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.

Without Conditions--June 8, 2026

Without Conditions--June 8, 2026

"As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax-collection station, and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him. (Matthew 9:9)"

Did you notice the lack of fine print here?

Did you catch that there are no conditions here?

Did you see that Jesus makes no mention of prerequisite steps Matthew must take in order to be eligible to belong to the community of Jesus' followers?

None of those things show up in this verse, which many of us heard in worship this past Sunday.  And their absence is important, because it means Jesus doesn't invite people merely to apply or audition in order to see if they make the cut to belong.  He just outright calls to us: "Come.  Follow me."

Implicit, then, in that short summons is Jesus' choice to receive us as we are.  And maybe that doesn't seem like a big deal when we are talking about the call stories of the decently respectable fishermen like Peter, Andrew, James, and John.  To hear Jesus call them and say, "Follow me, and I will make you fish for people!" sounds pretty tame, actually.  There's nothing scandalous about being a fisherman, and nothing that would cause a stir of gossip among the neighbors to see Jesus going around with a bunch of fishermen as his followers.  But a tax collector is a different story.  In Jesus' time and place, tax collectors are almost universally despised, both for suspicion of being extortionists and cheaters, squeezing people for their own personal gain with the help of some intimidating imperial muscle, and for selling out their own people and passing along the collected tax money to the very empire that was occupying their land, harassing their people, and brutalizing their neighbors. Everybody's got a reason to view tax collectors with disgust--and maybe a fair amount of it was deserved.

That's the thing about Jesus' invitation to Matthew the tax collector here: it is in exactly the same unconditionally brief form it was spoken to Peter and the rest of his fishing crew.  Jesus simply says, "Follow me."  There is no catch. There is no implication that this is only a trial period to see if Matthew really proves to be "good enough." There is no indication that Jesus is going to give ol' Matty a six-month window to make some personal changes in his lifestyle, stop associating with the "wrong crowd," and get a more respectable job before Jesus is willing to be seen in public with him.  No, none of that.  There is only the unashamed call, "Follow me," which both implies that there is no question of worthiness or acceptability from Jesus' perspective, and that Jesus wants Matthew the--gasp!--tax collector to be a part of his found-family of disciples right away.

And this is the take-home for all of us as well: Jesus does not tell the people deemed outcasts, "You would be acceptable to me if only you would make these five changes in your life first." He simply calls them--and us--as we are. It is his calling to us that makes us acceptable and indeed, already accepted.  We are the ones who keep imposing conditions, restrictions, and our own religious litmus tests on who we think is "worthy" to belong, but Jesus brings no such fine print.  He doesn't for Matthew, whom all the Respectable Religious People would have deemed unacceptable, and he doesn't for us.

When we finally get it that Jesus isn't holding tryouts, for which we have to make ourselves look "good enough" in order to make the cut, but rather calling us as we are to belong in his community right now, things change for us.  Maybe we stop seeing the need to make ourselves into gatekeepers for grace.  Maybe we start to see our own selves as worthy and beloved rather than inadequate and unacceptable.  Maybe we can finally quit putting up hurdles that keep other folks out from following Jesus, but instead help clear the way for everyone he calls.  And maybe we will be less concerned about being seen with "those kinds of people" in our churches and instead just grateful that Jesus has called us all into belonging.

And maybe, at long last, we'll be done looking around for fine print that isn't there.

Come, dear one, just as you are.  Jesus calls you--in all of your you-ness--to belong.

Lord Jesus, let us hear your call to each and to all, and to rejoice in your wide welcome.

Love Is Our Superpower--June 5, 2026

 

Love Is Our Superpower--June 5, 2026

"The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with all of you." (2 Corinthians 13:13)

It is quite possible that these words are so familiar to our ears that we might miss just what is being said.  Not only did many of us hear these words this past Sunday as part of our second reading, but they are also used every week in worship in what is now called "the apostolic greeting." So for a great many Christians all over the world, every week they are welcomed with these same words: "The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all."  (And a great many of us, too, have learned a response that now comes like second nature to us: "And also with you.")

But if we are willing to hear these words again with fresh ears, we might notice something very particular is being spoken into our lives.  But to get that fresh perspective, we might need to take a detour into the realm of classic comic book characters.  Will you indulge a preacher and follow me for a bit?

So, there was a classic superhero from DC Comics who originally went by the name "Captain Marvel" until there came to be a dispute with a Marvel character by the same name, and who has been rebranded "Shazam." This hero is a boy named Billy Batson, who is granted powers from a wizard (because, of course), so that whenever he says the secret word "Shazam!" he is transformed into a superpowered adult with special attributes.  And in the comics, the attributes go like this: "the wisdom of Solomon, the strength of Hercules, the stamina of Atlas, the power of Zeus, the courage of Achilles, and the speed of Mercury."  And in case you didn't catch it, the initials of each of those mythic figures (Solomon, Hercules, Atlas, Zeus, Achilles, and Mercury) spells out "SHAZAM."  How's that for an origin story?

Anyway, what I want to zoom in on here is the particular kinds of traits that the superhero Shazam has, and where those powers are supposed to come from, and how they compare to the kinds of traits that the apostle Paul invokes over us.  In comic book logic, you get specific powers from a god or a mythic figure who has that power--like Mercury is known for being fast, or Atlas was known for having the strength to carry the world on his shoulders, and so on.  And apparently, the folks at DC Comics think that the particular powers that are worth having are about physical prowess, smarts, and strength.  This is the sort of list of abilities you would have in mind if you see most problems in the world as things you can solve by punching, kicking, or zapping people.  In the minds of the comic book writers, the most impressive abilities that can be bestowed on a person are things like muscle-power and might, and so the particular gods and heroes associated with those kinds of abilities are called upon to lend their attributes.

But the Christian community is blessedly weirder.  As the apostle Paul closes out this letter to the church in Corinth, he also invokes the attributes of the divine--but he doesn't think in terms of brute force or bench-pressing ability.  Paul doesn't believe in Zeus, Mercury, or Atlas, but he does believe that the living God is the source of all power, goodness, and virtue.  And yet, we don't hear Paul saying, "Now may the power of Jesus, the wrath of God, and the fury of the Holy Spirit be with you." He doesn't invoke the "ability to send plagues like God sent on Pharaoh in Egypt" or "the power to smite people with lightning bolts" or even "the command of the heavenly angel armies." Paul doesn't seem interested in getting might, muscle, or firepower from God.  Rather, the gifts he thinks are worth asking for are grace... and love... and communion.  That might not sound like it would make for a riveting superhero adventure, but it is what we most deeply need.

In Paul's mind, Christians don't go around praying for "the strength of Samson," the "armies of David," or even the "riches of King Solomon" because what we really most deeply need isn't money, ammunition, or muscle-power.  What we need is, well, "the grace of the Lord Jesus," as well as "the love of God" and the fellowship or "communion" which comes from the Holy Spirit.  Love, you might say, is our superpower. Love, in all of its richness with the extravagant unconditionality of grace and the mutual care of communion, is what we most deeply need from God, and that love is what carries us through this life.  It is given to us, not by reciting a secret word or a magical incantation, and not by our impressive shows of piety, but as a gift of grace itself which we did not earn.  

But since we have indeed been given these divine attributes--the grace of Jesus, the love of God, and the communion of the Spirit--we will indeed make a difference in the world every bit as dramatic as the adventures of a superhero, and without resorting to CGI effects for explosions.  We make an impact, not by punching supervillains, but by embodying that love which was first given to us. We will leave our mark on history, not by zapping or intimidating people, but by the ways we reflect the character of Jesus.  We will change the world, not through brute force, but by sharing grace.  And these gifts have already been given to us.

All this time, we have been hearing these words week by week and perhaps missing the real power of what was being spoken into our lives.  We don't need to play around with seeking the "strength of Hercules" or the "courage of Achilles," because we have been given already the very character of the living God: grace, love, and communion.  These are the things with which we have been equipped to be witnesses in the world, because they are the very beating heart of God.  

Love, indeed, is our superpower.

O God of all good gifts, give to us what you see that we need, even if that doesn't look like what the world associates with power.  Give us your kind of love, now and always.

The Importance of the Plural--June 4, 2026

 

The Importance of the Plural--June 4, 2026

[Jesus said:] "And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age." (Matthew 28:20)

So... in the end... where is Jesus?

Well, in his own words, the risen Jesus says, "with you." And of course, he adds the vitally important adverb, "always." That is to say, he doesn't just pop in for a minute, make his appearance for the photo op, and then beam up to heaven. But presumably, with Jesus at least, always is always. And that means Jesus has made the promise to all of these disciples to be with them all... always.

Now, before we even get to the billion or so followers of Jesus who span the globe today, let's just start with those eleven up on the mountain. Where is Jesus promising to be? Who is he riding along with? Which one of them is Jesus going to be with first as they head down the mountain... and then where does he go after that?

I bet you can see where this is going: the disciples are headed in different directions from here, right? I mean, sure we know the Pentecost story from Acts that they all hung around in Jerusalem for a while until the Spirit was given to them (although, interestingly, Matthew doesn't tell us that story). But basically, it wasn't going to be long before each of those disciples was headed exactly where Jesus had sent them: "to all nations." Some stayed in Judea, and others went out to Samaria, or further across other boundaries. Tradition says that Thomas eventually headed east to India, and eventually, other traditions put Simon Peter in the heart of the Empire in Rome itself. In other words, even when it was just a relatively small group of eleven, Jesus had just promised to be present in places on opposite sides of the map... at the same time... always.

And yes, that really is the promise Jesus intends to make. It is one of the upshots of the resurrection that Jesus is no longer bound to being in one place at one time. Me, I've got to decide how to divide my time like you do. I can be in Place A or in Place B at once, but not both at the same time. I can give my attention to Situation X or Y, but if I try to give myself to both at the same time, I'll be giving everybody short shrift. I can only be in one place at on time, and I can only spend my time one way, but Jesus can be present here and there, all at the same time. He really means it. He really can be with us, even going to "all nations," at the same time. Always, in fact.  When he says, "I am with you always," the you in question is plural.  It is to "all of you," or as they say in the South, "all y'all."

That is both a source of encouragement, and also a challenge we are going to have to wrestle with. On the one hand, I hope the encouragement is clear. We aren't in this alone. We never have been, and we never will be. We are sent out into whatever corner of the world we are in with the living and risen Christ at all times. And that means, further, that there is no spot in creation that is so disreputable, so messy, so dirty, so broken, or so unexpected that Jesus isn't already there with us. You can't go anywhere that Jesus will be afraid to enter. And that also means we don't get to have the excuse, "But Jesus wouldn't want me to talk to those people..." or "But Jesus doesn't want to be associated with the likes of them..." Jesus, it turns out, made a habit of hanging out with all sorts of people the Respectable Religious Crowd didn't like, and that never stopped him before.

So, we're not in this alone, and we never will be. Whatever is on your agenda today, you go with the living Jesus who makes "always" kind of promises, and who can back up those promises with the actual ability to be with you where you are, with me where I am, and with countless other people in countless other places. That is good news everyday of the week.

But here's the additional challenge we can't escape. If Jesus is with each of those followers, both the eleven from Matthew 28 and the billion or so today, then none of us gets to turn Jesus into our private possession or corporate mascot. I don't get to say that Jesus is only with me, or only with my town, or my county, or my state or country. He's not. He's with all of us... always. He said so. Jesus deliberately made a point of saying he's not just "mine" or "ours" here where I am, however I draw the lines. Jesus insists that he is with Simon Peter in Rome while he's with James in Jerusalem and with the eunuch down in Ethiopia and with Paul in Athens... and he's with you as well as disciples half a world away. He is with "us all"--it's just we don't often consider just how wide the scope of "us" really is.  But the "you" is always plural.

If we take that seriously, that will mean we don't get to assume that Jesus is cheering for my land or my territory or my little world just because it is mine--Jesus is with me, but he isn't only with me. And I don't get to assume that Jesus is only rooting for my immediate interests--even if I pray hard, even if I wish upon a star, even if I really, really want something. Jesus doesn't just root for my home team--it turns out there are people on the other team who are asking for his help, too. Jesus doesn't only want my town to get the new factory, either--it's not that Jesus rewards the towns that pray the hardest with the new job openings, or that Jesus only cares about the place where I live. From the beginning, Jesus has insisted that he is with me, sure, and yet also that he is with all of his people, scattered all over God's green earth, into, as Jesus himself puts it, "all nations."

And that means then end of trying to baptize the tired old "Me and My Group First!" thinking we often try to wrap up with Jesus. It is awfully tempting to say, "My side/my group/my team/my country should be put first, because we have Jesus on our side!" as though Jesus had not also promised to be with those on other sides/groups/teams/countries, too. It is diabolically easy to try and prop up "My Group First!" by assuming Jesus is our exclusive possession--as though the risen Jesus is here with me, but NOT with you over there.

That's just the thing: we keep drawing new dividing lines and assuming Jesus is exclusively within "my" side of them. (And of course, we assume Jesus would never step a toe over the line, right?) You hear it as "My country first..." because we assume, I guess, that Jesus isn't as fully "with" people from some other nation. Or when that seems too wide, we make it my state first, my county first, my town first, my skin color first, my immediate family first, and on and on, unless it's just me on an iceberg alone, convinced that Jesus is mine and mine alone.

But that was never the promise. When Jesus promises, "I will be with you always," it is spoken not just to me, or just to the folks around me, or just to the people who look like me, or just the people in the same tax bracket or demographic group. Jesus is with me, while at the same time, Jesus insists on being with "us all" even in to "all nations." That was always the promise, and that was always how Jesus envisioned it.

So today, go into the world, wherever Jesus has placed you, knowing that his promise still holds and Christ himself is indeed still with you. But at the same time, we go knowing that Jesus is not any of our exclusive possession, and that he insists on being with us all at the same time... always. For Jesus and the people who follow him, there is no more "Me and My Group First"--there is only the promise spoken in the plural, "I will be with you--all of you--always, to the ends of the earth."

Lord Jesus, be with us, and let us see today just how wide that "us" really is.