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

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

INTRODUCTION

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

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

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

 [READ]

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

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

What does a life of faith look like? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

INTRODUCTION

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

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

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

[READ]

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

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

“What is required to restore community?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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