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You Are Welcome

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

Not everyone feels welcome in church.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

Acts 8:26-38

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

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

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

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With Glad and Generous Hearts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

Acts 2:42-47

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

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The New Commandment

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The New Commandment” John 13:1-9, 31-35

Andrew Rice’s best friend when growing up was his brother David. Although the two shared a rebellious spirit as kids, with age they settled down to careers in journalism and finance. On September 11, 2001, Andrew was covering the Toronto Film Festival when their mother called him with unsettling news. His brother David, had telephoned from his office in the World Trade Center to say that a plane hit the tower next door, but he was OK. Andrew rushed to the press room of his hotel, just in time to see a second jet hit the trade center. Filled with panic, Andew ran back to his hotel room. He turned on the TV as the first tower collapsed. In Andrew’s words, “At this point I just let out this terrible shriek, overwhelmed by the certainty that David was dead.”

After the attack, Andrew read a New York Times “Portrait of Grief” about his brother David. In the very same paper, Andrew was discomfited to read another article with words of impending retribution from Vice President Cheney, who threatened, “if you’re against us you’ll feel our wrath.” Andrew felt an inner tension. Part of him was with the Vice President, “We’ll show them,” while another part knew that force wasn’t the answer. In ensuing weeks and months, as news of mounting civilian deaths came from the war in Afghanistan, he felt increasingly concerned that ordinary people like his brother were dying. Andrew didn’t know how to respond to his brother’s death, but he had a growing sense that retribution would get him nowhere.

We may not have lost a brother on September 11th, but we have all struggled to discern how to respond when we are hurt. Whether it is a spouse who walks out the door, an adult child who severs ties, a colleague who badmouths us to the boss, a friend who betrays our dearest trust, a sibling who cheats us out of an inheritance, or a complete stranger whose violence shatters our lives, it is hard to imagine how to move forward. We may, like Andrew Rice, feel the unbearable tension between our desire for payback and our feeling that violence is not the answer.

Throughout Lent, we have been considering Jesus’ final week in Jerusalem. On the night of his arrest, Jesus offered an object lesson in how to respond to those who wrong us. He then invited his disciples to forge a new kind of community, a fellowship that would make revolutionary choices when it came to building a life together.

Foot washing was an essential rite of hospitality in the Ancient Near East. In an arid world with unpaved roads, sandaled feet got dusty, gritty, and grimy during the course of a day. Upon entering a home for a seder, the guests would shed their sandals, and a servant would wash their feet, sluicing them with water over an open basin, drying them off, and perhaps anointing them with a drop of oil. Foot washing was the most menial of household chores, performed by the lowest status slave, typically a woman or a child. With feet refreshed, the guests moved on to the table and an evening of good food and congenial conversation.

At the last supper that Jesus shared with his disciples, he rose during the meal, and undertook that most humble of services. He removed his outer robe, girded himself with a towel, and washed his friends’ feet. It was a wildly countercultural act. A high-status rabbi, acclaimed by his friends and the crowds as the Messiah, chose to do the work of a slave. It was a loving act, the kind of simple service that warms our heart—like when a caring parent kisses a child’s booboo, or a good coach takes the time to praise our efforts on the playing field; or our beloved ones remember our birthday with roses or a special meal or a night on the town.

John’s gospel tells us that Jesus knew exactly what was going on that night. He understood that he would soon leave this world and return to his heavenly Father. Soon, his passion predictions of terrible suffering and a horrible death would be fulfilled. Within the hour, one of his trusted disciples, Judas, would depart to betray him, selling his life for thirty pieces of silver. Later, all his disciples would abandon him, running off under the cover of darkness to save their own skins. Next, Peter, a dear friend and confidante, would deny and curse him three times before the sun rose. Jesus knew everything that was to come, and still he chose to do the work of a humble servant, washing the feet of those who would betray, abandon, and deny him. It was a radical act of loving kindness. Then, Jesus told his friends that they were to do the same for one another.

Humble, loving service isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when we ponder those who have betrayed, abandoned, denied, mistreated, oppressed, badmouthed, robbed, or smeared us. Our hearts skip a beat and our blood pressure rises at the very thought of mercy for those who have been so merciless to us. Our sense of justice bristles. It seems only fair that our oppressor should experience a taste of the hurt and pain that we have known. It seems only right that there should be an, “I’m sorry,” a mea culpa, a comeuppance in the court of public opinion, or at least some acknowledgment of wrongdoing. Jesus, we know you washed the feet of your fickle and failing friends, but you are who you are—and we are not. Do you truly demand this of us?

I imagine that on Holy Saturday, when Jesus lay dead in the tomb, and the women wailed in grief, and the disciples hid away in the Upper Room filled with remorse and self-recrimination, they remembered the foot washing. They recalled the stripped-down Jesus with his sleeves rolled up, kneeling at their feet. They remembered how it felt to be held and appreciated, to be accepted and loved, even though they weren’t perfect. In the darkness of that day, I like to think that the foot washing was the luminous thread that bound them to Jesus and to one another. Yes, Caesar’s Kingdom had unleashed unthinkable horror against their Lord and upon their community. Yes, the desire to either hit back or flee must have been great. Yet there had been that irresistible invitation to make a different choice, as Jesus had made a different choice. There was the call to humility and love. Rome may have appeared victorious on that first Good Friday, but Jesus had shown them another Kingdom. In Jesus’ Kingdom, power is exercised in acts of humble service and love heals the gaping holes that we carry in our hearts.

In November 2002, Andrew Rice, with others who had lost loved ones in the September eleventh attacks, learned that Madame al-Wafi, the mother of alleged twentieth hijacker Zacharias Moussaoui, was in New York City and wished to meet with them. They struggled with the choice to accept her plea for a face-to-face, but they ultimately agreed. It was a profound meeting for all. Andrew remembers that Madame al-Wafi greeted them with tears of grief and remorse for her son’s hatred. She reminded Andrew of his own mother, who had cried so much after David died. Madame al-Wafi spent three hours with them, recounting how the hatred peddled by al-Qaeda had given her mentally-ill son a purpose in life. There was no foot washing in that room, but there was healing. Many tears were cried, hugs exchanged, and a better way forward was found.

Andrew says, “One day I’d like to meet Zacharias Moussaoui. I’d like to say to him, ‘you can hate me and my brother as much as you like, but I want you to know that I loved your mother and I comforted her when she was crying.’” Andrew is still hurt and angry about the events of September eleventh, but the choice for love freed Andrew from the desire for payback and retribution. He writes, “I’m refusing to fall in line with what ‘they’ want, which is visceral hatred between two sides; this [choice for love] gives me permission to reconcile.”

Love gives us permission to reconcile. Jesus saw this so clearly on the night of his arrest. In washing his disciples’ feet and commanding them to love one another as he had loved them, he forged the graced space for them to overcome the everyday hurts, betrayals, rifts, and harms that could tear them apart. In washing his friends’ feet and commanding them to love, he sent them forth to forge a world where we do not resort to hatred and violence, a world where enemies could become friends.

What a world that will be! I can imagine it. Can you? Vladimir Putin will be on his knees, washing the feet of Vlodimir Zelenskyy. The new Ayatollah Khameini will wash the feet of the jailed protesters who called for Iranian reform. Israeli Defense Forces and Hamas Rebels will wash the feet of the widows and orphans of Gaza. Chuck Shumer and Mike Johnson will try to outdo one another in humility, each washing the other’s feet. Pam Bondi will tie back her hair, put on the apron, and wash the feet of those Epstein survivors.

And we will be there, too, daring to dream of that graced space where hurts are healed and new beginnings are found through humble acts of self-giving love. May it be so. Amen.

Resources:

Andrew Rice. “My Story” in Stories Library, The Forgiveness Project, https://www.theforgivenessproject.com/stories-library/andrew-rice/

Matt Skinner. “Walking the Palm Sunday Path: A Lenten Sermon Series for 2026” in Preaching Series, January 21, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching-series/walking-the-palm-sunday-path-in-lent-a-sermon-series-for-2026

Karoline Lewis. “Commentary on John 13:1-9, 31-35” in Preaching Series, Jan. 22, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching-series/sermon-series-john-13-footwashing-and-new-commandment

Kathleen Long Bostrom. “Pastoral Perspective on John 13:1-9” in Feasting on the Gospels, John, vol. 2. Louisville: WJKP, 2014.

Coleman Baker. “Exegetical Perspective on John 13:1-9” in Feasting on the Gospels, John, vol. 2. Louisville: WJKP, 2014. Michael Waters. “Homiletical Perspective on John 13:1-9” in Feasting on the Gospels, John, vol. 2. Louisville: WJKP, 2014.

John 13:1-9, 31-35

13 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[a] 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. 6 He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” 7 Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” 8 Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” 9 Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!”

31 When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. 32 If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. 33 Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me, and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ 34 I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. 35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

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Truth to Power

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Truth to Power” Mark 12:1-12

Rachel spoke truth to power. For her senior year at Evergreen State College, Rachel proposed a special independent study. She would travel to Gaza with the International Solidarity Movement. There, she would live in community with Palestinian families, initiate a “sister city” project between Olympia and Rafah, and start a pen-pal program between children in the two cities. Rachel was shocked at the destruction she found in Gaza. Every day, homes were leveled and people detained and killed. Rachel wrote of her experience to her family. Inundated by the abounding hospitality of her beleaguered Gazan hosts, she wrote, “I just feel sick to my stomach a lot from being doted on all the time, very sweetly, by people who are facing doom. . . Honestly, a lot of the time the sheer kindness of the people here, coupled with the overwhelming evidence of the willful destruction of their lives, makes it seem unreal to me.”

Bill spoke truth to power. He served as an infantryman in World War II, went to college, and worked for the CIA, but a spiritual calling took him to seminary. Bill’s passion, inspired by his faith, was social justice. In the 1960s, he was arrested three times as a Freedom Rider, challenging segregation laws by riding interstate buses in the South. Next, Bill turned his attention to America’s growing involvement in Vietnam. He used his significant influence as the chaplain of Yale to organize for the anti-war effort, earning the scrutiny of the Johnson administration. Wishing to make an example of Bill, he was arrested on federal charges of conspiracy to advise draft evasion and found guilty.

Zyahna spoke truth to power. At fifteen, she drafted a petition to the Charlottesville City Council calling for the removal of that infamous statue of Robert E. Lee and the renaming of Lee Park. The seeds of Zyahna’s protest were planted in her fifth-grade studies of the Civil War. She remembers, “Once I learned the truth about slavery and the Civil War, I felt disgusted that my city wanted to display a statue that celebrated my ancestors’ pain.” The City Council responded by creating a commission to consider the statue’s removal and ultimately voted to remove it.

Jesus spoke truth to power. His provocative Palm Sunday parade dramatized the tensions between the Kingdom of God and the earthly powers and principalities. Later that day, when Jesus arrived at the Temple and entered the Court of the Gentiles, he was so offended by the greed and corruption he saw that he overturned the tables of the moneychangers and the seats of those who sold doves for sacrifice. It was not a subtle entry into the city. In fact, it drew the attention of the chief priests and elders, some of the most powerful people in Jerusalem. They hailed from wealthy influential families at the pinnacle of society and walked a fine line between loyalty to their tradition and fealty to the Roman emperor. They came to Jesus as he was teaching and demanded to know who had given him the authority to undertake such a radical and prophetic act.

Jesus answered his critics with a tough story about a landowner and his vineyard.  As Jesus began, it seemed as if he might spin some midrash on Isaiah 5, the Song of the Vineyard. Isaiah described God’s frustration and disillusionment with Israel through the story a loving farmer, who cleared land, worked the earth, built a protective wall and watchtower, and carefully planted the very best vines to bear a bumper crop of sweet, juicy grapes. At harvest time, though, the farmer found only wild grapes—tough, sour, and inedible. God expected a harvest of righteousness from God’s people—folks living in right relationship with God and one another, but God found oppression, bloodshed, and injustice.

When Jesus told his parable to his critics, he made a few key changes in Isaiah’s plot.  That loving farmer went on a long trip and entrusted his beautiful vineyard to some hired hands.  Come harvest time, the vineyard was producing abundantly, just as the landowner had anticipated. The trouble was with the tenants. They seemed to think the vineyard existed only to serve their personal and economic interests. They didn’t think they owed the vineyard owner a red cent. Jesus’s vineyard owner was merciful to the point of foolishness. He repeatedly sent servants, even a beloved son, to speak holy truth and return the wayward tenants to the right path. Right about then, the chief priests and elders must have been feeling a bit uncomfortable.

The story that Jesus told is a juridical parable, a combination of allegory and hyperbole (exaggeration) that is intended to shock and provoke the listener. His listeners were invited to stand in judgment of themselves with the hope that change could happen. Confronted by their failure to honor God and the ridiculous, overflowing mercy of God, Jesus sought to shift perspectives and change behaviors. Could the Son be welcomed? Could the tenants return to God the righteous action that was needed? The graced moment passed. Judgment was pronounced. The chief priests and elders withdrew, conspiring to turn Jesus over to Pilate. We anticipate the close of that first Holy Week: Jesus, outside the walls of the city, his broken body nailed to a cross, breathing his last.

Speaking truth to power is never easy. It is not thinking that the world is wrong and only we are right. It is a bold bid for change and transformation that requires tremendous moral courage. It demands firm conviction that our righteous action is in keeping with God’s best hopes for humanity. Our words must pass the litmus test of love. Will the truth we speak ultimately increase love for God and neighbor—all neighbors? Speaking truth to power is an act of ethical resistance that can cost you your friendships, family, status, reputation, livelihood, safety, and even your life. Just ask Jesus. But without those who are bold enough to speak the truth, change cannot come.

Rachel Corrie never completed her senior project. Her efforts to stand with her Gazan hosts as they contended with the Israeli Defense Force ended her life. Rachel placed herself between an IDF Caterpillar bulldozer and a Palestinian home, thinking to prevent its demolition. Instead, she was run over twice. Her death brought international attention to the plight of Gazans. After her death, her family launched the Rachel Corrie Foundation for Peace & Justice to “support programs that foster connections between people, that build understanding, respect, and appreciation for differences, and that promote cooperation within and between local and global communities.”

William Sloan Coffin’s conviction on federal charges of conspiracy to advise draft evasion was overturned on appeal. Bill continued to advocate for non-violence and world peace. His provocative activism took him to Iran in 1979 to perform Christmas services for hostages being held in the U.S. embassy during the Iran hostage crisis and to Nicaragua to protest U.S. military intervention there. He became president of SANE/FREEZE, the nation’s largest peace and justice organization. His activism sometimes put him at odds with his parishioners, who admired his messages but wished he would spend more time actually being their pastor. Shortly before his death in 2006, Bill founded Faithful Security, a coalition for people of faith committed to working for a world free of nuclear weapons.

Zyahna Bryant’s petition to remove the Robert E. Lee statue in Charlottesville inflamed supporters of Confederate monuments. In August 2017, white supremacists descended upon the city in an effort to preserve the statue. Anti-racist demonstrators rallied to counter protest. One person was murdered and several others injured when a white supremacist used his car as a weapon, ramming a group of counter protesters. Zyahna Bryant is still using her voice to speak truth to power. She’s a student now at the University of Virginia, and serves as the youngest member of the inaugural Virginia African American Advisory Board. The Robert E. Lee statue was removed on July 10, 2021, and melted down in 2023 to be repurposed into new public art.

When the beloved son was killed, that foolishly merciful landlord did not destroy the unscrupulous tenants. Instead, God raised the Beloved Son, who returned with a message, not of judgment, but of love. It’s a love so great that it broke the power of sin and death. It’s a love so all-encompassing that it can meet all the evil of every wicked tenant that has ever lived and work from it a miracle of redemption and life. The risen Lord comes, again and again, calling the world to be in right relationship with God and one another.

We remember that the beloved son sent his friends out to do the same. They spoke God’s truth and took their licks, from the disciples to the apostles and martyrs, from Catherine of Alexandria to Francis of Assisi, from Martin Luther to Sojourner Truth, from Dorothy Day to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, from Bill Coffin to Rachel Corrie to Zyahna Brayant—to us. With trembling voices, we join the throng, lamenting acts of genocide, unjust war, systemic racism, and more. We call the world to the better way of love. We do our part, pay the price, and hope for change.

Resources

The Rachel Corrie Foundation for Peace and Justice. “Rachel Corrie” and “Projects.” Accessed online at https://rachelcorriefoundation.org/

Robert Shetterly. “Rachel Corrie” in Americans Who Tell The Truth. Accessed online at https://americanswhotellthetruth.org/portraits/rachel-corrie/

Robert Shetterly. “William Sloane Coffin” in Americans Who Tell The Truth. Accessed online at https://americanswhotellthetruth.org/portraits/william-sloane-coffin/

Robert Shetterly. “Zyahna Bryant” in Americans Who Tell The Truth. Accessed online at https://americanswhotellthetruth.org/portraits/zyahna-bryant/

Zyahna Bryant. “Zy Bryant Official: More of the movement, less of myself.” Accessed online at https://zybryant.com/

Rupert Cornwell. “The Rev William Sloane Coffin: Radical priest and rights activist” in The Independent, April 14, 2006. Accessed online at https://www.independent.co.uk/news/obituaries/the-rev-william-sloane-coffin-6103769.html

Matthew Skinner. “Commentary on Mark 12:1-12” in Craft of Preaching: Preaching Series, Jan. 22, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching-series/sermon-series-mark-121-12-parable-of-the-wicked-tenants

Spalding, Richard E. “Pastoral Perspective on Matthew 21:33-46” in Feasting on the Word, Year A, vol. 4. Louisville: Westminster john Knox Press, 2011.

McMickle, Marvin A. “Homiletical Perspective on Matthew 21:33-46” in Feasting on the Word, Year A, vol. 4. Louisville: Westminster john Knox Press, 2011.

Mark 12:1-12

12 Then he began to speak to them in parables. “A man planted a vineyard, put a fence around it, dug a pit for the winepress, and built a watchtower; then he leased it to tenants and went away. 2 When the season came, he sent a slave to the tenants to collect from them his share of the produce of the vineyard. 3 But they seized him and beat him and sent him away empty-handed. 4 And again he sent another slave to them; this one they beat over the head and insulted. 5 Then he sent another, and that one they killed. And so it was with many others; some they beat, and others they killed. 6 He had still one other, a beloved son. Finally he sent him to them, saying, ‘They will respect my son.’ 7 But those tenants said to one another, ‘This is the heir; come, let us kill him, and the inheritance will be ours.’ 8 So they seized him, killed him, and threw him out of the vineyard. 9 What then will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and destroy the tenants and give the vineyard to others. 10 Have you not read this scripture:

‘The stone that the builders rejected
    has become the cornerstone;
11 this was the Lord’s doing,
    and it is amazing in our eyes’?”

12 When they realized that he had told this parable against them, they wanted to arrest him, but they feared the crowd. So they left him and went away.

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The Hard Road

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Sabbath Day Thoughts–Mark 9:30-37

Who is the greatest?

If we are talking about nations, we might argue that the greatest country has the strongest economy – a chicken in every pot, a job for every worker, abundance beyond imagining.  Or, it could be the land with the most powerful military: expertly trained troops, cutting edge technology, firepower that inspires shock and awe.  Or, it could be the nation with the best quality of life – top healthcare, best schools, least poverty, and earliest retirement.

When it comes to the workplace, we might feel that greatness is found in the biggest paycheck.  Or, it could come down to responsibility—the number of employees we supervise or sites that we manage.  Greatness is associated with climbing the corporate ladder.  We have an inherent sense of workplace hierarchy from the tech billionaire firing rockets into space to the immigrant janitor, emptying the trash after hours.

Our understanding of greatness takes shape from an early age.  Consider our schools.  Greatness is acknowledged in brainy students who earn academic laurels, like National Honor Society, valedictorian, and salutatorian.  Greatness is heralded on the athletic field, where our natural prowess for speed, agility, or teamwork is rewarded.  Some students think that greatness is found in popularity—kids with the coolest circle of friends, best clothes, prettiest faces, and nicest homes are often most admired.

What do we believe makes for greatness?

In our reading from Mark’s gospel, the disciples were challenged to rethink their understanding of greatness.  Jesus and his friends were walking a long way, apart from the crowds.  The Lord used this quiet time to share a second prediction of the betrayal, suffering, and death that would befall him.  Given Jesus’ bleak prophecy, we might expect the disciples to discuss how they could best support, protect, and encourage their friend Jesus.  Or perhaps they would ponder how best to continue Jesus’ message and mission, if the worst should happen.  They could have talked about care for mother Mary, help for the struggling crowds, or healing for all those sick people who depended upon Jesus’ compassion.

But at the day’s end, as they settled into Peter’s home in Capernaum, we learn that the disciples spent the day arguing.  When confronted by Jesus, the twelve grudgingly admitted that they had been squabbling among themselves about who was the greatest. Peter thought he was the best because he had walked on water—at least for a little while.  Andrew thought he might be best because he was a natural evangelist, bringing Philip and Nathaniel and even Peter to the Lord.  James said he was the greatest because he was a natural leader whom others respected.  Judas thought he should take top honors for best managing the money.  On the road that day, there must have been the sort of heated, trash-talking debate that we hear in the locker room or on the line of scrimmage, in the board room or on the playground.

Scientists believe that the desire for status is a fundamental human motive.  A 2015 study by researchers at the University of California Berkeley Haas School of Business found that status is something that all people crave and covet—even if we don’t realize it.  We may not want wealth or a fancy home or an impressive job title, but we all desire respect, some voluntary deference from others, and social value – to know that we matter in the lives of other people.  Status is universally important because it influences how people think and behave.  It can even effect how we feel.  Indeed, when we perceive that our status among peers, work, or community is low, we suffer.  Low status impacts our health, making us more prone to depression, anxiety, and cardiovascular disease.

In the first century world of the Roman Empire, Caesar was the greatest.  Members of the imperial family and the Roman senate, as well as those who enjoyed their patronage, had high status.  Roman citizens had higher status and greater legal protections than residents of vassal nations, like Israel.  At the bottom of the social ladder were menial slaves and children.  Within Greco-Roman society, unwanted children could be abandoned at birth at the discretion of their father.  Even within Hebrew society, children had no status apart from the Beth Ab, the house of the father, the patriarch.  Outside the protective order of the Beth Ab, a child was completely vulnerable.  That’s why the Torah is littered with commands to care for orphans.

When we consider that first century world, we begin to imagine how shocking and offensive Jesus’ rebuke to the disciples would have been.  First, Jesus says that the greatest of all must be servant of all.  The servant of all was the lowest status slave in a household.  They were typically the youngest slave with the most menial of duties: foot washing, sanitation, caring for animals.  The servant of all didn’t eat until every other slave in the household had been served—by them.  Only then could they eat from the leftovers.  Next, Jesus—a high status rabbi who typically would not have been concerned with children at all—Jesus took a toddler and placed the child in their midst.  This child would have been the lowest status, most vulnerable, and dependent person in the home.  Jesus gave the child a hug and told the twelve that this was who he was.  This was whom they should emulate and welcome.  Can we imagine the shocked silence in that room?

It’s a tough teaching that flies in the face of our fundamental human desire for status.  It’s hard to even think of a comparable metaphor in today’s world.  Perhaps, Jesus would call us to be like migrant farm workers, spending long hours in backbreaking labor for low wages to feed America.  Perhaps Jesus would call us to be like the vulnerable children caught up in the foster care system without a permanent home or consistent guardian or a legal voice in decisions that profoundly affect our lives.  Whatever our notions about status may be, Jesus wants to turn them upside down.  Jesus wants to thoroughly reorient us.

Karoline Lewis, who teaches at Luther Seminary in Minneapolis, teaches that we begin to understand what Jesus is trying to say when we consider what God has done.  The immortal, omniscient, inscrutable, unknowable great God of the multiverse chose to be mortal, to know the finitude and the frailty of flesh.  That downward path continued as Jesus—God made flesh—concerned himself with the least of these, the low-status people of his time.  He sought the lost sheep of Israel, forgave sinners, touched those who were unclean, welcomed scoundrels, taught women, and healed Gentile outsiders.  It got worse: betrayal, prison, a kangaroo court, torture, public humiliation, and a brutal excruciating death that was reserved for the lowest status residents of the empire.  God gave us the ultimate object lesson in downward mobility.  Think about it.

It is a hard and holy road.  It makes no sense whatsoever until we affirm what those earliest Christians knew about Jesus, knew about God.  God is love.  God is agape, the choice to love others and act always in their best interest, without counting the personal cost.  Agape is the choice to love whether or not the object of our love is lovable or worthy.  It is a choice to love, regardless of status.  Agape prompted God to become flesh in Jesus.  In agape, Jesus poured out his life with kindness and caring, healing and justice.  In agape, Jesus chose the cross for the redemption of status-seeking disciples like Peter, Andrew, and James, for status-seeking disciples like us.

In today’s tough teaching, Jesus dares to hope that there will be others to follow him on that hard road of downward mobility.  He opens a window on a world that can be ours, a world where greatness is found in love that serves, honors, and sacrifices.  Jesus challenges us to envision a world where we are willing to be weak, vulnerable, and humble for others’ sake.  It is a world where our innate desire for status is subverted, where the greatest among us are not the folks with political power, the biggest bank accounts, or the most followers on social media.  The greatest of all love the most.  It is world where we can all be great.

As I finish up my message, I’d like to invite you to imagine the world that Jesus would have us make, where greatness is found in vulnerability and self-giving love.  In Jesus’s world, the Olympic games honor those who care the most.  The gold medals this summer went out to all the nurses, doctors, respiratory therapists, and caregivers who have been on the frontlines of the COVID crisis.  In Jesus’s world, the billionaires aren’t firing rockets into space; instead, they are vying to ensure that the world’s children have safe clean drinking water, enough food, and an education.  In Jesus’s world, reality television doesn’t pit contestants against one another for survival on a desert island.  Rather, competitors go toe-to-toe to see who can be kindest, who can do the most good, who can make the biggest positive difference in their hometown.  In Jesus’s world, every child is honored and everyone has status, not because they are intelligent, athletic, or popular, but because they are children of a God who loves them enough to die for them.

It’s a good world.  It’s the greatest.  Let’s go forth to make it so.  Amen.

Resources:

Lewis, Karoline.  “The Greatest” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 17, 2018.  Accessed online at workingpreacher.com.

Lose, David. “A Different Kind of Greatness” in Dear Partner in Preaching, Sept. 2018.  Accessed online at http://www.davidlose.net/

Moore-Keish, Martha L. “Theological Perspective on Mark 9:30-37” in Feasting on the Word, Louisville: Westminister John Knox Press, 2009.

Ringe, Sharon H. “Exegetical Perspective on Mark 9:30-37” in Feasting on the Word, Louisville: Westminister John Knox Press, 2009.

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