Jesus' Math and Ours--September 14, 2026

Jesus' Math and Ours--September 14, 2026

Peter came and said to [Jesus,] “Lord, if my brother or sister sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times. (Matthew 18:21-22)

We question whether or not it's foolish to give people a second chance when they mess up, and here Jesus is talking about seventy-seventh chances.  That's quite a difference, isn't it?

But then again, Jesus keeps showing us how the logic of God's Reign runs counter to the conventional wisdom of our place and time.  And in that regard, we are in the same position as Simon Peter, looking for Jesus to give us reasonable limits to forgiveness--reasonable to us, of course.  In this short scene that many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, Peter voices the kind of realistic concerns that all of us have.  "Okay, Jesus, I get it--we should be merciful to other people and not hold grudges. Fine.  But come on, how many times do we have to go through the same old routine of being hurt and then setting ourselves up for more pain by forgiving people who let us down again?"  You get the impression that Peter has seen enough Peanuts cartoons to know that when Lucy insists she really will hold the football still this time, Charlie Brown still falls on his head when she yanks it away yet again.  And Peter, perhaps with good reason, thinks that is unfair.  How many times does Charlie Brown have to get taken advantage of?  How many times does anybody have to get mistreated, sinned against, or wronged before we shut down and walk away?  It seems a reasonable question, wouldn't you say?

And yet here is Jesus, speaking like he is from an entirely different world--because in a sense, that is exactly what the Reign of God that Jesus brings really is: a different way of living in the world, arranged by God's ordering of things rather than what passes for our kind of conventional wisdom.  And for Jesus, the right question to ask is not, "What about how badly the other person treated me?" but rather, "What about how God currently treats me?"  And Jesus is clear that from that vantage point, God is constantly forgiving us, giving us a new start, and not getting revenge against us.  Jesus dares us to take up a different perspective, where the definitive factor in how I treat others is how God acts toward me, not how other people have acted toward me.  In other words, we are called to forgive, not because the people who have wronged us "deserve" it, but because God has shown forgiveness to us constantly even when we don't deserve it.  And for Jesus, the kingdom way of life is really a matter of defining our lives based on how God sees us and acts toward us rather than how other people see us and act toward us.  The way other people have behaved toward us factors out of the equation, and instead we are left with the way God acts toward us--which is constantly with love and forgiveness.  That's why Jesus' math looks different from Peter's and our own.  If my choices are based on how people have already treated me in the past, then of course, I will be hesitant even to give someone a second chance.  But if I treat other people based on the way God acts toward me, well, then, grace becomes the order of the day.

And that, I am convinced, is what is going on here.  Jesus isn't just raising the forgiveness quota from Peter's proposal of seven times to a higher number of seventy-seven (or, as some manuscripts suggest, "seventy times seven")--he is changing the way we view the whole world and our relationship with everyone in it.  We no longer relate to people on the basis of what they have done to us in the past, but on the basis of how God is currently acting toward us right now.  And that means we are no longer doomed to live our lives shackled to the past and defined by what others have done to us.  That's the beauty of how Jesus frees us in his response to Peter.  As long as I am withholding forgiveness from someone else, I am chaining myself (as well as them) to the past.  I am defining my relationship with the other person in terms of what they did to me, rather than in terms of what God is doing for me right now in the present--namely, forgiving me.  Jesus frees us from being stuck in the past by giving us a new orientation for our lives: everything hangs on God's grace toward me, not on how other people have acted toward me.  Like the letter we call First John says it, "We love because God first loved us." The same is true about forgiveness:  we forgive because God has first forgiven (and keeps forgiving) us.

Now, all of that said, there is a difference between forgiving someone and choosing to put myself in a place where I can be hurt again.  Forgiveness is not Charlie Brown running up to kick the football for the umpteenth time because he naively believes Lucy won't yank it away this time.  Rather, forgiveness is the choice not to get revenge for what Lucy did last time.  It is the choice to move on rather than stay forever in the unchangeable past.  It is the decision not to weaponize the past so that you and the person who wronged you can begin again.  You don't have to set yourself up for being hurt again, and forgiving someone does not equate to trusting them again.  It simply means you are letting go of the past and refuse to seek revenge.

So, how will we face this day?  With the same old tired math that requires "getting even" with someone, even though that can never change what they did to you?  Or by seeing people in view of the way God is currently acting toward each of us--which is with grace?

If you want to stay stuck in the past like a dead-end, I suppose you can.  But it feels like a terrible waste of this day.  You and I have been freed by Jesus to move forward, because God has made everything new.

Lord Jesus, enable us to see other people in the light of how you have shown grace to us.

Dress for the Day That Is Dawning--September 11, 2026

Dress for the Day That Is Dawning--September 11, 2026

"Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is already the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone; the day is near. Let us then throw off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us walk decently as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in illicit sex and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy. Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires." (Romans 13:11-14)

At this time of year especially, I check the weather before I get dressed in the morning.

Early September can bring with it the hottest days of the year with full bright sun, or heavy storms that keep me indoors, or chilly mornings of an early autumn's arrival.  So I do my best to dress for what I know is coming in the day ahead, especially if it's my day off.  If it's going to be another scorcher, the lightweight short-sleeves and shorts are the order of the day.  If it's going to feel like fall, I may break out the flannel shirt and jeans.  Days when I know I'll be in the yard mowing the grass call for one kind of apparel, and days of sedentary office work for another.  If I know I will be in a situation where it is important to be visible as a member of the clergy, I'll deliberately wear a clerical collar.  If I am going to be painting an art projects at the church, I'll wear something less formal.  My guess is that you do the same with your clothing for the day.  Basically, we dress for the day we anticipate we are going to be living through, keeping in mind the conditions of the weather, the temperature outside, and the things on our to-do list for the day.  That is probably so natural and obvious to us that we don't even realize we are doing it.

Now this is the thing you have to accept, too, if you are getting dressed for a new day early in the morning on a September Friday: the day could become dramatically different from the conditions at 5:30am when you are getting dressed in the dark.  At this time of year, there can be wild swings in temperature from day to day.  Some mornings I wake up remembering how hot and muggy it was the day before, only to find out it will be a cool 72-degrees for a high today.  Sometimes the other way around. Sometimes I dress in anticipation of a bright sunny day even though it is currently still dark when I get dressed in the morning.  I suppose that's something we all choose to live with: we get dressed in the dark, anticipating that the night is really almost over and the new day is starting.  And we put on the clothes we'll need to the particular kind of day we are about to have.

Paul the apostle talks the same way about our lives as followers of Jesus, interestingly: we dress for the day we are stepping into.  Except in Paul's view, this isn't about what you wear on a Friday in September, but about how we face every day in light of Christ's coming and God's promise to make all things new.  In other words, we are called to live our lives now in light of how things will be in the new creation God has promised, which has begun already in Christ.  And we make choices each day about how we will prepare ourselves for the work in front of us.

That's the idea behind Paul's extended metaphor in this passage, which concludes a section of the reading from Romans which many of us heard this past Sunday in worship.  After talking about how love is the heart of our whole lives and the fulfillment of all the commandments anyway, Paul says, essentially, "You know, too, that a new day is dawning--we had better dress for the day in front of us."  He talks to us like it is the first waking moments before dawn and that we would be wise to step into the day ahead.  We can set aside whatever the trappings of the old day and order were--the "works of darkness," as he puts it--like they are the sweaty, smelly clothes of yesterday's toil.  And today we put on something fresh, clean, and right the day ahead of us.  Much like I might wake up on a September Friday and see it's going to be a pleasant and lovely day, I'll dress with clothes that will help me to enjoy its loveliness and maybe do something good that fits with the weather.  Paul says that's us every day as Christians: we are called to prepare ourselves, like getting dressed, for the day that is just dawning now.

That "day," of course, is a way of talking about God's new creation and the "new day" of Christ's coming in glory.  We don't live like the Empire is still calling the shots.  We don't have to follow the uniform dress code dictated by the Powers of the Day.  We are already anticipating how the world will work in the fullness of God's Kingdom, and we are preparing to live that way... now.  So, for example, Paul says that we don't have to give ourselves over to the indulgent and self-gratifying ways of the world around us--instead, we will dress in the pattern of Jesus.  That doesn't mean we'll wear ancient tunics and sandals, but rather that we'll prepare ourselves to face the day in light of Jesus' coming new creation. 

The question to ask, then, is, "What conditions should we be dressing for?"  What sort of day is dawning, and what will we be doing in it?  Or to put it differently, What will the world be like in the fullness of God's Reign when Jesus is revealed in glory?  I'm not asking you to make wild predictions like Nostradamus or a speculative science fiction writer imagining new technology.  I'm not looking for predictions of end-times cataclysms like the popular (but with terrible theology) authors who think the Bible gives some kind of code or clock for Jesus' return.  I mean to ask, quite simply, how will things be when God's reign is fulfilled, and when God's will really is done, as we have been taught to pray, "on earth as it is in heaven"?  And that sort of question doesn't require wild speculation or outlandish guesses.  It only calls us to think about the character of the God whose kingdom we are praying to have come.

In the new creation, will we hoard and stockpile more than we need out of some fear of scarcity?  No--we dare to believe that God's provision will be enough for all... and so we begin to live lives of generosity and sharing resources now.  When Jesus comes in glory, will he need us to threaten our enemies with weapons to help him achieve victory?  No--we are told that we'll beat our swords into plowshares, as a matter of fact, so we practice peaceable lives now. When Christ is "all in all" as the New Testament says it, will we be divided from one another along lines of culture, language, nationality, or ethnicity?  No--we believe that all peoples will be gathered together into Christ's gentle reign... and so we welcome people from every background, place, and culture right now.  That's what it looks like to dress for the day that is dawning.  We prepare ourselves now to live and act in light of what we know is in store.

So here we are, on the verge of a new day. And not just another Friday in September, but the breaking in of God's Reign and Christ's coming in glory.  Since we know something of what to expect that new "day" will be like, how will we get ourselves ready now... even before the sun has come up?

That's the invitation of this day, and this moment.

Lord Jesus, renew our vision of your coming reign, so that we can anticipate it today in our lives.

An End to Loopholes--September 10, 2026

An End to Loopholes--September 10, 2026

"Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law." (Romans 13:10)

If we Christians are faithful, we are not going to be interested in looking for loopholes.  We will not be searching for excuses to allow our worst impulses.  And we will not seek ways of letting ourselves off the hook when it comes to caring for other people.  The apostle Paul points us in this direction when he insists that "love does no wrong to a neighbor" without leaving wiggle room or complicated fine print.

This verse is one many of us heard in worship this past Sunday, as Paul has been making the point to the Christians in Rome that the heart of Israel's ancient Torah (the "Law" or "Instruction" of God) was always about love.  In the verses we looked at yesterday, Paul rattled off a few of the best-known commandments, things like, "You shall not murder," "You shall not commit adultery," or "You shall not steal."  You might think that was enough said... but I suspect Paul knows something about us.  He knows that human beings have a way of looking for technicalities, gaps in the rules, or loopholes that will allow us to get away with our sinfully self-interested scheming.

For example, we all know a story Jesus tells about a man who is beaten up by robbers and left for dead by the side of the road, only to have two Respectable Religious Leaders (a priest and a Levite) walk on by without helping him.  They could have easily told themselves, "I'm not committing murder here--I didn't do this bad thing to the man in the roadside ditch!  I can't be expected to stop and help him, and I can't be blamed for ignoring him!"  That, after all, is one way you could interpret the commandment against murder--as if it were saying only, "As long as you didn't wield the weapon or cause the injury, you are off the hook!"  But Jesus, of course, insists that loving one's neighbor means actively helping.  And even if the Respectable Religious Professionals are looking for ways to weasel out of loving their neighbor, the foreigner (the Samaritan) doesn't play any games.  He knows that it would be wrong to leave someone suffering by the side of the road and stops to help.  He is not interested in finding loopholes to justify his indifference, but rather in actually loving his neighbor.

We human beings (including we religious folks) are constantly looking for sneaky ways to get out of actually loving our neighbors like that.  The advertisers who sold cigarettes for decades and told themselves, "I'm not intentionally giving anyone cancer, so I can't be held responsible for the people who die because they were persuaded by my brilliant ad campaign, right?"  And surely the same underlying logic among those promoting addictive social media apps to kids, harmful chemicals in foods, or the endless array of products that generate microplastics to end up in our bloodstream and food supply.  No one is actively committing murder, right? So no one can be held accountable!  Or when scammers prey upon people to get them to divulge their personal information or manipulate their marks into giving them money, you can hear the excuses offered, "I'm not stealing--they chose to give me this information!" or "They willingly gave me money--it's not theft!"  There are plenty of situations where someone could argue that they are not technically stealing, but of course, they are doing harm to another person financially.  You can imagine any number of other scenarios, too, where someone does something that wrongs another person but it doesn't exactly fit the definition of stealing... or murder... or adultery... or bearing false witness.  And Paul's point here seems to be that we don't need to get all tangled up in technicalities or loopholes if we are just committed to the deeper requirement not to do wrong to other people.  

The core truth here is powerful and liberating for us: our calling is simply and clearly to do good to everyone, and not to do harm.  We don't have to get snared in which commandment does or doesn't get broken, and we don't have to constantly be looking for ways to justify or excuse our actions, because we are going to be committed already only to doing good for others and not to harm them.  We don't have to waste any energy, time, or thought trying to weasel our way out of our obligation to help our neighbor, nor do we have to look for fine print to get us off the hook.  Followers of Jesus, then, won't be the ones saying, "I don't have to help the one by the side of the road, because I didn't actively hurt them," but rather we'll be the ones stopping to bind up their wounds.  We won't be looking for cover to allow us to take advantage of people or do something ethically dubious (but not technically illegal).  We won't be seeking excuses to look away from the needs other others, either.

All too often, we let our view of the world become obscured by technicalities, loopholes, and excuses.  We can see other people suffering, but we let other voices tells us, "They're the wrong kind of people--they don't deserve to be spared from their hardship," or "We don't have any responsibility for helping them, because they're not a part of OUR group." Paul reframes the question to clear those distractions away and says, "Love does no wrong to a neighbor."  If my action--or inaction--is doing wrong to a neighbor or causing harm to a neighbor, Paul doesn't care whether there is already a commandment about it or not. Harming a neighbor violates the central call to love.  And that's what really matters.

What's difficult about this truth, of course, is that hearing it means we have to examine all of our choices and all the ways our actions impact others.  I might be able to get through the day without committing murder or grand larceny, but every time I demand cheap consumer goods that are only possible from someone else having to work in a sweatshop unable to feed their family while being mistreated, I am complicit in failing to love those neighbors.  Every time I prioritize my convenience and comfort over someone else's ability simply to live, I am missing the mark.  Every time I seek bigger profits for myself at the expense of someone else having what they need, I am at fault, even if it doesn't count as "stealing" or "murder." When my actions and choices do harm to a neighbor, I am responsible for failing to love fully.  And taking that seriously is going to mean a constant, fearlessly honest re-examination of the priorities, values, and choices that guide me every day.  A lot of the time, we don't want to have to do that kind of work--so we just give ourselves a pass for not violating the obvious big commandments.  But it's always been about something deeper, something more.  It's always been about love.

So what if today we began the important work of ridding ourselves of loopholes?  What if we were done looking for "outs" and instead allowed love to be our deepest guide?  What if we took as our north star the question, "How do my choices today affect neighbors, both seen and unseen?"  What if we looked honestly at the ways our actions can cause healing or harm to others, rather than only asking what we can get away with?

I have a hunch that, as hard as it might be, our lives will be fuller for having wrestled with those questions.  I have a hunch we will discover we are growing in love.

Lord Jesus, ground us in your love, and help us to honestly face the meaning and impact of our actions on others.

Love Gives Clarity--September 9, 2026

Love Gives Clarity--September 9, 2026

"Owe no one anything, except to love one another, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. The commandments, 'You shall not commit adultery; you shall not murder; you shall not steal; you shall not covet,' and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself'.” (Romans 13:8-9)

It really is all about love.

Maybe that seems obvious, given these words from Paul's letter to the Romans, which many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, but let's be clear about it.  The apostle says (and he is echoing Jesus on this point, as well) that the whole of ancient Israel's laws and commandments are really about loving our neighbors, which turns out to be the concrete form of loving God.  Like former Episcopal Presiding Bishop Michael Curry would often say, "If it's not about love, it's not about God."  That's really a huge claim.

After all, there are all sorts of other things people get hung up on in religious circles, aren't there?  Should we sing all the verses of the hymns on Sunday?  What color are the vestments: green, blue, red, or white?  Which translation of the Bible are we reading out of? Is there a guitar and a screen or an organ and a hymnal?  Then let's zoom out from Sunday services to things like the color of the church carpet or the latest complaint about the church newsletter.  Or we argue over whether Christians can dance, get tattoos, or drink alcohol.  We debate about who can or cannot be a leader in the church and what their families can look like.  We disagree about which political party we should vote for, and we can be terribly mean in the comments section on social media, too.  Quite often, too, these days, Christians are more often known for angling for political power and influence, justifying whatever will give them more leverage, and condemning people who don't fit in their mold.  There are a lot of things, in other words, that we spend time and energy on that sure don't seem to be about love.

So there is something helpful and clarifying about hearing it straight from the apostle's pen, so to speak, that our whole lives really are meant to be about love--and love as a verb, rather than a merely emotional state.  We are called to act in ways that do good for those around us, knowing that "neighbor" is not a geographic category limited to people who live on my street or in my town, but anyone whom God sends across my path.  These words of Paul's have a way helping us to see why other rules and commandments are there in the first place--not as a list of arbitrary hoops to jump through in order to win God's approval, but as concrete practices embodying love.  The reason we do not kill is that we are called to love our neighbor, which would preclude taking their lives.  The reason we are taught not to cheat on our spouses is that is clearly a failure to love them faithfully.  The reason we commit not to stealing from others is that theft harms the person from whom we would steal, and love does no harm to a neighbor.  Love, in other words, is not first and foremost about feeling a certain way toward someone, but about acting in ways that seek their well-being.

And yeah, Paul's point is that this kind of love is really what God has intended for human beings all along: that we would live with one another in ways that lift each other up, work for the common good, and seek the interests of others. That's what we are made for, and that's the life we are still invited into.  And for all the ways we sometimes overcomplicate things, it really is just that simple.

Now, of course, "simple" is not the same as "easy."  Nobody is claiming that it is always (or even often) easy to love our neighbors, or that we get it right on a regular basis.  But that doesn't mean the directions are unclear.  If we really did have to juggle the commandment to love alongside rules about the color of the carpet and the proper number of candles to light and appropriate dress code and... and... and... and so on, we might say that it is just plain impossible to keep all the expectations straight.  But if Paul is right (and let's grant him that, shall we?) and all of God's commandments really are about expressing love for neighbors, then at least we know what we are aiming for.  It's all about love, and it always has been.  There is something beautifully freeing about that realization.  God isn't looking to make things complicated in order to judge us based on how well we handle a challenge. God has only ever intended for us to live in ways that are shaped by love--in our words and our actions, our thoughts and our choices--because love is God's own character as well.

What might we do differently in this day if we take it seriously that the whole Christian life has always been about love?  What things would we stop fussing over, and what things might we care more about?  What things would no longer be priorities for us, and what might become all the more urgent?  

Now... can we stop talking about these questions as hypothetical "what-if" scenarios, and simply hear what Paul says to us? The one who loves another has fulfilled the law.  Yep.  That will give us clarity.

Let us love.

Lord Jesus, enable us to see and live clearly with your kind of love as our vision for life.

Walking Temples--September 8, 2026

Walking Temples--September 8, 2026

[Jesus said to his disciples:] "Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. Again, truly I tell you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” (Matthew 18:18-20)

There is no single place--no unique spot on the map--where Christians have to go in order to meet Jesus. There is no "X" to mark the one and only place where access to God is granted, and there is no building, shrine, cathedral, or chapel in which the Spirit is confined like a bird in a cage.  The radical claim of Jesus is that he chooses to be present among us--wherever his followers are assembled in his name.  We don't have a particular brick-and-mortar building to which we all must go and make a pilgrimage. We are, so to speak, walking temples. 

We should acknowledge how different that is from a lot of the other experiences of our lives.  For many things in our lives, especially those of great importance and significance, you have to go a particular place in order to access the thing you are seeking.  If you want to see Niagara Falls, you have to go there, to the place on the Niagara River where the land drops and the waters of Lake Erie empty into the waters of Lake Ontario.  If you want to see the Washington Monument, you have to go to a particular spot on the National Mall in Washington D.C.  And if you want to see Stonehenge, well, you will need to get yourself across an ocean to Salisbury in England.  Some places in the world are like that--you have to go to one specific place to see the thing in all its glory.

The ancient world had its share of wonders like that, too: if you wanted to go see the Colossus, you had to go to Rhodes.  The Great Library of Alexandria was only available in--you guessed it--Alexandria, and even then only before the great fire.  The Sphinx of Egypt was only viewable in Egypt, too.  A great many ancient religions had a similar sense of place.  If you wanted to worship Zeus, you went to a local temple of Zeus. If you wanted to worship Artemis, you went to a shrine in her honor (or you might have gone to the really impressive statue dedicated to Artemis in Ephesus, which was particularly impressive).  Even ancient Judaism had a single Temple in much of its history, located in Jerusalem, which was designated as THE place where rightful worship of God was to be conducted and proper sacrifices were to be offered.

So when Jesus comes along and says, "Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them," it's a pretty bold claim.  Jesus is saying that his community works differently than the pagan religions of Zeus, Apollo, Artemis, and all the rest.  He is saying that access to him is different from going to see the Great Sphinx or visiting Niagara Falls.  He is saying that there is not a solitary, unique building where his followers have to go in order to be in his presence. The meeting point isn't a where, but a who.  To be in the community of Jesus' followers is to be in the presence of Jesus, no matter where we happen to be.

But, of course, that begs the question: how can Jesus be present in all sorts of places?  What is it we should be looking for to know we are in his presence?  After all, I would know if I was at Niagara Falls because I'd see the water, feel the spray, and hear the thundering sound of the falling water.  If I were at the Washington Monument, I would see the top of the obelisk.  The reason nobody says, "Wherever two people who like waterfalls meet, Niagara Falls is there among them," is that it's obviously not true--the most you can get from a bunch of waterfall enthusiasts is that they will tell stories about waterfalls they have been to, or maybe some pictures and commemorative postcards.  But Jesus' claim is something stronger: that where his community of disciples is, he is.  You don't have to be in a church building, or within a certain radius of a steeple.  You don't have to be standing under a large wall-mounted cross or have candles lit.  There doesn't need to be organ music playing or a praise chorus repeating in the background.  Just wherever Jesus' followers gather in community, he is in our midst.  But... how would we know it?  How can we tell?

Well, not to be sentimental about it, but I would venture that at least part of the answer is love.  What binds us together as the Christian community is love--first and foremost Jesus' love for us, and then through us for one another.  That does not require being in a particular spot on earth.  It does not depend on being in church building, shrine, or cathedral.  We become the living conduit, the human river, so to speak, through which Christ's love flows, first into us and then beyond us.  But the Christian community--unlike sports teams, social clubs, cultural groups, or ethnicities and tribes--is formed and bound together by Jesus' claim on us, not our sameness, likeminded-ness, or common background.  We can gather as Jesus' disciples, from whatever places, stories, languages, and experiences we have come, because Jesus' love is what draws us.  And that is real and true whether it is three people praying in a church meeting room, a hundred people in a Sunday morning worship service, a dozen volunteers feeding neighbors in a free community meal, one friend visiting another in a hospital, or Revelation's vision of a multitude of people too large and numerous to count. You can't bring Niagara Falls everywhere, but you can find Christ's love in all places, and that's the calling card of Christ's own presence.

We don't have to wait until Sunday to meet up with Jesus.  We will recognize him anywhere on the map where his kind of love is present, making us into walking temples wherever we go.

Lord Jesus be present among us, and help us to see you in our midst.

On Removing Splinters--September 7, 2026

On Removing Splinters--September 7, 2026

[Jesus said:] "If your brother or sister sins against you, go and point out that fault when the two of you are alone. If you are listened to, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. If that person refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector." (Matthew 18:15-17)

Telling the truth about what happened is a form of loving your neighbor. So is listening to the truth being told.

It is important, in this age of ours where things like "facts" are debated, where we seem to have having an increasingly hard time even agreeing about the reality we live in, and where sources of information are regularly questioned on their reliability, to say that Jesus values truth-telling. Jesus is convinced that "the truth" is a thing, a real, solid thing, and that it is possible to live without fear of hearing the truth being told, but in fact that we could be set free by the truth (see John 8:31 and following on that point).

That includes the truths about ourselves that we have a hard time facing. And it includes the truths about when others have wronged us as well. This is something we need to be clear about, because we sometimes get confused about how forgiveness and truth-telling relate. Christians are forgiveness people--at least we are supposed to be--and that is not up for debate. But often, we treat being "forgiveness people" as meaning we are "don't-talk-about-what-happened" people, and we tell ourselves that's what "forgive and forget" means. None of that is correct.

Jesus, however, shows us--in fact, he lays out a model for life in community for us--that forgiveness does not short-circuit truth-telling, nor does forgiveness mean that we can sweep under the rug when someone is wronged. The initial wound can heal--so long as it is given the chance to air out and not kept covered up to get gangrene. The real trouble comes in our lives together when we experience a wrong done to us and then just bury it deep down, or feel pressured not to mention it (because some religious person has told us that's what "forgiveness" means), or tell ourselves we must have deserved the wrong done to us. Now we've got a wound--or maybe even a splinter, so to speak--in the relationship between us, and by leaving it there and pretending everything is fine, the wound will only get infected, and the pain will only continue. Your body can heal from a splinter--your finger will take just a few days to be good as new--but removing the splinter is what allows it to heal rightly.

And the same between us: if I am wronged, it is important--vital, even!--to be able to say it out loud, and to go to the person who has wronged me, so that we can deal with it. After all, it is certainly possible that I have also wronged the other person and am not aware of it, or it is possible that the other person doesn't realize the gravity of how I have been hurt. It is possible that the other person knows exactly what he or she did, but is still working up the courage to be able to speak with you about it and needs you to be able to say it out loud in order to acknowledge the elephant in the room. It is possible that I will only be able to heal when I have said out loud to the other person, "This happened--and this is not okay," with the same focus as taking the tweezers to the splinter. And then, once that has been said, I can say freely, "You are forgiven--I will not weaponize the past against you, and I will not come seeking personal revenge."

Jesus' approach is much like this: if I am wronged by someone else (and presumably if I feel safe having a one-on-one conversation with this person, depending on what the nature of the wrong has been), I will go to them and will say out loud what has happened. We will acknowledge the elephant in the room--that is, after all, the only way you can eventually deal with it and ask it to dance.

Saying it out loud to the other person is not being "unkind" or "unloving" or "nitpicking" or "unforgiving." Saying it out loud is part of loving your neighbor--even the neighbor who wrongs you--because it shows sufficient respect to your neighbor that you do not treat him or her with kid gloves, but honor them enough to be real with them. Saying, "This hurt me," or "When you did that, it wounded me," is not unloving or grudge-bearing--it is the beginning of taking the tweezers to the splinter between you both. Taking that splinter out by acknowledging it is there doesn't guarantee you will become best friends by next week, but no true healing will happen so long as it is left there unaddressed.

And, of course, in another teaching of Jesus, the other side of the equation is addressed, too: if I am in the middle of my daily routine--or even if I am about to bring my offering to God!--and I realize that I have wronged someone else, I should stop what I am doing, be the grown-up, and own my actions to begin to make things right. In other words, I will tell the truth, even when it is an uncomfortable truth, or an admission of my failings. Telling the truth is an act of love for the neighbor--whether the neighbor is some I have wronged, or someone who has wronged me. In either case, we need the honesty in order to get the splinter out.

And to hear Jesus tell it, that honesty is so important to Jesus, it even supersedes acts of religious devotion like bringing your offering to God. God doesn't need your money as much as God wants you and your neighbor to deal with the wound between you. Jesus values the truth-telling that makes reconciliation possible more than our offering checks, tithes, sacrifices, and prayers.

On a day like today, we need to remember that, especially because we are followers of Jesus. Truth-telling is a form of loving your neighbor. And listening to the truth being told--taking the time for it, bearing the pain of it, enduring the implications of it--is a form of loving your neighbor.

Today, let us be people who are capable of such love--the love that is expressed by honesty.

Lord Jesus, you who are our Truth, and who sets us free in your truth, give us the courage and love to tell the truth when we have been wronged or been the offenders, and give us the passion to take the time to listen to truths being told, even when they make us squirm.

Threat or Promise?--September 4, 2026

Threat or Promise?--September 4, 2026

[Jesus said:] “For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done. Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.” (Matthew 16:27-28)

I know: all this talk of "repaying" people for their deeds sounds rather ominous, like a mob boss promising a vendetta on all his opponents.  You almost can't help but hear these verses, which many of us already heard in worship this past Sunday, in the voice of Marlon Brando's "Don Corleone" character from The Godfather, said with the same quiet menace as the phrase, "I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse."

And yes, at first blush, this sounds like a naked threat on the lips of Jesus.  "The Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done," Jesus says. That sentence sure sounds like it is meant to scare us straight or fill us with dread.  And while we are on the subject, it also seems to throw a monkey wrench into a Lutheran's theology that we are saved by grace through faith "apart from works of the law," doesn't it?  Isn't Jesus baldly saying that he is doling out punishments and rewards like a mafioso based on whether they have done enough and shown adequate loyalty?

Well, maybe... but it's worth remembering who it is that says these words... and what other surprises he keeps up his sleeve when it comes to talk about giving out payments or rewards.  For example, this is the same Jesus who, just a few chapters later into Matthew's Gospel, will tell a story about a landowner who pays all the employees the same full daily wage even though most of them have only worked a few hours--or even one hour--and does so under the conviction that this is "whatever is right" to pay them. It is very clearly a story in which we expect bigger rewards for greater work, but in which the repayment is still on the basis of grace, ensuring that everyone can feed their families tomorrow from the wages they received today.  In other words, when Jesus starts talking about "repaying" people might actually look like in God's kingdom, he reserves the right to be more generous than anybody expected.  In the economy of Jesus, even "repaying" people skews toward grace.  That doesn't mean our actions don't matter or that there are no consequences for our rotten choices, but it does mean that Jesus gets to decide what "repayment" looks like, not us.  And he has tipped his hand to the possibility that he is no stingy Scrooge.  

For that matter, Jesus is also the One who insists that his followers refuse to "repay evil with evil," but rather to answer evil with good.  He even grounds that policy in the character of God, insisting in Matthew's version of the Sermon on the Mount that the One Jesus calls "Father" gives the good gifts of sun and rain to not only the righteous and deserving but also to the unrighteous and unworthy.  Luke's telling has Jesus say, that God is "merciful to the wicked and the ungrateful" as well.  In other words, Jesus seems to believe that God's own character is one that leans toward grace rather than spite.  Whatever it means to "repay everyone," the one doing the repaying has an established reputation for surprising us with goodness, and for not fitting within our expectations of what anybody "deserves." Jesus' words, I suspect, are more a promise than a threat. Ultimately, the Divine Accounting Department is outside of our control, and we are not needed for overseeing payroll on Jesus' behalf.

And I think that is really the thrust of these words at the conclusion of the passage.  Jesus has been talking throughout this section about the call to follow him even at great cost: we are called, like him, to take up our crosses, to lose what we thought was valuable, and perhaps even to surrender our lives.  It will look like are utter fools who have bet on the wrong horse, Jesus concedes.  And there is no avoiding that reality: to follow Jesus will put us on a course in life that the world thinks is either stupid or subversive, and it will reject us accordingly.  But don't you worry, Jesus seems to be saying: the world doesn't render the final verdict.  Jesus does.  And even if the world thinks we have wasted our lives by following Jesus and his way of generosity, love, gentleness, and peaceableness, Jesus doesn't think any of it is a waste.  And he is the one in the position to put things right.  There is nothing that the world can take away that Jesus is not perfectly capable of restoring to us, and there is nothing we give up for the sake of following Jesus that he is not willing to provide in his own way and time.  Jesus is not threatening to "get even" with us in these verses, but promising us that the world's verdict is not the last word.  His will be, and he is generous.

This passage, then, is not meant to tell us that in the end, the Rules of the Game change and we end up being saved or damned based on whether we did enough good or pious dees, but rather to say that when the world calls us losers, weaklings, and stupid people for following Jesus' way of self-giving and suffering love, we don't have to be afraid that the world gets the final say.  "Don't you worry," Jesus insists, "I will make sure you are taken care of. Nothing you lose in this life cannot be restored in my time and way. You will not be at a loss forever."  He means these words as a promise, not a threat.

So we face this day ahead, not in the fear that if we don't do enough we'll be kicked out of the club or damned to hell, but in the confidence that there is nothing we can lose that Jesus is not perfecting willing and able to provide.  We face the day with the promise that the world's verdict is not the one with authority, and that God's is the one that really counts in the end.

How will we live, then, knowing whose opinion really counts... and whose doesn't?  What will we spend our day, our energy, our love, and our resources on, knowing that Jesus gets the final say over the meaning of our lives?  And how can we be at peace knowing that Jesus' way of "repaying" is always surprisingly generous?

Lord Jesus, ground us in your promise, and set us free from our fears.