Month: March 2025

Have Mercy

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Have Mercy” Luke 10:25-37

It was a Sunday morning and Rev. Stephen Farris was late. He was filling in at a small church for a few months, and it was an icy day, not unlike today. By the time he got his car defrosted, he knew he was cutting it close. Wouldn’t you know that he hit every red light along the way? At the biggest intersection, while he sat anxiously waiting for the light to change, an older man, leaning on a cane, started to slowly cross the road in front of him. As the crosswalk light turned amber and then red, the older man tried to hurry. His cane slipped on a patch of ice and he fell, heavily.

In the split second that it took Pastor Stephen to put the car in park and reach for the door to get out, many thoughts flashed through his mind. He thought about the time it would take to help the man, call the rescue squad, and ensure he got to safety. He thought about the disappointment of his parishioners, who would sit in the pews waiting and wondering. Another thought crossed his mind. He could just drive away. He would make it to church in time to start the service, and he could trust that someone with more time would come along to ensure that the fallen man got the help he needed.

The story of the Good Samaritan is so familiar to us that most of us know it by heart. It all starts with a provocative question, “Who is my neighbor?” As Jesus tells his story, we can imagine the steep and windy road where the poor man was attacked by robbers and left bloodied, bruised, naked, and nearly lifeless in a ditch. We can see first the priest and then the Levite hurry by, even though they are righteous men who should help. We can see the Samaritan, that hated outsider, stopping for pity’s sake: tending wounds, transporting, lodging, and arranging for further needs. It’s an example story in which the enemy is held up as the neighbor by virtue of his extraordinary mercy, and we are told to go and do likewise.

Mercy, in Hebrew hesed, is a fundamental virtue of Judaism. Our Israelite ancestors believed that they were called to be merciful because God is merciful. God had chosen Abraham and Sarah to be a blessed covenant people, even though they were old, childless, and as good as dead. Later, in God’s mercy, God had heard the cries of the Hebrew people in bondage to Pharaoh and sent Moses with ten plagues to soften Pharaoh’s hard heart and set the people free. God had brought Israel through forty years in the wilderness to a land flowing with milk and honey. God’s mercy was a freely given gift to a people in special need.

The prophets called the people of Israel to see that mercy, hesed, wasn’t just for some. A close translation of Micah 6:8 calls us to “seek justice, love mercy (hesed), and walk humbly” with God. Mercy involves active concern for the wellbeing of all the people of God, not just those known personally to us. In fact, God spoke through the prophets that the people of Israel had a particular duty to show mercy to the most vulnerable people of the community: the widow, orphan, and resident alien (Jer. 22:3, Zech. 7:9-10).

The early church was founded upon this ancestral virtue of mercy, hesed. From its earliest days, the church saw Jesus as the ultimate revelation of God’s mercy. Jesus was God’s shocking and merciful choice to be flesh, live among us, and suffer for us. Jesus, of course, served as both role model and instructor in the way of mercy. Whether feeding crowds or reaching out a helping hand to heal the leper, Jesus showed his followers what mercy looks like. He also left them with a few roadmaps, like the story of the Good Samaritan, to show us the way.

Jesus’ friends followed his example, responding to God’s incredible mercy by sharing their own acts of mercy. The first office of the church—deacon—was created by the apostles in Jerusalem to address the needs of widows. The first churchwide offering, collected by the Apostle Paul from the Gentile churches in Greece, was received to help victims of famine in Jerusalem.

In his book, The Rise of Christianity, sociologist Rodney Stark argues that Christianity was transformed from a marginalized sect of Judaism to the leading religion of the Roman Empire in only three centuries because Christians practiced mercy. The apostles and those who would follow them, tended to souls and to bodies. They shared the core practices of mercy that Jesus taught in his Parable of the Sheep and Goats. They fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty, clothed the naked, tended the sick, visited prisoners, and welcomed strangers. As they did so, they trusted that they were serving Jesus, who promised to come to them in the least of these, his little brothers and sisters. In the year 1281, the Archbishop of Canterbury John Pecham called for a council of the bishops of the church to gather at Lambeth. There they established the “Seven Acts of Mercy,” which codified those merciful practices and the burial of the dead as the core mission of Christians.

This ruling on the Seven Acts of Mercy led to a flowering of medieval artwork as churches and patrons commissioned paintings, stained glass, and murals that would teach their parishioners what mercy looked like. In 1504 in the Church of St. Lawrence in Amsterdam, the Master of Alkmaar painted a series of seven panels to show the seven acts. In the panel entitled “Feeding the Hungry,” a woman holds a basket of freshly baked bread. Her husband stands with his back to a crowd of hungry neighbors and distributes the bread, passing it without prejudice to the unseen hands that wait behind him. A disabled man with twisted legs, who scoots along on his bottom, reaches up for a loaf. A poor woman with a naked child waits her turn. A blind man in a tattered cloak with a little person tied to his shoulders holds out a hand in hopes of bread. As you look at the panel, it gives you a little shock to see Jesus, standing at the back of the crowd. He is dressed like a medieval peasant. He isn’t looking at the bread. He looks directly at you.

Acts of mercy continue to define vibrant churches like this one. We feed the hungry through the food pantry and Jubilee Garden. We give drink to the thirsty with shallow wells for sub-Saharan Africa. We clothe the naked and meet pressing needs with the help of our Deacons Fund. We tend the sick with home-cooked meals, caring calls, prayers, cards, and visits. We have visited prisoners over the years at federal, state, and county penitentiaries. We make it a practice of welcoming all—and we affirm that each week in worship. The example of the Good Samaritan and the Seven Acts of Mercy continue to inspire us to reach out in love in response to God’s great love for us and the needs of our neighbors.

Perhaps the most pressing questions of our time is “Who is my neighbor?” Is the refugee my neighbor? How about the undocumented migrant? Is the single Mom in section-8 housing my neighbor? How about the suburban soccer Mom? Is the disabled child, who takes up classroom time and needs a special aid hired at tax payer expense, my neighbor? Are LGBTQ people my neighbor? How about the white supremacist? The Christian nationalist? The gang banger? The bleeding-heart Yankee liberal? The Q-anon conspiracy theorist? Do we draw lines, and if so, where? Believe me, there are powers and principalities who are drawing the lines even as I speak. They will be glad to tell you who is not your neighbor, who is beyond the pale of mercy.

In Jesus’ story of the Good Samaritan, the wounded man receives critically needed help from a traditional enemy. The wounded man receives the help even though, if not in such distress, he might hate, reject, and despise the Samaritan who helped him. The Samaritan proves that he is a neighbor by choosing to cross centuries-old lines of hatred and prejudice in order to be merciful to someone who needs it. When John Calvin wrote about this story, he said that it forces us to admit “that our neighbor is the man most foreign to us, for God has bound all men [and women] together for mutual aid.” Perhaps we can only truly appreciate this holy bond that makes neighbors of us all when we are the one who is lying in the ditch, weeping as we are passed by.

I’d like to return to Pastor Stephen at the icy intersection. As he put his car in park and reached for the door, his mind was flooded with possibilities. Stay and help the fallen man, even if he would be late for his responsibilities at church. Turn his head and go, let it be someone else’s problem. No one would be the wiser. Before he could pull the handle to open the door, the fallen man got up. He looked around and gave Pastor Stephen a dirty look for witnessing his icy tumble. He limped away, leaning on his cane. Pastor Stephen put the car in drive and continued to church. He made it there just in time for the service. He still wonders what he would have done if the situation had taken a different turn.

May we go forth to be merciful as God is merciful.

Resources

Douglas Otati. “Theological Perspective on Luke 10:25-37” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Mary Miller Brueggemann. “Pastoral Perspective on Luke 10:25-37” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Stephen J. Farris. “Homiletical Perspective on Luke 10:25-37” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Katherine Sakenfeld. “Love (OT)” in The Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 4, K-N. Doubleday, 1992.

Philip H. Towner. “Mercy” in Baker’s Evangelical Dictionary of Biblical Theology. Baker Books, 1996.

Steven Croft. “The Seven Acts of Mercy” in Letters from the Bishop, The Diocese of Oxford, Feb. 27, 2016.

Rodney Stark. The Rise of Christianity. Harper Collins, 1997.

Luke 10:25-37

25 An expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” 26 He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” 27 He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind and your neighbor as yourself.” 28 And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

29 But wanting to vindicate himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 30 Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and took off, leaving him half dead. 31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. 32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan while traveling came upon him, and when he saw him he was moved with compassion. 34 He went to him and bandaged his wounds, treating them with oil and wine. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. 35 The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him, and when I come back I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ 36 Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” 37 He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

Master of Alkmaar. Seven Works of Mercy, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57901 [retrieved March 30, 2025]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Master_of_Alkmaar_-_The_Seven_Works_of_Mercy_(detail)_-_WGA14368.jpg.

Lord, Teach Us to Pray

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Lord Teach Us to Pray” Luke 11:1-13

Although prayer is at the heart of who we are as faithful people, many of us struggle with prayer. When asked to pray with others, we feel inadequate. We don’t have the right words, we feel unworthy, or we are embarrassed to use our prayer voice out loud. Early on in my ministry, I saw a look of abject terror cross the face of a gifted elder and lay leader when I asked him if he would close a committee meeting in prayer. Once he got over the shock of my invitation, he gently informed me that at that church they didn’t pray. They closed their meetings with the Mizpah Blessing from Genesis, “May the Lord watch between me and Thee while we are absent one from another.” 

Even if we have the right words for prayer, we often battle the twin troubles of busyness and weariness. We live mile-a-minute lives from early morning to late at night. We begin the day with the intention of making time for prayer, but our agenda gets hijacked: by work and meetings; by taxiing kids and attending athletic events, concerts, and dance recitals; by doctor’s appointments and civic commitments; by the daily routine of cooking, cleaning, and home repair; by the chatter of television and social media. As the day ends, we find ourselves falling fast asleep before we can even make it through the Lord’s Prayer.

Sometimes, we give up on prayer out of disappointment or frustration. We have worn ourselves out in pursuit of prayers that seem unanswered. God doesn’t grant us what we long for: a miracle healing for our loved one, a cure for the addiction for our adult child, a change in our spouse, an end to war or hunger or gun violence. Weary and worn, we lament, “What’s the point of praying when it feels like God is silent or unwilling to provide what we want when we want it.”

I suspect Jesus’ disciples felt a lot like we do. They were fishermen, farmers, tax collectors, and tradesmen. Not one of them was a prayer professional, like the priests, scribes, and Pharisees, who were known for public prayers. The disciples lived in a time when personal piety was reflected in daily prayer. The Prophet Daniel, who lived during the exile in Babylon, prayed three times daily: morning, evening, and at the ninth hour—that’s three o’clock in the afternoon­—when sacrifice was offered in the Temple in Jerusalem. The first century Jewish historian Josephus reported that the Hebrew people offered prayer twice daily—in the morning and evening to “bear witness to God for the gifts given when God delivered them from the land of the Egyptians.” First century Jewish prayer offered thanksgiving for what had happened and thanksgiving for what would be, trusting in the goodness and faithfulness of God. Rabbis, like John the Baptist, often taught their disciples to pray. It’s no wonder that Jesus’ followers turned to him with the heartfelt request, “Lord, teach us to pray.”

Perhaps what is most surprising about what Jesus had to say about prayer is how very simple it is. In Luke’s gospel, the Lord’s Prayer is four terse sentences. Jesus tells us to begin by thinking of God as a familiar and loving parent, “Father,” whose name was sacred and worthy of reverence and blessing, “Hallowed be thy name.” Next, we express our longing for the fulfillment of scripture and the coming of God’s kingdom, “Thy Kingdom come.” Then, we pray three simple requests for what we truly need to be whole and healthy: sustenance to fuel our bodies and provide for our lives, the healing of relationships through forgiveness and a willingness to be forgiven, and lastly, protection from life’s trials and difficulties.  According to Jesus, all we really need to pray are four simple heartfelt sentences that envision God as the source of our world, our lives, our healing, and our protection.  That’s it.

Jesus followed his prayer with two example stories to encourage us to pray. The story of the friend who comes knocking at midnight exhorts us to pray shamelessly, whenever we need to. The example of a good parent, who lovingly provides good things for a child, reminds us that God longs to provide what is good and right for us—and God knows exactly what that may be. 

In the first centuries of the church, Christians followed the example of their Jewish tradition, praying throughout the day with gratitude and expectation. They also took the prayer that Jesus taught them out into the Roman Empire. Archaeological excavations at Pompei found inscriptions indicating that the Lord’s Prayer was in use there before the destruction of the city by the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in the year 79. The Lord’s Prayer became an essential part of teaching new Christians. The Didache, that’s the first century collection of The Lord’s teaching shared by the Apostles, includes the Lord’s Prayer and instructs that it should be said three times each day. In the third century, Origen, the finest systematic thinker of the Church Fathers, taught that the Lord’s Prayer is meant to be an outline for prayer, a simple framework that we are to fill in with our particular needs, cares, and concerns for others. We know that by the 4th century, the Lord’s Prayer was at the heart of worship. Each week, Archbishop John Chrysostum prayed the Lord’s Prayer with his beloved flock in Constantinople, introducing it with the words, “And make us worthy, O Lord, that we joyously and without presumption may make bold to invoke Thee, the heavenly God, as Father, and to say, ‘Our Father…’”

Our ancestors in the Reformed tradition were devoted to prayer and the Lord’s Prayer. John Calvin once said that the one who neglects to pray “neglects a treasure buried and hidden in the earth, after it has been pointed out to them.” Calvin offered practical advice about prayer to his churchgoers in Geneva. Appoint certain hours for prayer each day, lest it slip from our memory. Approach God with reverence and humility. Trust in God’s mercy and providence. It doesn’t have to be fancy. Calvin said that God tolerates “even our stammers and pardons our ignorance.” Let your prayer rise not from the head, but “from the bottom of [y]our heart,” Calvin taught.

Maybe our personal prayer struggles arise because we pray from the head, looking for those eloquent words, hoping to steer the course of the world, wanting to forge a future that meets our personal vision of how things ought to be. But we are called to pray from the heart, to pray in ways that acknowledge the greatness of God and our personal vulnerability.  When we pray from the head, we expect the world to change, which is often a recipe for disappointment. When we pray from the heart, we can expect to be changed.  Heartfelt prayer coaxes us to grow into the people God created us to be. Heartfelt prayer equips us to live to the best of our ability in a world that is less than perfect and sometimes bitterly disappointing.

The Rev. Fred Rogers, better known to generations of Americans as Mr. Rogers, shared this understanding of heart prayer. In 1992, he was awarded an honorary doctorate from Boston University. He was invited to pray the invocation at commencement. As Mr. Rogers neared the podium, students, who had grown up watching “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood,” were excited. Knowing his audience, Fred said, “I think you want to sing. Will you sing with me?” The young people immediately launched into a rousing round of “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.” When they settled, Fred began his prayer, “Dear God, please inspire our hearts to come even closer to you…”

So, perhaps we can make a fresh start on prayer this morning. We can resolve to keep things simple and heartfelt.  Perhaps you’ll allow me to help you by leading you in a guided prayer, based on the prayer that Jesus taught his followers to pray. You might want to close your eyes, bow your head, and take a few deep breaths as I lead you in a prayer from the heart. 

First, give thanks for God, who loves us like the best parent and yet is holy and all-powerful, who puffs into our lungs the breath of life and stretches the heavens like a tent.

Now, allow your heart to yearn for God’s kingdom, for a world here and now where righteousness and peace will kiss each other. Can you imagine it?

Think about your day, whatever has been or may lie ahead.  Ask the Lord to provide what is needed, whether it is strength or love, kindness or patience, hope or help.  Trust that what is truly needed will be provided.

Next, resolve to return to God, forsaking whatever drives a wedge between us, the Lord, and our neighbors.

Now, consider a relationship that needs mending.  Perhaps you need to forgive or to be forgiven. Ask God to bring healing and know that the Lord is already at work. 

Finally, consider a place of trial or temptation in your life. Feel the weight and the challenge of it. Ask the Lord to be your safety and protection. You could imagine God wrapping you up in the light of God’s sheltering love or envision Jesus praying with you and for you.  Remember that although you may feel weak, God is strong and God is with you. 

And as we finish, we might even resolve to try this again, to make a daily discipline of doing what Jesus did, finding the strength and the vision to live fully and faithfully through simple, heartfelt prayer. In his name we pray. Amen.

Resources

Michelle Voss Roberts. “Theological Perspective on Luke 11:1-13” in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke vol.1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

H. Gregory Snyder. “Exegetical Perspective on Luke 11:1-13” in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke vol.1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Lewis Galloway. “Homiletical Perspective on Luke 11:1-13” in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke vol.1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

–. “History of Jewish Prayer” in My Jewish Learning. 70 Faces Media. Accessed online at myjewishlearning.com.

Simon J. Kistemaker. “The Lord’s Prayer in the First Century” in the Journal of the Evangelical Theological Seminary, 21/4, Dec. 1978, 323-328.

John Calvin. Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book 3, chapter XX. The Westminster Press, 1977.

Carlton Wynne. “Calvin’s Four Rules of Prayer” in Reformation 21, March 29, 2019.

Luke 11:1-13

Jesus was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” 2 So he said to them, “When you pray, say:

Father, may your name be revered as holy.
May your kingdom come.
3 Give us each day our daily bread.
4 And forgive us our sins,
for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
And do not bring us to the time of trial.”

5 And he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, 6 for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’ 7 And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.’ 8 I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything out of friendship, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.

9 “So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. 10 For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. 11 Is there anyone among you who, if your child asked for a fish, would give a snake instead of a fish? 12 Or if the child asked for an egg, would give a scorpion? 13 If you, then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com

Repent

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Repent” Luke 15:11-32

Near the end of his life, the Dutch Master Rembrandt completed “The Return of the Prodigal,” a painting considered by some to be his master work. The artist captured the moment of the Prodigal Son’s homecoming. The repentant young man kneels at his father’s feet. His clothing hangs in filthy rags. His shoes are so tattered that they fall from his feet. He buries his face in his father’s middle. Like a small child, his arms reach around to cling to the father, who leans forward to pull his lost son to his chest and kiss the top of his head. The father’s hands, strong but gentle, rest on the Prodigal’s back. The father’s face is soft and open. His mouth is slack, as if caught between the impossible joy of welcoming his lost child and the heartrending shock of seeing his son’s degradation. To the side of the painting, half in darkness, the elder son looks on, clothed in a fine scarlet cloak and elaborate turban. His hands are clenched before him. His brow is furrowed with anger, disbelief, and judgment. The distance between the elder son and his compassionate father and profligate brother leaps off the canvas.

Jesus told his Parable of the Prodigal Son to a mixed audience of wayward sons and righteous older brothers. The Lord was welcoming sinners and tax collectors. He even broke bread with them, and that was a source of scandal for the scribes and Pharisees, the most righteous people of their day, who faithfully observed all 613 requirements of the Torah.

The young son of Jesus’ story demonstrated the most profound disrespect. He treated his father as if he were as good as dead, demanding his portion of the inheritance, which he promptly liquidated. Forsaking his father’s house, he traveled to Gentile lands and blew his small fortune in wild living. Times were so desperate that he became a swineherd, even though the Torah taught, “The pig . . . is unclean for you.  You shall not eat their meat, and you shall not touch their carcasses” (Deut. 14:8). Only when the young son had hit rock bottom, did he resolve to go home and throw himself upon the mercy of his father. He gathered his rags and returned, rehearsing along the way just what he would say. But as the lost son drew close to home, he learned that the Father had been looking and longing for his return. The patriarch ran down the road, welcomed him with open arms, and threw a party to restore the prodigal to both family and community. Who could blame the older son, who had spent years faithfully serving, working and obeying, who could blame him for his moral outrage and hurt?

When Jesus told his extended metaphor about the shocking mercy of God and the sinfulness of humanity, he probably offended all his listeners. Those tax collectors and sinners would have bristled at their depiction as degenerate scofflaws who wander far from God in profligate living. Those scribes and Pharisees would have been challenged to envision themselves as harsh, self-righteous, older brothers, who, in their own way, were just as disrespectful to the Father as the young son they condemned. These two lost sons were held together by a merciful Father, who would do anything to be reconciled to them and reconcile them to one another, whether running down the road to embrace them or leaving a party to seek them as they sulked outside in the dark. Both sons were sinners. Both were in need of repentance and love.

Repentance is one of the most essential teachings of Judaism. According to the tradition of the elders, God created repentance before God created the universe. God anticipated that, even though God would love us and provide for us all that was needed for abundant life, we would turn our back on God and work to the detriment of our neighbor. Repentance would be needed. The word repentance in Hebrew is teshuvah, which means to turn. In the ongoing journey of God and our ancestors in the faith, we would often choose to walk apart from God, yet repentance would allow us to return. According to the prophets, repentance was an act of the heart, an inner turning to God that resulted in outward actions of justice, mercy, and faithfulness. This inner transformation was displayed in rending garments, tossing ashes, wearing sackcloth, and offering sacrifices to God.

Repentance is one of the most essential teachings of Christianity. Indeed, the first words that Jesus uttered in his public ministry were, “Repent for the Kingdom of God is near” (Matthew 4:17), and among the last words of his public ministry, spoken from the cross, are the assurance of paradise for the repentant thief who was dying at his side. Jesus himself was the revelation of God’s profound longing to be reconciled to us. In Jesus, God chose to become man, to enter fully into our experience, and to stop at nothing—not even death on a cross—to reveal God’s love and mercy for us. As we repent and return to God, we find that God has already run down the road to greet us. Prodigal sons and judgmental older brothers, we all find a place in the Father’s mercy through Christ our Lord.

Few doctrines have been as hotly contested in the Christian tradition as repentance. The explosive growth of the early church was driven by welcome for those who had been deemed outside the community of faith, from sinners to pagans. Yet by the fourth century, it wasn’t enough to return to God and confess your sins. You needed the church, which church stood in the middle to mediate God’s grace. Repentance had to be made to a priest and accompanied by works of penance, like special prayers, fasting, almsgiving, or mortification of the flesh. Our absolution (forgiveness) was granted by the church once our works were done. This practice of treating forgiveness like a commodity to be doled out to penitents from the church’s limitless treasury of grace hit a high—or is that low—by the 16th century, when Pope Sixtus IV determined that souls of the dead in purgatory could benefit from a papal indulgence, a certificate of absolution that could be conveniently acquired for the right price. When the coin in the coffer rings, the soul from purgatory springs. How far we had wandered from the beautiful story of the loving father and his two lost sons!

On a December evening in 1516, Martin Luther paced the floor of his study. The Augustinian priest and Bible scholar was troubled by the church’s sacrament of penance and the selling of indulgences. Was grace for sale? Could sinners earn their salvation through works? In his studies of the New Testament, Luther had come to the conclusion that Jesus never commodified his grace. It was abundantly and freely given. That night, Luther read the Letter to the Ephesians, “By grace you have been saved through faith and that not of yourselves—it is the gift of God, not works, lest any man should boast.” It hit Luther like a thunderclap. He picked up his pen and wrote, “Ergo sola gratia justificat,” justified by faith alone. Luther remembered the moment, saying, “Thereupon, I felt myself to be reborn and to have gone through open doors into paradise.” The following year, Luther posted his 95 Theses, launching a religious revolution by calling into question the church’s practice of commodifying grace.

What does repentance look like for us? Two decades after Luther’s realization about the freely given gift of God’s grace, John Calvin in his church in Geneva developed a rite of repentance that we continue to practice each week in worship, 500 years later. We stand together as a community of faith and return to God, confessing the ways that we have turned from God and brought injury to our neighbors. As we turn toward God, we find that God has already turned to us, like the Prodigal’s father, awaiting his lost sons with open arms. For the sake of Jesus Christ, we are assured of our pardon, a fact so amazing that we have to celebrate with an “Alleluia! Amen.”

Calvin further encouraged his parishioners to make a practice of regular self-examination, reflecting upon our lives and noting the ways that we have turned away from the right and righteous path. With humility and honesty, we can return to God, trusting that we are welcomed home and deeply loved. Calvin did not believe that we would ever get it truly right, but by making a daily discipline of returning to God, we could grow in God’s purpose over the course of a lifetime through the work of the Holy Spirit within us. Our practice of repentance could be as simple as an evening time of reflection upon our day to celebrate the ways that we felt blessed by God and the moments we felt far from God, and then concluding our reflection with the Lord’s Prayer.

In 1986, author and clergyman Henri Nouwen traveled to St. Petersburg, Russia, where Rembrandt’s painting “The Prodigal Son Returns” hangs in the Hermitage. Nouwen was allowed to observe the painting alone for hours. As he sat before Rembrandt’s masterwork, Henri began to see the painting as a metaphor for humanity. In his 1992 book, The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming, Nouwen noted that Rembrandt himself had been both sons. Rembrandt had been the dutiful older brother, an earnest churchgoer, married to a devout wife, and a loving father of three children. But the untimely death of his wife and children sent Rembrandt down the road of profligacy. He drank his fill in taverns, frequented prostitutes, and nearly bankrupted himself. Nouwen wrote, “Rembrandt had lived a life in which neither the lostness of the younger son nor the lostness of the elder son was alien to him. Both needed healing and forgiveness. Both needed to come home. Both needed the embrace of a forgiving father.”

The same, of course, can be said for us all. Let us return to God.

Resources

J. William Harkins. “Theological Perspective on Luke 15:11-32” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Rodney J. Hunter. “Pastoral Perspective on Luke 15:11-32” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Raj Nadella. “Exegetical Perspective on Luke 15:11-32” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Jos. P. Healey. “Repentance: Old Testament” in The Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 5, O-Sh. Doubleday, 1992.

Charles Hech. “Martin Luther: His Confessions and Battle against Sin” in Worldly Saints, blog, Jan. 4, 2017.

John Calvin. Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book 3, Chapter III. The Westminster Press, 1977.

Hans Vorschezung. “A Lightning Strike, Which Changed History” in Faith in Focus, 2006. Accessed online at christianstudylibrary.org.

Henri Nouwen. The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming. Image Press, 1994.

Luke 15:11-32

11 Then Jesus said, “There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the wealth that will belong to me.’ So he divided his assets between them. 13 A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant region, and there he squandered his wealth in dissolute living. 14 When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that region, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that region, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. 16 He would gladly have filled his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, and no one gave him anything. 17 But when he came to his senses he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18 I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.”’ 20 So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. 21 Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ 22 But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate, 24 for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

25 “Now his elder son was in the field, and as he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. 27 He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf because he has got him back safe and sound.’ 28 Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command, yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your assets with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ 31 Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’”

Accessed online at https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/93/Rembrandt_Harmensz_van_Rijn_-_Return_of_the_Prodigal_Son_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg/1569px-Rembrandt_Harmensz_van_Rijn_-_Return_of_the_Prodigal_Son_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg

Famished

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Famished” Luke 4:1-13

On February 28, our Muslim neighbors around the world began Ramadan, a month of fasting, prayer, and reflection. Fasting is one of the five essential practices (pillars) of Islam. During Ramadan, adults of sound health fast daily from sun up until sunset—no food or drink—and their early morning and after dark meals are simple. Ramadan reminds them of the needs of hungry neighbors and our personal dependence upon God.

In my last church, my senior pastor Michael Winters and I were a part of an interfaith ministry group with the local reformed rabbi and the Muslim Imam. Each year at the end of Ramadan, our faith communities would gather for Eid, a celebratory feast, kind of like the ultimate, most delicious potluck that you can imagine. Each year, my colleague Michael, the Imam, and the rabbi would give a little talk at the feast, briefly teaching about a spiritual practice. I’ll never forget the meeting when they decided to talk about fasting in their respective churches. Michael looked mildly alarmed.

Later, in the car on the way back to the church, I turned to Michael.

“Fasting?”

“Not high on the list for Presbyterians,” he glumly replied.

I thought about my time as a Presbyterian, from young adult to seminarian to clergy person. Never once had a congregation that I served ever discussed, let alone practiced, fasting. I commiserated with Michael, “Ugh. I’m guessing that you got nothing. Am I right?”

Shaking his head, he said, “Tell me about it.”

As the season of Lent begins, our gospel reading takes us to the wilderness with Jesus. According to Luke, no sooner had Jesus been baptized than the Holy Spirit swept him into the Judean desert in preparation for his ministry. There, Jesus spent forty days fasting and praying to seek insight, wisdom, and guidance from his heavenly Father. It was a spiritual journey that left him famished.

Thinking that Jesus’ long fast would leave him vulnerable to temptation, the evil one showed up to put the Lord to the test. Jesus was invited to use his power in self-serving ways: first, to relieve his overwhelming hunger by transforming stones to loaves of bread, next to gain worldly authority by changing his allegiance, and finally to put God to the test with a death-defying leap. Each temptation was deftly defeated by Jesus with a short but sweet quote from scripture. Clearly, Jesus’ time of prayer and fasting had equipped him to meet the challenges that were to come.

When Jesus fasted for those forty days, he was part of a long tradition of fasting observed by his ancestors. Leviticus 28 required the Hebrew people to fast each year on the Day of Atonement to seek God’s forgiveness for sin. Also, in times of national crisis, Israel’s kings called for a day of fasting and prayer. For example, when a large army from Edom threatened to invade Judah, King Jehosophat and his people fasted and prayed to avert the catastrophe. The Israelites also refrained from food and drink to deepen their prayer and draw near to God, like Moses—while on the mountaintop with God, he fasted for forty days.

Jesus expected his followers to fast and gave them instructions that suggested some people made a big, self-aggrandizing show of their pious restraint when it came to food. Jesus said, “Whenever you fast, do not look somber, like the hypocrites, for they mark their faces to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen—not by others—but by your heavenly Father….” First century Jews fasted twice weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. That means they refrained from food on those days until the ninth hour—three o-clock in the afternoon. As Jesus’ followers took the gospel out into the world, fasting went with them. When the Apostle Paul and his home church in Antioch prepared for the Gentile mission, they did so with fasting and prayer.

Jesus knew that our deepest, most existential, hunger is for God. We look for poor substitutes, trying to fill our lives with food, social media, an over-commitment to work, a passion for politics, shopping until we drop, addictions. You name it. The practice of fasting makes room within us for God. You might even say that fasting is a soul feast, an intentional time to rest in God and meet that deep hunger we have for the sacred. Augustine taught that our hearts are always restless until they find their rest in God alone.

Between the sixth and eighth centuries the role of fasting expanded in Christianity. In addition to fasting until the ninth hour twice weekly, Christians were expected to similarly fast for the forty days of Lent, for three days before the Festival of Ascension, one day every month (except in July and August), on Good Friday, and the day before Christmas, Epiphany, Easter, and Pentecost. If you add all that up, Christians engaged in some form of fasting about 140 days each year.

So how did we as Protestants get from fasting for 140 days to me and Michael Winters feeling like we had nothing to say as we joined our Muslim and Jewish neighbors for Eid? We can blame it on the Reformation. By the 16th century, fasting had lost its spiritual significance. Instead of fasting to draw near to God in prayer, or say “no” to the flesh, or seek divine help in times of crisis, our ancestors were fasting because they considered it a requirement for getting into heaven. John Calvin and other Reformers said that smacked of works righteousness, as if we could manipulate God into opening the pearly gates. This would never do.

In his effort to rethink fasting, Calvin taught that we should think about time, quantity, and quality. Christians should fast at self-chosen times for a prescribed period, like a day or a week; and fasting should always be accompanied by prayer and confession. Fasting did not mean total abstinence from food but to eat sparingly and content ourselves with humble fare. No “dainties” as Calvin called them. In Calvin’s church in Geneva, a simple fast was expected before partaking of the Lord’s Supper, before baptism, and before being ordained to a ministry of the church.

Calvin’s ideas seem reasonable, but when we are left to our own devices to determine our time, quantity, and quality of restraint from food, we opt out. Most of us do not consider fasting to be a core practice of the life of faith. So, how on this first Sunday in Lent, are we to reclaim the ancient practice of fasting in ways that are meaningful and beneficial? And do we really want to?

The late author and editor Harvey Smit suggested that fasting can be a powerful reminder that we do not live by bread alone. In this world where ego is king, fasting reminds us of our utter dependence upon God. Fasting also places us in solidarity with the world’s hungry people—malnourished children in Afghanistan, the starving women and children of Yemen, and working-class families right here in the United States who feel the pinch of inflation and skip meals so that their children can eat. Smit also argued that fasting is useful because it teaches us to postpone gratification. In a world where we want it and we want it now, fasting teaches us to say no to the flesh, no to the selfish impulse, no to the desire for more, more, more. And we shouldn’t forget that fasting functions much as it has for eons: to focus our attention and our prayers upon God, trusting that Jesus, who fasted in the wilderness, is with us.

What might Presbyterian fasting look like? We could try substituting prayer time for a meal, or we could consider simplifying our diets, only having one substantial meal a day and two small snacks that are accompanied by prayer or scripture reading. We could follow the example of the early church and pick a day to fast until the ninth hour (three o’clock). Instead of working through the breakfast and lunch that we miss, we could read a devotional book, sing hymns, play spiritual music, or listen to a sermon. Although fasting is not prescribed for us for Lent, a day of fasting during Lent could serve to focus our attention on Jesus and his journey to the cross. As we ponder the Lord’s words, humility, and self-sacrifice, we draw near to God with gratitude for all that God has done for us.

If the thought of refraining from food makes your blood sugar drop and your knees feel weak, you’ll be relieved that Martin Lloyd-Jones, one of the most influential Calvinist preachers of the twentieth century, taught that, “fasting should really be made to include abstinence from anything. . .for the sake of some special spiritual purpose.” That opens us to a world of possibilities. Could we fast from social media? Instead of doom scrolling, we could try a time of prayer. Could we turn off the television and spend the evening in meditation and divine reading? Could we step back from sweets? Alcohol? Indulgent purchases? Could we then donate the money we save to One Great Hour of Sharing or a favorite charitable concern? The possibilities are truly limitless and up to us.

Back in Morton Grove all those year’s ago, my friend Michael cobbled together a talk on Presbyterian fasting. He spoke last after the Imam told us all about Ramadan and the rabbi impressed us with Yom Kippur and weekly fasts. Later, I took a seat next to Michael after helping myself to a second (or was it third?) plate of tasty treats from the potluck buffet.

“How are you?” I asked my friend. I looked down at his plate, which was just as full as mine.

Michael looked around the room at Jewish, Christian, and Muslim neighbors chatting, eating, and comparing recipes. He smiled, “I may not be an expert in fasting, but this,” he gestured to the beautiful interfaith fellowship and overflowing plates, “this looks like the beautiful feast in the Kingdom of God.”

He couldn’t be more right.

Resources:

William H. Shea. “Fast, Fasting” in The Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 2, D-G. Doubleday, 1992, pp. 773-776.

David S. Jacobsen. “Commentary on Luke 4:1-13” in Preaching This Week, March 10, 2019. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/first-sunday-in-lent-3/commentary-on-luke-41-13-4

Richard W. Swanson. “Commentary on Luke 4:1-13” in Preaching This Week, March 9, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/first-sunday-in-lent-3/commentary-on-luke-41-13-6

Thomas A. Tarrantson. “The Place of Fasting in the Christian Life” in Knowing and Doing, Knowing and Doing, Summer 2018.

James A. Strong and John McClintock. “Fasting in the Christian Church” in The Encyclopedia of Biblical, Theological, and Ecclesial Literature. New York: Harper Bros, 1880.

David Mathis. “Fasting for Beginners” in Desiring God, August 26, 2015. Accessed online at https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/fasting-for-beginners

Harvey Albert Smit. “Fasting Guidelines for Reformed Christians” in Reformed Worship, December 1987. Accessed online at https://www.reformedworship.org/article/december-1987/fasting-guidelines-reformed-christians

Luke 4:1-13

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, 2 where for forty days he was tested by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over he was famished. 3 The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” 4 Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’ ”

5 Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. 6 And the devil said to him, “To you I will give all this authority and their glory, for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. 7 If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” 8 Jesus answered him, “It is written,

‘Worship the Lord your God,
    and serve only him.’ ”

9 Then the devil led him to Jerusalem and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, 10 for it is written,

‘He will command his angels concerning you,
    to protect you,’

11 and

‘On their hands they will bear you up,
    so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’ ”

12 Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” 13 When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.

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Shine

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Sabbath Day Thoughts “Shine” Luke 9:28-43

We have all had mountaintop moments, those bright and shining experiences when we feel close to God, one another, and the world around us. I have shared before that one of my mountaintop moments came at age twelve. That’s when I was baptized at the First Baptist Church. I had made my profession of faith and passed the scrutiny of the trustees. In an evening service of worship, in a dimly lit sanctuary, I waded into the bright baptismal tank where my pastor waited to immerse me. Going into the tank, I was most worried about my white robe floating up to expose my underwear. But once I was in the water, I could only think that this was exactly where I belonged, in waters as warm and welcoming as God’s love for me.

Later, as a young adult, I had a mountaintop moment that was instrumental in steering me toward seminary. I was volunteering in a mental health outreach ministry of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church. Every Wednesday evening, the hall filled with a small faithful core of church volunteers, residents of St. Elizabeth’s Hospital and area halfway houses for folks living with mental illness, and homeless neighbors. On my first Wednesday night, I was a little scared. But one evening, as I served ice tea to my new friends, I felt God’s limitless love, not just for me but for all of us in the church hall. It was like getting hit by a freight train in a good way. God’s limitless love was there, always there, holding us, helping us, blessing us. I knew right then and there that I wanted to spend my life in that love.

Your mountaintop moments may be similar or very different. Perhaps you had that sense of connection to God, creation, and humanity as you held your newborn child, your heart filled to the bursting point by the incalculable miracle of that moment. Perhaps your mountaintop moment came on the athletic field. As you worked with teammates in a shared purpose, you found in that unity that you could be better than you actually were, that in your shared love for the game and one another and your collaborative pursuit of excellence you were blessed; you belonged. Perhaps your mountaintop moment came in nature, whether you were summiting your 46th high peak, or paddling through the St. Regis canoe wilderness, or standing open-mouthed and filled with wonder in the eerie twilight of a total eclipse. Perhaps your mountaintop moment came in worship. It might have felt like an ordinary Sunday to others, but in the singing and the prayers, the message and the fellowship, you knew the nearness of God and your own belovedness.

If we all have mountaintop moments, then we all have valley moments, too. These are the occasions when our hearts tremble before the challenge that we face. I grew up in the valley of family dysfunction, a household troubled by alcohol abuse, domestic violence, and mental illness. The more my family under functioned, the more I tried to over function—to make peace, offer protection, be loving, be perfect. It often felt precarious, powerless, and scary. Your valley moments may have similar roots in a wounded family. Or, the valley may find us when our hearts are broken by the painful and puzzling end of a long, committed relationship. The valley finds us as we confront a bleak diagnosis or support a loved one in a time of health crisis and suffering. The valley finds us when our children struggle, pull away, and even reject us. The valley finds us when we are bowed down by grief and cannot imagine a tomorrow. The valley finds us when we tremble before the chaos unfolding on the national or world stage.

On Transfiguration Sunday, we accompany Jesus and his inner circle of disciples as they move from mountaintop to valley. Atop Mount Tabor, Peter, James, and John saw Jesus revealed in glory, the very light of God shining through him to illuminate the world. Not long before, the disciples had been troubled to hear Jesus anticipate the suffering and death that would await him in Jerusalem. On the mountaintop, flanked by Moses and Elijah, filled with heavenly light, the cross must have seemed like an impossibility for Jesus. In fact, it was such a bright and shining moment that Peter wanted it to last forever, to trade the Via Dolorosa for the moment of revelation. But those impetuous plans were thwarted by God’s proclamation, “This is my Son; listen to him!” Jesus had other plans that would return them to the valley, where a desperate father waited, seeking help for his sick son.

Transfiguration Sunday speaks to an essential tension in every life, where our mountaintop moments are followed by the hurt and hardship of the valley. Our bright and shining moments offer us clarity, affirmation, and love, but we don’t get to stay there. The valley finds us. We return to the hard work of healing.

In his second epistle to the early Christian communities that were scattered across the Roman Empire, the Apostle Peter recalled his mountaintop moment with the transfigured Jesus (2 Peter 1:16-21). He wrote, “[We were] eyewitnesses of his majesty. For he received honor and glory from God the Father when that voice was conveyed to him by the Majestic Glory, saying, ‘This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’ We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain.” Peter came to think of his transfiguration experience as “a lamp shining in a dark place,” a memory with the capacity to illumine life in the valley. Our bright and shining moments kindle an unshakeable hope that shines in our darkness.

Prof. Dan Tomasulo, who teaches at the University of Pennsylvania, says that hope is the most unique of our positive emotions, because hope requires some degree of difficulty, negativity, or uncertainty to be kindled. If there isn’t something going wrong, we don’t call upon hope. When it comes to our emotional world, mountaintop and valley are a beautiful terrible dance. We find inspiration, hope, and purpose on the mountaintop. Then, as life’s valley confronts us with heartache and woe, we must call upon that hope. As hope springs into flame, the memory of our bright and shining moments equips us to face the everyday difficulties that plague us all. In drawing upon the vision and hope of the mountaintop, we find the grace to walk the lonesome valley.

Dr. Tomasulo points out that our level of hope can have a big impact on our lives. When we are high-hope people, we are energized by a passion that stirs our persistence and follow-through. We are optimistic about the future and see challenges as opportunities to grow and learn, rather than as roadblocks or obstacles that keep us stuck. High-hope people not only bounce back from setbacks—”they seem to bounce forward” and keep going despite the challenges.

If the Apostle Peter and Dr. Tomasulo are right, then we have what it takes to endure the valley and move on into the future that God holds ready. There is a holy light that shines in the memory of our times on the mountaintop, and that light never goes away. It shines in the world’s darkness; it shines in our valley. That persistent, powerful, hopeful light, is there, whenever we need it. Thanks be to God.

I’d like to close my message by leading us in a time of reflection, that invites our mountaintop moments to shine in the valley. Are we ready?

We begin by being seated comfortably with a strong back and soft front, rooted in your seat and grounded in the moment. You can adjust your body as needed, attending to how you feel.

If it feels comfortable, you may close your eyes, or simply allow your gaze to be soft and rest upon something still.

Now let’s take a few deep breaths, breathing in through the nose and releasing your breath slowly through the mouth. Imagine you are breathing in this time and place and breathing out any concerns over what has happened in the past. Breathe in this moment and breathe out any worry about what will be. Simply breathe in and out, here and now.

Now I invite you to bring to mind a bright and shining moment. This is a moment when you felt close to God, others, creation. This is a moment that feels hopeful, filled with light, connection, possibility. It’s a moment that feels a little holy, a little more than what is ordinary. Do you have your moment?

Allow that moment to come to life for you, filling you with the images, feelings, and body felt senses of the moment. Allow it to unfold. Be steeped and filled with the goodness of that moment. Take some nice deep breaths into it.

Remember that the blessing of this moment is here for you whenever you need it.

Thank God, and your body, and your breath for that memory and for this moment.

Now, I invite you to begin to come back, perhaps flexing your fingers or wiggling your toes. When you are ready, you can open your eyes.

Thank goodness for those mountaintop moments. May they shine in the valley below. Amen.

Resources:

Susan Henrich. “Commentary on Luke 9:28-36” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 27, 2022. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/transfiguration-of-our-lord-3/commentary-on-luke-928-36-37-43-5

Troy Troftgruben. “Commentary on Luke 9:28-36” in Preaching This Week, March 2, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/transfiguration-of-our-lord-3/commentary-on-luke-928-36-37-43a

Kathryn Schifferdecker. “Glimpse of Glory” in Dear Working Preacher, Feb. 27, 2022. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/glimpse-of-glory

Dan J. Tomasulo. “How to Cultivate Hope” in Psychology Today, May 2, 2023. Accessed online at https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/articles/202305/the-power-of-hope?msockid=02b77a0d2ad563c12b2668682bd2625c

Luke 9:28-43

The Transfiguration

28 Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James and went up on the mountain to pray. 29 And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became as bright as a flash of lightning. 30 Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. 31 They appeared in glory and were speaking about his exodus, which he was about to fulfill in Jerusalem. 32 Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep, but as they awoke they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. 33 Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us set up three tents: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah,” not realizing what he was saying. 34 While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them, and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. 35 Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” 36 When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.

Jesus Heals a Boy with a Demon

37 On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. 38 Just then a man from the crowd shouted, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. 39 Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. 40 I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.” 41 Jesus answered, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and put up with you? Bring your son here.” 42 While he was being brought forward, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. 43 And all were astounded at the greatness of God.

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