What the Lord Needs

March 29, 2026 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “What the Lord Needs” Matthew 21:1-11

Disciples have been seeking to discern what the Lord needs for centuries. It started with those four fishermen—Peter, Andrew, James, and John. There they were, tending their nets on the shore of Galilee when Jesus came along with his invitation, “Follow me.” According to Matthew’s gospel, they immediately discerned that what was needed was some radical obedience. They left their nets and old Zebedee behind and followed Jesus, all the way from Capernaum to that first Palm Sunday parade in Jerusalem.

Born in 1875, Albert Schweitzer hailed from that German-speaking area of France—Alsace Lorraine. He was a pastor’s kid and a prodigious talent from an early age. He was a remarkable musician, skilled in both playing and building pipe organs. He was also an outstanding student, earning doctorates in both theology and philosophy. It looked like Schweitzer would follow in his father’s footsteps in Alsace, but in 1904, he saw a pamphlet from a missionary society, seeking clergy to serve in Africa. This, Schweizer perceived, was what the Lord needed of him.

Not unlike the late Dr. Schweitzer, Tyler and Rochelle Holm are contemporary mission workers. Their calling to Africa began as church members, participating in short-term mission trips to the Synod of Livingstonia, Malawi. There, where one minister might serve 6,000 congregants, Tyler saw a church deeply in need of pastors. Rochelle saw the desperate need for clean water and improved sanitation. They wondered, could our short-term commitment become a long-term one? This, they concluded, was what the Lord needed of them.

The Lord would need many things during that Holy Week in Jerusalem. The first order of business was a donkey, a Jenny with a colt in tow would fulfill his plans perfectly. In his entrance to the holy city, Jesus wanted to send a message about the kind of king he was and the kingdom he represented. Jesus would embody the messianic hopes of the Prophet Zechariah, who envisioned God’s king riding into Jerusalem astride a donkey to bring an end to war and establish peace for the nations. On Palm Sunday, Jesus astride a donkey was the Prince of Peace, who would lead the people in paths of peace.

Jesus needed two disciples to go get the donkey and colt. We can imagine that request didn’t go over well. A donkey was a valued piece of property, needed for transport and farmwork. This donkey had a dependent colt, a youngster still in need of mother’s milk. I imagine there was hesitancy and shuffling off feet, some careful rehearsing of what would be said to the donkey’s owner when they came to collect it. “Bring me the donkey,” that was what the Lord needed of them. The donkey’s owner, perhaps knowing Jesus or sensing a leading of the Holy Spirit, complied with their request. The rest was history.

There were other things that Jesus needed that week. Most of those needs would go unmet. Jesus needed the insiders who controlled the temple to recognize his authority and welcome his teachings, but they rejected and planned to arrest him. Jesus needed the loyalty of Judas, but he would sell his rabbi for thirty pieces of silver. Jesus would need his inner circle of Peter, James, and John to watch and pray with him in the garden of Gethsemane, but they slept. Jesus would need his disciples to stand with him in peace when the guards came to arrest him, but some would resort to violence and all would run away. Jesus needed the Sanhedrin to rule with justice, but they chose to condemn him on trumped up charges in a midnight, kangaroo court. Jesus would need Pilate to fear God more than the emperor, but the procurator sent him to the cross.

Indeed, the only ones who provided what Jesus needed that week were the ones with the least power to do anything. Mary of Bethany anointed him in anticipation of his coming death. The women keened and grieved at the cross as the crowds taunted and the soldiers gambled for Jesus’ clothes. A dying criminal acknowledged Jesus’ kingdom, spoke in his defense, and accompanied the Lord in suffering and death. Oh, Jesus, to need so much and to be given so little. It breaks our hearts, as it must have broken yours.

Dorothee Soelle was a German theologian and poet, who taught for a decade at Union Theological Seminary in NYC. Soelle came of age during World War II and was deeply scarred by her experience of war and the inhumanity of the Holocaust. Her family sheltered in their home the Jewish mother of one of Dorothee’s classmates, yet her brother was killed while fighting for Germany on the eastern front. Dorothee developed a radical theology of devotion to God and resistance to evil in the world. She taught that when disciples cultivate a rich spiritual life, steeped in prayer and reflection, we are awakened to God’s will for the world. In other words, it is our spiritual life, our meditation upon the life of Christ, that informs us, here and now, about what Jesus needs.

According to Soelle, Jesus still needs us. In the life of the Spirit, we are pulled into engagement with all that opposes the Kingdom of God. For Soelle, this meant opposing earlier wars in the Middle East, standing with oppressed women, minorities, and children; standing against growing anti-immigrant sentiment; and naming what she called the “New Fascism”—the rise of authoritarian states. Against the advent of these evils, disciples are called to partner with God, proclaiming and seeking God’s Kingdom. As we take action, we dare to hope that God can take our efforts and use them for God’s purpose.

Dorothee put it this way in her poem “When He Came.”

“He needs you

that’s all there is to it

without you he’s left hanging

goes up in Dachau’s smoke

is sugar and spice in the baker’s hands

gets revealed in the next stock market crash

he’s consumed and blown away

used up

without you

Help him

that’s what faith is

he can’t bring it about

his kingdom

couldn’t then couldn’t later can’t now

not at any rate without you

and that is his irresistible appeal”

When we step out in response to what Jesus needs, our lives are transformed, even as we seek to nudge this world a little closer to the Kingdom of God. Albert Schweitzer, of course, learned that the missionary society would not send him to Africa as a pastor. He was too radical. Instead, he went back to school and studied medicine while his wife Helene trained as a nurse. They knew the Lord needed them. In 1913, they arrived at the mission station of Andende near Lambaréné. Their first “surgery” was set up in a former chicken coop. As the days passed, more and more men, women, and children came for treatment. Schweitzer fundraised across Europe and the United States to build the state-of-the-art Lambaréné Hospital, which is still operating in Gabon. He was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1952.

Tyler and Rochelle Holm married in 2006 and went to Malawi as mission workers in 2007. Tyler puts his training as a pastor and scholar to work by teaching in the seminary of the University of Livingstonia. What began under Tyler’s leadership as a certificate program to equip lay people to lead in churches he has developed into a Master’s degree program. He is currently training about 200 Malawians to pastor churches desperately in need of leadership. Rochelle Holm uses her graduate training in public health to work in managing the University of Mzuzu’s Water and Sanitation Centre of Excellence. She is passionate about providing clean water and sanitation in northern Malawi and beyond, especially in tending to the particular needs of those who live with disabilities. A few years into their itinerancy, the Holms responded to the ubiquitous needs of Malawi’s many orphans by adopting their daughter Mphatso. Tyler and Rochele emphasize that their engagement in Malawi is driven by their sense of Christ’s calling. The Lord needs them.

The theologian and poet Dorothee Soelle died suddenly in 2004. Yet more than two decades later, her theology of piety and resistance speaks powerfully to a world that is once again embroiled in war in the Middle East, the oppression of vulnerable people, the surge in anti-immigrant hate, and the rise of authoritarian states. The Prince of Peace still longs to lead us in paths of peace, just as he did on that first Palm Sunday. Pray hard, Dorothee might counsel us. Pray hard, listen, and act. The Lord needs us.

Resources

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

Bill Tesch. “Matthew 21:1–11 – Jesus’s Triumphal Entry” in Preaching Series, Jan. 22, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching-series/palm-sunday-jesuss-triumphal-entry-matthews-version

Michael Kirby. “Pastor Perspective on Matthew 21:1-11” in Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew, vol. 2. Louisville: WJKP, 2013.

Nancy Hawkins. “Dorothee Soelle: Radical Christian, Mystic in Our Midst” in The Way, 44/3 (July 2005), 85-96.

Alois Prinz. “Albert Schweitzer: out of reverence for life” in Deutschland, Aug. 27, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.deutschland.de/en/topic/life/albert-schweitzer-nobel-laureate-gabon

Presbyterian Mission Agency. “Partner with Presbyterian World Mission in Malawi.” Accessed online at https://pma.pcusa.org/site_media/media/uploads/worldmission/malawi_flier_030716.pdf

–. “Whitworth M.A. in Theology alumnus serves in Malawi, Africa” in Whitworth University News, Oct. 17, 2013. Accessed online at https://news.whitworth.edu/2013/10/whitworth-ma-in-theology-alumnus-serves.html

Matthew 21:1-11

21 When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, ²saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. ³If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” ⁴This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet:

⁵“Tell the daughter of Zion,
Look, your king is coming to you,
humble and mounted on a donkey,
and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

⁶The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; ⁷they brought the donkey and the colt and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. ⁸A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. ⁹The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,

“Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

¹⁰When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” ¹¹The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”

The New Commandment

March 15, 2026 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

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/

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. ²The devil had already decided^[a] that Judas son of Simon Iscariot would betray Jesus. And during supper ³Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands and that he had come from God and was going to God, ⁴got up from supper, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. ⁵Then 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. ⁶He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” ⁷Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” ⁸Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” ⁹Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!”

³¹When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. ³²If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. ³³Little 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.’ ³⁴I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. ³⁵By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Hidden Glory

February 15, 2026 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Hidden Glory” Matthew 17:1-9

Have you seen the glory of Jesus lately?

In August 2012, visitors to Belfast City Cemetery were surprised to see an image resembling the face of Jesus on a tree stump. City Council workers had been out earlier in the year to trim trees in the western part of the overgrown cemetery. They cut a rogue tree sprouting by the tombstone of Rebecca Steven, who died in 1916. The stump left behind bears an uncanny resemblance to a bearded man, believed to be Jesus.

A number of people claim to have seen Jesus in images of the Cone Nebula, snapped by the Hubble Space Telescope. The nebula, found in the arm of Orion, resembles Jesus, cradling the lost sheep. The lamb rests at peace in his savior’s arms, Jesus’ hand is raised in blessing, and for those with the eyes of faith, the Cone Nebula is now known as the Jesus Christ Nebula.

In March 2015, a landslide in Colombia left behind an image of Jesus etched into a hill. The site was soon thronged by pilgrims. Local folks made a quick buck, charging worshipers for a glimpse of the Messiah. The phenomenon proved so popular that police had to be brought in to manage the crowds.

That Jesus. You never know where his glory is going to turn up next.

The disciples, of course, were up close and personal with Jesus all the time. They knew every line on his face and every gesture that his hands could make. They knew the way his eyes twinkled when he teased or smiled. They knew the way his brow creased when he was listening intently to someone’s story. But on the mountaintop that day, Peter, James, and John realized that maybe they had never really seen Jesus before, not like that. Jesus was suffused with light. God’s glory rippled, shone, and danced upon him and within him. The man was suffused with glory, a holy fire that burned but did not consume.

The disciples, who had chosen to follow Jesus for his visionary teaching, suddenly and clearly saw that Jesus was not so much the visionary as he was the vision. Flanked as Jesus was by heroes in the faith Moses and Elijah, the disciples realized that the same holy power that had been at work in them was at work in Jesus. God’s glory, right there in front of them, was still at work for the healing and redemption of the world. Gob smacked with wonder, Peter, James, and John rubbed their eyes and pondered how they had never noticed this before. Just in case the disciples didn’t get what was being revealed to them, God gave a shout from the heavens, “This is my Son, the Beloved; he pleases me so. Listen to him!”

The moment passed, just as quickly as it came. Moses and Elijah vanished. The heavenly light disappeared. The voice of God fell silent. All that was left was Jesus, that familiar face looking concerned, those caring hands reaching out, offering comfort. All that was left was Jesus, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” As the disciples picked up their walking sticks and shouldered their backpacks, they must have struggled with the paradox that Jesus could be both suffused in holy glory and thoroughly grounded and earthy and real, like them. Somehow, God’s glory shone on the mountaintop and walked the earthly valley, in carpenter turned rabbi from Nazareth who loved to laugh and teach and eat and help and heal.

They didn’t talk about it, but years later, Peter would remember that moment and say, “Jesus received honor and glory from God the Father when that voice was conveyed to him by the Majestic Glory, saying, ‘This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’ We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain. . . You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts” (2 Peter 1:16-19).

We tend to scoff at the holy in the ordinary: the face of Jesus in a Belfast cemetery tree stump, the good shepherd in a nebula, the Messiah in a South American landslide. But Jesus had no trouble understanding that we live in a world that is infused with the holy. God’s glory appears in unlikely places, at unexpected times, and calls us to respond. This hidden glory comes to us in ways that can feel distinctly ordinary and even positively uncomfortable. Indeed, in Jesus’ final public teaching, recorded in Matthew 25, the Lord told his followers that even though he would soon be leaving them, he would still see them daily. Jesus would come in the guise of his little brothers and sisters, the needy, hungry, lonely, sick, imprisoned, and vulnerable people of our world (Matthew 25:31-46).

Leo Tolstoy told the story of a poor, widowed shoemaker Martin Aveditch. One night, Martin heard a holy voice as he slept, saying that on the very next day the Lord would come to visit. The excited shoemaker rose early, ready to welcome the Lord, watching the world from the window of his basement workshop. But all he saw was his neighbor Stepanich, shoveling snow. Matin invited Stepanich in, fed him, and shared about his vision and love for Jesus. Later after Stepanich had left, Martin saw a young mother, cradling a baby, neither dressed for the winter cold. “Come in,” Martin urged the young woman. He fed her, gave her money, and wrapped mother and child in warm clothes that had belonged to his late wife. He told them of his love for Jesus. Late in the day after his encounter with mother and child, Martin saw something distressing through his window. A young boy tried to steal an apple, dropped by an older woman. The woman was scolding and holding the boy by the hair. The child was screaming. Martin rushed into the street. With love and compassion, he implored the woman to forgive and the child to feel remorse and be forgiven. The fight ended, the boy carried the old woman’s bag, and the two, left arm in arm. That night, Martin the shoemaker was disappointed. All day, he had watched for the Lord, but he hadn’t come. A voice called from the shadows of the shoemaker’s basement. “Martin did you recognize me?” And out of the shadow stepped visions of his neighbor Stepanich, the poor woman with the baby, and the older woman and small boy. The glory of Christ had been hidden in the ordinary.

The glory of Christ is always near, hidden in plain sight, revealed in those who need us most. The late Mother Teresa was notorious for taking well-intended first world volunteers out into the slums of Calcutta. Pointing to a desperately ill beggar, left to die in the gutter, she would say, “The body of Christ for you.” A worker at a soup kitchen a mile and a half from the White House prepares for her weekly service with the prayer, “Lord, we know that you’ll be coming down the line today, so, Lord, help us to treat you well, help us to treat you well.” We like to imagine Jesus on the mountaintop, his glory plain to see. Can we see the glory that hides where help is needed most?

Have you seen the glory of Jesus lately? The Apostle Paul audaciously taught that through our faith, Christ makes a home in our hearts. The Christ within us equips us to follow him in the way of self-giving love. On a good day, Christ may even be seen and known through us in a world that is very much in need of his healing help. Again, Mother Teresa famously taught that Christ has no arms or legs or body now but ours. Whether or not the world sees that glory is up to us—it’s a constant challenge, a constant choice.

Farmer, poet, and activist Wendell Berry described the tension presented by our encounters with vulnerable people in one of my favorite poems, “The Guest.”

“Washed into the doorway

by the wake of traffic,

he wears humanity

like a third-hand shirt

-blackened with enough of

Manhattan’s dirt to sprout

a tree, or poison one.

His empty hand has led him

where he has come to.

Our differences claim us.

He holds out his hand,

in need of all that’s mine.

And so we’re joined, as deep

as son and father. His life

is offered me to choose.

Shall I begin servitude to

him? Let this cup pass.

Who am I? But charity must

suppose, knowing better,

that this is a man fallen

among thieves, or come

to this strait by no fault

-that our difference

is not a judgment,

though I can afford to eat

and am made his judge.

I am, I nearly believe,

the Samaritan who fell

into the ambush of his heart

on the way to another place.

My stranger waits, his hand

held out like something to read,

as though its emptiness

is an accomplishment.

I give him a smoke and the price

of a meal, no more

-not sufficient kindness

or believable sham.

I paid him to remain strange

to my threshold and table,

to permit me to forget him-

knowing I won’t. He’s the guest

of my knowing, though not asked.”

Berry’s poem begs the question, “Will the hidden glory of Jesus shine forth through us to a world in need?”

Have we seen the glory of Jesus lately? Atop Mt. Tabor with the disciples.

Have we seen the glory of Jesus lately? In a Belfast Cemetery, the Cone Nebula, a Colombian landslide.

Have we seen the glory of Jesus lately? In line at the food pantry, buying lottery tickets at Stewarts, walking slushy sidewalks without any socks.

Have we seen the glory of Jesus lately? In those who would be his disciples, seated next to us in the pews, looking back at us from the bathroom mirror?

Resources:

Eugene Park. “Commentary on Matthew 17:1-9” in Preaching this Week, Feb. 15, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/transfiguration-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-171-9-7

Ronald J. Allen. “Commentary on Matthew 17:1-9” in Preaching this Week, Feb. 19, 2023. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/transfiguration-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-171-9-6

David Lose. “Commentary on Matthew 17:1-9” in Preaching this Week, March 6, 2011. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/transfiguration-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-171-9

“Belfast City Cemetery Phenomenon” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=naT41gWoG8Q

“The Cone Nebula ~ Orion’s Jesus Nebula Neighbor” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WK0zdh-0-O0

Tessa Berenson Rogers. “Did the ‘Face of Jesus’ Appear in a Colombian Rockslide?” in Time, March 24, 2015. https://time.com/3755832/jesus-face-columbia/

Lyof Tolstoi. Where Love Is, There God Is Also. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company Publishers, 1887. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/38616/38616-h/38616-h.htm

Wendell Berry. “The Guest” in Collected Poems, 1957-1982. North Point Press, 1984.

Matthew 17:1-9

17 Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. ²And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became bright as light. ³Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. ⁴Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will set up three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” ⁵While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” ⁶When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. ⁷But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” ⁸And when they raised their eyes, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone. ⁹As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

Come and See

January 18, 2026 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Come and See” John 1:35-42

Let me tell you a story.

The news swam up the river, all the way from Bethany beyond the Jordan. A prophet came, striding out of the wilderness, his beard grown long, his hair a tangle of knots. His eyes burned and his voice boomed above the muddy waters. He stood knee deep in the Jordan with mixed hope and judgment. The Messiah was coming he promised, with fire and the Holy Spirit. And the urgency of his voice and the conviction of his message had us dreaming of change, of a world free of the Romans and Herod and tax collectors.

So, we, like almost everyone who cared about such things in those days, went to hear him. We paid the hired men to run our boats. We kissed our wives and walked out of the green Galilee and down into the red and brown hills of the wilderness, where the Jordan narrows to a silvery sliver bordered by reeds, north of the Salt Sea. We were baptized by John, and we lingered, listening day after day to his words, so sharp and bold.

When he arrived, we thought he didn’t look like a Messiah, at least no Messiah that we had ever imagined. John embraced him like a kinsman, and the two talked with heads close together, like brothers or children sharing a secret or revolutionaries. As he turned to leave, John said to us, “Behold the lamb of God!” We looked with the greatest of doubts from John to this stranger, who even now was vanishing into the crowd. Then, John nodded at us and shooed us away with a wave of his hand, as if to say, “What are you waiting for?” We looked at one another and shrugged. It couldn’t hurt to look.

We followed at a distance. We noticed that he looked a lot like one of us. He had the strong shoulders of a worker. He wore homespun linen. His face was tanned by the sun. His forearms rippled with muscles that spoke of long years of work, perhaps in a quarry or as a builder. When we edged closer, we could hear that he was humming a folksong.

Beyond the crowd that pressed in around John on the banks of the Jordan, a woman stopped him. She held a listless infant in her arms. Its head lolled. Its eyes were rolling and half-opened. Its face had an unnatural paleness. “Rabbi, Rabbi!” She haled him with a quavering voice. She held her infant out to him like a rag doll. He stopped and took the child, cradling it against his chest. He bounced and swayed from side to side, as a mother soothing a colicky infant would, and he bent his head to whisper into the little one’s ear. Then, he handed the child back and continued his walk.

As we followed him, we heard a disturbance behind us. It was the mother. “Healed” she called out. “My baby is healed.” We turned to see her holding out her child and wondered if it was, in fact, the same baby. Now, its eyes were bright and neck was strong. Within its swaddling clothes, little legs were kicking, as if the infant, too, wanted to join us in following the rabbi.

When we turned back to follow, the rabbi was right behind us. We jumped in alarm, feeling like we had been caught. He looked us over with an appraising gaze, taking our measure, and asked, “What are you looking for?”

What were we looking for? Certainly, we were looking for the Messiah, but these are not words to be lightly spoken; these are words that can make you enemies; these are words that can land you in jail or on a cross. “Rabbi,” we deflected with reddened faces, “Where are you staying?” After all, getting a good look at his shul and his people might be a good idea. He smiled and waved us to walk with him, “Come and see.”

It was a walk. On the way, sitting in the shade of the well where the herdsmen come at daybreak and sunset to water their sheep and goats, we saw an old man. He was a shepherd, long past his prime. His face was as leathery and wrinkled as a Medjul date. His eyes had gone milky-blind from a lifetime spent squinting in the wilderness sun. Lying at his side was a sheepdog, almost as weathered and decrepit-looking as his master. The man’s head swung around in our direction at the sound of our footsteps, and he called out a greeting, “Shalom.”

The rabbi squatted down in the dust next to the man. He listened with kindness to a sad story of aging eyes, lost ability, and long days spent in the shadow of the well until the flocks returned, now guided by much younger men. As the shepherd spoke, this rabbi scrabbled his fingers in the dirt, scooping up the dust. Next, he spat into his hand, more than once, and stirred with his index finger to make a fine paste. “Here, brother,” he said to the man, pressing the paste over his blind eyes and tipping his wrinkled face to the sun. “When it dries,” the rabbi said, “Wash.”

My friend and I looked at one another as if this were the craziest thing we had ever heard, but this rabbi was already striding away from the well. We followed, questioning our every step, but when we were a hundred yards off, we heard the dog barking. We turned and shielded our eyes against the sun. There at the well, the dog was capering like a puppy and the old blind man was shaking the water and mud from his eyes. He looked up and around and began to shout, “Alleluia! Alleluia! I, I can see!” We shook our heads and hustled after the rabbi.

What can we say about where the rabbi was staying? It did not have a scriptorium and ritual baths like the Essenes. It didn’t even have the stone columns and cool interior of a synagogue. Honestly, it really wasn’t even a shul. It was a house, a Beth Ab, the sprawling compound of an extended family of peasants, built around a central courtyard. A shout of welcome summoned the entire household. They surrounded the rabbi, greeting him with kisses and hugs that spoke of great love. As he took a seat in the shade beneath a canopy of palm fronds, we were offered dippers of cool water and fresh bread slathered with yogurt cheese and honey.

A young boy in tears stood before the rabbi and extended his cupped hands. There lay a sparrow, its soft and still cloud of feathers spoke of death. The rabbi took the bird into his hands, held it to his mouth, and puffed the smallest of breaths. When he opened his hands, the bird flew off. This was greeted with gasps of surprise and peals of laughter.

What can I say about his teaching? He didn’t unroll scrolls of the Torah and drone on, like the scribes. He didn’t cite the traditions of the elders, like the Pharisees. He didn’t hold forth, like our old rabbi back in Capernaum. He didn’t address only the men. Women and children, too, gathered at his feet and waited for his words. He told stories, plucking from the world around us holy truths. The birds of the air became a sign of our great worth in God’s sight. A wedding feast became the heavenly kingdom. Seed sown by a farmer reminded us that our ability to hear God’s word is always up to us. My mind came alive and a fire burned in my heart. I wanted him to never stop speaking because every word was somehow drawing me deeper into the mystery of God.

The sun was arcing toward the west when he stood and stretched. The women went off to check their cookpots. The men watered and milked their flocks. The children began to play hide and seek. Our new rabbi looked at us from across the courtyard. He scanned the sky and sniffed the wind, apprising the weather. “Tomorrow, we go north,” he called, “I hear there is a wedding in Cana.” He waved us off, as if knowing that we would soon be back.

As we left the compound, my friend and I looked at one another. His eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed with the same fire that flamed within me. We did not say it, but we shared one thought. At last, he had come. This was God’s Messiah. If we hurried, we could return to the Jordan, tell our friends, pack our gear, and be back by sunrise. We hiked up our robes and ran with the sun at our backs and our shadows racing before us.

John 1:35-42

35 The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, 36 and as he watched Jesus walk by he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” 37 The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. 38 When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” 39 He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. 40 One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. 41 He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). 42 He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).

Building Projects

September 7, 2025 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

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

Luke 14:25-32

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

Blessing or Woe?

February 16, 2025 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Blessing or Woe?” Luke 6:17-26

Wednesday afternoons are busy at Baldwin House. That’s when our neighbors with more month than money head to Grace Pantry. The pantry provides them with non-food necessities free of charge, items that we find essential that can’t be purchased with SNAP benefits. At Grace Pantry, new Moms pick up diapers and baby wipes. Other folks may need shampoo, toothpaste, or bath soap. Everyone needs toilet paper and paper towels. The volunteers at Grace Pantry report that both demand and costs have been on the rise, due to inflation, rent increases, and an economic recovery that hasn’t truly trickled down to the poor.

Two days a week, the Clint McCoy Feeding Center in Mzuzu, Malawi serves eighty local children a warm meal, meeting the nutritional need of kids who are malnourished. Lengthy droughts, followed by flooding rains, have caused food shortages in Malawi, and the AIDS epidemic has created a generation of orphans whose needs are too much for local villages. The feeding center provides a modest meal of fortified porridge and tea to youngsters who would otherwise not eat that day. As the meal is shared, the center rings with the laughter and joy of happy young voices. They sing songs, play simple games, and eat their fill.

Marge likes Tuesdays best because that’s the day her Meals on Wheels volunteer comes to visit. Marge isn’t hungry, but after her husband died, she stopped cooking. It’s a lot of work and it hardly seems worthwhile cooking for just one. Marge sits by the window alone and waits. She turns down the tv because she wants to be sure she hears the knock. A kind-hearted volunteer arrives with a big smile and takes time to share some sweet chitchat about the weather, family, and community news. When Marge tucks in to her dinner later, she is thankful for the food and even more so for her Meals on Wheels friend.

In our gospel lesson, Jesus descended the mountain and waded into the crowd that awaited him on the plain. There, he intentionally entered into the need and suffering of his world with healing and bold words of comfort. Jesus blessed the poor, hungry, grieving, and hated people of the community. In a first century world where affliction was typically attributed to sinfulness or a sign of affliction by God, Jesus’ words must have left the disciples scratching their heads. But for those who suffered, Jesus’ words were an assurance that God saw them, loved them, and longed for them to thrive.

If Jesus’ words of blessing stunned his followers, then his words of woe might have made them wonder what in the world Jesus was talking about. In those days, to be rich, filled with good things, joyful, and well-respected was a blessing not a woe. Your abundance and status were sure signs of a healthy relationship with God and a guarantee that you deserved every accolade that came your way. I suspect that we don’t like Jesus’ woes any more than his disciples did. After all, we may not be rich, but even the poorest people among us are comfortable and well-fed. We have plenty to laugh about. We can congratulate ourselves on our accomplishments and thank God for life’s sweetness. Where’s the harm in that?

In his paraphrase of the Bible, The Message, the late Rev. Dr. Eugene Peterson translated Jesus’ woes like this:

“It’s trouble ahead if you think you have it made. What you have is all you’ll ever get.

And it’s trouble ahead if you’re satisfied with yourself. Your self will not satisfy you for long.

And it’s trouble ahead if you think life’s all fun and games. There’s suffering to be met, and you’re going to meet it.

There’s trouble ahead when you live only for the approval of others, saying what flatters them, doing what indulges them. Popularity contests are not truth contests—look how many scoundrel preachers were approved by your ancestors! Your task is to be true, not popular.”

The trouble with our affluence, the trouble with our plenty, the trouble with our non-stop laughter, the trouble with our playing for the court of public opinion is that we can lose all perspective. Instead of acknowledging our utter dependence upon God, we trust in our bank accounts, our stockpile of possessions, and all that good press we get. Woe to us when we believe money or things can solve all our problems. Woe to us when we laugh while the world wails. Woe to us when we find ourselves saying and doing unconscionable things to please the court of public opinion.

Historian and Bible scholar Justo Gonzalez read Jesus’ Sermon on the Plain and said, this is the “hard-hitting gospel.” This is the gospel that 2,000 years later still rings out as an urgent wake-up call. This is the gospel that makes us uncomfortable and calls us to change our ways if we wish to truly be part of God’s Kingdom. When Jesus comes to the plain, he levels with us, delivering a sucker punch that undermines everything that we think is right with the world.

Throughout his ministry, Jesus made the assurance of God’s love and presence a reality for those who were poor, hungry, grieving, and hated. From providing free healthcare to all comers to feeding the 5,000 with a marvelous multiplication of bread and fish, from restoring a widow’s only son to life to welcoming tax collectors, lepers, and demoniacs, Jesus was all about blessing the vulnerable people of his day. In those intentional actions, in that three-year object lesson of ministry, Jesus hoped that his disciples would begin to understand the beautiful topsy-turvy world that he longed to forge. Jesus believed we could make on earth a world that anticipates God’s Kingdom where blessing abounds for those who suffer and everybody is a neighbor, deserving of our care, time, love, and respect.

The disciples understood the values that Jesus hoped to impart in his blessings and woes. That’s why they chose to enter into the suffering of their world. We shouldn’t forget that the first office of the church—the role of deacon—was created to feed hungry widows. And the Apostle Paul solicited generous donations from his Gentile churches to feed the victims of famine in Judea. And Peter worked a miracle of resurrection, raising the Disciple Dorcas, so that she could resume her love and care for the impoverished widows of Joppa. In countless acts of care and generosity, those first Christians put God first and used the resources and authority at their disposal to be a blessing to those who needed it most.

More than any other gospel, Luke warns us of the dangers of our relative affluence, highlighting hard-hitting teachings from Jesus like the Sermon on the Plain. It’s tempting to turn the page and disregard what Jesus had to say, but the Lord had hope for we who have plenty. Jesus trusted that we would know what truly matters most. Jesus hoped we would follow him and those first disciples. We would put our resources to work in His purpose. We would dare to enter into the suffering of others and seek to build that world where everyone gets blessed. Lord, hasten the day.

This year, we will have three special offerings to benefit Grace Pantry, where our neighbors with more month than money pick up essential items, free of charge. In March, we’ll be collecting toothpaste and toothbrushes. In August, we’ll be looking for paper goods: toilet paper, paper towels, and napkins. In November, we’ll ask for donations of socks, which are one of the most sought-after resources at the pantry. Watch for the offering boxes at the side entrance and some Minutes for Mission from Pam Martin. Let’s bless our neighbors.

In May, we’ll remember the Women of Grace, whose ministries support the most vulnerable residents of Malawi, its impoverished widows and orphans. Their diverse efforts serve widows with cook stoves, metal roofs, sanitary outhouses, micro loans for small businesses, and sewing skills and supplies to supplement income. Their diverse efforts also serve orphans with literacy programs, books, and, of course, the Clint McCoy Feeding Cener, where 80 hungry children are fed twice weekly at the cost of about $250-a-month. Let’s bless our neighbors.

Every day, people who are grieving and lonely cross our paths. They live across the street in the DeChantal or up at Will Rogers. They need the skilled nursing of Elderwood or Mercy Care. They wait at home for Meals on Wheels delivery, cherishing the social interaction even more than the food. They are our family members: the aging aunt who never married, the grandpa who never recovered from the death of grandma, the college student who feels far from home. They may even come to church. Let’s open our eyes and bless our neighbors.

When the poor, hungry, grieving, and hated neighbors of our world get blessed, the transformation begins. Wool socks warm cold feet. African orphans rejoice. No one feels alone and unloved. The hard-hitting gospel becomes a call to action. As we dare to care and share and get involved, we remind our vulnerable neighbors that God sees them, loves them, and longs for them to thrive. As blessings abound, this world begins to look like the Kingdom that Jesus would have us serve. May it be so.

Resources

Susan Henrich. “Commentary on Luke 6:17-26” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 13, 2022. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/sixth-sunday-after-epiphany-3/commentary-on-luke-617-26-2

Mary Hinkle Shore. “Commentary on Luke 6:17-26” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 16, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/sixth-sunday-after-epiphany-3/commentary-on-luke-617-26-3

Keith Erickson. Theological Perspective on Luke 6:17-26 in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke. Vol. 1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Thomas Edward Frank. Pastoral Perspective on Luke 6:17-26 in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke. Vol. 1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Luke 6:17-26

¹⁷He came down with them and stood on a level place with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. ¹⁸They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases, and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. ¹⁹And everyone in the crowd was trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them.

Blessings and Woes

²⁰Then he looked up at his disciples and said:

“Blessed are you who are poor,
    for yours is the kingdom of God.
²¹“Blessed are you who are hungry now,
    for you will be filled.
“Blessed are you who weep now,
    for you will laugh.

²²“Blessed are you when people hate you and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you^[a] on account of the Son of Man. ²³Rejoice on that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven, for that is how their ancestors treated the prophets.

²⁴“But woe to you who are rich,
    for you have received your consolation.
²⁵“Woe to you who are full now,
    for you will be hungry.
“Woe to you who are laughing now,
    for you will mourn and weep.

²⁶“Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets.

Unlikely Heroes

November 10, 2024 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Unlikely Heroes” Mark 12:38-44

On December fourth, the eastern New York region of the American Red Cross will hold their “real heroes” celebration. It’s an annual dinner that honors Central and Northern New York residents whose acts of heroism or volunteerism have assisted those in need within their communities. It’s a feel-good evening of fun, food, and fundraising that honors everyday people who do extraordinary things.

This year, the Adult Good Samaritans Hero Award goes to four people who saw a car veer off the road and into a retention pond in the town of Clay. Tom Drumm and Lasaros Milian swam to the submerged car, removed the driver, and brought her to safety. Then, once on shore, Judy Kilpatrick and D. Paul Waltz provided further aid until emergency responders arrived.

The Community Impact Hero Award will go to Syracuse Mayor Ben Walsh. To stem the tide of gun violence in the city, Walsh pledged one million dollars of the city’s budget to meeting the crisis head-on. He created the Mayor’s Office to Reduce Gun Violence. The office has implemented a coordinated strategy to work with residents, law enforcement, and other community stakeholders. The innovative effort includes the Safer Streets initiative, which works directly with gang members to keep them out of trouble.

The Disaster Services Hero Award goes to two women: Melissa Roy and Danielle Martin. They coordinate the Community Schools Program for the City of Rome. Like our local Community Schools Program, Melissa and Danielle work year ‘round with at-risk families to ensure that students are fed, cared for, and successful in school, equipping them to become productive, engaged, and healthy citizens. When an EF4 Tornado tore through Rome on July 17, leaving a swath of destruction through south Rome and into the downtown, Melissa and Danielle worked non-stop alongside the Red Cross to feed the community and distribute much-needed supplies.

These unlikely heroes have shown courage, dedication, and character through their selfless acts to assist their neighbors.

Our gospel lesson this week introduced us to an unlikely hero. Jesus and his followers were in Jerusalem for that fateful, final Passover celebration. While visiting the Temple, the Lord took a break from teaching to do some people watching. Jesus’ friends must have been surprised by what he noticed.

First, Jesus considered some of the wealthiest and most influential people in the Temple courts: the scribes. These experts in the Torah played an important role in the life of Israel. They were highly educated to equip them to interpret the scriptures. They served as judges, rendering justice in Israel’s courts. They were also spiritual leaders, whose authority was passed down in families from generation to generation. Who wouldn’t want to be a scribe—privileged by birth, literate, wealthy, and respected? As they strode through the Temple courts in their costly robes and blessed the people with their flowery prayers, the scribes had the respect and adulation of the pilgrims who had come from across the Roman Empire for the Passover.

Jesus, however, wasn’t impressed. As only he could, Jesus saw beyond the fine clothes and eloquence to the very heart of the scribes, and he didn’t like what he saw. In a patriarchal world where women did not have property or inheritance rights, widows depended on the fairness and generosity of their husband’s heir to provide for them as they aged. In cases of neglect or abuse, a case could be brought before the scribes for justice. Or, in a case where there was no clear heir, property could be held in trust by the scribes, until a minor boy child reached adulthood. Although the scribes were well-versed in the Bible’s imperative to care for their vulnerable neighbors, Jesus saw that these Torah-experts were enriching themselves at the widows’ expense, devouring their houses by taking bribes, making biased rulings, and spending for their own benefit what they held in trust. Jesus’ indictment of the powerful and well-respected scribes would have shocked his listeners.

If the disciples were surprised by Jesus’ scorn for the Scribes, then they would have been even more amazed by his praise for the poor widow at the Temple’s Treasury, outside the Court of the Women. The Mishnah tells us that the treasury consisted of thirteen large metal boxes with an unusual shape, broad at the bottom and very narrow at the top, a bit like an inverted funnel, a shape that ensured that you couldn’t reach a hand down in to take money out. In those days long before paper money, a large gift of coins dropped into the narrow mouth of the treasury made a loud noise as it rattled down to the bottom. A small gift dropped into the treasury made very little sound.

The gift Jesus’ widow made was very, very small. She gave two lepton, two tiny coins, worth 1/64th of the daily wage for a laborer. In today’s economy, where a day laborer earns $14.54 an hour, this woman’s gift was worth $1.82. In the grand scheme of Temple economics, the widow’s gift was practically worthless. Yet, Jesus saw into the widow’s heart and realized that she had made an extraordinary gift. In Greek, the words Jesus used for her offering are holon ton bion autaes, it literally means that she gave “her whole life.” She dedicated her time, her talents, her leptons, all she had and all that she would ever be to God. It was a gesture of radical love and trust, an offering of tremendous gratitude in the midst of loss and grief. She gave her very self to the Lord.

I know it has been a tough week for many of us. Last week, I asked us to remember that, no matter what the outcome of the election would be, half of us would be disappointed. I reminded us that God is with us in the chaos and encouraged us to be gentle with one another. This week, my phone and computer have blown up with calls, texts, emails, and messages from folks, far and wide, who are deeply dismayed. I hear you, especially those who feel that the “scribes” have won the day to the detriment of the “poor widows” of our nation.

On Wednesday, I went to the local Department of Social Services. They facilitate assistance to people in need. I was accompanying an incredibly hardworking neighbor, who provides for a large, extended family. They had lost their SNAP benefits because they worked too much overtime. Sitting in that sterile, institutional office, across the desk from an overworked and under-resourced social worker, I pondered the crumbs that we throw to the poor. I couldn’t help but realize how incredibly privileged I am. I have more education than most people would probably ever want. I own a home. I never worry about whether I can put food on the table, if I have clothes to wear, or if I can repair my used car. I imagine that most of us are like me. Whether we like it or not, our lives, in terms of material resources, bear a closer resemblance to the scribe than they do the poor widow of today’s reading. What a terrible privilege and awesome responsibility that is!

I’ve been thinking about those real heroes, the ones that the Red Cross will honor on December fourth. They don’t fly or have superpowers. They don’t wear red capes and tights. I suspect they are a lot like us—ordinary people who dare to care and respond. Tom, Lasaros, Judy, and Paul saw someone in trouble and sprang into action. Ben Walsh had the gumption to seek to stem the tide of gun violence in his city. Melissa and Danielle’s hearts were touched by neighbors in crisis, and they walked into the breach left by the tornado with food and support.

If the 2024 election and the deep divides in our nation call us to anything, it is to do as much good as we can right where we are, to use the privilege, power, or authority entrusted to us to make a positive, caring, righteous difference in our world. We can be unlikely heroes, like the widow, like those Red Cross honorees. We can give holon ton bion autaes, our whole lives, to the Lord. We can make a difference in the lives of our neighbors, especially those who do not benefit from the advantages that are ours. Are you with me?

When Jesus called his friends over to celebrate the poor widow, I’m sure he was thinking of another gift, a heroic gift, soon to be made. The widow’s gift anticipated the offering that the Jesus himself would make. Within days, Jesus would be arrested and unjustly tried, tortured and condemned to death. Within days, the beaten and bloody Jesus would be marched through the streets of Jerusalem to his execution. Within days, he would hang on the cross, flanked by criminals, jeered at by spectators. Within days, Jesus would give his very life—holon ton bion autaes—for the redemption of our world.

May we dare to be unlikely heroes.

Resources

Jon Moss. “Syracuse anti-violence program making progress, more needs to be done, officials say” in Syracuse.com, June 5, 2024. Accessed online at Syracuse anti-violence program making progress, more needs to be done, officials say – syracuse.com

Sean I. Mills. “Worst tornado in 40 years to hit Oneida County; survey team outlines path, destruction” in Daily Sentinel, July 18, 2024. Worst tornado in 40 years to hit Oneida County; survey team outlines path, destruction | News | romesentinel.com

Micah D. Kiel. “Commentary on Mark 12:38-44” in Preaching This Week, Nov. 11, 2012. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 12:38-44 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Henry Langknecht. “Commentary on Mark 12:38-44” in Preaching This Week, Nov. 8, 2009. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 12:38-44 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Karoline Lewis. “Whole Life Living” in Dear Working Preacher, Nov. 1, 2015. Accessed online at Whole Life Living – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Mark 12:38-44

38 As 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 39 and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! 40 They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.” 41 He sat down opposite the treasury and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. 42 A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. 43 Then 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. 44 For 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.”

Come as a Child

September 22, 2024 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Come as a Child” Mark 9:30-37

Perhaps the only positive outcome of the COVID-19 pandemic was a temporary decrease in the number of American children living in poverty. Federal economic security programs kept 53 million people above the poverty line in both 2020 and 2021. Child tax credits, increased food assistance, the extension of unemployment benefits, and three rounds of stimulus checks drove child poverty down to an all-time low of 5.2%. With the expiration of these programs in 2022, child poverty was again on the rise. According to the Annie E. Casie Foundation, 16% of American children now live in poverty. That’s 11.6 million kids. New York’s child poverty rates are among the worst in the nation. We rank forty-first out of the fifty states.

The likelihood of child poverty is higher here in the North Country. In Franklin County, 21.3% of our children live in poverty. Those numbers are higher for families of color. About 32% of racial ethnic children live below the federal poverty line. The impact of child poverty can last a lifetime. Impoverished families have less access to healthy food and quality medical care. A poverty diet is high in processed foods, fat, and carbohydrates. That’s a recipe for childhood obesity. Children in poverty are more likely to live in substandard housing, experience homelessness, and be exposed to crime and substance abuse in at-risk neighborhoods. Children in poverty have lower readiness when entering school and are more likely to have developmental challenges. Families in poverty live in chronic stress that leaves kids feeling anxious, depressed, and frightened.

When we further consider families who work in low wage jobs that lift them above the federal poverty threshold but don’t pay enough to meet monthly expenses, then we begin to see the enormity of the child poverty crisis. The Ouimette family of AuSable Forks is a case in point. William works for the town of Jay’s highway department and also serves as a volunteer firefighter. Miranda is a stay-at-home mom to their three kids between the ages of 6 and 9. William says, “It’s harder and harder for people just to get by on a job like working for the state or the town or anything now.” The Ouimettes struggle to pay for essential things like car repairs and new items for their kids. They fear they will be priced out of the home where their family has resided for generations.

Child poverty is nothing new. In Jesus’ day, 90% of people lived in poverty with little resource for rising above the circumstance of their birth. Within that impoverished time, children were particularly vulnerable. They were considered the lowest status members of society. Children lacked legal standing and protection as individuals and were instead deemed the property of their fathers. Indeed, children could be sold into slavery to settle a father’s debts. Although children were seen as a gift from God, a safeguard against extreme poverty in old age, children were expected to be unconditionally obedient and subject to the strict discipline of parents. The Book of Proverbs instructs, “Those who spare the rod hate their children, but those who love them are diligent to discipline them.” According to Exodus and Leviticus, the punishment for children who curse their parents or fail to honor them was death – judgment and stoning by the community. In the Gentile world, unwanted newborns were routinely exposed, left out in the open to die—or to be taken in by strangers and raised as slaves or prostitutes.

Given the low standing of children in the disciples’ world, we can imagine the shock that they felt when Jesus placed a child among them as someone to be welcomed and emulated. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus warned his friends of the suffering and death that would await him in Jerusalem. But along the way to Capernaum, instead of discussing better ways to protect Jesus and guard against betrayal, the twelve argued about who among them was the greatest. They compared genealogies and miracles, sermons and bank accounts, patrons and illustrious acquaintances, all in an effort to assert their personal worth. That child that Jesus held in his arms didn’t make any sense. Why would Jesus identify with a child? Why would he expect them to welcome and serve the lowest status person in the room?

Biblical scholar J.D.M. Derrett says that when Jesus scooped the little child up in his arms, Jesus was engaging in a symbolic act. In the Hebrew tradition, receiving or placing someone else’s child on your knee or in your embrace in front of the witnessing community was a rite of adoption. We see this in the Book of Genesis, when the childless Sarah and Rebecca brought their servant women to their husbands to conceive children, insisting that those children would be born “on their knees” as rightful sons of the patriarchs. If J.D.M. Derrett is right, then Jesus was saying that the most vulnerable of people, like children, especially belong to Jesus. The disciples could not love and honor him without loving and honoring them.

Beyond that simple call to humble service, Jesus was reminding his friends, many of whom had left their families behind to follow him, that he had adopted them. They were his children. As his sons and daughters, they must demonstrate toward him the obedience, honor, and respect that they would a father. The disciples were meant to be brothers and sisters in Jesus’ family, not rivals for greatness. That tender embrace that the child found in Jesus’ arms reflected the love and support that the disciples found in Christ, who welcomed them, not because of their great achievements, but simply because he chose to love them, regardless of their status. In that unconditional love, they would find the courage and inspiration to be servants of all.

As messages go, today’s reading is clear. The “least of these” are deserving of the service and welcome that we would extend to the Lord. When we see vulnerable neighbors, we are to think of Jesus, responding with the sort of compassion and care that were the hallmark of Jesus’ earthly ministry. Beyond that, Jesus would have his followers see that in God’s Kingdom there is no us and them—no low-status children and high-status disciples. Rather, we are all God’s children. The social and psychological constructs that we create to assert our greatness—that separate rich from poor, have from have-nots, first world from third world—those constructs are false dichotomies. We are kin, all children of an infinitely loving God. We belong to one another, just as we belong to God.

If the pandemic taught us anything, it is that we can end childhood poverty. If we can lower the rate of childhood poverty to 5.2% in only two years, imagine what we could do if people really cared, if we had public policy that regarded vulnerable children the way that Jesus embraced that child. There is enough. We just lack the social and political will to make a lasting difference in the lives of families who need it most. We do not believe that every child is deserving of unconditional love and welcome. We pitch a paltry ten percent of our federal budget at programs that address poverty while income inequality in our nation—the gap between rich and poor—grows and grows and grows. Lord, have mercy upon us.

Jesus thinks his disciples can do better. We can do better. He imagines a world where no child lives in poverty. It’s a world where our most vulnerable neighbors are known and held, blessed and helped. It’s a world where disciples realize that true greatness is found not in our professional titles or advanced degrees, not in our big bank accounts or public accolades, not in our athletic prowess or our physical beauty. It’s a world where the greatest of all are servants of all. It’s a world that looks a lot like his Father’s Kingdom. He hopes that we will imagine that world, too. May it be so.

Resources

Danilo Trisi. “Government’s Pandemic Response Turned a Would-Be Poverty Surge into a Record Poverty Decline” in Center on Budget and Policy Priorities Reports, August 29, 2023. Accessed online at Government’s Pandemic Response Turned a Would-Be Poverty Surge Into a Record Poverty Decline | Center on Budget and Policy Priorities (cbpp.org)

Alek LaShomb. “Efforts to Address Child Poverty in New York’s North Country” in WCAX News, June 14, 2024. Accessed online at Efforts to address child poverty in New York’s North Country (wcax.com)

Courtney V. Buggs. “Commentary on Mark 9:30-37” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 22, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 9:30-37 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Micah D. Kiel. “Commentary on Mark 9:30-37” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 20, 2015. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 9:30-37 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

C. Clifton Black. “Commentary on Mark 9:30-37” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 19, 2021. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 9:30-37 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Thomas P. Napoli. “New York Children in Need,” a report of the Office of the NYS Comptroller, May 2024. Accessed online at Report Titl (ny.gov)

Mark 9:30-37

³⁰They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it, ³¹for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” ³²But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. ³³Then they came to Capernaum, and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” ³⁴But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. ³⁵He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” ³⁶Then he took a little child and put it among them, and taking it in his arms he said to them, ³⁷“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

In the Power of the Spirit

May 19, 2024 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “In the Power of the Spirit” Acts 2:1-13

The Adirondack spring has pounced upon us. After months of grey skies and mixed precipitation, the ice is out, the earth has thawed, and for some of us, our thoughts turn to gardening. Here at the church, our Jubilee Gardeners are thinking about the fresh vegetables that we’ll grow for the Food Pantry this summer. Yesterday morning, six of us gathered at the Community Garden to prepare the church’s beds for planting. There were weeds to pull and compost to spread. There were pole bean towers to string and a snow pea trellis to set up. We even sowed a few cold-hardy seeds.

Fourteen years ago this month, we had the organizing meeting for our Jubilee Garden project. It started with a fall book group. We read Shane Claiborne’s inspiring first book Irresistible Revolution, which tells the compelling story of Shane’s community The Simple Way. Inspired by a stint as a volunteer in Calcutta with Mother Teresa, Shane decided to try life in a blighted neighborhood in Northeast Philadelphia, living among the poor and working at the grassroots to meet community needs. Shane challenges Christians to find an impossible dream, to consider how the Spirit may be calling them to come alongside hurting neighbors in ways that make a difference. We wondered how God wanted to use us right here in Saranac Lake. We prayed about it.

By the spring, several of us felt that the Spirit was calling us to garden. Jan and Ted Gaylord had learned about organic gardening while they served at Jubilee Partners, and others among us were avid home gardeners, ever on the quest for the elusive Adirondack tomato. Our timing was perfect. A new community garden was starting on Old Lake Colby Road, where we secured two big plots. Our mission would be to grow fresh vegetables and bright flowers for the hungry and the hungry-of-heart. Soon, we had dirt beneath our fingernails and plenty of blackfly bites. We built raised beds and filled them with a fertile mix of topsoil and composted chicken manure. We planted, watered, weeded, and waited for the harvest.

In our reading from the Acts of the Apostles, the disciples were waiting and praying for the vision and power to launch an impossible dream. Then, on Pentecost, ten days after Jesus’ Ascension, came the rush of a violent wind. It filled the entire house where they waited. Tongues of holy fire flickered and danced among the people, resting upon each of them. As the Spirit filled them, they began to preach, all at once, in every language under the sun—speaking with boldness and joy about God’s deeds of awesome power. Before they knew it, the Spirit drove them out into the street, where pilgrims from every corner of the empire listened in bewilderment, wondering how a bunch of backwater Galileans could suddenly become such gifted cross-cultural communicators. Those who heard the Spirit-filled Apostles didn’t know whether to marvel or sneer, to shout “Alleluia!” or say, “Get lost!” But if we were to keep reading, past the end of our lection, we would see that the “Alleluias” won the day. 3,000 people were baptized and welcomed to the church.

When we hear the very familiar story of Pentecost, we like to focus on the sensational details: violent wind, tongues of flame, the sound of many languages, the astonishment of the crowd. But this year, I’ve been thinking less about the special effects and more about the disciples. Ten days earlier, they were anxious and visionless, waiting in Jerusalem to find out what was next. They hadn’t always excelled in their discipleship. They longed for greatness, expressed big doubts, and were generally cluelessness. They slept when they should have been praying. They ran away when the guards came to take Jesus into custody. Don’t forget Peter’s three denials. But when the Holy Spirit filled the disciples on Pentecost, they were galvanized in Christ’s purpose. On Pentecost, the disciples went from fearful failed followers to a dynamic force for good, propelled in God’s purpose by the power of the Holy Spirit.

In her book Sailboat Church: Helping Your Church Rethink Its Mission and Practice, former moderator of the General Assembly Joan Gray points out that the boat was the earliest symbol for the church. In the first century, there were two types of boats: rowboats and sailboats. Rowboats are driven by human power. Sailboats harness wind power. Joan Gray says that on Pentecost the Holy Spirit moved the disciples along as the wind moves a sailboat. The Spirit drew together a diverse group of men and women into a strong, unified community, capable of unexpected good. If the disciples had trusted in their own limited power to bring about God’s purpose, it would have been a recipe for failure; there would be no church. But with the Spirit’s help, great things could unfold.

Presbyterians tend to think that the Spirit doesn’t work with the bold force of Pentecost anymore, but Joan Gray says it does. The question facing every congregation is, “Will we row or will we sail?” If we row, we trust in our own strength, wisdom, and abilities to achieve our ministry. That’s a recipe for burnout and dwindling resources. I suspect that some of us, over the years, have known how that feels. But if we choose to be a sailboat church, if we trust that God’s Spirit can guide and empower us, then we find that we are able to do more than we ever could have dreamed. Pentecost begs the question, “Keep rowing or let the wind fill your sails?” I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather hoist the sail than man the oars.

What does sailboat ministry look like? I think our garden project is a good example. Fourteen years ago, the Holy Spirit took our prayer and discernment and launched us on a continuing adventure that has blessed us and our neighbors. A little like those who sneered at the disciples on Pentecost, not everyone thought our impossible dream was a good idea. In fact, when I approached the board of the Food Pantry, they said no one who comes to the pantry would eat our vegetables. Then, they told us that they wouldn’t distribute what we grew because they would just be throwing out a lot of rotting produce, week after week. If our impossible dream was going to happen, we would have to host our own free farm stand, outside the food pantry, on Saturday mornings. It was disappointing, but we didn’t let that dump the wind from our sails.

As we got underway, there were blessings that told us we were on the right path. It was a hot, sunny summer, and the harvest was wildly abundant. Those food pantry patrons loved the fresh produce. On most mornings, we ran out, and when we didn’t, folks at church on Sunday were eager to relieve us of our abundance. Some weeks, we even had extra to share at the DeChantal or Lake Flower Apartments. Hosting our own farm stand was the biggest blessing of all. We made new friends. Some came to the pantry week in and week out. They told us their stories. Others came in times of crisis. They told us their stories, too. All expressed appreciation for our care and concern, our willingness to meet them where they were at with the good news of fresh produce, God’s love, and an occasional fervent prayer.

Over the past fourteen years of gardening, the Spirit has continued to fill our sails in ways that we never could have imagined. We developed a close relationship with the Food Pantry, those same people who sneered at our impossible dream. In fact, a number of our members now serve on the board of directors. That growing bond found fresh expression as we welcomed the pantry to a beautiful new space in our building, where the number of people who are served has doubled. Beyond the Food Pantry, we’ve connected with local gardeners and commercial growers who sometimes contribute their own veggies to our efforts. The latest dynamic of our garden mission isn’t about the veg. It’s the flowers. Last summer, we sent an abundance of bouquets out into the community every Sunday to bless our homes and our neighbors.

I’m not saying that the garden isn’t hard work. We’ve had aching backs. We’ve been bitten by bugs. We’ve struggled with slugs. But by the power of the Holy Spirit, we have been blessed and been a blessing, more than we ever could have imagined when we first dreamed our impossible dream.

Shane Claiborne, who wrote The Irresistible Revolution and inspired our gardening efforts, says that the Spirit is always calling Christians to new dreams. Beyond his community organizing in NE Philly, Shane has launched initiatives that address some of the most significant moral issues of our time: toxically partisan politics, gun violence, Christian nationalism, and the death penalty. If Shane were with us this Pentecost, he might ask us, “What’s next?” How does the Spirit continue to call us to come alongside hurting neighbors in ways that make a difference?

Come, Holy Spirit, come! Fill our sails, and send us forth in your purpose.

Resources:

Joan Gray. Sailboat Church: Helping Your Church Rethink Its Mission and Practice. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Shane Claiborne. The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical. New York: Harper Collins, 2006.

Frank L. Crouch. “Commentary on Acts 2:1-21” in Preaching This Week, May 24, 2015. Accessed online at Commentary on Acts 2:1-21 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Amy G. Oden. “Commentary on Acts 2:1-21” in Preaching This Week, June 9, 2019. Accessed online at Commentary on Acts 2:1-21 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Debra J. Mumford. “Commentary on Acts 2:1-21” in Preaching This Week, May 31, 2020. Accessed online at Commentary on Acts 2:1-21 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Acts 2:1-13

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

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

Abiding in Christ

April 28, 2024 / reverendjoannwhite / 1 Comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Abiding in Christ” John 15:1-8

Last week, our gospel reading invited us to consider Jesus the Good Shepherd. This week, John’s gospel brings us another of Jesus’ bold statements of identity, “I am the true vine.” Herding sheep and tending a vineyard are tasks far removed from our daily experience, but these agricultural metaphors would have been familiar to Jesus’ listeners. In Jesus’ world, vineyards were an essential part of the landscape. Grapes were eaten as fresh fruit, dried into raisins, and mashed into jams. Grapes were turned into wine, sweet syrup, and vinegar. Vineyards passed from generation to generation within families. As fruit ripened, whole communities pitched in with all-hands-on-deck to bring in the harvest.

When Jesus told his disciples, “I am the vine, you are the branches,” he was alluding to grafting, a vineyard practice that is as important in the wine industry today as it was for first century vine growers. Brent Young, a viticulturalist at Jordan Vineyard and Winery in Sonoma, CA, gets animated when he describes the work of grafting new varieties of grape onto old root stock. First, old grape vines, which are well-established and especially suited to the soil, are cut off, leaving a stump that is allowed to freely bleed and weep for about a week. Then a specialized team is called in. The vinedressers move along the row of cut vines, scoring each stump with a sharp knife. Next, the vinedresser slips a few small budding branches or scions into the scores. The scions are then carefully wrapped to secure their new home in the old vine. Over the following weeks, something wonderful happens, the old root stock gives life to the new scion. It grows, branches, and eventually bears new fruit.

Jesus’s words, “I am the vine, you are the branches,” were meant to comfort and exhort his friends. As Jesus spoke, it was his last evening with the disciples. He had washed his friends’ feet and shared a special meal with them. Judas had already slipped away to betray him. The disciples needed a word of wisdom to guide them through the terror that would soon grip them. Jesus was the true vine, his life revealed God’s will and word for humanity. His death would demonstrate God’s limitless love. Soon the true vine would be cut down, yet the disciples could endure because Jesus was an essential part of them. He would always be with them and, grafted into him, they could put forth miraculous new life and branch out in his purpose.

In viticulture, if the budding scion that the vinedresser attaches to the root stock loses its connection, it withers and dies. Separated from the vine, no life-giving sap can nurture and sustain it. Likewise, Jesus reminded his friends that they would need to abide in him. The Greek word for abide that Jesus used here, meinate, means to stay or remain, to live, dwell, lodge. Abiding in Jesus means cultivating an ongoing, inward, personal bond with the Lord that imparts nurture, meaning, and purpose for our lives.

We long for the meaning and purpose that come with abiding in Christ. But unlike the viticulturalists at the Jordan Vineyard and Winery in Sonoma, we don’t have an expert team of vinedressers to ensure that we keep our connection with the lifegiving true vine of the Lord. I’d like to focus on three ways that we can abide in Jesus the true vine.

Abiding in Christ means feasting upon his words in scripture, whether listening to Sunday sermons, reading the Bible, or participating in Christian Education. The late Fred Craddock, who taught preaching and New Testament at Emory University, once shared that the most influential person in his life was his Sunday school teacher, Miss Emma Stone. She gave him his first Bible and taught him to memorize scripture verses, saying “Just put it in your heart.” Miss Stone taught Fred a verse for each letter of the alphabet. Years later, Craddock reflected upon the importance of those twenty-six verses of scripture that he learned as a child, saying “I can’t think of anything, anything in all my life that has made such a radical difference as those verses. The Spirit of God brings them to mind time and time again.”

We have likewise been sustained by the abiding promises of scripture. In our bleakest moments, we find ourselves praying with the words, “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for thou art with me” (Psalm 23:4). When we’ve made a mess of things and lost our way, we hold to the promise that “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son so that whosoever believeth in him may not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). When we are feeling vulnerable or overwhelmed, we remember the words of the Apostle Paul, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Phil. 4:13). What are the holy words that help you to abide in Christ?

We also abide through prayer. We all have stories of learning to pray. Sometimes we learn in church. Author and spiritual director Jane E. Vennard writes that although she came from a family of staunch church goers, they never prayed together. Yet every Sunday in church, she was inspired by the beautiful prayers of her pastor. He had survived childhood polio, which left him partially paralyzed, but on Sunday mornings he stood in the pulpit with the help of crutches, stretched out his arms, and lifted his face to pray with a look of pure joy. The beauty and ardor of those prayers inspired Jane to her own lifetime of prayerful connection with God.

Others among us learned to pray from family members. One woman tells the story of learning prayer from her German grandmother. Every night, she would run up the stairs to her grandmother’s room, climb into bed with her, and snuggle under the blanket while her grandmother prayed. An adult now, she says, “I don’t know what she was saying, but her words seemed full of love, just like her arms around me.”

We have similar stories of parents, grandparents, or caring friends who modeled for us a prayer-filled life. As we’ve grown, we’ve learned to make prayers of our own. We share table graces with our families. We recite the Lord’s Prayer each morning as a daily devotion. We find holy refreshment in centering prayer. We may even resort to what author Anne Lamott says are the only two prayers we will ever need to know, “Help me, help me, help me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” How has prayer equipped you to abide in Christ?

Abiding in Christ comes naturally when we are part of a community that loves and serves the Lord. I think about this church’s United Presbyterian Women, women like Evelyn Outcalt, Anna Ferree, Jan Bristol, Carroll Dixon, and Gert Bickford. They were the heartbeat of this church for many years. Most of them were already in their eighties when I came to Saranac Lake almost two decades ago, yet they still gathered monthly for fellowship and spiritual friendship. They had been woven together by years of rummage sales and potlucks, births and celebrations, family tragedies and deaths. They were there for one another with prayers and casseroles, Hallmark cards and simple kindnesses. In that faithful fellowship, they knew the abiding presence of Jesus.

The UPW may be no more, but we continue to find Jesus in this church community. We abide in Christ as we gather each Sunday morning to praise and worship him. We abide in Christ with singing as harmonies are learned and voices blend to the glory of God. We abide in Christ when we grapple together with the big questions of faith in Bible and book studies. We abide in Christ with the fellowship of Coffee Hour, camp outs, and picnics. We abide as we merge our gifts for leadership and care as elders and deacons. How have we abided, growing closer to God and one another in the body of Christ?

Jesus taught his friends that as they abided in him, they would bear fruit. Our growing identity as branches of the true vine is revealed in fruitful works and ministries that reveal the love of Christ to others. When we are grafted into the true vine, we work together to serve others. We find ourselves teaching Sunday School, extending Coffee Hour hospitality, and cooking healthy meals for friends in tough times. When we are grafted into Christ, we serve our vulnerable neighbors. We grow produce in the church garden and share it at the Food Pantry. We pray fervently for folks in every kind of need with the prayer chain. We support neighbors in crisis with the Deacons’ Fund. We help vulnerable world neighbors, like the widows of Mzuzu, through the Women of Grace. As we abide in Christ, his ministry finds new life in us, and the world is blessed by that good fruit.

We may never be viticulturalists, but we have been grafted into the true vine. We are the branches. May we abide in Jesus with scripture, prayer, and the blessing of Christian community. And may we bear good fruit to the glory of God and for the good of our neighbors.

Resources

Jane E. Vennard. “Learning to Pray,” The Alban Institute at Duke Divinity School, July 24, 2006. Accessed online at alban.org.

Brent Young. “Field Grafting Grapevines,” wine education video, 2012. Jordan Vineyard & Winery. Accessed online at Field Grafting Grapevines | How Grapes are Grafted to Change Varieties | Wine Education Videos (youtube.com)

Robert M. Brearley. “Homiletical Perspective on John 15:1-11” in Feasting on the Gospels, John, vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press), 2015.

Luis Menendez-Antuña. “Exegetical Perspective on John 15:1-11” in Feasting on the Gospels, John, vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press), 2015. Karoline Lewis. “Commentary on John 15:1-8” in Preaching This Week, April 28, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on John 15:1-8 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

John 15:1-8

15”I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. ²He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. ³You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. ⁴Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. ⁵I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. ⁶Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. ⁷If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. ⁸My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.

Joann White

writer, pastor, spiritual director, and enthusiast of wild places

discipleship

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