Sermon: Listen to him and do not be afraid (Feb. 26, 2017)

Transfiguration A

February 26, 2017

Matthew17:1-9

Preaching at Reformation Lutheran (pulpit exchange)

            It’s wonderful to be with you this morning! Thank you for welcoming me into your congregation. When the list came out for the pulpit exchange, I was delighted to see I had been assigned to be with the good folks at Reformation.

Since we don’t know each other very well, let me start by telling you two fun facts about myself: 1) I love to shop at thrift and consignment shops, because I hate buying things new. And 2) I love to talk to strangers.

With those two facts about me in mind, let me tell you a story about a time I was totally in my element, and then I totally wasn’t: A few years ago, I was shopping at one of my favorite consignment shops, and found a sweater I liked. While I was paying, I was trying to make conversation with the woman who worked there, but she was very disjointed, and kept saying how scattered her mind was this week… and then she finally said, “I’ve been absent-minded all week. My niece was killed on Sunday.” Figuring she must have told me this because she needed to talk about it, I gently asked what happened, and listened to her story. As she spoke I felt a voice saying, “Tell her you’re a pastor. Give her your contact info. Pray with her.” I started praying silently throughout the conversation, but the voice wouldn’t quit. But something kept me from listening to it: I was afraid. I didn’t want things to turn awkward. I didn’t want to put myself out there. Before I left, I told her I would be praying for her and her family, but even as I said it I knew that I still wasn’t listening to what that voice was telling me, because I was still afraid.

It turns out, that encounter happened just before Transfiguration Day, and that year, I heard this story of Jesus’ magnificent change on a mountaintop a little differently. The part that leapt out and clung to my heart was first God’s words, “This is my Son. Listen to him!” followed so shortly by, “and the disciples fell to the ground and were overcome with fear.” It seemed to describe to a T my encounter in the consignment shop, where God had clearly said to my heart, “This is my Son, listen to him!” and I – even though I love talking to strangers – responded with fear and resistance.

Tell me I’m not alone here. Do you have a similar story? A time when you felt God telling you something, but the task for whatever reason seemed to overwhelm you with fear? It happens to me all the time: I see an opportunity, I am excited by the potential of it, but I quickly dismiss the idea because I am too afraid… rationalizing it with statements like, “It’ll never work, it won’t make a difference, I don’t have time, it’s too expensive,” and other reasonable things like that. You see,

I am very good at letting my own voice speak more loudly than God’s.

 “This is my Son. Listen to him!” said that voice to the disciples, and so also to me and to all of us. And they fell to the ground and were overcome with fear. They did not know what it might mean to listen to Jesus. What might he tell them to do – things that are difficult and scary and out of their comfort zone?  What might it mean for their lives – a change? A transformation for which they aren’t prepared? A venture into a way of life that is entirely unfamiliar? Of course they – we! – are overcome with fear!

This month, Reformation has been observing Black History Month, and Pastor Imani let me know that on this Sunday, The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. would be the person from black history that is lifted up. Of course, he is not only a part of black history, but an integral part of American history. His dreams and his words, woven together with the promises of scripture that shaped him as a Baptist preacher, have become as ingrained in our American vocabulary as the Declaration of Independence or the Gettysburg Address. His relentless work on behalf of civil rights is widely commended, lauded, and lifted up as faithful and patriotic example. He is a giant of American history, a contemporary prophet.

Of course, like all prophets, he wasn’t nearly so lauded in the time when he was doing that important work. He was threatened, arrested, dismissed, even received hundreds of death threats. He recounts one night in 1956, after receiving a particularly chilling death threat, when he found himself unable to sleep. He

made himself some coffee and sat at the kitchen table. With his head in his hands, he cried out to God. He later recalled, quoting the old spiritual, “I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone… He promised never to leave me, no never alone.”

            “This is my Son. Listen to him!” Thank God that brother Martin was not afraid that night to listen to Jesus’ voice! He had every reason to be – far more reason than most of us have to dismiss God’s calling to us. He had every reason to go to that mountaintop to view the Promised Land, and respond, “No way. It is too hard. The personal sacrifice is too great. I quit.” But he didn’t. He listened. He kept that vision of God’s glory in his heart and mind. And though he may very well have been overcome by fear, he marched on, fought for the oppressed, and rode that arc of the moral universe just as close to justice as he could get in his too-short time on earth.

What an important time in history it is to lift up his legacy – his legacy of listening to Christ in the face of fear, and acting in faith. As I look around at the state of the world, the state of our country, I keep on thinking: we’ve got work to do. Division and hatred are rampant. Racism looks different now than it did when Martin Luther King was doing his work, but it is definitely still a reality. Some people fear for their lives, whether they have a pre-existing condition that could preclude them from healthcare, or because they have the wrong color of skin, the wrong religion, or the wrong walk of life. We’re in the midst of the biggest refugee crisis since World War 2. Poverty rates in our own city are too high, and graduation rates are too low. We might look at any number of the problems in our city, in our country, in our world, and ask God what we should do about it, and the answer we get when we “listen to him” is not the one we want to hear. For getting involved in any of these issues – plus the countless others I didn’t even mention –

causes fear: fear for our safety, fear for our comfort level, fear for our reputation, fear for our personal relationships with people we love but disagree with, fear for our way of life and our view of the world. Listening to God puts us at risk, and that’s scary. I would rather just bask in God’s glory on a mountaintop, blissfully unaware of what is happening back down in the valley, at the bottom of the mountain. I would rather listen to my own voice instead of Jesus’, because my voice is full of reason and safe ideas. Jesus’ voice too often causes me to be overcome with fear.

Listening to Jesus can be paralyzingly scary. He often asks us to do things we are uncomfortable doing. No one knows this better than Jesus himself, who ended up on a cross for doing what God told him!

But the grace of our faith is that the story doesn’t stop there, in fear and death. It doesn’t stop at the cross, nor with the disciples on the ground overcome with fear. After they fall to the ground in fear, Jesus comes to them, touches them, and says, “Get up and do not be afraid.” Get up, and do not be afraid. Do not be afraid, because after this, we’re gonna walk down this mountain, face the world, see just how bad it can get… and then I’m gonna show you that I am more powerful than all of that. I’m gonna show you that death has no power over me, and because of that, you have nothing to fear.

            Fear can be paralyzing. Death can be devastating. But Christ could not have shown us that ours is a God of new life without first going through the fear and death. And so we are empowered to face what pains and uncertainties might come from listening to Jesus’ voice – as challenging as it is comforting – because we have been assured that out of this comes transformation: a new and glorious life that would not have been otherwise possible.

This is God’s Son. Listen to him, and do not be afraid.

            Let us pray… Glorious God, you have promised to bring life out of our fear and death. Give us the courage, then, to listen to your voice, to trust you, and not to be afraid. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Ministry is risky, or should be (Feb. 19, 2017)

Epiphany 7A

Feb. 19, 2017           

Matthew 5:38-48

1 Corinthians 3:10-11, 16-23

            This week at Bethlehem’s council meeting, we were discussing the parsonage. This is a conversation that has been going on for a couple years – more than that, really. A house is quite an asset for a congregation to own, but more often than not, Bethlehem’s is not being used. For it to stand empty is not good stewardship of our resources, but the question is, what would be good stewardship? How is God calling us to use this asset, and the property that goes with it? Or, is the best stewardship to let that asset go?

As the process and conversation have gone prayerfully on, several ideas have come and gone. Sometimes an idea looks promising, but just as soon as we start to imagine the potential, the fears creep in. “But what if this happens, or that? What about liability? How will this affect our taxes?” They are all important questions, and while they need to be asked, they also usher us safely back into our comfort zones. But the faithful refrain which I have heard emerge out of these concerns, and which I heard at our council meeting this week, is, “Ministry is risky.”

            Ministry is risky. Truer words have never been spoken. The life that Jesus calls us to live is not easy, and sometimes not even safe. There’s a reason so many early Christians were martyred – killed for practicing their faith! It’s because the things to which our faith calls us are counter-cultural. They are not of this world. They run contrary to the norms of this earthly kingdom. And because of that, they are often upsetting, and they are frequently risky. In fact, in the first century, merely claiming, “Jesus is Lord,” was an affront to the government – they should have been saying Caesar was Lord, not this Jesus! This very declaration got a lot of people killed!

            Perhaps one of the riskiest things Jesus ever said was what we heard in today’s portion of the Sermon on the Mount: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” The

imperative is so familiar to us that it may have lost its punch. When we consider it conceptually, it’s very nice – who could be against loving one another? What Christian could possibly be against praying for people, even for those who persecute us? After all, they need prayer most of all! Yes, yes, we say, love everyone, even and especially our enemies.

            Yes, conceptually, Jesus’ command is very nice, and quite safe. But the niceness and safety melt away when we try actually to put it in action. When we think about the people who drive us nuts, who have hurt us either physically or emotionally, who threaten our way of life and our world view, who scare us, whose past and beliefs are unknown to us, who don’t act or look like us, who act in ways we find reprehensible… Then, loving becomes more difficult. More risky.

And it becomes more difficult still when we really consider what love looks like in Christ’s kingdom. One way it can look is certainly donating items and money to help those in need. Churches are really good at that. It is a very good, important, and safe way to share God’s love.

But is it the full extent to which Christ calls us to love one another? 

Before Jesus tells us to love our enemies, he lays out several strange ways of interacting with people: turn the other cheek when someone hits you, give your cloak to someone who takes your shirt, when you are made to walk one mile, walk an additional mile. Counter-cultural. Against the norm. Out of our natural inclinations and our comfort zones. Really, these imperatives are, in many ways, ridiculous! Yet… this is Christ’s kingdom! He is constantly asking us to do things that by worldly standards are sheer foolishness!

I suppose that’s what Paul was getting at in his letter to the Corinthians that we heard a moment ago. “If you think that you are wise in this age,” he writes, “you should become fools so that you may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God.” Oh, I find this so frustrating! I have amassed tens of thousands of dollars in student loan debt so that I could become wise – and now Paul is saying that all of this is foolishness to God? That all of our rational thought, our keen insight, our educated decisions – all of this is ultimately foolishness to God?

In a word… yes! Because all of our thinking about things, our careful consideration of consequences, our over rationalization, usually leads us away from the radical love of neighbor – neighbors we love and neighbors who are enemies, either real or perceived. For Jesus, there is only one question to ponder: what is the most loving way to act toward my neighbor? It is not, “Is

this safe?” It is not, “Is this in my personal best interest?” No, Jesus never said, “Love your neighbor, within limits,” or, “Love your neighbor, just as long as it is in the best interest of your personal safety.” He said, “Love your neighbor, love your enemy, and pray for those who persecute you. Full stop.” All that Jesus calls us to is for the sake of the other, and in particular, for the sake of the disadvantaged, disenfranchised, or oppressed other.

I’ll admit to you, I don’t like this command. It is too hard, too scary – it seems impossible. “Ministry is risky” is easy enough to say, a nice enough way to start a sermon, but enacting it is an entirely different ball game! And sometimes we would prefer to come to church and find respite and comfort, not conviction and the sense that we are not doing enough, that the love we are willing to share is not enough, that we are not, as Jesus says, “perfect, just as our heavenly Father is perfect,” and never will be. I get that. I, too, want to be comfortable in my faith, comfortable with my relationship with God and with others. Who doesn’t want to be comfortable?

But it turns out, Jesus never promised to make us comfortable. That’s an important distinction: Jesus never promised to make us comfortable – but, he did and does promise to bring us comfort. But this comfort doesn’t come in the form of a pat on the back, nor a pass on our baptismal call to love one another. No, Christ’s comfort comes in the promise we hear each week that we are forgiven. It comes in the words, “This is my body, given for you. This is my blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sin.” That is where our comfort lies. That is what we can return to after we go out and do the risky business of ministry, even putting our own safety on the line for the sake of loving our neighbors – both those whom we love, and those we might consider enemies.

Ministry is risky. Christ’s ministry took him to the cross, killed as a common criminal. Following Christ is counter-cultural, and even foolish at times, and frequently unsafe. Indeed, the only reason we are able to walk in Christ’s ways is because of those promises from God – the promise of forgiveness, love, and grace. We are able to do it because God empowers us to do it. We are able to do it because we know and trust that if God calls us to it, then God will walk with us through it. And with each step we take, with Christ by our side, we come closer to becoming whole, complete, becoming “perfect,” and living into our baptismal call and the people God envisions us to be.

Let us pray… Gracious God, you call us to the tough and risky work of ministry, asking us to love our enemies with an active love, and pray for those who persecute us. Give us the courage to follow this call, trusting ever in the comfort your promises bring. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Choosing life in the law (Feb. 12, 2017)

Epiphany 6A

February 19, 2017

Deuteronomy 30:15-20

Matthew 5:21-37

             The Israelites have been wandering in the wilderness for 40 years. Finally, finally, they are about to enter the Promised Land, to begin a new phase of their lives as God’s people. Though he has traveled with them this far, Moses knows he will not, in the end, enter that Promised Land with them, so he offers them this sermon, part of which we heard a moment ago, to instruct and prepare them for this new life.

            The stark contrasts and choices he lays out for them seem pretty obvious: you can choose life and prosperity, he says, or death and adversity. Hmmm, tough call… I think I’ll go with life! No-brainer, right?

            And yes, that’s what Moses tells them to choose: “Choose life,” he says, “so that you and your descendants may live.” Seems simple enough, until you start to realize what choosing life really looks like, what it implies: following all of God’s commands, not being swayed to look toward other gods, listening to God’s word…. Okay, well, that can’t be too hard, right? I mean, the 10 Commandments aren’t so hard to follow: I have never murdered someone, for example, I don’t steal, I go to church, I don’t commit adultery, and I can’t think of one time when I’ve coveted my neighbor’s ox or donkey! Sure, we all slip up now and then, but by and large we’re pretty good at following the rules, right?

            I’ll venture to say that we have lured ourselves into a false sense of security regarding our obedience to God’s laws. And the part of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount that we heard today blows that security to pieces, as he hits all the topics that make us the most uncomfortable. I joked to my colleagues this week that I should start this sermon by saying, “People are tired of hearing about politics, so today, let’s follow Jesus’ lead and talk instead about sex, money, and divorce.”

Indeed, Jesus has some tough words on all those taboo topics today! And even things we

Sermon on the mount by Laura James
http://www.laurajamesart.com/bio.htm

thought we were immune to, like murder, are suddenly, in Jesus’ interpretation, very real risks for us. Jesus says we have murdered anyone whom we insult, or anyone about whom we hold a grudge, or any relationship in which we haven’t actively tried to reconcile. Looking at adultery – for Jesus, you don’t have to have committed the act, you only have to have felt lust for someone other than your spouse. While Moses was a little soft on divorce, Jesus seems to have no tolerance for it except in the case of infidelity. And finally, any sort of swearing or false promises are “from the evil one.” Wow… I don’t think there is a person alive who hasn’t fallen into these traps – probably multiple times a day!

But before we fall into a pit of hopelessness over the very high bar Jesus has set for obedience, let’s look at all of these a little differently, through the lens of Moses’ imperative to “choose life.” Regarding murder, and anger, and grudges: in my experience, and perhaps in yours as well, insulting others and holding onto anger and grudges does not bring life. In fact, it is the opposite – it eats away at my heart, tainting everything, even that which would have, otherwise, been life-giving. What is far more life-giving is when we work hard with someone to reconcile, or at least to understand one another, to have honest conversation, to work to see in one another God’s own image, to see one another as children of God. Choosing relationship over anger is, indeed, choosing life.

Regarding Jesus’ words on adultery: he urges us not to see other people merely as objects for our pleasure. Anyone who has been either victim or perpetrator in a case of adultery knows what brokenness it leaves in its wake. That brokenness is not life. Being objectified by someone’s lustful eyes and heart is not life. Faithfulness to one another, dedication to one another – this is what is fulfilling. This is what brings life.

And divorce – this is a tough one, as more people than not have been touched by divorce, and the pain it brings. For this one, it is helpful to consider Jesus’ words contextually. In the first century, a woman had no rights; her identity and livelihood were wrapped up in her husband. Men could discard their wives on a whim, for any reason at all – then leaving the woman completely helpless, and now that she was divorced, she was damaged goods, and no other man would want her. Where today a divorced woman is able to move on to have a fruitful life, a career, maybe even get married again, in the first century a divorced woman had nothing but the generosity of strangers. For Jesus to bring this up is to stand with a marginalized, vulnerable population, to stand up for the safety and well-being of women. In this case, divorce was choosing death, in some cases, quite literally. Choosing relationship, and care for the under-privileged, is choosing life.

Do you see a theme here? Over and over again, Jesus’ tough interpretations of the law, interpretations that convict every last one us, point us toward the importance of relationship. They point us toward that essential Christian command to love your neighbor, and care for his or her needs. In other words, choosing life means: choosing the life of your neighbor, choosing what will allow your neighbor to thrive.

This is also very clearly expressed in Luther’s Small Catechism. In his explanation of the 10 commandments, Luther says they are not just about what we should not do, but also what we should do instead. For example, the fifth commandment is you shall not murder, but instead,

“help and support your neighbor in all life’s needs.” Not only should we not commit adultery, we should instead, “lead pure and decent lives in word and deed, and each of us love and honor his or her spouse.” You see, again and again, the law is about choosing life – choosing the life of your neighbor, choosing the life of the other, figuring out what will bring life to you, to others, and to your relationships with others, and choosing that.

“Choose life,” says Deuteronomy, “so that you and your family may live.” And as we reflect on this as Christians, and especially as Christians today, we see our “family” as extending to all the children of God. Choose neighbor life, choose downtrodden life, choose black life, choose poor life, choose refugee life, choose Native life, choose Muslim life, choose child life, choose elderly life, choose veteran life, choose addicted life, choose prisoner life, choose fill-in-the-blank-with-whomever-you-find-it-difficult-to-love life… so that you and your descendants may live. For when we choose the life of all of these members of God’s family, when we choose relationship over seclusion, isolation, or self-interest, that is when we truly follow God’s commands.

It isn’t easy, that’s for sure, and I know that in framing it this way, I personally am no less convicted by Moses’ or Jesus’ outlining of the law. Every single day, we fall short of obedience to God’s commands. That is why we come here each week, to be fed by the Word of God, to be reminded that in all the ways we fall short of God’s commands, we are forgiven. The law convicts us, to be sure, but just as quickly, Jesus, in all his grace and love, redeems us, calling us back into life-giving relationship with one another and with him.

Let us pray… God of life, we would sometimes choose selfishness and isolation over the hard work of being in life-giving relationships with our neighbors. Help us to look beyond ourselves, and toward the ways our choices can bring life to our neighbors, your children, no matter who they are. In the name of the Father and the Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Salt and light in a world of difference (Feb. 5, 2017)

Epiphany 5A

February 5, 2017

Matthew 5:13-20

  

            Let me start off with a question: When you think of God, do you think of God more as a divine law-maker and -enforcer, who has certain expectations of His followers? Or, do you think of God more as a gift-giver?

            I think a common understanding of God is as the former: someone who is up there is heaven telling us how we ought to act, “or else.” And we might be tempted to read today’s Gospel lesson that way. Today Jesus continues from last week his famous Sermon on the Mount, offering us two of his most well-known metaphors: “you are the salt of the earth” and “you are the light of the world.” With the common understanding of God as law-maker, we might be tempted to read this as, “You should be the light of the world,” and, “You ought to be the salt of the earth.” Is that how you heard it?

            Ah, but Lutherans tend to think of God more as the gift-giver, who bestows on us more grace and goodness than we could ever comprehend, and these words from Jesus are yet one more gift: you already are the light of the world. You already are the salt of the earth. That is, it is not so much command as it is promise, an identity we already possess as baptized and beloved children of God. You are the light of the world and the salt of the earth.

Stuffing stockings!

            I’ll prove it to you. At the end of last year, Bethlehem and St. Martin jointly filled over 500 stockings with both needed and wanted items for needy children in the greater Rochester area. Knitters, sew-ers, and crocheters are already hard at work to fill next year’s stockings. You are the light of the world.

Both congregations use their land to grow fresh vegetables, providing this treat to local food cupboards. You are the salt of the earth.

Both congregations look year-round for worthy causes to donate goods and money to, whether standing ministries like Community Lutheran Ministries on Joseph Ave., or occasional ones like Souper Bowl of Caring, or incidental ones, like a local family who lost their home in a fire.

You use your artistic gifts to make quilts for Lutheran World Relief, or beautiful hangings for our worship space, and your maintenance gifts for keeping our building and grounds looking and working great.

As you care for people outside our walls, you also care for one another, giving rides to members who can’t drive, sending cards and making meals, checking in on each other, going grocery

Worshipping together (Christmas Eve)

shopping, or simply spending the time to go visit one another. You sing in the choir, or sit on the council, or make the coffee and treats, or help lead worship, or plan fellowship events of service opportunities. You pray for one another.

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

            Of course, how it looks to be salt and light in the world is always changing as the world around us changes, and as different needs arise. And sometimes our diversity of gifts also extends to a diversity of opinions, and thus different ideas of how being salt and light should look. And while our diversity of gifts and opinions can certainly be an advantage, sometimes our differences can be a hindrance to being the salt and light that Jesus assures us we are. It can be difficult, when someone you love holds a different opinion than yours, not to dismiss that person’s opinion as wrong or unimportant – or worse, to dismiss that person entirely!

            I saw a beautiful video this week. It begins in an empty room with squares painted on the floor. Gradually, different “types” of people walk into the room and stand in different boxes as the narrator explains, “It’s easy to put people in boxes. There’s us, and there’s them. The high earners, and those just getting by. Those we trust, and those we try to avoid. There’s the new [guys], and those who’ve always been there. The people from the countryside and those who’ve never seen a cow. The religious, and the self-confident. There are those we share something with, and those we don’t share anything with.” Finally all the boxes have people in them, and they stand there and look skeptically at each other. Then someone says he’s going to ask some questions, and hopes they will answer the questions honestly. “How many of you,” he asks, “were the class clown?” Several people smile and chuckle, and from each box, a few people step forward. They look around at each other, all different people from different walks of life, holding different opinions – smiling knowingly at each other. Then he asks, “How many of you are stepparents?” Again, a handful of people step forward, more seriously this time as they know and share the particular joys and challenges that come with that role. The narrator picks up again, “And then suddenly, there’s us. We who believe in life after death. We who have seen UFOs. And all of us who love to dance.” He goes on, describing all the different things this disparate group of people have found in common, some trivial, some deeply important. By the end, everyone in the room, once skeptical of one another, are hugging and shaking hands.

            In this congregation, we have so many things in common… and just as many things on which we differ. Possibly, dramatically. But there is, of course, one very important thing that holds us all together, and that is a belief that our loving God made each of us so beautifully unique, and understands our brokenness; that this God loves us so much as to send us Jesus, to first proclaim to us our belovedness, to promise us we are salt and light, to teach us to love our neighbors as ourselves, and finally to take all of our brokenness with him to the cross, bury it deep in a tomb, and rise again to bring us new life. We are all held together by a love that could do that for this here bunch of sinners, and by a love that then motivates and empowers us to be the salt and the light, to share that message with the world in word and in deed.

            How we do that… well, once again, we have different ideas. For some, it might be joining an organization like Scouts or another community group that strives to do good in the community. For some, it might be becoming an activist, choosing an issue that is immensely important to you (like the environment, or rights for those with disabilities, or racism, or xenophobia), and dedicating your time and energy to educating people on that issue and fighting for what you believe to be right. Maybe the best you can do is to give money to an organization that helps people, or maybe you can volunteer for that organization. Perhaps you let your light shine when your service is more direct: working at a soup kitchen, housing a refugee, making friends with someone who is bullied, marginalized, afraid, or feared. Maybe you’ll take your cues from the text we heard today from Isaiah: “Share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to clothe them, and don’t hide yourself from your own family.” And there’s plenty more where that came from.

            Thanks be to God that we are all different, for our difference lets us spread God’s love further than we could if we were all the same. Let us be thankful for one another in those differences. Let us pray for each other in those differences. Let us commit to listening to and learning from one another in our differences, so that we will not stop growing into God’s vision for us. And may our differences make the lighting and seasonings of life all that much brighter and richer and reflective of God’s own love and glory.

            Let us pray… Giving God, we thank you for the assurance that we are the light of the world and the salt of the earth. Make us humble enough to love each other in the different ways we live out that promise, and courageous enough to faithfully live it out the particular way you call each of us to. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.