Young at Heart Message
 
Every Palm Sunday, we hear the same story. But I wonder how often we really think deeply about Jesus, the disciples, and the crowd?
 
So, I want to try a little exercise.
 
Those of you on the left side of the room, I want you to imagine that you are part of the crowd that is shouting praises to Jesus on his entry into Jerusalem.
 
You are excited! You are shouting “Hooray! God bless the one who comes in the name of the Lord! God bless the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!”
 
You are ready to believe that this man is Immanuel – “God with us.” He is hope for the future, and you believe in this moment that he is the Redeemer.
 
You don’t know it yet, but in just a couple days, you are going to completely change your tune. Instead of shouting praises, you are going to be condemning Jesus to death by crucifixion.
 
And on the right side of the room, I’d like you to imagine that you are Jesus. Today, you are entering Jerusalem to the praise of these people who, just a few days from now, will condemn you.
 
You probably know these people will condemn you. And yet, you enter Jerusalem and allow them to welcome you and shout your praises anyway.
 
Now, each side of the room, imagine how you feel as either the crowd, or as Jesus.
 
Really take a moment to put yourself in their shoes. Let us take 30 seconds of silence for you to explore how you might feel if you were in their shoes.
*****
Now, those of you in the crowd, imagine that you get a moment alone with Jesus to talk with him. He knows you praised him today, but will condemn him on Friday.
 
What do you say to Jesus? How do you feel standing before him, knowing that he knows?
 
Likewise, those of you who imagined you are Jesus, how do you feel talking 1:1 with someone who praises you today but will condemn you on Friday? What might you say to this person?
 
Let’s take another 30 seconds to think about this and imagine this conversation.
*****
If anyone from the crowd is willing to share – how did it feel to stand before Jesus?
*****
And, what about those who imagined you were Jesus? How does this conversation feel to you?
 
The Message

Today, we are witnesses to the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem surrounded by a crowd shouting praise and celebrating his coming.

And, as we know, just a few days later, those same people shouting praise and celebrating Jesus will condemn him on Good Friday.

And, every year we are reminded that we are a part of both crowds, at least symbolically.
​
We confessed during our Palm Sunday liturgy:
 
“Although we welcome you today with the multitude… we confess we have also stood with the condemning crowd on Good Friday. Our thoughts, words, and deeds have cried, ‘Crucify!’”
 
Of course, we are not talking about our literal participation in the condemnation and crucifixion of Jesus.
 
But symbolically, we were there. We have been there on and off throughout our lives – perhaps not with Jesus, but with others.
 
How many of us have echoed over and over in church on Sunday that we are called to feed the poor, shelter the homeless, and forgive those who have sinned against us, but then turned around and refused to offer cash to someone begging on the street? Or refuse to offer a spare room to a homeless person?
 
How many of us have struggled to forgive someone, perhaps to the point where it haunts us throughout our lives?
 
Palm Sunday - the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem to shouts of praise by the same people who will shout to condemn just a few days later - is an invitation.
 
It is an invitation to look at our own lives and recognize the ways in which we might say one thing but do something different.
 
It is not an invitation to feel guilt or shame. Rather, it is an invitation to experience God-given grace.
 
Jesus is well aware that these people shouting his praises today will condemn him a few days later. And yet, he enters Jerusalem anyway.
 
Jesus knows Peter will deny him three times, and yet he continues to love and forgive Peter anyway.
 
Jesus knows Judas will betray him, but he forgives anyway. And, he allows Judas to come to the realization that Jesus knows what he’s going to do. It doesn’t stop Judas, but Judas knows that Jesus knows.
 
All of these people – the crowd and the disciples – they all receive Jesus’s forgiveness and his grace.
 
On Easter morning when we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus, we know for certain that even though the crowd condemned him and the disciples denied him, Jesus returned and forgave them.
 
And Jesus died for all of them, and for us, too.
 
Jesus wants us to know that he knows that we might be among those who would shout praises one day and condemn or deny him the next.
 
He wants us to know this because he wants us to feel so deeply loved and forgiven that we could extend that to every corner of our being.
 
He wants us to know because he wants us to radiate his love outward – to know so fully and deeply that we are loved that we extend that love fully and completely to everyone we meet.
 
And he wants us to know that we are forgiven.
 
There is no need for shame or guilt because we are wholly loved and forgiven. We bear all to Jesus and he says, “I know, and I still love you.”
 
So, as we enter into Holy Week and look inward to become more aware of the ways in which we might be like the crowd, we also go into this week knowing that Jesus loves us. Jesus loved us before we were born, he loves our past selves, our present selves, and our future selves.
 
He loves us when we are shouting praises and he loves us when we are shouting condemnations.
 
He loves us when we are happy, and he loves us when we are down, depressed, uncertain, or anxious.
 
He loves us when life is going our way, and he loves us when life is hard and we aren’t sure where to go next.
 
May we remember how deeply loved we are.
 
May we remember that Jesus loved us so much that he was willing to enter Jerusalem knowing that his death was just days away.
 
For us. Jesus did all of this for us. That kind of love is deep, abiding, and ever-lasting. We are loved.
 
You are loved.
 
Let’s say it together: I am loved.
 
Amen.
 
Let us pray: God of grace, thank you for allowing us to choose – to choose to be in the crowd shouting praises and in the crowd shouting condemnation. And thank you for forgiving us and offering grace when we choose condemnation. We don’t intend to hurt you or hurt others, and we are grateful that you know our hearts and our intentions. We pray that you would continue to guide us, and we pray that you continue to forgive us and offer us your grace when we stray. Thank you for your endless love. In your Holy Name, we pray. Amen.

Young at Heart Message

I don’t know about you, but today’s Gospel reading leaves me with a couple of questions.

So, to help us think about this story in a new way, I want to imagine the story for us a little differently.

This portion of the sermon is adapted from a Children’s sermon published on Gary Neal Hansen’s website, GaryNealHansen.com.
​
He does give permission for this to be used broadly with credit to his page.
 
One night, Jesus and his friends had camped out on the Mount of Olives. The next morning, Jesus got up and said. “I’m going for a walk. See you later.”
 
“Where are you going?” they asked. 
 
“To the Temple,” he said.
 
When Jesus got near the Temple doors, people crowded around him. So he started teaching them about the Kingdom of God, as Jesus tended to do when he was at the Temple.
 
But then a noisy group of men came down the road. When they got closer everybody moved out of their way.
 
Jesus noticed that they were bringing a woman with them, holding her tightly by the arms. She looked really upset, like she wanted to get away.
 
“Jesus!” said the man leading the group. “We were hoping to find you here. We brought this… this woman!”
 
“I see that,” Jesus said. He tried to catch the woman’s eye, but she wouldn’t look at him. She just looked at the ground.
Jesus got down on his knees and started writing something in the dirt. She was looking down, so she could see him writing.
 
“Well?” said the man. “We caught this woman!”
 
Jesus didn’t look up. As he kept on writing, he said, “Well maybe you should let her go. I think you are hurting her arms.”
 
The woman couldn’t quite see what he was writing, but she was curious and kept trying to see more clearly.
 
The men eventually let the woman go. They gave her a shove, so she stood between Jesus and their group.
 
“I said,” the man went on, “we caught her with the man who lives next door to her. They were doing something God’s law forbids. The Law of God says we should kill her by throwing rocks at her. That’s what we are gonna do!”
 
Jesus said, “You said she was with the man who lives next door to her. Where is he?”
 
The men shrugged and looked at their feet.
 
“Well, he’s a friend of some of the guys here,” said the leader. “But this woman is guilty. We caught her.”
 
“Yeah, you mentioned that,” said Jesus. “Seems like you only want to obey God if the person you punish is not a friend.”
 
Nobody spoke.
 
“So did you bring the rocks?” Jesus asked.
 
The men looked at each other and shrugged. Their leader said, “No. We, um…”
 
Jesus interrupted. “Well if you’re going to do what that law says, you’re going to need rocks. It seems like you are wanting me to do it for you. Why don’t you go away and come back when you’re really ready.”
 
All the men shuffled off. But someone shouted “We’ll be back!”
 
And Jesus got back on his knees and started writing, slowly, in the dirt again. The woman watched him write, mesmerized and wondering.
 
The woman said “Are you going to let them throw rocks at me?” He didn’t speak. She started to cry.
 
Then he said “Maybe they won’t come back. But tell me: did you do what they said you did?”
 
She sniffled, but before she could answer, the men returned, with big rocks in their hands. “We’re back!” the leader said. “And we’re ready to do what God’s law says we should do!” 
 
Jesus stood up, dusted himself off.
 
He said, “I’m afraid you will have to wait a minute. I’ve got a question for you. Is this maybe the first time you’ve tried to obey God’s law?”
 
“Why do you ask?” said the leader. 
 
“Because it sounds like maybe you’re new at this,” Jesus said. “Anyway, we need to make sure you’re the right people to obey this particular law.”
 
“Oh come on,” said the leader. “Everyone should always obey God’s law. And we never broke the law she broke.”
 
“Think about it,” said Jesus. “If you knew someone stole a lot of money—say he’d already been convicted in court—would you let him decide who gets arrested for stealing?”
 
“What does this have to do with us?” said the leader. “It’s time for us to stone this sinful woman.”
 
Jesus stood up again. The woman tried so hard to see what he’d been writing. She tried to look subtle, but couldn’t quite see it.
 
Jesus dusted himself off once more. He said. “Okay, how about you arrange yourselves in three groups. If you’ve broken a whole lot of God’s laws, make a group over there.
 
If maybe you used to break God’s laws but you don’t do it much any more, stand in the middle. And if you always try to be good and hardly ever break God’s laws, make a group right over here.”
They grumbled, but they did it. They made three groups. Then Jesus said, “Okay, so now let’s go one at a time. Whoever here has never ever broken even one of God’s laws, that person gets to go first.”
The group close by all looked at each other. But nobody stepped forward.
 
So Jesus started writing in the dirt again.
 
One by one, the men drifted away. They dropped their rocks by the roadside and they left.
 
Eventually he looked up and caught the woman’s eye. “Oh, so isn’t anyone going to stone you after all?”
 
“No sir,” she said.
 
“Well,” Jesus said, “I’m certainly not going to.”
 
“But…” said the woman. “What should I do now?” 
She was holding her face in her hands and weeping.
 
“My daughter,” Jesus said. “Go and live your life—But from now on, live the way God teaches you to live.”
 
The woman nodded tearfully. With her path clear of men surrounding her, she could finally see what Jesus had written:

The Message

While that story is a reimagining of many of the details that are left out of the Gospel, it does help highlight some of the questions that we might have as we read this passage.

The first, and perhaps most important, is who is considered guilty of sin.

When these men brought the woman to Jesus, they said, “this woman was caught sleeping with a man who isn’t her husband.”
 
This naturally implies that another party was involved in the “transgression.” So why only bring one of the people who broke the Law of Moses rather than both?

This would be like if they brought the woman to Jesus and said, “this woman was caught robbing the local bank with a man who lives in town.”

Why would they only bring her, and not him as well? Shouldn’t they both technically be stoned for breaking the law, if that is the required punishment?
 
The second question, of course, is what was Jesus writing in the dirt? And why was he doing this?

The Bible doesn’t actually tell us, which has led to many different interpretations and speculations over the years.

But it’s an intriguing question – was this akin to Jesus texting on his phone instead of engaging directly with the accusers of this woman?

Almost as though he intended to seem distracted so as to diffuse the situation and make it clear that he was not going to get worked up like they hoped he would?
 
We won’t ever know for sure.

It’s certainly easier to speculate as to why only the woman was brought to Jesus and not the man. That we can guess simply based on how women were treated at the time verses how men were treated.

But even today – do we find it more problematic when women commit adultery, or men?

I am sure we’d get a lot of different answers to that question if we asked different people, but I think often the initial reaction of most people would be to feel more upset about a woman than a man.
 
But speculating about what Jesus was writing is much more difficult.

And, it’s largely unimportant for our purposes.

What IS important is finding the Good News in this passage.

We see Jesus offer tremendous compassion to this woman. Jesus is not immune to the cultural norms of his time so he could have easily gotten swept up in the anger of the men who brought the woman to him.
 
But he didn’t. He saw a woman in front of him with all the complexities of humanity – no different than anyone else standing before him.

Who knows why this woman was with a man she wasn’t married to? Maybe she was abused at home, maybe her husband died, maybe she was being blackmailed, maybe she didn’t have a husband at all.

Jesus doesn’t assume one thing or another. He simply sees her for who she is and meets her where she’s at.
 
And, he does the same for the crowd.

He offers compassion by demonstrating for them what compassion can look like.

And he also offers compassion while also teaching them something.

We have to be careful here not to imply that the Law of Moses isn’t important or that Jesus is superseding it somehow because that’s not the case.

What he is doing is showing them that they are equally as guilty of breaking the law.
 
Maybe they haven’t committed adultery, but adultery isn’t the only thing they could do to break the law.

His point is that they have all broken the Law of Moses at some point.

So who are they to accuse someone else when they are equally as guilty?

In other words, if stoning is the punishment for breaking the law, then go ahead and throw stones as long as you are completely innocent yourself.
 
The men in the crowd, humbled by Jesus’s words, realized that they are no less guilty than she.

And yet, Jesus offered compassion and forgiveness to everyone. He didn’t argue that they should all be stoned.

And the Good News here is that Jesus offers that same level of compassion and forgiveness to all of us.

Yes, Jesus also encourages the woman to live the way God teaches us to live, and if the men were still around I am sure he would have said the same to them.
 
And, likely, to us too.

But Jesus suggests this out of love and compassion for the humanity in each of us.

And this is the beauty of this passage.

There is no need for guilt or shame, because we are wholly loved, cared for, and forgiven.

So, may you leave here today knowing this Good News.
​
May you allow Jesus to show you compassion, and may you show others that same compassion, each and every day. Amen.
 
Let us pray:
 
Merciful God, thank you for your loving kindness and compassion. Thank you for meeting us where we are. Thank you for forgiving us and understanding that our humanity and the complexities of life in community make us vulnerable. Thank you for sending your son Jesus Christ to show us a better way. Continue to walk with us and guide us and help us see your love all around us. Amen.

Young at Heart Message

I looked up the word “vulnerable” to see what the official definition of the word is prior to writing my sermon today.

Oxford defines the word “vulnerable” as “susceptible to physical or emotional attack or harm.”

So, with that in mind, I would like to ask you all: Who do you consider to be among the vulnerable in the world today?
*****
 
We have created a pretty good list of people we consider vulnerable.

Do you see yourself on this list in some way or another?

Do you see people you know – family, friends, neighbours, or anyone else you interact with regularly?

Of course, because we have all felt vulnerable at some point in our lives. At the very least, we were all children once – a season in life in which we are incredibly vulnerable.
 
But, when we don’t feel vulnerable, we can forget what it feels like to be vulnerable.

Once we grow into adulthood, we tend to forget the vulnerable feeling of being a child, for example.

And of course, there are many on this list we created that will always be or feel vulnerable, at least until our culture shifts.

This is just as true now as it was when Jesus was here on Earth and when Moses spoke prophetically to Israel as well.
 
The Message

The thing about vulnerability is that we all experience it at points throughout our lives.

As children, we are in an incredibly vulnerable position. We haven’t learned enough about the world yet to have “street smarts,” if you will, so we can be easily taken advantage of if there is no one around to protect us.

The same can be true as we reach the golden years of our lives.
 
Older adults are also in a more vulnerable position, for a variety of reasons.

But the same is true for immigrants, for those with physical or mental impairments, for anyone who has lost a spouse, for the poor, and for so many other people.

And, we can move in and out of vulnerable positions throughout our lives.

At the end of the day, what we all need to remember is that none of us are immune to feeling vulnerable, and it can happen at any point in our life.
 
We might be feeling strong and invincible, until we get a cancer diagnosis.

We might be feeling on top of the world until we lose our job due to downsizing.

On the other hand, we might have pulled ourselves out of poverty or out of living paycheque to paycheque, and now we are comfortable and further removed from those feelings of financial vulnerability.

Maybe we have been in remission from cancer for 10 years and we’ve left behind some of our feelings of physical vulnerability.
 
The point I’m trying to make is that as we live our lives in whatever position we are in among society, we must remember that we have been on the receiving end of vulnerability.

This is exactly what Moses is reminding his people of in the Deuteronomy passage we heard today.

“You were slaves in Egypt until the Lord your God rescued you.”

“You lived in poverty as slaves in Egypt until the Lord your God rescued you.”
 
In other words, remember your vulnerability when you interact with others who are vulnerable now.

It can be easy for humans to get off track. It can be easy for us to look at the person standing in front of us and judge them.

It’s also easy to think things like “well, when I was vulnerable, no one helped me. I had to ‘pull myself up by my own bootstraps.’ Why shouldn’t others need to figure out a way to do the same?”

But what if someone had been willing to help us out in our time of need?
 
I’ll share an example with you of how this might look in the world today.

I talked with someone once who worked in a factory.

He would talk about how the young people today were constantly pushing back on management to get things like better sick time and vacation time, more benefits, etc.

This annoyed him tremendously because he never got any of that when he was younger.
 
He had to deal with the one week of vacation time they got a year, and he had to go to work when he was sick.

Why shouldn’t they have to do the same? Why should they get better working conditions than he got? Have these kids gotten soft?

But the thing is, he should have also gotten those things. Because everyone deserves to be treated fairly, everyone needs time off to recharge, and employers should be providing those things.
 
Just because his generation didn’t get those things doesn’t mean that was right. And it certainly doesn’t mean that conditions should never improve for future generations.

Moses is reminding Israel of exactly this.

Just because they experienced being slaves in the desert doesn’t mean that was fair or right. And it doesn’t mean that others experiencing vulnerability like poverty, or being a foreigner in the land, or being orphaned or widowed deserve to remain in those conditions either.
 
And it certainly doesn’t mean the Israelites should ignore the vulnerable or not help them out.

Jesus says something similar in Matthew 19 as well.

Some people brought their children to Jesus because they wanted Jesus to pray for them.

But, Jesus’s disciples acted as though the people were bothering him.

This might sound harsh to our ears today, but in that time period, spending time with children who were not your own seemed wasteful or purposeless.
 
Children would have been considered a distraction from their ministry.

But, as he often does, Jesus easily flips the cultural narrative.

He says, “People who are like these children belong to God’s kingdom.” This is important because he’s including anyone who might be considered vulnerable.

This would have been very different than the cultural expectation of the time period.
 
Jesus is essentially saying, “you were vulnerable like these children, and you deserved attention just like they do.”

Instead of continuing the social narrative that children (especially those who were not your own) didn’t deserve time or attention from adults, Jesus tells the crowd that they do, and that they deserved attention and care when they were children, too.

Jesus is trying to change the narrative. He’s shifting the culture in the way that only Jesus can do – by example and without shame or anxiety.
 
Jesus is reminding the disciples and everyone else who is watching that the most vulnerable people deserve love, compassion, care, and attention, too.

And we are reminded of this 2000 years later, as well.

We are called to protect and care for the vulnerable, even if, when we were vulnerable, we did not receive the care or protection that we deserved.

This is not “an eye for an eye” situation. We are called to do better from generation to generation.
 
As individuals, as community members, and as nations, we are called to care for one another not only by our individual actions but also through our collective actions.

Jesus reminds us that everyone belongs to God’s kingdom. Everyone on the list we made earlier belongs to God’s kingdom.

And if God’s kingdom is right here on Earth, then everyone on this list belongs and deserves love, kindness, compassion, and care.
 
And this is the Good News that Jesus so often preaches and that we are called to continue living into.

Care for the vulnerable. Love society’s “unlovable.” Offer compassion to everyone. Know that even when we are most vulnerable, we are still part of God’s kingdom and we are worthy of God’s love and of the love of our neighbours.

May you leave here today with this encouraging reminder that we are all loved and cared for. Amen.
 
Let us pray: Holy God, sometimes the simplest of your commands are the hardest for us to hear.

You say, “Love your enemy.” “Turn the other cheek.” “Care for the widow and the orphan.”

And we want to know: How? When? Where?

Open up space in us to simply hear your truth for what it is. Open up space in our hearts to dream new dreams, to imagine new realities, to draw closer to you and closer to love.
​
With hope for a better tomorrow, we listen and we pray. Amen.

Young at Heart Message

We are going to start our sermon off today with a video clip.

Some of you may recognize this clip. It’s a scene from the movie “The Great Outdoors.”

For those of you who might not be familiar with the actors, you’ll see Dan Aykroyd on the left, and you’ll see John Candy on the right.

Let’s see what these two gentlemen have to say:

​As you can see, these two characters see something very different when they look out at the lake and the trees.

Dan Aykroyd sees underdeveloped land ripe for development. He sees an opportunity to make money, and he doesn’t seem to care one bit that it might also destroy the environment.

What does John Candy see?

Trees. That’s all. Just trees.

John Candy’s character sees what is right in front of him, and he believes it is enough.

Dan Aykroyd’s character cannot see the beauty or the joy right in front of his eyes because he is striving for more – wealth, power, money, control.

He has a scarcity mindset when he looks out across the water – what he sees before him is not enough. It’s not “producing” enough, in his mind.

John Candy has an abundance mindset. He sees what is right in front of him and rests in knowing that it is enough.
So, when we look at the story of Jesus feeding the 5000, what do the disciples see?

They see 5 loaves of bread and two small fish, and they panic. They are thinking with a scarcity mindset. There is no way this will be enough to feed all these people.

But Jesus sees with an abundance mindset. He says “yes, this is enough. This will do perfectly.”

And then he brings a community together, they feed everyone, and he offers perhaps the most important lesson of the day.
 
The Message

When I first bought my business back in Wisconsin, I had a week to get it ready to re-open. I couldn’t wait any longer than that because I needed clients to start coming back so I could start earning revenue.

But there was a LOT that needed to be done in that week. I walked in and I looked around and I was overwhelmed and, if I’m being honest, I didn’t think it was possible. I was doomed before I even started.

And then, some of the staff who were going to be working for me called and said, “what do you need.”

And a few of the clients who were ready for the business to reopen stopped by and said “we are here. How can we help?”

And together, with no expectations from anyone about getting paid, we got everything done and ready.

I walked in with a scarcity mindset. I don’t have enough. I am not enough. There’s not enough time, I don’t have enough money, etc etc.

But the community looked at it and said “yup, we’re enough. You are enough. We have hands to help, and we have some money to spare and we’ll make this happen. Let’s get to it.”

And together we built something new.

I thought it was impossible. I was ready to give up before I even got started. I was in over my head and I thought maybe I was crazy for even thinking it was possible in the first place.

I wonder if that’s how the disciples felt?

I can understand their stress when Jesus says, “let’s feed them” and the disciples go right into scarcity mode, wondering how on earth they’re going to afford food for all those people.

But the thing is, God doesn’t start with the problem: How do we feed all these people?

God starts with what God has – which is everything held in God’s hands.

And God also starts with what God has given us.

In my case, God gave me a community of people ready and willing to help.

In the case of Jesus and the disciples, God gave them five loaves of bread and two fish.

With God, all things are possible because God knows that God is always... God!

It’s us who break faith. It’s us who listen to scarcity. It’s us who fear our own hunger.

Our God is a God of abundance.

However loud the scarcity of the world yells, God delights in feeding the hungry. God delights in providing what we need when we need it. And God delights in accomplishing what we dare not imagine.

God doesn’t start with the problem. That’s how we work, but God starts with what we have.

God meets us where we are in the moment. And God provides, but perhaps not always in the way we think God will provide.

None of the disciples thought that five loaves and two fish could feed 5000+ people.

But Jesus said “I got this.”

We often don’t think that what we have or who we are is enough.

But God says, “I got this, and so do you. Together, we got this.”

When I bought my business, I did not have any idea that anyone would be able to help. All I saw was me, and the time and money I had available. And it wasn’t enough.

But God said, “we got this,” and showed me that it wasn’t impossible because I was surrounded by a community of people who loved and cared deeply about the business re-opening.

They didn’t know me yet, but they came to offer their help anyway. And the community just grew from those brave souls who were willing to take a chance and step forward.

So, what about us? What about this community?

It has become easier and easier for churches to look at the world and say “it’s impossible. There is nothing we can do. We don’t have enough people. We don’t have enough money. We don’t have enough energy or time.”

But what happens – what shifts in our mindset – if we look around at one another and instead we say, “we are enough. Collectively – together, we do have enough time, energy, resources, love, compassion, daring, and whatever else we need”?

What could we accomplish together? Who could we help? Who could we serve?

What issue could we support? How could we provide for and serve the community around us?

What is God calling us to do?

God doesn’t start with the problem.

God starts with what we all have.

Nothing is impossible with or for God.

May we leave here with this in mind.

May we begin to shift from a scarcity mindset to an abundance mindset.

We have enough. We are enough. God is enough.

Together, we can do wonderful and amazing things.

Amen.

Let us pray: Holy God, we could press our ear to the page, hoping to hear you more clearly.

We could silence all the alarms and notifications, hoping to catch a murmur of your voice. We could still our beating hearts, and still we might miss your voice.

So today we pray, open up space in our hearts, in our spirits, in our minds, to feel your presence among us.
With you, anything is possible. We believe. Help our unbelief. Amen.

* Prayer by Rev. Sarah A. Speed | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org.
* Some portions of this sermon were adapted from A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org.

This sermon was given by David C. Jones on March 1, 2026.

The heart of the last 20 years of my teaching university graduates was The Company of the Good.  And that Company exists to this day ten years later.  It is, after all, eternal and invaluable.

Sometimes in the Company I would do something different.  I would tell the listeners something like this….

I am going to offer some comments and questions, then give a relevant quotation, without telling you who said it. Names sometimes interfere with Truth and understanding.  If known, they can prompt judgements on the validity of what is said; if they are not known, but given, they can spur annoyance and irritation.  Who in the world is that!  When judgements or annoyances occur, the message is often lost. So today, we will leave out the names.

Truth comes from many sources, some strange.   Someone, unnamed, said, “A parrot in the house screamed at 2 am—‘The house is on fire!  The house is on fire!’   Now is this the time to say, ‘I’m going back to sleep. The parrot doesn’t know what he is saying!’”

So, focus only and totally on what is said.  Ask inwardly to discern what is true and meaningful, and perhaps helpful for you.      

First thought: Do you smile very often?  Perhaps at a little child, or at someone you don’t know as you pass by?

Now the quotation: “Whatever lifts the corners of your mouth, trust that.”

Second thought:  Have you ever raced though life, even its beautiful parts?  Have you ever sped through a magnificent garden, or through a holy place?  Just glanced as you tore by?

Now the quotation:  “Tortoises can tell you more about the road than hares.”  Turtles can tell you more about the road than rabbits.  They see more than a blur, which is really not seeing at all.

Next thought:  In a world that increasingly cannot tell true from false,  it is imperative to know what Love is and what not.  Many are confused.

Now the quotation: “Whenever we manage to love without expectations, calculations, negotiations, we are indeed in Heaven.”

The quotation again: “Whenever we manage to love without expectations, [Expectations… That’s not love… a list of requirements or services]… whenever we manage to love without calculations [Calculations… that’s not love either… love is spontaneous; it doesn’t calculate]… Whenever we manage to love without negotiations [love doesn’t negotiate; it doesn’t settle for a C plus… or a 30% tariff; that’s not Love and its not Heaven].

Next thought:  We all have to say a last goodbye at times in this world. Goodbye, mom or goodbye dad, or son or daughter.

Now, the quotation: “Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes, because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.”

Next thought:  You have noticed the virtual omnipresence of discord and conflict in this world….  The horrific enmity, hostility, malice, malignance, bitterness, resentment, revenge, venom….

Now the quotation: “The holiest of all the spots on earth is where an ancient hatred has become a present love.”

Next thought: We are all God’s children.  We are part of a Oneness that is unbreakable, inseparable, and eternal. And Oneness is not here today and gone tomorrow.

Now the quotation one Remembrance Day: “Let us never forget the solemn truth that the nation is not constituted of the living alone.”  It’s bigger than that. The dead are part of it, and they always will be. This is a deeper, more profound inclusion that the word Nation implies.

Next thought: We admire and adulate heroes in this world, but not all of them.  Some are left out.   And only a kind heart has the sight to notice them.

Now the quotation: “[Humanity’s] greatest actions are performed in minor struggles.  Life, misfortune, isolation, abandonment and poverty are battlefields which have their heroes—obscure heroes who are at times greater than illustrious heroes.”

The world is full of these little people. I doubt if there is a single soul here who does not know one of these heroes, perhaps many. 

Now let me tell a story of the rescue of beauty. We have lost the importance of the virtues.  They have flittered away, along with their beauty.  But their beauty will be rediscovered and rescued.  There are, of course, things that never look beautiful. And things that generally don’t—the criminal justice system, for example.  But even that can be beautified.

Joe Serna, an American, was a retired army sergeant first class who did three tours in Afghanistan and was twice wounded.  One night he and three other soldiers were driving along a creek when the road suddenly gave way and the truck careened into the creek.  Slowly it filled with water, and Serna, unable to extricate himself, knew the end was near.  The water rose past his legs, his waist, his chest, his neck, and stopped at his chin.  He was the only survivor.

Later, back in the States, he was arrested for drunk driving, [part of post traumatic stress syndrome… war tears you to pieces] and as part of his probation, he was not permitted to drink.  Then he lied about a urine test and was caught.

“I knew what Joe was going through, and I knew Joe’s history,” said Judge Olivera, himself a picture of kindness and empathy, for he was a veteran too.  “But he had to be held accountable, so I sentenced him to one night in jail.”

As Joe entered the cell, terrifying flashbacks of being trapped in Afghanistan hit him.  A moment later, Judge Olivera surprised him and joined him in that cell for the whole night.  They ate meat loaf and talked of everything including family.  And the frightful walls of Joe’s nightmare seemed to open and then vanish.  “He brought me back to North Carolina from being in a truck in Afghanistan,” said Joe.

The beautiful video of Judge Olivera and Joe then fades to a scene of the two in court, hugging.  And Joe, deeply moved, says quietly, “I won’t let you down, ever.”

Steve Hartman, narrator of the story, said, “Sometimes jail is not what a man needs.  Sometimes the best sentence is compassion.”

As Joe and Judge Olivera embrace in mutual respect in the last scene, Joe says, “I love you…. Thanks for believing in me.”[i]

The crucial key in Judge Olivera’s blessing is in not just knowing how to help, but doing it, putting it into practice.  “When the word ‘Lamp’ is uttered, darkness does not vanish; when a patient is told of the properties of a drug, his illness is not cured by attentive listening; when a man suffering from the agonies of poverty is told of the various ways in which funds can help him to overcome it, he does not feel a bit relieved; a hungry [soul] is hungry, even after hearing a tasty description of a magnificent banquet.”[ii]  He gets the description, but nothing to eat.  If a beautiful teaching is only heard and not applied, it is useless.  If it is not extolled out of the depth of one’s experience it is valueless.

The great Judge Olivera acted.  He acted.  That is the good news of the Company of the Good.

One act of kindness infinitely outweighs a thousand intentions.  Amen.

Draft 10, March 2, 2026

[i] https://www.cbsnews.com/video/judge-spends-night-in-jail-with-man-he-sentenced/

[ii] David C. Jones, “God, Love, Service and Practice—The Curriculum of Sathya Sai Baba and the Re-vitalization of Our Schools,” Journal of Modern Educational Review, vol. 3 # 5, 339-346.

Young at Heart Message

As most of you know, I have been sick for the past couple weeks.

I’m feeling much better now, but sometimes illness can linger for quite some time and things can take a long time to fully heal.

About a week ago, I was having a little pity party for myself because I was feeling so miserable.

I took my dogs for a walk, but I didn’t have a lot of energy to go very far.
 
I was feeling guilty that I didn’t have enough energy to take them on our usual route.

Usually, I walk my dogs on the paved biked path along the river until we reach a bridge. We cross the bridge and walk through a huge dog park.

But this time, as I walked along the paved path, I realized I wasn’t going to have energy to make it to the dog park.

I pondered briefly just turning around and taking the same paved path back to my apartment.
 
But I noticed a little unpaved footpath that winds along even closer to the river.

I decided to take the dogs on that path because at least it would give them something new and different to sniff.

I quickly realized as we walked along this new path that it was like a sanctuary in the middle of the city.

Suddenly, I could no longer hear the hum of Deerfoot or the noise of construction.

All I could hear was the river.
 
As often happens when I walk my dogs, I was having a conversation with God and was lamenting about being sick.

Now, God doesn’t usually talk back to me, at least not in the way a person would.

But on this day, I suddenly realized that God was right there – in the silence, in the running of the river, in the muddy path, and in the joy of my dogs exploring something new to them.

Despite my feeling crummy, I was able to notice God in something quite mundane.
 
Even though the reason I ended up on that path in the first place was because I wasn’t feeling well and needed to shorten my walk, it ended up being exactly what I needed in that moment.

And, I think it ended up being exactly what my dogs needed in that moment, too.

God caught me completely by surprise that day.

Like the tiny mustard seed that grows unexpectedly into the largest plant, God often catches us by surprise.
 
The Message

It also may catch us by surprise to hear the reading from the Gospel of John today about Jesus turning water into wine at a wedding.

The other three Gospels all have Jesus’s ministry beginning not with a miracle like this, but with a temptation story instead.

So it’s surprising that we are starting on the first Sunday of Lent with this story of Jesus at a wedding – a place of joy, rowdiness, and exuberance.
 
This story is another example of the ways in which God can catch us by surprise.

Jesus doesn’t seem to plan for this to be his first miracle.

In fact, he initially says to his mother when she tells him they have no more wine, “Mother, my time hasn’t yet come!”

I wonder if even Jesus was caught by surprise?

He didn’t plan for this, so why does he change his mind?
 
Of course, in true biblical fashion, the passage doesn’t really give us this level of detail into why Jesus does what he does.

But perhaps he realized that it’s worth demonstrating that God works in ways we least expect.

Jesus could have said to himself, “these people don’t need more wine – they are already having enough fun. Too much fun, if you know what I mean…”
 
But he didn’t. Instead he provided so much wine that the attendees at the party could likely have enjoyed it for days.

There were six stone water jars, and the passage tells us that they each held about 100 liters.

That’s a tremendous amount of wine. 600 liters of wine!

Jesus could have just turned one of those jars into wine and it would have been plenty.

Again, he catches us completely by surprise.
 
It’s also surprising to think about Jesus enjoying a party – letting loose, maybe dancing, maybe being silly or even drinking wine himself.

But this story reminds us to find God in the everyday happenings of life.

It can be easy to forget that God is present at a wedding reception, on a walk with our dogs, on the couch with us when we’re sick, and in all the other everyday aspects of life.

But Jesus reminds us in this moment. In a moment that we might think Jesus doesn’t approve of.
 
But he does. He keeps the fun going, and he proves who he is at the same time.

He earns himself some “street cred,” in a manner of speaking.

And in doing so, he reminds us that we can find God in all things.

He encourages us to see God in the mundane, in our joy, and in our discouragement. In little moments and in big moments. In the stars in the sky and the dirt under our feet.
 
In the tiny mustard seed, full of potential to spring forth new life and in the fully grown plant that produces life-giving nourishment.

He encourages us to see God not just in the peace and tranquility of the footpath where all we can hear is the river, but also along the paved path where we can hear the city noises and encounter other people, too.

This passage about a miracle offers Good News that surprises and delights.
 
So, may you notice God in all things, in all moments of your life – the big, the small, the mundane, and the extraordinary.

May you find joy and potential in the tiniest mustard seed and the heartiest plant.
​
And may you see the Good News all around you, even as it catches you by surprise. Amen.
 
Let us pray:
God of delight, we are so grateful for the reminder that you often catch us by surprise. We take great joy in noticing your divine work in our lives when we least expect it. You continue to work in mysterious and delightful ways, and we pray that you would help us to see your beauty and your presence in the small things on a daily basis. In your Holy and loving name, we pray. Amen.

Good morning, church. I am Pastor Matt Gillard, and I hope I am familiar to many of you worshiping today. For those who may not know me, I had the joy of serving the Moravian congregations of Heimtal from 2009 to 2020, and Good Shepherd from 2020 to 2021. I now serve in the Lutheran Church in Hanna, Alberta, and it is truly an honour to share a pastoral word with my sisters and brothers across the Canadian District.

Today is Transfiguration Sunday—the day we remember Jesus going up the mountain with three of his closest disciples to pray. And while they are there, something extraordinary happens. Jesus is transfigured before them. His face shines like the sun. His clothes become dazzling white. And suddenly Moses and Elijah appear, speaking with him.

It is a moment of holy revelation—of clarity, presence, and divine nearness.

 But it is also a moment of formation. Because what happens on the mountain is not meant to stay on the mountain. It is meant to shape how the disciples live when they come back down.

And that story made me think about the Moravian Church in the 1720s—about a kind of transfiguration of our own.

After years of exile following the Thirty Years’ War, Moravian refugees from Prague found refuge on the land of Count Nicholas von Zinzendorf. Herrnhut, as we now remember it, was not born as a peaceful or unified community. It was full of tension, clashing personalities, theological differences, and deep conflict. Spiritual wanderers and displaced people lived together, but unity did not come easily.

So deep were the divisions that one Moravian leader went up a hill overlooking the settlement, convinced God was about to destroy the community like Sodom and Gomorrah. That didn’t happen—but it tells us something important: things were not well.

What changed everything was prayer.

Zinzendorf began gathering leaders for disciplined, intentional communal prayer. They prayed for hours a day. They read Scripture together. They fasted. They sang. They listened. They sought reconciliation. And slowly, something shifted. Differences lost their power. Division loosened its grip. And out of that spiritual transformation came mission. Out of prayer came movement. Out of communion came calling.

For three hundred years, Moravians have understood themselves as a missional church. And that matters. But I don’t believe the future of the Moravian Church in Canada is simply to recreate the mission structures of the past.

I believe the future of the Moravian Church in Canada is to become a people formed in communal prayer, shaped in shared discernment, and grounded in spiritual accompaniment—a church that teaches one another how to listen for God together.

The problem is not that we don’t pray.

 The problem is that we no longer pray together.

We have privatized prayer. Individualized it. Minimized it. Reduced it to devotionals, quick words before meals, and whispered pleas in moments of fear. All of those matter—but they are not the same as a community learning to seek God together.

We have forgotten the discipline of shared spiritual formation.

And I want to invite you to dream bigger than that.

Not louder. Not flashier.

Deeper. Slower. Rooted. Communal.

I want you to look around in worship today. In every congregation listening, there are two or three people who are known—quietly, humbly—as faithful people of prayer. And I guarantee you they don’t think of themselves that way. But they are gifted. They are called. And God has already been forming them for this moment.

So here is my invitation:

Take a piece of paper. A corner of your bulletin. Anything you have.

 Write this sentence:

 “I consider you to be a faithful person of prayer in the life of our church.”

Give it to someone.

If someone gives you one, tell your pastor that some foolish person thinks you’re spiritually gifted—and that you’ve been identified as a prayerful leader in the church.

And then let your pastors gather those people—not to create hierarchy, but to create formation. Not to create power, but to create discipleship. Let them begin praying together. And from that circle, let smaller circles form. Groups of two, three, four people. Thirty minutes. An hour. Nothing complicated. Nothing fancy. Just prayer. Presence. Listening. Accountability. Discernment. Learn to pray together, and for others.

Because the church does not need better programs.

 The church needs deeper roots.

 The church does not need louder voices.

 The church needs clearer listening.

 The church does not need more activity.

 The church needs more alignment with the Holy Spirit.

And everything we’ve heard in this sermon series points us there.

From Pastor Mark, we were reminded that human dignity is not earned—it is given. That prayer must be shaped by belovedness, not shame.

From Pastor Jamie, we were invited into “come and see” faith—learning to pray with open eyes toward what the Spirit is already doing in the world.

From Pastor Aaron, we learned to seek unexpected hope, especially in places of grief and struggle—prayer that forms compassion, not distance.

From Pastor James, we were given a vision of expansive grace and subversive hope—prayer that holds grief and courage at the same time.

From Pastor Michael, we were reminded that being salt and light is a communal calling—prayer that says, “Not my will, but yours be done, O God.”

This is not nostalgia.

 This is not survival.

 This is not institutional preservation.

This is transformation.

We don’t need to become the church we were 300 years ago.

 We need to become the church God is forming us to be now.

The question before us is not whether the Moravian Church in Canada will change.

It will.

The question is whether we will allow the Triune God to shape that change…

 through prayer,
 through humility,
 through listening,
 through community,
 through shared spiritual courage.

Will we go up the mountain together?

Will we learn to listen together?

Will we come back down transformed?

May we have the courage to become a praying church again…
 not in fear,
 not in control,
 not in anxiety,
 but in trust,
 in unity,
 and in hope.

"Our Lamb has conquered. Let us follow him.”
​
Amen.

Hello, and welcome to this fifth message in our 2026 Epiphany Series, Manifesting Hope in Darkness. Today our theme is Hope Found in Community.

Most of you won’t know me. My name is Michael Ward, a retired United Church of Canada pastor currently serving Christ Moravian Church in Calgary as interim pastor.

Today’s Gospel picks up right where we left off last week. Jesus has just proclaimed the Beatitudes - those surprising blessings that describe the character of God’s Kingdom or Reign. They paint a picture of what a Jesus-shaped life looks like. And immediately after blessing His followers, Jesus turns from blessing to identity. He looks at this ordinary crowd - fishermen, farmers, mothers, labourers, the weary and the hopeful - and He says:

“You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.”

Not a list of ideals to strive for, but a way of being in the world that reveals God’s presence and purpose.
Jesus begins with salt. And He speaks in terms of how He already sees us.

He doesn’t say, “Go be salty.” He says, “You are salt.”

In the ancient world, salt wasn’t the pure white table salt we know today. It was mined - full of minerals and attached trace elements that gave each grain its own texture and taste. Every handful was different. And no single grain changed anything on its own. It was the collective that seasoned.

Salt works by drawing out what is already present. It awakens flavours hidden within the food - makes it richer, more savoury.

And Jesus says: That’s you.

Your calling is not to impose something on the world. Your calling is to draw out the God‑given goodness already embedded in others and in creation.

When you listen deeply to someone who feels unseen… When you encourage another gently… When you stand with someone in their pain… When you help someone notice the grace already at work in their life…

You are bringing out God‑flavours. You are awakening what God has already placed there.

Then Jesus shifts the image:

“You are the light of the world.”

Light doesn’t create what it reveals. It simply makes visible what darkness hides.

And here’s something beautiful: white light is not one colour. It is the blending of many wavelengths - many colours.
Likewise, the church’s witness is communal. Diverse gifts, personalities, and stories forming one radiant presence.
Light is not meant to be admired. Light is meant to help others see.

When you act with compassion… When you speak truth with gentleness… When you choose justice over convenience… When you forgive when it would be easier to hold a grudge…

You illuminate possibilities others couldn’t see. Your life becomes a window through which God’s grace is glimpsed.
It’s important to notice that Jesus speaks to the crowd. The “you” is plural.

You all are the salt. You all are the light.

Salt works in combination. Light shines in spectrum.

A single grain of salt is tasteless. A single colour band is limited.

But together? Together they transform the environment.

The church’s witness is strongest when we blend our strengths and weaknesses, our stories and scars. We don’t have to be everything. We simply bring our part. God uses the whole community to season and illuminate the world.

Salt and Light Fulfill Their Purpose by Giving Themselves Away

Salt does its work quietly. It dissolves into the food and disappears, yet its presence is unmistakable in the flavour it brings out. Light works the same way. We don’t admire light for its own sake - we value it because it helps us see what is really there. Its purpose is fulfilled when it reveals what would otherwise remain hidden.

In the same way, Kingdom influence is not about being noticed. It’s not about drawing attention to ourselves. It’s about the quiet, steady transformation that happens when God’s love works through us. When we offer kindness without needing credit… when we serve without applause… when we forgive without fanfare… we are giving ourselves away in love. And in that giving, we become most fully who Christ says we already are.

Salt disappears into the meal. Light gives itself to the room. And disciples of Jesus give themselves to the world - not to be recognized, but so that others might taste grace and see hope.

Quiet acts of kindness. Faithful presence in difficult places. Courageous truth spoken gently. Forgiveness offered freely. Hope held on behalf of someone who can’t hold it for themselves.

These are the ways we “lose ourselves” and yet become who we truly are in Christ.

I believe Eugene Peterson captures the heart of Jesus’ words in his paraphrase of the Bible - The Message:

“Bring out the God‑flavours of the earth.” “Bring out the God‑colours in the world.”

God has already seeded the world with goodness, beauty, and possibility. Our calling is to help reveal it - to help others taste and see the goodness of God.

Salt and light are not about superiority. They are about service. They are not about drawing attention to ourselves. They are about drawing attention to God’s presence already shimmering beneath the surface of things.

So hear this good news:

You are already salt. You are already light.

Not because of your perfection, but because Christ has named you so.

Go into your homes, your workplaces, your neighbourhoods with confidence -  drawing out God‑flavours, revealing God‑colours, trusting that God uses ordinary people - people like you and me - to season and illuminate the world.
​
May we live in such a way that others taste grace, see hope, and glimpse the God who is already at work in every corner of creation. Amen.

Today's sermon is offered by Rev. James Lavoy who serves our sister churches, Rio Terrace and Heimtal in Edmonton. If you would like to share this video or watch it again later, you can also access it on YouTube by clicking here.​
​
We are living through a moment that feels heavy with history.

Many of us are watching the news from our neighbors to the south, or perhaps looking at shifts in our own political landscape, and we are feeling a specific kind of dread. It is the dread of recognition. We are seeing a crisis unfold that parallels the great horrors we learned about in school. We are witnessing the fascist use of power—the calculated dehumanization of migrants, the expansion of ICE, the brutality of enforcement, and the suspension of civil liberties to achieve control at any cost.

For many of us in this room, part of our distress comes from a sense of betrayal. We are people of privilege. We are used to having agency. We have spent our lives trusting institutions—government, law, corporations—believing they were, at best, benevolent, or at least stable. But right now, we feel powerless to help the vulnerable because the very institutions we trusted are the ones using this dehumanization to achieve their own goals. That which we once felt was trustworthy is no longer trustworthy.

And we don’t know what to do.

This dilemma causes us to ask serious questions of ourselves. It impacts our identity. Who are we, if the structures that hold us up are crumbling? It is into this exact feeling of displacement—this political and spiritual vertigo—that we must read the Beatitudes.

The Beatitudes are often read as a list of "be-attitudes," sweet platitudes for a quiet life. But contextually, they are the thesis for Matthew’s entire Gospel. And Matthew’s Gospel does not begin in a vacuum; it begins in horror.

Remember the prologue. Jesus is born into a world of state-sponsored violence. He is a child refugee fleeing a jealous king. He grows up under occupation. And just as he emerges into adulthood, his teacher, his cousin, his confidante—John the Baptist—is arrested and executed by the state as a political prop.

This tragedy motivates Jesus to turn to the wilderness. And we must remember, the wilderness wasn’t empty. It was full. It was the place where people went when they weren't welcome in the circles of power in Jerusalem or Rome. It was full of the marginalized, the resistance, the sick, and the poor. Jesus had to reconcile with these encounters. Through his own spiritual practices of prayer and fasting, he found this great insight: that when we draw lines in the sand, the Divine is on the side of the oppressed.

From that wilderness, he went to Galilee—not the capital, but the margins—and climbed a mountain to deliver his thesis.

He looks at this crowd of "nobodies" and he calls them "Blessed."

Now, the Greek word Matthew uses here is Makarios. We often translate this as "happy," but that is too small a word. If we look at the etymology, we find something far more robust. Ma means to "lengthen" or "expand." Kar is short for charis—grace, gift.

So, blessing, in this context, means "a lengthened grace." Or perhaps, "expansive grace."

I like to think that Jesus, sitting atop that mountain with the exiles and the gentiles, felt at home with them, just as he did in the desert. He looked at people who had been objectified by the Empire, people whose backs were the stepping stones for the powerful, and he said: You have a right to experience expansive grace. You have a right to take up space.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit... Blessed are those who mourn."

Think about how subversive that is. In our culture, and certainly in the Roman Empire, grief is a weakness. Meekness is a liability. But Jesus reframes them.

Liberation theologians like James Cone remind us that God is found among the lynched, the incarcerated, the detainee. When Jesus blesses those who mourn, he is not romanticizing sadness; he is validating the grief that comes from seeing the world as it really is. As Cone might say, to be "blessed" is to be located where the Divine is located—and the Divine is located with the victims of the state.

"Blessed are the meek."

The Womanist theologian Delores Williams challenges us here. She warns us against glorifying suffering, against acting as "surrogates" who carry the cross for others merely to be crushed by it. She reminds us that Jesus came to show us how to live, how to survive. In this light, "meekness" isn't about being a doormat. It is about a refusal to play the Empire’s game of violence. It is a "survival strategy"—a way of maintaining one’s humanity in the face of a system that wants to turn you into a monster.

To have "expansive grace" when you are being crushed is the ultimate act of resistance. It is saying: You may take my civil liberties, you may threaten my safety, but you cannot shrink my soul.

We know how this story plays out. Jesus leaves that mountain, challenges the powers in Jerusalem, and is executed. But I want to turn your attention to the very last paragraph of Matthew’s Gospel. If the birth is the prologue, and the Beatitudes are the thesis, this is the conclusion.

In Matthew 28:10, the resurrected Jesus tells Mary and Mary Magdalene, "Go and tell my brothers and sisters to go to Galilee. There, they will see me."

Note the location. Not Jerusalem, the seat of power. But Galilee. Back to the start. Back to the margins. Back to the mountain where he preached that formative sermon.

So the disciples go. And Matthew 28:16-17 says: "Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him, but they doubted."

That word, "doubted." In Greek, it is distazo.

It doesn’t mean skepticism. It isn't an intellectual refusal to believe. Di means two. Stasis means standing. Distazo means "standing in two places." It means holding two postures.

The disciples stood on that mountain holding their grief, their trauma, their meekness, and their fears of the Roman state. But simultaneously, they stood there with their Makarios—their expansive grace, their comfort, their fulfillment, their awareness that the Community of God had come near.

They were not just hearing the Beatitudes anymore; they were the embodiment of them. They were a living Distazo.
This is where we find ourselves today.

We are watching a world that looks like it is falling apart. We are watching the rise of forces that want to shrink grace, that want to hoard space for the powerful and deny it to the vulnerable. And we are asked to question our own identity.

Are we products of a broken political system that relies on exploitation to wield power? Or are we children of the Divine, full human beings, capable of carrying our grief along with our hope?

What are we to do with this Distazo—this double posture—in this time of crisis?

First, we must be aware of our privilege. We have to admit that, historically, we likely wouldn't have been the people on that mountainside with Jesus. We would have been the citizens in the city, safe behind the walls. But now, we have heard the message. We have been called to the mountain.

To practice "Subversive Hope" is to inhabit our Distazo.

It means we do not deny the horror. We do not look away from the ICE detention centers or the erosion of democracy. We stand fully in the reality of that grief. We mourn. We hunger for righteousness.

But, at the exact same time, we stand in our Makarios. We claim our expansive grace. We refuse to let fear make us small. We refuse to let cynicism make us brittle. We use our privilege, our voices, and our agency to say that everyone—the migrant, the queer person, the poor, the outcast—has a right to take up space.

We must use our whole selves—grief and hope—to show up to that mountain. We go there to be healed of our complicity. We go there to find the Divine in the face of the other. And then, we go on our way, in the community of God, inviting others to follow.

May you be blessed with expansive grace. May you have the strength to stand in two places. And may you take up space for the sake of love.
​
Amen.

To watch the recording of this sermon, click here: https://youtu.be/f4iHbRuvOYA.

Sermon by Rev. Aaron Linville

Hi everyone, For those of you who have not met me, my name is Aaron Linville. It has been my joy and privilege to serve as the pastor of Millwoods Community Church for the last seven years.

It is also my joy to share our third epistle with you on manifesting hope in the darkness. Today, we focus on the beginning of Jesus’ ministry in the gospel of Matthew and hope in unexpected places.

There's lots of hope in unexpected places in the story of Jesus. For the second week in a row, we hear Jesus calling fisherman to be his disciples. Most of us don't think about fisherman as sources of hope. We think about them as essential for coastal societies to function, but not a source of hope.

The occupation of fisherman reminds me that Jesus was a craftsman, a skilled worker. Again, very important and essential for a functional society, but we don't think of them as sources of hope. When we look at the occupations of the core group of disciples Jesus is beginning to collect they include day laborers, professional fishermen, and tax collectors. This is not a hope inspiring group, and yet Christians would say that Jesus is the hope of the world, and these core disciples were incredibly influential in that hope surviving the death of Jesus. They are all unexpected sources of hope.

And when we dig into this passage about the beginning of Jesus’ ministry in Matthew, the unexpectedness of hope increases.

Jesus’ ministry begins when he hears John the Baptizer has been arrested. His ministry begins not in a moment of hope but a moment of chaos and crisis. Also, we would expect his ministry would begin with something public, but it begins by Jesus withdrawing. That's not a very hopeful action.

And, that only increases when we pay attention to where Jesus withdrew to. The territory of Zebulun and Naphtali is the land of two of the Northern Tribes of Israel who were lost and presumably destroyed 700 years before Jesus walked this earth. Jesus withdrew to a place of cultural grief and loss. It wasn’t really Jewish, but neither was it really gentile. The Jewish people would have expected hope to come from Jerusalem or Judea, not the land of Zebulun and Naphtali.

I've often wondered why these fisherman were so ready to leave their livelihoods to follow Jesus. In the gospel of Luke it makes sense because there is a miraculous catch a fish, but there is no miraculous catch a fish in the gospel of Matthew. Why were they so willing to leave and follow Jesus? What unexpected hope did they see to justify such drastic action?

Maybe it was the fact that they really were not fishing for themselves, but for the empire that occupied their land. Yes, they were earning their daily bread by fishing, but every fish they caught was more food for Roman officials and armies. Every fish was more tax paid to Rome. They weren't really fishing for themselves, but for Cesar. Maybe the unexpected hope they saw in Jesus was getting out of that self defeating cycle and the hope of fishing for people, not just to support the economics of an occupying empire.

The story of Jesus is filled with unexpected hope from the nativity, the calling of the first disciples, and the start of his ministry all the way through to the unexpected hope that death does not have the last word. All of these moments of hope accumulate and then spread beyond this unexpected place of origin to the surrounding areas. This hope spread to Jerusalem, Rome, and then the ends of the world.

And even two millennia later that hope continues to show up and we continue to find hope in unexpected places if we have eyes and hearts to see and feel.

For me, I found unexpected hope in the consistent observations and encouragement in the first two sermons of this series. I don't think Mark and Jamie coordinated that. It just happened. It is hopeful to me that our clergy lift up the message that you are God’s beloved. Full stop. No disclaimers. That’s hopeful.

Another moment of unexpected hope for me in these last few months is the recent Knives Out movie. We typically look to Hollywood for entertainment, not hope, but, I found unexpected hope in Wake Up Dead Man.

It does not shy away from the fact that the church has and does cause harm, and yet is hopeful. Neither does it shy away from the fact that it feels like the church is getting pulled in two incompatible directions.

One is to fight the world and everything about it; to insist on it is the Church's way or no way, even if a lot of people get hurt in the process. On the other end of the spectrum, the church is being pulled to reach out and hold and love the world, to embrace and forgive, and to help us all be the people God has created, and called us to be not through force, but by love, peace, and grace. Wake up Dead man even has a very a hopeful depiction of a complete rejection of spirituality and religion. It is a wonderfully hopeful movie for me as a disciple of Jesus even though it’s an entirely secular ‘Who done it’ movie. It is unexpected hope for me and for the church we so dearly love.

After Jamie’s sermon last week, I commented to Millwoods that we need to choose what we are looking for, because we tend to to find what we look for whether it’s bitterness or compassion. Today I encourage all of you to look for hope, especially in unexpected places.

Without trying, we encounter more than enough reasons to despair, so choose to seek out hope. Choose to look for hope, and you will find it, even in unexpected places. And, when you find it, proclaim it and share it.

Our world seems more full of despair and uncertainty than hope right now. That is cause for concern, but it also means that hope shines brighter when it is found. It's the same as lighting a candle and a dark room. A candle may not be all that bright, but it shines in the darkness. Even a little hope shines brightly when there is so much anxiety.
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Choose to look for hope. Choose to share hope and be a lights to those in darkness. Choose to be a light of hope to yourself, to your neighbor, and in doing so, you'll be the unexpected hope someone else finds. Choose to look for hope, and be a light to the world.