Where Jesus Goes--February 16, 2026

Where Jesus Goes--February 16, 2026

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves.  And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became bright as light. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone. As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.” [Matthew 17:1-9]

Even Jesus doesn't intend for the extraordinary experiences to last forever--if you want to be where Jesus is, you've got to leave behind the spiritual "high" point and go with him in the lowly places.  The call is for us to go where Jesus goes--not to get off at the bus stop on the mountain's summit before it heads down into the valley.

That much is absolutely clear from the story we retell each year at this time, and which many of us just heard this past Sunday, before beginning the forty-day journey to the cross that we call Lent. And yet, it is also painfully clear just how much we seem to want to ignore the point of this story, and find ourselves wanting to make the mountaintop moments last forever... or to think that they are endpoints, rather than chances to catch our breath.

This, of course, is what Simon Peter has in mind when he blurts out his idea of building little sheds for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah to stay in--he wants to keep this amazing experience going, and he wants to stay there. Now, before ragging on Ol' Pete, we should be honest and say that we ourselves often want to hold onto those positive spiritual experiences in our lives--those times when it feels like something mystical or even supernatural is happening--and to make them last forever. Maybe it's a powerful experience you had in worship or prayer sometime; maybe it was a dream you had where it felt like God spoke to you. Maybe it was a moment when a song brought you to tears, or you were surrounded by the beauty of creation in the woods or at the ocean and you just couldn't contain the sense of awe and wonder there. Your list of times like that will be different from mine or anybody else's, but chances are, you've had some experience in your life where it felt like you were somehow closer to the divine.

So sure, Peter wants to make this amazing experience on the mountain with Jesus last. Of course he doesn't want to go back down the slope into the messiness of the world. And of course he feels closer to experiencing God there beside the heroes of ancient Israel Moses and Elijah, where there isn't any laundry to be folded or work to be done, no irritating neighbors or intimidating Romans around. Of course it feels like you have clarity when the very voice of God is speaking and calling your attention to what is important: "This is My Son. Listen to him." All of that is so much simpler and clearer than everyday life, where there are bills to pay, children to care for, and the ambiguity and clutter of regular life. So it's perfectly understandable to want to stay up at that spiritual "high" point where there are no responsibilities, routines, or people with needs to attend to--only the majesty of the mountain and the feeling like you are somehow closer to God, or at least that God's presence is clearer to you. But it is exactly because the rest of life isn't up there on the mountain that we can't stay there--Jesus leads us back down and outward to be the presence of love everywhere else.

Surely if anyone has a right to get to stay there on the mountain forever, it's Jesus; and surely if he thought it was a good idea to stay at that impromptu camp meeting for all eternity, he would have told Peter, "Great--you get the sawhorses for building the sheds, and I'll make some fresh lumber appear." But Jesus knows that the point of his coming into the world is not to pull pious people OUT of the world and sequester them up on a summit for never-ending praise songs and mystical experiences, but rather to immerse fully IN the world in all of its brokenness, frustrations, and heartaches. That's why he summons his followers back down the mountain rather than taking Peter up on his offer to build a tent city up there for Moses, Elijah, and himself.

I can remember when I was in junior and senior high school and our church youth group would go to regional gatherings of other youth groups; I've even had my share of times as an adult speaking at those. And I know that they can be powerful, emotional, and moving spiritual experiences for people--they can be times when God seems closer to us, or when our faith is especially vibrant. Maybe it's seeing so many other people in the same place all singing the same songs, or sharing the same feeling in the room. Maybe it's just being removed from the usual responsibilities and ordinariness of daily life. But at some point, you grow up into seeing that the time "away from normal" at a gathering, retreat, conference, or whatever else you call it is never meant to be an end in itself. It's meant at best to equip us with clarity to head back into the messy places, the heartbroken places, among people who are struggling to see God in their midst. In other words, you learn that the Jesus way of life doesn't pull people "out" of where they're at to go somewhere else to meet God, but comes "in" to every place that feels godforsaken to embody the presence of God's love there.

If we are learning to love like Jesus--and I hope that much of our journey together is clear--then it will mean following him down and out. It will mean being willing to leave behind the moments of spiritual and emotional "highs"--whether they are planned or purely spontaneous--to go where Jesus leads us in the lowly places... because that's where he's always eventually headed. Our older brother in the faith Martin Luther used to say that when we look for God in the mountaintop places full of glory, we're likely falling for an illusion, but rather in Jesus we come to see God in all the un-glorious, unlikely, and disreputable places that a respectable deity wouldn't go... even to a cross. Maybe we need the mountaintop experiences from time to time to get our bearings, but like a dolphin or a whale coming up for air just long enough to go back into the depths for where our actual lives are lived.

Today, the invitation is for us to head where Jesus directs us--not up and out of the world and its problems in a never-ending church service where even Moses and Elijah are guest speakers--but back down into a messy and needy world. And there, among those who hurt, whose hearts are heavy, and who feel godforsaken, we discover that Jesus is already there waiting for us. Let's go.

Lord Jesus, give us the courage to trust you as you lead us back down the mountain and into the world.

Tired of the Same Old Game--February 13, 2026

Tired of the Same Old Game--February 13, 2026

"When I came to you, brothers and sisters, I did not come proclaiming the testimony of God to you with superior speech or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. And I came to you in weakness and in fear and in much trembling. My speech and my proclamation were made not with persuasive words of wisdom but with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God." (1 Corinthians 2:1-5)

So many of the groups, clubs, teams, organizations, and associations out there require the need to impress somebody else, either to get in... or to stay in.  You pledge at a fraternity or sorority and then have to prove your dedication by going through all the stunts and harassment inflicted on would-be members.  You apply for the new job by putting your best accomplishments on paper--and learning how to make yourself look more desirable as a candidate.  You make the team by scoring higher, running faster, or shooting better than the one next to you in line. And every candidate for public office certainly seems to feel the need to puff up their resumes and inflate their record in order to get a few more votes in the hopes of winning.  You don't get to belong in many groups these days without getting practice in selling yourself and promoting yourself as a "winner."

Add to that the way social media practically demands that we all project a polished version of ourselves for others to see... and possibly envy.  We post about the foods we have made (especially the success stories), the fancy restaurants we have gone to, the retouched photos of our best looks, and the achievements of our families, all creating the impression of a "greatest-hits-only" version of our lives, rather than the real mix of beautiful and broken, manageable and messy, fantastic and failure that we really experience. And again, it's not that there's a lone master villain out there making us do all this--it's just how the platform of social media works. We are constantly being pressured to present ourselves, both in real life and on screens, as "winners" rather than "losers."  That's how we know we will be acceptable to other people... at least that's what we tell ourselves.

And then there is the beautifully strange witness of the New Testament church, which made a point of not being like all those other kinds of groups, associations, and tribes.  These words from First Corinthians, which many of us heard in worship this past Sunday, give us another glimpse of how the apostle Paul put that strangeness into practice.  He's writing to this fractured congregation in Corinth, after having been their founding pastor and the one who had first shared the good news of Jesus with many of them, and he's reminding them that they don't have to go through the old routine of one-upping each other.  They don't have to brag about their superiority over one another, nor do they need to try and pretend their are superior to the people around them in the world where they live and work.  They don't have to project some fake version of themselves that makes them look like unmitigated successes, and they don't have to try to "wow" anybody.  The community of Jesus is different.  For people who are tired of that same old game, that is good news.

Here's why the community of Jesus--the church--is different (or at least why it is supposed to be different).  For one, Jesus himself.  Not only did Jesus not create a community built on impressing or posturing, but he himself knew what it was like to be looked down on as an utter failure and a loser.  He went from assembling a circle of anybodies and nobodies (including some pretty strongly despised folks like tax collectors, foreigners, and people with contagious and stigmatized diseases) to dying a shameful death on the kind of cross that was reserved for the most despicable and contemptible criminals.  The world's "Big Deals" looked at the track record of Jesus and said, "He's a criminal and a loser who surrounded himself with other losers--and that makes him an even bigger loser in our eyes!"  The apostle Paul looks at the same evidence and says, "This is how you know God is the One orchestrating it all."

Paul reminds the Christians in Corinth that when he first came to them, he didn't try to impress them with big bloviating talk or pompous self-aggrandizement from a podium.  He didn't try to rebrand Jesus as a "tough and strong winner" rather than a crucified criminal in order to make him more appealing.  "I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified," Paul says.  And on top of that, Paul himself didn't try to impress his listeners to sell them on the gospel, but by just being his own vulnerable self. "I came to you in weakness and in fear and in much trembling."  This was not the Homecoming Queen and Starting Quarterback inviting the elite and popular kids to join their social clique--this was an unimpressive out-of-town nobody telling people about a homeless rabbi who had been eliminated by the empire. In other words, it wasn't a message that sounded like a sales-pitch for success; it sounded like a God who was so committed to gathering the ones labeled "nobodies" that God was willing to be one of those "nobodies" as well in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.  That kind of God made room for people who didn't have it all together.  That kind of God didn't weed out the undesirables.  That kind of God didn't need to brag--and therefore, neither do we.

This is one of the things that makes the Christian community so countercultural, honestly.  We are so accustomed to self-important figures boasting about their supposed "greatness" and thinking that's the way to market the gospel, too: "Try Jesus, and he'll make you great!" or "Believe in Jesus, and you, too, can be successful like him!"  All of that completely misses the point to Paul.  He's not interested in turning the church into one more exclusive club where elites compete to earn a limited number of spots or have to constantly one-up each other in order to keep their place.  For Paul, his own coming to Corinth in weakness and smallness was not a random happening or a flaw in his strategy--it was a way of showing the people in Corinth that Jesus' kind of community really is different. And then when he told them about Jesus as the One who went to a cross, he made it clear that the Gospel wasn't just more of the same old game.  If the center of our story was someone dismissed by the Big Deals as a loser and a failure, then there is room for us when that's how we have been labeled, too.  If the One whom we confess as Lord created a community of "anybodies" and "nobodies," then we don't have to waste our energy projecting the image that we're "Somebodies" who are more important than the next person. That's the kind of new and beautiful community into which we have been called.

And it starts now.

Lord Jesus, enable us to be ourselves and to know you have accepted us as we are already--and let that be our witness to others.

The Blessed Alternative--February 12, 2026

The Blessed Alternative--February 12, 2026

"If you remove the yoke from among you,
  the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil,
  if you offer your food to the hungry
  and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
 then your light shall rise in the darkness
  and your gloom be like the noonday.
 The Lord will guide you continually
  and satisfy your needs in parched places
  and make your bones strong,
 and you shall be like a watered garden,
  like a spring of water
  whose waters never fail.
 Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
  you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
 you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
  the restorer of streets to live in." (Isaiah 58:9b-12)

These days we are so used to finger-pointing, it is hard to imagine that there was (or could be) a time when people were not so severely polarized into factions, each blaming its opponent for society's troubles while simultaneously avoiding responsibility for its own failures.

These days we are so accustomed to the noise of demagogues barking from podiums about whoever is the most recently identified villain to blame that we forget the world doesn't actually have to be carved up into "us" and "them" categories.

These days, we are so used to thinking of hungry people as "over there somewhere else"--usually, we assume, in "bad neighborhoods" or "bad countries" and therefore, we further assume, somehow deserving of their hunger--that we forget there is no such thing as a human being God does not love, and no face who is not made in the image of God.

These days, perhaps we are so thoroughly stuck in the ruts of being fearful of strangers, hostile to those we disagree with, and indifferent to those whose struggles are different from our own that we cannot imagine life being any different.  Perhaps the misery of being distant and divided from one another feels so familiar we are afraid of leaving it behind to try something new.  Perhaps we do not have the imagination to see that it doesn't have to be this way.

On days like these, the voice of the prophet dares us to envision an alternative and calls us into a different sort of life.  These words from what we call the fifty-eighth chapter of Isaiah, which conclude the passage that many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, are one of those times when God raised up a visionary to get us to see the world differently.  He interrupts the routines of scapegoating and finger-pointing that had consumed his listeners and woke them up out of the comfortable numbness that made them apathetic to the needs of neighbors around them.  And in a sense, he is still doing the same to us as well.  The voice of Isaiah 58 stops us in our tracks and says, "Did you forget that the world doesn't have to be fractured into US and THEM?"  He says, "Have you failed to see that your neighbor is hungry, or have you failed to even see them in the first place?"  And he asks us to imagine what life would be like if we broke out of our old mix of animosity and apathy to live in God's kind of beloved community.

"You want to know what that would be like?" he asks.  "It would be like living in a watered garden.  It would be like you are rebuilding forgotten neighborhoods and repairing the broken houses.  It would be like a light shining in the darkness.  It would be the alternative we've all been waiting for."  Church folk these days love to talk about "shining our light" so that everybody else will see it (as we even looked at earlier this week in an earlier devotion).  It's worth remembering that when Isaiah 58 talks about how to be such a light, he immediately talks about feeding hungry neighbors, caring for those whose backs are against the wall, and leaving behind the tired old pass-the-buck scapegoating we were used to.  The prophet doesn't have to wag his own finger at us or threaten us with a list of rules here; rather, he offers a vision for how things could be.  He dares us to ask ourselves, "Why have we let ourselves become so comfortable with such a sad status quo that leaves us estranged from each other and constantly angry at one another?"  And then he dares us to ask a further question, as well: "What if it were different?"

What if we were different?

And what if the only thing holding us back from stepping into that different way of life was our own inability to see that were stuck in the old pattern?  What if the kind of neighborly life where we don't have to constantly spin the day's events into an attack on "THEM" were possible right now?  What if the kind of beloved community where nobody went hungry wasn't a pipe dream or wishful thinking, but a matter of choosing it in our priorities over insulated indifference? And what if the prophet has come to call us into that kind of community right now?

Good news: that is exactly what this voice is doing.  We are invited, right here and right now, to be a part of this blessed alternative.  It can begin now.

Lord God, pull us out of the miserable ruts we have been stuck in and pull us into your newness of compassion and care.

The Kind of Life We're Called Into--February 11, 2026

The Kind of Life We're Called Into--February 11, 2026

"'Why do we fast, but you do not see? Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?' Look, you serve your own interests on your fast day, and oppress all your workers. Look, you fast, only to quarrel and to fight and to strike with a wicked fist. Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high. Is such the fast that I choose, a day to humble oneself? Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush, and to lie in sackcloth and ashes? Will you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the LORD? Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?" [Isaiah 58:3-7]

Maybe it's the church nerd in me, but I really do think that an awful lot of the rottenness around us comes from our inability to really think through what we believe about God. I don't mean to be a theology snob, but honestly, it seems like we human beings can be just utter jerks to each other while we are equally certain we've got the divine stamp of approval on our jerkiness, all because we haven't really thought through the things we say we believe about God.

And, boy oh boy, does this passage from the book of Isaiah have that on display in spades here. These words, which many of us heard this past Sunday as our first reading, are one of those times when God speaks directly to the Respectable Religious Crowd and lovingly smacks them upside the head to get their attention with a message. The people are intent on getting God's attention--they want help in rebuilding after the exile, they want prosperity for their businesses and their nation, they want security from their enemies, and they want to know they have divine favor in all their pursuits.

And so they do what Respectable Religion always does: they put on a show... for God. They pull out all the stops and play all the greatest hits: a ritual fast, signs of humbling themselves, covering themselves in ashes and rough sackcloth, and they bow down low as they cry to the heavens. They put on a whole National Day of Prayer and Fasting, convinced that's what will get God's attention. And when they don't get the response they were hoping for, the Respectable Religious Crowd lobs up another petition to God: "How come you're not noticing us? Why don't you see us doing all these things to get you attention, God?"

Well, right there is Bad Theology Move Number One--of course, God sees it all. It's just that God isn't impressed with any of that theatricality. God knows and sees everything--but not just their performed piety. God also sees the way these same folks who insist they are devoutly dedicated to godliness also ignore the needs of their neighbors, fight with each other, and take advantage of the most vulnerable in their community. God sees all of that, too, and God is more upset with the ways the people are mistreating each other to make a buck, ignoring each other because helping would be inconvenient, and fighting with each other because meanness is easy.

That brings us to Bad Theology Move Number Two: it's not that God doesn't see us when we are trying to get God's attention, but rather that God DOES see everything, including all the things we thought nobody noticed or paid attention to... and including the times we aren't putting on a religious performance. The people have sort of accepted that there's some kind divide between "sacred" things that God is supposed to care about [you know, prayers and rituals and fasting and the like], and then "secular" things that are outside of God's purview [things like business and everyday life and the Dow Jones Industrial Average]. And that just ain't so. God sees it all, and you can't buy God off over here on one side with well-produced religious pageantry while you're cheating your neighbors or letting them starve without so much as recognizing they're even there over on the other side. This should be obvious, but sometimes we human beings just don't think it through... and we end up trying to get God's attention with religion while we're also trying to get the same God to look the other way when it comes to our cruelty and indifference to the people around us.

Underneath all of this nonsense with a pious veneer is another vital truth that the people in Isaiah 58 had forgotten--or ignored--and that we are easily tempted to forget, too. We don't have to "do" anything to get God's attention--EVER. That's just not how it works. Trying to get God's attention through public displays of religiosity is like thinking you have to buy access to the air you are already breathing, or trying to bribe your parents into loving you, when they already do. There's NO way to "make" God pay attention to you, because there's no NEED--God is already completely aware and totally attentive to all of us, all the time.

And once we're clear on that, then we can finally get around to a final corrective God offers here to the bad theology of the Respectable Religious Folks: since God doesn't need us to "do" anything to get the attention of the divine, what WILL we do with our time, energy, and effort? To borrow the old question of the late Gerhard Forde, "What will you do--now that you don't HAVE to 'do' anything?"

So God speaks through the prophet to answer that question. Since you can't [and don't need to] get God's attention with all your holy hoopla, what things DOES God actually care about? Well, how about taking that food you weren't eating [since you were fasting, right?] and giving it to your neighbor so they can eat? How about, since you're going around dressed in all that pious-looking [and itchy] sackcloth, what if you gave some of your extra clothes to the neighbor whose closet is bare? How about, if you're so interested in shouting up to the skies with a loud voice, you use that voice to speak up for the neighbors who are being taken advantage of at work? How about, instead of bowing your head down on the ground to look devout, you unclenched your fists and quit threatening each other? In other words, when you don't have to put on a production to draw attention to your supposed piety, maybe you could actually listen to the kinds of things God cares about and realign your focus on those? Once you've thought through your theology and realize that you didn't need to do anything "religious" to get God's attention, you're amazingly free to spend your strength on the things that actually matter to God--and it turns out that looks like love. God never needed a National Day of Prayer and Fasting or a pious pageant of horn-tooting self-denial, but God's heart has always been centered on love for the most vulnerable without fanfare or applause.  God doesn't want a spectacle with fireworks and fanfare--only genuine love for the needs of others.  That's the kind of life we have been called into.  God was never looking for a show.

Today, then, what if we were done with all the things we tell ourselves will show our devotion to God, and instead just practiced love that looks like God's love--care for the hungry ones, the ones without housing, and the ones being taken advantage of? What if we were finally done with religiously-dressed boastfulness, and instead trusted that we already have God's eye and God's ear? What if we were less interested in putting on a public show of Respectable Religion, and more committed to choices that simply made life better for the people around us, whether or not anybody else notices?  And what if that were what God has been calling us to be a part of all along?

Once we get our theology straightened out, we really do get clarity for what's worth spending our energy on, what matters to God, and what kind of life we are called into. So if we are a little bit more on track with our thinking, now let's get our actions in line, too.

Lord God, remind us who you are and where your heart is, so that we can spend our energy and time in ways that reflect your love.

 

A Certain Kind of Difference--February 10, 2026

A Certain Kind of Difference--February 10, 2026

[Jesus said:]“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. People do not light a lamp and put it under the bushel basket; rather, they put it on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven." (Matthew 5:14-16)

It's not about power, and it's not about putting ourselves in charge. It's about giving ourselves away with such compelling love that the world around us catches a glimpse of the light of God's goodness.

Let's be clear about that from the outset here. Over the centuries, plenty of folks have latched onto Jesus' words calling us "the light of the world" and took it to mean that only Christians should be in charge of things, or that only Christians should wield political power or make decisions, or that Christians--by sheer virtue of believing in Jesus--are less susceptible to temptation and therefore inherently immune from abusing positions of authority and power.  That's a lot of meaning to cram into a single phrase, "you are the light of the world," and it certainly doesn't seem to be what Jesus had in mind.  Similarly, you can't just call yourself or your group "the city on the hill" and take it as carte blanche permission to do whatever you want.  The temptation is very powerful for us to take these words of Jesus and let them inflate our egos into thinking that Jesus is saying we (Christians) are better than everybody else and should therefore be in charge of everybody else.

But that's not really how Jesus' imagery works.  From Jesus' vantage point, light serves a purpose other than itself.  Light, like from the flame of an oil lamp, is what makes it possible to see enough in a dark room to find the thing you were looking for, or to do the household chore.  A source of light will stand out to our eyes, but typically the point is to illuminate the rest of the room, or the region, or the whole world (if we are talking about the sun, for example) so that everything else can be what it is meant to be.  The sun's light makes it possible for plants to grow and therefore for animals and humans to live.  The light in your kitchen allows you to cook dinner without cutting your thumb because you couldn't see where your hand was in relation to the knife.  The light in your workplace allows you to do your work.  Light doesn't function as a form of domination--it gives itself away for the sake of other things and people, so that all of us can thrive.  I have to believe that Jesus has something like that in mind when he looks at a hillside of people who have come to hear him and says, "You are the light of the world."  He's not deputizing us to take over the world--he is sending us out spend ourselves in love, like God does, in order to serve and bless people other than ourselves.

In that sense, the imagery of light is actually pretty similar to the word-picture we looked at yesterday (and also this past Sunday) of salt.  The way salt "works" is to give itself away in preserving something else, flavoring something else, or melting something else.  It isn't there for its own interests or advantage--just the opposite. The salt gives itself away in order improve or help the stuff you sprinkle it onto.  And that's the common thread with being the light, too.  To be a light in a dark place is certainly to stand out, but not for our own benefit, glory, or self-interest.  We're to make a difference and to be different--but it's a certain kind of different, you could say.

Maybe it's like this: I'll bet you have noticed how the world looks especially lovely in that "golden hour" light of early morning just around sunrise and just approaching sunset.  It's the same sun, of course, but as the sun's light is nearing the horizon, its light is bent differently through the atmosphere and it really does change the coloring of the sun's light to our eyes.  Things really do look more "golden" in the golden hour, because the warmer hues are being brought out.  And that golden hour coloring certainly looks more beautiful to our eyes than the sickly green-gray tint of old-fashioned fluorescent lights.  Well, let me suggest this: to be a light for the world in Jesus' sense isn't just to be bright and intimidating or gaudy and obnoxious, but to have the particular color of God's character.  We aren't gigantic roadside billboard lights or flashing neon signs meant to attract eyeballs to ourselves, but we are meant to be means through which the particular color of God's light is spread all around.  We aren't supposed to dominate the landscape by being so blindingly bright that nobody can see anything else, but we are supposed to let everything be colored in the hue and character of God's goodness, like the "golden hour" light falling on the faces and places around us.  The world will be different because of our presence in it, but in a way that brings out its beauty and blessedness.  And once we see that as our role in the world, we no longer have to fuss with being "in power" or "dominating" anybody or anything else around us.  We can see our role of being a light as a way of casting everything in the glow of God's kind of love, rather than the severe shine of office fluorescent bulbs or the ego-centric allure of a neon sign.  Like Madeleine L'Engle put it, "We draw people to Christ not by loudly discrediting what they believe, by telling them how wrong they are and how right we are, but by showing them a light that is so lovely that they want with all their hearts to know the source of it."  That's it.  That's precisely it.

In the Sermon on the Mount, you don't hear Jesus saying, "Once you guys seize the reins of power and take control of government and culture, THEN you'll be able to be a powerful enough light to fix the world." He says we already ARE the light the world needs, because we have been given already the presence of God who shines through us--without needing to be "in charge" or "in power" to do that. We will stand out and be a distinctive presence in the world, to be sure, but not as bullies or blowhards.  The certain kind of difference we bring is the character of God's love that will refract through us into the world.

Lord Jesus, let your light shine in us that the whole world will be illuminated with your own beauty and love.

What We Are Here For--February 9, 2026

What We Are Here For--February 9, 2026

[Jesus said:] "You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot." [Matthew 5:13]

Salt may not get a lot of good press in medical news these days, but if we dare to think in Jesus' terms for a moment, we may get a better understanding of how to love like he does by thinking in salty terms, of all things.

Okay, I know that most of us today in America don't have a problem with getting too little salt--if anything, we have too much sodium in our diets, and our doctors or our spouses shoot us glaring looks about how much salt we do get. So it can be hard, then, for us to hear Jesus talk about salt in a good way, or to try and understand what he is saying about salt, and what it means for us.

And I get it, too, that there are really only so many things you can do with salt--at least that us ordinary people would need on a day-to-day basis. Salt tastes good, and salt can preserve foods from spoiling--and in a day before refrigerators, that is a pretty handy thing. That's really about it--you eat it, and you can preserve other things to eat later with it.

But in both cases, the salt isn't there for its own sake, but for the sake of something else. Salt is a sacrificial seasoning, you could say--you use it for the improvement or preservation of something other than itself. You don't eat spoonfuls of salt by itself. You put it on some other food to season it, and you use it to preserve something else--your meat or fish or whatever. But in both cases, the goodness and the usefulness of the salt is only found when it is put to use for something else. Salt isn't much use just by itself or for itself. In fact, it's really most effective in small doses spread out through the whole of something else. This, really, is why your doctor or your spouse grimaces at you about getting too much salt in your diet. We all need a certain amount of the stuff, but too much and it starts to do more damage than good. Same with the preservative effects--put a certain amount of salt with your cuts of meat, and you can preserve food, which in turn helps preserve life when someone who is hungry can eat without having to invent the refrigerator and alternating current electrical outlets, first. But too much salt actually destroys life--salting the ground, after all, was a devastating tactic the Romans used to punish conquered enemies, as a way of ensuring that nothing would ever grow there again.

This seems to be the point Jesus is making about us--his followers, who dare to live the Kingdom life--that we are meant to be a salt-like presence in the world, for the sake of the world. We are here for good, but not for our own good. We are here to be a blessed presence, scattered and sprinkled throughout society, to season, to enhance, and to preserve. But that only works if we are willing to give ourselves away in the process. And it only works if we realize that we are meant to stand out for a reason, not just to make noise. That's what we are here for.

Salt has its distinctive, even pungent, flavor, but when you put it in food, its purpose is to enhance the other flavors and seasonings in the meal. You never hear anyone say (at least in a positive sense), "Mmm... you can really taste the salt!" That is a sign you'll be getting a glare from the doctor about your sodium level. But when it is rightly put in the food, salt lets the other flavors be what they are supposed to be. It helps and aids the other flavors, but doesn't draw attention to itself when it is used in the right proportions.

Same with the preservative use--Jesus never pictures his followers dominating the world with such a heavy presence that we stifle life, but that we are used in a preservative way. We cannot create or manufacture life--that remains only God's to do--but we can support, nurture, protect, and preserve life among us. And that's the kind of life we are called to. Again, it may well be behind the scenes, and we may not call attention to ourselves, but our purpose is to be a blessed presence for the sake of others. And that is enough, Jesus says. People might not be able to put their finger on what is going on--they might not always know that you are going the extra mile because of your love for Jesus, or they might not realize that you put in extra time and energy because of the joy God has given you. But you and I have the opportunity to be that kind of blessed presence, without worrying about getting proper credit for it.

That's what makes salt such a picture of the kind of love we meet in Jesus: it doesn't need to draw attention to itself, but is there for sake of whatever it is placed in the midst of. It gives itself away for the sake of enhancing the whole, without dominating or overpowering. That's the way Jesus' love works. And that's the kind of love we are sent to embody for the world--to give it a foretaste of what the Reign of God is really like.

On the other hand, if we lose that sense of being here for the sake of others, maybe we have lost our reason for being Jesus' followers altogether. After all, as Jesus says, if salt loses its saltiness, it's not good for anything other than traction under your feet. If we lose either our distinctiveness--our way of sticking out and being willing to look like holy fools because we are seeking to be like Jesus--or our willingness to give ourselves away, the way salt is meant for enhancing or preserving something else, what's the point of gathering together in Jesus' name? We know, all too well and too sadly, that it is an easy trap for Christians and congregations to fall into--to become only narrowly focused on preserving themselves: on how to "keep the church alive," or how to just make ends meet, or how to make themselves financially prosperous. There are a lot of loud voices, too, angling for Christians to take charge, to get special treatment or recognition, or to occupy positions of power, all of which sounds a lot more like a lethal dose of sodium than a light touch of salt to enhance the soup. And when that happens, we have lost our purpose, our reason for being, our Jesus-given identity as a people meant to enhance and preserve others so that we can be a picture, a living parable, of what God has done for us in Christ.

We are meant to be ripples, reverberations, and echoes of the kind of salty, self-sacrifice of Jesus that gives life to us and to the world. That's what this is all about. Today, be an echo of mercy. Today, be a behind-the-scenes reverberation of grace. Today, be salt--Jesus says it's what we are already.  That is, after all, what we are here for.

Lord Jesus, let us be today what you have called us to be and said we are in the first place--a blessed, distinctive, and preserving presence for the sake of the world, so that people will see in us what you have done for the world, too.

On Walking With God--Feb. 6, 2026

On Walking With God--February 6, 2026

"He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" (Micah 6:8)

There doesn't need to be drama between us and God. If we find there is drama in that relationship, you can be sure that we're the ones who have added it.

This is one of the things I love about this well-known verse from Micah, a verse many of us heard this past Sunday in worship as part of our first reading. Micah cuts through our melodrama and calls our bluff when we are getting all worked up about what God wants, and he just says, "It's never been complicated, and God is not trying to make things difficult." God isn't looking for us to prove our worthiness or achieve our way into some saintly status. God has never been holding auditions or try-outs--God has only ever called us to share the road as we walk together.

What's hard for us, of course, is that so often we want to make a big production out of our faith and make it a quest... a burden... a crusade. That allows us to see ourselves as heroic, rather than as humble, and quite frankly, our egos need to be stroked. If we can tell ourselves that we've endured fierce persecution, or sacrificed life and limb in the name of God, or left some monumental legacy to the impact we've made for our faith, then we can tell ourselves we've "earned" a place in heaven. But to hear that God has simply called us to walk in God's own ways of justice and mercy, well, we can't pretend we're "heroes" when we are doing that. We have to see ourselves as children being invited on a walk with a parent, as recipients of grace.

I think of that story in the book of Kings about the Syrian general Naaman who goes to see the prophet Elisha looking for a dramatic and spectacular show of power to heal his leprosy, only to be told to go wash in the Jordan River seven times. And at first, he gets mad that Elisha won't come out and wave his hands over him to make him well, until a servant points out to him that if he had been told to do some big and daring quest to be healed, he would have done it--so why not do this small and easy thing? And of course, that's just it--some part of Naaman wants to have to "do" something big to be healed. His ego needs a "quest" or an epic battle or a perilous journey or something like the Twelve Labors of Hercules to let him believe he's earning the help he is seeking. He wants to be able to boast, if to nobody else other than himself, that he's "won" the favor of God. In the end, what it takes for Naaman to be healed is for him to let go of that need to be heroic, and instead to let a humble dip in an unimpressive river be the means of his healing.

Micah seems to be telling the same to the people in his day, and in ours. To be drawn into relationship with God is to be pulled into love, and love doesn't need to perform for the beloved--love just seeks to walk together. There's no need for putting on a show; God just calls us to share the path. It's like the difference between all those overly dramatic love songs, proudly insisting that the singer would climb the highest mountain or swim the deepest ocean for the beloved, and what actual love looks like--that is more likely to actually just want to wash the dishes together or fold the laundry side by side. God has never needed us to "prove" our devotion or commitment with some hero's quest; God has simply invited us to walk along the same way.

Today, then, part of learning both how to love God, and to let ourselves be loved by God, is to learn to let go of that need for dramatic shows of piety, and instead to see the ordinary as the place we relate to God, and grace as the currency of that relationship. God was never looking for us to prove ourselves; God has only been calling us to walk together. Realizing that means we are finally free to abandon our pretense, our posturing, and our boasting, so that we can just enjoy the walk.

O God, enable us to walk humbly with you today, and always.