Prayer

Limitless Compassion

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

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

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 She wears outdated hand-me-downs and packs her lunch in a re-used brown paper bag.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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke 13:10-17

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

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The Great Cloud of Witnesses

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources:

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

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

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

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

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

Hebrews 11:29-12:2

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

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

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

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

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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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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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Famished

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Famished” Luke 4:1-13

On February 28, our Muslim neighbors around the world began Ramadan, a month of fasting, prayer, and reflection. Fasting is one of the five essential practices (pillars) of Islam. During Ramadan, adults of sound health fast daily from sun up until sunset—no food or drink—and their early morning and after dark meals are simple. Ramadan reminds them of the needs of hungry neighbors and our personal dependence upon God.

In my last church, my senior pastor Michael Winters and I were a part of an interfaith ministry group with the local reformed rabbi and the Muslim Imam. Each year at the end of Ramadan, our faith communities would gather for Eid, a celebratory feast, kind of like the ultimate, most delicious potluck that you can imagine. Each year, my colleague Michael, the Imam, and the rabbi would give a little talk at the feast, briefly teaching about a spiritual practice. I’ll never forget the meeting when they decided to talk about fasting in their respective churches. Michael looked mildly alarmed.

Later, in the car on the way back to the church, I turned to Michael.

“Fasting?”

“Not high on the list for Presbyterians,” he glumly replied.

I thought about my time as a Presbyterian, from young adult to seminarian to clergy person. Never once had a congregation that I served ever discussed, let alone practiced, fasting. I commiserated with Michael, “Ugh. I’m guessing that you got nothing. Am I right?”

Shaking his head, he said, “Tell me about it.”

As the season of Lent begins, our gospel reading takes us to the wilderness with Jesus. According to Luke, no sooner had Jesus been baptized than the Holy Spirit swept him into the Judean desert in preparation for his ministry. There, Jesus spent forty days fasting and praying to seek insight, wisdom, and guidance from his heavenly Father. It was a spiritual journey that left him famished.

Thinking that Jesus’ long fast would leave him vulnerable to temptation, the evil one showed up to put the Lord to the test. Jesus was invited to use his power in self-serving ways: first, to relieve his overwhelming hunger by transforming stones to loaves of bread, next to gain worldly authority by changing his allegiance, and finally to put God to the test with a death-defying leap. Each temptation was deftly defeated by Jesus with a short but sweet quote from scripture. Clearly, Jesus’ time of prayer and fasting had equipped him to meet the challenges that were to come.

When Jesus fasted for those forty days, he was part of a long tradition of fasting observed by his ancestors. Leviticus 28 required the Hebrew people to fast each year on the Day of Atonement to seek God’s forgiveness for sin. Also, in times of national crisis, Israel’s kings called for a day of fasting and prayer. For example, when a large army from Edom threatened to invade Judah, King Jehosophat and his people fasted and prayed to avert the catastrophe. The Israelites also refrained from food and drink to deepen their prayer and draw near to God, like Moses—while on the mountaintop with God, he fasted for forty days.

Jesus expected his followers to fast and gave them instructions that suggested some people made a big, self-aggrandizing show of their pious restraint when it came to food. Jesus said, “Whenever you fast, do not look somber, like the hypocrites, for they mark their faces to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen—not by others—but by your heavenly Father….” First century Jews fasted twice weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. That means they refrained from food on those days until the ninth hour—three o-clock in the afternoon. As Jesus’ followers took the gospel out into the world, fasting went with them. When the Apostle Paul and his home church in Antioch prepared for the Gentile mission, they did so with fasting and prayer.

Jesus knew that our deepest, most existential, hunger is for God. We look for poor substitutes, trying to fill our lives with food, social media, an over-commitment to work, a passion for politics, shopping until we drop, addictions. You name it. The practice of fasting makes room within us for God. You might even say that fasting is a soul feast, an intentional time to rest in God and meet that deep hunger we have for the sacred. Augustine taught that our hearts are always restless until they find their rest in God alone.

Between the sixth and eighth centuries the role of fasting expanded in Christianity. In addition to fasting until the ninth hour twice weekly, Christians were expected to similarly fast for the forty days of Lent, for three days before the Festival of Ascension, one day every month (except in July and August), on Good Friday, and the day before Christmas, Epiphany, Easter, and Pentecost. If you add all that up, Christians engaged in some form of fasting about 140 days each year.

So how did we as Protestants get from fasting for 140 days to me and Michael Winters feeling like we had nothing to say as we joined our Muslim and Jewish neighbors for Eid? We can blame it on the Reformation. By the 16th century, fasting had lost its spiritual significance. Instead of fasting to draw near to God in prayer, or say “no” to the flesh, or seek divine help in times of crisis, our ancestors were fasting because they considered it a requirement for getting into heaven. John Calvin and other Reformers said that smacked of works righteousness, as if we could manipulate God into opening the pearly gates. This would never do.

In his effort to rethink fasting, Calvin taught that we should think about time, quantity, and quality. Christians should fast at self-chosen times for a prescribed period, like a day or a week; and fasting should always be accompanied by prayer and confession. Fasting did not mean total abstinence from food but to eat sparingly and content ourselves with humble fare. No “dainties” as Calvin called them. In Calvin’s church in Geneva, a simple fast was expected before partaking of the Lord’s Supper, before baptism, and before being ordained to a ministry of the church.

Calvin’s ideas seem reasonable, but when we are left to our own devices to determine our time, quantity, and quality of restraint from food, we opt out. Most of us do not consider fasting to be a core practice of the life of faith. So, how on this first Sunday in Lent, are we to reclaim the ancient practice of fasting in ways that are meaningful and beneficial? And do we really want to?

The late author and editor Harvey Smit suggested that fasting can be a powerful reminder that we do not live by bread alone. In this world where ego is king, fasting reminds us of our utter dependence upon God. Fasting also places us in solidarity with the world’s hungry people—malnourished children in Afghanistan, the starving women and children of Yemen, and working-class families right here in the United States who feel the pinch of inflation and skip meals so that their children can eat. Smit also argued that fasting is useful because it teaches us to postpone gratification. In a world where we want it and we want it now, fasting teaches us to say no to the flesh, no to the selfish impulse, no to the desire for more, more, more. And we shouldn’t forget that fasting functions much as it has for eons: to focus our attention and our prayers upon God, trusting that Jesus, who fasted in the wilderness, is with us.

What might Presbyterian fasting look like? We could try substituting prayer time for a meal, or we could consider simplifying our diets, only having one substantial meal a day and two small snacks that are accompanied by prayer or scripture reading. We could follow the example of the early church and pick a day to fast until the ninth hour (three o’clock). Instead of working through the breakfast and lunch that we miss, we could read a devotional book, sing hymns, play spiritual music, or listen to a sermon. Although fasting is not prescribed for us for Lent, a day of fasting during Lent could serve to focus our attention on Jesus and his journey to the cross. As we ponder the Lord’s words, humility, and self-sacrifice, we draw near to God with gratitude for all that God has done for us.

If the thought of refraining from food makes your blood sugar drop and your knees feel weak, you’ll be relieved that Martin Lloyd-Jones, one of the most influential Calvinist preachers of the twentieth century, taught that, “fasting should really be made to include abstinence from anything. . .for the sake of some special spiritual purpose.” That opens us to a world of possibilities. Could we fast from social media? Instead of doom scrolling, we could try a time of prayer. Could we turn off the television and spend the evening in meditation and divine reading? Could we step back from sweets? Alcohol? Indulgent purchases? Could we then donate the money we save to One Great Hour of Sharing or a favorite charitable concern? The possibilities are truly limitless and up to us.

Back in Morton Grove all those year’s ago, my friend Michael cobbled together a talk on Presbyterian fasting. He spoke last after the Imam told us all about Ramadan and the rabbi impressed us with Yom Kippur and weekly fasts. Later, I took a seat next to Michael after helping myself to a second (or was it third?) plate of tasty treats from the potluck buffet.

“How are you?” I asked my friend. I looked down at his plate, which was just as full as mine.

Michael looked around the room at Jewish, Christian, and Muslim neighbors chatting, eating, and comparing recipes. He smiled, “I may not be an expert in fasting, but this,” he gestured to the beautiful interfaith fellowship and overflowing plates, “this looks like the beautiful feast in the Kingdom of God.”

He couldn’t be more right.

Resources:

William H. Shea. “Fast, Fasting” in The Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 2, D-G. Doubleday, 1992, pp. 773-776.

David S. Jacobsen. “Commentary on Luke 4:1-13” in Preaching This Week, March 10, 2019. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/first-sunday-in-lent-3/commentary-on-luke-41-13-4

Richard W. Swanson. “Commentary on Luke 4:1-13” in Preaching This Week, March 9, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/first-sunday-in-lent-3/commentary-on-luke-41-13-6

Thomas A. Tarrantson. “The Place of Fasting in the Christian Life” in Knowing and Doing, Knowing and Doing, Summer 2018.

James A. Strong and John McClintock. “Fasting in the Christian Church” in The Encyclopedia of Biblical, Theological, and Ecclesial Literature. New York: Harper Bros, 1880.

David Mathis. “Fasting for Beginners” in Desiring God, August 26, 2015. Accessed online at https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/fasting-for-beginners

Harvey Albert Smit. “Fasting Guidelines for Reformed Christians” in Reformed Worship, December 1987. Accessed online at https://www.reformedworship.org/article/december-1987/fasting-guidelines-reformed-christians

Luke 4:1-13

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, 2 where for forty days he was tested by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over he was famished. 3 The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” 4 Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’ ”

5 Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. 6 And the devil said to him, “To you I will give all this authority and their glory, for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. 7 If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” 8 Jesus answered him, “It is written,

‘Worship the Lord your God,
    and serve only him.’ ”

9 Then the devil led him to Jerusalem and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, 10 for it is written,

‘He will command his angels concerning you,
    to protect you,’

11 and

‘On their hands they will bear you up,
    so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’ ”

12 Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” 13 When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.

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Beyond Measure

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

Claiborne “CP” Ellis grew up in poverty in Durham, NC, the son of a mill worker. He married at seventeen and quickly fathered three children. The youngest was born blind and developmentally disabled. Despite working two jobs, he could rarely pay his bills. In an interview with journalist Studs Terkel, CP remembered, “I worked my butt off and never seemed to break even. They say abide by the law, go to church, do right and live for the Lord and everything will work out. It didn’t work out. It kept gettin’ worse and worse. I began to get bitter.”

CP joined the Ku Klux Klan. His father told him it was the savior of the white race. The night he first put on the white robe and hood, was led through a crowd of fellow clansmen, and knelt before an illuminated cross, CP felt that he finally belonged. He rose through the ranks, eventually becoming the Grand Exalted Cyclops.

Ann Atwater was one of nine children born to a Black sharecropping family in rural North Carolina. Her mother died when she was six. Her father earned five cents an hour in the fields, all the children working right alongside him. As a child laborer on a white owner’s farm, Ann recalled her family being given food only through the back door, after white workers had already eaten. She was taught that White people were better and that their needs came before hers.

That changed when Ann moved to Durham as a young mother with two daughters. There she became a community organizer with Operation Breakthrough, a program to help Black people escape generational poverty. Ann’s deep, powerful voice could energize a crowd, and she wasn’t afraid to share her opinions loudly and proudly. She concluded that the most effective method of getting people to listen to her was to “holler at them.” When she called a meeting, she meant business.

It should come as no surprise that CP Ellis and Ann Atwater were enemies. At town council meetings, Ann passionately advocated before the all-White board for her Black neighbors. She called for housing improvements and better schools. At the same meetings, CP made provocative and inaccurate statements, expressing his fear and resentment of Black people. “Blacks are taking over the city. They got all the good jobs, and you’re all sittin’ here letting ‘em do it.” Ann and CP were such bitter foes that she once almost pulled the penknife she kept in her purse on him at a Durham City Council meeting when he proposed Apartheid-like restrictions for Blacks. Ann remembered, “As soon as he got close to me, I was going to grab his head from behind and cut him from ear to ear.” But her pastor grabbed her hand and said, “Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

We all have enemies: those who have hurt us, worked against us, and made our lives hard. We all have enemies, those who have talked us down, disrespected our gender, or laughed at our best efforts. In this desperately partisan time, we all have enemies, who label us as “them,” advocate for candidates we can’t abide, envision an America where we are left behind or the vulnerable are victimized. We all have enemies.

In today’s reading from the Sermon on the Plain, Jesus gave his friends guidance on how to relate to enemies. The Ancient Near East was a world driven by retributive violence. An accidental death could readily explode into the murder of an entire family. Blood feuds pit neighbor against neighbor and nation against nation for generations. Jewish law tried to limit this escalating cycle of bloody revenge by teaching a tit-for-tat justice—“life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe (Exodus 21:23-25). Yet Jesus broke even with this moderate teaching of measured retaliation. Jesus insisted that his followers exceed the righteousness of the Torah. Instead of pulling out their opponent’s teeth and blacking their eyes, Jesus’ followers were to love.

Jesus taught that we love our enemies by praying for them. That doesn’t mean we are to pray, “Lord, remove my enemy from my life.” Or, “Lord, give my enemy the comeuppance that he deserves!” Rather, we are to prayerfully bring our enemy before the Lord with the intention of agape love—the sort of unselfish love that impartially wishes the best for others. Agape for our enemies? Really Jesus? If you expect that, we may need to begin by praying for ourselves. We may need to ask God to soften the hardness of our hearts and help us with our anger, vulnerability, and hurt feelings. Once we have made the choice for agape instead of retribution and asked the Lord for the help we need, we can begin to imagine our enemy in the circle of God’s love. We can begin to pray for an enemy who is transformed by love.

I suspect that Jesus taught his followers to pray for their enemies because he knew that prayer would change them. When we turn to God in prayer, we acknowledge our powerlessness. We accept that we cannot change what others feel or do. We begin to see that we can only control ourselves, and we can choose to not fuel that endless cycle of retribution. As we pray, we find healing for our pain, our hard hearts soften, and we cultivate compassion and empathy. By bringing our enemy into God’s loving regard in prayer, we participate in God’s mercy.  We move beyond measuring who deserves what. We learn to be merciful as God is merciful.  In praying for those who have wronged us, we join God in the healing and redemption of our world, one enemy at a time.

Imagine the animosity that Ann Atwater and CP Ellis felt for one another in 1971 when a court order finally forced the city of Durham to integrate its public schools. Many in the community vehemently opposed desegregation. Racial tensions among students ran high. Fights broke out in classrooms and hallways. In an effort to forestall more school violence, the town council called for a charette, an intense collaborative process to come up with new school policies. For ten days community members would meet twelve-hours-a-day to find a way forward. The council appointed two community members to chair the process: Ann Atwater and CP Ellis. Neither liked the idea. CP said, “It was impossible. How could I work with her? Her and I, up to that point, cussed each other, bawled each other [out], we hated each other.” Things got off to a rough start when CP brought a machine gun to the first meeting. He was dead set on sabotaging any progress that the charette might make.

According to Ann, the first breakthrough with CP happened when a gospel choir came in to sing for the charette. CP, who had never attended a black church, was unfamiliar with the lively music, but he liked it. He started clapping to the wrong beat. Ann looked over, grabbed his hands, and in her words “learned him how to clap.”

As Ann and CP worked together, they began to see that they had much in common. They both had endured terrible poverty, withering hardship, and limited opportunity. They both loved their children and wanted them to have possibilities for the future that they had been denied. They wanted their kids to attend schools free of violence. CP later said, “Here we are, two people from the far end of the fence, having identical problems, except her being black and me being white…The amazing thing about it, her and I, up to that point, we hated each other. Up to that point, we didn’t know each other. We didn’t know we had things in common.” Ann and CP realized that if they didn’t overcome their animosity, they would ruin the possibility of helping any children. They cried together and set aside their differences.

At the conclusion of the charette, CP and Ann presented the School Board with a list of recommendations, including giving students a larger say on education issues by expanding the board to include two students, one Black, one White. They also proposed major changes in the school curriculum, like more instruction on dealing with racial violence, creation of a group to discuss and resolve problems before they escalated, and expansion in choices of textbooks to include African-American authors.

After their work together, CP stepped down from his position as Exalted Grand Cyclops and left the KKK. He and Ann worked to desegregate the Durham school system and continued to speak jointly at civil rights seminars and meetings for three decades. CP went back to school, earned his High School diploma, and became a successful union organizer in an AFL-CIO chapter with a majority of black members. CP said of the experience, “When you walk into a plant with those Black women and butt heads with professional union busters, college men. And we hold our own against them. Now I feel like somebody for real.”

At CP’s funeral in 2005, Ann sat with family. She had come to see CP as her friend and brother. She was invited to share the eulogy. In her deep, powerful voice, Ann Atwater said of her thirty-year friendship with CP, “God had a plan for both of us, for us to get together.”

May we go forth to love our enemies.

Ann and CP’s story has been told in the 1996 book and 2016 film, both entitled “Best of Enemies,”

as well as the PBS documentary “An Unlikely Friendship.”

Resources:

Virginia Bridges. “Durham civil rights activist Ann Atwater dies at 80” in The News & Observer, April 4, 2019.

Myrna Oliver. “C.P. Ellis, 78; Once a Ku Klux Klan Leader, He Became a Civil Rights Activist” in The Los Angeles Times, Nov. 9, 2005.

Facing History & Ourselves, “Breaking Isolation”, last updated August 2, 2016. Accessed online at https://www.facinghistory.org/resource-library/breaking-isolation

Sarah Henrich. “Commentary on Luke 6:27-38” in Preaching this Week, Feb. 20, 2022. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/seventh-sunday-after-epiphany-3/commentary-on-luke-627-38-2

Mary Hinkle Shore. “Commentary on Luke 6:27-38” in Preaching this Week, Feb. 23, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/seventh-sunday-after-epiphany-3/commentary-on-luke-627-38-3

William Loyd Allen. “Theological Perspective on Luke 6:27-38” in Feasting on the Word: Luke, Volume 1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Charon Ringe. “Exegetical Perspective on Luke 6:27-38” in Feasting on the Word: Luke, Volume 1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Luke 6:27-38

27 “But I say to you who are listening: Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; 28 bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you. 29 If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. 30 Give to everyone who asks of you, and if anyone takes away what is yours, do not ask for it back again. 31 Do to others as you would have them do to you.

32 “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. 33 If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. 34 If you lend to those from whom you expect to receive payment, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. 35 Instead, love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, for he himself is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. 36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

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

Photo source: https://www.dncr.nc.gov/blog/2020/01/28/activist-ann-atwater

To Carry the Gospel of Freedom

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “To Carry the Gospel of Freedom” Luke 4:16-21

On Easter Sunday 1963, Martin Luther King sat in a jail cell in Birmingham, Alabama. Dr. King had come to Birmingham at the request of the local Black community to call attention to their experience of injustice. Birmingham was known as the most segregated city in the nation. Local businesses blatantly displayed “whites only” signs, despite negotiations the prior summer to bring change. African Americans routinely experienced police brutality and injustice. The Commissioner of Public Safety was Theophilus Eugene “Bull” Connor, a white supremacist and ardent segregationist. Birmingham had even earned the nickname “Bombingham” because it had more unsolved bombings of Black churches and Black homes than any other community in the nation.

Dr. King didn’t preach a sermon that Easter Sunday. Instead, he wrote a public letter addressed to eight Alabama clergymen, who had published an appeal to the “Negroes” of their state, urging them to wait for change. With time on his hands and only God for a companion in his prison cell, Dr. King began to scribble his letter in the margins of the newspaper, he continued on scraps of paper smuggled to him by another Black inmate, and when he was finally able to see his attorney, he requisitioned his lawyer’s legal pad. The Letter from Birmingham Jail was a blueprint for non-violent direct action and a forceful defense of King’s protest campaign. It is now regarded as one of the greatest texts of the American civil rights movement, and it continues to inspire those who practice peaceful resistance in pursuit of justice.

Accused by white clergy of being an outside agitator come to Alabama to sow discontent, Dr. King argued in his letter that he had come to Birmingham because he was “compelled to carry the gospel of freedom,” just as Jesus carried the gospel from Nazareth to Jerusalem and the apostles carried the gospel to every corner of the Roman Empire. King was keenly aware of the interrelatedness of all communities, saying, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere,” whatever affects one directly touches us all indirectly. He could not turn his back on the people of Birmingham any more than Jesus could fail to confront the oppressive powers of his day.

Our reading from Luke’s gospel grants us a glimpse of Jesus in the early days of his ministry, sharing his gospel of freedom with his hometown crowd in Nazareth. Unrolling the scroll of Isaiah, Jesus found the spot where the prophet had written,

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

because he has anointed me

to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives

and recovery of sight to the blind,

to set free those who are oppressed.”

Next, Jesus sat down, as any first century rabbi would, to interpret the words of the Prophet Isaiah for the people of Nazareth.

When I’m teaching confirmation students about mission, we read this passage. I ask the learners, “Why this reading from Isaiah 61?” There are, after all, sixty-six chapters in Isaiah’s work, but Jesus deliberately chose to read this one. I suggest to the kids that this is Jesus’ mission statement. There in his hometown as he launched his public ministry, Jesus wanted people to know who he truly was and what God called him to do. In fact, as we continue to read Luke’s gospel, its one long revelation of how Jesus would pursue his mission by identifying with the poor and lowly, feeding the hungry, healing every sort of infirmity, setting folks free from the burdens of sin and death, confronting the oppressive powers of Temple and empire, and proving God’s great love for all people on the cross. Jesus saw his mission as a holy purpose for all people. In his parting words to his friends, he exhorted them to take his good news to all nations, so that God’s love and freedom might flourish among all people.

The great 16th century Protestant Reformer Martin Luther taught that the good news is often bad news (kakevangelium) before it is good news. In other words, Jesus’ mission to bring good news to the poor, presumes the reality of poverty. And the desire to bring release to captives points to people who are unfairly treated in the court of justice. Recovery of sight to the blind reveals the failures and shortcomings of traditional healing and the costliness that puts good medical care beyond the grasp of some. Setting the oppressed free presumes the reality of oppressors, the few who exploit power to dominate and control the vulnerable. The good news is bad news. It unmasks the sin of our world as we know it. And yet, even as we face the bad news head on, we trust that God is with us in the pursuit of love and justice, and with God, victory is certain. The good news is bad news before it is good news.

In his Letter from Birmingham Jail, Dr. King expressed his disappointment not only with the clergy who urged Black Americans to wait for their oppressors to grant them liberation, but also with the “white church.” Rev. King had anticipated that his fellow Christians would be on the frontlines with their Black neighbors in pursuit of good news to the poor, release for captives, and freedom from oppression. He lamented white churches that were more devoted to order than justice, who felt entitled to paternalistically set a time table for someone else’s freedom. King cautioned that, one day, society would need to repent of the appalling silence of “good people” as much as it did of the hateful words and actions of “bad” people. King’s peaceful demonstration in Birmingham had not created the hurtful, harmful division of Black and white. He had merely brought to the surface tensions that had long existed in Birmingham and the nation. King’s gospel of freedom had to be bad news for the status quo before it could be good news for all God’s people.

Jesus’ sermon in Nazareth and Dr. King’s Letter from Birmingham Jail continue to invite faithful people to join our purpose to God’s purpose and carry the gospel of freedom into the world. It’s a particular challenge for the white mainline church because it confronts us with the sins of our society and may even point to how we have unwittingly been complicit. One of the ways that we carry that challenging gospel of freedom is through the Presbyterian Peacemaking Program, which seeks wholeness for the global community by addressing poverty, violence, racism, climate change, and the crisis in immigration. Let me tell you about two innovative ministries that our donations have supported.

The first initiative is Loads of Love, which seeks to fulfill Jesus’ purpose of good news to the poor. It began with a woman named Linda, who was living with stage-4 cancer when she confessed to her pastor that she could no longer handle the laundry—the sheer volume of blankets and bedding caused by her illness. Financially strapped and already living on the edge, the expense of using coin-operated washers and driers was driving Linda’s family deeper into poverty. Linda’s predicament prompted her Presbytery to launch Loads of Love, which teams struggling families with local volunteers who can help. Rev. Carol Vickery says that her church’s laundry outreach has put them in touch with a world whose hardships they were unaware of. It comes as a shock (bad news) for people to realize how costly doing laundry can be and to know that people can’t use their SNAP benefits to buy detergent, cleaning supplies, or personal hygiene items. Loads of Love brings the good news of caring and dignity to struggling neighbors.

A second initiative is the vision of Joseph Russ, a Presbyterian Mission Worker in El Salvador, who has been instrumental in establishing a network of more than 50 churches, governmental agencies, and non-profits in the US and Central America that are seeking to alleviate the concerns of the immigration crisis. In 2014 when Russ went to El Salvador as a young adult, nearly 70,000 unaccompanied minors were turned away at the US-Mexico border. Many of those kids ended up in El Salvador, which was unable to handle the humanitarian crisis (bad news). Joseph and his partners in the International Red Cross now run a shelter program for internally displaced people and returnees with no place to go. The shelter reduces people’s exposure to violence and poverty and helps them find stability amid difficult and dangerous situations. The organization also seeks to address the root causes of poverty and violence in Central America that precipitate mass migration.

Our gifts to Presbyterian Peacemaking are one of the ways that we join our mission to Jesus’ and further the vision he set forth in that first sermon in Nazareth.

Four months after Dr. King wrote his Letter from Birmingham Jail, he was joined by 250,000 supporters in the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. Dr. King spoke last at the rally, his voice faltering and his way unclear until Ralph Abernethy shouted out, “Martin tell them about the dream.” The eloquent words that followed have long inspired us to pursue the beautiful kingdom where people of all races may come to the table of peace, freedom, and opportunity. After the march, the speakers travelled to the White House for a brief discussion with President Kennedy, who felt the day was a victory for him as well—bolstering the chances for the passage of his civil rights bill. The following February, The Civil Rights Act of 1964 was made the law of the land, despite the President’s assassination in November and a 72-day Senate filibuster. The act prohibited discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, or national origin. It ended segregation in public schools, public accommodations, and federally funded programs. It ended unequal application of voter registration requirements and put an end to Jim Crow laws. The act also established the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC).

I suspect that if Jesus and Dr. King were with us this morning, they would tell us that the gospel of freedom remains but a dream for some, especially in all the hurting and broken places of our nation and our world where faithful people prefer order to justice and the bad news prevails. May we dare to go forth with the gospel of freedom.

Resources

Scott O’Neill. “New PC(USA) mission network launches this week” in Presbyterian News Service, March 18, 2024. Accessed online at https://www.pcusa.org/news-storytelling/news/new-pcusa-mission-network-launches-week

Presbyterian Peacemaking. PEACE & GLOBAL WITNESS Leaders Guide, 2024. Accessed online at https://pcusa.org/sites/default/files/2024-11/PGW24%20Leaders%20Guide.pdf

David S. Jacobsen. “Commentary on John 4:16-21” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 27, 2019. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/third-sunday-after-epiphany-3/commentary-on-luke-414-21-4

Karoline Lewis. “Commentary on John 4:16-21” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 27, 2013. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/third-sunday-after-epiphany-3/commentary-on-luke-414-21

Martin Luther King, Jr. Why We Can’t Wait. New York: Penguin Putnam, 1963, 1964.

Luke 4:14-21

14 Then Jesus, in the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding region. 15 He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone. 16 When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, 17 and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:

18 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to set free those who are oppressed,
19 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

20 And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. 21 Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Image source: https://www.cnn.com/2013/04/16/us/king-birmingham-jail-letter-anniversary/index.html

Jackie Carl Gets a New Name

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Jackie Carl Gets a New Name” Isaiah 9:2-7 and Psalm 22:9-10

for Tillie Blackbear

“Jeezum Crow! That boy has gotten up to a lot of mischief over the years, but this takes the cake.” It was Ruth Underhill. Pastor Bob had gotten an emergency call, summoning him to Ruth’s farm, and it hadn’t taken much imagination to surmise that the “emergency” was related to Ruth’s grandson Jackie Carl. The boy just seemed to be made for trouble.

At the farm, Bob wasn’t surprised to see that Tubby Mitchell had also been summoned to respond to the crisis. Tubby sat at the kitchen table, studying his cup of black coffee, and while Ruth poured Bob his own cup, she launched into Jackie Carl’s latest escapade. It had involved the outside brick wall of the high school gym and a lot of spray paint. To Jackie Carl’s credit, the graffiti was not profane, just rude and wildly inappropriate.

“You name it, I’ve tried it,” Ruth continued, “Counseling, tough love, heart-to-hearts, prayer, bribery.” She threw up her hands. “Nothing works. Nothing!”

Now Bob was studying his coffee cup as assiduously as Tubby was. In the silence that followed, Bob could hear the kitchen clock ticking. Bob thought about all the trouble that Jackie Carl had gotten into over the years. When the boy was only in second grade, Bob suspected him of swiping the special comb that Eugenia Bergstrom used every Sunday to straighten the fringe on the altar cloth. An exhaustive search had eventually found it, tangled in the mane of a stuffed lion down in the Sunday school room. Then, there had been the time in middle school when Jackie Carl had blown out the exhaust system in his school bus by wedging an enormous potato into the tailpipe. Lately, Bob had heard about fights—two black eyes for the boy who had called Jackie Carl a red-headed loser. When Bob thought about it, the only time he’d seen Jackie Carl truly happy in the past year had been on the lacrosse field, the teenager’s lanky, freckled legs dashing down the field at a blistering pace, cradling the ball, dodging defenders, and launching a shot with a fierce intensity that made even the most steadfast of keepers shrink in fear.

Ruth wasn’t done. “I blame it on his father. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in five years. Five years! At least when he was in prison, we knew where he was. Why my daughter took up with him I’ll never understand. You know, the one time he did visit, he spent the whole time smoking cigarettes on the front porch and staring at his phone. He may have named the boy after himself, but he has never shown a lick of interest in the child.”

Tubby sadly nodded along. Tubby had been thinking, too. He remembered meeting the six-year-old Jackie Carl, all knobby knees, freckles, and carroty hair. The boy had called Tubby out of his grief for his dead son, and the two had forged a special bond as the boy tagged along to fish, camp, and hunt. Each morning of those trips, Tubby and Jackie Carl would begin the day by praying together the Haudenosaunee prayer of thanksgiving with its beautiful celebration of the unity of creation, “Now our minds are one.” For Tubby and his wife Irene, the boy had helped to heal the hole left in their hearts when Todd died in Iraq.

Tubby thought about himself, too, he’d lost his parents at a young age in a car accident, casualties of those days when addiction had been so prevalent on the reservation. Tubby knew there was a good chance that he would have ended up as wild and unsettled as Jackie Carl if it hadn’t been for his grandfather. The legendary wilderness guide had driven north to the reservation from his cabin outside the village and taken Tubby home with him. Tubby’s grandfather had always made sure that Tubby knew who he was, Tionatakwente of the Kanien’kehaka people, the great eastern door of the Iroquois confederacy, but Tubby suspected that Jackie Carl had no idea who he was. Tubby and Bob locked eyes across the table and an unspoken agreement passed between the two men.

Bob leaned forward, “How can we help, Ruth?”

This unlocked a shower of tears from Ruth, who could run her dairy farm with an iron fist but couldn’t tame her grandson. Between sobs, Ruth stammered, “I don’t know I don’t I don’t I don’t know.”

Tubby sighed and reached across the table to lay his hand on Ruth’s, “I’ve got an idea, Ruth. Let me talk to Irene about it.”

When Tubby opened the door to the cabin, he was greeted by the scent of balsam and baking. He had cut a six-foot Christmas tree and brought it home where Irene had worked her magic, winding it with lights, hanging ornaments, and topping it with an enormous God’s Eye that their son Tod had long ago made in Sunday school—bright yarn was woven around crossed sticks to remind them of God’s watchful care and protection. Irene was pulling a tray of Christmas cookies from the oven. Her cheeks were flushed and her long hair, bound by a red ribbon the nape of her neck, was shot through with gray.

Tubby leaned in to steal a too-hot cookie. He remembered the first time he saw Irene up on the reservation. He had known immediately that she would be his wife. Tubby wasn’t sure what his grandfather had said to the Clan Mother to convince her it would be ok for Irene to marry his grandson, but it worked. Their wedding day, when he had seen her in her ribbon skirt, shawl, and beaded moccasins, had been one of the happiest moments of his life. Tubby blew on his cookie.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, venturing a cautious bite.

Irene raised her eyebrows. “Thinking? That’s always trouble.”

Tubby nodded, “It’s about Jackie Carl.”

Irene smiled indulgently. “Ah. More trouble.”

Tubby started again, “Well, it’s not just about Jackie Carl. It’s about Todd, too.” Irene’s brow creased, thinking about the beautiful son they had lost in Iraq. She waited for her husband to continue.

Tubby searched for the right words. “Irene, maybe kinship isn’t just about blood. Jackie Carl needs us. Maybe in ways that Todd never did. Ruth Underhill, she needs our help. Maybe God is calling us to something new.”

One by one, Irene transferred cookies to the cooling rack, plying her spatula until the baking sheet was empty. Christmas always made Irene think of Todd. Could there be that kind of space in her heart for someone else, especially someone who was so troubled? She thought of her own parents and elders on the reservation. They told long ago stories of the healing of families that followed times of war. Beloved ones lost in battle left a hole that was sometimes filled by others—even prisoners of war—who were adopted into the clan. Still today, it wasn’t unusual to expand families in unexpected ways.

Irene turned the thought over in her mind and picked up a cookie. She took a bite. Maybe the question shouldn’t be why but why not. Why not a hot-headed teen with fiery red hair? Irene put down her spatula, “Tionatakwente, are you asking if we should adopt Jackie Carl into the clan?”

Tubby looked expectant.

Irene nodded, “Well, I’d better call my Auntie. Lord knows, that boy sure could use a new name.”

Jackie Carl was no stranger to the res. As a boy at the Powwow, he had relished eating stew with thick chunks of venison, made tender by slow cooking. His small feet had shuffled along with the men as they moved to the rhythm of the Thunder Dance. Each year right after school let out, Tubby would drive them north to the St. Lawrence to fish for enormous Muskies that lurked in weeds and promised the fight of a lifetime. Jackie Carl had learned to love lacrosse on the res, the beauty of precision passing, the crack of stick against stick, the cry of “Aho!” when the ball swished into the back of the net. Last summer, Jackie Carl had helped Tubby as the firekeeper at the sweat, carefully passing super-heated rocks with a pitchfork from the fire to the pit at the center of the lodge.

Sometimes on the reservation, Jackie Carl forgot. He forgot that his father didn’t love him. He forgot that his mother had left him. He forgot that he felt angry and rootless on most days, despite his grandmother’s efforts to provide what his parents could not.

Jackie Carl had never been on the reservation for the Midwinter Ceremony. The five days of praying, eating, dancing, and games conflicted with school, but this year, Ruth Underhill made an exception, sending him north in the back seat of Tubby’s Kingcab. Irene had been cooking for the feast for days: golden rounds of Bannock, sweet cornmeal pudding, roasted squash mixed with butter and maple syrup, and vats of potato and macaroni salad. Just thinking about it made Jackie Carl’s stomach growl. On that first day, they had pulled up in front of an inauspicious looking ranch house. Tubby put the car in park, and Irene turned to the boy. “This is my Auntie’s house. She’s the Clan Mother. Are you ready?” Jackie Carl nodded, “Yep,” and they went inside.

A teen about Jackie Carl’s age answered the door, showed them where to leave their shoes, and pointed them toward a closed door, saying only, “They’re waiting.” Inside, it took Jackie Carl’s eyes a minute to adjust to the dark. Windows had been covered with blankets and the only light came from a low fire that burned in the fireplace. This must have been what it felt like in the longhouse, Jackie Carl thought. A circle of Kanien’kehaka people sat on the floor, but just enough room had been left for the three of them. Jackie Carl, Tubby, and Irene took a seat.

 At the head of the circle sat the oldest woman that Jackie Carl had ever seen. “Auntie,” Irene spoke up, “we bring you a gift.” She held out a pouch of tobacco, which was passed around the circle to the waiting matriarch. She gave it an appreciative sniff before mixing it with red willow bark and packing it into the bowl of a medicine pipe. The lit pipe slowly passed from neighbor to neighbor around the circle. To Jackie Carl, the silence of that room felt like an eternity, but for Tubby and Irene it felt like they were settling back into the ancient rhythms of their ancestors.

Finally, the Auntie spoke in Mohawk, then in English for Jackie Carl’s benefit. “What is it you seek, my children?”

Irene answered, “We’ve come to claim the right of adoption. The hole that was left in our clan when Todd was killed needs to be filled. We claim Jackie Carl, that he might have all the rights and status that would have been Todd’s.” There were sounds of affirmation around the circle, followed again by an appreciative silence.

At last, with what might have been a twinkle in her eye, the Auntie said, “It’s about time, Irene. What took you so long?”

The Auntie turned her bright eyes on Jackie Carl, “And what do you have to say about it, young man?”

Before she had even finished speaking, Jackie Carl was nodding, “Yes,” so filled with feeling that he could not find the words or trust his voice. Jackie Carl looked to Tubby and Irene, their faces filled with love, their eyes brimming with tears. Tubby placed a hand on Jackie Carl’s shoulder and for the first time in his life, the boy felt like he had a Dad.

“Very well!” the Auntie continued, “You need a name. A real name.” As if the name Jackie Carl had only been a placeholder for the true life that was about to unfold.

They sat once more in silence. The pipe was filled and passed around the circle again. After a long while, the Auntie spoke. Pointing first to the orange glow of the coals on the hearth and then to the carroty color of Jackie Carl’s hair, she said. “You, my child, are Atsila. That means fire.”

An appreciative chorus of “Aho” and laughter greeted her proclamation. “Atsila,” Jackie Carl tried the sound of his new name. It felt like the moment when the Muskie hits your line and you know you’ve hooked a big one. “Atsila.” It felt like the instant your lacrosse shot slips past the keeper and into the cage. “Atsila.” It felt like the sleepy peace that comes when your belly is full of Bannock, venison stew, and cornmeal pudding. “Atsila.” It felt like home.

Isaiah 9:2-7

The people who walked in darkness
    have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness—
    on them light has shined.
3 You have multiplied exultation;
    you have increased its joy;
they rejoice before you
    as with joy at the harvest,
    as people exult when dividing plunder.
4 For the yoke of their burden
    and the bar across their shoulders,
    the rod of their oppressor,
    you have broken as on the day of Midian.
5 For all the boots of the tramping warriors
    and all the garments rolled in blood
    shall be burned as fuel for the fire.
6 For a child has been born for us,
    a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders,
    and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
7 Great will be his authority,
    and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
    He will establish and uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
    from this time onward and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.

Psalm 22:9-10

Yet it was you who took me from the womb;
    you kept me safe on my mother’s breast.
10 On you I was cast from my birth,
    and since my mother bore me you have been my God.

Photo by Cody Hammer on Pexels.com

The Beautiful Feast

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The Beautiful Feast” Isaiah 25:6-9

In October, we revived the pre-pandemic tradition of Committee Night, a monthly evening when the committees of the church gather. The evening begins at 5:30pm with a potluck supper. You never know what will turn up on the dinner table, but it is always good and plentiful. Last week, we had homemade soup, bread, charcuterie, fresh and dried fruit, salad, and a host of desserts, including not one but two birthday cakes for me. What a feast!

We typically transition from the dinner table to our small workgroups around 6:00pm. But as we laughed, swapped stories, and enjoyed the meal, time, as it often does when there is good food and good company, slipped away. About 6:20, I reluctantly shifted us from feast mode to work mode. Committees met, plans were made, and tasks assigned, all in time for choir practice to start at 7pm. That potluck meal felt like a victory as we shrugged off the vestiges of the COVID-19 pandemic and returned to right rhythms of eating, caring, and serving together.

In our reading from Isaiah, God granted the prophet a vision of the beautiful feast in the Kingdom of God. The table overflowed with sumptuous food and the finest of wine. The people of Israel and all the nations of the world rejoiced, feeding on the bounty that God had prepared. Every belly was full, every face flushed with satisfaction. The sound of laughter and song and heartfelt conversation rose in a blessed crescendo. Almighty God, that most generous and loving of hosts, met every hunger, dried every tear, and comforted every sorrow. Then, God had God’s own feast, to the amazement of all. God swallowed up death, ending forever the mortal shroud that parted the holy from the ordinary. What a feast! Isaiah’s vision has prompted hope and delight ever since.

This church is no stranger to the hope and delight that our beautiful feasts can engender. Back in 1927, we called the Rev. Hiram Lyon to serve as our pastor. The recent seminary graduate was a young bachelor with a flair for cooking. On several occasions, he put on summer dinners at Split Rock Farm for the church’s Men’s Club. We don’t know the menu, but since it was a bunch of guys, I think we can trust that there was grilling involved. There is a record, though, of what happened after dinner. The men sat around the campfire until late in the evening, watching the moon rise and the night fall. They pondered the billion stars of the Milky Way and the great mystery of the divine.

Perhaps the church’s fanciest feast took place in 1985. We had building on our minds—the extension of the church to create the Great Hall and the Christian Education classrooms. To share plans and kick-off the church’s fundraising efforts, we hosted a dinner at the Hotel Saranac. Invitations were mailed. Neighbors from the community were invited. I hear the food was excellent and the hall filled with hopeful expectation as we dreamed together about the blessing that would flow for us and for the community when our building effort reached completion.

I may be a little biased, but I think Duane’s and my wedding reception in the Great Hall, almost nineteen years ago now, was another echo of the beautiful feast. It wasn’t fancy. The deacons cooked up seven crockpots of soup. Duane and I provided an abundance of sandwich wraps, cheese and crackers, punch, and a fabulous wedding cake made by Dawne’s sister. Duane’s friends came all the way from Virginia to provide bluegrass music. Little girls twirled around the dancefloor in their princess dresses. And, the golden girls of the United Presbyterian Women sampled and provided commentary on every single soup. What a feast!

It might surprise us to learn that when Isaiah shared God’s hopeful vision of the holy banquet, the Hebrew people didn’t have a lot to celebrate. Gone were the days of unity for the twelve tribes. The northern clans had long ago split to form the Kingdom of Israel. The southern tribes confederated under the banner of Judah. Waves of foreign invasion had wracked the two kingdoms. Indeed, when Isaiah spoke, the northern kingdom had fallen to the Assyrians. Many of their northern kin had been deported, sent to the far corners of the Assyrian Empire. The invaders had almost vanquished Judah, too. They encamped around the walls of Jerusalem and sought to starve the kingdom into submission. Only the forethought of King Hezekiah, whose men had tunneled beneath the city walls to allow access to fresh water and supplies, allowed the hungry city to outlast the siege. As Isaiah spoke the vision of God’s beautiful feast, foreign invaders were again on the horizon. The Babylonian army was rising in the east in what would prove to be an unstoppable tide.

Our beautiful feasts don’t happen in a perfect world. When Hiram Lyon hosted those starry suppers for the Men’s Club, Saranac Lake was at the height of the tuberculosis pandemic. Sanatoriums and cure cottages overflowed with desperately sick neighbors who had come to our village in the hope of a cold air cure. Hiram Lyon knew all about that. He came to the village as a tuberculosis patient, having contracted the disease while a student at Union Seminary in Morningside Heights, NYC. He stayed in the village to pastor our church for ten years and minister to the sick whose experience he had shared.

When we banqueted at the Hotel Saranac and dreamed of a bigger, better building, we weren’t too certain about the future. The church’s Christian Education building—Gurley Hall—had originally been built as a stable and had not withstood the test of time. Under-insulated and poorly heated, it was no longer fit for classes or community use, and our efforts to excavate below the sanctuary to create the Lower Room hadn’t provided nearly enough space for our programs. We were renting space from St. Luke’s and the Methodists. In fact, we debated closing our doors and merging with our neighbors. And then there was the matter of funding. Someone—probably Sally’s husband Bill—had the vision to build, but we definitely didn’t have the money.

When Duane and I danced a bluegrass waltz and the children blew bubbles to bless us in the Great Hall on our wedding day, the church had been through bleak times. There was a full-blown schism with the departure of Pastor Chuck, and we had weathered a lengthy interim with the tough but wise Pastor Carol. People had left the church. We were plagued by poor communication and rival factions. I had inherited a $45,000 budget deficit. We would either make it or we wouldn’t, but we needed to turn the corner fast.

Isaiah’s vision affirms that our beautiful feasts do not happen in a perfect world where everything is blue skies, sunshine, and lollipops. It also affirms that God is present in the midst of our chaos. God longs to feed us, nurture us, dry our tears, and comfort us. The world is filled with war and the threat of war, pandemics, declining mainline churches, and bitter divisions. Yet Isaiah reminds us that God is more than a match for our chaos. God is in the middle of it, fighting to deliver us from all that makes our hearts tremble. Indeed, the God who swallows death whole has raised Jesus from the dead and broken down every barrier that can ever separate us from God’s eternal, unstoppable love. One day, we will all be seated at God’s table, bellies full, laughter ringing, conversation flowing, joy complete. What a feast!

Today, we will celebrate our own feast, here at the Lord’s Table, where generations of Presbyterians have been fed. Our beautiful feast does not happen in a perfect world. Bombs are falling in the Middle East. Children are starving in Gaza and Yemen, Afghanistan and Congo, Somalia and Sudan. We are days away from a hotly contested election that will leave at least half of our neighbors bitterly disappointed, no matter what the outcome. Yet we dare to come to this table, to remember that God is with us even when the world is at its most chaotic. God longs to comfort the grieving, feed the hungry, and dry the tears that flow. The Lord holds out to us the hope that one day all people, all nations, will gather at God’s banquet table—peaceful, beloved, and satisfied. Lord, speed the day!

This morning, like Isaiah, we engage in a prophetic act. As we share the Lord’s Supper, and we pledge our gifts to support the church in the coming year, we acknowledge that we do not live in a perfect world. But with God’s help, we can nudge this world a little closer to the Kingdom. With God’s help, we can live with hope and delight. With God’s help, we can feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, and bless the children. With God’s help, we can build a world where all are welcomed to the table. What a feast it will be! Amen.

Resources

Evelyn Outcalt and Judy Kratts. A History of the First Presbyterian Church of Saranac Lake, written in celebration of the church’s centenary, July 25, 1990.

Anathea Portier-Young. “Commentary on Isaiah 25:6-9” in Preaching This Week, Nov. 1, 2015. Accessed online at Commentary on Isaiah 25:6-9 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Amy Erickson. “Commentary on Isaiah 25:6-9” in Preaching This Week, Nov. 4, 2012. Accessed online at Commentary on Isaiah 25:6-9 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Julianna Claasens. “Commentary on Isaiah 25:6-9” in Preaching This Week, Nov. 1, 2009. Accessed online at Commentary on Isaiah 25:6-9 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Corinne Carvalho. “Commentary on Isaiah 25:6-9” in Preaching This Week, Nov. 7, 2021. Accessed online at Commentary on Isaiah 25:6-9 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Isaiah 25:6-9

6 On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples
    a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines,
    of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.
7 And he will destroy on this mountain
    the shroud that is cast over all peoples,
    the covering that is spread over all nations;
8     he will swallow up death forever.
Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces,
    and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth,
    for the Lord has spoken.
9 It will be said on that day,
    “See, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us.
    This is the Lord for whom we have waited;
    let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.”

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Abiding in Christ

/ reverendjoannwhite / 1 Comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

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

John 15:1-8

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

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