Time to Get Real

Transfiguration A-26
Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

Jesus and the disciples have walked six days, nearly a week. They are moving south from Galilee, through soft, shallow hills that mark the beginning of the slow, steady climb to Jerusalem and the cross. One morning before breakfast, Jesus took with him Peter, and the two brothers, James, and John, and led them up a nearby mountain. Tradition says it was Mt. Tabor in lower Galilee. There, on the summit, Jesus lit up like the sun and became midwife to the birth of a new humanity.

500 years before Christ, Rabbis called Mount Tabor “the navel of the world.” The peak rises from the plain like the belly of a pregnant woman. It is modest, covered in pine, about 11 miles west of the Sea of Galilee. It rises almost 2,000 feet above the plain. Today, a modest hiking trail winds its way three miles to the top—about an hour’s walk. It would have been an obvious and inviting choice for an early-morning climb.

There, on top of the world’s navel, Jesus revealed the radical immanence of the Divine which God has hidden deep within everyone. He showed them what they were made of. The life within all life, the soul within all souls, shown forth from him. To be made of God is to be made of a wildness which cannot be domesticated or tamed. He showed us that we are children of light and called us carry this light with him into the world of shadow and death.

But somehow, Peter didn’t get the memo. Rather than transcendence, Peter was thinking more mundane thoughts. Perhaps Peter speaks for all of us when he suggested they build someplace nice to linger in comfort. Wouldn’t that be the perfect end to the Jesus story? Popular religious imagination dictates that the faith journey leads us upwards. We strive toward the mountaintop of glory to sit around and shoot the breeze with Moses, Elijah, and all the other saints in light. Peter’s instinct was to hoard their spiritual high. He is mid-sentence when a terrifying cloud overshadowed them. They are seized with fear and knocked to the ground. A heavenly interrupts him saying, “This is my Son, my chosen; listen to him!” (Luke 9: 28-30; 34-35)

In other words, God says, ‘shut up Peter,’ your pious sounding words completely miss the point. You WILL make temples but not here. They will be built with living stones and made with human hands. You will build circles of solidarity and communities of welcome and hospitality. I desire cathedrals of compassion and justice any place that the light in all people is being crushed and dominated by the power of death and darkness. In Christ Jesus, you will be my living sanctuary.

The way of Jesus leads down the mountain of transfiguration and to the cross. For reasons only love can explain, though he was in the form of God, Jesus did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped but came down, was born of human flesh, and lived among us, full of grace and truth. (Philippians 2:6 & John 1:14).

St. Paul quotes the words of an ancient Christian hymn and urges us to “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 2:5). This is the living sanctuary in which we live and move and have our being. This is the only kind of sanctuary that can enable us to do the work Jesus calls us to do that doesn’t burn us and our little light out. From within the sanctuary of peace and shalom that travels in us, with us, and among us—we follow Jesus to the cross to confront the powers and principalities of death and shadow. With Jesus we throw our bodies like a wrench into the gears of empire, colonization, and exploitation grinding human and non-human life for profit.

We stand on the threshold of Lent, the season of death, a time of resisting temptation, fasting, prayer, and repentance. “Lent fosters an awareness of mortality that brings with it something more than self-denial…For death reminds us that we are vulnerable, thus calling us to discover the beauty of humility. Death insists that human power and greed are folly and so directs our efforts toward compassion and generosity. …Ultimately, death can unite us with our truest selves. Lent is for realists” (Diana Butler Bass, A Beautiful Year, p. 113).

One of the most important theologians of the 20th century, Reinhold Niebuhr, coined the political philosophy he called, ‘Christian Realism.’ Christian Realism, is a theological and political perspective that emphasizes human sinfulness, the inevitability of conflict, and the need for a balance of power. In the shadow of WWII Niebuhr wrote a book in 1944 called, The Children of Light and the Children of Darkness.

The “children of light,” he said, were the naive idealists—liberals, progressives, and democrats who believed that the conflict between self-interest and the general interest can be resolved through reason, education, or good-faith dialogue. Niebuhr called them “stupid” or “foolish,” not because they lacked intelligence, but because they chronically underestimated the power of self-interest and collective egotism. They could not see that human groups never willingly give up their interests to the general good.

The “children of darkness,” by contrast, were the moral cynics who knew no law beyond their own will or the will of their community. Niebuhr called them “wise in their generation” because they understood the reality of self-interest and the operations of power. But they were “evil” because they recognized no moral law beyond themselves which ultimately becomes the seed of their downfall.
Jesus taught us to get real about the God-light within us. Niebuhr gets real about what is at stake in walking Jesus’ way of the cross. The struggle for justice is obligatory precisely because it is never complete. Democracy is worth defending not because it is destined to triumph but because it is good—the form of political organization most consistent with human dignity and most capable of checking human sin. One fights without guarantee of victory, hopes without certainty of fulfillment, and perseveres because the alternative is capitulation to evil.

To do this, Jesus said, the children of light must be wise as serpents and innocent as doves (Matthew 10:16). The children of light must become wise without becoming evil. They must get real and see clearly without losing hope. They must fight without surrendering their souls. You are light and salt, Jesus said. The children of darkness have no taste, no flavor but cruelty.
Niebuhr did not counsel despair. He counseled realism. ‘The human…capacity for justice makes democracy possible, but the human inclination to injustice makes democracy necessary,’ he said. Democracy is necessary—not because humans are good, but because they are not.

The children of darkness thrive when the children of light fail to deliver justice. Democracy without economic democracy generates its own gravediggers. When large portions of the population experience economic vulnerability, social dislocation, and cultural humiliation—while elites prosper and preach about diversity—the ground is prepared for demagogues.

This means that defeating the powers and principalities requires more than winning elections. “It requires addressing the material conditions that make people susceptible to the appeal of the children of darkness. It requires economic policies that deliver tangible benefits to working people. It requires rebuilding the civic institutions—unions, churches, community organizations—that once provided meaning and solidarity outside the marketplace.” (Tripp Fuller, “Steve Bannon is Not an Idiot,” Process This, 2/11/26)

“For contemporary politics, this teaching has concrete implications. Labor organizing, which builds the countervailing power of workers against capital. Coalition politics, which assembles diverse groups into alliances capable of winning elections. Institutional fortification, which strengthens the agencies and procedures that check executive overreach. Voter mobilization, which translates demographic potential into electoral power.”

On the mountain of Jesus’ transfiguration, the barrier between the visible and invisible was broken. Now we see the two are woven of the same fabric. Standing on the threshold of Lent, it is time once again to get real. Get real about the depth of human dignity planted in you by grace. Get real about the challenges we face as a people and as a nation. Get real and know that God is in you, with you, and among you. Get real and know the loving mercy of God.

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Human is Human is Human is Human

Epiphany 5A-26

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

In 1630, Puritan John Winthrop preached one of the most famous sermons in American history. His words included this oft-quoted line: “For we must consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us.” America never was or ever has been a Christian nation, of course. But the Puritan leader hoped the colonists could live up to God’s calling for their new community by following “…the counsel of the prophet Micah, to do justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with our God.”  Those who assert that America is an exclusively Christian nation forget Winthrop’s reference to Micah and pretty much everything else in his sermon. Winthrop exhorted them, “We must delight in each other; make others’ conditions our own; rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, as members of the same body. So shall we keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace.” (Diana Butler Bass, “You Call this a Prayer Breakfast?”, Sunday Musings, 2/7/26)

Winthrop’s words were a clear reference to our reading today from the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus said, “You are the light of the world.” You are salt and light. Imagine how Jesus’s first followers might have understood being called salt and light. Firelight was the only light humans could make in Jesus’ day until the industrial age. Light came from the sun, moon, and stars. Salt was so hard sought it was used as currency to pay Roman soldiers. The word ‘salary’ derives from salt.  Salt and light were a precious gift necessary for the health and flourishing of community.

You are salt and light. Remember what sorts of people Jesus addressed in his famous Sermon.  The poor, the mournful, the meek, the persecuted. The hungry, the sick, the crippled, the frightened.  The outcast, the misfit, the disreputable, and the demon possessed. “You,” he told them all. “You are the salt of the earth.”” You are the light of the world. (Debie Thomas) Modern people often miss the shocking, profound affirmation of human worthiness contained in Jesus’ message.

But notice, nowhere in Jesus’ beautiful words of blessing did he say ‘you are blessed’ but everyone else is not. Yet that is exactly how classical Christian theology has twisted Jesus’ message as if salt and light belonged exclusively to the church, or to the leaders of the church.

Ask an evolutionary biologist. They would remind you that you, and everyone who has ever lived, are bottled lighting and salty sea water. Jesus’ Sermon simply tells us what we already are. The Sermon on the Mount is a benediction upon the whole world. There is no border, no boundary, no line separating nations, no longitude, nor latitude that divides all living things from the blessings bestowed by God. As in highest heaven so it is also on earth. We are siblings in Christ—children of salt and light.

The salt and light in you can never be stolen from you, beaten out of you, or spoiled even by your own misdeeds. You are imbued with the distinctive capacity to elicit goodness, to grow in generosity and wisdom which leads to personal and global transformation. Human is human is human is human. (Debie Thomas)

Our lectionary points us toward what becoming human filled with salt and light means. St. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians says we become part of a new humanity that contradicts the conventional way of the world.  We become grafted into the undying life of God revealed in the self-giving death of Christ. Psalm 112 says such persons are “gracious and merciful” (verse 4), “generous” in “justice,” (verse 5), “not afraid” in the world (verse 8), and ready to give to the poor (verse 9). Children of God live a life given over to the well-being of community. Isaiah 58 answers the question of “Who belongs?” The prophet points us toward inclusion of those most unlike “us.” The new human person in Christ practices a large, embracing, notion of the neighborhood.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus designates his community of followers as “salt” (Matthew 5:13) and as “light” (verse 14), the ones who obey the Torah command to love God and to love neighbor. The “righteousness that exceeds” (verse 20) is not about punctilious moralism or self-enhancement through “goodness.” Rather, it concerns a reach beyond the self to the neighborhood and the world.

Thus, the righteousness of the psalm, the inclusiveness of the prophetic poem, and the new righteousness of Jesus add up to the “mind of Christ” in 1 Corinthians 2:16, the capacity to act and to give, even as Jesus gave himself for the world. “Such a human person unmistakably lives against the stream in our society. Clearly the Jesus community is peopled by folk with energy and courage to live beyond ‘business as usual.’” (Walter Brueggemann, Sojourners Magazine) 

The people of God are salt and light. Good religion does not fail Jesus’ test of loving neighbors and enacting mercy. Taste and see. This month our nation remembers the story of Black history that began in America in August of 1619 when 20 slaves disembarked from a ship in Jamestown, Virginia, and the captain traded them for provisions of food.  By 1860, the United States census identified four million slaves.

Now 400 yeas later, we acknowledge that neither the Civil War, nor the Emancipation Proclamation, nor the Thirteenth Amendment, nor the Civil rights movement fully abolished what Abraham Lincoln called the “monstrous injustice” of slavery.

The American claim to be a shining city on a hill will always be rudely contradicted by our everyday lives as long as Americans remain in denial about the reality of race and racism.  Jim Wallis and Bryan Stevenson have called racism America’s original sin.  The late great James Baldwin said, “The story of the Negro in America is the story of America.  It is not a pretty story.”  Jesus taught us human is human is human is human filled with salt and light.

Upwards of 200 million people are expected to sit before the blue light of their television this afternoon.  Marketers forecast Americans will consume more than 11 million pounds of salty chips watching all or some parts of the Super Bowl. The light of Christ is the true light.  The salt of grace is the true food that satisfies.

Our enslaved ancestors understood this. It is one of the most counter-intuitive facts of our history that blacks adopted the religion of their white oppressors, a religion intentionally used as a weapon in their oppression. Slave masters hoped to use the Christian gospel to keep the people they enslaved passive. Yet they, like the first followers before them, weak and downtrodden as they were, heard and saw something they weren’t supposed to see. They heard Jesus say that they were salt and light. Their lives had dignity and meaning beyond their economic worth. They were precious. They were siblings in Christ regardless of where they came from or who their family was.  They caught God’s vision of the beloved community. They saw what it meant to be truly, fully human and alive.  And what is that vision? The prophet Isaiah spelled it out. “If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.” (Isaiah 58:9b-10)

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Love, Love, Love

Epiphany 4A-26

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

“Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly.” Micah 6:8 has long been tattoo fodder for Christians. It shouldn’t be edgy. But it is. In fact, all our readings are “woke” enough to be banned in some parts of today’s America.

Micah tells us God called upon the mountains and hills to be the judge. “Hear, you mountains, the case of the Lord, and you enduring foundations of the earth, for the Lord has a case against his people, and he will contend with Israel” (Micah 6:2). God challenged Israel’s rampant injustice by taking the people to court. “O my people, what have I done to you?” God laments. “In what have I wearied you? Answer me!” (Micah 6:3). Like a prosecutor God systematical examines their actions, recounting the signs of mercy and loving kindness shown to them from generation to generation, searching for a sign that they are living up to who God called them to be.

Can mountains and hills bear witness? Does the very ground we stand on stand in judgement of us? The bible surely thinks so.  Rocks, like this small greenish Precambrian stone I plucked from the shores of Iona in Scotland, are among the oldest found anywhere in the world. It is more than 2 billion years old within it the planet has unintentionally kept a rich and idiosyncratic journal of its past.

God called out to the “enduring foundations of the earth” to hear the case against God’s people (Micah 6:2). God addresses these ancient beings and asks for their witness to things much smaller, younger, and more ephemeral than they are.

Psalm 89:2 declares “the world is built with loving-kindness.” Loving-kindness is the very foundation on which the world rests. Ancient Jewish teaching (the Pirkei Avot) identified loving-kindness as one of the three pillars on which the world stands. (Study of Torah and service to others are the other two.) The Torah mentions chesed — the Hebrew word roughly translated as loving-kindness—245 times. Chesed endures forever (Psalm 136). Chesed, Jeremiah tells us, is what God does (9:24). God built the earth with loving-kindness, and God sustains the earth through loving-kindness. Loving-kindness, the bible declares, is a cosmic constant.

The prophet Micah gets specific. Leaders, he wrote, “tear the skin from my people,” and “break their bones in pieces” (3:2–3). They despise justice, distort the right, take bribes as a matter of course, and are “skilled in doing evil with both hands.” Even worse, the religious leaders, who should have known better, approved and legitimized this unholy status quo, proclaiming that it was God’s will. The news was just too much even for God. “He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (6:8). (Amy Frykholm, “From the Foundations of the Earth,” Journey with Jesus, 1/25/26)

This month, for the season of Epiphany, we have heard the evangelist Matthew tell how the evil powers and principalities of Empire tried to snuff out the light of Christmas — and of the ways in which God widened the circle of light, the manifestation of peace and mercy, in the face that opposition. Since January 6 (I’m referring here of course to the feast of Epiphany), we’ve read the horror story of King Herod and his massacre of Jewish infants, when we were invited to “go home by another way” with the Wise Men who visited the child Jesus, and attended Jesus’ baptism. In the past two weeks, we listened to Jesus, now all grown up, address us. What were his first words? ‘Come and see.’ His second? ‘Follow me.’

“In today’s gospel, he shared with his followers God’s vision of a just world where the poor, the grieving, the meek, the starving, the merciful, the innocent, the peaceable, and those who are persecuted and reviled for doing good are the “big shots,” the “blessed,” like the prophets and revered ancestors. It is his description of the Kingdom of God, where there is no “king” as we know kings, where the mighty have been cast from their thrones and the lowly lifted up — just like his mother had promised before his birth.” (Diana Butler Bass, Sunday Musings, 2/01/26).

The grace of Christ exposes the lie in the ways of the world.   We cannot be full while others are hungry.  We cannot become wealthy while we empty the land of resources.  The greatest power is not the power to control but the power to include. This was the reforming spirit by which people of Christ swam against the tide of greed and Empire in Roman times.  Over decades and centuries, including many failures and tragedies, the faith of God’s people inspired laws, institutions and cultural norms: hospitals, schools, and an equal regard for all life. That’s why we may be so bold to say the church was made for times like these because the church was born in times like these.

In October of 2016, Pope Francis said, “It’s hypocrisy to call yourself a Christian and chase away a refugee or someone seeking help, someone who is hungry or thirsty, toss out someone who is in need of my help… If I say I am Christian, but do these things, I’m a hypocrite.”  (Pope Francis, Catholic News Service, 10/13/16)

St. Paul too reminds us today that walking the way of true wisdom is foolishness in the eyes of the world.  “For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God” (1 Corinthians 1:18).

The cross, the beatitudes and the courtroom scene depicted by the prophet Micah makes foolish the wisdom of the world.  God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom.  God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.  The wisdom of God exposes the foolishness of human ways.

A Latin American prayer asks: “Lord, to those who hunger, give bread. And to those who have bread, give the hunger for justice.” As we pray at the eucharist, ‘The cry of the poor is God’s own cry; Our hunger and thirst for justice is God’s own desire.’ (Eucharistic prayer, ELW #VII)

The Beatitudes draw a character portrait of the face and will of God. We see the divine image reflected in lovingkindness woven in, with, and under the natural world.  Together, they provide the foundation for Christian nonviolent resistance. To live the Beatitudes is to live differently and to think differently. “Wherever there is injustice, discrimination, division, discord, violence, we should find peacemakers, God’s children.” Where the battle rages between the forces of light and [shadow], we should find the meek and merciful, God’s helpers. (Mary Lou Kownacki, O.S.B., Behold the Nonviolent One).

The prophet Micah imagined that God took people to trial, not merely to condemn them, but ultimately to become reconciled with them again.  Likewise, Jesus offers the beatitudes as steps toward a disarmed heart. In a world of wealth and war, says Jesus, blessed are the poor and the peacemakers. Instead of violence and vengeance, blessed are the mournful, the meek, and the merciful. The faithful hold in tension two truths, the first is, “I am dust and ashes;” the other is, “For me the universe was made” (Kownacki).

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Now is the Time for Choosing

Epiphany 3A-26
Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

‘When Jesus heard that John had been arrested… he began to proclaim, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” (Matthew 4:12 & 17). I have written eight sermons on this gospel in the past 30 years about Jesus’ iconic call to discipleship to four fishermen beside the sea of Galilee. Not once have I ever paid attention to that first line. Jesus began his ministry after John was arrested. Must the good news of God’s love always encounter state sponsored violent opposition?

Yesterday morning, on a street in Minneapolis, at least seven federal agents tackled and then shot and killed Alex Jeffrey Pretti, a 37-year-old ICU nurse for the local VA hospital. Apparently, Alex was killed for caring. He tried to help a woman up on her feet after federal agents had shoved her to the ground. That’s when he was pepper sprayed, tackled, and shot. He had a permit to carry a gun that he never attempted to use. Agents had removed that gun before they shot him.

Let me just stop right here to tell you my opinion which, I believe, is well supported by the facts. You have a right to own a weapon, but if you do your risk of being injured or killed by a gun are substantially higher. Research consistently indicates that owning a gun makes you and everyone else in your home less safe due to an increased risk of suicide, homicide, and unintentional shootings.

Alex had a gun. He was an American citizen practicing his first and second amendment rights. He was taking video. He was directing traffic. He was trying to help a neighbor. Some of the most powerful people in our government immediately labeled him a domestic terrorist. They want to blame the victim by calling him a terrorist just like they called Rene Good a terrorist who was murdered two weeks ago in the streets of Minneapolis by a federal agent. Because of all the videos, we know they’re lying. They know we know they’re lying, but instead of acknowledging the truth, they’re doubling down. This goes beyond authoritarianism to totalitarianism. The attempt to control what we think and say and do even if it contradicts the obvious, plain facts.

There is something about the darkness that is ominous and scary, especially when the powers and principalities gather around and intimidate us. Or sometimes, when threats we cannot see haunt us. Today’s readings invite us to look the darkness of oppression and abandonment in the face, receive the light, and become fearless. Once again here comes Jesus, as he did all those centuries ago from beside the Sea of Galilee, saying, now is the time for choosing.

Simon and Andrew, then James and John, heard and followed Jesus. Perhaps they meant to follow only for a moment, or just to satisfy their curiosity. Yet moments became hours, then days, a week, a season, and finally, a way of life. The disciples followed him and kept following him. They were hooked. They left their nets, their boats, family members, and everything they knew to follow Jesus and never look back.

What was so enticing and persuasive it had power to transform the lives of the disciples so completely? What was the bait? Jesus had only one thing in his tackle box, the Divine Lure, the law of love, the euangelion—the good news—the gospel. Jesus cast the good news into the turbulent waters of the world to pull people out the pain and suffering caused by hate, fear, hopelessness, poverty, and any other thing that degrades and dehumanizes us. Jesus invites us to do the same. Now is the time for choosing. Jesus cast out the Good News of grace and let the Holy Spirit do the rest.
Jesus rejected the comforts of nearby cities like Tiberius and Sepphoris, places you might expect a talented young Rabbi to go. Instead, he went searching in the fertile fishing grounds among those in need. Capernaum was in back-water country. Zebulun and Naphtali were the “wild west,” a rough, unruly place frequented by bandits and revolutionaries derided by religious authorities in Jerusalem as uncivilized, semi-literate, and infected by paganism. It was a land familiar with brutality, poverty, and hunger. It was a land unaccustomed to hope.

Imagine a place where security and safety are stripped away. Every asset may be claimed by conquerors of the moment. Every child born can be taken by the powerful into slavery. Every harvest, every catch of fish, can be seized by the mighty. Every hope for the future could be stolen by masters who have the final say. “This is ‘the land of deep darkness’ into which Jesus journeyed. (Amy Oden, Dean and Professor of History of Christianity, Wesley Theological Seminary)

That’s the place Jesus went in search of disciples. It was a fertile place to fish for human hearts and minds hungry for hope. Simon and Andrew, James and John responded to the good news, hooked by the divine lure, the fabulous, preposterous message Jesus declared: “The kingdom of heaven has come near.” Now is the time for choosing.

“Jesus inaugurated a new age, heralded a new order, and called the people to conversion. “Repent!” he said. Why? Because the new order of the kingdom is breaking in upon you and, if you want to be a part of it, you will need to undergo a fundamental transformation…No aspect of human existence is safe from this sweeping change–neither the personal, nor the spiritual, social, economic, and political. The kingdom of God has come to change the world and us with it.” The first followers were called the ‘people of the Way.’ “Christians at the beginning were associated with a particular pattern of life…The early Christians were known for the way they lived, not only for what they believed…The earliest title given to them reflected the importance of their kingdom lifestyle. They were not called the people of “the experience” or the people of “right doctrine” or even the people of “the church.” Rather, they were the people of ‘the Way.’” (Jim Wallis, President and founder of Sojourners magazine, excerpted from his book, The Call to Conversion.)

The bait Jesus used was his very own life. With this hook Jesus showed them how to live. Look, we are being drawn out of isolation into communion. Hooked, pulled, fighting, resisting we become like fish out of water, thrown into a life we could not imagine. The kingdom of God in which we now find ourselves is not a place, or a destination, but a way of life. Now we finally understand we belong to each other and to all people, our brothers and sisters in Christ, whom God created, named, and loves. Now, as the body of Christ, we become bait for people like us who are lost and hurting. Now is the time for choosing!

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For Such a Time as This

Baptism of our Lord-A26

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America…” I remember standing to face the flag in kindergarten, hand over my heart, to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. Years earlier, like many of you, I was baptized as an infant at Elim Lutheran Church in Fargo North Dakota. The minister traced the cross on my forehead and said, “Child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.” (ELW p. 231) I have pledged allegiance to both the font and to the flag. Which holds higher place?

I think we all know the right answer. Allegiance to God comes before fidelity to nation. Yet, somehow, many Christians today have reversed this order. With a straight face they claim God favors America above all other nations, or that God values white men above other people. Or worse, they proclaim an anti-gospel of power for power’s sake, which Senior White House aide Stephen Miller this week called, ‘…the iron law of the world since the beginning of time,’ (CNN interview with Jack Tapper, 1/5/26).

As Lutheran pastor and theologian, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, made clear, ‘Those who are baptized no longer belong to the world, no longer serve the world, and are no longer subject to it. They belong to Christ alone and relate to the world only through Christ.’ (Bonhoeffer, Introduction to the Cost of Discipleship, 1937).

At his baptism, Jesus experienced a moment of divine revelation, called an epiphany, as he came up out of the water. The word “epiphany” comes from the Greek meaning “insight,” or “appearing,” or “revealing,” or “a shining forth.” We cannot create epiphanies, but we can respond to them. The Sacrament of baptism is an outward, visible sign of an inward, invisible grace. In other words, it is an epiphany. (Debi Thomas, “Stepping In,” Journey with Jesus, 1/05/20)

“To embrace Christ’s baptism story is to embrace the core truth that we are united, interdependent, connected, one.  It is to sit with the staggering reality that we are deeply, loved. We belong to a created universe that whispers, laughs, and shouts God’s name from every nook and corner. Christians are called into radical solidarity, not radical separateness.” The One who holds history, holds time, holds earth and sun and wind and sky, and holds me and you. (Thomas).

The epiphany of Christ reveals a golden rule emanating from the heart of creation that is older than the iron rule of rulers. Dictators may love gold, but they hate the golden rule. Christ the logos, is the golden law which operates in all things pulling us toward life and the abundance of life. This sense of epiphany, rooted in the incarnation, widens our vision so that everything can be a sacrament, meaning every person, creature, plant, and object can be an opportunity to encounter something of the Divine Presence in the world.  (Richard Rohr, “Recognizing Grace,” Daily Meditations, 11/10/25)

‘Which means I must choose Epiphany.  Choose it and then practice it.  The challenge is always before us: look again. Look harder. See freshly.  Stand in the place that looks utterly ordinary, and regardless of how scared or jaded you feel, cling to the possibility of a surprise that is God. Listen to the ordinary and know that it is infused with divine mystery.  Epiphany is deep water. You must take a deep breath and plunge in.’  God does not dominate us with an iron rule. Instead, God calls us into relationship ruled by the law of love. Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.

That is why everything that comes into the world brings novelty into the world; starting with the first great novelty—14 billion years ago when the universe exploded into existence. For the first 2 billion years, all there was, as Genesis tells us, was light; all there was, was energy. We are the product of that light.

And then, as if that illumination were not miraculous enough, some of these stars collapsed and exploded again, sending out more material that had never existed which ultimately makes me and you possible. We would not exist without carbon; we would not exist without iron.

Fast forward another four billion years and on one very lucky planet, the third rock from the sun, there is pervasive thunder and lightning. But not lightning like we see today. The lightning of ten billion years ago is a lightning that is constant and everywhere! Life emerged in the frothy mix of lightning and water on planet earth. Do you know what powers your consciousness? We are packets of lightning. Our nervous systems are electrical systems. The flash of lightning that burst into life, continues to burst inside of you at this moment. I am speaking words and you are hearing me thanks to bottled lightning.

And then, as if that were not miracle enough, these little packets of lightning—learned to eat. Life learned to digest life. Life learned to grow by building more life, and the miracles continued as cells learned how to convey information. We got some backbone in ourselves, and then did something astonishing, unprecedented: We left our mother, the ocean.

“I told you before that you are portable lightning, but that is not the whole story. You are also portable bags of ocean; the saline solution of your blood is closer to the content of ocean water than you realize. We are living, walking puddles of ocean, powered by lightning. In our bodies, in our self, is the entire story of the universe continuing to unfold. You yourselves contain the energy of the Big Bang, the primordial lightning out of which life emerged, the salty life-giving mix of the sea, the sociability of primates—all of that ancient history is in you, in each of us.” As the poet Walt Whitman once said, ‘You contain multitudes.’ (Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson, “CLAY in the Potter’s Hands: Human Evolution in a Self-Creating World,” Creative Transformation magazine).

“Christ is the communion of divine personal love expressed in every created form of reality — every star, leaf, bird, fish, tree, rabbit, and human person” (Ilia Delio). The French poet and philosopher, Paul Valéry, said, “The universe is built on a plan, the profound symmetry of which is somehow present in the inner structure of our own intellect.” I could not be me without ‘we.’ In fact, I could not exist without us. A shift takes place when we see life in this way. Our minds, our bodies, our emotions, our way of being in the world, are the universe itself organized into consciousness. Or the universe organizing itself and erupting into consciousness.” (Artson). ‘If that’s not an epiphany I don’t know what is.

“This extraordinary season [of Epiphany] induces awe. Epiphany reveals that there is more to the world than what we accept as “ordinary.” And there are powers and principalities that will press against Epiphany with fear and great violence….” as King Herod did at the birth of Jesus (Diana Butler Bass, A Beautiful Year, p. 78).

There will always be those who attempt to deny or to destroy the rule of love, but love is undeniable and indestructible because love is life itself.  Epiphany is made for such a time as this. Perhaps Epiphany is the season we most need now. “We need its clarity, its sharp starkness. Maybe this moment in history is an epiphany — the ordinary is being pulled back to reveal that which has been hidden from view—both the ugly and the sublime. “It is as if the universe has cracked open with truth and terror. We live in awful and awe-filled times.” Some of what we know as ordinary has become the gateway to glory; and some of what we, and people like Stephen Miller have accepted as ordinary, has shown itself to be just another hiding place of vanity and self-delusion. It takes an epiphany to reveal which is which — to know the deepest love in the world and live in the tailings of the star.” (Butler-Bass).

“Yes, baptism promises new life, but it always drowns before it resurrects.”  (Thomas). ‘You are fearfully and wonderfully made’ (Psalm 139:14). You are descended from generations of stars. You are born of lightning, born of ocean, formed of Spirit and of earth. You are friends of Christ Jesus. You are children of God. “We are to be light bearers. You are to choose the light” (Madeline L’Engle, Ring of Endless Light).  So, arise. Shine. Be light.

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Our Hearts Grow

First Sunday of Christmas- A25
Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

When the Grinch stole Christmas, they say his very small heart grew four times that day once he heard the joyful singing of the Who’s down in Whoville celebrating despite the shocking discovery that all their Christmas presents, holiday food, and decorations were gone. The Grinch repented. His heart was changed. He suddenly had the strength of 10 Grinches once he realized that Christmas is about grace-filled community more than empty materialism. Even more amazing, the Who’s did not slap him in jail for what he had done but welcomed him in fellowship at their Christmas table.

There’s a whole lot of gospel in Dr. Suess. Yet I wonder, would his heart have soften as much if the Who’s insisted on welcoming resident aliens or people of a different religion to their town? Does the outcome change once Whoville became diverse and pluralistic—including perhaps Star-belly Sneetches and Plain-belly Sneetches, Sam-I-Am, Yertle the Turtle, and the Lorax?

Perhaps you heard about the nativity scene outside Lake Street Church in Evanston? It was attacked recently. The scene had featured baby Jesus wearing zip ties, Mary and Jesus wearing gas masks, and all three flanked by Roman centurions dressed as ICE agents wearing masks and sunglasses. Vandals decapitated and smashed the statue of Mary. The church replaced the destroyed Mary with a sign saying that Mary had been beaten and dragged away in front of her son and is being held in immigration detention.

Anti-ICE nativity scenes sprouted up in communities across America this year. Many, including the Catholic Archdiocese of Boston, condemned them, declaring such politically divisive displays are incompatible with being a place of prayer and worship. I wonder, have they read today’s gospel? “When the magi had departed, an angel from the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, ‘Get up. Take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt…for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him’” (Matthew 2:13). The Nativity scene, like Dr. Suess’ Whoville, is a parable of radical hospitality and empathy. In a country where white Christianity has become a weapon of authoritarian violence, anti-ICE nativities re-center the reason for the season: Christ’s humble beginnings amid political violence. (Emma Cieslik, “Anti-ICE Nativities Are the Reason for the Season,” Sojourners Magazine, 12/22/25)

The Word was born in the flesh of a human mother and laid in a manger. God became just as vulnerable to trampling boots and automatic rifles as the children of Gaza and the children slaughtered in and around Bethlehem by order of King Herod (Mt. 2:16). “Here is where the mystery deepens so profoundly as to escape comprehension. It goes against what we think are our deepest instincts. We do everything to make ourselves less vulnerable, from putting on plated armor, to hardening our feelings, to buying weapons to defend us from the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” to quote Hamlet. If the Word, without whom nothing that was made was made, is willing to be so defenseless, then perhaps it isn’t really our deepest instinct to defend ourselves so aggressively after all. (Andrew Marr, Moving and Resting in God’s Desire, ch. 5, “A Word from Above,” pp. 91-93.)

“The birth of Jesus is a new birth of mercy in the world. The fearful world of Pharaoh/Herod dreads mercy. But, says the story, mercy will have its way. Neither Herod of the empire nor the raw power of death will stop the future given in God’s good mercy.” No wonder heaven and nature dance and sing.” (Marr) From beginning to end, Matthew’s gospel intends to awaken minds, hearts, and bodies left for dead by the powers of domination and violence.

In her own reflections on this text, Lutheran pastor Pam Fickenscher observes: “You could make a good argument that we should save this story for another day — Lent, maybe, or some late-night adults-only occasion. But our songs of peace and public displays of charity have not erased the headlines of child poverty, gun violence, and even genocide. This is a brutal world. Today the victims are statistically less likely to be Jewish and more likely to be from Darfur, or [Gaza], Zimbabwe, or Ukraine Iraq, but the sounds of Rachel weeping for her children are not uncommon. If we could hear them, they would drown out our cheerful, tinny carols every few seconds or so.” (Pam Fickenscher, “Remembering Rachel: The Slaughter of the Innocents,” Journey with Jesus, 12/30/07).

The birth of the baby Jesus is the antidote to Christmas sentimentality and every form of cheap comfort. The events surrounding his birth remind us how the savior of the world “shared in our humanity” and was “made like us in every respect.” Because Jesus suffered our every pain and sorrow, beginning from an infanticide at his birth and lasting to his death as a criminal, “he is able to help those who suffer” (Hebrews 2:10–18). (Daniel Clendenin, “Beyond a Sentimental Gospel: The Slaughter of the Innocents,” Journey with Jesus, 2010)

The king Herods of the world, whether ancient or modern, are right about one thing; if Jesus is Lord, then Caesar is decidedly not lord. These kings do the opposite of the magi; they work hard to make the subversive kin-dom of Jesus subservient to the political power of the state. The Christmas message kindles a preposterous hope. The Herods, Pharoahs, Caesars, and Christian nationalists have power to do great harm, but they do not prevail.

This week the Department of Homeland Security posted, “This Christmas, our hearts grow as our illegal population shrinks.” The U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) shared an AI video of Santa Claus putting on a bulletproof vest, then handcuffing an immigrant, processing the person, and then loading them onto an “ICE” plane for deportation. Journalist Jennifer Rubin writes, “…White Christian nationalists generally do not seem interested in good works, helping the most vulnerable, or personal character. This is a movement seeking power, not redemption. Its adherents are motivated to remake America into a white, Christian dominated nation. Lacking the votes to bring their goals about through democracy, they are all too willing to suppress voting and rely on other anti-democratic measures. Blowing up people on the high seas, separating children from parents, brutalizing Hispanics, and taking away SNAP benefits are features, not bugs for people lacking empathy who seek racial and religious dominance.” (Jennifer Rubin, The Contrarian, 12/23/25).

We need something more than holiday cheer to recover from what ails us. We need strong gospel medicine to turn from the fever dream of unilateral power and to embrace the golden rule of love. We cleave to Christ and not the gun. This is how we begin to make a difference in this world. As we face a New Year, the only resolution we need make is to let Christ live in us and through us. The way of Jesus goes through reality—the reality of suffering—not around it, or over it, but through it. This is the Good News for us as we head into January and return to our post-holiday realities. Our hymn of the day is our prayer: “Give us, God, such faith and courage when we move from place to place, and to those who come among us, make us channels of your grace. Let us see in every stranger refugees from Bethlehem, help us offer each welcome and receive Christ in them, (ACS #1060). And let our hearts grow four times larger filled with God’s compassion and love.

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God’s Best Gift

Christmas Eve – 25
Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

‘Let the heavens rejoice. Let the earth be glad. ‘The mountains and hills burst into song. ‘The trees of the wood shout for joy and clap their hands’ (Psalm 96:11-12 & Isaiah 55:12). “To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord” (Luke 2:11). 13.8 billion years ago God created the heavens and much later formed humankind in the divine image. Earth and cosmos resonate as with music as the Word, which was with God, and the Word that was God…brings all things into to being through Christ. Without Christ nothing comes to be (John 1:1, 3).
On this night, this holy night, we tell the old, old story of union with God, union with one another, and union with creation. Immanuel, ‘God with us,” incarnation, is God’s best gift. The Spirit of God is poured to fill all things with beauty, wisdom, and grace. “To be alive in the adventure of Jesus is to kneel at the manger and gaze upon that little baby who is radiant with so much promise for our world today.” (Brian D. McLaren, We Make the Road by Walking: A Year-Long Quest for Spiritual Formation, Reorientation, and Activation (Jericho Books, 2014), 79–80.)

“On Christmas Eve, we celebrate a new beginning. We welcome the dawning of a new light. A new day begins with sunrise. A new year begins with lengthening days. A new life begins with infant eyes taking in their first view of a world bathed in light. And a new era in human history began when God’s light came shining into our world through Jesus.” (McLaren)
“What do we mean when we say Jesus is the light? Just as a glow on the eastern horizon tells us that a long night is almost over, Jesus’ birth signals the beginning of the end for the dark night of fear, hostility, violence, and greed that has descended on our world. Jesus’ birth signals the start of a new day, a new way, a new understanding of what it means to be alive.” (McLaren)

“Aliveness, he will teach, is a gift available to all by God’s grace. It flows not from taking, but giving, not from fear but from faith, not from conflict but from reconciliation, not from domination but from service. It isn’t found in the outward trappings of religion—rules and rituals, controversies and scruples, temples and traditions. No, it springs up from our innermost being like a fountain of living water. It intoxicates us like the best wine ever and so turns life from a disappointment into a banquet. This new light of aliveness and love opens us up to rethink everything—to go back and become like little children again. Then we can rediscover the world with a fresh, childlike wonder—seeing the world in a new light, the light of Christ.” (McLaren)

‘When Christians hear the word “incarnation,” most of us think about the birth of Jesus, who personally demonstrated God’s radical unity with humanity. But the first incarnation, God’s best gift, was the moment described in Genesis 1, when God joined in unity with the physical universe and became the light inside of everything. The incarnation, then, is not only “God becoming Jesus.” It is a much broader and ubiquitous event in which God is encountered in other human beings, and on a mountain, or in a blade of grass, and in a bird in flight.’ Seeing in this way reframes, reenergizes, and broadens our religious beliefs, in a way that is urgently needed today. “It can offer us the deep and universal meaning that Western civilization seems to lack and long.” (Richard Rohr, Daily Meditations, Christ in All Things, 12/22/25).  

Incarnation, God’s best gift, has the potential to enliven dialogue of mutual respect and learning between people of different religions. God’s gift can bring to life deep felt connection and reverence with the land and its creatures. God’s gift is the basis upon which democracy becomes possible. Belief in God-given universal equality and dignity enables citizens to reason together across political differences for the common good.

This Christmas story is powerful gospel medicine. 20th century, English author, philosopher, Christian apologist, poet, journalist and magazine editor, G. K. Chesterton reminds us that, ‘our religion is not the church we belong to, but the cosmos we live inside of’ (G. K. Chesterton, Irish Impressions (John Lane, 1920), p. 215). The universe revealed in Christ Jesus is filled with aliveness. What kind of universe do you inhabit? Once we recognize that the entire physical world around us, all creation, is both the hiding place and the revelation place for God, this world is transformed. It becomes a home, safe and enchanted, offering grace to any who look deeply. It is a place to encounter the risen infant Christ in everyone, in every place, including the face of a friend, a neighbor, a stranger, even our enemies.

Jesuit priest, scientist, and mystic Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (1881–1955), taught that ‘God is incarnate in matter, in flesh, in all of creation, in the cosmos…We are all together “carried in the one world-womb; yet each of us is our own little microcosm in which the incarnation, God’s best gift, is wrought independently with degrees of intensity, and shades that are incommunicable.’ (Ursula King, Christ in All Things: Exploring Spirituality with Teilhard de Chardin (Orbis Books, 1997), 64–65; Hymn of the Universe, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (Harper and Row, 1965), 24, 28.)

Enchantment came naturally to our forebears in faith and to indigenous peoples. Re-enchantment born of incarnation is urgently needed to restore civilization to health and balance. See! Everything sparkles with the fullness and presence of God. Matter is not empty, but everything speaks of the One Life. Spirit and nature. Sacred and secular. Body and soul. Light and darkness. Insider and outsider. Saints and sinners. Life and death. In Christ these dualisms vanish. God is in with and under it all.

Scripture says, ‘Mary treasured the words people said about Jesus and pondered them in her heart’ (Luke 2:19). We wonder at these things too. Wherever two are three are gathered in Jesus’ name, we are midwives to the aliveness of grace God is bringing into being.

Poet and liturgical artist, Jan Richardson, writes beautifully about the mystery of faith in a poem entitled, “How The Light Comes”:

I cannot tell you how the light comes.
What I know is that it is more ancient than imagining.
That it travels across an astounding expanse to reach us.
That it loves searching out what is hidden, what is lost, what is forgotten or in peril or in pain.

That it has a fondness for the body, for finding its way toward the flesh, for tracing the edges of form, for shining forth through the eye, the hand, the heart.

I cannot tell you how the light comes, but that it does.

That it will.
That it works its way into the deepest dark that enfolds you, though it may seem long ages in coming or arrive in a shape you did not foresee.

And so, may we this day turn ourselves toward it.
May we lift our faces to let it find us.
May we bend our bodies to follow the arc it makes.
May we open and open more and open still to the blessed light
that comes.

(How The Light Comes, Jan Richardson, printed in Circle of Grace, p.59)

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What Kind of Messiah?

Advent 3A-25

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

Last Sunday, we read about John’s preaching in the wilderness beside the River Jordan. He seemed so sure of himself.  But now, in his prison cell facing death, he is not so confident.  He sends messengers to ask Jesus, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” (Matthew 11:3)

The question rings like a bell through the centuries. It sounds almost uniquely modern. Disappointments, sickness, death, tragedy, injustice, and evil take turns so that we lose confidence in faith. ‘We had hoped he was the Messiah who had come to rescue us’ (Luke 24:21). But now, we’re not so sure.

Jesus failed to meet John’s expectations.  Matthew’s gospel tells us Jesus had done great deeds of power in cities throughout Galilee, in Chorazin, Bethsaida and Capernaum. But the people did not repent. They sort of just shrugged.  Other ridiculed Jesus, “Look, [they said, this Jesus is] a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners” (Matthew 11:19).  Even Jesus’ own mother and his brothers showed up to question him, presumably to take him home and out of the public eye.

‘Are you the one who is to come, Jesus, or are we to wait for another?’  John questioned Jesus afterlistening to an accounting of Jesus’ deeds (11:2-3), not despite them.  John realized that Jesus was not the supernatural judge his preaching had foretold (Paul S. Nancarrow).  John uses emphatic language in Greek.  He asked Jesus if they should be looking toward someone or something else entirely! (Keener, A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew)

What kind of Messiah were you expecting this Christmas?  Perhaps, like John, you have wondered why the Savior doesn’t simply come down and save us? John the Baptist might have wondered why Jesus didn’t come knock down the walls of his prison, unbind his chains, and set him free.  What kind of Messiah is this Jesus of Nazareth?

Notice, Jesus doesn’t take offense at John’s questions.  Jesus didn’t get defensive. Jesus complemented John even as he remained firm in his own Godly vision for mission.  He responds by asking John’s messengers and the crowd gathered around them, to remember ‘what they had they gone out in the wilderness beside the Jordan to see?’  He asked them to show what they already knew—that neither John nor Jesus were some spectacle—a traveling road show of wonders.  Neither John nor Jesus wore fine robes or lived in royal place such as kings do.  Don’t come here if that’s what you seek.  He told John’s disciples to report what they saw with their eyes, and heard with their ears, and experienced for themselves.

Jesus turned to the passage we read today from Isaiah 35 to direct their attention to a different set of messianic expectations rooted in scripture: not the destruction-filled imagery from the book of Daniel, but the shalom-filled imagery of peace and well-being from Isaiah: “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them” (Matthew 11:5). Jesus invited John to consider a different vision from within the pages of scripture about who the Messiah is.

Our readings this week all point to something John missed that is essential to the character of God.  “All five passages emphasize the people toward whom God is focused. These Scriptures describe at least eighteen — eighteen! — sorts of people in pain who might be forgotten by the world but who are nevertheless remembered by God: the blind, the lame, the diseased, the deaf, the dead, the poor, the dumb, the oppressed, the hungry, the prisoners, the bowed down, foreigners, orphans, widows, the humble, and then, my three favorites, those with feeble hands, weak knees, and fearful hearts.” (Daniel Clendenin)

John and Jesus called us to live according to the way of God and not the way of the world.  The way of God described over and over again by the prophets: is care of society’s most vulnerable (the widow, the orphan, the immigrant); to limit the gap between rich and poor (the Year of Jubilee), not to use power to further the narrow self-interest of yourself and your friends; to not accumulate wealth at the expense of the poor (Jeanyne B. Slettom, Process and Faith).

This is the kind of world that cannot be built by force or the threat of violence but only by love—specifically, by love of God and love of neighbor. John’s followers returned to him.  We don’t know whether he was satisfied with the answer.  Judging from history –I’d say most people are not.

Traveling throughout Great Britain on sabbatical, visiting castle after ruined castle, opened a window for me on the long history of Christianity’s compromising relationship with political power and the economics of Empire. Leaders of the Church were seldom content in the gospel of love alone but sought to add some small measure of political protection to preserve and extend their own power and wealth. Each castle ruin includes, of course, the story of how they met their own predictable and often violent end.

One such place, St. John’s Chapel in the Tower of London. It was built as a place of worship for William the Conqueror inside the iconic royal, military, and prison complex haunted now by stories of countless people imprisoned, tortured, beheaded and hanged there. The Tower is home to an extensive collection of armaments documenting the vast fortunes and enormous amounts of human ingenuity expended on creating the very best weapons of war. The Tower is also the place to see the Crown jewels, some of the biggest, brightest diamonds and gemstones in the world, pilfered, plundered, and stolen from the four corners of the British Empire. So, what was the purpose of St. John’s Chapel? Did it calm the conscience of the powerful?  Did it falsely undergird confidence in their favored status and right to rule—as if God could forget the poor, imprisoned, and orphaned?

Behavioral science tells us we often learn most from our mistakes. Could the collapse of our democracy and impending doom we foresee being wrought by the economics of extraction show us what we, like John the Baptist, either missed or willfully ignored about the Messiah?   Amid collapse, in a time of polycrisis, could the world finally be about to turn?

“The challenge for us in Advent is to allow Jesus to restore our senses, to have him open our eyes and ears so that we can go and tell others what we hear and see” (Erin Martin, Blogging Toward Sunday).  In Christ, we see that God is a friend of the lost.  In Christ, we hear that God stands amid our suffering.  In Christ, God enters our world of darkness and death and decisively fills it with light and life. Jesus has given us new eyes, new ears, a new heart and a new life. He says to us ‘Stop worrying so much about the afterlife. That is in my hands, Jesus says. Focus instead on what I have put in your hands, the world, all its people, and myriads of living creatures so love will reign all in all.’

This Advent, prepare to meet the living God who is always more, whose coming is always different, whose power is always greater and more glorious than we could have imagined.  Who is this Jesus? He is the one who stoops down from heaven.  He is the one who comes to walk with us no matter how messy or fraught with ugly strife, bickering or bitterness our life may be.  He comes not in wrath but in love; not as one who seeks to destroy, but as one with power to transform and renew.  See, the Messiah took on flesh and lived among us.  The spirit of Christ is upon you.  Even now, Jesus dives to bottom of the mucky sea that is our life, to make us new from within.

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Paradise

Christ the King C-25
Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” (Luke 23:43) Today. With me. In paradise. For his coronation, Jesus our king on a cross, invited people to live as he did. He opened a door to our life lived in God. A hideous instrument of torture and death was transformed. On the cross, Jesus shows us the way to live together in paradise. We have become a cruciform people.

Some of you remember our old friend, David Henry. As he was fond of saying, all four gospels contrast the way of life we have in Jesus with the way of Judas. The way of Judas is smart by worldly standards. The way of Jesus is foolishness. Judas avoids capture. Jesus is seized into custody. Judas is given free passage. Jesus is beaten and sentenced to death. Judas operates for himself alone. Jesus values love. Judas prioritizes self-preservation. Jesus stands in solidarity with everyone, especially the poor and all those who suffer. Judas turns a tidy profit—30 pieces of silver. Jesus gives all that he has—even losing his life on the cross. Judas dies alienated and alone. Jesus invites us to dwell with him in paradise from which we cannot be expelled, and which no one can take from us. (Pastor David Henry)

The way of Jesus destroys the wisdom of the wise and the discernment of the discerning. A ruthless Empire of occupation, a corrupt religious hierarchy, a blind, feckless people, faithless friends and betrayers threw their very worst at Jesus and still his heart was full, and his hands wide open. From the cross, Jesus demonstrates that nothing you can do can make God not love you. ‘You can disappoint me,’ he says. ‘You can break my heart and grieve my Spirit.’

Jesus, our king of kings and Lord of Lords, reigns from his throne on the cross, (Revelation 19:16). He bids us to follow him. Set aside your fears and embrace the way of love—for that is the way which leads into abundant life. The choice is always yours. Jesus or Judas? Life or death? Choose life. The path is open. The gate is unlocked. Today. Come be with me in paradise.

Jesus saves us from the illusion that we can free ourselves by killing our enemies. Christ our king offers no path to glory that sidesteps humility, surrender, and sacrificial love. The Lord does not grant me permission to secure my prosperity at the expense of another person’s sweat and suffering. There is no tolerance for the belief that holy ends justify debased means. Truth telling is not optional. God’s kingdom favors the broken-hearted over the cynical and contemptuous. Christ’s church cannot thrive when it aligns itself with brute power. We cannot be Christ’s church offering right answers but not right living. Where does this leave us? I think it leaves us with a king who makes us uncomfortable. (Debie Thomas, A King for This Hour, Journey with Jesus, 11/13/16)

Today, on Christ the King Sunday, our readings point at simple and startling truth: God never wanted kings. Any celebration of Christ the King must become an invitation to deconstruct one of humanity’s worst ideas. Dominion in the book of Genesis was never intended to mean domination. Our twisted view of kingship has done more damage than good. No kings isn’t just a political slogan it’s God’s plea to humanity. Jesus said, I no longer call you servants but friends (John 15:15). On this the last day of the year of our worship cycle we ponder the failure of kings. And we know the calendar will soon turn to the story of a child.” (Diana Butler Bass, A Beautiful Year, p. 313.)

Today you will be with me in paradise, Jesus said. But in the history of Western Christianity paradise became disconnected from today, placing salvation beyond, behind, or ahead of us—but not in the here and now. Paradise became disconnected from full engagement in the present.

Recent scholarship reveals that paradise was the dominant image of early Christian sanctuaries and liturgies (Brock and Parker, Saving Paradise, 2008). For the first thousand years after Christ, paradise meant something more than heaven or the afterlife. For them, paradise was this world permeated and blessed by the Spirit of God. Paradise was the salvation the Spirit offers us in baptism. To experience the Spirit of God in all things and the beauties of this world, early Christians helped each other cultivate an acute attunement to the life around them through art and worship.

These scholars claim “What we need now is a religious perspective that does not locate salvation in a future end point, a transcendent realm, or a zone after death,” (p. 417). In exile and in search of paradise, Christians “…today are anxious for home, for grounding, for meaning, for contact, for communion, and for escape from the present life, which can never match up to our imaginary goals.” Western culture needs to face the origins of its hollowness and to relinquish its violent, colonizing habits (p. 417).

Another Christianity is possible with the return to the wisdom of our ancestors. Paradise is already present. We have neither to retrieve it or construct it. We have only to perceive it and to bring our lives and our cultures into accord with it. This is the way of Jesus. But the way of Judas remains a powerful temptation among us.

Just ten days ago, the Michigan House of Representatives passed resolution 222, declaring that today, November 23rd, be known as Christ the King Sunday in the state of Michigan. Ignoring 240,000 Muslims living in metropolitan Detroit, legislators wished to pause, honor, and acknowledge Christ’s kingship within every aspect of life.
It reminds me of when the disciples got Jesus’ title right, he is the Messiah of God, but repeatedly, misunderstood what it meant for him to be the Christ.

Jesus shows us what God looks like in sandals. Jesus is the type of king who knelt at the feet of his disciples, who washed their feet as a slave would, and said to them, I no longer call you servants but friends. This is the exact opposite of the kind of kingship expressed in Resolution 222. God’s power leads to a whole different way of being human. A cruciform people following the way of Jesus serves community and bears crosses. It doesn’t build crosses for others to hang upon. Meanwhile news media reported this week that proponents of Christian nationalism and authoritarianism following the way of Judas, not Jesus, report that Agencies within the U.S. Department of Homeland Security (DHS), intend to implement a comprehensive plan to target Spanish-speaking churches across the country during the upcoming holiday season between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

St. Paul quotes an ancient hymn. Jesus is our cosmic king, “for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible…” (Colossians 1:16). Jesus is the “head” of the church, not as in Caesar holding dominion over people in a pyramid of power. It isn’t about Jesus being “head” as in the CEO of a company. Instead, the title used here implies the head of a river, the source. This theological poetic metaphor shifts power away from a top-down structure of dominion toward an organic and interconnected image, strengthening the notion of and promise of a new Eden. (Diana Butler Bass, A Beautiful Year, pp 312-313.) Today, with me, in paradise.

As Jesus hung in the gap between one man’s derision and another man’s hunger, he ruled, not with the power of a dictator, but with power like that of an infant child in a manger. So, what shall it be? Jesus or Judas? The choice is yours. Despite your mistakes and failures, Jesus calls you now to return to the path to paradise. See, all people become kings in the presence of God. And in that equality, kingship forever dissolves in worship and wonder, the full measure of divine friendship and shared well-being. The second century theologian, Clement of Alexandria once said, “Everything belongs to the God of beauty.” One’s response to the gifts of life already given, the beauty already here, makes all the difference. (Brock and Palmer, p.419)

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The Shelter of Friends

Proper 28C-25
Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

Her name is Stefani. She laughs easily with a throaty chuckle. Her eyes sparkle. ‘Bliss,’ could be her nickname. But her words catch us by surprise. In a quiet moment, she says, “What a sad world. I look around the world and grieve.”

Stefani is not a sad person, but she has the capacity to grieve, and she has had a good deal of personal experience. Stefani Schatz moved with her husband to live and work among the poor to follow Jesus. She says, “I work with people who have no jobs, and whose families for two or three generations have had no jobs. I see people who die here at a younger age than other places because of alcoholism, and drugs [They lack access to health care, grocery stores, and other basic necessities.] I see people living in homes that crumble around them…There is no sense of hope…This feeling pervades everything.” (Anne Sutherland Howard, Claiming the Beatitudes, p. 33-34).

For people like Stefani and her husband faith is not an abstraction but a shelter. While conflict and chaos swirls around them they have a place in their heart, mind and soul to come in from the storm. They find shelter in Christ—and so can we, so can you. Jesus told the disciples, even if ‘You are hated by all because of my name, not a hair of your head will perish, by your endurance you will gain your souls.’ (Luke 21:17-19.)

We share this shelter of living stones with all people. It is our truest and best home. We draw others in with us to shelter from life’s many storms. That is why, on Friday, a peaceful, nonviolent interfaith group of pastors, imams, rabbis, and deacons (including Immanuel member, ELCA pastor and former Bishop Stephen Bouman) stepped past the barricade at the ICE facility in Broadview carrying bread and wine for communion and a letter demanding access to share spiritual solidarity with our incarcerated neighbors. They were pushed back. Many were shoved to the ground. 21 were arrested, including pastor Luke Harris-Ferree of Grace Lutheran in Evanston. They were denied access even though, spiritual care was routinely administered there in the past, even though, according to CBS News, just 16 of 607 people detained there by ICE have criminal histories. In fact, 3,300 people have been detained in Chicago in total and most of their names have yet to be made public. (Sabrina Franza, Charlie De Mar, Rebecca McCann, Christopher Selfridge, CBS Chicago, 10:51 AM CST, 11/15/25.)

The church is not a building. In fact, Jesus doesn’t use the word ‘church’. Instead, he called us friends. We are friends in Christ. The church is people, people who love people, people who love and serve the living God. Sadly, this is a lesson we must learn over and over again.

As they walked past the magnificent Temple in Jerusalem, Jesus told the disciples, not one stone would be left upon another (Luke 21:6). The ruin of it must have been impossible to imagine. Yet to the hopeless poor and incarcerated like those Stefani and our siblings in faith serve, people who are being crushed by the weight of life circumstances that oppress them—Jesus’ ominous warning sounds like good news.

When Jesus talks about the ‘end-times’ we, like the disciples, mostly have the wrong idea of what Jesus is talking about. He aims to kindle our hope not to enflame our fear. Maybe we’re just more ready to hear what Jesus is saying these days. The truth is we know that things have been ending for a long time. When wars, insurrections, betrayals and injustice begin to swirl around us, the apocalyptic language of the bible teaches us to switch to the long view. Bulgarian-born writer Maria Popova has called this a telescopic perspective on the world. Think of your life, she suggests, not in the span of days or years, or even generations, but from the perspective across geological epochs and cosmic space. The bible trains us to view our life through this telescopic perspective with its language about the end-times.

When we do this, the so-called big things become very small and certain other things which may seem small now, loom large. We can better see the hand of God pull, lure, shape, and instruct us from within everything and everyone. We are not the first generation of believers to feel discouraged and bewildered by world events. When the Temple was destroyed in 70 A.D., it seemed to signal the end of the world. Josephus’ account of the conquest of Jerusalem by the Romans just thirty years after Jesus’ resurrection is no less spectacular that his description of the Temple itself which he described as blinding in reflected sunlight clad in so much gold. He writes, “The roar of the flames streaming far and wide mingled with the groans of the falling victims; and owing to the height of the hill and the mass of the burning pile, one would have thought that the whole city was ablaze” (War 6.271-275) [p. 359].

Friends in Christ take shelter, come home, to where the ground beneath your feet becomes solid and the courage to slay demons finds strength. Jesus called us friends and takes us in, partly, by popping our spiritual bubbles. The disciples drew false confidence from the grandeur of the temple. Today’s gospel challenges us to take inventory. What lies or illusions have I mistaken for truth? On what shiny religious edifice have I pinned my hopes? In what memories or traditions do I attempt to put God in a box? Why do I cling to permanence when Jesus invites me to evolve? Can I embrace a journey of faith that includes rubble, ruin, and failure? As the traditions I love, places I built, things I cried and prayed for fall apart? (Debie Thomas, By Your Endurance, Journey with Jesus, 11/10/19) What remains of our life when we are done living it? Come in. Take shelter, Jesus says. Let us work together on what lasts.

The 13th century mystic Meister Eckhart once wrote, “Let us pray to God that we may be free of God.” Our ideas of God and faith inevitably always fall short. “Let’s name honestly, he suggests, the imposter gods we conjure because we fear the Mystery who really is. Let’s admit that we shape these gods in our own image, and that they serve us as much as we serve them. Let’s open our hearts, our minds, and souls to the world Jesus sees while living within the shelter of friends, our true home that Christ has made possible. (Debie Thomas)

Christians like Stefani remain joyful yet engage fully in all the sadness in the world. Our nonviolent siblings outside the ICE abduction center find calm and confidence in the face of tremendous grief from knowing they are with us in the undying life of God. Because they imagine themselves seated at the heavenly banquet, they have resources in God to draw upon that never run out. (p. 37).

“People who live in such a way — especially in a world whirling with wars and rumors of war, awash in conspiracies and insurrections — aren’t always loved by those whose power thrives on fear. Indeed, the powerful would keep us on an emotional razor’s edge of Armageddon all the time. Jesus insists, however, that his friends not get distracted. Pay attention to what is true. Know what is really important. This age is, indeed, ending. God’s reign is near. But don’t be surprised. Take shelter. Stay the course. Love one another just as I have loved you for I have counted all the hairs on your head and not one of them shall perish. (Bass).

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