The One Worth Serving--July 1, 2026

The One Worth Serving--July 1, 2026

"But now that you have been freed from sin and enslaved to God, the fruit you have leads to sanctification, and the end is eternal life. For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 6:22-23)

To hear the apostle tell it, Bob Dylan was right, and Frank Sinatra was wrong.

Old Blue Eyes famously sang about the importance of doing things "My Way," without anybody else telling him what do to, and how to do it, while Bob Dylan (riffing on Jesus) said, "You gotta serve someone--it may be the devil, or it may be the Lord, but you gotta serve someone." Once singer imagined that it is possible (and even good!) to be captain of your own soul and master of your own fate, without any allegiance or ties to anybody. And the other said, rather honestly, that no matter what we think we are choosing in this life, we are always giving our allegiance to somebody or another. Sinatra's song suggests that the goal of life is to somehow disentangle yourself from having to live under anybody else's direction, authority, or "lordship," and Dylan seems to say "You can't be free of serving somebody--the only question is who is worthy of giving your allegiance."

Paul the apostle would seem to agree.  In these words that many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, he offers two choices to his readers in Rome, the beating heart of the Empire itself:  they had been enslaved to sin and under the dominion and tyranny of sin's grip of them, but now they have become servants of God. There is no third option of running around untethered and unclaimed by someone's reign.  There is no "I did it MY WAY," as Paul sees it. Or maybe more accurately, he would say that the "I did it MY WAY" philosophy, along with its cousin, "Me and My Group First," are both ways of being sold out to sin and under the dictatorship of self-centeredness.  And again, the only real alternative to being enslaved to sin is to be dedicated to God.  You can hear Bob Dylan underneath it all: You gotta serve someone.

But Paul goes one further than just telling us it's either God or sin that we end up serving.  He points out that the benefits packages between the two choices are completely different.  "The wages of sin is death," he says, "but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord."  If we spend our lives forever giving in to the demands of that voice that leads us to greed, indifference, hatred, violence, and fear, the outcome is a dead-end.  But to be oriented toward God in Christ is different--it doesn't operate by the logic of earning and deserving, but by the logic of grace. And therefore, belonging to the lordship of Jesus' community yields not "wages," but a "free gift."  Dylan may be right that "you gotta serve someone," but Paul makes it very clear which option actually brings us to life.  As Paul sees it, serving God isn't bondage but our deepest fulfillment.

See, the dirty little secret about the "I did it MY WAY" mentality is that it advertises itself as some great life where you don't have to care about other people and don't have to listen to anybody else's directions, but it ends up being permanently unsatisfied and disconnected from both God and neighbor--the two primary relationships that give us deepest fulfillment and identity.  To see ourselves as servants of God--which always also includes serving our neighbors, because of who God is--is actually what makes us truly free, because it allows us to be fully alive in relationship with others, rather than constantly withdrawn behind barriers and walls inscribed with the words, "You can't tell me what to do!"  And as our older brother in the faith Martin Luthern once insisted (in his treatise on Christian Freedom), we are simultaneously most free when we step into our identity as servants of all.

I know that in the week leading up to our annual celebration of Independence Day (especially in the 250th anniversary of that date) it is tempting to believe that there is some way to live that comes without strings, without allegiances, and without reliance on someone else.  But the Gospel insists that whatever freedom really is, it comes precisely as we let go of "Me and My Group First" sloganeering and give our allegiance to the God we meet in Jesus, who summons us to serve all people the way he served and still serves. All of our insistence on doing it "My Way" ends up futile and unconvincing, but when our lives are spent serving God and neighbor, we find ourselves more fully alive.

If indeed it is true that we've all "gotta serve someone," Paul sure does make it clear who is worth giving our lives to.  The living God doesn't deal in terms of wages and earning, but in giving the free gift of life.  That's the One worth serving.

Lord Jesus, pull us always out of sin-centered orientation in our lives and pull us toward serving you and the people you place in our lives.  Make us truly free.

Whose Jurisdiction--June 30, 2026

Whose Jurisdiction--June 30, 2026

"Do not let sin reign in your mortal bodies, so that you obey their desires. No longer present your members to sin as instruments of unrighteousness, but present yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life, and present your members to God as instruments of righteousness. For sin will have no dominion over you, since you are not under law but under grace." (Romans 6:12-14)

There's a reason that I don't typically pay attention to legal changes in Poland, or Uzbekistan, or Papua New Guinea: simply put, I do not live under their jurisdiction.  I don't keep track of who has been elected to Parliament in the UK most of the time, and I don't really have a finger on the pulse of who is next in line of succession for the throne of Monaco--again, because I do not live under their reign.

I do, however, care about whose jurisdiction I am under, and to whose dominion I belong.  So, if I am going to be an informed good citizen about the place I live, I would do well to pay attention to what is, or is not, the law, and I would even rightly voice my input and opinions on what the law should be.  That seems pretty straightforward, I hope.

So it makes sense then that the apostle Paul uses a similar train of thought to speak to the Christian community in Rome, as many of us heard in this passage this past Sunday.  Notice how many times he speaks in the language of who or what has rightful authority over us:  "Do not let sin reign in your mortal bodies..." "Sin will have no dominion over you..." "You are not under law but under grace."  These are questions of jurisdiction.  It's a question of whose "reign" we live within--whose kingdom we belong to, so to speak.  And Paul's point here is to say, "If you know that you don't have to obey the decrees of the Supreme Leader of North Korea because you are not under his jurisdiction, then you also should know that you don't have to obey the impulses of sin in your life, either, because you do not have to live under sin's authority any longer."  And with that, Paul offers stunning clarity to how we live our lives: we are freed from having to comply with every sinful whim, every crooked notion, and every rotten impulse in our lives, because we do not have to let ourselves be ruled by sin any longer. We belong to God's Reign, and we are shaped by God's design for our lives rather than in the mold of greed, apathy, bigotry, spite, and violence. In other words, more and more we will find ourselves being formed in the likeness of Christ, and less and less in the pattern of sin's distortions.

So often, we don't even realize we have the capacity to say "no" to the pull of sin in our lives.  We so easily just give in to every impulse, every mean thought, every self-centered action that we don't stop to think, "Wait a minute--this is not the kingdom I belong to!  I don't have to go along with this!  I don't have to comply with the dictates of sin! I am free from living under its authority!" That doesn't mean we'll always get it right, or that we'll always be able to properly rebel against the tyranny of sin's decrees.  But when we stop and ask these questions, at least we will hopefully remember whose reign we really belong to... and that can free us to make different choices.

It's also interesting here that Paul says sin no longer has dominion over us because "you are not under law but under grace."  That is to say, living under God's Reign also means that we live under the jurisdiction of grace, rather than fearfully worrying all the time whether we measure up to the law's demands.  That's important, because Paul wants us to understand that living within God's Reign isn't like suffering under a dictatorship, but a life that is beautifully free and good.  God's way of ruling isn't like the decrees of Caesar or the hegemony of an empire. God doesn't resort to governmental fiat or coercive threats, like nation-states and monarchs do, either. God's Reign doesn't demand that all citizens of a country must pray so many times a day or require mandatory Bible reading as signs of compliance. That's not how God operates, Paul says. Rather, by grace God invites--but does not coerce. It is a different kind of kingdom, because we have a different kind of ruler.

All of this is good news for us: because we do not live under sin's dominion, we don't have to succumb to its impulses in our lives.  And because we do not live under the intimidating threat of "law" but rather under the dominion of grace, we don't have to resort to the empire's tactics to enforce Christianity on anybody, either. We live under the Reign of God as we have met this God in Christ, and Christ has freed us both from the old order of the Empire and the ancient tyranny of sin.  All of this is what it means to belong to the Reign of God.  We are free, precisely because we are "under" the lordship of Jesus.  We are liberated, exactly because we have been dedicated to the way of Christ.

In those times when we struggle to know what to do or whose demands to obey, it's worth remembering this question: whose jurisdiction do I live under?  And whose kingdom do I belong to?

Lord Jesus, enable us to live in your way and in your reign, free from the demands of other empires and the impulses of sin.

A Community of Hard Truth-Tellers--June 29, 2026

A Community of Hard Truth-Tellers--June 29, 2026

The prophet Jeremiah spoke to the prophet Hananiah in the presence of the priests and all the people who were standing in the house of the Lord, and the prophet Jeremiah said, “Amen! May the Lord do so; may the Lord fulfill the words that you have prophesied and bring back to this place from Babylon the vessels of the house of the Lord and all the exiles. But listen now to this word that I speak in your hearing and in the hearing of all the people. The prophets who preceded you and me from ancient times prophesied war, famine, and pestilence against many countries and great kingdoms. As for the prophet who prophesies peace, when the word of that prophet comes true, then it will be known that the Lord has truly sent the prophet.” (Jeremiah 28:5-9)

To be a part of God's people will require that we do the hard work of telling the truth to each other, and hearing it from each other, even when it is uncomfortable. 

That is true today, and as this passage from Jeremiah which many of us heard this past Sunday reminds us, it has always been true.  Sometimes we might wish for the ability to ignore disagreements, or we might tell ourselves that the "godly" thing is to sweep all of our sources of conflict under some convenient religious rug, but it turns out that those strategies are like letting a wound fester rather than cleaning it.  Just because you are afraid of touching the tender spot, or that it will be painful to disinfect, it is still unwise to ignore the injury and just hope it goes away untreated.  Like James Baldwin put it so aptly, "Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is face." If we are going to be the authentic people of God in this found-family we call "church," we will need at least that much courage--the same way the prophet Jeremiah dared to face difficult truths and to tell them, even when there was plenty of peer pressure to just nod his head along with the voices who said everything was fine.

This passage from Jeremiah 28 picks up as the people of Judah were staring down the reality of exile.  The Babylonians were not just at the gates: they had already plundered the Temple in Jerusalem, deposed the previous king and taken him captive to Babylon as their trophy, and begun to destroy the whole kingdom.  Jeremiah had warned the people that there was no chance to avert this disaster: their repeated turning away from God's ways of justice and mercy, and their perpetual trust in military might and political gamesmanship, rather than in God's provision, had pushed the situation to the brink. And now, there was no way to prevent or avoid exile.  The Babylonians would not be stopped; their pagan empire would be allowed to run roughshod over the nation of Judah, including its government, its temple, and its capital city.  Now, as you can imagine, that was not a very popular message to tell people (especially the remaining leadership in Jerusalem), and they did not like Jeremiah insisting on speaking it.  The accusations would have been obvious: "Jeremiah is unpatriotic!  He doesn't love his country if he's announcing that they cannot win a war against Babylon!  He hates God because he doesn't want God's holy vessels from the Temple returned, or at least he doesn't think we'll ever get them back!" If you're the one burdened with announcing bad news, people will assume you are reveling in it and rooting for the destruction, even if you are actually saying it with tears in your eyes.

Over against Jeremiah and his bad news, there was another prophet--well, someone who had deputized himself to be a prophet at any rate--named Hananiah.  Hananiah didn't like all that gloomy talk of destruction, and he couldn't imagine that God was really going to allow the nation to go into exile.  Hananiah seemed to think that God was only around to prop up the status quo, and that because his nation saw itself as "God's people," it therefore couldn't be defeated or destroyed. So he announced a message that was the opposite of Jeremiah's: basically, "Everything's fine.  It will all blow over. And pretty soon everything will go back to the way it was before, easy-peasy."  This, of course, was a lot more popular, and people really liked what Hananiah had to say... because they wanted it to be true.  In a way, Hananiah is the prototype for every TV evangelist promising health, wealth, and prosperity from God, along with every Christian nationalist preacher who says that "We will always succeed because we have God on our side!" As popular as such messages may be (and sometimes they are VERY popular), the true prophets like Jeremiah insisted that they just aren't true.

So here in this passage, we finally get Jeremiah's response to all of Hananiah's comforting (but wrong) malarkey.  Jeremiah says, essentially, "Look, I would love it if you were right and everything was going to fine. I would love it if we didn't have to go through exile, and if the Babylonians just brought back everything and everyone they have taken into captivity already. But here's the thing--we don't judge prophets authentic or not based on whether they said what we wanted to hear. We judged the prophets based on whether their messages actually came true or not."  In other words, "Hananiah's message sounds great, but it also seems like wishful thinking. And I think God is calling us to face the harder truth that we are going to have to endure exile rather than wishing it away."  That took courage--both for Jeremiah to say it, and for anybody else in the room to hear it and truly listen.

It's always going to be tempting to be the Hananiah of the moment--to say the things that everyone wants to hear and wishes were true. Complicating things further is that nobody wants to admit that they actually are the Hananiah du jour; we all want to picture ourselves as the true and right prophet Jeremiah, and we never want to admit the possibility that we are wrong. It is always going to be more alluring to tell ourselves that we won't have to face the difficult stuff, or that there will be some deus ex machina fix to prevent us from having to deal with suffering.  But Jeremiah reminds us that we belong to a community of people learning to be brave enough to tell and hear difficult truths. God will keep raising up people to face what we would rather ignore; the question is whether we will be courageous enough to listen... or to be those truth-tellers when we are the ones God is raising up.

I can only imagine how hard it would have been to be Jeremiah: being branded an unpatriotic traitor for saying that his nation did not have God on a leash and that their Babylonian opponents would defeat them would surely have been unpleasant.  Ultimately, though, Jeremiah--like all authentic prophets--trusted that the God who gave him that difficult message would also give him the strength to speak it.  Jeremiah's witness dares us, too, to speak difficult truths even when they are unpopular, and to face even hearing those truths when someone else is speaking them.  It's hard to be the boy declaring that the emperor is wearing no clothes, and it's hard to be one of the townspeople listening to his message when it would mean admitting you'd been swept up in the Big Lie that the emperor was truly wearing a magnificent robe.  It was hard to be the voice like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, speaking up against the Reich's fascism in his day, when there were so many other Christian voices saying that everything was fine.  It was hard to be the voice like Dr. King's, calling out Jim Crow as the sin that it was, especially when there were so many White preachers looking the other way or declaring that it was "too political" to speak against segregation. 

It continues to be daunting today to know where and when to speak up, and where and when we need to listen to those with whom we disagree.  After all, if everybody imagines themselves to be the "true prophet" like Jeremiah then we will never admit even the possibility that we might be the self-appointed counterfeit like Hananiah.  It takes courage, both to be the one to speak the difficult truth that you don't want to have to say, and it to be the one to hear such a truth from someone else.  Being open to both possibilities is important--even essential--for us as the people of God.  When we allow our faith simply to become a support for wishful thinking, we are headed down the path of Hananiah; when we are convinced that we are being led to speak up even when it is inconvenient or difficult, it is more likely we are at least in the ballpark of Jeremiah. But a good rule of thumb is to ask, "Is this message on my heart something I just wish were true, or something I am convinced needs to be said because it is true?" Even asking that question requires us to be brave.

So today, Jeremiah's example reminds us of the importance of honest listening, bravery in speaking, and the courage to face things so that they can be addressed, even when they are unpleasant. May we be given such bravery today from the same One who has raised up prophets throughout the past so that we might face this present moment and whatever it brings.

Lord God, give us the gift of courage, both to speak where you would have us speak, to listen to those you have raised up to tell us the truth.

For Every Last Songbird--June 26, 2026

For Every Last Songbird--June 26, 2026

[Jesus told the disciples:] "Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell [Gehenna]. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from from your Father. And even the hairs on your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows." (Matthew 10:28-31)

Okay, we've got to be real clear about two things right off the bat here, or else we're going to get lost and pointed in the wrong direction.

The first this is this: the One to "fear" isn't the devil here--it's God. And "fear" isn't like the gnawing insecurity that there might be monsters under the bed or a divinely lightning bolt hurled your way if you don't keep checking behind your back. This is a big deal, because when Jesus says, "Don't fear those who can only kill your body, but rather fear the one who can destroy both the physical part of you and the spiritual part of you," some have thought he was talking about "the Evil One"--the Tempter, the Accuser, the one we sometimes call the devil or Satan [which just means "Accuser"]. But Jesus isn't telling us to substitute one fear of a small villain with a bigger fear of a supervillain. Rather, Jesus is saying that the One who really has the power and the perspective that matters is God, not any lesser authority or threat. And when Jesus talks about "fear" here, it's in the same vein as the Hebrew Scriptures which talk over and over again about "the fear of the LORD" as the beginning of real wisdom. When the Scriptures talk about cultivating "the fear of the LORD," it's more like the awe of standing before a rushing river of rapids or with your feet at the edge of the Grand Canyon: it's not there to hurt you, but you would be wise to watch your step. So Jesus isn't saying that the "real" boogeyman, the devil, should keep us up at night with fear--but rather that the One who has the real power over life and death, creation and destruction, is the same One he invites us to call on as "Father" in the next breath, the One whose care watches even over sparrows and hairs on our heads. It's a "Don't be afraid--God is bigger than any threat you might face" kind of statement, not a "Let me give you something to fuel your nightmares" sort of thing.

Now, once we're clear on whom we do--and do not--have to fear, there's another point we need to talk about here in this passage many of us heard this past Sunday. Jesus has been preparing his disciples to be truth-tellers and good-news sharers out in the towns and villages around them. And along with the instructions to heal, cast out evil spirits, raise the dead, and announce that God's Reign had come near, he is also bracing them for the very real contingency that they'll meet with resistance. After all, if Jesus has been rejected, mocked, and turned away [and he has been], then Jesus' spokespersons should be prepared for the same. Jesus was scorned by the Respectable Religious Leaders who were incensed that Jesus ate and drank at dinners with "those tax collectors and sinners," and because he acted as though God's Reign included a whole bunch of unacceptables and outcasts. And he was deemed a threat by the political so-and-sos of the day as well, both the Romans and Herod, because he announced the arrival of a different sort of Kingdom which exposed theirs as hollow frauds. So of course, Jesus says, his followers are in for the same kind of reception, presumably for the same reasons [again, like we said earlier in this week, we don't get to cry "persecution" for just being jerks, bigots, or self-appointed know-it-alls].

Okay, so taken together, Jesus has been telling his disciples first, that they should be ready to meet with rejection, harassment, and exclusion from both the religious and political powers of the day insofar as we have been following the way and embodying the character of Jesus, and then, second, that in the face of that hostility, God has our back even when the powers of the day do their worst. The worst they can do, after all, is kill us--but God insists on getting the last word and holding onto our lives even through death into resurrection life. And if God cares for every last songbird's tumbling through the air, then of course, Jesus says, God is aware and cares when we meet with trouble, rejection, or persecution. And God reserves the right to have the last word--even if they do their worst and string us up on crosses, which is exactly what they did to Jesus, after all.

But you'll notice in all of this what Jesus doesn't think we need in the face of hostility and threats--there's no mention of needing to arm ourselves to fight back or prevent the persecution that might happen. Jesus doesn't say, "The Empire won't like the message of a different Kingdom, so you've got to stock up on swords and spears to be ready to fight 'em off when they come for you!" Jesus doesn't say, "If your words don't persuade people of the Gospel's truth, maybe your weapons will convince them!" And Jesus definitely does not say, "We have to defend God, and righteousness, and truth, so you'd better be armed!" There is no strategy to avoid persecution, to shield our vulnerabilities, or to attack preemptively in order to keep the "bad guys" at bay. There is instead only the call to stare down that hostility and danger, continuing to speak the words Jesus gives us, and to answer hatred with love, evil with good. Jesus is convinced that God doesn't need our help or protection even from the mortal threat of the crucifying empire, and he is convinced that we don't need any additional defense other than the God who won't let evil or death win the day. After all, even if they do their worst, God can raise us up to resurrection life--and that is exactly what God did when the powers of the day did their worst to Jesus.

It is easy in our day and age to think that we need to back up our faith with firepower, and to respond to fears of some ominous "THEM" who are out to get us with more and more weapons. There are lots of voices insisting that Christians need to be "ready" to attack enemies or defend ourselves in the name of protecting God or preserving righteousness. And those voices can be persuasive. It's just that they're not listening to Jesus. Like Stanley Hauerwas says it, "Any time you think you need to protect God, you can be sure that you are worshipping an idol." Or like the old line puts it, "You defend God like you would defend a lion--by getting out of the way." Jesus knowingly sends us out vulnerably into a hostile world, without promising us that nothing bad will ever happen, but convinced that the way we witness to God's kind of power is by being like Jesus: without returning evil for evil. We will face the hostility of the world with Jesus' kind of love and truth-telling, rather than needing to "get them before they get us." We will believe that God's good news is compelling enough that we don't have to coerce people into it. And we will live without fear of what anybody can do to us, because even if "they" do their worst, God has promised that resurrection gets the last word.

Today is a day to take our calling as members of God's family seriously--and with that, to take seriously that God's promise is all we need to bear that unarmed truth for the world.

Lord Jesus, give us confidence in your promise of God's life-giving power so that we can face even the worst the world can do, with your death-defying love.

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.