Losing It All--June 25, 2026

Losing It All--June 25, 2026

"Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it." (Matthew 10:39)

Let me start with a confession and a bit of truth-in-advertising: I am, most of the time, pretty much a chicken. That might not even be fair to chickens--I've seen some pretty brave poultry over time. But I confess to you that I am often one who takes the cowardly option, who looks for the path of least resistance, and who would rather disappear into the woodwork like a wallflower rather than muster up what it takes to be brave.

So I am no expert at courage.

But even as chicken-hearted as I am, there is hope for me on the lips of Jesus. He speaks a powerful and empowering truth that can begin to change things for the bravery-deficient ones like me. And the truth goes something like this: you don't have to be afraid of losing.

You don't have to be afraid of losing--not losing your comfortable position, not your income, not your status, not your reputation, not your privileges, and not even your life itself. You don't have to be afraid of having any of those things taken away--and when you realize that you don't have to be afraid of losing them, all of a sudden you don't have to be afraid any more about some ominous "them" taking those things away. You don't have to eke out an existence ruled by fear. I don't have to be ruled by fear. And once I climb out from under the fear, I will find myself more fully alive than I have ever been.

It occurs to me that an awful lot of our daily energy is spent clutching onto things that we are afraid of letting go of. I'm afraid of losing my importance in society, so I get upset and defensive at changes in the world that could mean I'm not as powerful or influential. Or I'm afraid of losing the comfortable and the familiar that I have built my life around... so I get angry at anything that threatens to change my well-worn routines. Or I'm afraid of considering that I might be wrong about something, and losing face, so I dig my heels in and retreat to my own circles of like-mindedness so I won't have to be challenged. Or maybe I'm afraid of losing the picture I have of myself as a "good little boy" or a "good little girl," and so I am afraid of hearing from others what they see in me that I cannot see in myself. Maybe I'm afraid of losing my job, my livelihood, my house, my career, or whatever else is essential to my existence, and so I lash out against anything that I perceive as a threat to those things. Basically, we live our lives running away from one fear after another. And it is exhausting.

So Jesus frees us by calling our bluff. Every time we hold off or step back from following Jesus and living in his vision of the Reign of God by saying, "But what if I lose...?", Jesus just comes back at us and says, "Yes. What if you lost it all? You would still have me. You will need to decide if I am enough for you or not." And then he goes on to give us a life that not only meets all our needs, but beyond that gives us a depth and a richness beyond all the fear.

As long as I am living my life centered on fear of some ominous "them" out to get me or what I hold dear, I will be constantly looking over my shoulder, clenching my fist, clutching onto whatever I can hold onto, and missing out on what life is really about--which is to give oneself away. As long as I waste my breath lobbing bitter comments against the people I am afraid of because I do not understand them... as long as I spend my life seeing others around me as competition to be suspicious of... as long as I get fear of losing something guide my choices and actions, I am already a little dead inside. Maybe more than a little. But Jesus just pushes back and asks the question my fear didn't want to let me face: "Would I be enough, if you still lost all those things?" If I decide Jesus isn't enough, well, then I should probably be honest and admit I'm not really a follower of Jesus, but would like to use him as my personal wish-granting mascot or trinket, like a rabbit's foot or a genie. But if Jesus really is enough, even compared with losing everything else, then the fear of loss is short-circuited... and I don't have to be overpowered by constant anxiety of losing things.

Jesus' question comes to us like the witness of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace: will we dare to trust that God's presence with us in the fire is enough? It comes to us like the witness of the prophets, who knew they were going to get run out of town and in trouble with the Respectable Religious Crowd for speaking what God gave them to say... and yet spoke anyway. It comes like the story of Abraham and Sarah, willing to risk losing their old lives and fortunes headed into a future they could only imagine as they answered the call of God.

As long as I am afraid of losing what I think I possess right now, I'll be trapped in the fear, and will keep doing the chicken-hearted thing when push comes to shove. But when I can dare to face the thought of losing it all and I realize that Jesus will hold me through it all, then the fear loses its power over me, and it cannot make me do its bidding any longer. And in that moment, I am free.

And once I am free, it's like discovering you are awake and alive for the first time after having been asleep up until now. It's like being called to life again after being dead in the grave. It's a little resurrection that happens in your deepest self.

That's what Jesus gives us--the resurrection to new life that comes exactly at the point where we are no longer afraid of losing our old lives. To be a follower of Jesus is to be pulled into the community of people who are no longer ruled by fear and are therefore truly free.

 Is it scary? Absolutely it can be.

Is it worth it? Without a doubt--even for chicken-hearts like me.

Lord Jesus, call to us again and help us to let go... so that we may be more fully alive than fear allows us to be right now.

An Alternative to Empire--June 24, 2026

An  Alternative to Empire--June 24, 2026

[Jesus said to the disciples:] "And whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me." (Matthew 10:38)

At some point along the way, I think we misunderstood the meaning of "taking up a cross." We didn't mean to, and maybe some kind of confusion was unavoidable.  But for a lot of religious folks, the phrase "take up your cross" somehow came to refer to bearing some generic unpleasantness or doing some difficult task, rather than the much more loaded and scandalous implications of crucifixion in the first century Roman Empire.

"Oh! You're taking care of a sick relative while also working a full-time job?  What a cross you have to bear!" you might hear.  Or, "She volunteers her time at that soup kitchen so faithfully--that's her cross to bear!"  In other words, we often talk about "taking up the cross" in positive, congratulatory tones, about how whatever burden someone has taken on is noble, virtuous, and respectable.  People these days typically use "taking up the cross" practically as a compliment to call attention to honorable, or even heroic, good deeds that someone might do. It never comes off as something shameful, scandalous, or subversive.

And yet, in Jesus' time and place, taking up a cross was unavoidably tinged with disgrace and dishonor.  Before Christianity transformed the cross of Jesus into a sign of hope, life, and victory, it was unquestionably the worst thing that anybody could do to you.  It was the means of execution that Rome used to make an example of people it saw as particularly despicable and dangerous.  It was not a sign of virtue if the Empire put you to death on a cross--that was a sign you were guilty of treason against the nation, an enemy of the state, or a disturber of the peace.  Others might get glorious deaths, worthy of praise in epic poems and enshrined in statues: the soldier fighting in battle, or the general leading the charge, perhaps.  Or others who had committed crimes but still were allowed to preserve some of their honor merely got beheaded--quicker, less drawn-out, and perhaps even a modicum of dignity (The Apostle Paul, for example, was likely beheaded when he was finally brought up on charges, because he had Roman citizenship).  Even old Socrates, deemed a public danger by the people of ancient Greece for his outlandish notions of probing for the truth and <gasp!> critical thinking, was still allowed a respectable means of capital punishment by drinking poisonous hemlock.  But crosses were unquestionably shameful, because they were reserved for the ones who most insidiously threatened the status quo.

On Jesus' lips, "Take up your cross" did not simply mean, "Shoulder your noble burden stoically," or "Face adversity heroically." It meant "Take your place beside me against the wall when the firing squad comes to execute us on charges of treason and sedition." It meant being seen as a part of a subversive conspiracy that threatened the Powers of the Day.  It was not an inspiring call to be seen as a hero, but a dare to be labeled as an enemy of the state. Now, of course, Jesus' way of being a threat was not through violence or armed revolt. The Empire could only think in those terms, so when it heard people describing Jesus as "king" or "messiah" or the one bringing about "the Kingdom of God," it could not help but react with fear and insecurity--that is, it sought to kill Jesus and suffocate his movement.  In a very real sense, Jesus and the "Reign of God" he announced were a threat to Caesar (and every other empire and emperor since), but Jesus wasn't launching a coup or trying to spark an armed revolt like the Zealots.  That kind of revolution simply isn't radical enough.  Jesus intended to replace our perpetual need to dominate one another with God's gentle rule of graceful serving and self-giving love.  Rome could not make sense of that, and indeed, Jesus' kind of community shook the fault assumptions on which the empire was built and pulled them down to the ground.  All of that was caught up in the language of "taking up the cross." Jesus was not offering us a glorious end to this life, or even a respectable one. He was reminding us that following him would make us into accomplices in a conspiracy that threatened the empire's grip.  That is the life into which we have been called.

I wonder whether we think in such terms any longer.  Quite frequently the Christian faith is seen as a way to "have it all"--to be respected and applauded, to seen as successful and important, and to win the approval of others.  Plenty of TV preachers have sold their viewers on promises of health and wealth, and plenty more regimes in numerous countries have told their subjects that being a good Christian required them never to question their governments in the name of being "good citizens."  But to hear Jesus here on his own terms reminds us that he has always called us to live in ways that are faithful to him even when it costs us the approval of the throne or the appearance of respectability.  

Like the old line attributed to Stephen Mattson puts it, "Sometimes being a good Christian meant being a bad Roman."  If we have been listening to Jesus at all, we can't say he didn't warn us.  The way of Jesus has always been an alternative lifestyle: that is, an alternative to empire.

If that's what Jesus has actually meant all along with the call to "take up your cross," are we still in?

Lord Jesus, give us the courage to be counted with you and take up our cross as we point to your alternative to the ways of empire, past and present.

Questions of Allegiance--June 23, 2026

Questions of Allegiance--June 23, 2026

[Jesus said to the disciples:]“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace but a sword.

 For I have come to set a man against his father,

 and a daughter against her mother,

 and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law,

 and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.

Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me." (Matthew 10:34-37)

There's no way around it: this is hard stuff.  And it's hard to hear for several reasons, honestly.

For starters, it's hard to hear Jesus, whom we also name "the prince of peace" and who teaches us to forgive and reconcile while also loving our enemies, talk about bringing division like a "sword."  At first blush that seems to fly in the face of all we've heard Jesus say and teach, and we might want to advise Jesus, "Why are you making things so unnecessarily difficult, Jesus?" or even to ask, "Have you not been listening to everything you said back in the Sermon on the Mount? Why the change of tone?"

On top of that, when Jesus talks about the kind of conflict his presence might spark, it's painful to hear that he expects families to be fractured over him. That's hard since so many prominent religious voices over the past fifty years have marketed Christianity as basically a program of "family values" that will help us raise perfect children and strengthen our marriages.  But here is Jesus warning us that the opposite might happen on his account, and families might well be thrown in to tension and division because of him.

And then, just for good measure, I'll add that it sounds unlike Jesus to hear him speak of people being "unworthy" of him, for any reason--much less for him to say someone is "not worthy" of him because they love their families.  Jesus so often seems to be the one reaching out wide arms to the very people who have been labeled "unworthy" or "unacceptable" or "not good enough" that it is jarring to now see these words on his lips.

What are we to make of all these verses, which many of us have been wrestling with since we heard them most recently this past Sunday? Well, let's try and consider each of these concerns, and see if maybe we can shed some light alongside all the heat they are generating.

First off, let's go back to the top of our list and think of why Jesus would say he has come to bring, "not peace but a sword." And right off the bat, let's make it clear that this is NOT Jesus talking about literal swords, as though he were building an army, raising up a militia, starting a coup to "take his country back for God," or authorizing his followers to kill anybody.  None of those are anywhere close to what Jesus has in mind. Jesus does, however, fully recognize that there will be starkly different reactions to him in the world, and those divisions will run like fault lines right down the line of households and families.  Some folks will be drawn to Jesus' vision of God's Reign as a beloved community where outsiders are welcomed, outcasts are restored, the untouchables are embraced, and the lowly are lifted up... and some will be repulsed by it.  It might just happen among the members of a family all under one roof.  

For that matter, some folks will be upset that Jesus expects an allegiance to him stronger than the old Roman virtue of being devoted to the paterfamilias.  The culture of the day expected that each member of the family would dedicate their work, time, and energy toward enhancing the status and standing of the family name: amassing wealth for the family, gaining property, titles, or standing, and otherwise helping out your own little family group.  And here comes Jesus, who quite often summoned people away from the family business, calling them to be generous toward others beyond just those in their immediate family, and who seemed to be building a new kind of family, defined not by blood or ancestry, but by him.  All of that would have been a slap in the face to the heads of households who heard Jesus.  And Jesus is just being honest about that: he really is calling us beyond a narrow attachment to "Me and My Group First" and instead calls us to give our allegiance to him and the new "found family" of people whom Jesus has gathered around himself--including all those outsiders, "sinners," and misfits Jesus welcomed to his table.

And maybe that helps to put in perspective Jesus' talk about being "worthy" or "unworthy" of him.  I don't get the sense at all that Jesus is now all of a sudden starting some kind of exclusive club reserved only for VIPs.  It's not that Jesus had earlier said, "Everybody's welcome" and now he's changed it up and said, "Well... not for the likes of YOU."  But rather, I think Jesus has in mind that at some point in our lives we are going to have to choose which gets our priority--our commitment to "the family name" and all the cultural baggage of improving our family status and looking out for the interests of our little group, clan, or tribe--or our commitment to Jesus.  Because at some time, we will not be able to spend our energies on both, and we will have to choose who is more important to us, or rather, which way of life will be our guiding path.  Will we set our lives toward doing whatever is best for "Me and My Group First" or will we allow Jesus to reorient us toward his vision of God's Reign, which is expansive, and even reckless, in its extravagant care for insiders, outsiders, neighbors, strangers, and even enemies?  Jesus seems to think that our old parochial and tribal allegiances are too small and not worth our time or energy any longer.  Will we allow him to lead us beyond the shortsighted self-interest of "Me and My Group First" and give our lives to his wider vision of God's Reign of abundance, mercy, and justice for all peoples? Anything smaller or lesser than that just seems... unworthy, I suppose. Unworthy of us spending our lives on.

In the end, then, Jesus is not announcing a new plan for an armed uprising or an exclusive country club with high gates. Rather, he is being honest with us: following him will make us weird in the eyes of the world, including those of our own families. And at some point we will have to choose whether we are willing to continue being associated with Jesus, even when that makes us counter-cultural and calls us to a different kind of community than the lines of biology and clan, or whether we would rather keep in line with our culture's own "Me and My Group First" expectations.  If we dare to keep on with Jesus, we may find that it upsets people around us, including our closest relations.  But Jesus also seems to think that the "found family" he has begun is worth going against the flow for.

Maybe today's question, then, is, do we dare to trust him on that?

Lord Jesus, give us the courage to let you orient us with your priorities and your way, even when that challenges the expectations of those around us.

Sounding Like Jesus--June 22, 2026

Sounding Like Jesus--June 22, 2026

[Jesus said to the disciples:] "A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master; it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher, and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household?" (Matthew 10:24-25)

So... if we find ourselves ridiculed or criticized for our words (which does sometimes happen), how do we know if it's because we're being faithful to Jesus--or just because we're jerks?

That's the thing. To be sure, sometimes Jesus' followers will be insulted, mocked, or maligned because they are being faithful to Jesus. And then sometimes, it's just that we are acting or speaking like a horse's rear-end, and others are just calling us out for it. Like James Finley's line puts it, "It may be true that every prophet is a pain in the neck, but it is not true that every pain in the neck is a prophet. There is no more firmly entrenched expression of the false self than the self-proclaimed prophet." Ouch--but fair point, sir.

For that matter, even if you actually know what you're talking about but are determined to be a jerk about it, the Scriptures warn us against pontificating. As the Apostle Paul famously put it, "If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have fall faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing." In other words, it is possible to be factually correct and still be completely un-Christ-like in weaponizing what you know that you are no longer really a voice for truth--at least not the truth that matters, anyway.

This is the bind we're in if we are going to take our calling as Christians who care about truth seriously: I can't just assume that any time I have a strong opinion, I must be the sole truth-teller, and that anyone who doesn't like what I have to say must be ridiculing me for my faith. And on the other hand, we can't just give up on ever saying anything for fear of being ridiculed--because sometimes difficult truths need to be told, rather than rehearsing what people want to hear. So what are we to do?

Well, I want to suggest that Jesus gives us direction on this very question, from these verses that many of us heard this past Sunday in worship. When we stick close to him, we're on solid ground. When we listen close to Jesus and pattern our way of speaking on him--not just what he says, but how he says it--we're less likely to be spouting off from our own soapboxes with our pet peeves. That also means a constant willingness to check ourselves with Jesus, as we've come to know him and as we're introduced to him in the Scriptures. That keeps us from just telling ourselves that whatever we already think must be in line with Jesus, because we're Christians and Christians know Jesus. [There's a line of Richard Rohr's where he says how often the posture of Christians is to say about Jesus, "He's God of our saved church, which means that our church is right--and so are we." How very easy it is to jump into that circular thinking and stay there.]

When Jesus tells his followers to be ready to be insulted, rejected, and maligned, he takes it for granted that it will be because we are echoing his words and his way in the world. "If they've mocked the master of the house, how much more will they mock the rest of his household," he says. That presumes people see a common thread, a connection between our witness and the way of Jesus. Jesus presumes that we'll stick close to speaking what we've heard from Jesus and embodying the way we've seen him engage with people, rather than just letting us baptize our pre-existing opinions, bigotries, and hobby-horses. And of course, when we echo the audacious boundary-crossing love we've first encountered in Jesus, we'll likely find ourselves condemned by the same kinds of Respectable Religious Folks who criticized Jesus for eating with sinners, welcoming the outcasts, and including the "unacceptables." When we speak up for people to be treated justly, graciously, and with neighborly kindness, even if that upsets others who are comfortably complacent, we'll meet with the same kind of resistance and ridicule that Jesus ran into when he told a scandalous story like the Good Samaritan. When we stand in the face of power without fear, like Jesus did before Pilate, we shouldn't be surprised to run into hostility. Staying close to Jesus keeps us from just shouting our own agendas with spiritual dressing.

So often these days, when the watching world criticizes Christians, it's not because they want to mock our devotion to Christ, but because they see how very un-Christ-like our words and actions come off. We are less likely to be maligned for being faithful to Jesus than to be called out for being jerks and using our faith for cover. So in those cases, it's worth listening honestly and humbly to see where maybe the critics have a point... and where we can be correctible. And where we are echoing Jesus' words and way, there we can stand on solid ground and take whatever insults or mocking come--because if the accusations or insults are for being like Jesus, that's really high praise.

Today, let's dare to be correctible, to keep looking again and again to Jesus, and to pattern our witness on him. That will ground us in truth that is solid as well as love that is real. And that's where we need to stand today.

Lord Jesus, make us to speak, act, and love like you, and then it won't matter what anybody else thinks of us.

Faithful Losers--June 19, 2026

Faithful Losers--June 19, 2026

"Sibling will betray sibling to death and a father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death, and you will be hated by all because of my name. But the one who endures to the end will be saved.  When they persecute you in this town, flee to the next, for truly I tell you, you will not have finished going through all the towns of Israel before the Son of Man comes.” (Matthew 10:21-23)

The challenge of Jesus is the challenge to lose.

Not just to risk the possibility of losing. Not just to try really hard even if we are afraid we might lose. Jesus knowingly sends his followers into situations in which we will not be persuasive, in which we will convince neither our closest family nor public leaders, and in which we will endure physical suffering, mistreatment, and even death because we have not persuaded them to spare us. Jesus tells his followers, "I am sending you to bring the good news to people--and they will not accept it sometimes. Do it anyway."

I don't know what else to call it but the way the world around will see it: we are dared to lose.

Now, I know this is a hard enough message to get excited about, but there is a corollary to it that is going to be even harder for us to swallow at first (and yet ultimately all the more beautiful to hear it on Jesus' lips). Jesus' commission to his followers to bring the good news into situations where we know it will be rejected, and to do it nevertheless, means that for the followers of Jesus, we do not get to say that winning is all that matters.

This is an important stand that the followers of Jesus need to take, because the pressure is immense and temptation is strong to say, "It doesn't matter how we get things done, or what tactics we have to use, so long as we come out the winners." The conventional wisdom of the day fully says that things like our integrity, our character, and the truth are negotiable if they would prevent us from getting our way, or keeping control, or calling ourselves "winners" at the end of the day. That kind of thinking is everywhere, and we are seriously lacking for good examples and role models to offer our children of people who would rather keep their integrity intact and lose than sell out for something they can call a victory.

So in a moment like this, where other heroes or examples are lacking, Jesus dares us to be the ones we have been waiting for. Jesus challenges us to embody the alternative. When I wonder late at night who will teach my son, my daughter, about the kind of courage that does not sell out and say, "Who cares whether I kept my commitments or not?--I won!", the voice of Jesus in these verses speaks back to me and says, "You. I am sending you... and a whole bunch of other disciples. You will show your children and a people yet unborn what it looks like to love so fiercely that you don't care about winning so much as you care about living that love for everybody."

Jesus has been saying that to us for two thousand years now. And the followers of Jesus have taken that challenge seriously. In the first few centuries, the Empire said, "Burn a little incense to Caesar and call him 'Lord,' even if you don't mean it, and then you can be on the winning side--Caesar's, while you also go do your churchy thing the rest of the time. See--that's win-win!" And in the face of that pressure to do whatever was easy and comfortable, the early followers of Jesus said, "No, thank you--we'll take the lions and crosses instead," and they lost their lives because they would rather suffer that loss than to lose their integrity.

In the 1930s, the officially Reich-approved Church said, "Look, just let Hitler be in charge of the civil authorities, and then you can do your church thing and you won't get in each other's way. Don't make waves about the disappearing families from the Jewish neighborhoods, because that's a civil matter, and in exchange you'll get to share in the victories of the Reich. See--it's win-win!" And in response, the underground movements like the Confessing Church of Bonhoeffer said, "No, thank you--we'll take our places with the ones you have forced to wear the six-pointed yellow stars on their clothes, even if that is standing beside them against the wall for the firing squad."

And in the 1960s in the American South, there were plenty of church leaders among the Respectable Religious Crowd of their day who said, "Let's just allow the governors and mayors to keep segregation in place, and let's keep quiet on this issue, because it is terribly controversial and unpopular--and we don't want to end up losing influence or political clout because we chose to speak up for the civil rights of all people in this country! Just look the other way, and you can have full pews and the blessing of the local government--see, it's win-win!" And over against that powerful temptation, there were a handful of followers of Jesus who said, "No, thank you--we'll accept jail, and death threats, and being labeled an 'angry mob' even though we are no such thing. We are willing to get any of that stuff thrown at us rather than sell out on Jesus' call to love all people rather than just protecting ourselves."

See, Jesus' challenge for us to lose faithfully--to suffer loss while keeping our integrity--has been a thread of continuity, even if it has sometimes seemed like just one tiny strand in a larger fabric of hypocrisy and cowardice from time to time, throughout the two-thousand-year history of Christianity. Time and again, Jesus has called people and said, "You--I'm sending you to be the example you have been longing for. I'm sending you to be the one who doesn't give up your integrity for the sake of keeping power or influence or comfort." We sometimes like to pretend that this passage from the Gospel only applied to the early years of Christianity when we were still basically regarded as a sect of Judaism having an in-house squabble with other branches of Judaism. We still sometimes think we don't have to pay attention to Jesus' challenge anymore because good old Constantine made it legal to be a Christian back in the 300s AD. We still sometimes think that what's most important is whatever it will take to get "our way" on top, and if that means burning incense to Caesar on occasion, hey, that's just part of the way it goes. But Jesus keeps on calling us to embody the alternative to the selling out and power-hungry hypocrisy around us, even if we don't "win" on any given day. He's giving that challenge to you, and to me, right now.

Let's be ready for it, then. When we hear other voices around us say, "It doesn't matter if it's true or not--it only matters if it will get 'our side' an advantage," we will say, "No!" 

When we hear others say, "Whatever it takes to keep our religious clubs in a comfortable situation, let's go along with that!" we will say, "No!" 

And when we hear the temptation on our own lips saying, "Who cares about character--I want don't want to look like a 'loser'!", we need to look ourselves in the mirror and say, "No!" yet again.

Because here is the thing--Jesus can do something with losses. Jesus can do something amazing with rejection, with suffering, with imprisonment, and even with death. Jesus can bring resurrection victory in the midst of loss. He has built a whole community out of people who have been rejected by their relatives for being faithful to him, and he has made us into a new sort a found-family of outcasts. Jesus can work with us if we are losers in the world's eyes but have kept our integrity. But selling out makes us like salt that has lost its saltiness. So, after all the "nos" we may have to speak in these days, there is a YES:

Yes, it does matter how we do things, regardless of whether we "win" or "lose" at the end of the day.

Yes, integrity is of greater worth than holding onto a comfortable perch.

Yes, following Jesus does rule out giving incense for Caesar or silence for the Reich or tacit endorsement for Jim Crow.

Yes, we do need examples and role models who will embody the alternative to all of those.

Yes, we are the ones called in this day to be that difference.

And yes, it is better to lose and be faithful to the reckless love of Jesus, belonging in the found-family of his followers, than to be called a "winner" by the Powers-That-Be any day of the week.

Let us dare, along with our Crucified Lord, to lose today, and to lose faithfully.

Lord Jesus, we know you are sending us today into situations that look like utter loss. Give us your kind of courage to give up reputation, comfort, convenience, and prestige for the sake of your reckless love for all.

Just Lambs--June 18, 2026

Just Lambs--June 18, 2026

[Jesus said:] "See, I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. Beware of them, for they will hand you over to council and flog you in their synagogues; and you will be dragged before governors and kings because of me, as a testimony to them and the Gentiles. When they hand you over, do not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say; for what you are to say will be given to you at that time; for it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you."  (Matthew 10:16-20)

If you are waiting for the "but..." to come, I'll spare you the time. There isn't one.

If you are hoping for Jesus to give an escape clause or a secret plan for how we can avoid the dangers of "wolves" out there, or how we'll be spared the sufferings of a world that routinely deals with troublemakers by silencing them, intimidating them, or marginalizing them, I'll just say it now: there is no out. Jesus calls us "sheep in the midst of wolves," not "sheep who have a back-up posse of lions to keep the wolves at bay." We are sent into the world vulnerably, always vulnerably--and that is actually Jesus' plan.

In other words, the followers of Jesus are sent into the world, not simply to face hostility, but to face it in a certain way, reflecting the image of the One we call on as the Lamb of God. Jesus does not, for example, say, "It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, so as I send you out, be ready to bite anybody first who growls at you," nor does he say, "Because it's so scary and dangerous out there, I just won't send you out into the mess at all." He sends us... and he sends us as sheep, because he is the Lamb.

That's important for us to be clear about, because we have a way of just reducing Jesus' words down to something that fits better with our common sense. We say things like, "Oh, well, Jesus is getting us ready to face hostility in life--so that we can be ready to hit back with power when they make fun of us." We say things like, "It is indeed a dangerous world full of wolves out there--so we had better have ourselves a club, or a stick, or a shotgun to fend them off in Jesus' name!"

The only thing is--that's just not how Jesus operates, nor how he teaches us to operate in the world. Jesus doesn't send out his followers as "well-armed lambs," ready to kill other people (or even "wolves" for that matter) in order to protect our interests. He sends us out like himself--unarmed, but also unafraid--to embody his own way of being the Lamb of God. There is no asterisk, no fine print, no side note about an exception when "conventional wisdom" recommends shooting wolves before they get close. There are only Jesus' words. And since religious folk are often so keen on emphasizing the red-letter text of "what Jesus says," we should at least be honest about what he actually says here, in this passage that many of us heard in worship this past Sunday. Jesus sends his followers out like sheep among wolves, and we ought to have our eyes open and go out there knowingly, without naivete (hence the "wise as serpents" business) but also without sliding into the ways of the wolf-pack (hence the "innocent as doves" part). This is how we are sent into the world--so that even the way we are present in the world becomes a picture of Jesus' suffering love at the cross that called out, "Father, forgive them..." in death.

I know--it sounds radical. It sounds scandalous. It sounds foolish to send disciples out with the explicit command to be vulnerable. It is all of those things. And if we try to soften Jesus' words or make them sound more like the conventional wisdom about being well-armed sheep, we are losing what Jesus is actually saying. In the end, the question for followers of Jesus to ask is not, "Is my faith going to make me successful in the world's eyes?" but rather, "Am I being faithful to the way of Jesus?" So long as we are playing the world's game and trying to be the wolves or beat the wolves on their own terms, we will always come up short. And if we withdraw or hide from the dangerous mess of the world because we are afraid of it, we will always be letting the wolves win, too--and once again, we'll be giving in to the wolves on their own terms. Jesus insists on playing on own his terms, which means that we no longer get fussy over the threats and bluster of wolves, and that we will not fall into being ruled by fear enough to try and play "wolf" back. It is indeed radical. And it does indeed call into question just about everything else we accept as "conventional wisdom," because conventional wisdom always says, "You have to bite them first before they bite you if you want to be a winner in this world." The followers of Jesus just don't accept that premise from the starting gate, because we just aren't trying to be "winners" on the world's terms. It's not about being successful as the world defines success; it's always about being faithful.

Now, there will be those voices that think that Jesus' words here make Christians sound weak... or fearful... or cowardly. I think Jesus knows better. I think Jesus knows that what really takes guts and cleverness in this world is to be a sheep in the midst of wolves knowing that is precisely what you are and to stick it out anyway. I think Jesus knows that the real cowardice is trying to hide behind borrowed claws and teeth (or swords and spears) because you are afraid of someone else's claws and teeth. It is when we are afraid of someone or something else out there, afraid of "them" or "those people" or "the bad guys" or the "wolves" that start looking for sticks to shoo them away. If we were really courageous, we wouldn't keep reaching for sticks or swords or spears to hide behind. It is much like the line of Walter Wink: Jesus and the martyrs of his movement "are not victims, overtaken by evil, but hunters who stalk evil into the open by offering as bait their own bodies." To be an unarmed Christ-like sheep in the midst of a world full of violent wolves is not for the faint of heart, and it is not cowardly. It requires the greatest courage of all--the willingness to combat evil with good, and the willingness to overcome hatred with love.

In an age like ours now, when mass shootings happen in churches as well as in malls, elementary schools, concert venues, and movie theaters, it can be very easy to tell ourselves that Jesus' words here in Matthew are just no longer applicable, or that they need to be updated for the age of ubiquitous semi-automatic weaponry, or that we need to force Jesus' words to fit within our preconceived notions of "being realistic." On the day after we remember the murders of the Emmanuel Nine, who lost their lives in a Bible study when a shooter they had welcomed to the table started opening fire on them in hopes of provoking a race war, just eleven years ago.  It can be easy to say, "Well, Jesus' words were fine for the first century, but now that I have to consider the possibility of a mass shooting in a church--or my church--we just have to re-think and re-edit this whole speech of Jesus." It would be tempting to think that Jesus would have us be well-armed-lambs in order to counter the possibility that scary stuff might be out there or wolves might be around the corner. Except that--Jesus is well aware that there were dangerous things in the first century, and the first few centuries of Christian history did live with the regular threat of people bursting into their worship gatherings to cause harm or do violence. And yet, both the New Testament-era church and the first three centuries of Christianity didn't edit out this saying of Jesus because it seemed "unrealistic" or "lacking common sense." They refused to be well-armed-lambs--they were just lambs. Like Jesus. Ready to offer their lives if it came to it in order to embody the way and the love of Jesus... but never to try and dress up as wolves to scare the real ones away.

No, we are not supposed to be naïve and optimistically distorted in our vision to just hope nothing bad will ever happen to us or to those we love. Bad things happen in the world, and Christians are called to live in that world, for all its messiness. With open eyes we are sent into a world, ready like Jesus to love that world vulnerably, and ready to let our lives, our deaths, and everything else be a witness to the way Jesus wins.

There are lots of ways to be cowards in this life: whether hiding from the wolves by withdrawing and running away, or hiding behind sticks or swords or clubs out of the same fear of the wolves. But being courageous--being truly courageous like Jesus does jumping feet first into the mess--that requires the vulnerability of laying down our sticks and swords and fake wolf teeth.

Let us dare to be brave enough to be lambs like Jesus.

Lord Jesus, give us the honesty to hear your words on your own terms, the courage to be sheep without sticks, and the love to be vulnerable in the midst of wolves.

Without a Stick--June 17, 2026

 

Without a Stick--June 17, 2026

[Jesus instructed his disciples:]" Take no gold, or silver, or copper in your belts, no bag for your journey, or two tunics, or sandals, or a staff, for laborers deserve their food. Whatever town or village you enter, find out who in it is worthy, and stay there until you leave. As you enter the house, greet it. If the house is worthy, let your peace come upon it, but if it is not worthy, let your peace return to you. If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake off the dust from your feet as you leave that house or town. (Matthew 10:9-14)

It's not just what Jesus does--it's the way he does what he does that makes him so compelling. And it's not just what we do--it's the way we are called to follow in the pattern and path of Jesus that will (or won't) make the watching world stand up and take notice.

So... for example, it's not just that Jesus healed people (there were plenty of celebrity quasi-magical traveling healers who roamed the countryside like snake-oil salesmen, after all) that makes him stand out. It's that Jesus had this... way... of touching the lepers to heal them when he didn't have to (or, some would have said, when he shouldn't have touched them!). It was the way he never made a big deal when he restored the sight of the blind or tooted his own horn when he raised the dead. It wasn't just that he brought a little girl back to life--but also that he didn't then go on a public tour showing her off like a carnival act to make everyone see how great his power is.

Or, as another case in point, it's not just that Jesus spoke the Good News of God's Kingdom, God's Reign, to people--but the way in which he did it. You won't find a single instance of Jesus intimidating people into faith, or promising worldly wealth and a happy marriage as a perk of believing in him, and you won't find Jesus using the Scriptures as a weapon to bludgeon people with. Yes of course, he evangelized--but he didn't act like a jerk or an infomercial host to do it. And instead, he met people where they were, as they were, sometimes inviting himself over to their houses or striking up a conversation with a stranger at the well. And as he did it, he was genuine, and he deliberately did not treat his interactions with people like a sales pitch in which he was supposed to be always "closing" the deal. The way he spoke to people was as important as what he said--because the way he shared Good News was as much a part of what made it Good News as the words themselves.

Even the way Jesus came into town on Palm Sunday--Jesus was deliberately choosing a set of images that contrasted with the powerful military parades of Rome, when Pontius Pilate would march his armies into town, with their swords and shields gleaming in the light, the air thundering with the sounds of soldiers marching in formation, and the Roman banners declaring that Rome saw itself as the Ruler of the World and Guarantor of Peace. And when Jesus marches into town, he deliberately turned all of that ridiculous pomposity and turned it on its head by riding in on a borrowed donkey alone, without a single bodyguard or flag in his procession. It wasn't just the action of coming into Jerusalem--it was the way he did it that sent his message, too. Jesus wasn't going to be one more in a long line of self-absorbed emperors, consumed with puffing up his own ego or intimidating people with a show of force. He had come to offer an alternative to that whole way of doing business--his way, the way of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

And so again and again in the Gospels, we find scenes like this one from Matthew, which many of us heard this past Sunday, where Jesus teaches his followers, not just to do something, but to do it in a certain way. He sends out his disciples to do the same things he has been doing--announcing the arrival of God's Reign, healing the sick, walking from town to town, casting out evil. And more to the point, Jesus sends his followers to do what he does in the way Jesus does it.

Just like Jesus doesn't go out as a huckster hawking health and wealth, he has his followers go out empty-handed, as if to make it clear that they are not offering a mystical secret path to riches and glory.

Just like Jesus himself doesn't use threats or rage or anger to spread the news of the Kingdom, he teaches his followers not to hold onto grudges or make angry threats or even shake their fists when someone doesn't receive them. He says it's enough just to shake the dust off their feet and walk away--the disciples are not supposed to sink to the level of yelling back, or using childish insults, or calling down fire from the sky to zap their enemies. Their willingness to face rejection without becoming petulant jerks in response is part of their witness, after all--it is part of the way they will draw people to their message (because, after all, people will see them rising above it and want to be a part of a community that is mature and kind rather than childish and self-absorbed).

And like Jesus himself, marching into Jerusalem without even a hint of a security detail surrounding him in the parade, Jesus sends his followers deliberately to go into the world--friendly places and hostile places alike--with nothing in their hands, and nothing to attack with. Not a purse or wallet, not a change of clothes... and not even a staff--the most basic weapon in history. Jesus intentionally and explicitly sends his followers to go out into the world vulnerably, because the message they bring is about the God who enters into our vulnerability as one of us, the God who shows up nailed to a Roman cross rather than protected by a Roman cohort.

I know Teddy Roosevelt famously suggested that foreign policy should be conducted with quiet strength rather than angry bluster with his famous dictum, "Speak softly, and carry a big stick." But here Jesus doesn't even allow for the stick. He sends out his followers without a staff--not because Jesus wants to make their hiking harder, but because he sends them out to embody his way of being in the world, which is always, always, always, the way of vulnerability.

You have to imagine that some of his disciples said back to him, "But Jesus, didn't you know it's a dangerous world out there?" "But Jesus, don't we have to be realistic about the possibility that some of those dirty, no-good Samaritans might be lurking on the road? I've heard reports that they sometimes walk that road between Jerusalem and Jericho, after all..." "But Jesus, what if we run into a group of people who don't like us, or who want to run us out of town? Shouldn't we be able to protect ourselves if they try and chase us out of a town while we are doing your work and bringing your message?" These things had to have been on the disciples' minds, and even if they couldn't dare bring themselves to say them out loud, Jesus is not stupid--he knows these are realities in a dangerous world. Jesus has neither rose-colored glasses about the world being a safe and nice place, nor the bad theology that says God doesn't let bad things happen to faithful servants. And yet... Jesus still sends his followers out, vulnerably, with no resources to buy anything, no change of clothes or shoes, and no means of defending themselves. That is not an oversight nor an omission on Jesus part. Neither is it a lack of foresight about the possibility of trouble in a hostile world. It is part of the way Jesus himself enters that same hostility.

Sometimes we don't give Jesus credit--we act like Jesus was either unaware of the trouble in the world, blissfully ignorant of it, or naively optimistic about life. We forget that Jesus preached sermons, not just with words, but with his own life--his way of being in the world. Jesus encounters us with intentional vulnerability--deliberately leaving the security detail behind, because his power and presence in the world are all about the cross-born vulnerability of an Almighty God whose kingdom is seen among the lepers, the left-out, and the losers. And so it should not surprise us that Jesus would send his followers out as living parables of the Kingdom, too, which is to say that he sends us out to practice vulnerability, because the Gospel itself is about the power of God revealed in vulnerability.

It's not just what Jesus does--it's the way he does it that drew me, I will confess.

And for someone else who watches us today, and tomorrow, and on the third day, it will be the same--the power of our witness is not just in saying things about Jesus, but in doing what we do in the way Jesus has taught us to... which is to say, the way of vulnerability.

Walk softly, Jesus says, open-handedly and unarmed, without even carrying a stick, as if you really believe that the living God will go with us and will be all we need for the journey. Walk softly so no noisy bragging or stomping feet will overpower our witness to a God who shows up in intentional vulnerability.

Lord Jesus, send us out with enough courage to go empty-handed, as you have taught us--but then be enough for us along the way.