Building Projects

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Building Projects” Luke 14:25-32

The National Monument of Scotland was never completed. Plans for the memorial atop Carleton Hill in Edinburgh were drawn up more than 200 years ago with the intention of honoring Scotland’s fallen heroes of the Napoleonic War. A massive pillared court, like the Parthenon in Athens, would contain a church, as well as catacombs for the burial of the country’s most significant leaders. By 1822 a foundation was laid, but by 1829, construction ground to a halt, due to insufficient funds. An effort to revive the project in the 1850s likewise failed. The city council eventually became the owners of the partially-finished monument, known as “Edinburgh’s Disgrace.” All that survives of the original grand plans are an immense foundation and twelve colossal Doric columns.

The Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City was never completed. One of the largest churches in the world, St. John’s is perched at the top of a flight of wide steps atop one of the highest hills in Manhattan. Standing in front of the massive building, you’ll notice a squat, square, unfinished tower on the south side, but no matching tower on the north. Initial work on the cathedral proceeded from 1892 but competing architectural visions slowed construction. Building efforts stalled entirely at the beginning of World War II and the congregation’s priorities shifted. They saw growing social needs in their community, like poverty, homelessness, and hunger, and they questioned whether they should continue to pour funds into construction. Work resumed in 1979 but stalled in 1997. Today, building efforts focus on preservation and basic improvements at a cost of about $11 million dollars a year. The cathedral is known by the nickname “St. John the Unfinished.”

Closer to home, Boldt Castle, located on Heart Island in the St. Lawrence, was never completed. In 1900, George Boldt, the proprietor of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, hired 300 laborers to construct a 120-room Rhineland-style castle for his beloved wife Louise. Four years after construction began, Louise suddenly died. The heartbroken husband abandoned the project and never set foot on the island again. For seventy-five years, the site sat abandoned and unfinished until in 1977 the Thousand Islands Bridge Authority acquired the property and opened it for visitors.

In our reading from Luke’s gospel, Jesus used hyperbole— a form of argument that embraces exaggeration—to make a point. Jesus cautioned his disciples about the cost of discipleship with dire-sounding words about family alienation, incomplete building projects, and unwinnable wars. The Lord was on his way to Jerusalem for that fateful final Passover. He was accompanied by large crowds of would-be disciples. The expectations of the crowd about what would go down in Jerusalem were radically different from what Jesus knew would unfold. The crowds thought they would have a ringside seat for healing miracles and earthshaking preaching. Many must have hoped that Jesus would bring change to the religious establishment ensconced in the Temple. Some were hoping for regime change, thinking that Jesus would be a militaristic Messiah, like the Maccabees, who could cast out their Roman overlords. No one wanted to hear that a cross awaited Jesus in Jerusalem. No one wanted to hear that crosses could await many who dared to follow the Lord.

All of Jesus’ apostles would know persecution and eleven of the twelve would face execution. James the Son of Zebedee would be the first, beheaded by the Romans in the year 44. Andrew was crucified on an x-shaped cross in the Greek city of Patras in the year 60. Peter was crucified upside down four years later during the persecution of Christians by the Emperor Nero. Jude was crucified in Persia. Thomas was run through with spears in India. Matthew was impaled and beheaded in Ethiopia. You see my point. The only apostle to die a natural death was John the Beloved, but he and his church were persecuted so harshly that they were forced to flee Israel for the far side of the Mediterranean in what is now western Turkey. Discipleship was costly, indeed, for Jesus’ followers.

It’s hard to know what to do with scripture readings like the one we have today. As first world Christians, not one of us is likely to be executed for our beliefs. Not one of us will be so persecuted for our love of Jesus that we will be forced to flee our homeland. Trey Clark, who teaches preaching at Fuller Seminary says that when we hear Jesus’ words about family alienation and impending oppression or victimization, we are more likely to say “Ouch” than “Amen.” So how do we make sense of it for people here and now?

The circumstances of our lives are very different from Jesus’ first century followers. Taking up our cross and losing our life for the sake of Jesus Christ may look more like death by a thousand paper cuts than a state sponsored execution. Losing our life for Christ involves recognizing that our true purpose and fulfillment are not found in worldly desires but in serving God and others. Authentic discipleship requires a willingness to deny ourselves and take up our cross daily. By embracing the Way of Jesus, we die to self, but we find true life and purpose. The Apostle Paul, who would lose his head for the sake of the gospel, put it this way, “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” There are millions of everyday folks out there, like you and me, who may not have literally died for Jesus’s sake, but they show singular commitment and deep allegiance by following the Lord in costly ways. Jesus lives in them.  

I would like to celebrate those thousand paper cuts, the everyday ways that I see people denying themselves and taking up their cross for the sake of the gospel. I’ll name just a few and you can respond with an “Amen!” or an “Ouch!”

We could spend our Sunday mornings paddling our canoe or hitting the trail, doing a home improvement project or having a second cup of coffee, but we choose to come to church and worship our awesome God, and we carry the cross.

We could spend our Wednesday evenings watching Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, but we make a joyful noise to the Lord with choir or meet with the deacons or come out for Committee Night, and we carry the cross.

In a world where income inequality is accepted, even as it grows and grows, we could ignore the need of our neighbors, but we share our food offerings and donate two cents a meal for hunger programs, we grow veggies in our Jubilee Garden to share at the Food Pantry and cook lunch for the Community Lunch Box, and we carry the cross.

Living in the remote beauty of the Adirondacks, we could close our eyes to the suffering and injustice of our world, but we advocate for the war weary people of Ukraine, and write letters for the starving children of Gaza, we accompany vulnerable refugees and support the widows and children of Mzuzu Malawi, and we carry the cross.

I could say more, but you see my point. We carry the cross. We die to self and live for Jesus, and when we follow the Lord, yielding our will to God’s will, Jesus lives in us.

Our deaths by a thousand paper cuts begin to build something. It isn’t the National Monument of Scotland, better known as Edinburgh’s disgrace. It isn’t the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, aka St. John the Unfinished. It isn’t even Boldt Castle, although New York State has poured millions of our tax dollars into making the castle an accessible tourist destination. Our deaths by a thousand papercuts build a world that looks like Christ’s Kingdom, where the stranger is welcomed, the hungry are fed, the sick and lonely are visited, and God is glorified. That’s a building project that I want to see through to completion. How about you?

Let’s pick up our crosses, my friends. There is building work to be done.

Resources

E. Trey Clark. “Commentary on Luke 14:25-33” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 7, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-23-3/commentary-on-luke-1425-33-6

Radhika Jhamaria. “15 Famous Unfinished Projects in Architectural History” in Rethinking the Future. Accessed online at https://www.re-thinkingthefuture.com/architects-lounge/a1289-15-famous-unfinished-projects-in-architectural-history-2/

Ellen Newman. “New York City’s St. John the Unfinished” in Hidden in Plain Sight, July 11, 2019. Accessed online at https://hidden-insite.com/2019/07/08/new-york-citys-st-john-the-unfinished/

Jenna Intersemone. “Massive Building Projects That Were Never Finished” in House Digest, Dec. 7, 2021. Accessed online at https://www.housedigest.com/663379/massive-building-projects-that-were-never-finished/ Edinburgh

Jack Wellman. “How Did the 12 Apostles Die?” in What Christians Want to Know. https://www.whatchristianswanttoknow.com/how-did-the-12-apostles-die-a-bible-study/

Luke 14:25-32

25 Now large crowds were traveling with him, and he turned and said to them, 26 “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. 27 Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. 28 For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? 29 Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, 30 saying, ‘This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.’ 31 Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? 32 If he cannot, then while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace. 

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Limitless Compassion

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Limitless Compassion” Luke 13:10-17

Jimmy has spent most of his life feeling invisible. Born with developmental disability and a host of physical issues, he spent most of his childhood in foster care. He attended school, riding in a special bus and learning in special classrooms. Other kids called him names: retard, freak, spazz, dumbo. Nowadays, Jimmy is largely ignored as he stands outside his group home to watch the cars drive past. Eyes look past him as if he isn’t even there.

Heather feels invisible. Every day at lunch she sits in the corner of the cafeteria by herself. She wears outdated hand-me-downs and packs her lunch in a re-used brown paper bag. In gym class, no one picks her for their team. When it’s time for group projects, no one wants to work with her. She sees cliques of friends laughing in the hallways and wishes she were part of that. Eyes look past or around her as if she isn’t even there.

Bert and Jean feel invisible. They had been retired for a number of years when the pandemic forced them to also step back from their civic commitments. Their phone used to ring off the hook. But now, not so much. Many of their friends have passed on. Their kids and grandkids are just so busy. Some weeks, the Meals on Wheels driver is their only conversation partner. They don’t get out much, but when they do, eyes look past or around them as if they aren’t even there.

The world is filled with neighbors who feel alienated, invisible, and alone. You might think that would awaken a mass wave of empathetic outreach, but it doesn’t. Social scientists say our disregard for vulnerable others is a psychological phenomenon known as “compassion collapse.” Dr. Caryl Cameron, director of the Empathy and Moral Psychology Lab at Penn State University, writes that “People tend to feel and act less compassionately for multiple suffering victims than for a single suffering victim…. Precisely when it seems to be needed the most, compassion is felt the least.”

There are reasons for that. We are finite beings with limited resources. We may feel that our action (or inaction) doesn’t make a difference, so we withdraw. Or, we sometimes don’t get involved to protect ourselves. In the face of widespread tragedy and need, it becomes crushing to take on the pain of others. We grow numb and feel powerless.

The bent over woman was invisible to her neighbors. She had felt alone and unseen for eighteen years. In the world of the first century, she was a marginalized person—someone who lived outside the community of the righteous because she was physically deformed, spirit-possessed, and a woman. Anyone who has ever had a bad back can imagine the terrible discomfort that she must have felt: muscle spasms; neck pain; difficulty in rising, standing, or walking; the inability to look up and out at the world around her. At some point in her long years of suffering, compassion collapse kicked in for her community. She stopped being a neighbor and simply become the “bent over woman.” She would not have been seated in church on the day that Jesus preached. Instead, she would have been excluded, waiting at the entrance, hoping that someone would see her and speak a kind word into her life of suffering.

Only one person in the synagogue saw the bent over woman. It was Jesus. As only Jesus could, he instantly knew her suffering and need, and his heart went out to her with a limitless compassion that stretched the bounds of what was socially and religiously acceptable in his day. Carolyn Sharp, who teaches Hebrew Bible at Yale, notes that what one could or couldn’t do on the sabbath day was hotly contested in the first century. In fact, the Mishnah Shabbat, a collection of rabbinic teachings, forbade 39 different kinds of labor on the sabbath: sowing fields, baking, building, traveling, and more. It did not forbid healing. In fact, rabbis generally agreed that in life threatening situations, it was acceptable to heal. The rabbis divided, though, over whether healing for non-critical conditions, like being bent over, was permitted.

That’s a long walk to say that Jesus saw the woman and chose to act in controversial, even scandalous, ways. First, he invited her into the sanctuary, into the community of the righteous—to the Moses Seat—where he had been teaching. Then, Jesus did something even more provocative. He laid his hands on her bent over back and raised her up straight, freeing her from the disability that had long held her in bondage. Jesus next concluded his sermon for the day with an interpretation of scripture that silenced the critics. If God would permit a farmer to unbind, water, and feed livestock on the sabbath day, then surely it was permitted to free a woman from the spirit that had long bound her. Jesus gave the bent over woman a proper name, “Daughter of Abraham,” a sister to all the worshipers that day.

The world is filled with invisible people. Like Jimmy, they live with disability. Like Heather, they are friendless school-aged kids. Like Bert and Jean, they are elderly and alone. They are the non-English speaking workers who clean our hotel rooms or pick our crops. They are the economically challenged neighbors who frequent the Food Pantry or collect the empty cans and bottles after rugby weekend. They’d like to be seen, but eyes look past or around them as if they aren’t even there.

Jesus’ scandalous actions in a crowded synagogue one sabbath morning call us to see our invisible neighbors, to welcome them into the heart of the community, to make a caring and healing difference in their lives. Thomas Merton wrote that compassion is the keen awareness of the interdependence of all things. We cannot find wholeness—shalom—apart from community, and communities cannot be whole until the outsider, the excluded, and the marginalized are welcomed, accepted, valued, and included. In a world where some characterize compassion and empathy as weakness, today’s teaching from Jesus is a bold contradiction and a call to action.

Of course, there’s only one problem: compassion collapse. In a world where need can be ubiquitous, our compassion can be overwhelmed. We say, what can one person do in the face of such large-scale pain? We grow numb. We close our eyes. People become invisible. What are we to do?

Peter W. Marty, editor of the Christian Century, says that he builds compassion for those who live in difficult circumstances through the simple practice of imagining what it’s like to walk in their shoes. He does this when he encounters people in daily life who perform jobs that he’s not sure he could manage or tolerate for even a day. Whether it’s an individual enduring dangerous work conditions, tedious assignments, a hostile environment, or depressingly low wages, Marty tries to picture trading his life for theirs. It quickly his alters perspective and shifts his assumptions about how easy or hard life can be for those who undertake hazardous or dispiriting work that often goes unnoticed, work for which we typically feel indifference.

Researchers David DeSteno and Daniel Lim have conducted research to learn how we can have more resilient compassion. Through a series of studies, Lim and DeSteno identified a few factors that enliven our compassion and enhance our capacity to act. It begins with the belief that small steps can make a difference. We can’t solve all the problems of the world, but we can make a simple difference in the life of someone who needs our encouragement and support. It also helps to remember our own experiences of adversity. Remembering our past challenges, suffering, or need motivates us to accompany others. Finally, our personal practice of prayer and meditation can help us to be present to those invisible neighbors. Taking the time to pray and reflect allows us to trust that our actions serve a holy purpose and God is with us. When we are clean out of compassion, we can borrow some of the limitless compassion of Jesus. The world may be filled with invisible people, but it doesn’t have to be. Jesus believes we can make a difference in the lives of those who feel that they are on the outside looking in, longing for care, connection, and community.  

This week, we’ll encounter them, those invisible neighbors. They’ll be sitting alone in Stewarts. They’ll be smoking outside their group home. They’ll be struggling to carry groceries to the car. They’ll fear they will miss that important doctor’s appointment because they don’t have a ride.

Let’s open our eyes and hearts. Take the time to see your invisible neighbor. Imagine what it’s like to walk in their shoes. Let’s remember our own experiences of adversity and isolation: that bitter break-up, the boss who bullied us, the health crisis we endured, the time we went broke. Let’s allow those suffering times to awaken our empathy for others and build our resolve to act. Undertake small compassionate acts and trust that they make a difference. Smile. Listen. Share a meal. Offer a ride. Bring someone to church. Finally, let’s ground our action in reflection and prayer. Remember Jesus, who healed a bent-over woman on the sabbath day and continues to long for the wholeness and redemption of our world.

Resources

Jared E. Alcantara. “Commentary on Luke 13:10-17” in Preaching This Week, August 24, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-21-3/commentary-on-luke-1310-17-6

Jeannine K. Brown. “Commentary on Luke 13:10-17” in Preaching This Week, August 22, 2010. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-21-3/commentary-on-luke-1310-17

Ira Brent Driggers. “Commentary on Luke 13:10-17” in Preaching This Week, August 25, 2019. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-21-3/commentary-on-luke-1310-17-4

Annelise Jolley. “The Paradox of Our Collapsing Compassion” in John Templeton Foundation News, Nov. 20,2024. Accessed online at https://www.templeton.org/news/the-paradox-of-our-collapsing-compassion

Peter W. Marty. “A Failure of Compassion” in The Christian Century, June 2024. Accessed online at https://www.christiancentury.org/first-words/failure-compassion

Carolyn J. Sharp. “Commentary on Luke 13:10-17” in Preaching This Week, August 21, 2022. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-21-3/commentary-on-luke-1310-17-5

Luke 13:10-17

10 Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the Sabbath. 11 And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. 12 When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” 13 When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. 14 But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the Sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured and not on the Sabbath day.” 15 But the Lord answered him and said, “You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the Sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger and lead it to water? 16 And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the Sabbath day?” 17 When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame, and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things being done by him.

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The Great Cloud of Witnesses

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The Great Cloud of Witnesses” Hebrews 11:29-12:2

In June, Duane and I traveled to Portugal and Spain to walk the Camino de Santiago. It’s an extended network of medieval pilgrim paths that crisscross the European countryside, all leading to the burial site of the Apostle James, the son of Zebedee. Our Camino journey would take us over 230 miles of trail from Porto, Portugal’s second largest city, to Santiago, and then on to the coast to Finisterre.

There were companions on our journey. About 75,000 people from all around the world will walk the coastal Camino from Portugal this year. They walk for many reasons. Some are expressing religious devotion. Others are in search of spiritual insight or self-knowledge. Some just want a good workout. One of the first pilgrims I met while walking was Karen, a Lutheran from Sweden. Karen narrowly escaped an aortic dissection when an x-ray for a persistent cough revealed a big bubble on the major artery near her heart. Her emergency surgery and journey to healing made her realize she wanted to walk the Camino. Less than two years out from my own experience of breast cancer, we connected with a shared sense of gratitude for restored health. The tough miles flew by as we talked, shared, and laughed together.

The Letter to the Hebrews was written for early Christians who were struggling in their journey of faith. They had made a good start on their pilgrim path. Enlightened by the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Hebrews had been filled with the Holy Spirit. They forged a caring community, loving and serving one another. But weariness, suspicion, and persecution, had challenged their faith. Neighbors who had once been friends now shunned them. Local authorities threatened them with prison. Even the emperor had begun to target them as enemies of Rome. Beset by adversity, the faith of the Hebrews was beginning to flag and fail. They questioned if the suffering was worth it, or if they could persevere through adversity. Some were neglecting to meet together.

We, too, can grow weary on the journey. Our chronic health issues wear us down and dim our hopes. Family troubles ramp up our worries and anxiety. Grief at the loss of loved ones feels like we are sojourning in the dark. Vitriol and chaos in American politics has us fearing for the future of our nation. As bombs fall in Ukraine and food aid is dangerously slow to relieve Gaza, man’s inhumanity to man tears our heartstrings and troubles our spirits. We know how it feels to be weary and overwhelmed. We know how it feels to struggle to find hope. We know how easy it is to become paralyzed, held fast by concerns that overwhelm us and in a quandary about what to do in response to circumstances that feel beyond our control.

The author of the Letter to the Hebrews reminded his friends that others had trod the pilgrim path before them. In seeking a good life with God, their ancestors had experienced trouble and hardship along the way. The Israelites had been only one step ahead of the Egyptian army as they ran for it thought the Red Sea. Gideon, Samson, Jephthah, and David had all fought impossible battles against better equipped enemies to defend their people. The Hebrew prophets may have had a holy hotline to God, but they were roundly persecuted and martyred. Somehow, those ancestors had found the temerity to persevere in faith, trusting that they were following the will of God and would one day fully know God.

Our journeys can be hard. The Camino was hard. I had trained and thought I was ready for the challenge. My trail walks and Adirondack hikes felt like the perfect preparation, but nothing really prepares you for the long miles, day after day, week after week. There were blisters for me and heel pain for Duane. There were temperatures soaring well into the 90s and a sun so intense that it burned me through my clothes. Washed out trails sometimes meant we had to walk on busy roads. Bathrooms were few and far between. Sometimes trail markers were missing or just plain wrong. It helped on our Camino journey to remember those who had gone before us. After all, pilgrims had been walking those paths for more than 1,200 years. They didn’t have the advantage of Adirondack training, zero-drop trail shoes, or Gregory packs. If they could do it, I could do it.

On the Camino, hardship is also faced as pilgrims support one another. My Swedish companion Karen and I met Suzie. A stewardess from Idaho, Suzie was about to turn 50 and had decided to celebrate her big birthday by walking the Camino. She looked great in her brand-new matching gear, clothes, and pack, but when we wished her a Buen Camino, we could see she was near tears. We stopped to listen: her knee hurt, her pack was painful, she didn’t have a place to stay that night, and she had gotten lost the day before and a farmer had needed to give her a ride for miles back to the trail. Soon, we were adjusting Suzie’s pack, sharing blister plasters, and commiserating about the journey. That night, another friend we met along the way, Laura from Texas, shared her lodging with Suzie—and Laura continued to do so all the way to Santiago.

We, too, have encountered those who make our way easier. Healthcare providers take a special interest in our recovery. Caring friends compassionately listen to our family woes and offer words of wisdom. Companions for the journey show up when we feel like we are walking though the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Level-headed leaders remind us of our nation’s founding principles and call us to be a better people, a better nation, a better world. We find encouragement for the journey as we attend to that great cloud of witnesses who have lived in faith and call us onward to the better path and the brighter kingdom.

The closing scene of our reading from Hebrews is borrowed from the first century athletic arena: a marathon race nears its end as competitors turn into a stadium for a final lap. An overflowing crowd cheers them on. Waiting to welcome them at the finish line is the glorified Jesus, now revealed in holy splendor. He has gone on before through sorrow, unimaginable suffering, and even death—and he is the victor. The Hebrews were reminded that they could run this race in faith because they were surrounded by that great cloud of cheering witnesses. Jesus had gone ahead of them and waited to welcome them to his Kingdom where sorrow and suffering and sighing would be transformed to never ending joy.

On the second day of our Camino journey, when the realization sank in that this would not be a cake walk, I remembered a word of advice from the spiritual reading that I had done in preparation for the journey. Traditionally, pilgrims have coped with their physical suffering by praying for others, sometimes even carrying a stone or a token that represents the burden of the other. As you walk the Camino, you can see impromptu trailside shrines, piles of stones, tokens, notes, and photos where pilgrims have left behind the burden they are carrying for another. As I posted to Facebook and Instagram that evening, I sent out a plea to the Metaverse—send me your special prayer requests.

In they came, from this church and from other churches that I have served, from friends and family, from the community. There were prayers for personal struggles, for health concerns, for beloved ones going through tough times, for the nation, and more. Each morning, as I set my feet on the pilgrim path, I began to pray. My silent prayers found the rhythm of my breath and unfurled into the beauty of the Galician countryside. As the miles unraveled, I found that I hurt a lot less, I felt more at peace, and there was joy. I began to see that I was surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. It wasn’t just those who were pilgrims around me and those who had walked the Camino before me over the eons. It was also those who had coveted my prayers, and all the people they had asked me to intercede for—and all the people who I knew were praying for me. We were all in it together. Best of all, Jesus was on the pilgrim path, Jesus who always walks this pilgrim journey with us.

May we follow in the footsteps of the Hebrews. Persist in the faith, my friends. Rise above weariness, hardship, and suffering. Draw strength from that great cloud of witnesses. Be confident in the meaning, purpose, and salvation that we have found in the Lord.

May we also know that we have a part to play in the faithful journeys of others. Indeed, we are part of that great cloud of witnesses, for we are all made one in Christ, our pioneer, our protector, our trailblazer. We are called to help and pray, to show up and cheer on, to point the way and keep the faith. We can make a difference in the lives of those who feel the journey is long, the way is dark, and there is no end in sight. Let’s open our eyes to those who need our witness. Let’s open our hearts and hands to make a caring difference. They say the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Let’s step out in faith. Amen.

Resources:

Madison N. Pierce. “Commentary on Hebrews 11:29-12:1” in Preaching This Week, Aug. 17, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-20-3/commentary-on-hebrews-1129-122-6

Mary Foskett. “Commentary on Hebrews 11:29-12:1” in Preaching This Week, Aug. 18, 2019. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-20-3/commentary-on-hebrews-1129-122-4

Amy L.B. Peeler. “Commentary on Hebrews 11:29-12:1” in Preaching This Week, Aug. 14, 2016. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-20-3/commentary-on-hebrews-1129-122-2

Erik Heen. “Commentary on Hebrews 11:29-12:1” in Preaching This Week, Aug. 18, 2023. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-20-3/commentary-on-hebrews-1129-122-3

John Piper. “Running with the Witnesses” in Desiring God, August 17, 1997. Accessed online at desiringGod.org.

Hebrews 11:29-12:2

29 By faith the people passed through the Red Sea as if it were dry land, but when the Egyptians attempted to do so they were drowned. 30 By faith the walls of Jericho fell after they had been encircled for seven days. 31 By faith Rahab the prostitute did not perish with those who were disobedient, because she had received the spies in peace.

32 And what more should I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets, 33 who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, 34 quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, were made strong out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. 35 Women received their dead by resurrection. Others were tortured, refusing to accept release, in order to obtain a better resurrection. 36 Others suffered mocking and flogging and even chains and imprisonment. 37 They were stoned to death; they were sawn in two; they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented— 38 of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains and in caves and holes in the ground.

39 Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, 40 since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect.

12 Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, 2 looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.

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Beyond Fear

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John 20:19-23

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

Psalm 23

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

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

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

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Meeting the Gardener

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John 20:1-18

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

Many Names

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

All: We called him by many names.

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

All: We called him by many names.

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

All: We called him by many names.

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

All: We called him by many names.

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

All: We called him by many names.

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

All: We called him by many names.

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

All: We called him by many names.

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

All: We called him by many names

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

All: We called him by many names.

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

All: We called him by many names.

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

All: We called him by many names.

Second Voice: Teacher.

Third Voice: King.

First Voice: Lord.

Second Voice: Heretic.

Third Voice: Criminal.

All: Stranger.

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

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Give Us Justice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

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

Luke 18:1-8

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

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Have Mercy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke 10:25-37

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

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

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

Lord, Teach Us to Pray

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke 11:1-13

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

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

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

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

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