Agape Love

Extraordinary Love

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Extraordinary Love” Luke 6:27-38

On June 17, 2015, twenty-one-year-old white supremacist Dylann Roof entered the Mother Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church and made his way to a basement classroom where Reverend Clementa Pinckney was leading the Wednesday night Bible Study. Dylann was warmly welcomed. He took a seat next to Rev. Pinckney and listened silently for forty-five minutes. As Bible Study participants rose to hold hands for a closing prayer, Dylann Roof pulled out a hand gun and opened fire, killing nine church members and wounding three others.

Dylann had been radicalized in a classroom of his own making, doom scrolling daily through white nationalist websites. He penned a manifesto that stated his belief that the white race was in danger and “no one [was] doing anything but talking on the internet.” In Dylann Roof’s mind, someone needed to take action, and he was the man to do it. When asked about his motive for the attack, Dylann Roof said that he had hoped to ignite a race war. He has never apologized or repented for his actions.

“Love your enemies, do what is good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. . . Be merciful, just as your Father also is merciful… Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” Jesus’ words from the Sermon on the Plain are among his most challenging and uncomfortable teachings. In the first century world, members of a community looked to their leaders to set the moral standard for their conduct—a synagogue leader, a wise rabbi, the family patriarch or matriarch, perhaps even Herod or the emperor set the moral tone for those who followed. But Jesus told his followers that they must look to God as their ethical guide and seek to release people from the retribution that they may deserve.

In November of 1957, when the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. reflected on Jesus’ words in his sermon, “Love Your Enemies,” he emphasized that love is the ethical choice that Christians must make in a world where we may not like our experience. King reminded his congregation that Christian love is agape, the selfless love of God working in the lives of men. Instead of retaliating when we are mistreated, we can choose to extend to others the love that God has for us. That divine love can live in us and enable us to reach out to others. Indeed, King wrote, you can love the enemy, even when you do not like what he is doing to you. You can love your enemy who denies your right to vote. You can love your enemy who refuses to pay you a living wage. You can love your enemy who threatens you with lynching. King believed that when we dare to put the selfless love of God to work in dealing with our opponents, we can wear out the hater, break down barriers, and redeem the enemy.

Long before June 17, 2015, the Mother Emanuel Church contended with hate. The church was founded in 1816 by free and enslaved Black people of Charleston who wished to worship together as a community of color. Six years later, church member Denmark Vesey, a freed slave who worked as a carpenter, planned and organized an uprising of city and plantation Blacks. Inspired by the successful revolt of Haitian slaves in 1790, Vesey called for rebels to attack guardhouses and arsenals, seize arms, and free the enslaved people. Authorities were tipped off on the eve of the insurrection, and Vesey with thirty-five of his conspirators, many of them members of Mother Emanuel Church, were hanged. The church was burned to the ground and Black houses of worship were banned. The congregation of Mother Emanuel met in secret from 1822 until 1865, after the Civil War. Later, in the 20th century, Mother Emanuel faced threats of violence for hosting prominent Black leaders, like Booker T. Washington and Martin Luther King Jr., and organizing significant civil rights events, like Coretta Scott King’s march for local hospital workers in 1966. Rev. Clementa Pinckney, who was killed by Dylann Roof, taught that despite a history of suffering, Mother Emanuel was a place that sought to continue to “work on the hearts, minds, and spirits of all people.”

“Love your enemies, do what is good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. . . Be merciful, just as your Father also is merciful… Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” Our world today works in transactional and reciprocal ways. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. We don’t get mad; we just get even. Payback time is gonna’ come. What we experience dictates how we will respond. It’s an escalating pattern of retribution that seems to never end. We find it hard to make different choices. And if we were to look to national leaders to set the moral tone for our conduct, then we would hate our opponents, and we wouldn’t want the best for them.

Truly, the only way to step out of the spiral of vengeance and hate is to consider the mercy of God to us. Though we are sinners, deserving of judgment, God chose to become flesh and enter the world’s darkness. In Jesus, God chose to live for us and show to us the way of agape. In the ultimate act of self-giving love, on a merciless cross, flanked by common criminals, Jesus revealed that God loves us enough to die for us. In the enormity of God’s costly love for us, we begin to see another way. We begin to see that only love can heal hearts, transform an enemy into a friend, and make a changed future possible.

48 hours after having lost mothers, sisters, sons, husbands, and wives, members of the Mother Emanuel Church appeared in court for Dylann Roof’s bond hearing. It was the first time any of them would come face to face with the perpetrator of the hate crime that had robbed them of their beloved ones. The judge presiding over the hearing invited them to make a statement, should they wish. First to speak was Nadine Collier, who lost her mother Ethel Lance. Fighting back tears, Nadine said, “I forgive you … You took something really precious from me. I will never talk to her ever again, I will never be able to hold her again, but I forgive you and have mercy on your soul.” Other church members followed suit and said that they, too, forgave the gunman.

Chris Singleton, an eighteen-year-old who lost his Mom in the mass shooting, wasn’t in the courtroom on that day. He was playing minor league baseball for the Chicago Cubs. He wasn’t following the news and had no idea that the families had decided to issue statements of forgiveness at the hearing, but half a country away, Chris came to the same conclusion. He needed to forgive. Chris says he hopes that the choice for mercy has made a difference. Chris says, “After seeing what happened [at the church] and the reason why it happened, and after seeing how people could forgive, I truly hope that people will see that it wasn’t just us saying words. I know, for a fact, that it was something greater than us, using us to bring our city together.”

Ronald J. Allen, who taught preaching and New Testament at the Christian Theological Seminary in Indianapolis for many years, taught that putting Jesus’ ethical teaching into action can have powerful consequences for our oppressor, ourselves, and our world. In extending love and mercy to those who have wronged us, we open the door to their repentance. As Rev. Pinckney said, our mercy “works on the heart, mind, and spirit” of the other and awakens the possibility for change. In extending God’s love and mercy to others, our personal experience of God’s mercy deepens. We understand that no matter how misdirected or lost we may become, there is always a way back for us, a second chance, a new beginning. Thank you, Lord. Beyond working out reconciliation between two people, when we put Jesus’ ethics into action, we embody the promise of the Kingdom of God. The world begins to imagine God’s realm where we “wear out the hater, break down barriers, and redeem the enemy.” What a wonderful world it will be.

This June marked the tenth anniversary of Dylann Roof’s assault on Mother Emanuel Church. Rev. Pinckney’s widow Jennifer says this was a tough year. Her oldest daughter graduated from college and her 16-year-old went to her first prom without her dad to see her off. The church is in the process of building a memorial to her husband and the other eight victims. They have also purchased a nearby house to serve as a museum for the outpouring of love that Mother Emanuel received from people all around the world in the wake of the shooting: quilts, prayer shawls, artwork, a hand embroidered chair, crosses, banners, music, and more. Asked what the world should take away from this tenth anniversary of Dylann Roof’s hateful act, Jennifer Pinckney said, “The world needs to remember, to come together. We got to love one another. We got to move forward and work together.” She sounded a lot like Jesus.

“Love your enemies, do what is good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. . . Be merciful, just as your Father also is merciful… Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”

Resources

US Justice Department. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA V. DYLANN STORM ROOF in the United States District Court for the District of South Carolina, Charleston Division. July 20, 2015

The Editors of Encyclopedia Britannica. “Denmark Vesey”. Encyclopedia Britannica, 28 Jun. 2025, https://www.britannica.com/biography/Denmark-Vesey. Accessed 4 October 2025

Cory Collins. “The Miseducation of Dylann Roof” in Learning for Justice, Issue 57, Fall 2017. Southern Poverty Law Center. Accessed online at The Miseducation of Dylann Roof | Learning for Justice

Rasha Ali. “Five years after Charleston church massacre: How ‘Emanuel’ reveals the power of forgiveness” in USA Today, June 17, 2019. Charleston church attack and the power of forgiveness in ‘Emanuel’

Claude Atcho. “Mother Emanuel and the Witness of Black Christian Faith” in Christianity Today, June 5, 2025. Accessed online at Mother Emanuel and the Witness of Black Christian Faith – Christianity Today

Billie Jean Shaw. “‘Stronger than hate’: How the son of a Mother Emanuel victim chose to embrace forgiveness” on WIS10 TV, June 16, 2025. Accessed online at ‘Stronger than hate’: How the son of a Mother Emanuel victim chose to embrace forgiveness

Ronald Allen. “Commentary on Luke 6:27-38” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 24, 2019.  Accessed online at workingpreacher.com.

Sarah Henrick. “Commentary on Luke 6:27-38” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 20, 2022.  Accessed online at workingpreacher.com.

Mary Hinkle Shore. “Commentary on Luke 6:27-38” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 23, 2025.  Accessed online at workingpreacher.com.

Luke 6:27-38

27 “But I say to you who are listening: Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; 28 bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you. 29 If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. 30 Give to everyone who asks of you, and if anyone takes away what is yours, do not ask for it back again. 31 Do to others as you would have them do to you. 32 “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. 33 If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. 34 If you lend to those from whom you expect to receive payment, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. 35 Instead, love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, for he himself is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. 36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. 37 “Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; 38 give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap, for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”

Image source: https://religionnews.com/2019/06/06/mother-emanuels-forgiveness-narrative-is-complicated-says-reporter-turned-author/

Lazarus, Then and Now

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Lazareth, Then and Now” Luke 16:19-31

Imagine Saranac Lake on July 25, 1890 when an organizing service of worship took place right here, the sanctuary so new that it lacked windows and seats. Rough wooden benches held worshipers, and hymns were sung a cappella, the sounds of Presbyterian harmonies gently drifting across the village. Church Street was unpaved, the street alternately dusty or muddy, dotted with riders and horse-drawn wagons. The village’s ten-block commercial district was two years away from its first phase of construction. The surrounding hills of Pisgah, Dewey, and Baker were clear cut, the trees sent down the Hudson to build New York City. Helen Hill was a grassy knoll called the Sheep Meadow, but it would soon undergo a residential building boom. The local population had swelled to 1,582 permanent residents, tripling in size over the past few years. In the next decade, it would quadruple.

Everywhere, the sounds of construction rang out. That summer, the Adirondack Cottage Sanitarium built three cure cottages and a large open-air amusement pavilion. Local residents were adding additions to their homes, tacking on porches, and taking in borders. New homes were rented at a premium that enabled owners to pay off their building debt within two years. With our short Adirondack building season, even Sunday mornings would have been punctuated by the sounds of hammers and saws, workman’s shouts and teams of horses hauling wagons.

We were booming, thanks to the “White Plague” of tuberculosis.  The crowded living conditions, poor air quality, and squalid poverty of American cities were a breeding ground for the disease. In those days before antibiotics, a tuberculosis diagnosis felt like a death sentence. It started with coughing, night sweats, fever, weight loss, and bloody sputum.  It progressed to organ failure and death. By 1907, 400 Americans were dying of tuberculosis every day. Dr. E.L. Trudeau spurred the hopes of patients everywhere that a miracle cure had been found in Saranac Lake when he publicized that the cold air, rest, good food, and leisure of the Adirondacks had put his TB into remission. Hurting people from across the nation and around the world, desperate for healing, rode the new railroad to the village looking for renewed health. These TB patients, desperate, sick, and far from home, would have been among the most isolated and vulnerable people that we could possibly imagine.

In our reading from Luke’s gospel, Jesus told a story about a rich man and the desperately ill neighbor who languished at his gate. Jesus used the Greek word plousios to describe the rich man, meaning a wealthy landowner who did not labor for a living. He lived large, clotheded in royal purple and fine linen, feasting on sumptuous food, and hosting lavish parties. Jesus described the sick man, Lazarus, with the Greek word ptoxos, meaning the abject poor, a homeless beggar without the support of property, friends, or family. He was so weakened that he couldn’t even shoo away the dogs drawn to his festering wounds. Although they were neighbors, the rich man didn’t seem to see Lazarus, while the sick man dreamt of eating the crumbs that fell from his rich neighbor’s table. Jesus painted a stark and uncomfortable picture of the extremes of our human condition.

According to Jesus’ parable, death brought a great reversal. Lazarus, who suffered so in life, found a privileged position in death, seated by the Patriarch Abraham at the heavenly banquet. The rich man, on the other hand, was in Hades, tormented by flames and an unquenchable thirst. It comes as a surprise to hear that the rich man not only knew Lazarus, he also felt he could order him around: come and relieve my thirst with a glass of cold water; go and tell my brothers to change their ways. We can imagine the shock that the rich man felt when he learned that his indifference to the suffering of his neighbor, his flagrant disregard for the requirements of scripture, had built a great chasm, not only between himself and Lazarus, but also between himself and God.

When our seventeen original members signed their names to the church’s brand-new, leather-bound session ledger on July 25, 1890, they made a bold commitment to love and worship God right here. They also made a sincere commitment to their vulnerable neighbors whom they knew to be at their gate. Jane “Jennie” Conklin came to Saranac Lake from Rochester in the spring of 1890 with her husband John as he sought the cold air cure for tuberculosis. By year’s end, John was dead, leaving Jennie with three young children and a small sum that she used to build the Conklin Cottage at the corner of Main and Church Streets. There she tended patients in need of compassion and care, much as she had tended her husband. Likewise, the Podmore and Lattrell families, who were also among our founding members, were proprietors of cure cottages.

By 1893, the church had created what was known as the Fellowship Fund, which benefited neighbors in need through personal pledges. Poor boxes to receive donations for the relief of the “sick poor” were installed inside the church door. The church welcomed tubercular patients that never entered this sanctuary and certainly never made a pledge to the church, like Miss Fletcher, who was received into the membership of the church by two elders, dispatched to her bedside at the O’Malley Cottage. Our third pastor, the Rev. Armitage Beardsley, came to us in 1895 fresh from seminary. He saw the sanitoriums and cure cottages of the village as his mission field. He soon contracted TB, and by September 1897 was so ill that he was forced to resign. His touching letter of farewell is pasted into the session minutes of the time. News of his death followed within weeks.

Without question, our most dedicated advocate of the “sick poor” was Rev. Hiram Lyon, who served the church from 1927 to 1937. He came to Saranac Lake in 1925 in need of the cold air cure, following his graduation from Union Seminary in New York City. When our pastor Rev. George Kennedy Newell died of pneumonia shortly before Christmas in 1926, the church looked to young Hiram to fill the pulpit. Afraid that his newfound health wouldn’t last, he agreed to serve for a one-year trial period, and against all odds, he thrived. Hiram believed that God had placed this congregation in a unique position to care for vulnerable neighbors with tuberculosis. He cast the vision for the church to hire a Parish Visitor, who would travel to cure cottages, sanitoriums, and local hospitals to bring patients hope, cheer, and the love of Christ.  In October 1928, the job went to Miss Christine Burdick a recent graduate of the Boston University School of Religious Education and Social Service. Christine made as many as 2,000 visits in a year, offering compassionate listening, caring presence, and fervent prayers. Walls of loneliness, isolation, and fear came tumbling down as Christine shared the love of Christ with neighbors who must have felt every bit as vulnerable as Lazarus at the gate.

Jesus’ parable of the rich man and his desperate neighbor is a story about a failure to love. The rich man failed to love God with all his heart and mind and soul and strength. He also failed to love his neighbors as himself. The rich man saw Lazarus as a blight on his landscape, not as a brother, a fellow child of Abraham, deserving of love and compassion, mercy and care. It never occurred to the rich man that his abundance was a gift from God, meant to be shared for the common good and the particular care of his vulnerable neighbor. Today as we commemorate our anniversary, we celebrate our ancestors in the faith, those saints who gathered on Sunday mornings to express their heartfelt love for God and then went forth into the week to love their neighbors, especially the most vulnerable ones.

Today, we are called to claim that legacy for ourselves. We honor Jane Conklin and Armitage Beardsley, Hiram Lyon and Christine Burdick when we dare to go forth and do likewise, expressing our love for God with our worship and music, and opening our hearts and hands to care for those who need it most.

I want to wrap up my message by naming some of the ways that we bless neighbors in times of vulnerability. Now, if you have ever participated in any of these ministries or perhaps been blessed by these ministries, let me know with an “Uh-huh,” an “Amen,” or perhaps a clap offering. Ready?

We knit prayer shawls, lap robes, and baby blankets to bless those in need of blessing.

We give generously to our Deacons Fund, to help neighbors pay rent or make car repairs, cover medical bills or make essential purchases.

We visit folks who are hospitalized, homebound, or live at Will Rogers and Elderwood, sharing love and communion.

We cook delicious meals and deliver them to those who are bouncing back from surgery, illness, or grief.

We grow beautiful produce to feed our Food Pantry friends, and we bring in paper goods for neighbors at Grace Pantry.

We raise funds and awareness about hunger in the CROP Walk.

We partner with our ecumenical friends to house the homeless and help them transition to independent living.

We pray our hearts out on the prayer chain.

We love and welcome immigrants and refugees.

I could say more, but brunch is waiting. Thank you to those bold seventeen original members who launched this great endeavor to love. Thank you to all of you, who so boldly claim that legacy with care and compassion, near and far. Lazarus is at the gate, my friends. May we go forth to love.

Luke 16:19-31

19 “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. 20 And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, 21 who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. 22 The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 In Hades, where he was being tormented, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. 24 He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in agony in these flames.’ 25 But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things and Lazarus in like manner evil things, but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. 26 Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ 27 He said, ‘Then I beg you, father, to send him to my father’s house— 28 for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ 29 Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ 30 He said, ‘No, father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’ 31 He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’ ”

First Presbyterian Church of Saranac Lake

Be Opened

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Be Opened” Mark 7:24-37

When I came to Saranac Lake in January 2005, we needed a new sign for the church. The old sign was made many years ago by Skip’s Dad. The wooden boards were lovingly hand-routed and painted. But too many Adirondack winters had taken their toll. Session debated the size, shape, and color of the replacement sign. But what inspired most discussion was the message we included, which felt a little radical at the time, “All are welcome.”

When session decided to broadcast that message, we were remembering the years of conflict that we were leaving behind. We wanted to send a hopeful, healing message to the community, a message to inspire those who felt a little like outsiders to come on in. I know that it worked on at least one occasion. One Sunday, a couple of out-of-town visitors in full motorcycle gear joined us for worship. They wore black jackets, chaps, and big motorcycle boots. The back pew had never seen so much leather.  In visiting with them after the service, they said that they had wanted to go to church somewhere in Saranac Lake but felt a little uncomfortable about their appearance. They finally decided that any church that put “All are welcome” on the sign was their best bet for warm hospitality. I hope that we lived up to their expectations.

In Jesus’ day, religious traditionalists had strong opinions about who was and was not welcome, not only in church but also in God’s Kingdom. Mark’s seventh chapter explores this question of God’s acceptance and welcome. In the verses leading up to today’s reading, Jesus was under attack by the Pharisees and scribes. Those religious traditionalists looked at Jesus’ disciples, saw their failure to observe rituals of purity, like handwashing before eating, and decided that neither the disciples nor Jesus was holy enough. In their opinion, failure to keep the traditions of the elders rendered the disciples unclean and unwelcome in the eyes of God.

In some of the boldest teaching of his ministry, Jesus denounced this narrow-minded belief. Jesus argued that it is what comes out of a person that separates them from God and neighbor. God was less concerned about handwashing or a kosher diet and more concerned about idolatry, adultery, theft, hypocrisy, slander, and malice.

The two encounters in today’s gospel reading probably stretched even Jesus’ understanding of God’s welcome. After his clash with his opponents, Jesus withdrew to the seaside city of Tyre beyond the Galilee, seeking a quiet place to pray and find refreshment. But the word soon got out. It wasn’t long before there was a knock on the door. Jesus was beseeched for healing, and he wasn’t very happy about it.

The woman who implored Jesus to heal her child had three strikes against her.  She was a Gentile, outside the covenant between God and Israel. Not only was she a Gentile, she was the worst sort of Gentile—a Syro-Phoenician. The evilest woman in the Hebrew scriptures, Jezebel, was a Syro-Phoenician princess who brought idolatry and immorality to the reign of her Israelite husband King Ahab. What’s even worse, this woman was flouting the bounds of good behavior. In a time and place when women didn’t speak to men outside their family, she was on her knees, imploring a strange man to do her a favor. Utterly scandalous!  Jesus had every reason to say, “No.” Indeed, the Pharisees and scribes, with whom Jesus had recently argued, would have congratulated him on his good judgment. When Jesus called the woman a “dog,” he sounded a lot more like them than he did like the Jesus we know and love. Didn’t he?

The gospel might have stayed good news only for Jews if the Syro-Phoenician woman hadn’t challenged Jesus. She demanded just a few crumbs of God’s welcome for Gentile dogs, like her sick child. In response, we glimpse a shift in Jesus’ understanding. He sees that, in his Father’s Kingdom, this woman didn’t belong under the table, begging for table scraps. In his Father’s Kingdom, she had a place at the table, alongside the children of Israel. The proof of Jesus’ insight came immediately. Jesus blessed her for her bold speech, in Greek—her logos, her word, her wisdom—and he sent her home. There she found her child waiting, right as rain.

Perhaps Jesus struggled with the boldness of God’s welcome because he soon encountered another healing request that would have been out-of-bounds for scribes and Pharisees. As Jesus returned to Galilee, he traveled through the Decapolis, the ten city-states to the east of the sea.  These communities, planted three hundred years earlier when Alexander the Great claimed Israel for his empire, were largely Gentile and culturally Greek. When those Greek neighbors brought to Jesus a man who was hearing- and speech-impaired, Jesus didn’t rebuke them or call them dogs. Instead, the suffering man got a private audience. There was touching and spitting, speaking and sighing. Jesus’ word, “Ephphatha”—be opened—may have been part of the man’s healing experience, but perhaps it was also part of Jesus’ own healing experience—and a calling to all who would be his followers. “Ephphatha”—be opened. Don’t build fences or set limits on God’s love.

Mark’s seventh chapter is a great comfort to us. We, who have lived enough or have the depth of faith to acknowledge our personal sinfulness and brokenness, can rejoice in the promise that God loves and welcomes us, despite our painful pasts and our present mistakes. We are welcome, and there isn’t anything that we can do that will render us unlovable or irredeemable. Jesus has done the hard work on the cross so that even though our sins abound, his righteousness prevails. There is a place for us at the table. Thank you, Lord.

Yet Mark’s seventh chapter is a challenge to us. Part of our human sinfulness is that we always want to draw lines, create in-groups and out-groups. We see it in high school cliques. We see it in partisan politics. We even see it in our penchant to form factions within churches or denominations. There lurks within each of us the scribe or Pharisee, who keeps watch, rushes to judgment, and wants to limit God’s love. Today’s reading suggests that God invites us to get over ourselves and get out of God’s way so that healing may abound. God’s great longing is for a church and a world where no one feels like they have to beg for table scraps when it comes to God’s love and mercy.

I’m not sure that when session approved the words, “All are welcome,” for the sign out front that we thought we were making a bold theological statement, right out of the seventh chapter of Mark’s gospel. We just wanted folks to worship with us. We may have even wanted to send a friendly message to those who had left us, with whom we had quarreled so bitterly in the dark, divided days of our past. But perhaps when we chose that message, God was working on us. God was summoning us to open up, to see the immensity of God’s love and welcome.

I suspect that if Jesus were sitting in the back pew today, wearing his motorcycle leathers, he would remind us that God isn’t finished with us. There are other people out there whom God calls us to welcome, folks who will test our limits and make us feel uncomfortable. I bet they will have tattoos and body piercings. They’ll probably love people whom we don’t think they should love. I imagine that some of them will be developmentally disabled or mentally ill or physically impaired. They’ll probably have big, obnoxious placards in their front yards for candidates from that other political party. They’ll drive gas-guzzling Cadillac Escalades or energy-efficient Teslas. They’ll stand in line in front of us at Stewart’s and make us wait while they buy cigarettes and a billion lottery tickets. The’ll stumble up Broadway after a long night at the Rusty Nail.

Be opened, my friends. God’s love is bigger than we can imagine.

Resources

Alyce McKenzie. “Commentary on Mark 7:24-37” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 6, 2009. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 7:24-37 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Matt Skinner. “Commentary on Mark 7:24-37” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 9, 2012. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 7:24-37 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

C. Clifton Black. “Commentary on Mark 7:24-37” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 5, 2012. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 7:24-37 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Courtney V. Buggs. “Commentary on Mark 7:24-37” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 8, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 7:24-37 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Joann White. “Everyone Gets Healed,” Sept. 9, 2012.

Mark 7:24-37

24 From there he set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, 25 but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. 26 Now the woman was a gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. 27 He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 28 But she answered him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” 29 Then he said to her, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” 30 And when she went home, she found the child lying on the bed and the demon gone.

31 Then he returned from the region of Tyre and went by way of Sidon toward the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis. 32 They brought to him a deaf man who had an impediment in his speech, and they begged him to lay his hand on him. 33 He took him aside in private, away from the crowd, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spat and touched his tongue. 34 Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, “Ephphatha,” that is, “Be opened.” 35 And his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly. 36 Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one, but the more he ordered them, the more zealously they proclaimed it. 37 They were astounded beyond measure, saying, “He has done everything well; he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.”

Photo by Kevin Bidwell on Pexels.com

Wholehearted Love

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Wholehearted Love” Mark 12:28-44

Progressive Insurance has been having some fun at the expense of young home owners. Have you seen the ads? Dr. Rick “coaches” young adults in letting go of the behaviors that are turning them into their parents. In one ad, he stands next to a dumpster with a young woman who introduces her peers to her tissue box covers. You know the kind made from plastic mesh that has been embroidered with yarn. Dr. Rick reminds her that tissues come in their own boxes, and the tissue box covers go into the dumpster.

Next up is a young man who has been holding onto odd pieces of wooden crown molding because you never know when you might need them.

“I do,” quips Dr. Rick, “Never.” Into the dumpster the crown molding goes.

Another man is next. He proudly displays the automobile floor mats that he has saved.

“Do you still own that car?” Dr. Rick asks. The answer is no and into the dumpster the floor mats go.

Finally, a woman bravely stands next to Dr. Rick. She is holding a large stack of plastic tubs, the kind that margarine comes in. She bravely says, “I know now that plastic is meant for recycling, not for saving my leftovers.”

“This is a big moment, people,” Dr. Rick celebrates.

The tag line on the ad is that Progressive can’t save us from becoming our parents, but they can save us a bundle on our home owner’s insurance. I can’t vouch for the truth of that claim—I’m not a Progressive customer. But I do know that I’ve laughed at the ad and its ability to call into question our assumptions and ways of doing things that may not be the best.

In our gospel reading this morning, Jesus calls into question the assumptions of his followers. It’s a lengthy teaching that begins as a scribe, impressed by Jesus’ teaching in the Temple courts, challenged the Lord to name which of the 613 laws of the Torah was the most important to observe. We all know Jesus’ answer by heart. We are to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength; and we are to love our neighbor as ourselves. As our gospel lesson continues, we are given a glimpse of life in the Temple during that Passover week. Some worshippers have gotten the imperative to love right. They embody that greatest commandment. While others have fallen short.

Jesus first considered the scribes. For first century Israel, they were models of faithfulness as experts in the Torah. As the scribes enter the courts of the Temple, wearing beautiful, flowing, fringed robes, a way cleared before them. In a sign of respect, other worshippers lowered their voices and bowed their heads. Every so often a scribe would pause in his self-importance to offer a perfunctory prayer. Flowery, empty phrases were heaped up, without heart or soul. The disciples, with their secret longing for greatness, would have been impressed by the scribes, but Jesus saw that they had gotten it all wrong. 

With their long years of study, the scribes knew what God required of them: wholehearted love for God and neighbor, especially their most vulnerable of neighbors, especially widows. Because they were unable to inherit, widows were dependent upon the guardianship of others. It was not uncommon for a first century husband to appoint in his will a Jewish legal expert—a scribe—to be the executor of his estate. This gave the executor authority to oversee the widow’s financial well-being. A corrupt scribe found legal ways to swindle a widow out of the provision that had been made for her. According to Jesus, the scribes were devouring for their own benefit the meager means left to the widow. At the heart of it, they loved neither God nor neighbor.

Jesus then wandered into the outer courts and took a seat opposite the treasury and watched the people. The Mishnah tells us that the treasury consisted of thirteen large metal boxes outside the Court of the Women. Those metal boxes had an unusual shape, broad at the bottom and very small at the top, so no one could reach a hand down in and take money out.  A large gift made a loud noise as it was dropped, coin by coin, into the funnel and clinked to the bottom.  A small gift to the treasury made very little noise.

Of all the gifts made, Jesus saw one as the most extraordinary, but his praise must have sounded ridiculous to the disciples. To begin with, the gift was made by a lowly and vulnerable widow, and the gift this widow made was very, very small.  She gave two lepton, two tiny copper coins. Added together, those coins were worth 1/64th of the daily wage for a laborer. In light of today’s minimum wage for New York state of $15 an hour. The woman’s gift would have been $1.88. In the grand scheme of Temple economics, the widow’s gift was practically worthless. 

Yet, as only Jesus could, he saw into the widow’s heart and realized that she had made an extraordinary gift—everything she had to live on.  The words Jesus used for her offering are holon ton bion autaes, it literally means that she gave, “her whole life.” She alone, of all the worshippers in the Temple, truly loved God with all her heart, soul, mind, and strength.

It isn’t a Progressive ad, but as example stories go, Jesus couldn’t be any clearer. Don’t be like the scribes, whose piety is a big show, whose care for the vulnerable is a sham. Be like the widow, who gives her all for God, even when she has so little. From our twenty-first century vantage point, it’s hard to imagine how counter-cultural—even offensive—this teaching would have been. Instead of patterning themselves after some of the most powerful and spiritually influential people in the nation, the disciples were to identify with someone who was marginal and lowly. This extended example story about the scribes and the widow would have felt like a slap in the face, designed to reorient the disciples to the way of God’s Kingdom.

For those who were poor and vulnerable, however, Jesus’ words would have felt like a treasured affirmation. God wants our whole selves. We can give that, even if we are little, at-risk, even worthless in the eyes of the world. It’s an invitation to live wholeheartedly for God, which according to Jesus also demands that we live wholeheartedly for others.

Rufus M. Jones, one of the most influential Quaker thinkers of the 20th century, taught that, “God’s life and our lives are bound together, as a vine with branches, as a body with members, so corporate are we that no one can give a cup of cold water to the least person in the world without giving it to God.” Our love and care for neighbors flows from our love for God. Indeed, love is the moral debt we owe to our neighbors, no matter how unworthy we may perceive them to be, because they bear the image of God—male and female, young and old, rich and poor, sinner and saint, widows or even young home owners who are becoming their parents. All are deserving of our love. All are an opportunity to put into action our love for God Almighty.

I imagine that as Jesus called his friends over with praise for the poor widow, he was thinking of another gift soon to be made. The widow’s gift anticipated the offering that the Jesus himself would make.  Within days, Jesus would be arrested, unjustly tried, tortured, and condemned to death.  Within days, Jesus would carry the cross through the streets of Jerusalem.  Within days, he would hang on the cross, flanked by criminals, jeered at by spectators.  Within days, Jesus would pour out his very life for the redemption of our world.  Jesus would give his whole life—holon ton bion autaes—for us.  It’s humbling and reorienting to realize that God has given it all for us.

Every Sunday—especially during the season of Lent when we reflect upon the cross—offers us the chance to be renewed in the way of love. We find the courage to make the counter-cultural choice for love when we begin to consider the enormity of God’s self-giving love for us, a love that was revealed in our Lord Jesus. We turn away from the ways that our piety has become like that of the scribes: showy, perfunctory, empty hearted, empty-headed, and empty handed. On our good days, we may even dare, like that poor widow to give our whole selves—holon ton bion autaes—in love for the Lord, who has given so much for us, who comes to us in the guise of our neighbors.

May we go forth to love wholeheartedly.

Resources:

N. Clayton Croy. “Commentary on Mark 12:28-44” in Preach This Week (Narrative Lectionary), March 6, 2016. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 12:28-44 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Ira Brent Driggers. “Commentary on Mark 12:28-44” in Preach This Week (Narrative Lectionary), March 10, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 12:28-44 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Ashley Fetters Maloy. “Afraid of becoming your parents? Dr. Rick comes to the rescue, smartly satirizing a generational divide” in The Washington Post, March 16, 2021. Accessed online at The story behind Dr. Rick of the Progressive insurance ads – The Washington Post

Victor McCracken. “Theological Perspective on Mark 12:28-34” in Feasting on the Word: Year B, Vol. 4. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Progressive Insurance ad Bing Videos

Mark 12:28-44

28One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, “Which commandment is the first of all?” 29Jesus answered, “The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; 30you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ 31The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” 32Then the scribe said to him, “You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that ‘he is one, and besides him there is no other’; 33and ‘to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength,’ and ‘to love one’s neighbor as oneself,’ —this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” 34When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” After that no one dared to ask him any question.

35While Jesus was teaching in the temple, he said, “How can the scribes say that the Messiah is the son of David? 36David himself, by the Holy Spirit, declared,

‘The Lord said to my Lord,
“Sit at my right hand,until I put your enemies under your feet.”’

37David himself calls him Lord; so how can he be his son?” And the large crowd was listening to him with delight.

38As he taught, he said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, 39and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! 40They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”

41He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. 42A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. 43Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. 44For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

The Debt of Love

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The Debt of Love” Romans 13:8-14

One of my first forays into volunteering as a young adult was with a community mental health association. I served as an advocate for a similarly aged woman whom I will call Kelly. As a small child, Kelly had caught measles and suffered an extremely high fever that left her with brain damage.  Kelly’s social worker hoped that I would be able to help Kelly learn some healthy habits like grooming, housekeeping, managing money, and having responsible relationships. I thought I was going to make a special friend and make a big difference in her life. I was wrong.

On my first visit to Kelly’s apartment, I was surprised to learn that she had a husband Glen, who was also developmentally disabled. Glen dreamed of being a radio DJ and my entire first visit to that very dirty and chaotic apartment was spent trying to talk over blaring music and Glen’s equally loud DJ patter and whoops. When I invited Kelly to take a walk so that we could hear one another, she said she didn’t like walking. This was just fine.

For my second visit, I arranged for us to go out for dinner at a local Chinese restaurant. Glen was absent when I arrived, hanging out with some of his guy friends. “This is a big improvement!” I thought. But Tammy didn’t look ready to go. Her hair was greasy and tangled. Her blouse was covered in food stains. Her teeth were yellow with tartar. Her breath was very bad. Maybe this was my opportunity to talk about grooming and personal hygiene. But I didn’t get anywhere. Kelly didn’t like showers or toothbrushing and that was her favorite blouse, which perhaps explained why it was so filthy and smelly. We went out to dinner anyway, my confidence in my ability to be an advocate dropping by the minute.

I wish I could tell you that things got better. I tried gifting Kelly with little care packages of shampoos, shower gels, and toothbrushes. We tried a trip to the salon for a new hairstyle. We made a budget. None of this was well received. About six months into our friendship, Kelly split with Glen. At first, they lived together, but she insisted that they were no longer married. She brought new boyfriends home often. Then, one day Glen was gone. Kelly’s next longtime boyfriend Ralph wasn’t developmentally disabled, but he was old enough to be her grandpa. She began to insist that he come along on all our outings, and Ralph couldn’t keep his hands off of Kelly, even though her hygiene hadn’t improved one bit. When I called Kelly’s social worker to raise concerns about Ralph, I learned that I was being judgmental and that it really wasn’t any of my business. I limped along in my volunteering, trying to be a positive influence, but frankly I failed miserably. Whatever obligation I owed Kelly as her advocate never was truly fulfilled. I felt frustrated and disappointed, and I’m pretty sure that Kelly didn’t even like me.

In our epistle reading, the Apostle Paul described the most essential obligation that we owe to one another: love.  “Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.”  The Greek word here for owe, opheilo, means to have a moral or financial obligation to another person.  It is easy for us to imagine that we owe the repayment of a loan. It is equally easy for us to remember times that we have felt indebted to others for the kindness that they offered in our time of need.  It’s more difficult to accept the radical message that Paul suggests: we always owe a debt of love to everyone, everywhere, all the time. 

I have taught before that in Greek there are three words for love—eros is romantic love; phile is brotherly love; and agape is love based upon selfless, sincere appreciation and high regard for the other. Agape is a holy love that reverences the image of God imprinted within each of us.  Paul teaches that we owe one another agape, the pure and disinterested love that emerges from the awareness that we are all beloved children of a loving God. Paul is, of course, paraphrasing the essence of Jesus’s ethical teaching, that we are to love the Lord our God with all our heart, mind, soul, and strength; and we must love our neighbors as we do ourselves.

If you are like me, your head spins with the magnitude of this basic Christian imperative to love.  I think I’ve got it when it comes to loving my family, my friends, and my church, but to owe a debt of pure love to all?  To do no wrong to anyone at any time?  To love the boss who took credit for our initiative, to love the former spouse who abused our trust, to love the neighbor who peddles conspiracy theories and blankets the lawn with political propaganda, to love the Russians, the North Koreans, the terrorists? The very thought is daunting, intimidating, mind blowing. Help us, Paul. Help us, Jesus.

The great Reformed theologian Karl Barth taught that agape is the spiritual relationship with neighbor that is born in our communion with God; agape is the relationship between people that is grounded in the sure and certain knowledge of a loving God.  In agape, we trust that God is at the center of our relationships with one another, and so all our relationships may be charged with the holy. Although we are, indeed, frail and short on love, God is not.  We become capable of selflessly loving one another because God first loves us.

For followers of Jesus, our capacity to love like this is grounded in Christ. God’s love for us is so boundless, so limitless, so deep and wide and wonderful that God would humble Godself to take the form of a simple Jewish tradesman, who was filled with a love so profound that he would suffer the humiliation and agony of death upon a cross to reconcile us with God and one another.  Our ability to love one another springs forth from God’s love for us, and the greatness of that love equips us to be more than we are—more open, more caring, more loving.  God’s love grows within us, summoning us to a loving engagement with the world. 

If I were a young adult back in the DC area again, volunteering with that community mental health association, I’d like to think that I would handle things with Kelly differently. I would let go of the expectations that I should improve her grooming and impart some key lessons in personal hygiene. I might stop trying to bring order to an apartment that looked like a firetrap to me. I would quiet my disapproval of her promiscuity and her interesting choices in men. Instead, I would just try to love Kelly, to see in her the holy image of our infinitely loving God. If all I did was love, maybe Kelly would even like me, but there are no guarantees, and the choice for love is never predicated upon the strings that we might wish to attach.

Loving others selflessly as Paul suggested and Jesus required is hard work. It takes a singular commitment and the daily resolve to love others as God has loved us. Practitioners of mindfulness meditation teach that we can cultivate within ourselves the capacity to love. It takes daily practice, but it’s doable. Perhaps we could even try it right now. Shall we?

We start by acknowledging God’s love for us. Take a moment to bring to your awareness God’s holy love for you, and if anyone is struggling to feel beloved this morning, allow me to be Jesus for you and remind you that you are precious in God’s sight. Feel the love.

Next, we use our imaginations to extend God’s love to others. Look around, my friends, at your neighbors in the pews.  Share that holy love with one another. 

Next, we look beyond the walls of the church to our neighbors in Saranac Lake. Can we imagine love rolling out in waves from the sanctuary this morning as a blessing for the community? Send love forth.

Next, use your imagination to look far into the distance and see the citizens of our world groaning beneath the weight of earthquake in Morocco, or war in Ukraine, or tyranny in North Korea, or hunger in Afghanistan.  Let’s send our agape to the ends of the earth. Let it roll! Can we feel the love?

According to those prayer warriors everywhere, this simple daily discipline can help us to grow in agape. It’s worth a try. What the world needs now is love, sweet love.

The last time I saw Kelly, I had her over to my apartment for dinner. I insisted that Ralph stay home, and at first there was some bad attitude about that. I cooked all Kelly’s favorites: pork chops, green beans, sauerkraut, and stuffing. For dessert, I brought out baked apples, the simplest of sweets, cored and stuffed with brown sugar, cinnamon, and raisins. Kelly smiled, showing her terrible teeth. “My Mom made these,” she said, attending to a private memory that lit her up from within. We were letting go of one another, but perhaps on this last visit I had done something right. Perhaps it was a little bit like love.

Resources

Karl Barth. The Epistle to the Romans. New York: Oxford University Press, 1953.

David McCabe. “Commentary on Romans 13:8-14” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 10, 2023. Accessed online at workingpracher.org.

Mary Hinkle Shore. “Commentary on Romans 13:8-14” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 4, 2011. Accessed online at workingpracher.org.

Elizabeth Shively. “Commentary on Romans 13:8-14” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 7, 2014. Accessed online at workingpracher.org.

Romans 13:8-14

8Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. 9The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet”; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” 10Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.

11Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; 12the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; 13let us live honorably as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy. 14Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.

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Bad Feet, Good Lord!

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Bad Feet, Good Lord!” John 13:1-5, 12-15

“Ouch!” Too late, I sidestep the bench and heel hobble to the foot of the bed. I hoist my leg up and look at my toe. A bloody, purple blush balloons around the base of the nailbed. When probed, the nail wobbles ominously, back forth, up down, like an unmoored dinghy bobbing in an eddy. Duane pushes the bench back into place. He does not want to look at my toe, but I make him.

“Check it out,” I say, wobble wobbling the nail.

Overcoming revulsion, he musters what passes for concerned interest, looking at the toe, the nail, the foot. He shakes his head.

I’ve got bad feet. Imagine that said with the mix of frustration and disappointment that a not-very-patient dog owner might use to say, “Bad dog,” to the new puppy who has, yet again, soiled the fake Persian carpet in the Pastor’s Study. Bad feet! Bad feet!

I blame it on Nana. My maternal great grandmother had feet that we christened “Nana’s Beauties.” Shaped by years of hairdressing in Brooklyn, Nana’s Beauties were a hideous amalgam of hammer toes, bunions, and thick calluses that came to an unnatural point, as if still poured into the fashionable kitten-heeled pumps, adorned with black velvet bows, that she wore in the 1920s. As a small child, I watched those feet with uncomfortable fear and fascination, as if the Beauties might, in any moment, become cognizant of my attention and demand to be touched, or even worse, rubbed. Avert thine eyes!

My Beauties might rival Nana’s. Bunions, bunion-ettes, seed corns, tendonitis, occasional plantar fasciitis, and a few curiously thickened nails that my podiatrist assures me are NOT fungal but symptomatic of feet that regularly take a beating on roadways and trails. Beyond the genetics of low arches and skinny heels, I earned my Beauties, not while flashing a sassy flapper smile and shaping the crimped waves and swingy bobs that Nana crafted at the Flatbush Beauty Emporium, but rather while logging miles, miles, and more miles of walks and hikes in the Adirondacks and beyond. And, of course, with the occasional catastrophically stubbed toe. The nail would blacken, work its way loose, and cast me off one morning to escape down the shower drain.  

There’s money to be made in foot beauty. [1]  Indeed, those with lovely feet can capitalize on them. Foot models, born with a perfect size six and ideal squoval nails can earn six figures by donning shoes or smearing on pharmaceuticals while the camera clicks. A pedicure, with toenails trimmed and filed, calluses softened, and polish artfully applied, can set you back $60.  And if you want your feet to be beautifully and fashionably clad, a pair of smoky blue, patent leather Jimmy Choo mules with a crystal strap will cost $1,095.

But we with Beauties learn early that ours is not the world of nail salons and high fashion footwear. It’s never a good feeling when your nail tech calls in a consultant to determine the best way to shave the callosity on your heels. We hide our thorny feet within thick athletic socks in the girl’s locker room.  We look for pool shoes that hide our deformity. In our youth, we don’t boogie barefoot on the frat house lawn. Later in life, we won’t parade our naked dogs in the health club sauna. Our feet have their own costs: a $45 co-pay at the podiatrist; $5,560 for a bunionectomy that may or may not help; $200 for your Hoka CarbonX3 runners. There are other costs, like the shame we feel at the snicker of fellow campers on the beach at Silver Bay.

Even the biblical authors seemed to think that feet were an appropriate metaphor for that which is illicit, embarrassing, or must be hidden away. When I translated the Book of Ruth from Hebrew to English, my professor Brenda Shaver, in her edgy shicksa-turned-rabbi perkiness, told me with a wink that when Ruth slipped into the granary to spend the night with Boaz, the Hebrew text may say that she uncovered his feet, but she was actually intent on uncovering something else, due north and much more likely to get the attention of the sleeping patriarch.  If Ruth had lifted the blanket and seen that Boaz’s feet rivaled Nana’s Beauties—or mine, there might never have been an Obed, Jesse, or David. Maybe no Jesus.

I bet Jesus had Beauties. The man walked a lot. He walked along the Via Maritima from the black basalt jetty at Capernaum up to the rabbit warren of bureaucratic offices at Caesarea Philippi. He walked from the radium-infused Roman baths of Tiberias down the increasingly arid Jordan Valley to the palm-treed oasis of Jericho. He climbed the red eroded hills of the Judean Wilderness and walked the dangerous, narrow path through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. He walked the Via Dolorosa. Jesus didn’t have the benefit of my Keen trail shoes or my real leather, European-made hiking boots. He did it in sandals, the first century kind, not much more than a slab of foot-shaped leather, held on with straps and ties. I bet Jesus had calluses, corns, nicks, scars, and soles made thick by walking. From time to time, he, too, may have been missing a toenail or two. I’m sure the feet of his disciples were no better, especially the fishermen, who spent half their time barefoot, wading in water or sitting in the slime left behind in the bottom of the boat by the dragnet. Jesus, my brother, of the bad, bad feet.

The synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) tell us that on the night of his arrest, Jesus shared a final Passover meal with his friends and instituted a tradition, a shared meal of bread and wine in remembrance of him. John remembers differently. According to John, in the last meal that Jesus shared with his disciples, he rose from the table, took off his outer robe, wrapped an apron around his waist, and knelt at his friends’ feet to do the work of the most menial servant in the household. Jesus washed the disciples’ feet, all of them, even those of Judas, who was already counting the silver coins that would soon grease his palm. I like to think that Jesus washed the feet of their wives and children, too.

One by one, Jesus cradled the disciples’ feet.  He held their hammer toes and bunionettes, their fallen arches, plantar warts, and ingrown toenails. He poured out water to wash away the grime accrued in a long day of walking on cobbles and unpaved paths in an arid land where dust lifts and swirls with every step. After the washing, he dried their feet, shrouding them in the towel, pressing, rubbing, squeezing, letting go.

John saw this foot washing, and not the Lord’s Supper, as the rite that Jesus used to call us into a community of people committed to his way. Jesus told the twelve, “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.” Faithful people have long heard in Jesus’ words the calling to a life of humble service, of falling to our knees in prayer and rising to bless others with simple acts of self-giving love. We help out at the Food Pantry or roll up our sleeves at the Community Garden. We clean apartments in public housing or fly off to Malawi to teach kids to read.

But what if Jesus wants more?

In holding those feet, in embracing that which society deems unworthy, unlovely, and unclean in us, Jesus sets another sort of example. It’s an example that we with Beauties can perhaps most fully appreciate. Jesus chooses to be lovingly present to that which we—and others—little love about ourselves. He does so patiently, insistently, relentlessly, without judgment, comment, or snark. It’s an act of inclusion and acceptance that humbles and heals.

It’s an act that also inspires, calling us to hold for one another all that we fear is ugly and unlovable: our misshapen feet and scaley psoriatic skin, our receding hairlines and jiggly bellies, our bad grades and lack of athleticism, our misspent youth and crabby age, our failed marriages and poor parenting, our fragile mental health and compulsive addictions. In truly following Jesus, we could find the humility to gently hold and simply care, to cherish and even love, that which others have learned to hate in themselves. We could choose to move past discomfort, judgment, and even revulsion to love. Are you with me?

The last Christmas that Nana came to our house, before she broke her hip and moved to the nursing home, was a snowy one. A big storm dumped two feet of snow, so heavy and wet that my grandparents couldn’t navigate our street with their big Buick. In those days before SUVs and cell phones, they parked at the top of the hill, a mile away, and everyone got out to walk, even Nana, who, true to form, had worn completely unsuitable shoes that were soaked by the time she reached our front door. When the doorbell rang, we welcomed everyone with hugs and great rejoicing, but it was my Grandmommie White, a retired nurse and Presbyterian Deaconess, who did the most fitting thing.

“Here, Betty,” she said to my Nana, taking her by the elbow and easing her into a chair.

Then she removed Nana’s soggy shoes and washed her beautiful feet. Amen.

—-

This message is part of a longer essay that I worked on this past week during my DMin residency for Pittsburgh Theological Seminary’s Creative Writing and Public Theology Program.

[1] The Egyptian foot, with the big toe longer than the others, is considered the most beautiful foot shape, followed by the Roman foot (big toe and next two toes of equal length). The least appealing foot shape is purported to be the Greek, with the second toe longer than the first. The only possible advantage of the Egyptian foot is that it is less likely to suffer from ingrown toenails.

John 13:1-5, 12-15

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. 2 The devil had already decided that Judas son of Simon Iscariot would betray Jesus. And during supper 3 Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands and that he had come from God and was going to God, 4 got up from supper, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. 5 Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. 12 After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had reclined again, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? 13 You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for that is what I am. 14 So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. 15 For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.

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The Good Measure

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — Luke 6:27-38 “The Good Measure”

On October 2, 2006, milk truck driver Charles Carl Roberts IV barricaded himself inside the one-room West Nickel Mines School in Lancaster County, PA.  He had taken ten Amish girls, aged 6-13, hostage.  He lined them up and bound their feet.  As police sought to breach the schoolhouse, Roberts opened fire, killing five children and wounding five others before taking his own life.  Later that day, when the parents of Charles Carl Roberts learned that their son had been the shooter, they were shocked.  The husband Charlie turned to his wife Terri and said, “I will never face my Amish neighbors again.” 

But face them he did.  After the private funeral that the Roberts family held for their son, their Amish neighbors surprised them at the gravesite.  About thirty Amish, some of whom had buried their daughters the day before, showed up, arriving in their buggies and walking across the fields.  They surrounded the Roberts family in a crescent, as a sign of forgiveness and love.  Charlie Roberts’s Amish neighbor came to his home and spent an hour with his arm around him, offering comfort.  Ten months after the tragic attack, the Amish shocked the Roberts and the world again.  Community members had contributed money to create the Roberts Family Fund to support the widow and three young children of the man who had taken the lives of five of their own.

Those gestures of mercy from the Amish may have humbled, puzzled, or even outraged us.  We may have shaken our heads and thought, “Those people are better than I am.  There’s no way I could have put myself at that gravesite.”  Or we could have asked ourselves, “What’s up with that?  How could you hold in your heart both the anguish of untimely, tragic grief and the possibility of compassion for a stone-cold killer?”  Or we may just not have believed it.  Vocal critics at the time argued that the Amish didn’t forgive.  They simply went through the motions of mercy that had been imprinted upon them by their culture.  Yet on the day of the shooting, a grandfather of one of the Amish girls turned his family away from hate, saying, “We must not think evil of this man.”  Another father said, “He had a mother and a wife and a soul and now he is standing before a just God.”

“Love your enemies, do what is good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. . . Be merciful, just as your Father also is merciful.”  The forgiveness and mercy of the Amish in the wake of the West Nickel Mines school shooting put hands and feet and hearts to those tough words that Jesus spoke to listeners when he delivered that Sermon on the Plain.  For the disciples and others who had gathered to hear Jesus preach, those words would have felt impractical and unthinkable. 

The Ancient Near East was a world driven by retributive violence.  An accidental death could readily explode into the murder of an entire family.  Blood feuds pitted neighbor against neighbor and nation against nation for generations.  If you’d like to read a story of this sort of explosive, escalating, unstoppable violence, take some time to read Genesis 34.  The sons of Jacob took retribution against Shechem, who had sexually assaulted and married their sister Dinah.  To exact revenge, Levi and Simon came upon Shechem and his kin unawares and slaughtered all the men.  Then, Jacob’s other ten sons plundered the community, taking for themselves all the valuables, livestock, children, and wives.

The covenant of the Torah, the Jewish law, tried to limit this escalating cycle of blood violence by teaching a tit-for-tat justice.  Exodus 21 instructs that vengeance must be measured and reciprocal, “If there is an injury, then you must give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, bruise for bruise, wound for wound.”  To help the people move away from blood vengeance, six cities of refuge were designated in Israel. There the perpetrators of accidental manslaughter could claim the right of asylum and await appropriate justice.

Yet Jesus broke even with this moderate teaching of measured retaliation by insisting that his followers exceed the standards of the Torah.  Instead of pulling out their opponent’s teeth and blacking their eyes, Jesus’s friends were to love, do good for, bless, and pray for their enemies.  It was a completely new ethic that flew in the face of everything that his followers knew and experienced.  The love that Jesus enjoined his disciples to practice is agape, the love that God practices.  Agape chooses to act for the good of the other, regardless of what our hearts might be telling us. 

Love your enemies?  Love / agape is a tough choice that we learn to make.  We can only find the ability to practice agape when we consider the mercy of God to us.  Those of you who studied the ten commandments with me a number of years ago will remember that disobeying the moral code that Moses imparted to us carries a death penalty.  We are all deserving of Yahweh’s judgment, and yet God is shockingly merciful.  Instead of judgment and death, God became flesh and entered into this world’s darkness.  In Jesus, God chose to live for us and show to us the way of agape.  Traditional enemies like Romans, Samaritans, and Canaanites were welcomed, helped, and healed.  Clueless, fickle disciples and merciless executioners were prayed for and forgiven.  In the ultimate act of agape, on a merciless cross, flanked by common criminals, Jesus revealed that God loves us enough to die for us.

It is in the enormity of God’s costly love for us that we begin to see another way.  We begin to think that maybe we can move away from demanding an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.  We begin to see that only love can heal hearts, transform an enemy into a friend, and make a changed future possible.  With frail and feeble efforts, we begin to choose love.  We fail often.  And yet, we trust that God’s mercy is there to catch us when we fall.  The grace of Christ is sufficient for us. 

What might this transformational ethic of agape look like for us?  It might be letting go of a long-held grudge.  It could be letting bygones be bygones in a family feud.  It might be giving a second chance to a friend who betrayed a confidence.  It could be working hard together to mend a marriage that has endured infidelity.  It is choosing to act always in the best interest of the other and knowing that we can borrow some of God’s love when ours is in short supply.

Jesus described the fruit of a life lived in agape.  He called it the “good measure.”  When you went to a first century marketplace for grain, the merchant filled a measure to the brim and then gave it a good shake to ensure that every nook and cranny was filled.  The merchant then poured that overflowing measure into your apron to carry home.  It’s a beautiful earthy metaphor for a life that abounds with goodness.  When we practice and experience agape, the world gets blessed and so do we.  As we haltingly live into agape, we show God’s Kingdom to the world and in some immeasurable and hopeful way, that Kingdom comes.

In the days following the terrible events at the West Nickel Mines School, Terri and Charlie Roberts, the parents of the shooter, considered leaving the area.  Their grief, shame, and pain were so immense that they couldn’t imagine a way forward, but the Amish did more than forgive the couple, they embraced them as part of the community.  That generous agape prompted the Roberts to host a summer picnic in their backyard for their Amish neighbors, nine months after the attack.  They all came, including a little girl named Rosanna King, wheelchair bound, unable to speak or feed herself, the youngest of their son’s victims. 

A few months later, Terri Roberts asked Rosanna’s mother if she could help with the girl’s care.  Until her death from breast cancer in 2017, Terri spent nearly every Thursday evening at the King Family farm, bathing, reading, and attending to Rosanna until her bedtime.  Terri Roberts remembered the evening that a father said to her, ‘None of us would have ever chosen this.  But the relationships that we have built through it, you cannot put a price on that.”  Terri believed that the Amish choice for agape, the decision to allow life to move forward with love, was profoundly healing for her and her family.  Terri said that is “a message the world needs.” 

“Love your enemies, do what is good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. . .  Be merciful, just as your Father also is merciful.”

Resources:

Colby Itkowitz. “Her Son Shot Their Daughters 10 Years Ago, Then These Amish Families Embraced Her as a Friend” in The Washington Post, October 1, 2016.  Accessed online at washingtonpost.com.

Story Corps. “A Decade After Amish School Shooting, Gunman’s Mother Talks of Forgiveness” in Morning Edition, Sept. 20, 2016.  Accessed online at npr.org.

Sarah Henrick. “Commentary on Luke 6:27-38” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 20, 2022.  Accessed online at workingpreacher.com.

Ronald Allen. “Commentary on Luke 6:27-38” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 24, 2019.  Accessed online at workingpreacher.com.

Susan E. Hylen. “Theological Perspective on Luke 6:27-38” in Feasting on the Word, Year C, vol. 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Charles Bugg. “Pastoral Perspective on Luke 6:27-38” in Feasting on the Word, Year C, vol. 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Luke 6:27-38

27“But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, 28bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. 29If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. 30Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. 31Do to others as you would have them do to you. 32“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. 33If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. 34If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. 35But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. 36Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

37“Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; 38give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”

Image source: https://www.nytimes.com/2006/10/03/us/03amish.html

Love Came Down at Christmas

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I’ll share with you my first Christmas memory.  It has nothing to do with Jesus, shepherds, or Magi – or even St. Nicholas.  I was four years old.  My father was working in sales for 3M, and he must have been doing well, because that year my family moved out of a cramped two-bedroom starter home into a brand-new home. A home with hardwood floors that we could slide on in our stockinged feet.  A home with a stone and glass fireplace between the living room and family room, where our Christmas stockings could be hung, and Santa could squeeze down the chimney.

Christmastime in southeastern Pennsylvania seems to be infrequently white, but that Christmas it snowed, and snowed, and snowed some more.  All day long, while my mother was busy in the kitchen whipping up a holiday feast and my Grandmommie White sat in front of the fire with her knitting, the snow fell, changing our neighborhood from a familiar suburban subdivision into a strange landscape of winter white. 

My mother’s parents and grandmother (also known as Grammy, Pop, and Nana) were on their way to our new home for a Christmas visit.  They were coming from rural New Jersey, where Grammy and Pop had been dairy farmers.  They were literally traveling over the Delaware River and through Penn’s Woods.  Pop was a Buick man.  Although I have no recollection of the car he was driving that year, I’m sure it was enormous, boat-like, possibly with fins and bright silver hubcaps.  This was, of course, before the day of all-season-radial tires and all-wheel-drive SUVs.  I am certain that Pop’s Buick was a dream for a Sunday-after-church drive, but it was not a vehicle of choice for a long snowy journey.

All day long, we waited, and we waited, and we waited, for Grammy, Pop, and Nana to arrive as we watched the snow grow deeper.  Although my Dad made a number of forays out to shovel the deepening snow, we didn’t see the snowplow.  Nor did we see any cars venturing down the long hill that led from Route 202 to the new house on Buckingham Drive that we called home.  I suspect my Mom was worried.

Pop, in the meantime, was intrepidly inching his Buick along the road to Doylestown.  It was an impressive accomplishment, especially since he probably had plenty of backseat-driving-advice from Nana, by far the most formidable and opinionated member of the family.  Born Anna Elisabeth Stelzenmuller to German immigrant parents in Flatbush Brooklyn, Nana had long ago ditched her German roots.  She went instead by the Americanized name “Betty.”  She was a hairdresser and fashion icon, in the days before anyone had ever heard of fashion icons.  She always smelled of the exotic scent of Shalimar.  Nana as hair stylist had spent many years on her feet – and she had the feet to prove it.  They were all arthritic knobs and bunions, corns and tough callouses.  Yet, somehow Nana packaged those beauties into the most fashionable of footwear – pointy-toed pumps of sumptuous suede or patent leather with kitten heels and bows or buckles. 

Pop’s Buick made it all the way to Doylestown.  At the top of the long, steep Berkshire Road that led down to our home, Pop took one look at the unplowed, snowy depths, pulled over, and ordered, “Everyone out.  We walk from here.”  They did just that.  Pop was loaded down with presents.  Grammy carried at least one pie and undoubtedly a Jello salad.  And my Nana following in their wake in her fashionable shoes.  I remember the knock on the door and my family gathering around to welcome them in from the cold.  We were all full of laughter and tears and wonder.

I remember what happened next, too.  My Grandmommie White had put down her knitting.  She was a nurse by trade and knew exactly what was needed to thaw frozen feet.  She filled the tea kettle to warm water on the stove.  Once it was piping hot, she filled a basin, took a soft towel, and then she knelt at my Nana’s feet.  She took off my Nana’s now ruined shoes, and then she began to massage and wash those terrible, ugly feet – bunions, bulges, callouses, and all.  Most Christians practice the rite of footwashing at Easter, as they remember the Last Supper that Jesus shared with his friends.  But that year, my Grandmommie washed feet at Christmas.

Thinking back to that Christmas many years ago, I’ll tell you what I learned: Christmas is about love.  It’s about the kind of love that makes you inch your way through a snowstorm in a big old Buick. It’s about the kind of love that frets all day in the kitchen while you think about your kin, traveling hazardous roads.  It’s about the kind of love that sends you walking through deep snow with a big white fuzzy dog with a pink bow clamped under your arm to give to your first granddaughter.  It’s the kind of love that sends you to your knees to wash feet, even Nana’s feet. 

Over the years, I’ve learned that all that love gives us a taste of the Holy Love that came down to us at Christmas.  In our love for one another is the echo of God-made-flesh, of God born to poor peasant parents, of God who chose to draw first breath in the barnyard muck, surrounded by sheep and goats, donkeys and oxen, camels, hens and doves.  Love came down at Christmas in a tiny babe, the Christ-child, who would one day teach the world what it truly means to love – big-hearted, open-armed, without limits. 

May your Christmas be filled with love.

Luke 2:1-7

1 In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. 2 This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. 3 All went to their own towns to be registered. 4 Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. 5 He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. 6 While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. 7 And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

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“Live in Love”

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Sabbath Day Thoughts – “Live in Love” – Ephesians 4:25-5:2

We need love. The groundbreaking research of behavioral scientists like Harry Harlow and John Bowles determined that humans have a hard-wired biological need to experience love. Their findings revealed that babies who are deprived of contact comfort and love during the first six months of life suffer long-lasting harm. Even into adulthood, they can experience psychological damage that increases the likelihood of depression, anxiety, and difficulty in relationships. We also need to give love. Each of us has an innate need to love and care for others. It’s what compels us to pinch the cheeks of babies, say “Aww!” when we see a cute puppy, or make a generous donation to the Crisis Care Nursery when we hear about those at-risk orphans. It’s safe to say that God created us with the intent of giving and receiving love.

No one was better versed in the importance of love for human development than broadcaster and Presbyterian minister Fred Rogers. Once a lonely child himself with respiratory issues, Fred was sensitive to the insecurities and needs of children. The love and affirmation of his grandfather, the original Mr. McFeely, helped Fred through those early years. As the grown-up Fred saw the vapid humor and violence of children’s television, he thought, surely, we can do better. He resolved to use tv to encourage kids to know that they mattered. From 1968 until 2001, his show “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood” was broadcast nationally on public television. In 895 episodes, Mr. Rogers was all about love. Fred said, “Knowing that we can be loved exactly as we are gives us all the best opportunity for growing into the healthiest people.”

The Apostle Paul, in his letter to the Ephesians also emphasized the importance of love. The apostle spent more than two years in the busy Aegean port of Ephesus sharing the good news, spending five hours daily in the lecture hall of Tyrannus, relating the story and teachings of Jesus. All that gospel, coupled with extraordinary miracles, made for a vibrant and growing church. In summarizing the Way of Jesus, Paul exhorted his friends to “live in love.” He began by describing all the things that love is not: dishonesty, harbored anger, thievery, malicious gossip, and slander. Wise pastor that he was, Paul knew that these behaviors undermine the fabric of a community.

We can attest to the truth of Paul’s teaching. Dr. Ramani Durvasula, author of Should I Stay or Should I Go? says that dishonesty undermines trust, the primary connective tissue of a relationship. Without trust and the sense of safety that it brings, our relationships cannot grow in a healthy manner. Likewise, Dr. Randi Gunther cautions that unresolved anger can sabotage our connections with those we care about, whether our anger manifests as nitpicking, withdrawal, snapping, or tantrums. Once we are in an angry interaction, we can rapidly go from friends to adversaries, unable to see beyond our emotional survival. We resort to distance for our emotional safety and resist working through the conflict to get at the underlying feelings and concerns. We also all know from personal experience how painful it is to be targeted by gossip. It spreads lies, tarnishes reputations, and ruins relationships. Dishonesty, harbored anger, and sins of speech, when these destructive behaviors become endemic to a family, community, or church, they create an unsafe emotional space where no one truly feels welcomed, accepted, or loved.

Paul expected better of the Ephesians—and us. He reminds us that our true purpose is agape, the generous, other-interested love that acts out of concern for the well-being of others. Dr. Jaime Clark-Soles, who teaches at Southern Methodist University, describes agape as “kenotic love,” from the Greek word kenosis, which means to “pour out.” In agape we pour out ourselves in the best interest of others. There isn’t anything in it for us. Agape is self-sacrificing, forgiving, and kind.

Agape is a healer and a community builder. A Penn State study considered the effect of feeling loved upon individuals. They asked subjects to report the brief experiences of love and connection that they had in everyday life: a caring text, a meaningful interaction with a friend, a sweet kindness from a family member, the random niceness of strangers. The researchers learned that the subjects who had more experiences of love and connection also had significantly higher levels of psychological well-being, including feelings of optimism and purpose.

Fred Rogers didn’t need a scientific study to tell him that. He simply believed that all people feel better and are happier when loved. In his testimony before a Senate panel in 1969, Rogers described the ethic that undergirded his children’s programming, saying, “I give an expression of care every day to each child, to help him realize that he is unique. I end the program by saying, ‘You’ve made this day a special day, by just your being you. There’s no person in the whole world like you, and I like you, just the way you are.’ And I feel that if we… can only make it clear that feelings are mentionable and manageable, we will have done a great service for mental health. I think that it’s much more dramatic that two men [be portrayed] working out their feelings of anger — much more dramatic than showing… gunfire. I’m constantly concerned about what our children are seeing.”

Like Fred Rogers, we instinctively know the power of kindness and love to build-up one another, but we sometimes struggle to be loving. We get really angry. Sometimes it is justified. We can be less than honest or may resort to lies because we don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings, we don’t want to represent ourselves in a bad light, or we want to try to stay in control of a situation where we feel out of our depth. We can use language in ways that hurt, whether we speak rashly, raise our voices, betray a confidence, or put someone down so that we can feel better about who we are. We hear Paul’s wise exhortation to “live in love,” but it isn’t always easy.

We are only able to forge the capacity to be a people who live in agape when we consider the example of Jesus. His life was a long unfolding of agape. In agape, Jesus chose to heal hurting people on the sabbath day, even when the scribes insisted that he was violating the Torah. In agape, Jesus welcomed sinners, scandalizing the Pharisees. In agape, Jesus was crucified, taking on the sin of the world and reconciling us to God and one another. In agape, Jesus forgave even his executioners as they nailed him to the cross and gambled for his robe. Jesus poured out his life in “kenotic love.” It is when we ponder the enormity of what Jesus has done for us that we begin to understand agape. It is in following Jesus, what Paul described as being “imitators” of Jesus, that agape begins to take shape in our lives. We care, we share kindness, we forgive, we learn to live in love.

Researchers say that agape is good for us. Dr. Raj Raganathan, who teaches at the University of Texas, has found that when we express love and compassion for others, it makes us happier. In a study, students were given a gift of either $5 or $20 with the instruction that they could do with it as they wish, either spending it on themselves or spending it on someone else. The study found that those students who chose to spend their windfall on others grew happier than those who kept it for themselves, regardless of whether they were spending $5 or $20. That desire to love and care that each of us is born with brings happiness when it is generously exercised. Our agape helps others, and yet we benefit, too. I suspect that Jesus and the Apostle Paul knew that, too.

In one of his last public addresses, Fred Rogers delivered the commencement speech for Dartmouth University’s Class of 2002. Mr. Rogers shared one of his favorite stories, seeking to impart the ethic of other-interested love and care that he hoped those best and brightest of young people would embrace. The story was about the Seattle Special Olympics. There were nine “differently-abled” contestants for the hundred-yard dash. They assembled at the starting line and at the sound of the gun, they took off. But not long afterward, one little boy stumbled and fell. He hurt his knee and began to cry. The other eight children heard him crying, slowed down, turned around, and ran back to him. One little girl with Down Syndrome bent down and kissed the boy, saying, “This’ll make it better”. And the little boy got up. Then, all the runners linked their arms and joyfully walked to the finish line together. Everyone in the crowd stood up, clapped, whistled, and cheered for a long, long time. Mr. Rogers said that deep down we know that what matters in this life is more than winning for ourselves. What really matters is helping others win, too. Even if it means slowing down and changing our course now and then. He went on to quote Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius, the last of the great Roman philosophers, who said, “Oh happy race of mortals, if your hearts are ruled, as is the universe, by love.”

Sisters and brothers, let us live in love.

Resources:
Clark-Soles, Jaime. “Exegetical Perspective on Eph. 4:25-5:2” in Feasting on the Word, Year B. vol. 3. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.
Gunther, Randi. “How Anger Affects Intimate Relationships” in Psychology Today, August 30, 2019. Accessed online at psychologytoday.com.
Ward, Richard F. “Homiletical Perspective on Eph. 4:25-5:2” in Feasting on the Word, Year B. vol. 3. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.
–. “Fred Rogers” in Biography. Accessed online at biography.com.
Penn State. “Feeling Loved in Everyday Life Linked with Improved Well-being” in Science Daily, Nov. 25, 2019. Accessed online at sciencedaily.com.
Rogers, Fred. “Dartmouth College Commencement Speech, 2002 in Rev Speech to Text Services. Accessed online at https://www.rev.com/blog/transcripts/fred-rogers-mr-rogers-commencement-speech-transcript-2002-at-dartmouth-college.
Raghnathan, Raj. “The Need to Love” in Psychology Today, Jan. 8, 2014. Accessed online at psychologytoday.com.
–. “About Fred” in Fred Rogers Center for Early Learning and Children’s Media at St. Vincent College. Accessed online at https://www.fredrogerscenter.org/about-fred.

Why Mister Rogers Took Pictures of the People He Met - Biography
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