God's Refugee Policy--May 6, 2026

God's Refugee Policy--May 6, 2026

"But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.  Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.  Beloved, I urge you as aliens and exiles to abstain from the desires of the flesh that wage war against the soul." (1 Peter 2:9-11)

"Every heart," says Leonard Cohen, "every heart to love will come... but like a refugee."

That lyric from the haunting Cohen classic, "Anthem," gets it right.  And, even more to the point for the followers of Jesus, that means acknowledging that we are the refugees.

The whole of the Christian story, according to the New Testament letter/sermon/treatise/mission-statement that we call 1 Peter, is the story of God in Christ calling and claiming a band of refugees and welcoming them into this Christ's country, making them his own people. Many of us heard these words this past Sunday in worship, but maybe it's worth slowing down to consider what is being said here. To be a Christian, 1 Peter would tell us, is to be a refugee and to be honest enough to say it out loud.  We are refugees, aliens, and exiles, people without a home in the world around us, who have been given a new identity and belonging in Christ.  Almost like a whole new creation story, 1 Peter says we had been called "out of darkness" and into God's "marvelous light." 

We were "not a people," he says.  That doesn't just mean individually we were regarded as "nobodies," (although that may be true, and it certainly does seem that the God of the Scriptures has a particular concern and love for the people treated as "nobodies" by the world), but it means also that we weren't a people--we had nothing on our own to bind us together to give us identity, belonging, or a place of home.  I remember several years ago, during a previous summer Olympics, when there were athletes competing who had been forced to flee from their home countries as refugees and who competed together as a team representing a "refugee nation." They had a flag--designed in orange and black as a symbolic callback to the life-jackets many had to wear in escaping war zones or disaster areas in boats, and even a "Refugee National Anthem" that a composer had written.  It was this real-life picture of the longing we all feel to be "a people," to belong somewhere, and to know that we are not alone.  Well, 1 Peter says that is our story--all of us.  Aliens in the world, exiles, strangers--trusting the promise that we will be brought to Love, but knowing that it will, as Cohen sings it, "like refugees."

"But now," says the old apostle... but now we are no less and none other than God's people.  We have been made citizens, granted a welcome, graced with permanent belonging, within the Kingdom, the Reign, of the living God.  That is not something you achieve--it is something you are given.  It is a matter of what the Ruling Authority of the Realm in question says about you.  And of course, that's just it--the Ruler of the Realm has the authority simply to declare that you belong, by calling you a citizen, a member, a part of the realm.  That is easy to do--it is simply a question of whether a Ruler does, or does not, have the will to do so.

But so that we are perfectly on this, 1 Peter says that every Christian--every last sister and brother who names the name of Jesus--is in fact simply a refugee, an alien, whom Christ has claimed and called to belong to his realm, his kingdom.  Jesus' word is enough to make us belong.  That is because Christ is a good and decent Ruler--his is the kind of Reign that not only makes room for strangers and aliens like us, but actively seeks us and calls us his own, even though we all come from varied places, languages, backgrounds, nations, and abilities. The Jesus Administration has a clear policy of welcoming refugees and making them permanent citizens, you could say--there's nobody in Christ's Kingdom who isn't one!  There is nobody in Christ's family who isn't a foundling--someone who belongs, not on the basis of DNA (or language, skin color, culture, or national origin), but on the basis of his love that claims us to belong to him.

It's important for us--no, vital--to understand that this is how the Bible itself describes us, because otherwise we end up thinking that Jesus' call is reserved for just some--some nationalities, some languages, some skill-sets, some income-levels, or some skin colors.  We end up thinking that "Christian" is a synonym for "people who look and dress and shop and think like I do... because, after all, I am a Christian, so they all must be like me."  But that's not how 1 Peter sees it.  These verses remind us that "once we were not a people"--that is to say, we are not Christians because we share one language or music style or hair color or facial complexion or culture.  Rather, we who have been gathered from all over creation, who were never really at home, have been given a new kind of belonging and a new identity in Christ.

That's precisely how the early church saw itself, mind you.  In the second century, a letter now known simply as "The Letter to Diognetus" was written as a sort of self-description of the growing Christian movement. And here is how the anonymous author describes us, we followers of Jesus:

"Christians are indistinguishable from other people either by nationality, language or customs. They do not inhabit separate cities of their own, or speak a strange dialect, or follow some outlandish way of life. Their teaching is not based upon reveries inspired by the curiosity of humans. Unlike some other people, they champion no purely human doctrine. With regard to dress, food and manner of life in general, they follow the customs of whatever city they happen to be living in, whether it is Greek or foreign.... And yet there is something extraordinary about their lives. They live in their own countries as though they were only passing through. They play their full role as citizens, but labor under all the disabilities of aliens. Any country can be their homeland, but for them their homeland, wherever it may be, is a foreign country.”

We have a way of confusing "Christian" with "American" or "middle-class" or "people who also buy their jeans at Wal-mart like I do," and then assuming that Jesus is only interested in calling people who are like that to belong on his team.  We have a way of assuming that churches are only supposed to grow by bringing in more of the same kind of people "like me"--as though "Christian" were a nationality or an ethnicity, rather than being a radical in-gathering of aliens and exiles declared to be citizens of the Reign of God. But the call is always wider and bigger than we want to make it.  It takes us, from our varied locations, lifestyles, loves, likes, lands, and languages, and makes us belong in a new kind of realm, a new kind of citizenship altogether.  

Jesus isn't just looking for people like me. He calls all of us from wherever we have been and he draws us into the Reign of his love. Like being called from a war-zone into a safe new country--and told you can call it "home" now, forever. Maybe even like being called out of darkness, and into a marvelous light... and marvelous Love.

And indeed, like the song says, every heart... every heart, to such Love will come... but like a refugee.

Lord Jesus, remind us again of just how big your Kingdom is... and just how varied and beautiful the people are within it, we whom you have called together to make into a people.

Jesus, the Chief Misfit Toy--May 5, 2026

Jesus, the Chief Misfit Toy--May 5, 2026

"Come to him, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ." (1 Peter 2:4-5)

Let's start here: if you've been rejected before, Jesus still seeks you out and wants you. If you've been told you're not acceptable, Jesus doesn't hold other people's opinions against you and sees you as he always has--beloved. If you've been kicked out, left behind, or had the door closed in your face, Jesus invites you to be a part of his new construction project--and in fact, to get in on the ground floor.

And not only is all of that true, but Jesus himself knows what it is to be rejected by humanity... and still he doesn't hold that against our race or give up on us. He is still intent on making something beautiful and good out of all of us. Jesus is not embarrassed at all that his family looks a lot like the Island of Misfit Toys--he himself is the chief misfit toy, and he still seeks out even the ones who rejected him alongside others who have been turned away before.

If that sounds too good to be true--too great a love, too wide an embrace, too inclusive a welcome, maybe--then it's time to take a closer look at exactly what the voice we call First Peter says in this passage. In these words, which many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, the biblical writer makes two bold and gutsy claims. First of all, he issues a blanket welcome, "Come to him"--that is, to Jesus. You'll notice that there aren't other qualifiers there, no fine print, and no asterisks, either. First Peter doesn't say, "Come to him, if you're at least making B average..." or "Come to him, provided that you pass the morality exam..." or "Come to him, as long as you're from the right family, the right neighborhood, or the right political persuasion." He just says, "Come to him," taking it for granted that there's a welcome there.

Right off the bat that is a big deal, not only in the writer's original setting of the first century, but in our own time as well. In the early church, of course, the growing Christian community had really wrestled with the question of who was welcome in the household, and whether they were supposed to be more like a Country Club for the Saints or a Community Kitchen for Sinners. And despite the fact that it broken open old assumptions about what who was "good enough," the Christian community realized eventually that the Spirit wasn't just including people of Jewish background, but people of every ethnicity, culture, ancestry, and language. Samaritans, who had long been seen as enemies and outcasts, were welcomed in. Gentiles, who were deemed outsiders, pagans, or worse, were also to find a place among the followers of Jesus. The church really meant it--at least in its best moments back in the first century--that Jesus' welcome was inclusive of anybody and everybody.

That's still a tall order for most folks to imagine in this day and age. Especially in a time like ours that feels so polarized, so splintered, and so quick to slap labels on us, it's hard to believe that the Bible itself is the voice leading the charge to open the doors wide and say, "There's room for all of you, so come to him...." And yet... that's exactly what these verses say. It's a broad invitation without hoops or hurdles, and it's meant to include people who have been told before that they weren't good enough, didn't measure up, or didn't fit the cookie cutter mold. So, yeah, if you've been told before that you weren't acceptable, the Scriptures themselves here are saying, "Well, God doesn't think so. God isn't going to let the opinion of other people get in the way of your coming to Jesus. Come--the only One whose vote counts already says you belong."

Like I say, that by itself is a radical word that we too easily forget (or ignore) in our own day. But the next move that First Peter makes is the coup de grace, because the One to whom we are drawn has also been rejected before. The way First Peter describes Jesus here is as "a living stone, rejected by mortals but chosen by God." That's Jesus we're talking about--Jesus, the very Son of God, knows what it is to be rejected. Jesus can relate. He identifies with every last one of us who knows what it is to be last picked, first cut, or stood up. He knows what it feels like to be ghosted by admirers and abandoned by friends. And yet Jesus keeps putting himself out there, at the risk of great pain and heartbreak to himself and repeated rejections all over again, for the sake of getting through to us. Like I say, he's the Chief of the Misfit Toys, gathering all the rest of us to belong with him, as he builds something good and true and beautiful out of all of our chipped edges and broken parts. And nothing--not humanity's past rejection of Jesus, not other people's rejection of you--is holding him back from reaching out his hand to you and to me.

This is not only how you and I are loved--it's how everybody you meet is loved, too. And honestly, for a lot of people we meet, who have only heard condemnation, rejection, or dismissal from Respectable Religious People before, maybe it's time they heard a different word--one right from the Scriptures--that reminds them all of the truth. Jesus himself knows what it is to be rejected, and he still seeks us out. And Jesus himself makes the invitation to people who know how it feels to be dismissed and declared unworthy or unacceptable. And to all of us who have ever been in that place before, he simply speaks this invitation: Come to me.

Lord Jesus, let us speak your wide welcome and open-armed embrace to everyone we meet--especially the ones who know, like you, what it feels like to be rejected.

The Same Melody--May 4, 2026

The Same Melody--May 4, 2026

"When they heard these things, they became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen. But filled with the Holy Spirit, he gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. 'Look,' he said, 'I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!' But they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, 'Lord Jesus, receive my Spirit.' Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, 'Lord, do not hold this sin against them.' When he had said this, he died." (Acts 7:54-60)

If God's way of doing things looks like self-giving, enemy-embracing love for Jesus, then it shouldn't surprise us that God's way looks like this for the family of Jesus' followers. We are playing the same song--the tune Jesus taught us--each on our own instruments, but it is the same melody.

Let me take that a step further: Jesus' death on a cross isn't just one more in a line of countless rushed Roman executions. There were innumerable crucifixions carried out under the authority of the Empire, after all, and yet Christians are convinced that there is something unique and powerful about the death of their particular homeless, penniless rabbi, Jesus. For one, Jesus did not meet death fearfully bargaining, cursing his God or his executioners in a fit of rage, or despairing and despondent. He died, Luke told us (see Luke 23), at complete peace with God, praying from the psalms, "Into your hands I commend my spirit," and calling on God to forgive those who were holding the hammer that had put nails in his hands. Jesus' victory begins there--before we even get to Easter glory--because Jesus would not be broken by Empire. He would not give into the violence, hatred, and fear that Rome and all the other powers of history have used to get their way. And this is his victory. Jesus would not lash out to kill his enemies, and he refused to give himself over to their tactics. Before we even get to the stone rolled away on Sunday morning, Rome's power has been exposed as smoke and mirrors, and the power of death itself is already hamstrung, simply by virtue of Jesus' complete and utter faithfulness to the way of God rather than to the way of Rome, of self-centeredness, of fear, and of power.

And then second of all, of course, the New Testament would have us believe that Jesus' cannot be held in even by the grave. Resurrection breaks out, and Jesus rises beyond the power of Roman centurions, and even beyond the grip of death itself. The cross is a double victory, then, both because of how Jesus remains faithful to the way of God even all the way to death, and how Jesus rises from death after the cross.

So if that is true for Jesus, then here is something wonderful and awesome: the followers of Jesus share in that same victory, because we are called to face hatred the same way Jesus did. That's how Luke--the same guy who wrote the Gospel we call by his name--wants us to understand the stoning and death of Stephen (no relation). Luke wants us to see that when an angry mob got stirred up to kill this early servant-leader in the church, Jesus' kind of victory was visible again. Stephen has learned to die victoriously, and he has learned it from Jesus himself. He has learned to sing the same tune Jesus sang, to play the same melody with his own life.

Look at the last words on Stephen's lips here as Luke gives us the story. He is echoing Jesus! "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit," he asks, seeing the risen Jesus while the angry crowd roars to drown out a message it cannot comprehend. "Lord, do not no hold this sin against them," he prays, seeking forgiveness for the lynch-mob that has encircled him. Where do you suppose Stephen gets these ideas from? Who taught him this kind of response to this kind of hatred, this kind of ignorance that yells louder so it doesn't have to listen to what it doesn't agree with? Where of course, but Jesus? As Luke told the story, Jesus dies praying for forgiveness for his executioners ("Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,") and entrusting his life to God, ("Into your hands I commend my spirit"). Stephen is simply echoing what he first learned from Jesus, even in the way he dies.

Stephen's death--the first time someone died for faith in Jesus, according to Luke's storytelling--is a witness that the early church got it. The first followers of Jesus understood that Jesus' kind of victory isn't won by overpowering an enemy with bigger guns and more ammo, or more centurions and spears--it is won by suffering love that will not bend to the power of hatred, of fear, or of death. Stephen dies pointing to and echoing the tune, so to speak, of Jesus.

And that means evil's defeat continued into the community of Jesus' followers--it couldn't corrupt Jesus, and it couldn't corrupt his disciples into returning evil for evil. Much like Kipling describes in his poem "If," Jesus and his community "being lied about, don't deal in lies...or being hated, don't give way to hating." The powers of death, hatred, and evil couldn't get Stephen to go to his death cursing the ones hurling rocks at him, and in that, Stephen participated again in Jesus' victory. And that wasn't all--as Luke subtly notes, there was a young man named Saul watching all of this unfolding, holding the coats for the rock-throwers, nodding approvingly as they killed Stephen. But we know this Saul better by his Greek name: Paul. This same young man would be transformed before long (it takes another chapter of the book of Acts) to become a follower of the same Jesus, and Paul/Saul brought a message to the world that declared God in Christ loved his enemies and died for their forgiveness in order to save them. The angry mob intended to silence this Jesus and his movement when they stoned Stephen to death, but in fact, they only gave it more power to witness authentically to the love that lays down its life even for the enemy in order to save them. Jesus' strange kind of victory strikes again, even for the young man named Saul holding the coats at a stoning.

If you are looking for some scene in the Bible where Stephen gets to come back from the dead and get revenge on his killers in a final act of "victory" over them, I'm sorry. That never happens. That is not how Jesus' kind of victory works, and that is not the kind of victory his followers seek after. Jesus' kind of victory reconciles enemies, forgives sins, and gives up on attempts at revenge or "saving face." Jesus' kind of victory is bigger than all of that, and he calls us to be bigger than that as well.

So for us on this day, sharing in Jesus' kind of victory will mean looking like Jesus--the way he lays down his life forgiving his enemies, the way he asks for God's mercy on his persecutors, the way he can confidently commend his life into God's hands, the way he is at total peace with the way of God. And we have to know now, in advance, that the world will look at that and will not recognize it as victory. The world will see it and think it has won, just like the angry mob thought it had won over Stephen when the last rock was thrown, and just like the Respectable Religious Leaders and the Romans thought they had won when they nailed Jesus to a cross. They did not understand--how could they?--that they had actually sown the very seeds of God's kind of victory, a victory so large and wide and deep that it even swept up the very enemies of God in its embrace. They did not realize that their attempts to stamp out the movement of Jesus actually scattered seed into the whole world to make the Kingdom grow. They did not understand that Jesus' victory comes through giving yourself away.

But we are invited to see that, to understand it, and to stake our lives on it.

Today, let us share in Jesus' kind of victory--not giving into the hatred, the lies, the violence, the bitterness, and the greed of the world's way of doing things.

Today, let us surrender our old need for getting even or looking tough, and discover the great power that lies in refusing to sing the world's song, but rather playing Jesus' melody in our own key.

Today, let us look for ways to embody a love so big and wide that it defeats enemies by embracing them and transforming them into friends.

This is Jesus' victory song. It is our tune today, too.

Lord Jesus, let us reflect your kind of victory in the ways we lay down our lives today, too.

Moving with the Magnet--May 1, 2026

Moving with the Magnet--May 1, 2026

"So again, Jesus said to them, 'Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits, but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly'." (John 10:7-10)

Did you ever do that science experiment where you lay out a bunch of paper clips (or if you are really fancy, some good ol' fashioned iron filings) on top of a flat surface and then put a strong magnet underneath?  Can you picture what I'm talking about?  At first, the paper clips or flecks of metal suddenly lurch toward the spot where the magnet is held underneath them, as if spontaneously glued in place.  But then, the real trick comes when you start to move the magnet around, and seemingly out of nowhere, the paper clips or filings start to move, too.  If you didn't know that there's a magnet being held under the table, it might look like magic.  But if you are the one holding it in your hand beneath the flat surface, you know that the paper clips are only following where the pull of the magnet leads them. They have not gotten lost, confused, or scattered: they are being attracted by a magnet that is in motion. They go where it goes, precisely because the magnet itself is leading them along. They are simultaneously being held and moving, wherever the magnet goes.

There's something similar to the way Jesus fleshes out his extended metaphor about being a good shepherd for his people.  The routine for a shepherd, of course, is not merely to get the flock inside the pen once and then to leave them there.  They might all sleep inside a sheepfold within a fence, but in the morning you'll need to lead them out to graze in new fields, and you'll need to find more water for them, and they'll want some open space just to roam around.  So the shepherd draws the sheep to him, but then he goes out through the gateway in the fence, leading the flock around him, and they go out to do whatever is on the itinerary for the day: a little green pasture, a little still water, the whole nine yards.  The image is not of a stationary final destination, but of being simultaneously held and moving at the same time... sort of like our magnet and the paper clips.

And this is worth our stopping and considering for a moment, because to be honest, I think a lot of the time we church folk try to oversimplify the Christian story to something like, "Jesus just came to get us into heaven."  And held against this passage from John 10, which many of us heard this past Sunday, it can sound like we are just reinforcing that little narrative.  "Oh, Jesus is like the shepherd. He leads us through the gate and into the sheepfold (heaven?) and that's the end of the story, right?"  Something like that, at any rate.  But that's not how Jesus talks here, is it?  He doesn't say, "I get my sheep inside the fence and then we never leave the comfort and security of the pen," but rather, just the opposite: Jesus says his sheep will "come in and go out and find pasture." That's not about leaving heaven, of course! And maybe that tells us that Jesus is talking about more than just events after we die.  Maybe Jesus has been talking all along about the lifelong journey of discipleship, and how he leads us on a regular basis to all the places he intends to go and work.  Maybe we are like the paper clips and iron filings, being pulled along wherever the magnet goes.

Well, in that case, we have to see the Christian faith as something more than just a race to the safety of "home base" (like kids playing tag).  Maybe it's a whole life of going where Jesus goes, rather than asking Jesus to tag along on our personal itineraries (like the old bumper sticker says, "If Jesus is your co-pilot, maybe you and he should trade places."). And maybe then we need to reframe our understanding of what it means to believe in Jesus. Maybe it's not just a matter of "I believe this list of facts about Jesus of Nazareth (from the Creed or Sunday School or the Bible), and as a result I know I have a ticket to a spot in the afterlife." Rather, maybe it's "I trust this living Jesus to lead me, along with the rest of the found family of his followers, to take us where we need to be, even when it's somewhere new." 

When our mental picture of our faith just feels like staying put in a comfortable spot, we may need to check back in with Jesus, who keeps describing us as both held in his grip and on the move with him at the same time.  We are held within Jesus' pull like paper clips with a magnet under the table, and we are also led along wherever he carries us. That will change the way we think of the actions we take as a part of living out our faith.  When we feed hungry neighbors, offer clothing, or make quilts and build beds for kids in our region without places to lay their heads, it is because Jesus is the One leading us there, and he is already committed to doing that work.  We go, because he is already going and pulls us along.  When we cross boundaries to offer welcome and love to people who have been left out and excluded, it is because Jesus is the One gripping us like a magnet to go where he is going first.  When we go out of our way to get supplies for migrant workers or expecting moms in a neighborhood that feels forgotten, it is because Jesus is spurring us on.  When we share our faith, listen to a troubled friend, or serve someone who needs our help, it's not about earning heaven points or getting good deeds put on our permanent record--it's about letting Jesus lead us where he is working. We aren't just left twiddling our thumbs in place waiting for an afterlife in heaven; we are led to all the places and people Jesus is going, because we are held in his orbit.

Today, let's dear to be sheep and paper clips (take your pick). That is to say, let's allow Jesus' pull to lead us where he is going, so that we can share in the adventure he has in store for us.

Lord Jesus, hold us in your grip, and lead us on your way.

Ignoring the Impostors--Devotion for April 30, 2026

Ignoring the Impostors--April 30, 2026

[Jesus said:]"The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers." (John 10:2-5)

I cannot stress enough how vital it is to ask the question, "Does this actually sound like Jesus?" before deciding whether to follow someone's direction or accept what they say. 

It might seem so obvious that it shouldn't even need to be said. And yet, Respectable Religious Folks like you and me quite often get hoodwinked into listening to voices who want our allegiance but who, honestly, sound nothing like Jesus.  Sometimes folks use religious language, symbols, wording, or even imagery to make themselves seem "Jesus-ish," but when we actually listen to what they are say, it's clear that they aren't really aligned with the way of Jesus, the shepherd who lays his life down for his sheep.  And the Real McCoy--the actual Jesus--summons us to listen well and discern whether those loud, often bloviating, voices out there are consistent with him, or whether they are the babble of fakers and counterfeits, thieves and bandits.

These words of Jesus, which many of us heard this past Sunday from John's Gospel, do have a way of making things pretty clear, don't they?  We who have been following Jesus for very long at all should come to recognize what he sounds like--and what definitely does not sound like the voice and way of Jesus.  The metaphor of sheep listening for the shepherd is so apt; the animals who have come to entrust their lives and well-being to the shepherd who cares for them will just know to move when that trusted voice calls to them.  And despite the many ways that sheep are not the brightest of barnyard animals, their refusal to just take the direction of impostors is important. They can distinguish the cadence and timbre of the shepherd's voice from the sounds of strangers, thieves, and pretenders.  They know when to stop in their tracks and say, "This doesn't sound like the voice of the one I know; and I don't have to obey just any old voice or follow any old directions given to me."  Jesus calls us to have the same kind of wisdom as well.

Of course, for us, it's not simply the sound of a literal voice. We don't know, after all, what the human voice of Jesus of Nazareth sounded like--whether he was a tenor or a bass, slow and deliberate or nervous and frantic, monotonous or with a variety of tones and cadences.  For that matter, very few of us would understand the ancient Aramaic that the historical rabbi would have spoken.  So the litmus-test is not, "Whoever can do the best impression of a first-century Judean rabbi must be in line with Jesus' teachings." Rather, the question is, "Do the voices clamoring for our attention speak with the character of the living Christ?" Jesus is calling us to be discerning enough to know what sounds like his vision, his kind of love, his courageous truth-telling, and his daring way of reaching across boundaries to meet the outcast and restore the broken... and what sounds like the world's usual bluster dressed up in a bible-times costume. He doesn't want us to fall for that anymore.

And honestly, quite often the voice of Jesus is pretty easy to recognize and to distinguish from its opposite. What orients us toward love of God and love of others is definitely in line with the way of Jesus; what justifies selfishness with "Me and My Group First" logic is not.  What looks to lift up the lowly, bind up the broken, welcome back in the outcast, and honor the least is consistent with the character of Jesus; what boasts about its own importance, belittles others, or treats outsiders with default suspicion feels out of character. What spurs us on to love that includes not only strangers but also enemies sounds like the voice of Jesus; what refuses to see the image of God even in our staunchest adversaries sounds like a counterfeit. What seeks to make peace and to do justice fits with the priorities of Jesus; what seeks to dominate, conquer, and exploit does not.  In other words, if we are paying attention, we will know who to listen to... and who to ignore.

So maybe this is the critical thing for us to own up to today: often, we aren't really paying attention.  We don't do the difficult work of listening to the actual voices that demand our ears and then asking, "Does this fit with the character of Jesus?" Without that critical discernment, we'll end up getting bamboozled into throwing our support for agendas and actions that are completely opposed to the priorities of Jesus, and we'll think we're being virtuous because the voices who fooled us knew just enough of how to dress themselves up in the trappings of piety. But this isn't meant to be difficult--Jesus seems to think that it will be as natural to us as it is for sheep to discern whose voice is calling them. And if they know not to go following after a fraud, we can be discerning enough to ignore the impostors vying for our ears, eyes, hearts, and minds, too.

They say that one of the best ways to become skilled at identifying counterfeits is to know the genuine thing so well that any deviation becomes obvious.  So one of the ways we get better at recognizing Jesus' voice among the fakers and pretenders is to spend more time listening, reading, praying and getting familiar with the voice of Jesus, the Authentic Shepherd. The more we are immersed in his way of seeing the world, his way of treating neighbors, his way of relating to God, and his way of loving others, the better we'll be able to recognize the hucksters and hoaxes, no matter how much "religious" language they use.

Today, let's listen closely for the voice of Jesus, so we'll know which other voices we can disregard. And let's be ready to ask the vital question, "Does this actually sound like Jesus?"

Lord Jesus, help us to recognize your voice and follow it, and to distinguish it from the counterfeits that do not reflect your character.

Restoration Is the Goal--April 29, 2026

Restoration Is the Goal--April 29, 2026

"[Christ] himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, having died to sins, we might live for justice; by his wounds you have been healed. For you were going astray like sheep, but now you have returned to the shepherd and guardian of your lives." (1 Peter 2:24-25)

Nobody walks through the halls of the hospital telling the patients to feel guilty for being sick or needing surgery for their broken bone. The focus is on healing whatever it is that is hurting.

And no self-respecting shepherd attempts to lecture the sheep who just got rescued after getting separated from the flock. The important thing is finding what was lost.

The goal in both situations is simply restoration. There are no hidden threats, no unsolicited guilt-trips, and no dredging up the past to beat somebody when they are down.  Rather, the hope of good physicians, nurses, and shepherds alike is to move forward with helping their patients or their flock to be whole, well, and where they are supposed to be. The past doesn't get hung around anybody's neck like the proverbial albatross from the old poem. There is no need for that.

And of course, that's what First Peter is saying about Christ, who is the "shepherd and guardian of our lives," too.  Christ has found us when we were lost, healed us when we were sick, called us to back to life when we were Lazarus in the grave.  And at no point is Jesus' plan to keep weaponizing the past against us, rubbing in how many times we have failed, or belittling us with guilt or shame for not measuring up.  Jesus has taken our sins from us, not so he can keep digging them up and reminding us about how bad we are, but in order to free us from their power.  He has healed us, even at the cost of his own life, absorbing the worst of our rottenness, violence, and cruelty in the cross and refusing to throw it back at us.  And he has found us, even if we have gotten ourselves lost again for the millionth time, because sheep keep needing to be sought and rescued.  Jesus' goal has always been to restore us, in whatever ways we have needed it.

That's an important part of the story, too.  Jesus' heals us with a purpose: so that we might be more fully alive--or as he says in John 10, "that they might have life in abundance." Much like the hospital staff is focused on getting the patient well enough to thrive once discharged, Jesus' goal with us is for us to be holy, faithful, good, and loving, like him.  We are meant to live for "justice" (or "righteousness," which is the same word in the original Greek); that is, we are meant to be done with the old crooked, selfish, and cruel ways that were killing us. And we are instead nursed along to live in new ways--ways that look like the character of Jesus. God's goal with us is always for us to be moving forward, not to berate us for our failures to move fast enough or to harangue us for the ways we've messed up in the past.  

Sometimes we church folk forget that. Sometimes we get it in our heads that we should be collectively miserable in order to show God how sorry we are for our sins, rather than seeing sin as the old dead-end we have been pulled out of because God's intention is for us to be led into joy.  Sometimes we can get so ingrained with the "I once was lost" part of the old hymn that we forget the good news "but now am found," or we hold other people down with the baggage of their past rather than celebrating when they have started over. Plenty of folks have heard, "You'll never be anything more than a no-good rotten sinner," so often and so intensely that they cannot dare to believe the news that God in Christ is relentlessly committed to our being healed and found. But here it is in the Scriptures: you have been claimed. You have been found.  You have been healed. We are moving forward from there.

Do we mess up again? Of course.  Do we get ourselves lost repeatedly? Without a doubt.  Do we have relapses of the disease in our lives we call "sin"? To be sure.  But when those things happen, again, it's worth noting that First Peter here doesn't start wagging his finger with the intention of making us miserable. He doesn't bully or beat us up with a recitation of infractions from our Heavenly Permanent Record. He helps us to look at the present moment and ahead of us, with gratitude rather than fear or shame. That is, after all, the point of forgiveness--that we can start over, leaving the record of our past wrongs behind us, and going in a new direction. Sometimes we forget that God isn't merely some traffic officer hiding at the roadside and looking for reasons to pull us over and issue a citation, but rather God is actively seeking for us to thrive and grow. God isn't merely an impassive judge doling out sentences for rulebreakers but rather, God is the One who keeps going to great lengths to turn us around and restore us when we have made a mess of ourselves. And that is the God who has claimed us to belong to the family of Christ.

That changes how we face the day ahead, doesn't it? We don't have to be hung up on our failures and infractions; we are freed to start new today, knowing that God isn't trying to yank us back to wallow in our past. God is moving us forward toward restoration.

Lord Jesus, make us new today, and bring us into fuller joy by making us like you.

An Alternative to Monstrosities--April 28, 2026

An Alternative to Monstrosities--April 28, 2026

"It is a commendable thing if, being aware of God, a person endures pain while suffering unjustly. If you endure when you are beaten for doing wrong, what credit is that? But if you endure when you do good and suffer for it, this is a commendable thing before God. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps. 'He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth.' When he was abused, he did not return abuse; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but he entrusted himself to the one who judges justly." (1 Peter 2:19-23)

I'm not often one to quote the 19th century philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche (especially since he detested Christianity), but he did make a particularly haunting point when he wrote, "He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster."  He was right.  It is so terribly, damnably, easy for us to do monstrous things if we have told ourselves we are just getting back at those who have committed monstrosities against us first, or if we tell ourselves that we are the heroes and they are the monsters. So, fair point, Freddie.

But we didn't have to go reading German philosophers to learn that lesson; the New Testament has been saying it to us pretty clearly for twenty centuries (so Mr. Nietzsche is a bit late to the party), and many of us heard these words from what we call First Peter just this past Sunday. The writer of our Second Lesson from Sunday is calling the followers of Jesus not to return evil for evil, abuse for abuse, or monstrosities in exchange for monstrosities.  We are a people called to the way of Jesus, which answers hatred with love, speaks blessing in answer to cursing, and seeks the well-being even of enemies.  As another New Testament voice (Paul, writing to the Romans) said it, "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." That's not just a bonus side project of Christianity or a higher-level goal for the spiritual heavyweights; it's at the center of the way of Jesus.

In their original context, these words from First Peter were written specifically to the enslaved population within the Christian community, in response to situations of abusive masters. And while we might wish that Peter had come down more clearly to call for the outright abolition of slavery (as Christians eventually did in the ancient empire, and then later after the emergence of the African slave trade), it's worth recognizing that he's speaking to people who do not have the power to end slavery as an institution within their society, but who do have the choice of who to respond when they are mistreated.  When their "masters" act like monsters, abusing them or hurting them (or even just in enslaving them in the first place!), they have the choice of answering that evil with more evil, or of refusing to keep the cycle of retribution going.  First Peter says, without saying that slavery is acceptable or endorsing its cruelty, that the followers of Jesus are called not to give into the temptation of meeting that cruelty with more cruelty of their own.  We are called to be different: we don't answer the world's rottenness in kind. We don't inflict abuse in return for abuse or threats and angry bluster when those things are lobbed at us.  In short, even when others act monstrously, we will not let ourselves become monsters. We do not sink to the level of those who will use violence, spite, or force to get their way; we do not have to cooperate with them, and we do not have to use their tactics.

It is a truly radical thing, if you think about it, that the first followers of Jesus were so strongly committed to this counter-cultural way of life. It is so tempting, so fitting with "conventional wisdom," to conclude that when your adversaries are doing terrible things to you, that you have no choice but to do the same (or worse) terrible things back to them. But of course, that's really just letting the adversary win, because you allow their mindset to infect yours, and their tactics to overpower your own strategy of responding.  As First Peter shows us, the Christian community is different. Instead of saying, "Well, the other guys are mean, cruel, and abusive, so we can do the same," the family of Christ said, "No, our calling is to be like Jesus, who answered evil with good, hatred with love, and cruelty with compassion." Jesus would not let himself be goaded into becoming a monster, and so we are not to let ourselves, either.  We may not be able to die for the sins of the world, but we can let our willingness to endure suffering rather than inflicting it be a witness to the way of Jesus.  We can let our lives become embodiments of the kind of cross-shaped love God has shown to us by bearing our violence and cruelty there. We can even let our deaths be witnesses to such love.  Like Walter Wink put it so well, "Martyrs are not helpless victims, but fearless hunters who stalk evil out into the open by offering their bodies as bait." Our refusal to give into the tactics of monsters is what will bring the monsters out into the open and expose them.  And our willingness to show love in the face of cruelty is what shows to the world that there is an alternative to monstrosities.

Even more than that, our willingness to answer evil with good and hatred with love gives people a glimpse of the Gospel itself, since the heart of the Good News is God's own willingness to endure our evil and hatred inflicted on the cross and God's choice to answer it all with self-giving love and mercy. As First Peter says, Christ suffered for us, which is to say that God chose to bear suffering at our hands. Our willingness to do the same rather than return evil for evil isn't just about following Jesus' example; it's also about being a witness to the Good News.  The message we bring to the world of a God who loved us despite our violence, spite, and cruelty (as we inflicted on Jesus) becomes real for people when they see in us the willingness to live by that same kind of love.  

So yeah, the old philosopher's warning holds true: we should be careful not to let ourselves become monsters in the name of fighting the ones who act monstrously.  Instead, we are called to embody the character of Jesus so that others will see the family resemblance in us and come to know the way God's love has reached out to all of us, even at our worst. We have the opportunity to be such witnesses today, in small and big ways, right where we are. That's how we overcome evil with good, even on this day.

Lord Jesus, give us the courage to respond to the violence and cruelty of the world in your way of self-giving love, so that our lives might bear witness to your goodness.