Lenten Sermon Series

What the Lord Needs

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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, 2 saying 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. 3 If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” 4 This 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.”

6 The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; 7 they brought the donkey and the colt and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. 8 A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. 9 The 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!”

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

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The Kingdom of Mercy and Grace

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The Kingdom of Mercy and Grace” Luke 23:39-43

Jubilee is a Christian community and working farm set in the beautiful, rolling countryside of Comer, Georgia. For many years, until recent changes in our national immigration policy, the Jubilee partners welcomed refugees to their farm, offering a safe place to land for weary newcomers to our country, many of whom had survived exile and trauma, languishing for years in refugee camps around the world. When I visited Jubilee in 2008, I was drawn to a grove of oaks near the center of the 260-acre property. There, in a quiet clearing, stands a cemetery, a peaceful final resting place for both the residents of Jubilee and the people whom they have ministered to over the years. Robbie Buller, one of the original Jubilee Partners, pointed to a plain grave with a simple marker. “That grave is William “Pop” Campbell,” Robbie said, “He was the very first to be buried here in 1983.”

William “Pop” Campbell had a complicated moral picture. In 1975, Pop killed a smalltown barber near Athens, Georgia in a robbery gone wrong. At the time, Pop insisted that he was innocent. He was just getting his haircut when another man Henry Drake entered the shop and began to beat the barber and demand his money. Pop claimed that he tried his best to intercede, but Drake overpowered him. The jury didn’t buy it. Pop was convicted of murder and landed on death row. Henry Drake, the man Pop accused of the killing, was also convicted. Both men awaited execution by the state of Georgia.

The second thief on Golgotha also had a complicated moral picture. Luke doesn’t tell us much about him, but the teachings of the early church do. According to John Chrysostum, the 4th century Archbishop of Constantinople, the thief’s name was Dismas, a desert bandit, who robbed and killed pilgrims as they traveled to Jerusalem for the Passover. A century later, Pope Gregory the Great taught that Dismas was also a fratricide, guilty of murdering his own brother. On Golgotha, Dismas faced the Roman consequences of his life of thievery and murder: death on a cross.

Dismas and his fellow bandit weren’t the only ones dying on Golgotha that day. Throughout Lent, we have been following Jesus through his final week in Jerusalem. At the start of Lent, when I preached on the Palm Sunday story, I pointed to two radically different kingdoms that would clash in that holy week as the Roman Empire would collide with the Kingdom of God.

Last Sunday, we considered Jesus’ final supper with his friends and the foot-washing lesson he taught them about the prime importance of love and humble service. This Sunday, we encounter Jesus less than twenty-four hours after his object lesson and new commandment that we love one another as he loved us. In those bleak and bitter hours, Jesus was betrayed by Judas, abandoned by his closest disciples, and denied by Peter. The Temple court found him guilty of blasphemy. Pilate condemned him to death on trumped up charges of sedition. Now, Jesus was dying on a cross. Crucifixion was a state-sponsored weapon of terror, a public execution that inflicted excruciating pain in a slow, humiliating death. Above his head hung Jesus’ death sentence in Greek, Hebrew, and Latin, “King of the Jews.”

William “Pop” Campbell learned a lesson in Jesus’ Kingdom from Rev. Murphy Davis. She befriended Pop in her ministry to inmates on death row. She visited him weekly, listening to him and praying with him. In 1981, Pop confessed to Murphy that he lied when he implicated Henry Drake in the crime for which he had been sentenced to death. Pop had invented the story, hoping to muddy the waters, pass the blame, and avoid the death penalty. “What I said were lies,” Pop confessed, “I was the one to kill Mr. Eberhart. Henry wasn’t even there.” When Pop’s lawyer learned of his confession, he was irate. He insisted that Pop renounce his admission of guilt, arguing that it scuttled their chances of a commutation and was a virtual guarantee of death. “I want to do the right thing,” Pops argued back. “What I did was wrong.”

Dismas knew the innocence of Jesus. Dismas also knew his own guilt, as with the hindsight of fast-approaching death he looked back at his long history of thievery and brutality. Jesus didn’t deserve to die, but Dismas did. In the eyes of Rome and in his own eyes, his life of selfish ambition and casual cruelty had landed him on a cross. When the other thief dying on Golgotha began to deride Jesus, Dismas knew it was wrong, just as surely as Pop Campbell knew it was wrong to blame Henry Drake. “We have been condemned justly,” Dismas called out to his criminal colleague, “We are getting what we deserve for our deeds.”

We aren’t Pop Campbell or Dismas, but we know how it feels to have a complicated moral picture. We know the wrong that we have done: the beloved ones that we have failed, the friends we have betrayed, the ethical corners that we have cut, the selfish ambition that we have pursued at another’s expense. We know the good that we have left undone: the times we have refused to help, the occasions when we have turned a blind eye to another’s malfeasance, the good we will not do because the personal cost is just to high, the dirty little secrets that we keep rather than admit our failure. We long to be reconciled with God and with those whom we have hurt. Like Pop and Dismas, we need to believe that there is hope for us—that somehow, despite our wrongs, we can be loved, accepted, forgiven, offered a second chance (or a third or a fourth).

On that lonely hilltop outside Jerusalem, hanging between two criminals, Jesus taught us one last lesson about his Kingdom, even as he was dying at the hands of the empire. Half prayer, half gallows plea, Dismas turned to the Lord and asked “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.” In response, Jesus assured him, “Truly, I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Dismas didn’t have to recite the long laundry list of his sins. He didn’t need to undertake the journey of a hundred miles on his knees as an act of penance. He didn’t have to recite the Apostles’ Creed. In Jesus’ Kingdom, Dismas was known in all his frailty and loved in his entirety. In Jesus’ Kingdom there is room for Dismas and Pop Cambell. In Jesus’ Kingdom there is room for us. We are known and we are loved. In Jesus’ Kingdom, there is mercy and grace for all who ask.

Pop Campbell died of natural causes in 1983 while awaiting execution. In Georgia, prisoners whose families are too poor to afford funerals and prisoners who do not have kin or friends to receive their bodies are buried on prison grounds with only their state-assigned inmate number to mark their graves. When Robbie Buller of the Jubilee Community heard of what would be done with Pop’s body, he had a better idea. Jubilee had 260 acres of land. Why not welcome Pop to the community? Plans were quickly drawn up, local zoning authorities approved, and Pop came home to a place and a people whom he had not known during his lifetime.

In speaking about the cemetery, Robbie Buller says, “It’s a final hospitality for people who have had trouble finding acceptance anyplace else.” Since Pop’s burial, the graveyard at Jubilee has welcomed five more death row inmates, as well as seven homeless people, fourteen refugees, and the Rev. Murphy Davis, who so kindly visited Pop Campbell on death row all those years ago. Immediately after someone is buried in the Jubilee cemetery, a new grave is hand dug by volunteers. That’s hard work in the red and rocky Georgia clay. A piece of sheet metal roofing and a blue tarp are placed over the hole. A mound of red dirt waits next to the grave, ready to be filled back in. There is always room for more in the Jubilee burying ground. There is always room for more in the Kingdom of mercy and grace.

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

Melva Sampson. “Commentary on Luke 23:39-43” in Preaching Series, Jan. 22, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching-series/sermon-series-jesus-promises-paradise-to-a-victim-of-crucifixion

Craig T. Kocher. “Theological Commentary on Luke 23:32-43” in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Lincoln Galloway. “Homiletical Commentary on Luke 23:32-43” in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Josina Guess. “Folks Ought to Have a Resting Place” in Sojourners, Nov. 2025.

Barry Siegel. “Parole Board Frees Man Courts Wouldn’t” in The LA Times, Dec. 23, 1988. Accessed online at https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1988-12-23-mn-530-story.html

Luke 23:39-43

39 One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” 40 But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? 41 And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” 42 Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingdom.” 43 He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

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The New Commandment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources:

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

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

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

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

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

John 13:1-9, 31-35

13 Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. 2 The devil had already decided[a] that Judas son of Simon Iscariot would betray Jesus. And during supper 3 Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands and that he had come from God and was going to God, 4 got up from supper, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. 5 Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. 6 He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” 7 Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” 8 Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” 9 Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!”

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

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In the Midst of Chaos

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “In the Midst of Chaos” Matthew 24:1-14

Our world is feeling especially chaotic these days.

It’s been a week since the United States and Israel launched a war against Iran. The images have been alarming: Tehran’s Mehrabad airport on fire, plumes of black smoke rising from the city, rescuers digging through the rubble of a girls’ school in search of survivors. According to Central Command, the US has struck more than 3,000 targets inside Iran. The strikes have killed at least 1,200 people, and nearly 300 people have been killed in Lebanon since Monday when Israel began strikes against suspected Hezbollah sites. Six National Guard soldiers have been killed. Nearly every country across the Middle East has sustained damage from missile hits, drone strikes, or shrapnel. Yesterday, the president warned that the crisis will escalate, saying the US will strike Iran “very hard” with “complete destruction and certain death” for targeted groups.

We are feeling chaos closer to home like surging gas prices, volatile economic markets, and beloved ones deploying to conflict zones. Christian nationalist churches are preaching a false gospel that the escalating conflict in the Middle East is part of God’s plan to bring on the apocalypse. All the while, there has been a different kind of war unfolding on the home front as concerned citizens and protesters square off against Homeland Security agents. Whistles blow, protest songs ring out, placards wave, tear gas cannisters and threats fly, and force is used—sometimes deadly. Even here in the North Country, immigrant neighbors are disappearing, snatched by ICE or Border Patrol and whisked away to crowded detention centers.

We all know daily chaos, too. The cold virus that just won’t quit. The overcrowded schedule. The relationships stretched thin. The never-ending work. The soaring grocery and gas prices. The worries for our children. Our chaos abounds and it can be hard to know how to live in the middle of all that.

Jesus lived in chaotic times. Jesus lived in an occupied nation. Israel was ruled by Roman-appointed client kings, who did the emperors bidding. Soldiers were garrisoned throughout the land from Capernaum—Jesus’ home base in the Galilee—to the Antonia Fortress—right next to the Jerusalem Temple. There were exorbitant taxes as the people paid for the costs of their occupation and the lavish lifestyles of their appointed rulers. Civil disobedience was ruthlessly dispatched with crucifixion to humiliate dissidents and terrorize communities.

Even the spiritual life of the Israelites was shaped by the chaos of occupation. The High Priests, who controlled the inner workings of the Temple, were also Roman appointees. They came from ancient, affluent priestly families that sat at the top of the social and religious hierarchy of Jerusalem. In the gospels, two High Priests shared top billing. Annas was appointed by Quirinius in the year 6 when Jesus was just a boy and removed from power by Valerius Gratius in the year 15. Yet he remained immensely influential. He controlled a leading faction of the Sanhedrin (the governing council of the Temple). Five of his sons would also serve as High Priests.

Equally powerful was Caiaphas, the son-in-law of Annas. He served as High Priest at the time of Jesus’ death, holding office for almost twenty years. According to the first-century Jewish historian Josephus, Caiaphas had a particularly close and cordial relationship with Pontius Pilate. It was Caiaphas who determined that it would be better for Jesus to be executed than for the wrath of Rome to fall upon the nation. So powerful was the Roman hold upon the High Priest, that, according to Josephus, the priestly vestments were held at the Roman headquarters in the Antonia Fortress. High holy days, like Passover, were strictly controlled by Rome.

After a day in the Temple, as they returned to their lodgings in Bethany, a disciple pointed across the Kidron Valley to the magnificent walls of the Temple, crowning Jerusalem. While the disciples marveled at the beauty of their religious center, Jesus saw the future. The Temple razed to the ground. Famine and earth quake stalking the land. Corrupt, self-serving rulers. And his followers persecuted, tortured, and executed.

Whether we are first century Israelites or twenty-first century Americans, chaos does not feel good. When the bombs fall, we lament civilian deaths, mass destruction, and the rising specter of a third World War. When protesters are abused and immigrants detained, we fear for our public safety and the preservation of constitutional rights. When we are sick or sick and tired, when there aren’t enough hours in the day, when we have more month than money, when tempers are short and love is stretched thin, we feel overwhelmed and anxious. Sometimes this world’s chaos leaves us feeling powerless, even hopeless. We are tempted to tune out and shut down, just to make it through the day.

In today’s reading, Jesus shared wisdom about living in chaotic times. Amid all the fearsome realities that the disciples and the early church would face, Jesus urged his disciples to stand firm in their faith. When false leaders arose with selfish ideologies and big promises, the disciples should trust in God instead. When fear threatened to close them down and shut them up, they were to keep calm and carry on. When chaos brought hatred and betrayal, they must choose the better way of love. For it is only love that has the power to save in the midst of chaos. The disciples would need those words of wisdom. By the end of the week, Jesus would be hanging on a cross, and they would be scattered amid the chaos.

I suspect that if we heed Jesus’ wisdom, we’ll find encouragement and a roadmap for how to live in the midst of our present chaos. We start by standing firm in the faith. As I’m always telling the church’s children, any good relationship takes time, attention, and good communication. We tend our relationship with God by feasting upon the Word in scripture, whether we frequent the Wednesday Bible Study, join in Lenten Learning, ponder the weekly sermon, or enjoy the quiet discipline of reading our Bibles. We build our relationship with God through prayer. Perhaps we’ll serve as a link in the prayer chain or attend to the prayer list in the bulletin. Maybe we’ll open our hearts during the prayers of the people or set aside some quiet moments daily, to pour out our cares and listen quietly for the comfort and leading of the Spirit.

As we seek God in scripture and prayer, trust grows. We remember the promise that Jesus made to his disciples at the conclusion of Matthew’s gospel, that he would be with them always, to the end of the age. When chaos threatens to overwhelm us, we hold to the promise that Jesus is with us. We can face the evening news, the overcrowded schedule, and the rising costs because we are not alone. The future belongs to God and we can trust that there will be a better tomorrow.

As we stand firm in faith and grow in our trust of God, we find that we can carry on. We see that we are part of a community of brave and faithful people who call the world to that better tomorrow that Jesus holds for us. We live in ways that anticipate that future. We gather on Sunday mornings to worship and praise, then we go forth into the week to be like Christ, whether we are feeding hungry people, comforting friends in crisis, welcoming strangers, standing with immigrant neighbors, visiting those who are sick or homebound, or speaking the truth in love. When we carry on and get into some good trouble together, hope finds a toehold in the midst of our chaos. We kindle the fire of love—and we know that love, not bombs or bullets or the stock market or Homeland Security, only love can bring lasting peace and salvation for our world.

I wish I could promise that the chaos is going to be better at this time next week. But if I did, I would just be one of those false prophets that Jesus warned his friends about. The war in Iran will undoubtedly escalate. There will be civilian casualties, and we will likely lose more of our own troops. We may shake the last of that cold virus, but the markets will continue to struggle and those gas prices are certain to rise. Kristi Noem may have lost her job at Homeland Security, but the outlook for our immigrant communities will remain bleak. We will live in the midst of chaos, but take courage, my friends. We got this. Stand firm in the faith, trust God, carry on, and love—always love. Amen.

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

Jessie Yeung, Sophie Tanno. “Everything we know on the eighth day of the US and Israel’s war with Iran” in CNN News, March 7, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/world/everything-we-know-on-the-eighth-day-of-the-us-and-israel-s-war-with-iran/ar-AA1XHgna?ocid=msedgntp&pc=W251&cvid=69ac63a3ee9343808a0aacc504be01e0&ei=21

Julia Frankel. “Country by country, here’s how the unfolding war is affecting the Middle East and beyond” in Associated Press World News, March 6, 2026. Accessed online at https://apnews.com/article/iran-us-war-israel-strait-or-hormuz-deaths-f1619c6bfbbd5fe10857ff0af073aa0e

Corey J. Sanders. “Commentary on Luke 19:28-40” in Preaching Series, Jan. 22, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching-series/sermon-series-matthew-241-14-jesuss-temple-discourse

Rodney Sadler, Jr. “Exegetical Perspective on Matthew 24:1-14” in Feasting on the Gospels: Matthew, vol. 2. WJKP, 2013.

“Annas” and “Caiaphas” in the Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 1, A-C. Yale U. Press, 1992.

Matthew 24:1-14

As Jesus came out of the temple and was going away, his disciples came to point out to him the buildings of the temple. 2 Then he asked them, “You see all these, do you not? Truly I tell you, not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”
3 When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to him privately, saying, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?” 4 Jesus answered them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. 5 For many will come in my name, saying, ‘I am the Messiah!’ and they will lead many astray. 6 And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars; see that you are not alarmed, for this must take place, but the end is not yet. 7 For nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom, and there will be famines and earthquakes in various places: 8 all this is but the beginning of the birth pangs. 9 “Then they will hand you over to be tortured and will put you to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of my name. 10 Then many will fall away, and they will betray one another and hate one another. 11 And many false prophets will arise and lead many astray. 12 And because of the increase of lawlessness, the love of many will grow cold. 13 But the one who endures to the end will be saved. 14 And this good news of the kingdom will be proclaimed throughout the world, as a testimony to all the nations, and then the end will come.

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Truth to Power

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark 12:1-12

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

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

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

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A Hopeful Beginning

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “A Hopeful Beginning” Luke 19:28-40

On Ash Wednesday, more than 300 prominent Christian leaders, including Presbyterians, released “A Call to Christians in a Crisis of Faith and Democracy.” It’s a boldly worded statement that characterizes this moment in history as a time of spiritual crisis in which we must affirm what we believe and whom we will serve. They are concerned about the conflation of church and state, the rise in racism, the targeting of immigrants, and the erosion of constitutional rights.

The Call to Christians insists that our allegiance as followers of Jesus must be to God—above any earthly kingdom or principality. It confronts the heretical beliefs of white Christian nationalism—the belief that America is a nation intended only for white Christians, whose beliefs and practices must be privileged. Instead, the statement asserts that the teachings of Jesus summon us to love all our neighbors and see in them the image of God. “As Christians,” the call reads, “We must never preach nationalism as discipleship, confuse American and Christian identities with whiteness, or mistake allegiance to modern-day Caesars for faithfulness to Christ.”

The “Call to Christians in a Crisis of Faith and Democracy” was not headline news on Wednesday. Top billing went to the movement of US military resources to the Middle East, and the Epstein files, and The Board of Peace and its plans for Gaza, and the President’s contention that he is not a racist, just ask Mike Tyson. Undoubtedly, some will embrace the call and feel it is about time that mainline faith leaders spoke up. Others will reject the call as a showy political act made by insignificant churches of declining influence. For those bold leaders, though, it was a clarifying statement in a time when there are harshly diverging beliefs about what it means to be Christian and how we are to relate to both empire and neighbor, especially our most vulnerable neighbors.

Our gospel reading today typically concludes the season of Lent, but this year, it gets our Lent started as I consider in the coming Sundays Jesus’ final week in Jerusalem. Often called the “Triumphal Entry” the Palm Sunday story usually starts Holy Week. It reflects tensions about what it means to be a person of faith and how we are to relate to earthly regimes and powerful institutions.

That first Palm Sunday was a collision of two kingdoms. The Passover Festival brought pilgrims from across Israel and around the empire to Jerusalem to remember God’s long-ago deliverance from bondage in Egypt. It was a time when Messianic expectations ran high. After all, if God could raise up Moses to lead the people to freedom, then even now God could be raising up a leader to face Rome head on and shape a changed future for the people. For the Romans, Passover was an inconvenience, a time to be on guard, prepared to quash any hint of rebellion.

In their book The Last Week: A Day-by-Day Account of Jesus’s Final Week in Jerusalem, New Testament scholars J.D. Crossan and Marcus Borg teach that Jesus’s Palm Sunday processional wasn’t the only parade that Sunday. The Roman procurator Pontius Pilate was on the road that day, too. Pilate and his followers streamed into the city from the east as Jesus and his followers came from the west. As he did each year at the Passover, Pilate left his seaside base in Caesarea Maritima and marched to Jerusalem to ensure peace.

Pilate was there at the behest of the emperor. He rode a war horse, decked out in royal livery. He was flanked by imperial standards that whipped and snapped in the wind. He led a legion of Roman soldiers, the finest fighting force in the world. Bright helmets glinted in the sun. Hobnailed sandals marched in cadence. Shields were strapped to left arms while swords hung from every belt. The message of Pilate’s parade was clear. Caesar ruled and there would be no resistance.

Jesus’ parade was different. His faith had called him to Jerusalem, even though he knew his entry to the Holy City would put him in peril. He came to fulfil the requirements of righteousness: to remember and give thanks for God’s Passover miracle. Instead of a war horse, Jesus rode a colt, the foal of a donkey, decked out in the homespun linen of a disciple’s robe. Instead of an army, Jesus was surrounded by peasants—farmers, fishermen, tradespeople, shopkeepers. Instead of the sound of marching feet and shouted commands, there was the singing of ancient pilgrim songs and the sounds of joy. “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” Instead of an homage to Caesar, this was a celebration of another Kingdom, God’s Kingdom.

In Caesar’s kingdom, dominion was established through military conquest. A privileged few benefited at the expense of the many. Power was ensured with brute force, occupation, and crucifixion. In Caesar’s Kingdom, peace was achieved at any price—with widespread fear and deadly violence.

Jesus taught that God’s Kingdom, the Kingdom that he served, was always all around us, growing quietly in the midst of the world’s sorrow and celebration. His every action proclaimed that Kingdom. God’s Kingdom is revealed when hungry neighbors are fed, outsiders are accepted and welcomed, healing is available for all, and sinners find forgiveness. Peace is achieved when the other cheek is turned, enemies are loved, and the path of non-violence is chosen, even at great personal cost.

Two kingdoms collided on that first Palm Sunday. Those kingdoms would continue to be in terrible tension throughout that final week of Jesus’ earthly ministry. It was a hopeful beginning as pilgrims sang and proclaimed Jesus their messianic king. Yet that week would have a terrible end as Jesus hung upon a cross, murdered by the state, taunted by crowds who once sang his praises, shamed with the sign “King of the Jews.”

Two kingdoms stand in tension, just ask those 300 faith leaders who signed on to the “Call to Christians in a Crisis of Faith and Democracy.” It is tempting to serve the empire. Who doesn’t want to call the shots? Who doesn’t want power? Who wouldn’t like to silence their enemies? Who isn’t tempted by the big promises of lasting peace and prosperity. Does it really matter if the price of peace is the exploitation of the vulnerable, the exclusion of the stranger, the acceptance of the status quo, the death of the innocent? Does it truly matter if the super wealthy get even wealthier while others languish in generational poverty? The siren-song of the empire can be hard to resist, especially when the price of opposition may cost you everything, even your life.

The way of God’s Kingdom is hard, my friends. Jesus knew that. Retired Presbyterian minister David Bales argues that Jesus would never get elected today. Who would vote for someone who pronounced woes on the rich and expects us to love our enemies?  Who would follow someone who believed power and resources should be freely shared, even with the powerless? It is hard to accept a king who willingly suffers and serves. It is very hard to follow a king who expects us to do the same. The way of God’s Kingdom is hard, indeed.

Caesar’s Kingdom can leave us feeling hopeless and paralyzed, my friends. We stop following the Way of Jesus and we fail to resist the siren call of the empire because we fear that we make no difference. Prof. Insook Lee of New York Theological Seminary reminds us that a handful of well-intended people can create life-saving change. She tells the Legend of the Hundredth Monkey. Researchers used 10,000 monkeys to repopulate a remote island that had been used for nuclear testing. Everything seemed to be safe on the island, but coconut husks still bore traces of radioactivity. The scientists taught ten monkeys to wash their coconuts in a stream of fresh water and then released them on the island. Soon twelve monkeys were washing their coconuts, then twenty monkeys, next forty-seven. Something surprising happened. When the hundredth monkey began to wash his coconut, all ten thousand started washing their coconuts. That healthy intervention of washing coconuts proved to be infectious. The Kingdom that Jesus heralded can come. All we need are ten faithful people or 300 concerned clergy to call for change and believe it is possible.

In the coming weeks of Lent, we will follow Jesus through his final week in Jerusalem. He’ll be making his case for the Kingdom of God, even as the powers of Temple and empire conspire to bring him down. May we have ears to hear and the courage to take action. May we choose to serve Christ’s Kingdom.

Resources

“A Call to Christians in a Crisis of Faith and Democracy,” Feb. 18, 2026. Accessed online at https://acalltochristians.org/

Jim Wallis. “Faith and Freedom” in God’s Politics with Jim Wallis, Feb. 18, 2026. Accessed online at https://jimwallis.substack.com/p/faith-and-freedom

Eric Barreto. “Commentary on Luke 19:28-40” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 22, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching-series/sermon-series-jesuss-triumphal-entry-lukes-version

Insook Lee. “Pastoral Perspective on Luke 19:28-40” in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke, vol. 2. WJKP: Louisville, 2014.

David Bales. “Homiletical Perspective on Luke 19:28-40” in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke, vol. 2. WJKP: Louisville, 2014.

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

Luke 19:28-40

28 After Jesus had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. 29 As he approached Bethphage and Bethany at the hill called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples, saying to them, 30 “Go to the village ahead of you, and as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. 31 If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ say, ‘The Lord needs it.’”

32 Those who were sent ahead went and found it just as he had told them. 33 As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?”

34 They replied, “The Lord needs it.”

35 They brought it to Jesus, threw their cloaks on the colt and put Jesus on it. 36 As he went along, people spread their cloaks on the road.

37 When he came near the place where the road goes down the Mount of Olives, the whole crowd of disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen:

38 “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”

“Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!”

39 Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples!”

40 “I tell you,” he replied, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”

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Give Us Justice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

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

Luke 18:1-8

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

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Have Mercy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke 10:25-37

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

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

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

Lord, Teach Us to Pray

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke 11:1-13

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

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

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

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

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Repent

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Repent” Luke 15:11-32

Near the end of his life, the Dutch Master Rembrandt completed “The Return of the Prodigal,” a painting considered by some to be his master work. The artist captured the moment of the Prodigal Son’s homecoming. The repentant young man kneels at his father’s feet. His clothing hangs in filthy rags. His shoes are so tattered that they fall from his feet. He buries his face in his father’s middle. Like a small child, his arms reach around to cling to the father, who leans forward to pull his lost son to his chest and kiss the top of his head. The father’s hands, strong but gentle, rest on the Prodigal’s back. The father’s face is soft and open. His mouth is slack, as if caught between the impossible joy of welcoming his lost child and the heartrending shock of seeing his son’s degradation. To the side of the painting, half in darkness, the elder son looks on, clothed in a fine scarlet cloak and elaborate turban. His hands are clenched before him. His brow is furrowed with anger, disbelief, and judgment. The distance between the elder son and his compassionate father and profligate brother leaps off the canvas.

Jesus told his Parable of the Prodigal Son to a mixed audience of wayward sons and righteous older brothers. The Lord was welcoming sinners and tax collectors. He even broke bread with them, and that was a source of scandal for the scribes and Pharisees, the most righteous people of their day, who faithfully observed all 613 requirements of the Torah.

The young son of Jesus’ story demonstrated the most profound disrespect. He treated his father as if he were as good as dead, demanding his portion of the inheritance, which he promptly liquidated. Forsaking his father’s house, he traveled to Gentile lands and blew his small fortune in wild living. Times were so desperate that he became a swineherd, even though the Torah taught, “The pig . . . is unclean for you.  You shall not eat their meat, and you shall not touch their carcasses” (Deut. 14:8). Only when the young son had hit rock bottom, did he resolve to go home and throw himself upon the mercy of his father. He gathered his rags and returned, rehearsing along the way just what he would say. But as the lost son drew close to home, he learned that the Father had been looking and longing for his return. The patriarch ran down the road, welcomed him with open arms, and threw a party to restore the prodigal to both family and community. Who could blame the older son, who had spent years faithfully serving, working and obeying, who could blame him for his moral outrage and hurt?

When Jesus told his extended metaphor about the shocking mercy of God and the sinfulness of humanity, he probably offended all his listeners. Those tax collectors and sinners would have bristled at their depiction as degenerate scofflaws who wander far from God in profligate living. Those scribes and Pharisees would have been challenged to envision themselves as harsh, self-righteous, older brothers, who, in their own way, were just as disrespectful to the Father as the young son they condemned. These two lost sons were held together by a merciful Father, who would do anything to be reconciled to them and reconcile them to one another, whether running down the road to embrace them or leaving a party to seek them as they sulked outside in the dark. Both sons were sinners. Both were in need of repentance and love.

Repentance is one of the most essential teachings of Judaism. According to the tradition of the elders, God created repentance before God created the universe. God anticipated that, even though God would love us and provide for us all that was needed for abundant life, we would turn our back on God and work to the detriment of our neighbor. Repentance would be needed. The word repentance in Hebrew is teshuvah, which means to turn. In the ongoing journey of God and our ancestors in the faith, we would often choose to walk apart from God, yet repentance would allow us to return. According to the prophets, repentance was an act of the heart, an inner turning to God that resulted in outward actions of justice, mercy, and faithfulness. This inner transformation was displayed in rending garments, tossing ashes, wearing sackcloth, and offering sacrifices to God.

Repentance is one of the most essential teachings of Christianity. Indeed, the first words that Jesus uttered in his public ministry were, “Repent for the Kingdom of God is near” (Matthew 4:17), and among the last words of his public ministry, spoken from the cross, are the assurance of paradise for the repentant thief who was dying at his side. Jesus himself was the revelation of God’s profound longing to be reconciled to us. In Jesus, God chose to become man, to enter fully into our experience, and to stop at nothing—not even death on a cross—to reveal God’s love and mercy for us. As we repent and return to God, we find that God has already run down the road to greet us. Prodigal sons and judgmental older brothers, we all find a place in the Father’s mercy through Christ our Lord.

Few doctrines have been as hotly contested in the Christian tradition as repentance. The explosive growth of the early church was driven by welcome for those who had been deemed outside the community of faith, from sinners to pagans. Yet by the fourth century, it wasn’t enough to return to God and confess your sins. You needed the church, which church stood in the middle to mediate God’s grace. Repentance had to be made to a priest and accompanied by works of penance, like special prayers, fasting, almsgiving, or mortification of the flesh. Our absolution (forgiveness) was granted by the church once our works were done. This practice of treating forgiveness like a commodity to be doled out to penitents from the church’s limitless treasury of grace hit a high—or is that low—by the 16th century, when Pope Sixtus IV determined that souls of the dead in purgatory could benefit from a papal indulgence, a certificate of absolution that could be conveniently acquired for the right price. When the coin in the coffer rings, the soul from purgatory springs. How far we had wandered from the beautiful story of the loving father and his two lost sons!

On a December evening in 1516, Martin Luther paced the floor of his study. The Augustinian priest and Bible scholar was troubled by the church’s sacrament of penance and the selling of indulgences. Was grace for sale? Could sinners earn their salvation through works? In his studies of the New Testament, Luther had come to the conclusion that Jesus never commodified his grace. It was abundantly and freely given. That night, Luther read the Letter to the Ephesians, “By grace you have been saved through faith and that not of yourselves—it is the gift of God, not works, lest any man should boast.” It hit Luther like a thunderclap. He picked up his pen and wrote, “Ergo sola gratia justificat,” justified by faith alone. Luther remembered the moment, saying, “Thereupon, I felt myself to be reborn and to have gone through open doors into paradise.” The following year, Luther posted his 95 Theses, launching a religious revolution by calling into question the church’s practice of commodifying grace.

What does repentance look like for us? Two decades after Luther’s realization about the freely given gift of God’s grace, John Calvin in his church in Geneva developed a rite of repentance that we continue to practice each week in worship, 500 years later. We stand together as a community of faith and return to God, confessing the ways that we have turned from God and brought injury to our neighbors. As we turn toward God, we find that God has already turned to us, like the Prodigal’s father, awaiting his lost sons with open arms. For the sake of Jesus Christ, we are assured of our pardon, a fact so amazing that we have to celebrate with an “Alleluia! Amen.”

Calvin further encouraged his parishioners to make a practice of regular self-examination, reflecting upon our lives and noting the ways that we have turned away from the right and righteous path. With humility and honesty, we can return to God, trusting that we are welcomed home and deeply loved. Calvin did not believe that we would ever get it truly right, but by making a daily discipline of returning to God, we could grow in God’s purpose over the course of a lifetime through the work of the Holy Spirit within us. Our practice of repentance could be as simple as an evening time of reflection upon our day to celebrate the ways that we felt blessed by God and the moments we felt far from God, and then concluding our reflection with the Lord’s Prayer.

In 1986, author and clergyman Henri Nouwen traveled to St. Petersburg, Russia, where Rembrandt’s painting “The Prodigal Son Returns” hangs in the Hermitage. Nouwen was allowed to observe the painting alone for hours. As he sat before Rembrandt’s masterwork, Henri began to see the painting as a metaphor for humanity. In his 1992 book, The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming, Nouwen noted that Rembrandt himself had been both sons. Rembrandt had been the dutiful older brother, an earnest churchgoer, married to a devout wife, and a loving father of three children. But the untimely death of his wife and children sent Rembrandt down the road of profligacy. He drank his fill in taverns, frequented prostitutes, and nearly bankrupted himself. Nouwen wrote, “Rembrandt had lived a life in which neither the lostness of the younger son nor the lostness of the elder son was alien to him. Both needed healing and forgiveness. Both needed to come home. Both needed the embrace of a forgiving father.”

The same, of course, can be said for us all. Let us return to God.

Resources

J. William Harkins. “Theological Perspective on Luke 15:11-32” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Rodney J. Hunter. “Pastoral Perspective on Luke 15:11-32” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Raj Nadella. “Exegetical Perspective on Luke 15:11-32” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 2. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Jos. P. Healey. “Repentance: Old Testament” in The Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 5, O-Sh. Doubleday, 1992.

Charles Hech. “Martin Luther: His Confessions and Battle against Sin” in Worldly Saints, blog, Jan. 4, 2017.

John Calvin. Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book 3, Chapter III. The Westminster Press, 1977.

Hans Vorschezung. “A Lightning Strike, Which Changed History” in Faith in Focus, 2006. Accessed online at christianstudylibrary.org.

Henri Nouwen. The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming. Image Press, 1994.

Luke 15:11-32

11 Then Jesus said, “There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the wealth that will belong to me.’ So he divided his assets between them. 13 A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant region, and there he squandered his wealth in dissolute living. 14 When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that region, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that region, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. 16 He would gladly have filled his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, and no one gave him anything. 17 But when he came to his senses he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18 I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.”’ 20 So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. 21 Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ 22 But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate, 24 for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

25 “Now his elder son was in the field, and as he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. 27 He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf because he has got him back safe and sound.’ 28 Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command, yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your assets with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ 31 Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’”

Accessed online at https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/93/Rembrandt_Harmensz_van_Rijn_-_Return_of_the_Prodigal_Son_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg/1569px-Rembrandt_Harmensz_van_Rijn_-_Return_of_the_Prodigal_Son_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg