Month: April 2025

Beyond Fear

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — Beyond Fear John 20:19-23; Psalm 23

For 1,200 years, people have been walking the Camino de Santiago, the Way of St. James. It’s a network of trails that snake across Europe, leading to the Great Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain.  According to tradition, the Apostle James the Great (the son of Zebedee) was the first to take the gospel to Spain, traveling to the Iberian Peninsula on the frontier of the Roman Empire and sharing the good news of Jesus Christ. When James returned to Jerusalem, he ran afoul of King Herod Agrippa, who ordered the evangelist to be beheaded, making him the first of the apostles to be martyred. James’ followers collected his body and took it by boat to Spain, where it still lies entombed in the Great Cathedral.

In the Middle Ages, as the black death swept across Europe and the Moors swept across the Mediterranean, the church encouraged pilgrims to travel to Santiago as an act of devotion that was a safer alternative to Jerusalem. Some were even prescribed the journey as penance for sin. William Wey of Eton College in England made the pilgrimage in 1456.  In his account of his journey, William wrote, “Whoever has come on pilgrimage to the church of St. James, son of Zebedee, at any time, has one-third of all his sins remitted.” There must have been many people looking for absolution because William noted the diversity of the pilgrims: “They included English, Welsh, Irish, Normans, Bretons, and others.” Medieval pilgrims set out on foot from across the continent, some with little more than a pilgrim’s staff and the clothes on their backs. Along the way, they were tended by monastic hostels and refuges that provided food and a safe night’s lodging.

Nowadays, pilgrims walk the Way of St. James for many reasons. About 43% of people continue to walk for spiritual reasons, as an act of devotion, a time or prayer, or a rite of penance. Others, who may be spiritual but not religious, say they are seeking. A middle-aged man who is a self-confessed couch potato says he walked the Camino to find peace with the grief of his past. A newly graduated college student says that she walked for discernment, hoping she would find direction and purpose for her professional path. An overburdened youth counselor took a break from her practice because she needed to shed the non-stop needs of others and make time for herself. In June, Duane and I will embark on the pilgrim path that leads from Portugal to Santiago as an act of devotion, prayer, and spiritual renewal.

John’s Gospel tells us that James the Son of Zebedee was frightened. With his fellow apostles, he hid behind a locked door on Easter evening for fear of persecution. Mary Magdalene had returned early in the day with the amazing and joyous news that she had seen the risen Lord. God had broken the power of sin and death. But on Easter evening, Mary’s good news had not made a dent in the disciples’ despair. They feared arrest, torture, execution. They feared the cross.

Fear—and its friends worry and anxiety—are an essential part of being human. We need fear to galvanize us to take action, to make bold choices, and to prompt our personal growth. But when fear drives our bus, we can get into trouble. Fear, worry, and anxiety can keep us from getting a good night’s sleep, have a negative impact on our job performance, and undermine our relationships with colleagues, friends, and beloved ones. Fear can generate a host of unpleasant physical symptoms, too: muscle tension, headache, upset stomach, lightheadedness, diarrhea, and increased heart rate and respiration. Chronic fear and worry prompt our sympathetic nervous system to release stress hormones, raise our blood sugar, and boost our tri-glycerides. Unchecked fear can lead to chronic health problems, everything from irritable bowel syndrome to asthma and heart disease. For 57 million Americans, chronic fear takes the form of crippling anxiety that compromises their ability to live full and balanced lives.

To be human is to live with fear. That must be why God’s presence in the midst of our fear is one of the most persistent of God’s promises in scripture. When the aging, childless, patriarch Abraham cried out to God in fear that he would die and be forgotten, God answered, “Do not be afraid, I am your shield” (Gen. 15:1). When the Israelites feared that they would perish at the hands of their enemies in the wilderness, God promised, “Do not lose heart or be afraid or panic or be in dread, for it is the Lord who goes with you to fight for you and give you victory” (Deut. 20:1-4). When Joshua and the people prepared to cross over into the unknown land that God had given to them, God again encouraged them, “Do not fear or be dismayed.  It is the Lord who will be with you. He will not fail or forsake you” (Deut. 31:7-8). God kept those promises.  Abraham and Sarah gave birth to Isaac. The Israelites endured the wilderness with manna in the morning, quails at nightfall, and protection from fierce enemies. With God’s help, Joshua and the twelve tribes took possession of that land that flowed with milk and honey. Even today, as we face our fears, we are likely to keep them at bay with the promises of scripture. We pray with the words of the Psalmist, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.”

Those fearful disciples found a remedy for their fear on Easter evening. Neither a locked door nor the overwhelming terror of persecution could keep Jesus out. There he was in their midst, bringing repeated words of peace and the assurance that he truly was with them, ready to share his wounds to make his point. The apostles’ fear transformed to joy with alleluias, tears of happiness, and words of praise filling that upper room.

What happened next has piqued the interest of Bible scholars ever since. Some call it the Little Pentecost. Like God in the Garden of Eden puffing the breath of life into Adam and Eve, Jesus breathed on his friends. As the Spirit of Jesus filled the disciples, they became a new creation. They found the courage to be sent as Jesus was sent—out into a world that might reject them, that might persecute them. James the Son of Zebedee found his thoughts turning to the edges of the empire, to the wilds of Iberia and the people who waited in fear for the assurance of God’s presence and love.

We all live with fear. This morning, we may even have some fears that are related to the “s” word—that’s right sabbatical. Elders and deacons may feel a little overwhelmed by impending new responsibilities. Church staff may feel worried about not having the boss around for direction or moral support. We may all feel worried about Sunday mornings—other voices in the pulpit. Men! They’ll have different styles of worship leadership—and who knows what songs we’ll be forced to sing. We may feel anxious that we won’t have our pastor to listen to our concerns, visit us when we are under the weather, or preside at a memorial service.

I’ll even confess some of my personal fears.  I worry that no one will come to church in my absence, or that you’ll all opt out of the special learning opportunities of this sabbatical time for the church. I worry about leaving our dog Gybi with family while we fly off to walk the Way of St. James. And what if in our trekking across Portugal and Spain, Duane or I are injured?  This sabbatical is an amazing opportunity for pastor and parish alike. But even wonderful opportunities can stir fear within us. Can’t they?

Perhaps we can find a remedy for our fears in the example of James the Son of Zebedee, who left his fear behind and went forth to the Roman frontier with good news that would transform Iberia, news that still inspires pilgrims to walk the Way of St. James today (at least 42% of us). We can remember that the Spirit of Jesus breathes in us, comforting and encouraging, inspiring and leading. We can move past our fears because Christ will be with us and in us, even closer than the beating of our own hearts. We have what it takes to face everything that the next fifteen weeks will bring our way because Jesus is with us.

I want to finish up my message with some words of assurance. I’ll be naming some situations that may arise in the coming weeks. Then you’ll respond with the words, “the Lord will be with us.” Are we ready?

When worship isn’t led exactly as we would like, or we are forced to sing a new hymn, the Lord will be with us.

When announcements don’t make it into the bulletin, or no one signs up for Coffee Hour, the Lord will be with us.

When we get out of our comfort zone to meet in small groups or retreat to Montreal or join a Sermon on the Trail, the Lord will be with us. 

When our muscles ache and our feet are sore from a long day of hiking, the Lord will be with us. 

When we take a wrong turn, and we miss our dog and our friends and our family and our church, the Lord will be with us.

In all this and more, who will be with us?  That’s right – the Lord! 

May we find the ability to move beyond all those fears, worries, and uncertainties in the sure and certain knowledge that the Lord is with us, his very Spirit breathes in us. We will survive sabbatical—we may even thrive—because the Lord will be with us.

Resources

Kristin John Largen. “Theological Perspective on John 20:19-33” in Feasting on the Gospels: John, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2015.

E. Elizabeth Johnson. “Pastoral Perspective on John 20:19-33” in Feasting on the Gospels: John, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2015.

Susan Grove Eastman. “Exegetical Perspective on John 20:19-33” in Feasting on the Gospels: John, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2015.

Paul Simpson Duke. “Homiletical Perspective on John 20:19-33” in Feasting on the Gospels: John, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2015.

James Johnston. “STEPS: Why People Walk the Camino de Santiago.” Accessed online at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzPmdAd0Oek&t=485s

–. Harvard Health Publications. “Anxiety and Physical Illness,” July 1, 2008. Accessed on-line at health.harvard.edu.

Jillian Reid. “Medieval pilgrim shell tokens & St James’ Way” in The Blog of the London Museum, April 24, 2024. Accessed online at https://www.londonmuseum.org.uk/blog/medieval-pilgrim-shell-tokens-and-st-james-way/

John 20:19-23

19 When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors were locked where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” 20 After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. 21 Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” 22 When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. 23 If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

Psalm 23

1 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2     He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
3     he restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths
    for his name’s sake.

4 Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
    I fear no evil,
for you are with me;
    your rod and your staff,
    they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me
    in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
    my cup overflows.
6 Surely[e] goodness and mercy shall follow me
    all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
    my whole life long.

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Meeting the Gardener

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Meeting the Gardener” John 20:1-18

The world is filled with weeping places this morning. In northern Nigeria, vulnerable people are hungry. They live with lingering violence of the terrorist organization Boko Haram, which has made international headlines for abductions, murders, and other criminal activity. They’ve been hit by natural and manmade disasters, too. Flooding has caused crops to fail. Corruption and poor governance exploit the poor, serve the rich, and sell justice to the highest bidder. According to Nigerian Peacemaker Peter Egwudah, life in northern Nigeria is a long-running struggle with food insecurity. Hardest hit are women, children, the elderly, and those with disabilities.

The world is filled with weeping places this morning. The family of Kilmar Abrego Garcia is weeping. Kilmar came to the United States illegally from El Salvador in 2011, sent north by his family to escape gang violence there. Here, he has worked construction, married Jennifer Vasquez Sura­—a US citizen, and supported his family. His five-year-old child has autism, is deaf in one ear, and cannot communicate verbally. Kilmar was mistakenly accused of being an MS-13 gang member by a paid informant, who had never met him or even been in the same state. Last month, he was deported to the Terrorism Confinement Center in Tecoluca, El Salvador. Although the courts have called for his release and return, the Abrego Garcia family waits and weeps, unsure if they will ever see their husband and father again.

The world is filled with weeping places this morning. We know those who weep: the neighbor who struggles with a bleak diagnosis, the friend who has lost a job, the parent who laments the untimely death of a child, the family member who wrestles with addiction, the person on a fixed income whose retirement savings have been hard hit by volatile markets. We know those who weep; sometimes we are the ones who weep.

It is hard to see the Lord when we are in our weeping places. Just ask Mary Magdalene. Mary walked to the tomb in the pre-dawn darkness. Her footsteps echoed through the streets of the sleeping city. Her heart was heavy with memories of recent days. A week ago, Jesus had made a triumphal entry to Jerusalem, but things had gone terribly and unthinkably wrong. Powerful opponents had conspired to bring about his arrest through the betrayal of a trusted friend. Injustice had been served by both the Temple court and Pontius Pilate. On Friday, Mary’s world had descended into violence and chaos as her teacher was brutally beaten and scourged, taunted with insults and mockery, reviled in hate, and crucified. Mary wept at the tomb, thinking that the world’s evil had outmatched God’s goodness, and now her Lord was nowhere to be found. Mary wept.

It is hard to see the Lord when we are in our weeping places. When the doctor breaks the bad news or the boss hands us the pink slip, we wonder “Why me, God?” When we are bowed down with grief and cannot see tomorrow, we ask, “Why this, Lord?” When addiction controls our lives and wreaks havoc within our families we ask, “Where are you, God?” When we are gripped by fear and worried about the future, we lament “Lord, why would you let this happen?” In our weeping places, we feel powerless and overwhelmed. In our weeping places, we fear that God is distant and we are alone.

As she raised her voice in lamentation outside the empty tomb, Mary learned that Christ was with her in her weeping place. Eyes blurred by tears and ears closed with grief, Mary first mistook Jesus for the gardener, come to clean up any mess left behind by Friday’s hasty burial. But then her tears came to an end as she heard her name, “Mary,” spoken by that most beloved of voices.

On Easter morning, we remember Mary’s tears, and we proclaim again the beautiful, terrible truth of the incarnation and the cross. God loved us so much that God would become flesh and live among us with mercy, healing, and infinite compassion. God’s love would stop at nothing to be reconciled to us and to reconcile us to one another—willing even suffering death upon a cross. But God’s love wins the victory over sin and death. God shows up in our weeping places with our name upon God’s lips and a purpose for our lives.

On Easter morning, we can face our tears head on, because we see that we are not alone. When the test results arrive and the doctor shakes her head, the risen Lord is with us. When the pink slip is in and the job possibilities are out, the risen Christ is with us. When untimely loss sends us into the valley of the shadow of death, we are not alone for God is with us. When we feel brought low by addiction or hardship, economic chaos or uncertain times, we trust that Jesus is in our midst with a love that is stronger than all the tears our world can serve up.

Bible scholars like to call our attention to the placement of Jesus’ tomb within a garden. They say it recalls God’s amazing work of creation, described in the first chapters of Genesis. They say that in breaking the power of sin and death upon the cross, God made a new creation. The separation between humanity and God came to an end, our alienation from one another is over. As new creations, we can go forth in holy, healed, and unexpected ways. It was true for Mary Magdalene. There in the garden, outside the empty tomb, Jesus the gardener gave Mary a new vocation. She became an evangelist. He sent her forth to a weeping world with a message of resurrection hope, “I have seen the Lord.”

On this Easter Sunday, may we, too, know that we are a new creation. May we, like Mary, see that we have a new vocation. We are sent into the world with the hopeful message that we have seen the Lord. Yes, the world abounds with weeping places, and yet God’s love is stronger than our tears, stronger than the hurt and harm that cause our eyes to fill and our hearts to tremble. As we go forth into the world’s weeping places, we point to the presence of Jesus, who continues to walk among the hurting and broken people of our world who fear they are alone.

Today, we will share the good news of Christ’s presence with the vulnerable people of northern Nigeria through One Great Hour of Sharing. Since 2017, our contributions have supported the work of the Civil Society Coalition for Poverty Eradication (CISCOPE). CISCOPE is at work in northern Nigeria, Sudan, Somalia, and Yemen, places where 20% families experience a severe lack of food. Beyond meeting emergency needs, CISCOPE helps families to find long-range food sufficiency through vegetable seed, agricultural machinery, teaching farming practices, and training for disaster preparedness. 70% of those helped by CISCOPE are women, children, and vulnerable people who have traditionally been ignored.

How do we bear witness to Jesus for families like that of Kilmar Abrego Garcia? It’s challenging in this highly-politicized partisan climate, where one faction characterizes Kilmar as a violent criminal while the other side champions him as a local hero. We can begin by remembering that there are families at the heart of the immigration crisis. Kilmar is the public face of an international tragedy in a world where violence, disaster, and extreme poverty have forced people from homes in places like Central America, Africa, Syria, Afghanistan, and Haiti. They flee in search of safety and opportunity. They come to lands that welcome their undocumented, underpaid labor but prefer that they remain strangers to us, subsisting in the shadows on the scraps of the land of plenty. For Kilmar and those like him around the world, we remember that Jesus, too, was a migrant. We point to the infant messiah, whose parents were forced by threat of political violence to flee their homeland and sojourn in the land of Egypt. What might our policies and actions look like, if we envisioned the infant Jesus caught in the crossfire?

What does pointing to the presence of Jesus look like for the hurting people whom we know, those who fear and mourn, despair and weep? We can begin by going to the tomb, showing up and being present for folks who weep with shared tears and abounding compassion. When the time is right, we can try, like Mary, to share how we have “seen the Lord” in our own times of hardship, loss, and pain. We can bear witness to our hurting friends and neighbors with more than words: with hot meals, honey-dos, and practical support; with abounding prayer, phone calls, and cards; with generous encouragement and lots of listening.

On Easter morning, the world is filled with weeping places, my friends, but it is also filled with the presence of Christ. The Lord has risen; he has risen indeed. We have seen the Lord. Let us go forth to those who weep with the good news of God’s amazing love.

Resources

Ben Finley. “Who is Kilmar Abrego Garcia, the man ICE mistakenly deported to an El Salvador prison?” in The Associated Press, April 18, 2025.

Rich Copley. “How your One Great Hour of Sharing gifts are used” in Presbyterian News Service, April 6, 2022. Accessed online at https://pcusa.org/news-storytelling/news/2022/4/6/how-your-one-great-hour-sharing-gifts-are-used

Joy J. Moore. “Commentary on John 20:1-18” in Preaching This Week, April 21, 2019. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/resurrection-of-our-lord-3/commentary-on-john-201-18-10

Alicia D. Myers. “Commentary on John 20:1-18” in Preaching This Week, April 12, 2020. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/resurrection-of-our-lord/commentary-on-john-201-18-11

Jason Ripley. “Commentary on John 20:1-18” in Preaching This Week, April 20, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/resurrection-of-our-lord-3/commentary-on-john-201-18-19

Rolf Jacobson. “For Such a Time as This” in Dear Working Preacher, April 5, 2020. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/for-a-time-such-as-this

Paul Simpson Duke. “Homiletical Perspective on John 20:11-18” in Feasting on the Gospels, John, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2015.

John 20:1-18

20 Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. 2 So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” 3 Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. 4 The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. 5 He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. 6 Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, 7 and the cloth that had been on Jesus’s head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. 8 Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed, 9 for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. 10 Then the disciples returned to their homes. 11 But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look[a] into the tomb, 12 and she saw two angels in white sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. 13 They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” 14 When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. 15 Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir,[b] if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” 16 Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew,[c] “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). 17 Jesus said to her, “Do not touch me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ ” 18 Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord,” and she told them that he had said these things to her.

Many Names

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When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was shaken, saying. “Who is this?”—Matthew 21:10

All: We called him by many names.

First Voice: Spring rains blew in from the Great Sea. The hills of Judah traded drab winter browns for green—in some places, lush and deep, in others, bright and glowing. The sheep lambed. Little ones nursed greedily with wagging tails from weary ewes. East of the city, the wilderness bloomed. Delicate blossoms danced fleetingly above rocky, red soil. Wadis, that by mid-summer would be dry as dust, filled with water. The Jordan was swollen with snowmelt rushing down from the slopes of Mt. Hermon. From marshy riversides, clouds of storks rose to whirl across the sky, their long legs trailing and harsh voices calling as they journeyed from Cush to the lands beyond the sea. At night, our breath hung in clouds, so we drew close to the fire and pulled our cloaks snug to guard against the cold. During the day, the sun shone bright in a deep blue sky, tempered by fine white clouds.

All: We called him by many names.

Second Voice: The Passover was near. We turned our hearts and feet to Jerusalem. Once we were slaves in Egypt. We groaned hopeless beneath Pharaoh’s iron yoke; yet, God heard our cries and called Moses to lead us to freedom, a task that proved easier said than done. God sent nine waves of plague and pestilence to soften Pharaoh’s hard heart: blood and frogs, gnats and flies, disease and boils, hail, locusts, and darkness. Just when we thought that Pharaoh would never relent, God sent the tenth and most terrible plague. To shield us, the Lord told us to slaughter a lamb and paint the door posts of our dwellings red with blood. That night, while we roasted the lamb and dressed for travel in silence, the night was filled with screams as the angel of death passed over our homes but took the lives of the firstborn of all Egypt. The next morning, while Pharaoh wept, we made our exodus, bound for a land that flowed with milk, honey, and freedom.  Every year as the Passover drew near, we remembered what God had done for us, and we dreamed of what God might do next.

All: We called him by many names.

Third Voice: Passover pilgrims filled the roads and flowed up to the Holy City. From the East, merchants to the Gentiles sailed home across the Great Sea and walked the Roman Road from Caesarea, alongside centurions sent to Jerusalem to keep the Pax Romana. From the South, caravans converged in Beersheba, bringing beautiful, dark-skinned cousins from the source of the Nile and the jungles of Ethiopia. From the West, fierce nomads with camels and veiled women traded their desert camps for pilgrim paths. From the North, farmers left the soft hills of Galilee, followed the Jordan south to Jericho, and climbed up through the Valley of the Shadow of Death—4,000 feet in fifteen miles.

All: We called him by many names.

First Voice: Atop the Mount of Olives we paused, looking out across the Kidron Valley. Our breath caught and hearts raced to see that most precious and sacred of sights: the Temple crowning Jerusalem in the morning light. In the midst of our multitude, one pilgrim rode a donkey colt, like the Prince of Peace, promised long ago by the Prophet Zechariah. We waved palms and surrounded him with our songs. 

All: We called him by many names.

Second Voice: We called him teacher. He taught with parables and proverbs, drawing sacred truth from everyday life: lilies of the field, birds of the air, a sower planting seed, a woman making bread.  To hear his bold teaching, listeners filled the synagogues of Galilee to overflowing. When they became too numerous, he taught on the lakeshore, speaking from a boat moored in the shallows. He taught on the mountainside to vast crowds who feasted on his words and then feasted on miraculous meals of fish and loaves. As he read from the scroll of the Prophet Isaiah, we saw him as the fulfillment of ancient promises to bring sight to the blind, mobility to the lame, and freedom to the prisoner. So, we called him Teacher and followed on his heels, eager to hear the words he spoke.

All: We called him by many names.

Third Voice: We called him king. His father was a Bethlehem boy of the line of David. Hadn’t God promised to send a king like David to restore the fortunes of Israel? That morning, on the pilgrim way down the Mount of Olives, he looked like a peasant king. He looked like Judas Maccabeus, who, two centuries before, had led a grassroots revolution to rid the land of the Greeks and purify the Temple. Between the distant memory of Passover and the near history of the Maccabees, we dared to hope for change. So, we welcomed him with the Hallel Psalms[1] of pilgrims. We called him king and spread our cloaks upon the road as a sign of our allegiance.

All: We called him by many names.

First Voice: We called him Lord.  He called us away from our fishing nets, plows, and tax booths with an authority that made us see that he was special. Then, as we followed him throughout the Galilee, we saw things that had first made us question our sanity, and then made us rethink God’s plan for the salvation of our people. With a power that could only come from God, he cleansed lepers, cast out demons, stilled storms, and walked on water. We began to wonder where he ended and God began—or if God could somehow have been in the man from the very beginning.  So, we called him Lord to let him know that we alone knew who he truly was.

All: We called him by many names

Second Voice: We called him a heretic, a teacher of lies. We noticed he was less than scrupulous in observing the Torah. He ate with sinners and healed on the Sabbath day. He welcomed tax collectors and taught women. He called our scribes and Pharisees white-washed tombs and blind guides. How could such a man be holy as God is holy? We saw that he was a threat to tradition and a danger to the people, and so we challenged him in the Temple. With our word games and rhetorical tricks, we sought to shame him and condemn him for blasphemy. When this failed, we plotted to bring about his death. We justified our lust for his blood, claiming that the death of the one man was a small price to pay to safeguard the holiness and peace of the many.

All: We called him by many names.

Third Voice: We called him a criminal and said he was no king at all. He had no taste for violence. He exhorted his followers to put down their weapons, saying that to live by the sword was to die by the sword. He lacked the will and the political ambition for regime change. He was less a king like David, ready to wage war and seize power, and more a Passover lamb, fit only for the slaughter. By Friday morning, we traded the song of “Blessed is the king” for the cry of “Crucify him.” Then, with mixed contempt and indifference, we watched a very different parade. Beaten, bloody, and broken, he dragged his cross through the city streets to the place we called The Skull.

All: We called him by many names.

First Voice: We called him a stranger. The mood turned murderously dark in the Holy City, and the adoration that had prompted us to call him, “Lord,” turned to fear, terrible fear. It was the kind of fear that makes you look over your shoulder, robs you of sleep, and loosens your bowels. It was the kind of fear that makes you weep like a lost child or a cuckolded husband. It was a fear that overwhelmed and unmanned us. While he prayed with bitter tears of anguish, we slept.  When the betrayer came with the Temple guards to arrest him, we ran. While he was tried before the Council, we denied him. As he suffered on the cross, we left the women to bear witness.  When they laid him in the tomb, we hid.

All: We called him by many names.

Second Voice: Teacher.

Third Voice: King.

First Voice: Lord.

Second Voice: Heretic.

Third Voice: Criminal.

All: Stranger.

[1] Psalms 113—118 are known as the Hallel Psalms, or simply the Hallel (Hallel means praise in Hebrew). While many psalms praise God, this set of psalms became associated with Passover, due the mention of the deliverance from Egypt in Psalm 114.

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Give Us Justice

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Give Us Justice” Luke 18:1-8

Americans are fascinated with the world of “Law and Order.” We’ve been watching it on television since 1990. The series follows crime as it moves from law enforcement, where tough-minded detectives make their case, to the courtroom, where idealistic district attorneys present the evidence to judge and jury. With stories that are often ripped from the headlines, the show has been television gold, spawning a number of spin-offs over the years: “Law and Order: Criminal Intent,” “Law and Order: Trial by Jury,” “Law and Order: LA,” “Law and Order: Special Victims Unit,” and “Law and Order: Organized Crime.” Even when the original series was canceled after 20 years in 2010, we wanted more. It returned from beyond the television grave in 2022 and can still be watched on Thursday nights at 9pm. We like it when justice is served.

The Bible tells us that God is our ultimate judge, and one day, we will all face judgment. The Prophet Isaiah instructed, “the Lord is our judge, the Lord is our lawgiver, the Lord is our king; He will save us” (Is. 33:22). As Judge, God has particular interest in justice for the most vulnerable of God’s people. In fact, in reading the Hebrew Bible, you’ll find that God mentions the need to ensure justice for the widow, orphan, and resident alien about ninety times. Without a male head of household to protect them in those deeply patriarchal times, widows, orphans, and guest workers had to find justice in the courts.

Scripture also tells us that God appointed judges as earthly agents of God’s justice. Indeed, long before there were kings in Israel, there were judges, who played a special role in ensuring the peace and wholeness of the community. Judges were chosen from among the people and were known for their wisdom, compassion, and deep understanding of God’s law. The first judges included both women and men.

Justice in the ancient Near East was dispensed at the city gate, before the eyes of the community. In Jesus’ day, you couldn’t enter a city without walking by both the Seat of Judgment and the judge. If you felt a merchant had cheated you with false weights and measure or if a family member had deprived you of a rightful inheritance, then you took it to the Seat of Judgment and trusted that the judge would bring justice and restore peace to the community.

This traditional system of judgment is the setting for Jesus’ story of the persistent widow and the unjust judge. Jesus didn’t give his listeners the back story to his widow, but we can trust that she was mourning the death of her husband and that she had suffered an injustice. Without inheritance rights to protect her, we presume that her late husband’s nearest male relative had helped himself to all that his kinsman left behind and failed to honor his obligation to care well for the widow. So, she turned to the legal system to right the wrong that had been perpetrated against her.

There’s only one problem in Jesus’ story. The judge is corrupt. In a tradition which teaches that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, this man doesn’t fear God. In a community where your good reputation is more valuable than gold, this man doesn’t care what his neighbors think. Most likely, he was what was popularly called a “Robber Judge” in first-century Israel; someone who had bought his office by greasing the palm of Herod or a Roman overlord, who dispensed favorable judgments to the highest bidder and would reportedly “pervert justice for a dish of meat.” Every morning, the poor widow in Jesus’ story would go to the city gate and wait at the seat of judgment, but she couldn’t even get on the docket.

The least explored aspect of this parable is the role of the community. I’ve never heard a sermon preached on it or read a scholarly article about it. The action of Jesus’ parable unfolds in the eyes of the community. Remember, justice was dispensed at the city gate. Everyone in Jesus’ fictional community would have known the widow, heard her case, and seen her persistence—day after day crying out for justice. Everyone in Jesus’ community would have known the teachings of the Torah, especially God’s expectation that the widow, orphan, and stranger be guaranteed justice and mercy. But the community in Jesus’ story is silent. No one stands with the widow. No one pleads her case. No patriarch takes her into his household and demands justice on her behalf. Jesus described a woman alone in the struggle, who eventually was granted the just ruling she deserved, not because she changed the mind of a corrupt judge, but because she simply wore him down.

Perhaps when Jesus told his story, he was thinking about his own, fast-approaching day in court. Soon Jesus and his friends would be on their way to Jerusalem for the Passover. Soon Jesus would stand before the judgment seat of Pilate. Soon, Pilate would ask the crowd to cry out in support of Jesus, to call for his release. No one did. Instead, they shouted, “Away with this man! Send out Barabbas for us, but this man, crucify him!”

In Jesus’ parable, no one advocated for the widow’s justice, and when Jesus stood before the seat of judgment, the crowd cried out for an injustice. When the parable and Jesus’ experience are held in tension, we see the power of community to ensure or deny justice. God may be the ultimate judge. Our courts may serve as earthly advocates to arbitrate and rule upon the law. But we all have an indispensable role to play in ensuring that justice prevails.

On March 9, the United States was added to the Global Human Rights Watchlist over declining civil liberties. The watchlist is maintained by CIVICUS—a global alliance and network of civil society groups, including Amnesty International, that advocates for greater citizen action in areas where civil liberties are limited. The watchdog group notes whether nations are open, narrowed, obstructed, repressed, or closed, with regard to civil rights. “Open” is the highest ranking, meaning all people are able to practice liberties such as free speech, while the lowest ranking is, of course, “closed.” We have long cherished our status as an open nation, but last month, we were downgraded to narrowed. In justifying that change, CIVICUS cites the cut of more than 90% of our foreign aid contracts; the elimination of diversity, equity, and inclusion programs; and the denial of due process for immigrants whose legal status is questionable. Since that March ninth report, we’ve seen further challenges to justice, like detention and deportation of those who are in the United States legally, threats to our freedom of assembly, threats to the freedom of the press, the rollback of legal protections for our LGBTQ+ neighbors, efforts to buy votes, and more. The widow is crying out against the unjust judges of our world, and she still can’t get her day in court.

If we page ahead in scripture to the Book of Revelation (Rev. 20:11-12), John of Patmos gives us an unsettling vision of the last days. Seated upon a great white throne is our ultimate judge—and it is Jesus. All humanity stands before the throne and the Book of Life is opened. One by one, we all face judgment according to our deeds.

When Jesus wrapped up his parable of the persistent widow, he alluded to this coming Day of Judgment. He said, “And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith upon the earth?” It’s a question about our belief and trust in him. But it is also a question about our faithfulness to his ways and our commitment to his justice. We all have an indispensable role to play in ensuring that justice prevails. We know what the Lord requires of us, but will we keep the faith? Will we advocate for the vulnerable? Or, will we stand by as justice is perverted and our vulnerable neighbors struggle alone?

The jury is out, my friends. We can stand up for justice, or we can turn our heads, sit back, and watch a fictionalized “Law and Order” version of it on television every Thursday night at nine. It’s up to us. Amen.

Resources

Solcyré Burga. “U.S. Added to Global Human Rights Watchlist Over Declining Civil Liberties” in Time Magazine, March 13, 2025. Accessed online at https://time.com/7266334/us-human-rights-watchlist-civil-liberties/

Miguel A. De la Torre. “Theological Perspective on Luke 18:1-8” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Gregory Alan Robbins. “Exegetical Perspective on Luke 18:1-8” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

J.S. Randolph Harris. “Homiletical Perspective on Luke 18:1-8” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Tembah J. Mafico. “Judge, Judging” in The Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 3, H-J. Doubleday, 1992.

Luke 18:1-8

Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. 2 He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. 3 In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my accuser.’ 4 For a while he refused, but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, 5 yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’” 6 And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. 7 And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? 8 I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”

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