasonable to take this call to repentance personally. Someone telling you, “You need to change,” can be pretty tough to hear! But also… don’t we all already know it, know that we need a change? Is there anyone among us who is completely content with their life, their relationship with God, their prayer life, their relationships with family, friends, and colleagues? Is there anyone here who is immune to greed, self-absorption, apathy or anger? 

Speaking personally, I’m fairly content – I have a job I love, a family I cherish, I live in a beautiful place and have a roof over my head and food on the table. But there are plenty of times a week or even a day when I feel unsettled, unsatisfied, or a sense of longing. Plenty of times when I long for my heart to be changed: to be more oriented toward God than toward myself, and toward radical love of neighbor. John is speaking to that: “change your heart!” he says. “God is coming near, and a new day is upon us! Out with the old ways, and in with the new! Change your heart, change your life!”

Consider for a moment, be honest: how does that message land with you? To me, it feels both hopeful (as I said, I do often long for a change, even if I can’t always pinpoint what I envision that change to be), and it also feels exhausting and a bit scary or intimidating. After all, what if the change is hard? What if it requires too much from me? Isn’t it easier just to stay the way I am, because it’s pretty good, and at least it is known? Even if the future is hopeful – what if getting there is too much?

Well, John’s response to these fears is not especially compassionate (John was not known for his bedside manner). Instead, he draws upon another image that on its surface is terrifying, but actually offers life: that of the separation of chaff and wheat. It sounds very judgmental, right? A separation of good (wheat) and bad (the chaff that will be burned). But this is referring to a farming practice wherein the husk is removed from the grain, and allowed to be blown away by the wind and burned. These husks, together, are called chaff. You see? Each grain of wheat has both grain, which is to be preserved, and chaff, which is to be discarded. We are all made up of both grain and chaff, and the goal is to save every grain, and do away with the chaff. So although we may be tempted to hear this image as a separation of good people from bad people, it is actually speaking to the wheat and the chaff within each heart. As Russian author Alexsandr Solzhenitsyn says, “The line separating good and evil passes not [between groups, or between people] – but right through every human heart.” 

So John asks us in this Advent season: what is the chaff that needs to be burned, in order to prepare our hearts for our Lord’s coming? What husks are getting in the way of our ability to see and welcome God’s presence among us? Anxieties, apathy, or greed? Judgment of others? Bitterness over past wrongs? A brain that is overactive with worry? Coping habits that draw our attention away from trust in God, and toward trust in our faulty human ways?

John’s dynamic sermon on this second Sunday of Advent tells us that it doesn’t have to be that way. The coming of Christ means restoration and empowerment, hope and new life. And it also does mean peace – the peace that comes from shedding those traits and patterns that cause distress to us and our communities, that keep us from living peacefully with one another. With the chaff gone, we can heal as individuals and communities. Of course, separating the wheat from the chaff may not be an easy process. But allowing the chaff to burn away, as difficult as it may be to watch our old ways shrivel up, will bring us to new life. It will do away with all the junk that clutters our minds and hearts, and prepare room instead to receive the Lord of Love, the Prince of Peace.

Let us pray… Emmanuel, so much gets in the way of us finding peace – in our hearts and in our world. Let every heart prepare you room, so that we might get closer to your vision of living peacefully with one another. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.