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God Who Hears

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “God Who Hears” Genesis 21:8-21

Children are crying.

Children are crying in Malawi this morning. One of the least developed nations in the world, more than 70% of Malawi’s people live in poverty. 69% of Malawians have access to clean water, thanks to initiatives like the shallow well program, but the country lags woefully behind in sanitation. Only 26% of Malawians have access to essential sanitation, like toilets and sewers. Only 9% have access to resources for basic hygiene, like running water, showers, or baths.

For many children, food scarcity means chronic hunger. 37% of Malawi’s children experience stunting—they don’t receive sufficient nutrition for the development of their bodies and brains. Malnutrition affects health. 40,000 of Malawi’s children under five die each year from preventable and treatable diseases. 39% of Malawi’s children, some as young as 5-years-old, work to help provide for their families. Economic pressure means that children are pushed into early marriages. About half of all girls are married before their 18th birthday. That may explain why Malawi’s premature births and maternal deaths are among the highest in the world.

Children are crying.

Children are crying in our nation this morning. 10.35 million of America’s children live in poverty—that’s 14.3% of our children. Even more children—14.1 million—live in families that contend with food insecurity—not enough monthly income to ensure that nutritious food is consistently on the table. They depend on local food pantries and school lunch programs. Those numbers are worse here in the North Country. 20.1% of Franklin County’s children—that’s one in five kids—live in poverty.

Poverty detrimentally shapes the future of our children. They do not receive adequate medical care and have poorer health outcomes that will affect their well-being for a lifetime. 70% of fourth graders who live in poverty are unable to read at their grade level. 73% of eighth graders who live in poverty are not proficient in math. They are significantly less likely to graduate from high school. As adults, they will earn less money than their prosperous peers, perpetuating a cycle of generational poverty.

Mothers living in poverty in America often describe their struggle as a constant, invisible battle that shapes their children’s lives. In the documentary Born Poor, one mother told her 10-year-old daughter, “When we can’t afford to pay our bills, like, our house bills and stuff, I’m afraid, like, we’ll get homeless… You never know what’ll happen in your life.” Children living in poverty often know exactly when bills are due or when food is scarce. They describe “always worrying” about whether the electricity will get cut off or if there will be enough dinner. They feel embarrassed and hide their living situation from peers. They miss out on typical childhood experiences—sports, camps, and family vacations.

Ishmael was crying.

In our reading from Genesis 21, God heard the cry of young Ishmael. Just the day before, the child was celebrating the weaning of his little brother Isaac. As the firstborn son by Abraham’s lesser wife Hagar, Ishmael was his father’s heir, destined to inherit a double-share of property, possessions, and blessing. But as the family rejoiced and the boys played, Sarah, Abraham’s first wife, watched Ishmael and Isaac laughing together. One boy was already strong and bold; the other boy was just taking his first steps toward independence. As Sarah watched, jealousy like a dark beast rose within her heart. God’s promise didn’t seem big enough for both children. Why should her child Isaac, the child long-promised by God, share with the child of her maidservant Hagar? Sarah asserted her authority as first wife. Hagar and Ishmael had to go.

Scripture tells us that Abraham found the matter—this banishment and disowning of Ishmael and Hagar—“very distressing” (v. 11). A closer reading of the Hebrew here suggests that Abraham found Sarah’s ultimatum “very bad” or “morally wrong” in his eyes. Abraham knew that what Sarah asked him to do was not right, yet he did it anyway. He sent Hagar and Ishmael into the Wilderness of Beer-sheba. When the food was gone and the water ran out, Hagar despaired and Ishmael cried.

In a world where Sarah wished to claim God’s blessing for Isaac alone, we learn that God hears the cries of people like Ishmael, like Hagar, people who have been pushed out of the blessing and sent forth to live at the margins. Prof. Carolyn Helsel, who teaches at Austin Presbyterian Seminary, points out that the Hebrew verb used for “hear”—shema—describes a listening that leads to action. God heard Ishmael’s cries and took action in response, making of him a great nation. God hears, God acts, God blesses.

Children are crying.

Do we hear the children crying, my friends? It’s “very distressing,” the cries of Malawi’s children. It’s “very distressing,” the day-to-day circumstances of a country where 70% of people live in poverty, children are stunted, and basic sanitation is a luxury unknown to most households. Tyler Holm and Rochelle Holm have lived in Malawi for 14 years. They first began serving there through short-term mission trips in 2008, but they fell in love with the land and the people. They moved to Malawi permanently at the end of 2012 as Presbyterian Mission Co-workers, serving at Mzuzu University and the Church of Central Africa Presbyterian (CCAP). The next year, they adopted their daughter Mphatso, one of Malawi’s orphans. Tyler teaches at the University of Livingstonia and Rochelle manages the Centre of Excellence in Water and Sanitation at Mzuzu University. The Holms are deeply committed to making a helping and healing difference in Malawi through education and improved sanitation. They hear the cries of Malawi’s children and believe that God provides enough blessing for all people, even the vulnerable children of Malawi. Our Father’s Day offering today will support their life-changing work.

Children are crying.

It’s “very distressing,” you might say morally wrong, that in this nation of amazing bounty more than ten million of our children live in poverty. It’s “very distressing” that right here in Franklin County 20% of our kids face the everyday worry, fear, and shame that come from growing up in homes with more month than money. If we are feeling the pinch at the gas pump and the grocery checkout, imagine how families that were already struggling feel. Our friends in the Community Schools program report that the number of Petrova kids who participate in the weekly backpack program (taking home food to help on the weekends when they don’t have school lunches) has soared this school year from 49 households in the fall to 89 as the school year ends.

Can we hear the children crying? Can we believe that in this land of goodness, God’s blessing is for all children, even the Ishmael’s, even our neighbors who live in poverty? Or will we insist that there isn’t enough blessing to go around and some are meant to wander in the wilderness?

I know we believe that God’s blessing is for all. That’s why we set aside two-cents-a-meal for the Food Pantry, and we have made a beautiful home for the pantry, right here at church. That’s why we grow those healthy, organic vegetables at the Jubilee Garden and host a free farm stand in the churchyard. That’s why Coral keeps the little food pantry in Bloomingdale well-stocked. That’s why we cook for the Community lunchbox, play music at the Wednesday supper, and deliver meals for Meals on Wheels.

One of the surprising learnings of the pandemic is that we can end childhood poverty in this country—if we want to. The expansion of the Child Tax Credit in 2021 dropped the national childhood poverty rate to 5.2% and lifted millions of children out of poverty. When the credit expired, childhood poverty returned to pre-pandemic levels with growing food insecurity, housing instability, and limited healthcare. We have the wherewithal to level the playing field and change the experience of our impoverished children, but we do not have the national will.

Children are crying.

Jesus who welcomes and blesses the children, God who hears the cries of Ishmael, the Lord who continues to listen and act on behalf of those who are cast out might tell us that our complacency with child poverty is “greatly distressing.” God might even say it is morally wrong. God still listens for the voices of children who bear the burden of want and need, and God calls us to stand with them. There is plenty of love and blessing to go around, my friends. Will we hear, will we act, will we bless?

Resources

American Psychological Association. “Mental health effects of poverty, hunger, and homelessness on children and teens,” May 2024. Accessed online at https://www.apa.org/topics/socioeconomic-status/poverty-hunger-homelessness-children

“Child Poverty Statistics in US 2026 | Rates, States & Facts,” The World Data, April 28, 2026. Accessed online at https://theworlddata.com/child-poverty-statistics-in-us/

US Census Bureau. Small Area Income and Poverty Estimates, Accessed online at https://fred.stlouisfed.org/series/PPU18NY36033A156NCEN

Unicef. “The situation of children and women in Malawi.” Accessed online at  https://www.unicef.org/malawi/situation-children-and-women-malawi

Amanda Benckhuysen. “Commentary on Genesis 21:8-21” in Preaching This Week, June 21, 2020. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-12/commentary-on-genesis-218-21

Carolyn B. Helsel. “Commentary on Genesis 21:8-21” in Preaching This Week, June 25, 2023. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-12/commentary-on-genesis-218-21-5

Vanessa Lovelace, “Commentary on Genesis 21:8-21” in Preaching This Week, June 21, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-12/commentary-on-genesis-218-21-6

Genesis 21:8-21

8 The child grew and was weaned, and Abraham made a great feast on the day that Isaac was weaned. 9 But Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, playing with her son Isaac. 10 So she said to Abraham, “Cast out this slave woman with her son, for the son of this slave woman shall not inherit along with my son Isaac.” 11 The matter was very distressing to Abraham on account of his son. 12 But God said to Abraham, “Do not be distressed because of the boy and because of your slave woman; whatever Sarah says to you, do as she tells you, for it is through Isaac that offspring shall be named for you. 13 As for the son of the slave woman, I will make a nation of him also, because he is your offspring.” 14 So Abraham rose early in the morning and took bread and a skin of water and gave it to Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, along with the child, and sent her away. And she departed and wandered about in the wilderness of Beer-sheba.

15 When the water in the skin was gone, she cast the child under one of the bushes. 16 Then she went and sat down opposite him a good way off, about the distance of a bowshot, for she said, “Do not let me look on the death of the child.” And as she sat opposite him, she lifted up her voice and wept. 17 And God heard the voice of the boy, and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven and said to her, “What troubles you, Hagar? Do not be afraid, for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is. 18 Come, lift up the boy and hold him fast with your hand, for I will make a great nation of him.” 19 Then God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water. She went and filled the skin with water and gave the boy a drink.

20 God was with the boy, and he grew up; he lived in the wilderness and became an expert with the bow. 21 He lived in the wilderness of Paran, and his mother got a wife for him from the land of Egypt.

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Scandalous Company

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Scandalous Company” Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

He was scandalous, that miserable Matthew. All day long, he sat in his roadside tent outside Capernaum along the busy highway, the Way of the Sea, the great Roman road that stretched from Egypt to Damascus. For good reason, Matthew was little loved by his neighbors. He paid a pretty price to the Romans for the right to collect taxes, to charge a toll for the use of the highway. Matthew prospered, not just by collecting the taxes due to the Romans, but also from adding a tidy surcharge for his personal benefit. To his neighbors, Matthew was everything that had gone wrong with Israel: a filthy Roman collaborator, grown rich from fleecing his own people, rendered unclean and undesirable as a result of his unethical business practice and his constant contact with Gentiles. 

They were scandalous, not at all the sort of company that any respectable rabbi would keep. You know the sort I’m talking about, sinners and outcasts, folks known far and wide for their moral and ethical failure. It wasn’t just the tax collector. Oh no. It was the merchant who liked to keep his thumb on the scale, the farmer who maximized his profits by oppressing his workers, the older husband who kept a sweet young thing on the side, the son who neglected his aging parents, the drinker who never made it to sabbath services. They weren’t the “right” kind of people. Indeed, sharing a meal with that crowd was a surefire way for any rabbi to be labeled a glutton, a drunkard, and fellow sinner.

She was scandalous. There are no real secrets in a village, and when she first began to suffer from her problem down there, folks shook their heads and clucked their tongues. After all, a malady like that, going on and on and on, month after month, could only be an affliction sent by the Lord. They didn’t know what she had done to bring it on herself, but it must have been pretty salacious. For 12 years she was afflicted, suffering from the pain and debilitation of her illness. Everyone knew that Leviticus 15 told women like her to stay home, avoiding contact with neighbors and even family, but there she was elbowing her way through the crowd, rendering everyone she touched unclean.

We are scandalous. Like Matthew, we have valued a buck more than our neighbors. We have pursued the politics of expedience. We held our noses and forged alliances that feathered our nests or suited our ends, even when we knew it was wrong. We love the almighty dollar. Don’t mess with our 401-k. We want to know what is in it for us.

We are scandalous. Like those sinners and outcasts, we pick and choose the commandments that we wish to keep. We think that our drinking or drugging or infidelity isn’t a problem if we can keep it on the down low. We’ll fulfil those obligations to family next week—or maybe the week after. If our minimum wage workers really wanted to make more money, they’d do something about it—get more school, pull up the old bootstraps, get up the gumption to leave. We justify the ethical corners that we cut.

We are scandalous. Like the hemorrhaging woman, we have allowed ourselves to be blamed for things far beyond our control. We bear the sins of our fathers and mothers like a coat of shame. We allow people to tell us that our cancer can be cured if only we will eat a cleaner diet, or we wouldn’t have diabetes if we hadn’t gotten so darned fat. We have allowed others to define us with mean-spirited gossip and outdated perceptions, to ostracize us and turn us into outsiders. We have refused to stand up for ourselves.

If Jesus were a prudent rabbi, he would have sent one of his disciples into Matthew’s tent and avoided the man entirely. But Jesus didn’t do that. Instead, as Jesus waited his turn to pay his tax and watched Matthew assess fees and count coins, he didn’t see a tax collector, he saw a disciple. So, Jesus extended an invitation, “Matthew, won’t you leave your tax table and follow me?” And for Matthew, it was perhaps as if a shaft of light pierced the veil that shrouded his heart. Matthew knew that God loved him. God longed to be reconciled with him and put him to work. Matthew left the coins on the table, turned his back to the tollbooth, and walked away to a life of discipleship.

If Jesus were a prudent rabbi, he never would have accepted those dinner invitations, but he did. There he was, reclining next to sinners, dipping his hand into the same bowl with them, and you know what they say, “Birds of a feather.” But when Jesus looked at sinners and outsiders, he saw neighbors, who for years had hovered at the margins of Israel, somewhere above Gentile dogs and below observant Jews. He saw sheep in need of a shepherd, in need of second and third chances. And so, he broke the bread, lifted the cup, welcomed the lost, and there was great rejoicing.

If Jesus were a prudent rabbi, he would have ignored the hemorrhaging woman and kept on walking. But as her fingers reached out to touch the fringe of his robe, he stopped. He turned. He knew her affliction. He knew the desperation it had taken to wrap herself in a shawl, leave her home, and walk among her neighbors with the hope of stealing a little healing. Her neighbors said she was unclean, but when Jesus looked at this frightened and suffering woman, he saw a daughter, a sister, a woman of bold faith and brave courage. She returned home with a light and joyous step, healed, whole, and free from suffering.

We are scandalous. We’ve gotten things so wrong, we wonder if they can ever be made right. We long for a God who can look beyond our sin and suffering to see us for who we truly are. We need a savior who believes that that we can be good and honorable and pleasing to God. Jesus knew that God’s love is always surprising and challenging, always greater than we can ever possibly imagine.

Jesus sees us this morning. He calls us disciple, neighbor, daughter, son. We are a scandalous company, my friends, but that is just the sort of company that Jesus chose to keep. Thanks be to God.

Resources:

Cleophus LaRue. “Commentary on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26” in Preaching This Week, June 11, 2023. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-10/commentary-on-matthew-99-13-18-26-2

Danny Zacharias. “Commentary on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26” in Preaching This Week, June 7, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-10/commentary-on-matthew-99-13-18-26-3

Greg Carey. “Commentary on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26” in Preaching This Week, June 8, 2008. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-10/commentary-on-matthew-99-13-18-26

Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

9 As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax-collection station, and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him.

10 And as he sat at dinner in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting with Jesus and his disciples. 11 When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” 12 But when he heard this, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. 13 Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

18 While he was saying these things to them, suddenly a leader came in and knelt before him, saying, “My daughter has just died, but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” 19 And Jesus got up and followed him, with his disciples. 20 Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from a flow of blood for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, 21 for she was saying to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.” 22 Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” And the woman was made well from that moment. 23 When Jesus came to the leader’s house and saw the flute players and the crowd making a commotion, 24 he said, “Go away, for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. 25 But when the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took her by the hand, and the girl got up. 26 And the report of this spread through all of that district.

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With You Always

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “With You Always” Matthew 28:16-20

The disciples felt both overwhelmed and a little scared after their mountaintop meeting with Jesus. As the risen Lord said goodbye to his friends, he entrusted them with the continuation of his ministry. “Go and make disciples of all people,” Jesus said, “Baptize and teach!”

The disciples looked at one another, feeling the sudden weight of responsibility. If the good news of God’s love was going to go forth into the world, then they were the ones who must take it. It was a big job, and they weren’t sure they could do it. Andrew shook his head, the way he always did when he had a big question that he couldn’t possibly answer, “Did Jesus say we should make disciples? I thought we were the disciples!  Surely, Jesus doesn’t think we’re ready to do what he did.”

As Jesus’ commission and Andrew’s question sank in, the disciples felt a little panicky. They didn’t have what it would take. There wasn’t a Torah scholar among them. They didn’t have any powerful political connections. Not one drop of priestly blood flowed in their veins, and their name was mud in the Temple. They were a sorry lot, and no one had the deep pockets to bankroll their efforts. And, to be honest, they didn’t have the best track record when it came to following Jesus. One of them betrayed him. All of them deserted him. Peter denied him—three times. Even now, some of them were filled with doubt. This Great Commission, how would they begin? They were ready to give up before they even got started.

Maybe it was then that Peter spoke up, “I remember when Jesus called Andrew and me.  We were fishing, and Jesus came along the lakeshore and said, ‘I will teach you to catch people.’” Then, James and John reminisced, “We were mending nets with our father when Jesus said, ‘Follow me!’” Nathanael told them that Jesus saw him under a fig tree and said “Here is truly an Israelite.” He really hadn’t known what that even meant at the time, but he wanted to find out. Matthew confessed, “I was sitting in my tent counting money, but Jesus told me he had a different kingdom that he wanted me to serve. I left to follow him the same day.”

The disciples remembered how each of them came to follow Jesus. All Jesus did was make the invitation, and each of them had answered, “Yes.” “You know,” Peter said, “we can do that! Let’s just invite people, lots of people. Some of them are bound to say yes.”

The pragmatist Thomas spoke up next, “So, we invite all these people, and they decide to follow us. What are we supposed to do with them next?”

Peter suddenly looked very worried at the prospect of being followed by a crowd of strangers who expected him to know what to do. He put his hands to his head and said, “O Lord, help us!”

But Simon the Zealot, a natural risk taker who was undaunted by challenge, shouted, “Yes, Peter! That’s it! We begin with prayer! We ask the Lord to help us. We pray—and we teach others to pray.”

The disciples remembered all the times that they woke up early in the morning and found Jesus in a quiet place, head bowed in prayer. They recalled how Jesus called them to pray and find rest on the mountaintop or in the wilderness. Then it occurred to them that Jesus had taught them to pray—it was simple and short and to the point—it was so easy that even they could ground their work in that sort of prayer. All at once they prayed together, “Our Father, who art in heaven!”

“What do you think we should teach our disciples?” Bartholomew wondered. 

Peter, whose conscience was bothering him about the three times he denied Jesus, knew the answer. “I think we need to teach them about forgiveness.” Matthew agreed, “Forgiveness! Yes! There I was a tax collector, stealing from my own people, but Jesus called me and forgave me!” The disciples agreed. If they were going to make disciples, they could help people understand that Jesus met people right where they were at. He forgave their mistakes and flaws and short comings. Jesus believed they could lead new, more faithful lives.

Mary the mother of the Lord spoke up then, saying, “Even as my son was dying, he prayed for his executioners, ‘Father, forgive them!’” At that they all bowed their heads and thought about the people whom they needed to forgive as soon as they got down off the mountain.

It was Mary Magdalene who spoke next, “If we want to encourage people to be followers of Jesus, then we must teach them to be compassionate, to specially care for the most vulnerable of our neighbors. I was so sick that people said I was possessed by seven demons, but Jesus made me well. I will share my story to teach others of the compassion of Christ.”

The disciples remembered Jesus’ compassion: 10 lepers made clean, hungry people fed, a blind man whose eyes were opened, a deaf man given ears to hear, and so many little children welcomed and blessed.  They all agreed: telling those stories and setting a compassionate example could encourage others to be compassionate, too. Everyone turned and smiled at Mary Magdalene, “Yes, compassion!  How wise you are sister.”

“Wait a minute!” It was Thomas again. “Have we thought about who these new disciples are going to be? Are we talking friends, neighbors, co-workers, strangers?  I need a little clarity here.”

The disciples thought. One spoke up, “Well, I know someone who struggles with crippling guilt for a past mistake. He needs a lesson in forgiveness. I’m going to ask him.” Another said, “I have a cousin who despairs of life. She doesn’t know she is beloved. I’ll ask her.” James remembered, “I have an old fishing buddy. He has fallen on such hard times. He is in deep need of some compassion. I shall invite him!” Simon the Zealot, who always felt a bit like an outsider said, “We have to remember the outsiders! Don’t forget that Jesus reached out to unlikely people, like that Samaritan woman and the centurion’s slave.” They decided that if they were going to follow in Jesus’ footsteps, they would welcome all people, even the ones who made them feel uncomfortable.

The disciples were feeling pretty good until they realized that they didn’t have many resources for their teaching, no hand-lettered vellum scrolls of the Torah, no rabbinic shul, no posh retreat center on the shores of Galilee. It was a tense moment, until they realized that Jesus hadn’t needed all that. He taught on hillsides and lakeshores, in homes and gardens, and even while sitting in a boat. Jesus simply taught wherever he was. And Jesus used the world around him to make his point. Tiny mustard seeds proved that improbable disciples could do big things. Lilies of the field taught them not to worry. Birds of the air were a reminder of God’s incredible love for them.

The disciples looked at the world around them and saw the everyday tools they would use in teaching. Judas the son of James struck a spark with a flint and said, “We are the light of the world!” Mary Magdalene pretended to knead bread and quoted, “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour.” Not to be outdone, Peter scrambled up on top of a big stone, flexed his muscles, and said, “This is the rock upon which Christ will build the church!” Everyone laughed and pulled Peter down from his rocky highpoint.

They looked down from the mountaintop, at the world spread out at their feet. Far below them, they saw the checkerboard fields of farms. Off to the east they could make out busy fishing villages along the shores of Galilee. Off to the west, wrapped in haze, seaports dotted the Mediterranean coast and harbors bustled with the trade of empire. Off in the distance to the north rose the mountains of Lebanon, with Mt. Hermon’s snowy peak towering high above them all. Somewhere out there, past the Jordan Valley and the Great Salt Sea, were the sprawling windswept sands of the desert. It was, indeed, a dazzling, diverse, beautiful, terrible world out there. They had a big job to do. It wouldn’t be easy, but together they saw that they could do it.

Thomas shrugged off his doubts and stood tall. He had the last word. “I don’t know if I am up to this job, but Jesus is with us always—to the end of the age. Let’s make disciples!” They packed their gear and headed down to the waiting world below.

Go therefore, my friends. Make disciples of all people. Baptize them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Teach them to observe everything that Jesus has commanded us. And remember, Jesus is with us always, even to the end of the age.

Matthew 28:16-20

16 Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. 17 When they saw him, they worshiped him, but they doubted. 18 And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 19 Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit 20 and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

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On All Flesh

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “On All Flesh” Acts 2:1-18

People around the world are learning other languages with the help of Duolingo. The free downloadable app is best known for its mascot Duo, a bright green cartoon owl who flaps his wings and wiggles his tail feathers when you complete a particularly successful lesson. 103 million people use Duolingo monthly. 33 million people use it daily. The app combines short, engaging lessons with game-like elements to help users develop skills in 41 languages. Half of users practice English while others learn widely-spoken languages like Spanish and Chinese, as well as lesser-spoken languages, like Esperanto, Navajo, and even High Valyrian, a fictional language developed for HBO’s “Game of Thrones.”

I began using Duolingo last year by learning Portuguese in anticipation of our walk on the Camino de Santiago. In a short amount of time, I knew some basic phrases that would allow me to greet others, order from a menu, and ask directions. In Portugal, my language efforts were sometimes met with puzzled stares or even gentle corrections. I eventually determined that the Portuguese I was learning with Duolingo was new-world Portuguese—Brazilian—which has decidedly different pronunciations and cadences from its old-world cousin. So much for my preparation.

Despite those new world – old world differences, my fledgling attempts to communicate were generally met with big smiles and enthusiastic efforts to respond. It was good for me to take the risk of learning another language, and it was good for others that an American would respect their culture and honor their ways by taking embarrassing baby steps in communication. Lately, I’ve been using Duolingo to brush up on my German skills, which I hope are a little more comprehensible than my Portuguese.

On Pentecost, the disciples learned the importance of speaking other languages. The Spirit of God moved among them with the rush of a violent wind and dancing tongues of flame. It was like God speaking out of the whirlwind to the frightened Job. It was like the Lord enveloping Moses on the mountaintop at Sinai with smoke and holy fire. It was like nothing they had imagined—terrifying, mystifying, and enlivening, all at the same time. The Spirit of God that filled them compelled them to get up and go out into the streets of the Jerusalem, to mingle with a diverse crowd of people who were on their way to the Temple for the Feast of Weeks.

The crowd that the disciples encountered reflected the diversity of first century Judaism. Those tongue-twisting nationalities that I read earlier were a legacy of diaspora. Other nations from the Egyptians to the Assyrians, from the Babylonians to the Persians, from Greece to Rome had conquered Israel over the eons and sent the Israelites to the far corners of their empires. The disciples would have encountered other differences in the crowd, too. Some, like the Sadducees, Pharisees, and Essenes had fundamentally differing understandings of scripture. Others had vast political differences, like the Herodians, who supported the Roman-appointed monarchy, and the Zealots, who longed to tear it all down. Even before Pentecost, the disciples must have worried that the great challenge of taking the gospel out into the world would be communication. How would they meet people where they were at and bridge those profound differences in languages, opinions, and outlooks?

We are no strangers to diversity. We are first nations people, like the Haudenosaunee, who have always called this land home. We came seeking religious freedom or economic opportunity. We came fleeing persecution and ethnic cleansing. We were brought here against our will, enslaved and trafficked across the middle passage. We were imported from China to build a cross-continental railroad, but we weren’t allowed to bring our families. We are Christians and Jews, Hindus and Sikhs, Muslims and Atheists. We are the 99% and the 1%. We never made it through high school, we have a GED, we worked our way through college, we took on big debt for grad school. We are smalltown and big city. We run the ‘burbs and crave the wilderness. Our differences are a blessing.

Yet difference can be a challenge. We want everyone to be like us. We are threatened by different opinions. We think there isn’t enough room in our American dream for all people. We fear the stranger. We view one another as the enemy. Those on the left condescendingly label anyone who questions their views as ill-informed, ignorant, deplorables, Bible-thumpers, Trumpers, and gun nuts. Those on the right, sporting their own healthy dose of moral indignation, label anyone who questions their views as Dumocrats, libtards, elitists, extremists, commies, fringe, and un-American. Our differences become difficulty when we stop truly communicating. Clearly, we need to find some different ways to use language in our world today.

On Pentecost, the disciples, with the help of the Holy Spirit, learned to speak other languages. They were changed. Their focus shifted from the Upper Room to the world out there. And as the Spirit sent them out into the streets, they were enabled to communicate with others whom they had probably never associated with before, those whom they had looked past or ignored, those whom they had written off as “other.” Their minds were freed and their tongues were loosed to speak, to connect.

And as the Spirit loosed the tongues of the disciples, the Spirit opened the ears of those diverse listeners. On the tongues of strangers, they heard the sounds of home, long ago and far away. They felt the promise of acceptance and belonging. As they stopped and listened, they marveled that they were seen and sought out. They felt included and valued. They stopped feeling like strangers and resident aliens, and they began to feel like a community.

Peter, who so often misunderstood what Jesus was saying, finally got it. This blended community, this honoring of other cultures and other gifts, this acceptance of difference, it had been God’s plan all along. It was just like the vision of the Prophet Joel, who anticipated the coming of God’s Kingdom with the outpouring of God’s Spirit upon all flesh. Young and old, male and female, slaves and freeborn. All would know the indwelling of the Spirit and God’s best hope for the salvation and redemption of all people.

That’s when Peter got his preach on. Hearts were touched as he told the story of a Messiah who helped and healed and welcomed, who turned the other cheek and cared for the outcast, who gave his life as a sign of God’s love for all people. As Peter preached under the influence of the Spirit, divisions were overcome, love was known, and more than 3,000 people decided that they wanted to be part of that beautiful Kingdom where all people are united in God’s love and purpose.

Oh Pentecost! The Spirit falls upon us today, and we hear God’s wisdom for our world. We may be spending 30 minutes-a-day learning High Valyrian on Duolingo, but are we having the conversations that will bridge the divides in our communities and nation? If the disciples had stayed in their upper room enjoying growing language facility with one another, there never would have been change. There never would have been healing and growth. It’s easy for us to speak to the same people. It’s easy for us to view or read the same news sources, the ones that reinforce our world view and assure us of our rightness. But on Pentecost, the Holy Spirit might compel us otherwise, to leave the upper room, to step beyond the place of comfortable seclusion. The Spirit would invite us to engage that diverse world out there, to seek to speak the language of the other, to sincerely engage, and not simply insist upon the rightness of our own convictions.

Pentecost calls us to see that hate and division are not part of God’s plan for humanity. The rejection of others that has become endemic in our world today won’t build bridges. Can we dare to imagine that the Spirit can work in others even as it works in us? Can we remember the holy promise that the Spirit is poured out upon all flesh, all people—men and women, young and old, slave and free, rich and poor, broken and whole, sinners and saints, doubters and believers. If we can begin to accept that, then we must look for the moments that allow genuine engagement to happen.

We wonder, “What that could possibly look like?” With the Spirit’s influence, I suspect it will look a lot like Jesus. It will look like Jesus, who welcomed sinners and dined with Pharisees. It will look like Jesus, who taught women, blessed children, and included both zealots and tax collectors as his disciples. It will look like Jesus who taught that the Kingdom of God is always all around us, waiting to be realized. It will look like Jesus, who baptizes us in the Spirit.

It won’t be easy, my friends. Learning another language never is. It takes practice and discipline. Just ask the 33 million people who are practicing with Duolingo daily. But as we go forth to communicate in new and uncomfortable ways, we can trust that the Spirit who dwells within us will guide us. We’ll meet people where they are at. We’ll speak—and we’ll listen. We’ll find common ground, bridging differences in opinion and outlook. We’ll dream together of the beautiful Kingdom where we see that the Spirit dwells within all people—and the acceptance and love that Jesus showed us abounds for all. May it be so.

Resources:

Natalia Guerrero. “Good, free, fun: The simple formula that has made Duolingo a daily habit for millions” in BBC News: Worklife, Oct. 4, 2024. Accessed online at https://www.bbc.com/worklife/article/20241004-the-simple-formula-that-made-duolingo-a-daily-habit-for-millions

David Curry. “Duolingo Revenue and Usage Statistics” in Business of Apps, April 20, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.businessofapps.com/data/duolingo-statistics/

Rebecca Dean. “Commentary on Acts 2:1-21” in Preaching This Week, May 24, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/day-of-pentecost/commentary-on-acts-21-21-19

Margaret Aymer. “Commentary on Acts 2:1-21” in Preaching This Week, June 8, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/day-of-pentecost-3/commentary-on-acts-21-21-18

Jeremy Williams. “Commentary on Acts 2:1-21” in Preaching This Week, May 28, 2023. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/day-of-pentecost/commentary-on-acts-21-21-16

Acts 2:1-18

2 When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2 And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3 Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

5 Now there were devout Jews from every people under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6 And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7 Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9 Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10 Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11 Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” 12 All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” 13 But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”

14 But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Fellow Jews and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. 15 Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. 16 No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:

17 ‘In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
    and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
and your young men shall see visions,
    and your old men shall dream dreams.
18 Even upon my slaves, both men and women,
    in those days I will pour out my Spirit,
        and they shall prophesy.

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The End Is the Beginning (Look out!)

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The End Is the Beginning” Acts 1:1-11

Here in the United States, the Ascension of Jesus is perhaps the least celebrated of Christian Feast Days. That isn’t true around the world. From Indonesia to Ivory Coast to Iceland, Ascension is both a religious and a public holiday—no work, no school. In Germany, Jesus’ ascension to his heavenly Father has been a good reason to also celebrate earthly fathers since the 1700’s. Families enjoy outdoor events and picnics together. Teams of men push Böllerwagens through the streets, brightly painted carts that carry food, beer, and favorite sweet treats for all.

In Spain, Ascension is one of the most important festivals of the year. In Santiago de Compostela, where the Camino de Santiago ends at the burial site of the Apostle James, there is a weeklong celebration. Fields and cattle are blessed. There are parades. Cabezudos—figures clothed in bright costumes with huge papier mâché heads—dance through the city streets to the sound of the Galician bagpipes. Inside the cathedral, the monks fire up the Botafumeiro, a five-foot-tall, 176-pound incense burner that takes a team of 6 men to swing from the rafters.

In Austria and Switzerland, the faithful like to go on hikes for Ascension. They climb hills or mountains in commemoration of Jesus going up. Then, they feast on pheasant, geese, quail, or chicken. The poultry dinner is a nod to Jesus flying to heaven, surrounded by the sacred cloud of divine presence. Traditionally, a new friend or neighbor is invited to join the celebration. If our neighbors around the world are right, then the Ascension is worth celebrating big time. Here in the US, we may be missing something.

Let’s talk about our reading from the Acts on the Apostles. For forty days, the risen Lord was with the disciples, encouraging them, teaching them, holding them together as a community of faithful people. As he prepared to return to his heavenly Father, Jesus had some parting instructions for his friends. Stay in Jerusalem. Wait for God’s promise. Prepare for a baptism in the Holy Spirit. Not a lot of details there. Can we blame the disciples for wanting to know more?

Perhaps it was Peter who spoke up and asked the question that was on everyone’s mind, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” Despite everything that Jesus had shown them and taught them, the disciples were still holding onto old notions of the Messiah as a military hero like King David, who could vanquish their enemies and restore their political fortunes. Unable to imagine a future mission without Jesus at the helm, they hoped that God would step in. Why not conquer the Romans, bring down Herod and the Sadducees, restore the fortunes of Israel, and initiate the Kingdom of God? That sounded like a happy ending to the disciples, with ringside seats in Jerusalem for the Kingdom’s arrival.

Jesus didn’t leave the disciples with the neatly resolved ending that they wanted. Instead, he left them with a mission. He shared a vision of his friends as witnesses. They would start in their Jewish comfort zone—Jerusalem and Judea. Then, they would move into enemy territory, reaching out to their Samaritan neighbors. Eventually, they would go to a never-imagined mission field—the nations of the Gentile world. It was a daunting mission, especially since they knew that Jesus was leaving them. He wouldn’t be there to work miracles, feed the crowds, and preach those incredible sermons. Were they really up to the challenge? Jesus may have cast an inspiring vision for the future of his friends, but faced with his impending departure, the disciples felt frightened and overwhelmed, grieved and abandoned.

Endings and beginnings are hard. We mourn what is left behind and we worry about what lies ahead. We wonder if we are up to the challenge. We fear that we may fail. We may not even know where to start. We know all about that.

It’s graduation season. Yesterday morning, students of North Country Community College celebrated commencement in the Sparks Gymnasium. Last week, the Smitties graduated, outside along the lakeshore at Paul Smiths College. On June 26th, Saranac Lake High School seniors will likewise say farewell to a school that has felt familiar and become routine. Some students will step into jobs or commit to further studies. All will feel both the grief of an ending and the anxiety of a new beginning. Will they be enough? Will they have what it takes?

Endings and beginnings continue long past our school graduations. On average, a professional American works twelve jobs throughout their career. Long gone are the days of a single job that is worked across a lifetime. Each career move comes with its challenge. We say goodbye to workplace friends, mentors, and familiar tasks. We take a chance in a position of increased responsibility and pressure. We must learn new skills and adapt to different expectations. There is always a moment on the first day of a new job when we think, “What have I gotten myself into?”

I am told that even retirement bears the mixed feelings of grief and accomplishment, worry and anticipation. We bid farewell to our workplace identity and settle into a new and nebulous role that isn’t defined by our boss or our paycheck. We may miss the sense of purpose and daily routine of the workplace. We may feel the burden of time on our hands. We may wonder how many years we have left or if we have saved enough money. Or we may find a fresh purpose in volunteering, travel, or family that is gratifying and joyous.

Endings and beginnings are hard. We constantly face them. Graduations, new jobs, and retirement. Engagements, weddings, and relationships coming to an end. Births, illnesses, deaths. Something seems to always be coming to an end. Something is always bidding us to a new beginning. It was true for the disciples wondering how they would tackle a new mission without Jesus. It is true for folks like us, who navigate transitions and changes in our lives, mourning what is past, facing our fear, and stepping forward into the mysterious future that God holds ready.

When Jesus left the disciples, they stood looking up, caught in that tension between ending and beginning, wondering how they could go on. Maybe that’s why the Lord sent two messengers with a gentle nudge to move them from grief to action, saying, “Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” It was time to redirect their gaze. They needed to stop looking up and start looking out. There was a wide world out there in need of the good news of God’s amazing love.

If we continue reading in the Acts of the Apostles, we discover that that the disciples found a way to make it through those ten long days of waiting for the arrival of the Holy Spirit. They gathered in the Upper Room. James and John set aside their rivalry about who was the greatest. Mother Mary and Jesus’ brothers got over their former misgivings about Jesus’ radical sense of family, and they joined the crowd of disciples. Even the women, who were once begrudged a place at Jesus’ feet, found that they were welcomed. Jesus’ friends came together in their brokenness, and they found community. 

In the sharing of their loss and fear, they found the courage to wait and wonder and trust. With one mind, they devoted themselves to prayer.  They got down on their knees, and they gave thanks for all that Jesus had done for them. They confessed their fears and worries and doubts.  And then they asked God to give them what they would need to set about this business of being Christ’s witnesses and sharing the good news from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth.  As they came together in prayer and mutual support, they realized that they weren’t alone—they had one another. They weren’t lost. God had a plan for their lives. They might be afraid, overwhelmed, and uncertain, but they trusted that God would provide what was needed when the time was right. There is wisdom there for us.

Endings and beginnings are hard, whether we are graduating or venturing into a new job or stepping out of the workforce and into retirement or managing the myriad curveballs that life brings our way. There is that tension between anxiety and excitement. There are big questions about whether we can handle the mystery of what is next. But it is in stepping into that mysterious future that we grow into the people whom God created us to be, just as the disciples grew into spiritual leaders and bold witnesses. It is in living faithfully through our big changes and in turning to one another in community, that we learn to trust that Jesus truly is with us. The end can be a beginning. With the Lord’s help we are, indeed, enough. We can stop looking up and longing for the past. We can start looking out in readiness for the future. There is a wide world out there still in need of the good news of God’s amazing love, still in need of disciples willing to step out in hope and faith.

So maybe all those countries that make a big deal out of the Ascension really do have something to teach us, after all. The end is often the beginning. That is a fact worth celebrating.

Resources

Mariana Manzanares. “5 Ascension Day Traditions” in CATHOLIC MASS TIMES. https://catholicmasstimes.com/5-ascension-day-traditions/

Brian Peterson. “Commentary on Acts 1:1-11” in Preaching This Week, May 12, 2013. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ascension-of-our-lord/commentary-on-acts-11-11-2

Rebecca Dean. “Commentary on Acts 1:1-11” in Preaching This Week, May 14, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ascension-of-our-lord/commentary-on-acts-11-11-11

Sharon Bettsworth. “Commentary on Acts 1:1-11” in Preaching This Week, May 18, 2022. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ascension-of-our-lord/commentary-on-acts-11-11-8

Acts 1:1-11

1 In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus began to do and teach 2 until the day when he was taken up to heaven, after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen. 3 After his suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God. 4 While staying with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem but to wait there for the promise of the Father. “This,” he said, “is what you have heard from me; 5 for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now.” 6 So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” 7 He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. 8 But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” 9 When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. 10 While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. 11 They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

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You Are Welcome

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “You Are Welcome” Acts 8:26-38

Not everyone feels welcome in church.

Visitors or newcomers to churches can feel uncomfortable. On Sunday mornings as the church fills and old friends turn to one another in the pews to chat and catch up on the latest news, visitors may feel like socially awkward outsiders who have crashed a private party. A national survey found that over 70% of newcomers say that being singled out as a visitor in a church service is deeply uncomfortable. Asked to stand and introduce themselves or to turn and greet their neighbors with the peace of Christ, they feel the painful discomfort of public scrutiny as every eye checks them out or complete strangers want to shake their hands—or worse—hug them.

Lord, forbid that someone new sits in our pew. One Sunday a number of years ago, I spotted those golden girls Dot Shene and Norma Neese, sitting in a different place in the sanctuary. During the passing of the peace, I congratulated them on trying a seat near the front. Dot, clearly irritated, said, “We had to.” Then, Norma turned and pointed to a couple of guests, seated in their beloved back pew. “They took our seats!” she lamented loudly.

I thought that was pretty bad until I had a Sunday off and went to worship at the Tupper Lake church, where I have served as the moderator for many years. I arrived a little early and chose a seat. Then during the opening hymn, two late arrivers came and stood next to my pew. I smiled at them. “You’re in our seat,” I was told. Although I offered to move over or let them by, they weren’t happy until I had moved to a different pew.

It’s not unusual for church signs out front to bear the words, “All are welcome,” but are they really?

The Ethiopian Eunuch knew how it feels to be unwelcome in church. He was a man of status and power. In an ancient world that prized the beauty of black skin above all else, he was gorgeous. He served in the royal court of his homeland, managing the great wealth of his queen, the Candace. In a world where few people were literate, he was cultured, fluent in Greek, and a student of the Torah. He had spent a small fortune on the scroll of the Prophet Isaiah. He had come to Jerusalem on a great pilgrimage of many miles with a retinue of servants to worship and pray.

The Bible scholars point out that when the eunuch arrived at the Jerusalem Temple, he would have been denied entry. We don’t know how he came to be a eunuch, whether he was born that way, was injured in some horrible accident, or had to say goodbye to his “manhood” before he could become the Treasury Secretary, but it was who he was. He couldn’t do anything about it. He probably heard some less than welcoming scripture quoted to him in Jerusalem, like Deuteronomy 23 and Leviticus 21, which say that anyone with his “problem” cannot be admitted to the assembly or approach God with an offering because it would profane the sanctuary. 

I wonder if we can imagine what it would feel like to be the Ethiopian eunuch, to love God and fear that God did not love him, would never love him, no matter how many pilgrimages he made or prayers he said. As the Ethiopian Eunuch rattled home in his chariot, he read the words of Isaiah 53, which tell of God’s servant who silently suffers in humiliation. Those words must have tugged at his heartstrings, as if they were written about him.

Of course, we don’t have to be a church visitor sitting in the “wrong” pew or the Ethiopian eunuch to wonder if God loves us. Our feelings of welcome and acceptance are also shaped by who we are. The church universal has historically been less than hospitable to some people more than others. Many have had bad church experiences in which they feel judged and condemned. Those who have been divorced may not feel welcome. Those who choose to live together outside of marriage may not feel welcome. Those who are single parents may not feel welcome. My LGBTQ friends and family all have painful stories to share of leaving churches where they were not accepted unless they stayed in the closet. Young people with blue hair, plenty of piercings, or an abundance of tattoos describe the shocked stares and alienating whispers of people in the pews. Even when we look like everyone else, we may harbor secret hurts or shame or bad experiences that make us wonder along with the Ethiopian eunuch, “Is God’s love for me? Is God’s love for us?”

The Ethiopian Eunuch might have stayed an outsider if the Holy Spirit hadn’t stepped in and taken some bold action. The Spirit found the right man for the job, Philip. He wasn’t afraid of those who had been labeled outsiders. In fact, Philip got his start as an evangelist by taking the gospel to the Samaritans, traditional enemies of Israel. So, when the Holy Spirit sent him running down the Gaza Road, Philip was ready. He climbed into the Ethiopian man’s chariot, caught his breath, and began to tell his new friend about Jesus of Nazareth, the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy about a holy servant who was rejected by those he was sent to redeem and suffered for the world’s sins.

As Philip told the good news of Jesus’ ministry, of how Jesus welcomed the outsider, healed the sick, blessed the children, and counted women among his disciples, his Ethiopian neighbor began to get excited.  Really excited. He imagined the possibility that if Jesus had anything to say about it, God might just welcome him, might welcome a person who looked and felt like he did. If the eunuch or Philip questioned what the Holy Spirit intended for them, those questions disappeared as a strange sight shimmered on the desert horizon: a pool of water, sparkling in the midday sun. It was unthinkable, impossible even, but there it was, a big baptismal pool in the middle of that dry and dusty landscape.

Finally, the Ethiopian Eunuch could contain himself no longer, this man who had been excluded from the Temple and made to feel unwelcome in God’s House dared to imagine that he, too, was loved. “Look, here is water!  What is to prevent me from being baptized?” And in response, Philip did not quote Deuteronomy 23 or Leviticus 21. Instead, by the power of the Holy Spirit that had sent him running down the Gaza Road, Philip knew that no one is ever beyond the limits of God’s unfathomably big love.  All were welcomed. All might be claimed in the waters of baptism as God’s beloved children. The driver reined in the horses. The chariot came to a halt. And Philip with his new Ethiopian friend waded into the waters of a love that would not let them go.

It’s a wild and scandalous story that tugs at our heartstrings. It tells the simple truth that God welcomes us when the world—or the church—will not. All are welcome to these waters and claimed as sons and daughters of a holy parent who has a place for us at the table and a home for us in the kingdom. It’s a story that invites us to know our belovedness. It’s a story that dares us to be a more loving people. The Holy Spirit calls to us, as the Spirit did to Philip, setting our feet on the path to welcome and inclusion, to meet people where they are at, to open our eyes and hearts to those who are new. The Spirit calls us to judge less and welcome more. Perhaps we’ll even loosen our death grip on that favorite pew. Perhaps one day all churches will be as welcoming as Jesus.

The freshly baptized Ethiopian Eunuch rode off down the Gaza Road, full of joy and alleluias.  They say that he became the great evangelist of Africa, telling the Candace—and anyone who would listen—all about a God who loves limitlessly, who became flesh, lived and taught, healed and suffered, died and rose again to make that limitless holy love known to all people—a God who is still trying to get that message out even now.

Resources

Matt Skinner. “Commentary on Acts 8:26-40” in Preaching This Week, May 2, 2021. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fifth-sunday-of-easter-2/commentary-on-acts-826-40

Mitzi Smith. “Commentary on Acts 8:26-40” in Preaching This Week, May 6, 2012. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fifth-sunday-of-easter-2/commentary-on-acts-826-40-2

Richard Jensen. “Commentary on Acts 8:26-40” in Preaching This Week, May 10, 2009. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fifth-sunday-of-easter-2/commentary-on-acts-826-40-3

F. Scott Spencer. “Commentary on Acts 8:26-40” in Preaching This Week, April 28, 2024. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fifth-sunday-of-easter-2/commentary-on-acts-826-40-5

Acts 8:26-38

26 Then an angel of the Lord said to Philip, “Get up and go toward the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.” (This is a wilderness road.) 27 So he got up and went. Now there was an Ethiopian eunuch, a court official of the Candace, the queen of the Ethiopians, in charge of her entire treasury. He had come to Jerusalem to worship 28 and was returning home; seated in his chariot, he was reading the prophet Isaiah. 29 Then the Spirit said to Philip, “Go over to this chariot and join it.” 30 So Philip ran up to it and heard him reading the prophet Isaiah. He asked, “Do you understand what you are reading?” 31 He replied, “How can I, unless someone guides me?” And he invited Philip to get in and sit beside him. 32 Now the passage of the scripture that he was reading was this:

“Like a sheep he was led to the slaughter,
    and like a lamb silent before its shearer,
        so he does not open his mouth.
33 In his humiliation justice was denied him.
    Who can describe his generation?
        For his life is taken away from the earth.”

34 The eunuch asked Philip, “About whom, may I ask you, does the prophet say this, about himself or about someone else?” 35 Then Philip began to speak, and starting with this scripture he proclaimed to him the good news about Jesus. 36 As they were going along the road, they came to some water, and the eunuch said, “Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?” 38 He commanded the chariot to stop, and both of them, Philip and the eunuch, went down into the water, and Philip baptized him.

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The Rock of Refuge

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The Rock of Refuge” Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16

There are 120 million people worldwide in need of refuge this morning. Some are refugees, forced to leave their homeland to seek the safety of another nation. Some are internally displaced people, still within their homeland but driven from their homes. Persecution, war, ethnic violence, human rights abuses, natural disaster, famine, and civil unrest ripple across the planet. One in sixty-seven world citizens needs a rock of refuge.

Hugo Carrasco is a Dreamer. His parents brought him from Mexico to the United States when he was a child. He didn’t know he was undocumented until high school when he wanted to get a driver’s license. Hugo volunteered for Young Life as a mentor for at-risk youth while working for a restaurant. He married Leslie, whom he met through church. They have two children. One day, he was arrested in an ICE raid. He learned that although he is married to a US citizen, he isn’t eligible for citizenship because he is “illegal,” and because he was arrested on a work violation, he is now ineligible for the work papers and path to citizenship offered by DACA—the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. Hugo needs a rock of refuge.

As college students in Venezuela, Mariana and Antonio took to the streets to protest the oppressive regime of Nicolas Maduro. When the military intervened, the protest descended into violence. As Mariana sought refuge, a man got out of his car and held a gun to her head. She kept running. Four years later, while visiting Venezuelan friends in Miami, Mariana and Antonio learned that they were eligible for Temporary Protected Status (TPS). The status was developed in 1990 as a way to protect individuals fleeing armed conflict, natural disasters, or other unlivable conditions in their home countries. Mariana and Antonio were awarded TPS. They moved to Miami and embarked on successful careers in finance until last April when the current administration cancelled protected status for Venezuelans. They need a rock of refuge.

Marceline Washikala is a third-generation refugee. Her family fled Congo for Tanzania when her grandfather was killed in the first civil war. Opportunities for school in refugee camps are limited, so Marceline only completed the third grade. When she was eighteen, the family was moved to Oregon for resettlement. Although her younger siblings were able to enroll in public school. Marceline was told she was too old and had too little education to join them. She had finally found a home, but adapting to a new culture and new language was hard.  Marceline needed a rock of refuge.

We are not refugees seeking a new home in the United States, yet I think we all know how it feels to need safety, strength, shelter, protection, and the promise of opportunity. Our declining health or the medical crisis of a loved one leaves us longing for a rock of refuge. The uncertainty of our personal economics, from the soaring cost of living to the dwindling of our retirement savings, leaves us longing for a rock of refuge. The fractures in our civil society which pit neighbor against neighbor, and the bitter differences that alienate us from our families leave us longing for a rock of refuge. We can pray along with the psalmist, “In you, O Lord, I seek refuge; do not let me ever be put to shame; in your righteousness deliver me. Incline your ear to me; rescue me speedily. Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me.”

Psalm 31 is attributed to King David. He needed refuge. Long before he rose to kingship in Israel, David was persecuted by powerful political enemies. As a young shepherd boy, David’s ability to soothe King Saul with music and his daring defeat of the giant Goliath landed him a spot in the royal court. Yet as David’s reputation as a leader on and off the battlefield grew, so did the jealousy of the king. In fact, David was forced into exile after Saul first tried to kill him and then attempted to arrest him on charges of sedition. David spent all of his young adult life on the run. Always one step ahead of Saul’s death squads, he sheltered with the King of Moab, sojourned with Philistine enemies in Gath, and lived in a cave in the harsh and unforgiving landscape of the Judean Wilderness.

David believed that God alone was his rock of refuge. In the seven short verses of today’s reading, David described God as the one who will not let us be disgraced, who saves us, listens to us, and rescues us. God leads and guides, frees us from the snares of enemies, redeems us, delivers us, shows us favor, and saves us with steadfast love. Who doesn’t need that? David’s word choice is telling. In Psalm 31, he repeatedly uses the Hebrew verb, ḥāsâ. It has a double meaning. It means to seek refuge or flee for protection, and it also means to put trust in someone, to confide in someone, to hope in someone. Despite his adversity, David knew that God alone was the one he could trust and hope in because God is our refuge. God had chosen him as a shepherd boy. God had battled with him against the mighty Goliath. God would deliver him from the persecution of Saul. God is a refuge because God’s love is faithful, trustworthy, and steadfast.

A number of years ago, one of my New Testament professors, David Cortez-Fuentes, pointed out that David wasn’t the only one to pray with Psalm 31. He called my attention to Jesus’ words from the cross in Luke 23:46. Crying out with a loud voice, Jesus said the words of the psalmist, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Having said this, he breathed his last. Jesus’ choice to pray with Psalm 31, even as he suffered and died, reflects his reliance on God as a refuge, his confidence in God’s love.

Jesus’ dying prayer reminds us that God is both refuge and refugee. In Jesus, God knows what it is to feel as we do—vulnerable and at-risk, embattled and under-supported, alienated and persecuted. In the midst of our powerlessness, we need a rock of refuge. Can we trust—as David did and as Jesus did—that God is both our promise of refuge and our hope for the future? The kingship awaited David. A resurrection miracle awaited Jesus. May we, too, dare to trust that our rock of refuge has goodness and mercy in store for us.

Perhaps we can even dare to share that trust with those who need it most right now, our vulnerable and embattled neighbors who desperately need the hope that is found in our rock of refuge. Hugo Carrasco, that dreamer who was scooped up in an ICE raid in Maricopa County Arizona, had strong support from his family, church, and Young Life community. He found a good lawyer who was able to have him released from detention after three months, but he is still “illegal.” His kids are teens now, but the immigration crack down underway across the nation leaves them in fear that their father could be taken away. Like others who were brought to this country illegally as children, Hugo lives with the constant threat of deportation to a land that is not his home. He is praying to his rock of refuge.

Mariana and Antonio, who lost their Temporary Protected Status as Venezuelans, face an uncertain future. Mariana says, “It has given me anxiety, a lot of sadness, a feeling of injustice.” Any day now, she or Antonio could be taken into custody and sent back to Venezuela where, although Nicolas Maduro is no longer in power, the government remains unchanged and the persecutors who once held a gun to her head have never faced consequences or checks. Mariana says, “I feel like my life is on hold.” She is praying to her rock of refuge.

Marceline Washikala, that Congolese refugee in Oregon, found an advocate in the school system who fought to enroll her in the 12th grade at North Salem High School where she had been denied status. She graduated and subsequently earned a degree in business administration from the local community college. She has helped her mother open a market for African food. She also works for the school district as a language specialist for families who speak Swahili. She dreams of getting a four-year degree and becoming a social worker, who can assist refugees and immigrants, like her. Marceline attends the First Free Methodist Church and directs the Uhuru Youth Choir, which is comprised of people from Congo, Tanzania, Mozambique, Egypt, and Kenya. They sing gospel music in various languages at churches, festivals, and hospitals in the Salem area. Marceline has finally found safety. She has finally found home. Marceline sings along with the psalmist, a song of praise for her rock of refuge. Amen.

Resources

–. “Conflict Between the Houses of David and Saul.” Bible Hub. https://biblehub.com/topical/c/conflict_between_the_houses_of_david_and_saul.htm

Brown-Driver-Briggs Lexicon. STRONGS H2620. “ḥāsâ.” Accessed online at https://www.blueletterbible.org/lexicon/h2620/rsv/wlc/0-1/

Hugo Carrasco. “I live in fear of deportation: My life as an undocumented worker” in Salon, May 17, 2014. Accessed online at https://www.salon.com/2014/05/17/i_live_in_fear_of_deportation_my_life_as_an_undocumented_worker/

Grace Berry and Abigail Wilt. “‘It is complete chaos’: TPS recipients search for solutions after protections end under Trump” in News 21, Sept. 4, 2025. Accessed online at https://upheaval.news21.com/stories/it-is-complete-chaos-temporary-protected-status-recipients-search-for-solutions-after-the-trump-administration-ends-protections/

Zachary Kasper. “Just Waiting for a Miracle” in The Immigrant Story, April 6, 2024. Accessed online at https://theimmigrantstory.org/waiting-for-a-miracle/

Danish Refugee Council. “How many refugees are there in the world?” Accessed online at https://help.refugees.now/en/news/how-many-refugees-are-there-in-the-world/

Joel LeMon. “Commentary on Psalm 31” in Preaching This Week, May 14, 2017. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fifth-sunday-of-easter/commentary-on-psalm-311-5-15-16-3

J. Clinton McCann, Jr. “Commentary on Psalm 31” in Preaching This Week, May 18, 2014. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fifth-sunday-of-easter/commentary-on-psalm-311-5-15-16-4

John E. White. “Homiletical Perspective on Psalm 31” in Feasting on the Word, Year A, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2010.

Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16

To the leader. A Psalm of David.

1 In you, O Lord, I seek refuge;
    do not let me ever be put to shame;
    in your righteousness deliver me.
2 Incline your ear to me;
    rescue me speedily.
Be a rock of refuge for me,
    a strong fortress to save me.

3 You are indeed my rock and my fortress;
    for your name’s sake lead me and guide me;
4 take me out of the net that is hidden for me,
    for you are my refuge.
5 Into your hand I commit my spirit;
    you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God.

15 My times are in your hand;
    deliver me from the hand of my enemies and persecutors.
16 Let your face shine upon your servant;
    save me in your steadfast love.

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With Glad and Generous Hearts

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “With Glad and Generous Hearts” Acts 2:42-47

She was just so darned cute. Strawberry-blonde curls, big blue eyes in a rounded heart-shaped face, a smattering of freckles strewn across her cheeks—what my Grandmommie referred to as the “Angel’s Kisses.” Strangers stopped in the grocery to pinch her cheeks. The batting of those big blue eyes earned her sips of other’s drinks or bites of their snacks. You know the kind of kid I am talking about. Irresistible!

We shared a room for years during which time I was the Felix to her Oscar. I lined my toys up in careful rows while hers were scattered about in joyful chaos. Science experiments of old food and medicine cabinet concoctions moldered beneath her bed while my floor might harbor a lonely dust bunny. My crayons were never broken and always carefully packed away in their original box after coloring. Her crayons were often where she left them: scattered across the table, kicked beneath the radiator, broken to bits and added to those aforementioned science experiments. My clothes were folded and tucked away in drawers. Hers lingered in wrinkled piles on the floor until our mother insisted that they go in the hamper where they belonged.

We resolved our differences by angling an imaginary line down the center of the room. Her side was a marvel of mayhem. My side was proto-Presbyterian—everything decent and in order. I silently rejoiced when our family moved to a larger home when I was nine and I got my own room that doubled as the guestroom. It was easier to share with visiting kin than it was with my sister. But even in my new space there were signs of little fingers constantly touching my stuff. Clothes with mysterious stains, toys askew, doors ajar. Sharing is not easy.

Our reading from the Acts of the Apostles reveals radical acts of generosity and sharing in the early church. It wasn’t long after Pentecost. God had poured out the Holy Spirit upon timid disciples, and before you could say lickety-split, they were preaching to complete strangers in ways that changed minds and prompted belief. That Pentecost Spirit must have also inspired their life in community: warm fellowship, homes opened for bountiful meals, dedicated times of prayer in the Temple, and radical sharing—possessions sold and proceeds distributed for the good of all. It was a community so remarkable, so appealing, that everyone wanted a piece of that. Day by day, the Lord added to their number.

It didn’t stop there, either. If we keep reading Acts, we learn about the Cypriot rabbi Barnabas, Paul’s friend. He saw the need in Jerusalem and sold everything he owned—that’s right everything—and gave it to the apostles. Then there was Lydia, the first Greek to accept the gospel. No sooner had she been baptized than she insisted that Paul and his friends stay with her in Philippi, a long friendship that would help fund much of Paul’s outreach to the Gentiles. And then Paul himself, when he learned that there was a famine in Jerusalem, barnstormed through his Gentile churches seeking financial gifts to relieve the pressing hunger of their Jewish Christian kin. That’s a lot of sharing.

According to Bible scholar and historian Rita Halteman Finger, for the past 500 years, since the Reformation, western Christians have played down the nature of the early Christian community and the importance of sharing. It’s been argued that the community described in Acts is symbolic and idealized. They say these practices were likely just short-lived and limited. It’s really not practical in today’s context or with today’s people. After all, we are a sinful lot, prone to self-interest. We may want this sort of community, but let’s get real. It’s pretty pie in the sky. Matthew Skinner, who teaches at Luther Seminary, uncomfortably points out that it is tempting for us to write off today’s scripture reading, because if we take it seriously, then it will cost us, and we are not sure we want to pay that price.

In some ways, Matt Skinner is right. Unbridled generosity, heartfelt sharing, isn’t easy. Let’s face it, every dollar in the offering plate is a dollar not squirreled way in our 401k or IRA for our retirement. Sure, we want to help the poor, but we also want to make sure our generosity is merited and well-spent. Is the recipient someone who will turn their life around and pay it forward to another? Is this someone who is truly deserving, who works hard but has more month than money? Or, maybe we feel that we have worked hard for what we have and others can do what we did—they can pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, too. Or, maybe we are burned out on giving in a world where the enormity of need is simply overwhelming.

We long for the beloved community. We want to live with glad and generous hearts. But some days, it is a whole lot easier to draw an imaginary line down the center of the room. Some days, it is easier to look the other way or close our eyes to our neighbor’s need, trusting that someone else will step up. Some days, it is easier to say, “America first,” gut our support of USAID, and shrug off the consequences for our global neighbors, from closure of medical clinics, to the end of life-saving immunizations and medications, to the spread of AIDS and tuberculosis. We long for the beloved community, but sharing is hard. Help us, Jesus.

Maybe that early Christian community in the Acts of the Apostles can help us, too. Those glad and generous hearts were nurtured in a fellowship that devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, to being together, to the breaking of bread, and to the prayers. They listened to stories of the life that the apostles shared with Jesus. They meditated upon the Lord’s Sermon on the Mount, and the parables, and the great commandment to love God and neighbor. They shared favorite recipes and laughed around the table. They watched one another’s children and celebrated the little joys—first tooth, first steps, first words. They broke the bread and lifted the cup, remembering how Jesus had done this in the Last Supper. They prayed hard, going to the Temple at the appointed times, praying for one another’s concerns, and listening for the leading of the Holy Spirit.

In that fertile mix of fellowship and spirituality, they began to change. They considered the limitless love of God for them and saw that all they had and all they were was God’s gracious gift. They pondered the generous love of Jesus, who welcomed strangers, taught unlikely disciples, included women, blessed children, forgave sinners, and poured out his very life to reconcile them to God and one another. As they came to understand God’s limitless love for them, a love that was revealed so completely in Jesus, their hearts softened. Their hands opened. They lived with glad and generous hearts.

So perhaps we can prove wrong that 500-year history of biblical interpretation that argues that the beloved community of the Acts of the Apostles is just an idealized, pie-in-the-sky, rose-colored-glasses kind of place. Perhaps we can prove that the beloved community is real and here and now. We can begin by devoting ourselves to the apostles’ teachings—feasting on the Word in worship and through the weekly Bible Study. We can forge fellowship with shared meals and shared lives, whether we are enjoying coffee hour hospitality or digging into the best potluck in town on Committee Night, whether we are cooking up a hot dish for someone laid up with illness or knitting and crocheting prayer shawls with Heart and Hands, whether we are getting our hands dirty in the church garden or singing together in the choir. We can pray hard, sharing our joys and concerns in worship, interceding for others with the prayer chain, or sharing those simple everyday invitations like, “May I pray for you?”

As we engage the Word, delight in our fellowship, and fervently pray, one thing will become abundantly clear to us. We’ll know God’s never-ending and overflowing love for us. We’ll see our lives for what they are—a blessing, an opportunity, an anticipation of the Kingdom of God. We’ll know that when we do our little bit, we make that Kingdom tangible for a world that desperately needs a love that is never-ending and overflowing.

We can trust that as we live into that beloved community, we will be changed. We’ll have a fresh appreciation for all the Lord has done for us. We’ll stop drawing those imaginary dividing lines. We’ll stop attaching strings. We’ll see our abundance as a blessing for our lives—and a blessing for the lives of others. Our hearts will soften. Our hands will open. We’ll live with glad and generous hearts, forging a blessed and irresistible community for all. May it be so.

Resources

Scott Shauf. “Commentary on Acts 2:42-47” in Preaching This Week, May 11, 2014. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-easter/commentary-on-acts-242-47-4

Sharon Betsworth. “Commentary on Acts 2:42-47” in Preaching This Week, April 30, 2023. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-easter/commentary-on-acts-242-47-6

Jeremy Williams. “Commentary on Acts 2:42-47” in Preaching This Week, April 26, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-easter/commentary-on-acts-242-47-7

Matt Skinner. “Commentary on Acts 2:42-47” in Preaching This Week, April 13, 2008. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-easter/commentary-on-acts-242-47-2

Acts 2:42-47

42 They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. 43 Awe came upon everyone because many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. 44 All who believed were together and had all things in common; 45 they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. 46 Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, 47 praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.

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Songs and Stories for Eastertide

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Sabbath Day Thoughts (and songs) — “Songs and Stories for Eastertide” John 20:19-29

This message includes hotlinks for each of the hymns. Click and sing along, if you wish!

Our first hymn features words originally written in Latin in the fifth century. These lyrics have been sung by Christians to celebrate the resurrection for more than 1,500 years! The Medieval melody was adapted by the German composer and organist Michael Praetorius in 1609. Praetorius was born Michael Schultze, the youngest son of a radical Lutheran pastor. Perhaps to distance himself from his father, Michael latinized his name from Schultze to Praetorius during his university studies.

We use the term “Renaissance man” to describe very versatile people with multiple specialties. By that definition, Praetorius certainly qualifies. He served as an organist, choirmaster, music theorist, and royal court official. As such, he composed a lot of music—and somehow found time to write an encyclopedic treatise on music that scholars have found very useful for more than 400 years.

Praetorious studied at Frankfurt and was organist and eventually court musician to Duke Heinrich Julius. After his patron’s death in 1613, Praetorius spent more than two years at Dresden, where he heard and was influenced by the intricate melodies and harmonies of the latest Italianate music. In his last years, he was asked to visit many German courts as a director, performer, and consultant. Zealous for the advancement of music, he had a predilection for rich and varied settings for voices and instruments. His musical encyclopedia was published in nine volumes between 1605 and 1611. It contains a whopping 1,244 chorale settings for sacred music. When he died in 1620, he was entombed beneath the pipe organ of his home church, the Marienkirche in Frankfurt. Let us sing “That Easter Day with Joy Was Bright.”

That Easter Day with Joy was Bright (PUER NOBIS NASCITUR)

Our next Easter hymn reflects the musical style of the 1970s charismatic church movement, which was heavily influenced by folk music.  The Charismatic movement emphasized baptism in the Holy Spirit and the active operation of spiritual gifts (charismata) among believers. These gifts include speaking in tongues, prophecy, healing, and discernment of spirits. Charismatic Christians believe these gifts are manifestations of the Holy Spirit’s presence and power in the lives of people today. The boom in charismatic hymns was prompted by the accessibility of the guitar and the sing-ability of the tunes, especially for those worshipers who were unaccustomed to choral singing or liturgical (service) music.

This hymn was composed by Donald Fishel. He joined the Word of God, a charismatic Catholic community based in Ann Arbor, MI, where he was the group’s music leader and orchestral conductor from 1969 to 1981. Fishel’s principal instrument is the flute. He has taught and performed in a number of settings, including serving as principal flutist with the Dexter Community Orchestra in Dexter, MI. “Alleluia, Alleluia! Give Thanks” was the first church music that Donald Fishel ever composed. According to Fishel, it came together very quickly – in about an hour! Let us sing “Alleluia, Alleluia! Give Thanks.”

Alleluia, Alleluia! Give Thanks

Our next hymn features the beautiful hymn tune Suo Gan, a traditional Welsh lullaby written by an anonymous composer. It was first recorded in print around 1800. The words of the hymn were written by John Bell and Graham Maule. Bell is a minister in the Church of Scotland, a fellow of the Royal School of Church Music, and a member of the Iona Community. He gives music workshops throughout the United Kingdom and the United States. Bell is passionate about the importance of congregational singing. He says that Christian singing should lead to Christian action. His words often express the thirst for social justice and the Kingdom of God.

Bell says, “My frustration is that the church’s singing is full of churchy words. We don’t have songs with a word like economics in them, or a word like kitchen. A substantial amount of biblical witness tells us God is interested in economics. We know that much of Jesus’ time was spent in kitchens. But we are disenfranchised from singing about some realities in his and our lives.” As you sing “Christ Has Risen While Earth Slumbers,” listen for ways that Bell expresses the real experience of people in the pews. 

Christ has risen while earth slumbers HD

Our next Easter carol uses the allegory of the dying and rising of grain to allude to Christ’s resurrection. The lyrics were written by Anglican clergyman, author, and hymnwriter John Macleod Campbell Crum. His grandfather was the Scottish minister and Reformed theologian John Macleod Campbell, who was controversial for his preaching of universal atonement – the belief that Christ died for all humankind. This view conflicted with the teachings of the Church of Scotland. His scandalous belief led to a “presbyterial visitation.” A representative group of the leaders from the Church of Scotland appeared at his church one Sunday morning to hear Rev. Campbell and examine him. They didn’t like what they heard. He was accused of heresy and forced to leave the Scottish church.

Influenced by his grandfather’s thought and experience, John Macleod Campbell Crum emphasized that the good news of Jesus Christ is for all people. As you sing the hymn, pay attention to verse four. It celebrates the power of God to raise hearts to new life, even when we feel dead and barren. The hymn has had great appeal in Great Britain where it is sung in churches and has been recorded by popular musicians like Steve Winwood, David Harbottle, Laura Wright, and the King’s College Choir. Let us sing “Now the Green Blade Rises.”

Laura Wright – Now The Green Blade Rises

Our next hymn, “The Day of Resurrection,” teams 8th century words by John of Damascus with a lively 19th century English tune. John of Damascus was an Arab Christian monk, priest, and defender of the faith. John was born to a prominent Syrian family. His father was intent upon John receiving a classical education, and so the boy’s tutor was a monk by the name of Cosmas, who was kidnapped by Arab slave-traders from his home in Sicily. Seeing the value of such a devout and learned slave, John’s father paid a great price for Cosmas.

John served as a civil servant for the Caliph in Damascus before his ordination. He then became a priest and monk at the Mar Saba monastery near Jerusalem. Perhaps his greatest service to the church was his defense of icons, holy images used to invite worshippers to prayer and reflection. John’s greatest opponent on the matter of icons was Emperor Leo III. In an effort to discredit John, Leo sent forged documents to the Caliph of Damascus which implicated John in a plot to attack the city. The Caliph was outraged and ordered John’s right hand be cut off and hung up in public view.

According to tradition, some days afterwards, John asked for his hand back. He prayed fervently to Mary the mother of our Lord before her icon, and his hand was said to have been miraculously restored. In gratitude for this healing, he attached a silver hand to the icon, which thereafter became known as the “Three-handed Mary” or Tricherousa. The icon can still be seen in the Hilandar monastery in Mount Athos, Greece. Let us sing “The Day of Resurrection.”

Hymn “The Day of Resurrection” | Lancashire

Our final hymn is “Woman, Weeping in the Garden.” The words tell the story of Mary Magdalene and her transformation from weeping to dancing as she encountered her risen Lord on Easter morning. The words were written by Daniel Charles Damon.

Daniel remembers that when he was in high school, he told his Grandpa Damon that he might want to become a minister. His Grandpa questioned whether young Daniel had the right stuff, “That’s the highest calling there is,” Grandpa said. Looking at his grandson’s long hair and bangs that hid much of his face, Grandpa said more, “You know, you can tell a man’s intelligence by the width of his forehead.” Clearly, Daniel’s conservative Free Methodist grandfather did not approve of his grandson’s church aspirations, so much for that idea.

After graduation from Greenville College, Daniel taught high school band and choir in South Dakota before moving to San Francisco to work full-time as a jazz musician. He found a job at a sing-along piano bar called the Curtain Call.

After a few years of making a living playing in hotels and restaurants, Daniel was burning out on the bar scene when a conversation with his pastor sent him back on a path to seminary at the Graduate Theological Union. There, Daniel discovered a deeper sense of calling to be a pastor and a hymnwriter. He served a number of small California churches where he preached, played the piano, led congregational singing, directed choirs, and even typed the bulletins.

Daniel often writes hymns on social justice themes. The way we treat people is very important to him. He has written hymns for children, women, the elderly, people living with disabilities, and for the poor and the oppressed. If his conservative Grandfather were still alive, he would undoubtedly not approve. That’s ok with Daniel. Let us sing “Woman, Weeping in the Garden.”

Woman Weeping in the Garden

John 20:19-29

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.”

24 But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. 25 So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

26 A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” 27 Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” 28 Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” 29 Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

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Roll Back the Stone

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Roll Back the Stone” Matthew 28:1-10

We all carry stones.

Almaza a-Sultan shoulders the stone of injustice in her life in a Gaza refugee camp. Although her family has no connection to Hamas, their home was destroyed by bombs early in the Israel-Hamas War. Life in the camp is tough. Almaza and her daughters cut their long hair because there were no cleaning products or shampoos, and lice are rampant in the filthy living conditions. The few hygiene products available on the market are exorbitantly priced, far beyond the means of homeless refugees. Sometimes Almaza’s husband goes to bombed homes to scavenge. When he returns with a leftover piece of soap, they rejoice because they can shower properly and feel as if they are born again.

Sharon carries the stone of failure and dashed dreams. She filed for divorce after eight years of marriage. She loves her husband. She remembers those hopeful early days they shared, but then his addictions and poor choices made life terribly hard: jobs lost, savings blown, erratic—sometimes frightening—behavior, promises broken, repeated attempts at rehab failed. One day, Sharon knew that for the sake of her children and her own well-being, they had to leave. She feels guilty and ashamed. She weeps for the sweet possibility that came to such a bitter end.

Ronnie is burdened by the stone of grief. Ronnie and his wife Jenny were high school sweethearts who raised a family and forged a happy life. A few years ago, Jenny was diagnosed with bone cancer. She underwent surgery which took her lower leg. Then, she went through chemo with its debilitating side effects. When the cancer came back after a brief remission, Jenny was admitted to a clinical trial for a new immunotherapy. It sounded promising, yet didn’t work. They decided to stop treatment, and within weeks, Jenny died. Ronnie is glad that his wife is free from pain and suffering. He believes in God and heaven. He just doesn’t know how to live without Jenny.

Matthew’s gospel tells us of the two Marys walking to the tomb in the pre-dawn darkness. Like Almaza a-Sultan, the Marys knew the stone of injustice. They had seen the Lord of love arrested in the deep of the night and marched off to a secret hearing at the home of Caiaphas. There he was beaten, convicted on false charges, and sentenced to death. The Marys saw Jesus handed over to the Romans, who charged the peaceful Jesus a second time, on charges of insurrection. Then the Romans did what empires do best: silenced opposition with brutality and death. The Marys saw the injustice of a good and innocent man crucified between two common thieves.

Like Sharon, the Marys knew the stone of failure and dashed dreams. They loved Jesus, had provided for him from their own purses. They had been filled with starry-eyed hope for a new world order where God ruled, the poor could be filled, those who weep would be comforted, the meek would inherit the earth, and love would prevail. But as they walked to the tomb on that terrible morning, their hopes had failed and the promise of possibility had been drowned out by mocking priests, gambling soldiers, and the crowd’s cries of, “Crucify! Crucify!” When the Lord breathed his last, only the women were there to weep at the foot of the cross. The Kingdom that Jesus promised seemed utterly defeated by the twin powers of Temple and empire.

On Easter morning, we all carry stones. We carry the stone of injustice, of a broken world torn apart by violence, greed, hate, and lust for power. We carry the stone of dashed dreams, of relationships begun in hope only to die at the hands of poor communication and indifference, hardened hearts and the inability to forgive. We bear the stone of failure—businesses closed, degrees never earned, opportunities missed, jobs lost. We carry the stone of grief: the loss of ability, the slow creep of age, the death of beloved ones who leave behind an unbearable hole in our hearts. We all carry stones. What is the stone that you bear this morning?

Every gospel writer remembers the story of the resurrection a little differently. In Mark’s original ending, the women flee the tomb in terror and silence. In Luke, the women come bearing spices to tend Jesus’ body. John remembers Mary Magdalene weeping alone in the garden. Matthew pays special attention to the stone. Indeed, in Matthew’s gospel, after the crucifixion, we are allowed to listen in on a meeting between Pilate, the chief priests, and Pharisees (MT 27:64-66). Afraid that Jesus’ body will disappear and the disciples will claim a resurrection miracle, Pilate takes special steps. The grooved track in front of the tomb is fitted with an enormous capstone to block the entrance. Next, an imperial seal is placed to secure the entrance and warn of the consequences of defying the emperor. Finally, two Roman guards are stationed to prevent any mischief. In Matthew’s gospel, the women do not carry spices or oil. In Matthew’s gospel, the women simply come to see the tomb, to weep and say goodbye, numbed by sorrow, disappointment, and the weight of the stones they bear.

On that first Easter morning, despite their burdens, the two Marys went to the tomb. There, as the dawn stretched above the horizon, roosters crowed to greet the dawn, the sleeping city began to awaken, and the women learned that God was at work to confound the death-dealing powers of this world. It would be God, who would have the last word. Like a flash of lightning, the barrier between heaven and earth was broken, the earth shook, the grave’s seal was broken, the stone rolled back and fell away, and God’s messenger took a victorious seat on that symbol of imperial power. Pilate’s intimidating guards were rendered powerless.

In the mystery of an empty tomb, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary learned that God had overcome the earthly powers of empire and Temple. In the mystery of an empty tomb, the women understood the limitless power of God’s love, which could face head-on the crushing stones of injustice and shame, dashed dreams, failure, and death and work from it all a miracle of life. The women’s stones were real and big, but God’s love was every bit as real and even bigger.

As the two Marys fled back into the sleeping city on a holy mission to share their good news, they encountered Jesus, who greeted them with words they needed to hear. “Do not be afraid.” Then the women did what the moment called for: they worshipped Jesus, falling at his feet with tears of joy and cries of “Alleluia!” Mary Magdalene and the other Mary realized that although life brought injustice and dashed dreams, failure, and death, they could bear all that would make their hearts tremble. They could rise and go forth with courage because they would not be alone. Jesus would be with them to roll back the stones that they could not.

The women were commissioned a second time by Jesus—to go and tell what they had seen. I like to imagine the two Marys holding hands and running through the streets of the waking city. They must have felt oddly light and hopeful, brimming over with the simple knowledge that although life brings heavy stones, love prevails. God had fought the battle and won the victory.  With news that good, they could face their stones and live with joy.

On this Easter morning, we come bearing stones—the stones of injustice and dashed dreams, failure, grief, and death. Yet, at the empty tomb, we remember that love prevails. The empire and the Temple, the cross and even death itself do not have the last word. God does. God can take the worst that this world has to offer and work from it a miracle of life. The stone rolls back and we see possibility. The stone rolls back and we find hope. The stone rolls back and we know that we are cherished beyond limits by God, who loves us enough to bear our stones, die for us, and rise for us.

So perhaps on this Easter morning, we can be a little like the Marys. We can go forth into the world with hope and joy. We can draw near to those who labor beneath the stones of all that holds us captive. We can bear the news of a holy love that is more than a match for this world’s pain, the love that is stronger than death. For the people of Gaza, like Almaza a-Sultan, we can remember them, seeking their safety and justice in a world that has already moved on to the latest catastrophe of war. For friends like Sharon, who struggles with the dashed dreams of a failed relationship, we can offer our compassion, encouragement, and hopes for a better tomorrow. For folks like Ronnie, who live with the heartbreak of grief, we can listen and simply walk with them through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. We can share the promise that on the far side of death waits the promise of eternal life.

It’s Easter morning, my friends. Christ is alive. Let us go forth to roll back the stone.

Resources

Almaza a-Sultan’s story of her life in Gaza is from Voices from Gaza, Feb. 25, 2026. Accessed online at btselem.org.

Martha Moore Keish. “Theological Perspective on Matthew 28:1-10” in Preaching on the Gospels, Matthew, vol. 2. WJK Press, 2013.

Ephraim Agosto. “Exegetical Perspective on Matthew 28:1-10” in Preaching on the Gospels, Matthew, vol. 2. WJK Press, 2013.

Barbara Brown Taylor. “Homiletical Perspective on Matthew 28:1-10” in Preaching on the Gospels, Matthew, vol. 2. WJK Press, 2013.

Matt Skinner. “Commentary on Matthew 28:1-10” in Preaching This Week, April 5, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/resurrection-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-281-10-14

Judith Jones. “Commentary on Matthew 28:1-10” in Preaching This Week, April 5, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/resurrection-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-281-10-9

Matthew 28:1-10

28 After the Sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2 And suddenly there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3 His appearance was like lightning and his clothing white as snow. 4 For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. 5 But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. 6 He is not here, for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. 7 Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you.” 8 So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy and ran to tell his disciples. 9 Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. 10 Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers and sisters to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”