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.

This Conspiracy of Life--June 16, 2026

This Conspiracy of Life--June 16, 2026

These twelve [disciples] Jesus sent out with the following instructions: "Go nowhere among the Gentiles, and enter no town of the Samaritans, but go rather to the lost sheep of Israel. As you go, proclaim the good news, 'The kingdom of heaven has come near.' Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received with out payment; give without payment." [Matthew 10:5-8]

Maybe it really is this clear: our purpose in life as followers of Jesus, I mean. Maybe it really is just this clear, and vital, and beautiful. We are here so that God can bring the people around us more fully to life, starting with the people right around us (rather than automatically going across an ocean to "fix" those "backward people over there"). And as we do, we tell people, "This is what God's Reign is like. This right here."

It's amazing to me both how much and how little is really involved in that mission. I mean, on the one hand, my goodness, it's about life and death, right? In this passage which many of us heard this past Sunday, Jesus sends his disciples out literally with the authority to raise the dead and speak against the powers of evil! That's potent stuff right there. What could be a bigger, more important mission--what bigger difference could you make in the world--that being an agent of restoring life for the people around you, right? And to think that Jesus just places this resurrection project into the hands of a bunch of thick-headed, unschooled fishermen, ex-Zealots, and former tax collectors, believing that they will actually be able to do it? That amazes me!  We are in on Jesus' conspiracy of life--a movement that operates behind the scenes, in the wings, across borders, beyond boundaries of social groups and classes, in order that everyone can be brought more fully to life.

On the other hand, look at how little of that job description looks like what we usually call "religion." I mean, yeah, the disciples are told to announce, "The kingdom of heaven has come near," but there's no sales-pitch for joining a club here. There's no, "If you will all pray this prayer with me, then you'll be given access to the kingdom at some point in the future, you know, after you die." There's no hook that goes, "We have the power to raise the dead and cure your sicknesses, so if you sign here on the dotted line and make a contribution, we can help you out with a miracle or two... and by the way, we take cash or card." There is absolutely ZERO deal-making (because the Reign of God is not a transaction or a deal, ever, ever, ever). And there is no "catch," either. Jesus makes a point of that when he says, "You received without payment, so give without payment." In other words, as the disciples go from town to town, they are to do good for the people right around them in ways that will make them more fully alive, and doing it for free is part of how others will see the character of the Reign of God in it. Doing good for free, right in the midst of the folks who are around you, in ways that bring everybody more fully to life--that's the way to give people a glimpse of how God runs the universe. And you don't need buildings with steeples or hymnals and offering plates or even a copy of Robert's Rules to do that. There's no need to "close the deal" to get someone to make a decision for Jesus as a prerequisite for the help--after all, Jesus has already chosen to help all the folks in the surrounding towns by sending the disciples! Whatever "decision" had to be made was made already by Jesus himself!

My goodness--what if it really is that simple, then? Not easy, maybe. Not accomplished in a half-hour or less like delivering a pizza, for surely this sort of mission will last us the rest of our lives. But, come on... what a way to spend a lifetime, right? In this moment of history, maybe it's worth asking how this perspective could change our way of being the church.  Maybe we are about to be transformed ourselves as we go out on Jesus' mission, rather than thinking we'll stay the same while only the people we reach out to will be changed.  Maybe we're not waking from hibernation like a bear that comes back out of his cave the same lumbering beast he was when he went in, but rather a butterfly emerging out of the chrysalis having become something entirely new, alive in a different way than she was before. Instead of worrying first about "Will we get enough money to meet our budget?" or even, "When will our church services look and feel exactly like they did back in the 'Good Old Days'?" maybe the place to start is just to ask, "How can we bring people more fully to life around us, right where we are, and to do it as a free gift for them?" And that's where our work begins. I suspect we'll see that an awful lot of the ways we can think of don't require us to be inside a church building or under a steeple. I bet we'll discover that it doesn't necessarily sound "religious" at all to most ears, either. And I bet it will happen in places that many wouldn't expect a Respectable God to show up (but that's kind of Jesus' calling card, isn't it?)--it will be at your job, and when you go out for coffee somewhere, or in the streets with signs to show solidarity with those who suffer, or bringing a meal to someone who can't cook for themselves, or at the roadside when you help the stranger with the four-way flashers on in the shoulder.  Anywhere and everywhere you see people in need of being made more fully alive, you will find the conspiracy of life--the followers of Jesus--doing what Jesus empowers us to do.

And honestly, when people find that your graceful gifts of time, of love, and of help bring them more fully to life, they will want to know what makes the difference in your life, and they'll want to be a part of the movement, too. But maybe it doesn't have to be any more complicated than that, and maybe all of the other stuff we call "church" is only really useful if they are tools in this conspiracy of life Jesus has pulled us into, too.

Dear Lord, it is so beautiful and clear, this mission you have given to us. Stop us from over-complicating it, and free us from the baggage we have added to it, so that we can simply be a part of your work to bring one another more and more fully to life.

For Our Sake--June 15, 2026

For Our Sake--June 15, 2026

"Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd." (Matthew 9:35-36)

Here's something important to notice about Jesus' priorities. You don't see Jesus recruiting a selective group of the strongest, smartest, and the savviest, or the biggest earners and most well-connected influencers.  You don't see Jesus strategizing along the lines of, "Who would bring the most power, or money, or status to my operation?" and then going after only those people.  In fact, you don't ever really see Jesus seeking out particular people on the basis of what they can do for him--it's always the other way around, isn't it?  Jesus seeks out people who are especially in need of him.  That's why he has gathered us--you and me--into his community.  We are the ones on the receiving end in this relationship.  We are the ones who find ourselves found.  We aren't here, in the disciple community called "church" because we're so great, but because Jesus is--and his greatness looks like love that finds the folks who have been scattered and are waiting to be reclaimed.

Here in this passage that many of us heard back on Sunday morning, that motivation is clear. Jesus sees the crowds who have come out to hear him and seek his help, but his response is not, "These crowds could really help me look impressive and important! I could mold them into an army to help me seize power!"  He doesn't look at the crowds as a tool to be manipulated or a reason to brag about his own assumed greatness. Rather, Jesus sees all these people who are struggling just to get by, seeking direction, and who have been "harassed" and made to feel "helpless" beneath the powers of the day, and his immediate impulse is to serve them.  He will help heal their sickness.  He will bring hope to their broken hearts by announcing that God's Reign is at hand.  He will show them what God's kingdom is like by bringing people more fully to life in whatever ways they might need it  He shows up, in other words, to meet people where they are, and to bring them more fully to life.

Jesus knows, too, that when we human beings feel desperate, for whatever reason, we will start looking for anybody to lead us who can make big promises, without always asking whether they can deliver.  We will reach out for whatever snake-oil salesman is coming our way, or give our allegiance to whatever voice riles us up the best and shouts the loudest to get our attention. People are funny that way--we are quite often herd animals, and all too often we let ourselves get taken advantage of by people who do not really have our best interests at heart but turn out to be, as Jesus says elsewhere, "wolves in sheep's clothing."  That's part of what you see here in these verses: Jesus offers himself as an alternative to all the hucksters, frauds, and demagogues out there. Jesus offers himself as a shepherd--that is, as one who truly puts the needs of those in his care before his own.  Jesus hasn't come to use us, leverage our influence, take our resources, or weaponize us into an army; he has come to heal our wounded places, lift up our broken hearts, and bring us more fully to life.  Jesus has sought us out for our sake, not for his own.

Too often in our own lives, when a popular figure comes on the scene, it becomes easy to get our hopes up only for them to just use people as pawns for their ambitions.  They'll bilk people for their money, their votes, and their attention, but not really have anyone's best interests at heart other than their own.  Part of what makes Jesus so compelling is that he is an alternative to that sort of manipulative rabble-rousing.  Jesus doesn't seek to use us, but to heal us.  He isn't trying to take advantage of us, but to offer his goodness to us freely. That's why he's worth following, giving our lives to, and sharing with other people.

That's why we answer his call when he summons us, so that we can be a part of his work of bringing other people more fully to life as well.  

Today, who might you meet who is waiting to hear about this kind of love--that doesn't merely think of what it can get from us, but comes specifically for what it can give to us?

Lord Jesus, find us where we are today, and bring us more fully to life.

When God Sings the Blues--June 12, 2026

When God Sings the Blues--June 12, 2026

"What shall I do with you, O Ephraim?
 What shall I do with you, O Judah?
Your love is like a morning cloud,
 like the dew that goes away early.
 Therefore I have hewn them by the prophets;
 I have killed them by the words of my mouth,
 and my judgment goes forth as the light.
 For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice,
 the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings." (Hosea 6:4-6)

What a startling thing it is for God to sing the blues.  It would seem that God, of all beings in the universe, should not ever have to be disappointed, disillusioned, or brokenhearted--and yet, these verses from the book of the prophet Hosea surely sound like God is lamenting over the fickle, faithless, and flighty "love" the people have shown.  It sure does sound like God has the blues.

And what a grievance it is.  Like the best of blues singers, the prophet puts some zingers in the lyrics that God is singing.  God looks at the people and their shaky track record of abandoning God when some new attraction comes along, and says, "Your love is like a morning cloud... like the dew that goes away early." That's a stinging criticism, especially as a contrast to the words we heard in yesterday's devotion that come just prior to this passage, where God's love is described as being as sure as the rising us and as reliably refreshing as the spring rains.  God is faithful and can be counted on--but the people (ahem, which includes US) are erratic and inconstant.  God's love is steady and sure, but the people's love seems to evaporate like the dewdrops in the summer sun. And God's lament--God's song of the blues, so to speak--is that God has been faithful to them all this time, while they have turned away to every sort of distraction and all kinds of other objects of their affection.

When they get called out on it, the people's go-to response is to just try and butter God up and bribe God with sacrifices.  It became almost a transactional kind of thinking:  "Every time we've cheated on God with the idols of our neighbors, we can win God back with a few goats and bulls on the altar." For all the times the people collectively hardened their hearts toward God and one another, they thought they could make up for it with some hastily offered sacrifices.  Like the serial adulterer who tries to woo back the jilted spouse with some sparkling earrings, the people seemed to think that their ritual actions could make up for their wandering hearts.  And God, the One who had been cheated on, just finally up and says, "No.  You can't buy me off." Sounds like the plot of a standard blues song, if you ask me.

I think of that 90s hair-band acoustic ballad, "More Than Words" by the band Extreme, which made a similar point.  Signing to the beloved who is full of nice "talk" but doesn't seem to act in ways that show love, the song's refrain goes, "More than words is all I ever needed you to show/ Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me/ 'Cause I'd already know."  God sings it much the same here in these words from Hosea: God basically comes down to saying, "What I have really wanted all along wasn't some ritual sacrifice--what I really want is for you to show genuine love." 

Now, as you might also recall if you heard these words this past Sunday alongside the passage in Matthew's Gospel where he quotes this passage to the Respectable Religious Leaders, Jesus seems to widen the direction that love.  When the Respectable Religious Leaders are upset that Jesus welcomes "tax collectors and sinners" to his table with unconditional love, Jesus responds, "Go and learn what this means: 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice'."  In other words, Jesus makes it clear that what God has always wanted is love--not just toward God, but toward other people.  God was never impressed with our ritual precision or the exclusivity of our social circles, but God has always wanted us to be merciful to one another--especially the people we were ready to write off or leave out. That's what the God who has always loved us faithfully would want: simply for the love to continue onward through us with the same constancy and faithfulness as it has first been shown to us.  No diamond tennis bracelets or gold rings, no goats or bulls burned up on the altar, no big checks with lots of zeroes, and no big stone monuments to show our piety--just love for the unloved, mercy for the ones who need it, and compassion for the neighbors around us.  That's the antidote to God's brokenhearted blues.

Something changes in our relationship with God and with other people when we stop thinking we have to bribe God to ignore our wayward actions and infidelities.  We no longer see our relationship with God as a monetary transaction, and we can give up the attempt to bribe the almighty (who doesn't need anything we could offer or buy in the first place!).  And we can see other people as the channels through which we can show love to God.  God doesn't need food--but our hungry neighbors do, and God would love it if they could eat.  God doesn't need a roof over the divine head--but refugees fleeing war zones and folks without homes do, and God would be delighted if we provided them shelter.  Instead of thinking we need to periodically "pay God off" so that we are then free to be crooked jerks to each other, the prophet invites us to see the people around us as the means through which we can offer love to God, which is what God has been after all along.  

Today is the day, then, to add a new verse to the song, a turn after the blues have been sung, when our hearts are finally reoriented back to loving God by loving the people around us.  After all the foolish and futile things we've done to impress God or buy God off when those never needed to be done in the first place, we can finally let our lives say back to God, "I love you, too."

Lord God, you who have been faithful and compassionate to us all our lives, we love you too.

As Sure As the Sun--June 11, 2026

As Sure As the Sun--June 11, 2026

“Come, let us return to the Lord,
 for it is he who has torn, and he will heal us;
 he has struck down, and he will bind us up.
 After two days he will revive us;
 on the third day he will raise us up,
 that we may live before him.
Let us know, let us press on to know the Lord;
 his appearing is as sure as the dawn;
 he will come to us like the showers,
  like the spring rains that water the earth.” (Hosea 6:1-3)

I found myself complaining the other day as one particular program on my computer, which had worked fine just the day before, stubbornly refused to do what I asked it to do.  I tried all the standard things: restarting the program, rebooting the computer, reloading the files for the project, and so on.  No luck.  No success.  After several hours' worth of delay and a very strong urge to throw my computer on the ground in frustration, the task was completed.  But I found myself thinking out loud before the problem was resolved, "Maybe the lesson here is that nothing else I put my trust in will prove to be truly reliable, other than God. Maybe this is the reminder that only God can really be counted on." 

I don't mean for that to sound cynical--I know that other people are often trustworthy to come through for me in a pinch, and that there are institutions and structures I place my trust in on a regular basis, from the bank I where deposit my paychecks to the insurance company that says they will cover us in case of a catastrophe.  But I also know that none of those individuals, groups, or entities will be foolproof.  At some point, they will each let me down, leave me hanging, or hold up some kind of loophole to excuse themselves from actually being there for me.  The friend I need to pick me up at the airport might be out of town when I need a ride.  The insurance policy might have some kind of fine print telling me that the water damage isn't really covered after all.  The bank I count on to hold my savings might fail--it has happened before, after all (cue the famous scene from the movie It's a Wonderful Life).  In other words, even the things and people I regard as most trustworthy and dependable will not always be reliable. And to some degree I need to live my life simultaneously ready for them to come through for me AND to bail out on me.

But the Scriptures claim, over and over again, that God really is different from all of them.  Unlike your glitchy computer program, your possibly-out-of-town friend with the car, your fine-print-wielding insurance company, and your financial institutions, the voices of the Bible keep insisting that God is reliable. When God says something, God means it. When God makes a promise, God keeps it.  And when God makes a commitment, God honors it. Ultimately, that's the only real reason we can keep going in this life of faith. For all the challenges, costs, and consternation that come with living as God's people (with our fickle faith and struggles with sin), it is worth it because God is faithful.

So here, in this short passage that many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, the prophet addresses people who have turned away from God--and God's priorities--yet again.  The prophet Hosea has been calling them out on it, and has also told them that they've been trying to patch things up with God the wrong way by bribing God with sacrifices when what God really wants is for us to treat one another with mercy and compassion.  The people feel like God has withdrawn from them in response, and they are not really sure if it is worth turning their lives around back toward God's ways.  So the prophet Hosea basically says to them, "Come on already--the ONE thing you know about God is that God is faithful and reliable.  Of course, God will show up for us--let's turn back to meet God!"

His way of saying it is a little more poetic:  God's "appearing is as sure as the dawn" and "the spring rains that water the earth." In other words, as sure as you can count on the sun coming up, and as surely as you can trust that the rains will eventually come in their season, you can count on God to show up.  God will prove reliable--and therefore, it is worth staking our lives on the promises God makes and orienting our hearts on the priorities God gives to us. We might not be able to guess how God will come through, and God's way of keeping promises might indeed surprise us, but God will prove faithful. Or, as the late theologian Douglas John Hall put it once, "The disciple community believes that God reigns, all contrary evidence notwithstanding. But God, as God is depicted in the continuity of the Testaments, is never quite predictable—or rather, only this is predictable about God: that God will be faithful.”

That's what Hosea has been trying to say: the one thing that is predictable about God is that God will be faithful--as sure as the sun comes up and the rain fall down, God is dependable. More than our flaky human tendencies, better than our oldest institutions, clearer than the muddy legalese of our corporate contract-writing, God can be counted on.  That's why it's worth it for us to point our lives toward God--God won't let us down, when al is said and done.

There are plenty of other things and people you could center your life on, but at your own risk. Jobs change and companies let you go in the name of "downsizing" or "improving cost-effectiveness." Social institutions come and go, and empires eventually crumble under the weight of their own bloated decadence.  Even the people in our lives whom we hold most closely will grow old move away, or give way to sickness, frailty, and death.  But we as the people of God don't count on those things to be unchanging and certain; we count on God to be faithful, even when other things do change.

Where have we been placing our trust in uncertain and unreliable things or people, and what could be different if we centered our lives on the God who is faithful?

What could that look like today?

Lord God, be your faithful self among us today, and let us orient our lives on you.

What Matters Most--June 10, 2026

What Matters Most--June 10, 2026

While [Jesus] was saying these things to them, suddenly a leader came in and knelt before him, saying, “My daughter has just died, but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” And Jesus got up and followed him, with his disciples. Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from a flow of blood for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, for she was saying to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.” Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” And the woman was made well from that moment. When Jesus came to the leader’s house and saw the flute players and the crowd making a commotion, he said, “Go away, for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. But when the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took her by the hand, and the girl got up. And the report of this spread through all of that district. (Matthew 9:18-26)

Jesus is less interested in keeping himself untouched by disease or "uncleanness" than he is with restoring us to life.

Jesus is less worried about becoming "contaminated" himself by the social stigma attached to others than he is with freeing us from that stigma.

Jesus is less concerned, in other words, with preserving his own status as "pure" in the eyes of others than he is with healing people who have been deemed "impure."

That says something truly powerful about the character of this Jesus whom we follow.  For all the ways we get hung up on religious notions of withdrawing from "the world" and its sinfulness, Jesus himself is much more invested in remaining in touch with the world, despite our dis-ease, precisely in order to heal it.

I think we sometimes get the direction wrong, honestly, in that regard.  Quite often, Respectable Religious Folks seem to think that godliness looks like withdrawing from everything--from being affected (or infected!) by "bad influences," from being seen with "those people" (whoever that is at the time), or from society and the world in general.  Sometimes people assume that being pious means being a recluse or a wet blanket. Sometimes we assume that being close to God requires distance from everybody else in the world.  But that's not what Jesus shows us here.  He deliberately places himself in situations where he is reachable--literally--to the people who need him, even when they are the ones who carry the aura of "untouchability" in their bodies.

This is one of those underemphasized details in this passage from Matthew, which many of us heard this past Sunday.  Both the woman who has been bleeding for twelve years and the dead daughter of the community leader (seemingly the same one named Jairus in Mark's Gospel telling) bring with them the specter of "uncleanness" because of their conditions.  The purity laws of the Torah were clear: anyone with a flow of blood, as well as anything that was dead, were all to be considered unclean and not to be touched, lest the uncleanness spread.  And, to be sure, in an ancient culture without antiseptics, antibiotics, or even running water for basic hygiene, the best prevention of mass epidemics of many kinds of disease might well have been to limit contact with bodily fluids or dead bodies.  That absolutely made sense on a societal level--the trouble was, it left individuals who got sick or became unclean with few options sometimes.  If you were temporarily "unclean," you could be restored back to community life--friends, family, work, and relationships--once sufficient time had passed to make it clear you were not unclean.  Maybe the sickness got better, the wound healed over, the bleeding stopped, etc.   But if you had a chronic condition--like, say, bleeding for twelve years!--you were ostracized indefinitely and likely regarded as an outcast.  And of course, if you touched something that was unclean, you also became unclean yourself.

Nevertheless, in both parts of this episode, Jesus comes into contact with the "unclean" and doesn't flinch.  He doesn't run away in disgust, scold the woman who touched him from the crowd, or refuse to help the deceased girl in the name of maintaining purity.  When the woman reaches to touch Jesus for healing, he doesn't accuse her of "contaminating" him or spreading her "uncleanness," but rather makes it clear that no offense has taken place and that she is safe.  "Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well."  If Jesus had been more concerned with preserving his own purity, he would have been upset or scandalized at the notion that his "cleanness" had been contaminated.  Instead, he acts like the only thing that matters is this woman's well-being.  Similarly, when he finally comes face to face with the body of the dead young girl, Jesus takes her by the hand to revive her.  That's a choice on Jesus' part, of course.  We all know plenty of stories in which Jesus heals someone with only a word and no contact at all.  He even raises Lazarus back from the dead after four days in the grave simply by praying and calling out to the dead man.  So it's not that Jesus had to touch this dead body in order to resuscitate her.  That would have avoided the whole worry of "contamination" by uncleanness.  But instead, Jesus seems almost deliberate in choosing the tenderness of touch, like he is waking her from a nap with the gentlest of gestures.  And once again, that is because from Jesus' perspective, what matters is this young girl's well-being, rather than his own cultivated sense of "cleanness."

Taking this story seriously is going to do something to our priorities, as well.  Instead of needing to project the appearance that we are un-touched by the world, hermetically sealed in a bubble of self-righteousness, we will be more interested in being right with the folks who are looked down on or dismissed as "unclean" and "unworthy."  Instead of defining our holiness in terms of who we run away from and who we pull our hands back from touching, we will see holiness in Jesus' terms--by the ways we reach out in love especially to those who have been held at arm's length by others. And instead of worrying about becoming tainted or infected by associating with the "wrong kinds of people," we will follow Jesus' example and deliberately remain reachable to the people around us, regardless of their story.

For Jesus, the important thing--the well-being of others--is always clear.  If we let stories like these do their work on us, too, we'll find ourselves rearranging our values in light of that kind of love, too.

May it be so.

Lord Jesus, realign our hearts with your priority on restoring life for all people rather than keeping ourselves distant from the world you love.

Jesus' Kind of Welcome--June 9, 2026

Jesus' Kind of Welcome--June 9, 2026

"And as [Jesus] sat at dinner in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, 'Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?' But when he heard this, he said, 'Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, I desire mercy, not sacrifice. For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.'"(Matthew 9:10-13)

So... when Jesus answers back to the Respectable Religious People who have criticized him for sharing a table with THOSE PEOPLE (the so-called "sinners"), is it good news... or bad news?

Well, I suppose at first blush it depends on who you are in the story. 

If you're one of the publicly pious Pharisees, who have in this scene declared themselves to be the guardians of morality and decency, Jesus' response is a withering insult. If you're there among the finger-wagging spiritual scolds, upset that Jesus has accepted a whole dinner party full of "unacceptables," this sounds like terrible news. If you were among those holding little protest signs with arms crossed outside the party of the outcasts among whom Jesus is celebrating, it is a shot across the bow to hear him quote back from the prophets, "Go learn what this means--'I desire mercy, not sacrifice'." 

But if you're one of the ones who's been told over and over that you are unworthy and unlovable, Jesus' words bring you back to life.

This is the thing we're going to have to face if we are really going to take direction in our lives from Jesus--whatever we think "the truth" really is, it is never our possession to weaponize against others. In fact, Jesus reserves the right to show us just how far off the mark we've gotten when we have failed to love like he does. He reserves the right to call us out when we've gotten up on our high horses and started looking down on other people. He reserves the right to show us from the Scriptures that God's will has always been to restore the lost ones, welcome back in the outcast, love the unloved, and to give a new start to people stuck in dead-ends. And Jesus insists that he has the authority to show us when and where we've gotten it wrong and missed the heart of God.

I think for me that's the most frightening thing about this passage which many of us heard in worship this past Sunday: the Respectable Religious people think that they're doing God's will by chastising Jesus for associating with the "sinners." (This is a reminder of the wisdom of Blaise Pascal's insight that "People never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.") They think they're "defending God's honor," or "speaking up for God's word," or "fighting for the truth," when Jesus shows them that they've missed the point. They think that Jesus, who claims to represent God, will taint God's good reputation by sitting at a table with the tax collectors and collective "sinners." They know, of course, that table fellowship communicates a great deal--especially in their culture. They know that sharing a meal with someone is a statement of acceptance, of welcome, and to some degree, of love--and so they understand that when Jesus shares a table at the dinner party in this scene, he is making a provocative claim: that these people others view as reducible to being "sinners" rather than human beings are accepted already. Not just "acceptable" in the hypothetical sense that someone might, possibly, theoretically accept them, but that they are already accepted by God.

You'll note that when the Respectable Religious people question Jesus (or rather, his disciples, because they are too afraid to actually confront him directly), Jesus doesn't respond by throwing the party guests under the bus. He doesn't say, "Oh, don't you worry, my fellow Guardians of Holiness--I don't actually accept these people as they are; I'm here to warn them of fire and judgment if they don't shape up! So don't get the wrong idea here--I certainly don't accept these people as they are." Jesus had that as an out if that were his perspective--that would have gotten the Pharisees off his back in this scene. But instead, Jesus doubles down on his choice to share table and break bread with the whole list of party guests. And he quotes a line from the prophet Hosea at them just to make it clear that Jesus' focus on mercy--on love for those others have deemed unlovable--is in fact God's own priority as well. When the Respectable Religious folks get all bent out of shape about how wide a welcome Jesus' table offers, Jesus has to speak a truth that is difficult for them to hear, but which comes from a place of love. And that love is both for the ones who have been ostracized and other-ized by the Publicly Pious People, and it is for the Pharisees, too--if they would listen to what Jesus says, they would be opened up to a wider and deeper love than they dared imagine. Jesus' response to this group of Pharisees here is a hard pill for them to swallow, but it is a truth that is meant to allow both the "not-good-enough" crowd and the "holier-than-thou" crowd to discover that they are all beloved.

It can be so hard for us to face stories like this because we never want to admit that WE could be wrong today, or that WE could be guilty of excluding people whom Jesus has included. It's scary to face the truth that the Respectable Religious People in Jesus' day were convinced they were on "God's side," only to have Jesus show them that whether they admitted it or not, the Reign of God was setting up shop at the parties where the outcasts gathered. And reading a story like this today forces us to ask, "Where have I been keeping people out whom Jesus has already welcomed in with open arms?"

The hard part is that this isn't just a once-and-for-all question to ask, but that we are called to keep asking, to keep looking for what tables Jesus has pulled up a seat at, to keep letting ourselves be open to how Jesus will stretch our understandings to be big enough to get at least a glimpse of God's Reign among us.

So, is it good news or bad news to hear Jesus say that the tax collectors are sinners are embraced in his mercy? Well, for the ones who had been told they didn't belong, it's unquestionably good news right off the bat. And for the Respectable Religious Crowd, it might have stung as bad news at first and turned their old thinking upside down, but it really is good news even for them. To discover that God's welcome is not based on anybody's impression of our "worthiness" but simply and wholly grounded in God's grace changes us. It frees us. And it makes us come alive. The question for us is whether we will let Jesus surprise us with joy, or make us scowl in judgment.

What will we do with the Good News of wide welcome that Jesus speaks right now?

Lord Jesus, enable us to rejoice at your welcome of the ones we thought unworthy, and allow us to be transformed with the breadth of your love.