Views from the Valley

Pastor Mary Jo's Sermons from Charlotte Valley Presbyterian Church

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About

Pastor Mary Jo Koehler serves the Charlotte Valley Presbyterian Church in Davenport, New York. She has served parishes in Kentucky, New York, Iowa (she originates from Iowa), and Wyoming. The church is a small, loving congregation nestled in a valley of the foothills of the Catskill mountains. Sunday worship services are held at 10:00 a.m. Coffee hour follows worship on the second Sunday of the month.

  • Abandonment Is Not an Option

    Sunday, May 10, 2026 — MOTHER’S DAY

    John 14:15-21

            “If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him because he abides with you, and he will be in you.

            “I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me, and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.”

    The Sermon

            In God’s world, abandonment is not an option.

           Yet unbeknownst to his disciples, Jesus will soon be leaving. He has spent the last many months, of his life, living and walking, talking, eating, drinking, traveling, ministering, caring, comforting, counseling, healing, teaching, and helping this crew of men and women who have followed him with such earnestness and care.

           But he knows that he will not be with them much longer. And so he prepares them for what is to come.

           So much of what Jesus says about his life with his disciples and his life on this earth is like words spoken about relationships, especially family. We know these days that such relationships can be defined in myriad ways, what with families comprised of single parents, parents of the same gender, grandparents serving in a parental role for their grandchildren, children serving as parents to their own parents. We know there are children and adults who are uncertain even about the gender they’ve been referred to from birth, and have serious questions about that. What does this all mean in the great scheme of life and family these days?

           And we know, too, that today is Mother’s Day. In my own lifetime, I’ve seen the evolving role of the mother in our world, and that evolution hasn’t stopped. There is far more to the role of being a mother than just giving birth to a child in respect to genetics. Some people can be more mother-like to a child than the child’s own mother. Some mothers may seek to relinquish control over their children out of their desire to be a good mother. We still tend to respect, and rightly should, the role of the mother in our world, whether she give birth to children, or whether that person lives and operates in such a role of nurture, of grace, of comfort, and of care. Being a mother means a lot of things, and in our day and age, it benefits us to open our hearts and minds and release our judgments about what it really means to be a good mother. The same is true for fathers, children, any kind of relative, any kind of relationship. When we release expectations, we find grace and mercy.

           And most of all, we find that thing Jesus speaks about five times in our gospel lesson for today: love. Love, in relationship to him. Love, in relationship to his disciples. Love, in relationship to God, whom Jesus calls his “Father.” Love in relationship to others. Love, which, when lived and expressed from the depths of respect, wisdom, and understanding, leads to obedience to commandments. Jesus speaks of his commandments. They are not given willy-nilly for the sake of control a la “Do what I tell you, or else.” Jesus, in other parts of the gospel, speaks of loving God and loving others as oneself as the fulfillment of the law. The law is about love, comes from love, and ends in love. The commandments are obeyed because of love, because in so doing, it is the most loving thing a person can do.

           Admittedly, this isn’t always easy.

           But as Jesus anticipates his absence from the world, he also anticipates a way in which he still remains present with all those he loves.

           He is like a loving mother who makes plans for when she is away, providing someone to care for her children, trusting that care will be as loving as her very own care. He does not leave his disciples orphaned, and because of it, he is now with us. That’s why we, too, are his disciples.

           How does he do this? The disciples don’t yet understand, but they soon will. He promises to send the divine paraclete – the Advocate, also translated as the Counselor, the Helper, the Comforter. The Holy Spirit is the name we call the Divine paraclete. We don’t talk about the Spirit often, but we will today, and we will again. We might go so far as to say, if we use our imaginations, that the Holy Spirit can be seen as the “Mother” aspect of our Triune God, if we are going to see “the Father” of whom Jesus spoke so often as the masculine aspect. Why not expand one’s view of the magnificent, all-encompassing nature of our Creator, who made all of us, women and men and beings alike, in God’s image? I see no reason not to.

           And like many of our best mothers and mother-like figures in our lives (which can and do include men), the nature of the Spirit is one of counselor, offering advice, wisdom, and a listening ear. The Spirit also acts as advocate. One of my commentary writers offers Michael Connelly’s Lincoln Lawyer Mickey Haller as an example of an advocate: one who works on behalf of someone else who has been accused of wrongdoing. Moms can make the best advocates when we need them, and sometimes they can even do it when we’re guilty – not by helping us to get off scot-free, but by loving us through the turmoil and consequences of our mistakes. The Spirit is our helper. Thinking back on the idea of adherence to commandments, we certainly can use some help, for there are times when the very last thing on earth we want to do is “love our neighbor.” We covet, wanting more than we really need, at someone else’s expense. We wish ill upon people we don’t like. You know what that’s like, and so do I. We need a helper to inspire us to act out of justice and love. And we need a comforter, not only as children but as grown adults with problems in life, with things to rage and cry and moan about. Moms can be good at this. The Holy Spirit – the paraclete is also known as the comforter.

           How we need this.

           And how family-like this is! We don’t have to have a typical family in the classical sense, to reach toward God, outward, upward, AND inward into our hearts, to find the Divine family of love: Father, Child, Mother; Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer. Father, Son, Holy Spirit.

           This was Jesus’ promise. Jesus was not on his own as he worked, lived, and traveled on this earth. He did the things his Father told him to do. As we learned last Sunday, if we want to know what God is doing; what God is like, look no further than at Jesus. He’s right before our very eyes, and words about his life were written so that we would know him. There’s a lot to be known – even beyond the gospels we read so frequently.

           But there’s something more. Jesus knew that he would be leaving, and yet he promised to always be present. And thus, as he said, he would send another “advocate” to be with them forever. Jesus would be gone, but the Holy Spirit, the paraclete, the Advocate, the Comforter, the Counselor, the Helper, would come to be with us. And that is precisely what happened. It is through the Holy Spirit that we know and understand this story about Jesus. Where is this Spirit? In us.

           Last week in Small Talk I mentioned how to know God is to look at and see and understand Jesus. One parishioner suggested I remind the children that Jesus is in our hearts. Yes, indeed: Jesus is in our hearts. Jesus sent the Advocate to be the presence of God, the presence of the Father, the Presence of Jesus, in our hearts. We invite Jesus to make himself known to us in our hearts through the Holy Spirit. We can see the Holy Spirit as a loving Father, as our savior Jesus who gave his life for us, and as a loving Mother/counselor/comforter, who will never, ever abandon us. Remember, in God, abandonment is not an option. Ever. “What’s abandonment?” God says. No such thing.

           The Spirit of Christ, of God, of Jesus, in our hearts. Moving in us like the very best mothers and fathers and teachers, court advocates for our defense, therapists, advisors, shepherds, idea-givers, creativity-inspirers, tear-dryers. Shopping assistants. Tutors. Cooks, bakers, candlestick makers. Carpenters, electricians. Math whizzes and calculators. You name it, God, in the Holy Spirit, is IN US, helps us to understand, to live, and to fulfill the law because of LOVE.

           It all starts and it all ends with love.

           We Presbyterians don’t talk a lot about the Holy Spirit, the paraclete, the Advocate. The Spirit is rather implied. For when we know one: God, Jesus, the Spirit, we know all. But could it be possible that we might not know a thing about Jesus and his life, death and resurrection, were it not for the Holy Spirit? The promise that Jesus would send us the Helper? We might wonder. It takes a lot for a story about a man living in the middle east who died on a cross and had a small band of followers to expand, explode, and become one of the world’s major figures of faith! To this we credit the Holy Spirit who did just as was promised: filled the disciples and Christians from that day and beyond with an understanding and power that went beyond the repeated telling of a story. This Holy Spirit gave Jesus the power to do what he did on earth. To love people, heal them, teach them, and feed them. To teach about justice and love of one’s neighbor. To bind up the brokenhearted. To include the outcast and break boundaries. To bring light into lives that were very dark indeed.

           So it should be no surprise to us that we know this story. We actually take this for granted, don’t we? But then, let’s think for a moment about our prayers and our worship – our singing, our fellowship, our laughter, our coffee, our service, our camaraderie, our generosity, our concern and love for our community. This all happens because God dwells in us. Our ability to fulfill our mission, God’s calling among us, is because the Holy Spirit is in us. Whatever God does, whatever Jesus does, is what the Holy Spirit does. You, my friends, are currently empowered by the Holy Spirit, and don’t you forget it! Imagine it! Live in it. Dwell in it. Remember it. Allow that power, that wisdom, that counsel, that comfort, that help, that advocacy, to guide you every day, just as you have been up to this point.

           On this Mother’s Day, thank God for God’s mothering, loving, strong, unwilling-to-ever-abandon-you Holy Spirit. Let the Spirit’s power fall upon us and fill us once again, and in a very new and powerful way, today. May God remind us of all that we are capable of doing by that power that is in each one of us and in one another, and in the power of that unity, may we change the world! Amen.  

  • Right Before Our Very Eyes

    Sunday, May 3, 2026

    John 14:1-14

             “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.” Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.”

            Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own, but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me, but if you do not, then believe because of the works themselves. Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.”

    The Sermon

    Sometimes life hits you with surprises. Unexpected stuff. Songs are written about experiences like this. There’s a song by the rock group Chicago called “Baby, What a Big Surprise”, in which the lyrics speak about a man meeting a woman and thinking that she was faking it, until he realized that she really did love him, “right before my very eyes.”

            Other song titles like this are, “Right in Front of Me” and “Standing Right in Front of You.” The implications are that sometimes we are blind to things as we roll along in life, and all of a sudden something monumental happens, and there it is, standing right in front of us. In some cases, it might have just appeared; in other cases, it might have been there for a long time, or maybe all the way along, but we have just now noticed it.

            And as I think about it right now, I believe my Christian faith has been like that. Let me share with you a bit of my own personal story. I grew up going to church. Every Sunday, without fail, if the family was traveling, we’d find a church to attend somewhere else. When our church took two Sundays off for vacation, probably for the pastor, my family didn’t get a vacation from church. We went elsewhere then, too. Fern Cliff Evangelical Free Church. The Reformed Presbyterian Church. Those are the ones I remember. I’m sure there were others.

            So if anyone should ever think I lacked in religious education before graduating from high school, they would be sorely mistaken. The idea of not attending church was a very odd thing, and apparently for my dad in particular, it was simply not an option. I’m sure that sick members of my family didn’t go to church, but I expect that was pretty much the only excuse.

            And so, I learned Bible lessons and listened (as best I could) to sermons and went to a Pioneers class, church camp, and youth group, with plenty of exposure to the Bible and the stories of Jesus.

            And yet it seemed that there came a day when, “right before my very eyes,” I had a new understanding of what the story of Jesus meant, and changed the way I saw life. Even to this day, it still manages to change and evolve over time. I have become less dogmatic and insistent about the message that I believed in early on. I’ve softened in many ways and also gathered up more conviction in others. I believe that’s the way it should be. All that growth and change and questioning has included a great deal of angst as well as joy. Needless to say, after all those years of hearing the same story again and again, it seemed to come, and still comes, to life for me in a new way, “right before my very eyes.”

            I suppose that’s the way it was for Jesus’ disciples and his followers. Just when they thought they understood something, Jesus said something new, performed a miracle, did something utterly confounding and confusing, and lo and behold, “right before their very eyes,” something new arose. A new facet of Jesus. A new truth about the faith the people had been living. A new way of looking at some very ancient scripture. A new interpretation of some very old prophecy. A new revelation about some very familiar and ancient history.

            Imagine what it was like to have Jesus, “right before their very eyes” do the things he did, say the things he said, and watch him make his way to the cross, die, and be resurrected. Now, that’d be something to see.

            But I’m getting ahead of things when I speak of Jesus’ death and resurrection. As we enter our Scripture text from the gospel of John we find Jesus beginning a lengthy discourse that starts just following the departure of Judas from the table at the last supper, having committed to his scheme of betrayal. Also just prior to this, Jesus predicts to Simon Peter that he will soon deny Jesus three times before the rooster crows.

            At this point, the disciples have no clue what is about to happen. But then, that is probably somewhat normal for them, with all of the amazing things Jesus has done and said, and all the things that have happened around them. To them, it’s as “business as usual” as business could ever be with life around their Teacher. But their Teacher knows what’s coming down the pike, and so he proceeds to teach and advise, again. And in the beginning of this text, he begins with words designed to comfort. “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.”

            Why would our hearts be troubled, the disciples might wonder. “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.”

            Well, of course it’s no surprise that Thomas declares aloud, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going! How can we know the way?”

            In my mind, I think of him at this point saying, “Lord, what are you talking about? You’re right here! You aren’t going anywhere, and if you’re going somewhere, you’re going to have to tell us how to get there.”

            Oh, the joy of experiencing the so-called “cryptic” Jesus, speaking of things so difficult for the mind to grasp in their current reality as they sit in a room just having shared some bread and wine and having had their feet washed – one of the more incredible, loving expressions of Jesus’ love for them. And now he’s talking about going somewhere? Please, no. This is all too good. It can’t get any better. And now what?

            And to Thomas’s question comes Jesus’s reply: “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”

            He does not say, “Walk up here to the corner of Olive and Sycamore, turn left, then head toward Water Well Road.” Of course, what did they expect? Once again, Jesus turns something everyday into a lesson.

            Philip tries a new tack. “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Please. Give us a sign. Something we can see with our very eyes. I mean, we just haven’t had enough instruction, enough miracles. You’ve pulled a new rabbit out of your hat, so let us see it.

            And there it is, the sweet, deep breath of a Jesus sigh. “Oh Philip, oh my friends, have I been with you all this time, and you still do not know me?”

            Of course we know you, Jesus…right? Yes? We should, anyway….

            “How can you say, ‘show me the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me?” Jesus asks.

            The who what? That One to whom Jesus prays often, as if he were a  beloved, intimate, trusting child? That One from whom the disciples feel a bit alienated, distant, a genealogical father of ancestral origin, the One who created Adam and Eve and the progeny who followed, out of whom came Abraham and the twelve tribes of Israel, David, the covenants, the prophetic promises. Jesus’ prayers, though, to this Father seem more intimate and personal than conversations with a great creator of generations.

            The Father, this Father, is in Jesus, he claims, saying, “The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own, but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me, but if you do not, then believe because of the works themselves.”

            Who among them had ever known anyone who claimed to be so intimately connected to the Father, the Creator, the origin of the cosmos? And in such a seemingly easy, natural way? Sitting right there in front of them, having broken bread, poured wine, and wiped their smelly feet? How could this be? Unfathomable.

            But as if to add the proverbial insult to injury, though in truth, it would not be insult or injury at all, Jesus says, “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.”

            There might have been silence here. We don’t really know. But imagine what the disciples might be thinking. Mouths agape, heads tilted, heads scratched. Jesus, the way, the truth, the life, going to the Father, then somehow enabling this motley crew of people to do the things Jesus has done and ask for whatever they wanted in his name?

            There he was, right before their very eyes, saying these things. There the words were, the promises, the comfort, the assurance, the plans. All such a mystery. But there they were, drinking in his words, because what else could they do? Why all this talk of going somewhere? He is right here, right now!

            But I suppose a knot of dread was forming in their stomachs already at the strange departure of Judas, who we might wonder had already begun to behave in mysteriously treacherous ways, and with Jesus’ prediction of Peter’s future denials within the following hours.

            The reality is, my friends, that the disciples who were seated there at that moment, so doting, so earnest, and so curious, had not yet really seen what was before their very eyes, yet.

            We are reading and listening to the gospel writer’s account of what transpired that night, written decades after it happened, yet as if he were sitting right there, next to Jesus, who was pouring his heart into the very heart of the listeners. Listeners and readers, by the way, including us. Because if it weren’t for those storytellers, witnesses and writers, we would not have these words today.

            And what they didn’t realize at the moment, but did later, as we discover now that the gospels have been written, preserved, translated, paraphrased and interpreted to us, is that the Father, the Creator, was sitting right there among them. Right before their very eyes. In Jesus. In Jesus’ words, in his miracles, his every teaching, his foot-washing, his wine-sharing, his healings, his loving, and the power of his touch. God, the Father, Mother Creator, Originator, and Lover of All Humankind and everything created, was there. Right before their very eyes.

            But it’s this last part that we tend to look at as a sort of add-on. A further mystery – because in some ways, yes, it still seems to be a mystery: the part where Jesus claims that “you” – meaning in that context, the disciples, but in this context also, YOU and ME – everyone here, “will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.”

            OK, so we might think, “What a privilege it was to be a disciple! They got to sit before Jesus, see him face-to-face, observe his works, hear his words, and experience him in full, living color.” And if the Father was in Jesus, then they were looking, perhaps unbeknownst to themselves, AT the Father they so desperately wanted to see to be satisfied.

            But the thing is, through this scripture and the stories we read and the prayers we pray, the creeds we profess and the work that we do in this church, we, too, are doing what the disciples were told to do: “Believe in God, believe also in me.” “I will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.” Where is the way? Jesus said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” Right there in living color, right before our very eyes. Our belief in Jesus is our way to “see the Father,” in whatever way you might want to label our wonderful, adoring Creator God. Our Mother,  our Teacher, Helper, Sustainer, Uplifter, Hope-Giver, Healer, Absolute Lover God. If you want to know who God is, look at Jesus. Study Jesus. Speak to Jesus. Be his disciple. Sit at his feet. He wants you to know him, and to know God.

            And then remember this: that right before the disciples’ very eyes, Jesus told them that they would do the wonderful things he did, and greater ones, indeed. That they could ask for things in Jesus’ name, and he would do them. This is a bit of a mystery, we know. It’s not a magic formula, because we pray often for things and say, “In Jesus’ name, amen,” and perhaps those prayers don’t seem to be magically answered the way we wanted them to. That is something to explore and ponder. It doesn’t stop me from asking for things in Jesus’ name. It encourages me to ask in that way, because it gives me the reassurance that he knows, ultimately, what is the most beautiful and best way to answer. And in asking, I trust that God will show me the beautiful way to pray in Jesus’ name, and the beautiful way to accept an answer that I may not yet understand.

            The disciples certainly didn’t understand all that yet. They would, in time, and those lessons came to us. Aren’t you glad?

            So consider this one final thing: that “right before our very eyes,” through the power of the Holy Spirit that God sent to the earth once Jesus ascended to heaven and was no longer physically present on this earth, we have Jesus IN US. God, the Father, Creator, Mother, Lover, Nourisher, IN US. We see, we believe, we pray. And thus we have, and know. Right before our very eyes.

            And furthermore, as we look at EACH OTHER in this place, serving one another and the world in our lives, praying for each other in Jesus’ name, reaching out and caring, thinking, working our tasks for this church and in this world, we see, right before our very eyes, God, through our faith in Jesus, present in this world, working in us and through us and all around us. It’s here. Right here. Right now. At the pulpit, in the communion bread and juice, in the servers, in the people with whom you share the bread. In the songs, in the prayers, in the hugs and bells and candle-lighting. In our light, through Jesus, that we take out into the world, praying God will be present and made more and more visible, the more we live and love and pray in Jesus’ name.         It’s right here. God is here. Right before our very eyes. Let us rejoice, and live fully and joyfully in Jesus, and in him, know and love God and be God’s light

  • The Mark of a True Shepherd – April 26, 2026

    Psalm 23

            The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

                    He makes me lie down in green pastures;

            he leads me beside still waters;

                    he restores my soul.

            He leads me in right paths

                    for his name’s sake.

            Even though I walk through the darkest valley,

                    I fear no evil,

            for you are with me;

                    your rod and your staff,

                    they comfort me.

    You prepare a table before me

    in the presence of my enemies;

    you anoint my head with oil;

                    my cup overflows.

            Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me

                    all the days of my life,

            and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord

                    my whole life long.

    John 10:1-10

            “Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.” Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.

            So again Jesus said, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits, but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.”

    In some places, today is called “Christ the Good Shepherd Sunday.” What a comforting image, that of shepherd: one that is so desperately needed in a world full of people who find satisfaction in leading and some who find security in following, with all of us finding security in a bit of both.

            But shepherding has a special connotation. We hear of herding. This is different from shepherding. Not many of us, in the church or elsewhere, like to be herded, unless absolutely necessary. We don’t like being driven from behind and beside by someone or something; forced to go where we don’t want to go against our will. We welcome the more wholistic action of shepherding, in which our guidance and care comes from being led from the front, from being invited, encouraged, even enticed.

            And there’s a difference between the one who herds a flock and one who shepherds it. The one who herds uses pressure from behind, almost behaving in relationship to the flock as prey: you move, or something bad will happen to you. The shepherd, however, establishes a relationship of trust that helps attract followers as they learn that their leader is concerned about their welfare; how they are fed, watered, and the safety and comfort in which they live.

            The one doing the plain herding just wants the flock to get there, come what may. My best experience with this sort of thing happened when I was a child and it came time to ring hogs. Just in case you don’t know what ringing hogs is, I’ll explain. Here’s what Google AI says about rooting hogs. “Hogs root up the ground primarily to search for food, using their strong snouts to dig for grubs, worms, roots, tubers, and acorns. This natural foraging behavior also serves to create cooling mud wallows in hot weather, explore their environment, and satisfy their instinctual curiosity, often digging 2 to 8 inches deep.”

            Farmers hate it when pasture hogs do a lot of rooting, because they’d rather the hogs just graze the grass like sheep do. Rooting hogs ruin the land. Worst of all, they very happily dig their way underneath fencelines using their rooting behavior and get out into places they’re not supposed to go! Thus, the necessity of ringing hogs. This involves the vertical insertion of a wire ring into the top of the snout. It sounds painful, and it is. The discomfort keeps hogs from rooting in the mud with their snouts. But to get rings into their noses requires chasing the hogs into a pen and fenced-in area that funnels them into a box. Corn entices them at the far end of the box, but before the hog gets to the food, a door is closed against their snouts, and the farmer quickly uses a plier-like device to quickly insert the ring on the top of the pig’s nose. There’s a lot of squealing and squalling and thrashing in that box until the ring is finally set in the nose, the door is open, and the pig runs out with a loud snort of relief. For each hog, it’s a quick process, but for the farmer and cohorts like me, it involves chasing and whooping and hollering and running across ruts and mounds to chase the animals in the direction you want them to go. Trails of corn help. But there are always, always, always those most stubborn critters who manage to evade the process. Many choice words are said before they finally get their snouts slammed into the chute. Not a hard a slam, mind you – but firm enough, and you have to watch out that the chute door is adjusted so as to not let the hog run right on through. They’re pretty wily creatures, those hogs are. The older they get, the more rings there are in the nose, as the snouts eventually grow over the edges of the old rings, and some do fall out.

            But then there is the shepherd. A shepherd doesn’t need to ring the noses of the lambs, though we know that sheep are shorn from time to time. A different procedure. Maybe a little tense and confining, but possibly even pleasant at the relief from the burden of all that wool on the skin. There’s one thing I especially like about the shepherd, that guide, that good leader. It’s based on what Jesus said in the text about the gatekeeper – which seems to me to be, in some ways, a combination of the shepherd himself and the one who watches the gate. He says, “The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.”

            This sermon is titled, “The Mark of a Good Shepherd.” This suggests, then, than there can be bad shepherds, which would make a person wonder if they could be called shepherds at all. Call them herders, wranglers, drovers, cowpunchers, or buckaroos, but maybe don’t call them shepherds. (Not that wranglers and others are all bad.)

            In Greco-Roman literature, writers such as Homer, Plato, and Aristotle depict political rulers as shepherds. The entire book of Ezekiel is an entire essay devoted to God’s commentary about “the shepherds of Israel,” and how their actions as God’s appointed leaders were NOT pleasing to God at all. Here’s what Ezekiel claims God’s words were in regard to those so-called shepherds of Israel: “Woe to you shepherds of Israel who only take care of yourselves! Should not shepherds take care of the flock? You eat the curds, clothe yourselves with the wool and slaughter the choice animals, but you do not take care of the flock. You have not strengthened the weak or healed the sick or bound up the injured. You have not brought back the strays or searched for the lost. You have ruled them harshly and brutally. So they were scattered because there was no shepherd, and when they were scattered they became food for all the wild animals. My sheep wandered over all the mountains and on every high hill. They were scattered over the whole earth, and no one searched or looked for them.”

            Can you honestly say in respect to the many rulers and leaders you’ve known of throughout history, that if you thought of a label for political or religious leaders, would you have ever considered using the term, “shepherd?”

            Probably not in the way the word “shepherd” applies to the actual people who tend sheep in the hills and valleys of their lands. And especially not in the way we are encouraged and taught to think of Jesus, or own Good Shepherd.

            When I reflect on the familiarity of Jesus’ voice as one who guides us in our faith and life, I think of this kind of scenario: I’m in a large room, crowded with people, some I know and many I don’t know. It’s a strange place, and I’m ill at ease. I’m nervous, feeling alone among strangers, who seem so busy chatting with the people they know. I stand with my arms wrapped around myself, eyes darting to and fro, trying to decide whether to find a quiet bench at the edge of the crowd, or maybe even a breath of fresh air outdoors. And then I hear it: the voice of my mom, calling my name. Oh, the relief! You can’t miss that voice anywhere! Mom is here! I’m not alone. And there she stands, off in a short distance, a smile on her face, a warm greeting of welcome as she walks my way.

            It’s like tiny babies whose faces turn at the sound of their mother’s voice, and maybe even smile.

            It’s a sensation of warmth inside. Of relief. Of relaxation. Of safety. Of confidence.

            And that, I pray, is your feeling, and your experience, as well as my feeling and my experience, as we live our lives as Christians in this world, when we think of Jesus as our Good Shepherd. That warm voice of love, who is calling our name, and when we hear it our hearts swell with the peace, joy and comfort of the knowledge of his utter love. His deep desire to guide us into right paths, into places in which our needs are met, our ills are healed, or insecurities soothed, our questions heard, our insecurities are held in safe hands, even if we don’t have all the answers.

            Jesus, our shepherd, our gatekeeper, who welcomes us in and allows us to go out, always watching, willing and trusting in our safety. He does not wrangle or coerce us to move, running behind us, nipping at us with bared teeth though we might need it! There is always utter love there. Firm love. Love that admires us, takes pride in us, and feels our sorrows and struggles as we negotiate this great pasture we call life.

            But we have heard of the sheep who managed to find their way into the fold who are indeed thieves and bandits. How do they get here? Who might they be?

            We can speculate, and we get some clues from the Ezekiel passage. So-called shepherds, who purport to have the authority of God on their side as they seek to lead, though one might imagine them in the dog-tooth herding mode. Deceitful shepherds, perhaps wolves in sheep’s clothing, whose intent it is to fool the sheep, but instead plunder and eat the sheep’s food; clothe themselves in wool, benefit from the fruit of the sheep’s labor; guiding the sheep into lost crevices, onto rocky hills, and into deep, tangled, thorny underbrush. Not a care about the actual welfare of the sheep, just a care about their own benefit, their own wealth, their own power, their own advantage. Not a care for the sick or the weak or for those at a disadvantage, but only for those with the kind of strength that can empower the shepherd’s own selfish wants.

            Where, in our world, do we see this sort of so-called shepherding going on? In my opinion, we don’t have to look far. We see those who claim to know our own Good Shepherd, Jesus, using his kind and strong name to entice the lambs. Like the kernels of corn on the path toward the hog-ringing pen, bringing them along with dribs and drabs of Bible verses and utterances of the name of the Lord, using fake Bible verses and real ones to justify ill treatment and exclusion of others, using the Word of God to justify wars that may not have holy purposes whatsoever. Wars that, inside and behind them, are fought only for power, for wealth, for prestige, for pride, for protection, for deceit. Not for the welfare of the lambs who live in their lands, who depend on the shepherd for kind and virtuous guidance. Not voices that, when heard, speak words of comfort and familiarity and true, utter love for the welfare of even the tiniest, most helpless lamb.

            These are not the mark of a good shepherd.

            But inside our hearts and minds, as we pray daily and live our lives, and reach out in our souls for the love of God, we have access to the voice of Jesus, our good and loving Shepherd. When we hear his voice, we hear love. We hear comfort. We hear a beckoning, and it is a voice that leads us to want to be near him, like a magnet, or a warm, soothing breeze. A voice that doesn’t speak of riches and power and control and retaliation. A voice that holds no grudges against others and seeks no retribution. A voice that opens his arms to the lowliest and neediest, as well as the mighty, and regards each one of them, and us, as utterly precious and equal in value, regardless of physical qualities, inclinations, heritage, oddities, quirks, weaknesses. A welcome, warm voice of love. Not a haughty snobbish ruler who lives in high social clubs surrounded by all the wealth a person could ever imagine. Where is the warmth, the comfort, and the love in places like that?

            And so even if there are some who have come in by another entrance, and claim to be a part of Jesus’ flock, but live in selfishness and deceptive kindness, only to bring the most innocent of the flock to ruin, all for the sake of their own enrichment, they will be seen, and recognized, and have their time of reckoning before God. For are they truly happy? Do they truly know the peace and comfort that comes from hearing the real voice of the Good Shepherd who brings the peace that passes all understanding and leads into sweet, green pastures, by still waters?

            This is their lack, and their loss. For us, it is our peace, our wealth, our gain. Knowing our shepherd will never abandon us, ever, with his rod and his staff, and his comfort. The One whose voice we know, is so familiar, and is only a sweet, warm, comforting heartbeat away. That is Jesus. He bears the mark of a good shepherd, and he is our good shepherd, so full of love. What a blessing it is to follow him! May we pray that the love we know, as his sheep, be such a love that leads others to likewise want to follow.

            And may God grant us the wisdom and discernment to see the bad shepherds, the deceptive sheep, the ones who claim to have our best interests at heart, but as we look at their fruit and we listen for comfort in their words, we find emptiness, doubt, and loss.

            May we, the followers of this Good Shepherd, Jesus, live our lives in such a way that we advocate and care for one another, for the lowest and poorest among us on this earth, those who are hurting and in need, those who are friendless, strange, foreigners, lost, and alone. Jesus is our eternal shepherd, indeed, and for this we are comforted. Let us be empowered by him to be a part of this flock on this earth, now, as friends and neighbors of all. Let us be comforted, invited, and delighted to be a part of his fold this day, so that for this we may say a grateful “Thanks be to God.” Amen.

  • Where Do We Recognize Him? April 19, 2026

    Scripture Text: Luke 24:13-35

    Luke 24:13-35

            Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see him.” Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.

            As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. They their eyes were opened, and they recognized him, and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem, and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what happened on the road and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

    We friends of Jesus are walking along the road. It’s hot, dusty, and the sun is beating down on us. It’s a long walk, but we’ve made the trek before. It’s only a half-day or so, this trip from Jerusalem back to Emmaus, and our hearts are heavy and full of confusion. Our precious, treasured friend has died. We hung our hats and our hopes on him and all that we believed he would accomplish in this world.

            After all, it is a world full of conflict and struggle, one thing after another. Just when we think we’ve reached some sense of equilibrium, something new hits. It’s true for everyone we know and love. For some, the struggles seems so trivial. So they lost a lamb. So their favorite sandals have worn through. So the sun is too hot, the wind is too cold, a piece of furniture won’t budge when they try to move it. And yet, there are hopes.

            And it is a world “out there” in which restlessness abounds. There are those who rule over us for the benefit of themselves and their class. They know nothing of poverty and hunger, of daily need. Perhaps their complaint might involve too few grapes on the platter, or overcooked meat.

            And there are those dreams in us of hope, of desire, for a life lived in freedom to worship and affirm God, to be freely able to recognize the people and the concepts and the words and the music and the feelings of spirit, that bring a depth into life that can only be had through prayer. Faith in something greater than money and power and prestige and having all the knowledge and best words in the world.

            And here came this man Jesus, a simple person, really. He had such words of wisdom, such an aura of understanding. He made us think in ways we’d never thought before. We saw things happen around him that we never dreamed could happen. He spoke of a different kind of world in which love could be shared with more people than could ever be imagined. A world in which we, as a people of God, could be free to be that people, unhindered, unchallenged, and to live in radical new ways.

            It felt so good, so right. He was right there. RIGHT THERE! Right in front of our very eyes. We touched the things he touched, tasted the same bread, drank the same wine, breathed the same air. We never, ever dreamed that time would end.

            We had hoped, and we had hoped, and we had hoped.

            We who have lived in the generations following the trip on the Emmaus road are no different than the two men who hiked along with Jesus. We are people who want the world to change. We want to live in freedom to be who we want to be. We, too want those in rulership to set statutes and guidance and laws and precepts that actually benefit us; that actually have us in mind, as though a ruler, a legislator, a guide, sat down and said to us, “My friend, what is it that you would like to have as you dwell on this earth, in this territory, in this land, on this little swatch of property you have acquired?” And they would listen. And they would be wise. They would know what was best, and if they had new ideas, better ideas, they would speak with compassion and understanding and a true desire for their mind to meet our minds, and our minds to meet theirs. Decisions would be made, compromises often, but always with a sense of integrity, goodwill and a genuine concern for the benefit of all.

            Oh, if our two path-walkers could look into the future, they would see that we who followed them felt the same way, and if there were those who didn’t seem to see it, they were blind to the awareness that such a life was ultimately what they wanted. That blindness led them into a wilderness in which possessions and power became substitutes for the true peace within that comes from trusting God and the wisdom of greater things, of spirit, of realms of love and power and community that are lasting and unchanging.

            For all of us through history, they would have had compassion. They would understand the hopes that were raised and dashed, raised and dashed, throughout all time. They, too, would have and seen and felt and likewise expressed their disappointment at the times when events didn’t go the way they wanted them to. “We had hoped”.

            We who have lived, and still lived, in those same kinds of times, have raised up leaders. We’ve searched, we’ve nominated, we’ve campaigned, we’ve chosen, we’ve appointed, we’ve assigned. We’ve been curious. We’ve listened, discerned, sorted, analyzed, and felt. Trusted our guts. Checked our lists. We’ve moved, we’ve voted, and we’ve hired. And we’ve hoped.

            And yet, we still wait.

            Cleopas and his companion, there on the road, in their disappointment, walked along, debating and arguing. Why were they leaving Jerusalem, headed for Emmaus, after having heard that Jesus, the one who’d offered to them such hope, and then had been crucified on a cross, had been seen alive again? This discussion had to have been lively. Perhaps there was an argument. Perhaps one affirming, the other denying, then the denier affirming, and the affirmer denying. Going back to Emmaus because, well, what else was there to do?

            And here came a man along the road who wondered what they were talking about. He had to be kidding. He didn’t know what had happened? Surely anyone who had eyes and ears and any sense in their heads knew what was going on!

            “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.”

            I wonder how often travelers along the roads in those days actually stopped to converse. I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened often, because imagine the quiet, lonely walk all those miles. For heaven’s sake, why not have a good conversation with a passer-by? What else was there to do?

            But oh, then this “stranger” opened up to them and told them more information than they dreamed they could ever know about this Jesus, his life, the Scriptures and the words of the prophets that they’d been taught and absorbed throughout their faithful lives. How he put those things together, like a puzzle, this stranger! How did he know all these things, this stranger? How could someone they didn’t know have so much information about the man they’d spent months with? How amazing, this stranger! They drank in the words, gulp by gulp. Time passed. Hadn’t they just left Jerusalem? Now here were the landmarks indicating that Emmaus was only but a mile down the road!

            There was no way they were going to allow this man to move on without him supping with them. Surely he was hungry. There was so much more to know, and there was a familiar feeling they had with him, one of desire, and fascination, satisfaction and yet a desire to learn more. So having supper was the next, most natural step. Close in their minds were recent memories of many suppers, many moments of learning and prayer with their friends and their teacher. So it would only be natural for them to eat with this quite surprising new guest.

            As suppers go, they brought out the usual fare, including the bread, a natural part of a meal to share with friends. But instead of Cleopas and his companion, as hosts, taking that bread and offering it to their guest, the guest took it, and he blessed it, and he broke it, and he gave it to them. A familiar action. One that had been done time and time again in recent months: with one final time occurring during a meal which led to deep and painful disappointment and tragedy.

            Perhaps it was that familiarity of routine that opened the eyes of Cleopas and his companion. That sudden placement of the necessary piece of the puzzle. The scales being pulled away from the eyes. The vision clearing. The aha moment hitting. This man, who was seated at their table, giving them bread, was the risen Jesus! The man they’d just been talking and debating and agonizing about! How did they not see it before? How could they have been so blind? And now he was gone.

            But they did not ruminate for long. They recognized that something unusual had happened, and it wasn’t the fault of their ignorance or unwillingness to see or know Jesus. Somehow, that inability to recognize him had happened for a purpose: for them to realize the miraculous nature of the existence of this man who had allegedly died. They had experienced a miracle, too, in their own way. One of many ways in which Jesus chose to show himself to the people he loved so much.

            And what a way for it to happen!

            When people meet and recognize Jesus in their lives, there are many ways in which it can happen. We hear of many experiencing remarkable moments in worship settings. Some churches, in their style of worship, put a great emphasis on creating just the right amount of atmosphere, placing  a song in just the right spot, uttering a statement, a word; eliciting a mood. Some preachers use dynamics of speech to persuade, practicing for the pauses, the climax points, the emphasis, the shouts, the whispers, the smiles, the righteous anger. The solemnity. The excitement of Holy Spirit power, perhaps, waiting for a special word. The placement of the prayers.

            All designed as invitations, magnets and tugs on the soul. Maybe now, in this moment, this right word, song sung just the right way, people will recognize Jesus.

            And there are those who teach, as Jesus did, by reporting the story of his life to Cleopas and his companion, summarizing the dynamic, epic, historic tale of Israel and the powerful words of the prophets, piecing together the parts of the puzzle so that they made amazing sense. Ways people can recognize Jesus.

            And there are those who pray, meditate, beg, ask, query, study, wait. Retreats. Lessons. Analogies. Silence. Stones, art, nature, birds, twigs, fountains, water, plants, labyrinths, candles, flames. Here, too, Jesus can be recognized.

            Interestingly enough, the Emmaus travelers heard the historical, scriptural interpretation of the prophets, but they still didn’t recognize Jesus.

            But the way they did recognize him was through the simple breaking of the bread. The sharing of the meal. A time of fellowship, one that occurs daily, more than once, alone and among people. A time of nourishment of the body, a time of living in one’s full humanity, not doing anything that could particularly be labeled “spiritual” in the way we often speak of it.

            They had already had their share of lessons, studies, sermons and retreats, not without surely some music, maybe some dynamic pauses and motions for emphasis, interspersed with the astounding moments of connection that led to broken bones being healed, lepers cured and sight being given to the blind. Not to mention transforming water into wine.

            And yes, they had a meal with broken bread and shared cup, the final time after which Jesus made his way, willingly, to the cross. Not a very pleasant memory. Yet now, in this receiving of this bread with him as he sat before them in this newly-resurrected form, the act of eating with Jesus, once final, had now been redeemed.

            Just as Jesus’ entire life, death and resurrection had taken the most mundane elements and acts of our lives and fellowship and redeemed those, too. He made them into moments of revelation and recognition. Places in which his presence could be known, and not necessarily in the classic sense.

            Who really needs a church sanctuary or special retreat as a way of encountering Jesus? How many converts did Jesus make in the Temple? We really don’t know, except that many of those who were responsible for Temple activity ran the other way.

            It was in the average streets and at the dinner tables of life that Jesus met people and was recognized.

            And it is in the average streets, hallways, offices, sidewalks, buses, living rooms, and at sporting events and dinner tables that we just might happen to find Jesus waiting…and not recognize him. Have you ever met a person whose words and actions had a lasting impact on you? What might Jesus have had to say to you through them?

            Let’s also remember this. It is isn’t just in experiences created by others for us that we meet Jesus. It’s good to keep our eyes open for that, indeed. But we also have the privilege of creating experiences for others, of being the leader, the caregiver, the bread-server, the conversant along the road. As we will see in coming stories following the resurrection of Jesus, Jesus revealed his physical presence to the disciples, but he also left this earth in a very usual way. He did not stay here. He left us with his Spirit, whom we call the Holy Spirit. The Spirit came to dwell inside us and be present among us to continue the work Jesus called us to do. The Spirit came to us to be Jesus’ presence in the world, to interpret to the world what we know about him. He is IN US.

            And thus, in the mundane, or fancy, or highly ritualistic, or simple daily actions and words as we encounter people here, there and everywhere, we represent the presence of Jesus to others. Our job is to break bread, live, move, speak work, and BE with that in mind. To pray in our hearts that what we do be done in the spirit of Jesus.

            And it is through this that others will recognize him, too.

            So where do you go to meet Jesus? Where do you think Jesus can be most easily found? Is there such a place? And if you meet him, will you recognize him? What thing will he do that opens your eyes?

            The best way to know is simply to be open. To say aloud, or in your heart, “Show me who you are. Help me to recognize you.” Then wait to be surprised. Don’t sit waiting to get hit over the head with a baseball bat. Let him surprise you. One little reminder that makes you grin and say, “Oh, THAT was Jesus!”

            And as you live and do what you do, also ask God to show you how you can be and ARE Jesus to others. It might be a big accomplishment, it might be small. Even just a smile at someone who looks like they’re having a bad day can make all the difference in the world to someone.

            How wonderful that our God, our loving savior, Jesus, wants to walk with us, and show us who he is! How blessed are we! Let us remind ourselves of this every day. I’d love to know if, in the next few days, a thought will pop into your head: “Where did I recognize Jesus today?” and another one will say, “Where did Jesus show himself in me?”

            I’ll bet it will happen. I hope not just once, but many times, and may it become something you recognize often as you go through your life. Feel free to share those moments. I’d love to hear some unusual ones. I’ll be waiting, listening, and praying, and I know I will recognize Jesus in you, too! Amen.

  • Behind Closed Doors — April 12, 2026

    John 20:19-31

             When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors were locked where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

            But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

            A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

            Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples that are not written in this book. but these are written so that you may continue to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

    I received an email this past week from a cousin who lives in Selah, Washington, close to Yakima. She occasionally attends a church in Yakima, and received a letter from them which she shared with me. This particular church has a socially progressive outlook, advocating for groups of people who are targeted by discrimination. Because the church is located in the midst of a population of many people who hold a different perspective, church leaders have received threatening messages. The church officials were considering the possibility of hiring security for their worship services. Then an incident happened to reinforce that sense of caution. I’ll read what actually happened as it was described in the letter.

           “Security concerns became urgent when last Sunday an unidentified individual entered the building near the end of ECC’s Easter Service, went downstairs, and navigated to a back set of stairs to enter the stage and approach Rev. Love. He identified himself as a “Kingdom Warrior” and said he had been studying her and believed she was deceiving people. Rev. Love quietly offered to speak with him after concluding the service. After the congregation left, he seemed more agitated when one of the leaders came next to Rev. Love. He refused to give his name but asked for some of the Easter candy. He finally said he had to leave but would be writing about this place to warn people. He walked away and off the grounds. Most of the congregation was unaware that this was happening.”

           As a result, the church decided to hire an unarmed security guard on Sunday morning, and added protection features to the building, door locks, and security precautions on Sundays.

           Most of you know that several minutes after our service here has begun, our doors are locked. It’s a frightening world to live in. I find it so disconcerting that the times call for this, and I’ll bet I’m not alone when I say that I wish it didn’t have to happen, though I understand why it must be so. How wonderful it would be to attend church with open doors and not a single fear of anyone entering the church with harmful intentions!

           We come to our scripture text in which we find the disciples locked “behind closed doors.” It’s worth considering how the fears that led the disciples to hunker down behind locked doors might be similar to modern-day American congregations.

           We start by considering why the disciples were afraid. It was because of the religious authorities, and of their affiliation with Jesus, and what those authorities had done to Jesus. Who wouldn’t be terrified? Even though Jesus had reappeared, and they believed him to once again be alive, the authorities were still around, and who knows what they might still have in mind?

           As for the people in Yakima, very real events and threats had been made as well. Just like the religious authorities’ opposition to the words and actions and claims of Jesus that led to his crucifixion, so were people opposed to the ways in which the Yakima church was doing its ministry on behalf of marginalized people. They were doing Jesus’ work. The irony was that the man who entered the church in a threatening manner also believed the same thing: that he was doing Jesus’ work. Could we classify him in a category with the religious authorities of Jesus’ day?

           For us in this church, it’s the stories of people entering churches with the intent to kill that have hit close to home. In these cases, too, the reasons for the attacks might be similar to what was feared in Yakima: the anger of people who felt threatened by and strongly opposed the message and ministry of that particular house of worship.

           One difference between our day and Jesus’ time, however, is that in Jesus’ case, well-known religious authorities sanctioned Jesus’ crucifixion. Generally for us, this isn’t the case, though it’s clear that the people making the threats and committing the violence nowadays are taking authority upon themselves in the same way the chief priests and their cohorts did in respect to Jesus.

           But we might ask this question when we look at these situations: what kind of threat was the church in Yakima to the public and the welfare of this “Kingdom Warrior?” What harm did they present to anyone in their world, except to offer assistance and acceptance to people that the public did not want to accept?

           And we might ask this same question of Jesus. What kind of threat was he to the religious authorities of his day? What kind of harm was he doing by proclaiming God’s love and salvation for all? How was he hurting anyone while preaching forgiveness? What was problematic in his cleansing, healing and inclusion of people the church had proclaimed to be unclean, unforgivable, unacceptable? The threat to them was his proclamation that the precious laws to which they adhered so tenaciously were overridden by the law of love: the love of God and one’s neighbor as oneself, no exceptions.

           That was what led him to the cross. Jesus dared to do God’s work in the world, acknowledging that God was present with and in him, in order to bring humanity a better, newer, freer and more loving way to live. How dare he?

           And how dare people in the church today continue to worship and celebrate and proclaim this same Jesus? How dare they, too, seek to reach out to people of all kinds, welcoming the stranger, healing the sick, teaching forgiveness and love? I guess doing God’s work is risky business.

           Let’s switch gears and take a look at Thomas in our gospel lesson for a bit. Thomas wanted to be reassured of Jesus’ actual resurrection. He wanted proof that Jesus had been crucified and had risen. In reply, Jesus told Thomas to touch, and look, and said, “Do not doubt but believe.” And again, Jesus mentions “belief” for Peter as an affirmation that comes as a result of seeing, and adds what a blessing it is for those who believe without seeing.

           The Greek word for “believe” has layered meaning. This word is pist: spelled p-i-s-t. It can also be translated to mean “trust”. Let me substitute the word “trust” for the word “belief,” and read Jesus’ words again. Listen to how it sounds: “Do not doubt but trust.” “Have you trusted because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to trust.” At the end of the passage, John also says, “…these [signs] are written so that you may continue to trust that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through trusting you may have life in his name.”

           Does this second reading feel different to you? It certainly does to me. Substituting trust for believe strikes me in a helpful way. There are, to be honest, days when I wonder about the veracity of the Biblical story. There are so many things in it that seem so impossible, impractical, outrageous – and as a pastor and a Christian I find that instead of running away from my uncertainty, I have tried to face it all head-on. I confess it to God; after all, God already knows what I’m thinking! I’m sure I’m not alone when I think of how nice it would be to have him walk into this room and tell me, “Yes, I lived, taught, loved, died, and rose again. Here I am. Look at these hands, these feet, and this gouge in my side. Everything you know is true.” But even then, would I I find a reason to doubt?

           Then I think of the word “trust.” When I approach my faith from that perspective, there is a softening. I trust that these things happened, and I trust what they mean. That God loved you, and me, so much that God sent Jesus to die and make it abundantly clear, through the meaning of his death and resurrection, that God loves us.

           Belief involves an intellectual knowing. An assent of the mind. It can require physical proof; scientific reasoning. Trust involves a sense of relationship. An awareness, a feeling, an experience that is repeated, affirmable, and verifiable again and again throughout life. This trust is what I live and move and walk in every day. If I try to prove it somehow, and really zoom in on the details of what, where, when, why and how, I get stuck. Not that reasoning is bad; it’s also a blessing and gift from God. But what is most convincing to me is that sense of relationship.

           God has verified God’s presence and love in my life so many more times than I can ever count, through the relationship I have with God, in my prayers, study and thinking. God has verified God’s presence and love in this world countless times through other people. This church. My family. My friends. Strangers on the street. People who do wonderful things for others and make this world a better place. God reinforces my trust through words I read, ways in which I’m touched by nature, and the marvel of the world all around me.

           Trust is where it counts – beyond belief.

           Now let’s come back to where we started: in the room, behind closed doors, where fear abounded for the disciples, and is still present for churches all over the world and right here in Davenport. Don’t forget that locked doors didn’t keep Jesus out of the room where the disciples hunkered down. Just because there are frightening things out there doesn’t mean that we lock ourselves up and roll ourselves into a little ball of protection like a roly-poly bug. And, well, if we do lock our doors, we know that Jesus still manages to find a way in.

           Trust means relationship. Trust means we believe God is with us even, and especially, when we don’t feel safe. Trust remembers that Jesus and his disciples didn’t stay in that locked room. What happened after Jesus’ resurrection and ascension? They went out and proclaimed the message of Jesus for decades afterward, out in public, in rooms all over the area, where people gathered and prayed and experienced the magnificent power of the Holy Spirit. They opened up, spread out, and began to MOVE, because of their trust; because of their relationship with the risen Christ and with the Holy Spirit he breathed upon them to give them power to do what they went out and did.

           So we, too, may lock our doors. But at the same time we unlock our hearts and our hands in this community in trust, to proclaim the message of love we treasure. We care for others, accept, welcome them, acknowledging that sometimes being a bold Christian means quite a bit of risk, whether our doors are locked or wide open.

           May we know, here in this moment, that Jesus has entered our sequestered room, our sanctuary, and is with us now, living in a dynamic relationship that binds us all together as God’s people. He’s offering us peace, just as he did his disciples, every moment. Let us be willing to assume the risks involved in proclaiming our faith. Let us be living examples of that trust. Amen.

  • He Is Not Here – Easter, April 5, 2026

    Matthew 28:1-10

            1After the Sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2And suddenly there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3His appearance was like lightning and his clothing white as snow. 4For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. 5But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. 6He is not here, for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. 7Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you. 8So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy and ran to tell his disciples. 9Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. 10Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid, go and tell my brothers and sisters to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”

    They went to the tomb to see Jesus. Such a dark and dreary day, even if the sun was shining its brightest. The loss of their precious friend who meant the world to them was more than they could bear. They had to see the tomb. They had to be near him, even if he was lying lifeless in a cold grave in the absolute darkness. A chilly place, with walls that did not breathe, but emitted cold silence, a dry yet damp chill. Even there, in the finality of his death, would they still feel the power and loving presence that radiated from him in his life? Spectral wisps of all that made him so precious, like a person’s unique scent left in a room from which their physical presence has been absent?

           They wanted to know if he was really dead, or if it was all a dream. Their friend, in whose presence they felt so safe, was here. So vital, so energizing, so life-giving. How could he be dead?

           And so they went to see. And instead of a rock, or a cold, dark cave, they encountered a blinding light, a vision, terrifying, yet offering words of comfort. “He is not here.”

           He is not here? “He has been raised. He’s on his way to Galilee. Get his disciples and tell them.” Get … what? Who? Where? How? “This is my message for you.”

           For you. For YOU. The two Marys, brave women, ready to face the music and do what needed to be done to move forward into the future in their grieving, weeping, and wondering and questioning. Not Peter, James, John, other disciples…where were they, anyway? Off licking their wounds. Huddling in a state of shock. Hiding from the authorities wondering if they, too, might be next. Trying to make sense of everything that had happened since they took their first steps on the path of discipleship. They’d face that grave later. It wasn’t going anywhere. Who wanted to remember Jesus like that, anyway?

           Two women, whose names would pop up occasionally in the great, long account of Jesus’ life and ministry. First to know. Facing the facts. Finding out, before they’d barely had a chance to breathe after a long time of holding their breath in grief and denial and sheer pain, that the angel’s message to them, for them, was, “He is not here.”

           He is supposed to be here. He was so very much here, for such a very long time. While life went on in some ways as normal for the Marys and other women who supported and adored and learned and absorbed everything related to Jesus, in their preparations, their negotiations, their planning and their serving, it had not been the same since they first met him. He had become an anchor for them, a way in which God, who’d seemed so distant and uninvolved, was suddenly smack dab in the middle of all of their affairs. Jesus’ words were like nourishment coming from a highly power-packed, flavorful food. Small bites gave plenty for chewing. Satisfaction came from understanding and digesting. And yet, there was always room for more. Through Jesus’ words, they understood things that had made no sense before. He had become a part of their lives; a part of their being. And there was something about that presence, all that wisdom, all that humble power, that felt eternal. It felt like he would be with them always. How could it be that he had given himself so easily over to his captors? It was almost as if he had voluntarily, willingly, handed himself over. Why?

           They knew, based on experience, that once again, there was purpose in this sacrifice and surrender. Their morning trek to the tomb was only the beginning of the sorting process, the effort to understand, the questioning and puzzling as to what the meaning was of this final act that appeared to be the opposite of all the life-giving, healing acts and multi-layered messages that had been a part of his, and their, journey to the cross. Death!

           Even then, they believed – they truly believed – that something would come of it. They knew not what.

           But they did not expect to find out that he was not there.

           Jesus was not there, in that tomb, dead.

           How many times have we run to tombs in our lives, only to find that Jesus is not there? We all have things in our lives that we hope will finally bring us the joy that we want; things that will help us to settle down, be happy, and know peace.

           For some of us, wealth is our answer. With it, we can get the things that excite us: cars, electronics, homes, appliances, gadgets, conveniences, hobbies, trips, and big events. It gives us power: a knowledge that at the flash of a bill or two or the flourish of our signature, we can have what we want. But we soon find out that someone else has something better. Our stuff breaks, burns, and deteriorates. Our search for such things is like searching for Jesus in the empty tomb: he is not there.

           Some of us search for Jesus through substances and experiences. We know that drugs and alcohol can bring good feelings at the pop of a pill or a puff or a needle prick. Food feels good, too, and not just for nourishment. Oh, what joy a juicy steak brings, or a nice piece of rich chocolate cake. Life has many kinds of highs. And yet, after the highs wear off and the stomach is full, the consequences of overindulgence set in. Whatever satisfaction we might get through substances and activities, those highs are temporary, and it’s like searching for Jesus in the empty tomb. He is not there.

           Some of us search for Jesus in achievements. We can’t be satisfied unless we’re the best at what we do, or rest until we’ve gotten everything done. We have to be known and valued for doing virtuous things: working tirelessly, giving the most money, being on the most committees and organizations. But even then, it’s not always enough. Sometimes, even with all the recognition, our lack of self-esteem leads us to scramble toward an empty tomb, and, once again, we find that Jesus is not there.

           Some of us look for Jesus in relationships with a significant other, a family, friends, to the point where we feel desperation and despair if we don’t have them. We live our lives, reaching the tomb, looking for Jesus, and finding out that he is not there.

           What things exist in your life that are like this? What things in your life do you pursue over and over again, wrestle with, agonize over, and wish you could just FIX once and for all? And when you do achieve or acquire those things, do you find out they aren’t what you imagined or dreamed they would be? Or are you disappointed?

           I suggest that we all are looking for is actually Jesus himself. We’re looking for a relationship with God, inside ourselves, in our deepest hearts and minds. We crave an awareness and knowledge of a presence within us that holds wisdom, love, compassion and strength. One that extends far beyond our bank accounts, or reputations, our possessions, our desires, and our relationships with other people. Not that any of these things are unimportant – they are all gifts to us from God. Their purpose is good: to be used as tools for service and sharing, as a part of our journey toward that empty tomb. Of course, we don’t want to just arrive at the empty tomb and notice that he is not there.

           When we get there, we encounter the angel and the joyful news. Of course he is not here! He has risen again! He did not die, confined to the tomb. He rose again and is still alive, now more than ever, just as he was then, on his way to tell his disciples and the world that his death was not the end. He told them that while he would depart this earthly plane, he would remain with them, and in that way, he remained to also be with us, to help us to find the fulfillment in life we so desperately want. So instead of us searching for that fulfillment in him in all sorts of empty tombs, we would remember that it is in HIM that we find our rewards, our wealth, our achievement, the satisfaction of our desires and hungers, and our most fulfilling relationships.

           And so, this is the Easter message for us: that the tomb was not the end. Jesus, and the power, love, compassion and wisdom that he embodied and brought into the world, did not die, but he rose again and he lived. He still lives, in us. When we approach our tombs – the places in our lives where we think we’ll find fulfillment, and they disappoint us, they are empty tombs. Jesus, the one we really need, is not there.

           And so on this resurrection day, let us look to the risen Jesus, who lives again and, at our seeking and asking, enlightens our hearts, and provides us with all that we need for a fulfilling life. When we find ourselves striving and reaching for the things that ultimately do not satisfy us, let us remember to turn our sights toward Jesus, our risen savior.

           Let us go from the empty tomb, and share that good news, and see where this resurrection promise takes us. Amen.

  • What Were They Thinking? Good Friday, April 3, 2026

    Scripture: The Gospel of John, Chapters 18 and 19

    Our text for tonight is quite obviously a long one, involving many people coming from many places in the life of Jesus. Whenever I read it, I ponder each character’s involvement and wonder: “What were they thinking? How did they become who they were, and what led them to decide to treat Jesus in such a way?” Oh, if we could only crawl inside the minds of the characters; to follow the progression of events in their lives; to know their hopes and dreams and what meant the most to them. There’s one thing I believe we’d find out for certain: they were not much different than you or me in our fickle humanness.

           What was Judas thinking? Here’s a man who spent long months walking alongside Jesus as he taught, hearing word after word, watching miracle after miracle, absorbing everything a person could possibly take in after spending so much time with a teacher. A man who spent time in the presence of a person you and I would think might be a joy and inspiration to be around. But Judas isn’t the only person who appeared to follow Jesus and then turned away. People throughout the ages turn on the ones they once loved and adore.  Someone unhappy, looking for something different, full of motives we might never understand.

           Whom among us might be tempted, at times, to be like Judas in our unhappiness and our bitterness and our inability to understand? And yet, it was, ultimately, for Judas, that Jesus died.

           What were the soldiers and police who came to arrest Jesus thinking? “Just doing my job, sir, just doing my job.” They’d been a part of the Roman and Jewish legal establishment for a long time. Could be they thought of this man as a strange rabble-rouser. One of many itinerant preachers and prophet-types appearing out of the blue, shuffling his way through the crowds and magnetically drawing a band of followers along. A odd guy, who thought he knew about the almighty creator of the universe, and had some kind of mystical power, too. A man who said strange things that really didn’t make a lot of sense. And now here he was, stirring up trouble. What a royal pain. Now, at the behest of the chief priests and the Pharisees, it was time whisk him away to the authorities. Take care of this mess once and for all. We do what we’re told, sir, we just follow the facts, ma’am. It’s kinda fun, really, having this power to grab people, rough ‘em up, give ‘em hell. Make a crown of thorns, ‘cause he thinks he’s a king! We’ll show him! Here’s his tunic. Oh, it’s a nice one. Let’s cast lots – don’t want to tear that nice piece of cloth up; might make a nice warm coat for somebody.

           Who among us might find a certain pleasure in cueing up for a conflict, especially if it was our job to help enforce the law? To prove to our superiors that we are able workers. To do as we are told without question. To keep good old law and order.

           What were they thinking when they lost all their strength when Jesus spoke? “What just happened?” they wondered. And it wasn’t just one of them: all the soldiers and police around Jesus collapsed. It had to be some kind of strange anomaly. Something in the air. It could NOT have anything to do with the powers and abilities of this man, could it?

           What excuse might we offer in the presence of such power and authority that came not from the political or legal realm? How would we rationalize it away so that our safe, set beliefs about life could gain back their equilibrium? It was for people such as the slaves and soldiers and police that Jesus died.

           What was the high priest’s slave Malchus thinking when one of Jesus’ disciples cut off his ear? There would be shock, pain, incredulity and fear at such a loss; not much thought of anything else but that. Malchus surely tends to his wounds, and if they are healed, he still experiences the wounds of humiliation and dumbfounded amazement at this turn of events.

           Who among us have never been so preoccupied with our lives and our pain that we are unable to recognize the presence of God among us? It was for this surreal moment, and for this slave, captive to a high priest and his lot in life as a servant, that Jesus died.

           What was Simon Peter thinking? Simon Peter, of all people, who, like Judas, had spent hours upon hours and days upon days with Jesus! Who had declared with all certainty that he would never deny his Lord. And yet, perhaps like a person who detaches from themselves emotionally in a time of shock, they find themselves doing exactly the opposite of what they had promised to never do. Peter, who out of fear of death and recrimination, in a moment when the reality of his situation struck home, denied knowing his best friend. Surely he wanted to run and hide in shame.

           Who among us believes that we would never utter a denial of anyone, or any of our firmest beliefs and truths, in the face of death and recrimination? Do any of us really know what we would do if, in the midst of our pleasant lives of relative security and safety, we were approached with dangerous recrimination and consequences for our beliefs? And yet it was for Peter, even in his denials, that Jesus died.

           What was the high priest thinking about this upstart fellow who made a wild claim about being on some sort of equal footing with God? This Jesus, whose actions and words seemed to come from a greater power — actions and insights that the high priest himself had striven all of his life to achieve. Oh, he’d love to be a prophet, able to utter the truths of Yahweh that bypassed logic, as Elijah and Isaiah and others of old! He was the keeper of the Laws of God! Who was this fellow who appeared from some lowly little town where no one important lived and where nothing important happened? How dare he think that he had any kind of relationship with God, let alone anything useful to teach?

           Who among us prefers the status quo in our faith life, our church, our religion, even our world? Who among us, when someone presents a new viewpoint that challenges our long-held beliefs, would not want to put an end to the fly in the ointment, the buzzing mosquito, the pot-stirring troublemaker? How dare they come along and try to usurp our safe status in life? And yet it was for the high priest and his cohorts that Jesus died.

           What was Pilate thinking? Pilate, who felt the pressure of the religious authorities over whom he had power and whose respect he needed in order to keep that authority. Pilate, who couldn’t figure out what all the fuss was about: it was no skin off his back if this Jesus claimed to be a king; he felt no threat coming from this lowly man and his little cult of followers.

           Who among us has not also felt the temptation to care for people under our authority in the way they want us to, because if we don’t, we might lose their approval? Even while we just don’t see the necessity of doing what they want us to do? We feel the pressure, we hear their logic, it seems so rational to them. We feel trapped. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. Where is the release valve? We have to find a way out of this: a compromise, an offer. Can we put this responsibility in their hands and hope for the best? And the pressure gets worse, and worse, until we finally give in. It is for Pilate, as well, that Jesus died.

           What were the crowds thinking, when they began shouting for the release of Barabbas in place of Jesus? Who among us has not followed the crowd, a crowd, any crowd, and are still following crowds this day? Yet for this crowd, Jesus died.

           What was Barabbas thinking, ready to be bound and nailed to a cross? Did he even know of Jesus and his innocence, and how Barabbas’s own freedom would come at the expense of a seemingly worthless death? And yet, we know that it was for Barabbas, that Jesus quite literally died.

           It seemed that day that the momentum, like an avalanche, had begun, and there was nothing that could be done to stop it.

           And that day, it was for everyone involved in this whole disastrous, tragic, traumatic scene: this death of an innocent man, for all of them — that Jesus died.

           That momentum, which we would only know one day in the future, was love, and it was like an avalanche. It began at Jesus’ birth and led Jesus to the cross. With all that power, Jesus could have saved himself, but he did not. He did not resist, fight or argue. He did not offer scathing words to Simon Peter at his betrayals and sore attempts at violence. He did not shout curses at the people who spat in his face and took his clothes and slammed a spiky, thorny crown onto his head.

           This momentum came from a love that allowed him to speak the truth all the way to the end. This love enabled him to never betray his convictions, even when others did. It was a love that caused him to give his life in order to liberate all those around him from their bondage to their humanness, their need to fight, to betray, to deny; from their fear, their mocking, their pompousness, their fickle following of the crowd, their yielding to the pressures of their constituents in order to keep their power.

           They didn’t know it yet. But he gave his life for them anyway.

           Jesus died for all of them: all failures, bitter, angry, confused, and totally oblivious to who he really was. Because of love. He died for all of us, too, in spite of and in the midst of all our failures, our bitterness, anger, confusion, and total oblivion to who he really was and who he still is.

           How amazing.

           In spite of all of it.

           Tonight is our night of that cross, that death, that giving up of power, that solidarity with us in our darkness. Jesus, though he had the power, did not escape it, and he did it on our behalf, because of God’s love living within him.

           Let us consider this tonight. Let us feel the darkness of it, but let us also feel that darkness as love, enveloping us even in the bleakest moments. Even in the darkness, there is love. Let us receive it, feel it, and know it. Amen.

  • Stirring Things Up — Palm Sunday, 3/29/26

    Matthew 21:1-11

    Don’t you just love it when people come along and stir things up? Well, maybe you do and maybe you don’t. I must say that in just about every group, there’s someone who likes to stir things up. And though stirring is necessary to keep things from becoming too predictable and unchallenged, there are times when I don’t particularly appreciate the intrusion into what I think ought to be a calm, unperturbed situation. Peace is so nice. Pleasant conversation, agreement, soothing words, grins, chuckles and affirmations are all so very, very desirable.

            But think about it. You’re cooking a tasty stew with all sorts of delectable ingredients in it – your veggies, your liquids, your proteins, your spices, your starch. You throw them in the pot at various points, make sure the heat’s on, and you let things cook. But you don’t just let things sit in the pot in a lump. You don’t let the carrots burn on the bottom of the pan, the meat sit to one side, the spices on the other. It would make a terrible stew. Even if the simmering action did its magic, some parts of the mixture would be overcooked, while other parts were too crunchy or chewy. Stirring is good. Never forget that.

            But even though we laud the man we hail as the Prince of Peace, we must face the reality that wherever Jesus went, things got stirred up. We might argue that he didn’t do it on purpose, perhaps. He just said what he said and he did what he did, right? He told his truth. It resonated with some, and it rankled others. That’s the way it was wherever Jesus went. People wondered who he was, or who he dared to think he was. Others were drawn to him like magnets, and among them he had made some very close friends. Jesus told his truth, and it stirred things up.

            This is the atmosphere surrounding Jesus’ trip into Jerusalem that day. Turmoil. Agitation. Rattling. Trembling. A whole lot of shakin’ goin’ on. I dare say that the parade that entered the city wasn’t solely a happy little party born from the joy of the quintessential Palm Sunday group of cheerful children, skipping up and down the dusty roads to the grins and delight of their parents, the disciples, and Jesus himself.

            So often we look at the stories of Jesus through the hindsight that is colored and tempered in liturgies, interpretations, artistic renderings, songs and good old David C. Cook Sunday School lessons. We might want to consider that they are, at best, simply re-tellings through the lenses of the lives we now live, and how me might experience them today. Think about how short the scripture stories are: how little information they actually convey to us about the actual day the events occurred, if they even occurred exactly as portrayed. Over the years, many of our interpretations have become more powerful than the true meaning buried inside the text and the teaching.

            Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem that day wasn’t a parade.

            I think in the last two or three sermons I have said this, and I’ll say it again: everything Jesus did had a purpose. Of course, the gospel compilers and writers had a limited amount of time, perhaps, and information, with which to compile a rendering of Jesus’ life that fit their purpose. Surely Jesus’ actual life was filled with more purposeful actions and wise statements and pithy truths than we will ever know. It’s important to realize that of the scraps and bits of writings that have been uncovered over the centuries that date back to Jesus’ day, very few have actually been used and passed along to us. There are plenty more writings about Jesus that, for whatever reasons, were not included in the Scriptural canon, and had they been included, how we see Jesus may be quite a bit different from what we see right now.

            Here I go, stirring things up. But it’s true – it’s important for us to realize that the depth and breadth of the man Jesus that’s given to us generally through the scriptures we use and the teachings of our faith — while sufficient for us as we view all that we’ve built in the church throughout the ages – is actually limited. It’s a humbling thing, to ponder the likelihood that we don’t have all the answers, and that God is far greater than a book and a set of ideologies that humans piece together. At the same time, it’s reassuring to realize that in spite of these limitations, God has done, and continues to do, amazing things in the world.

            And that is what Jesus did. He used what was known by the people of his day, and told them there was a lot more to know. He came to the world, and requested the donkeys, to teach. This “parade” was symbolic. Tradition was in those days that kings rode along on horses in times of war, and in times of peace, they rode on donkeys. Jesus chose to climb on a donkey and ride into Jerusalem as a symbolic act. To actually proclaim his kingship, which we know was not the typical kind of rulership that people expected. A king on a donkey, with maybe a small number of area citizens lining the streets, though the gospel portrays the entire city in a state of agitation because of this one man.

            Jesus, knowing his scripture, his tradition, and the words of the prophets before him. Rankling the Jewish leaders and teachers, claiming to be a fulfillment of prophecy.

            As I read commentaries about this passage, it was noted that Jesus actually asked for two donkeys: a mother and her colt. There was a lot of speculation about this. How could one person ride two donkeys? Some say it was a misunderstanding of the way the words were written originally: that the writer quoted in Matthew from the Old Testament meant to repeat, or further explain, the use of one donkey by saying something like, Jesus rode on a donkey; indeed, it was a foal or colt. Thus it was a misinterpretation in the gospel of Matthew.

            Others speculate that the reason was practical: he rode a strong burro to traverse rocky, hilly areas, but then when he reached flat ground, he rode the young donkey.

            Some add symbolism, by saying the mother represented the Jews as the “mother” faith, and the colt symbolized the gentiles, who were later included as the story of Jesus and the faith that grew from it progressed.

            And some see the use of the foal as a miracle, owing to the general fact that, like horses, young donkeys won’t let anyone climb on their backs without some significant protest. This foal would have allegedly never been ridden before, yet Jesus, the prince of peace, was able to climb on without any braying, kicks, or a stubborn refusal to move.

            We know Jesus was a man of miracles, so I suppose anything’s possible in terms of how he managed to ride on two donkeys at the same time. But while the story points to the fulfillment of scripture, the final point to be taken from the passage doesn’t have a lot to do with the number of donkeys Jesus rode that day.

            It was the turmoil. The crowds. The hope that came from the people in their willingness to throw their cloaks on the ground so that Jesus could be honored and recognized and celebrated as he came into the city.

            It was the turmoil, too, of people shouting “hosanna,” a word that many claim actually meant, “Save us!” To some interpreters, they praised and lauded the one they believed had saved them, and to other interpreters, their cry was a plea. Regardless, it indicates that the people were in turmoil and believed they needed saving. People wanted this. They wanted political deliverance and salvation from the oppressive rule of the Romans. Someone like the venerated King David. Life for them wasn’t a picnic and this wasn’t a parade to celebrate a sunny day. They wanted something better: someone to come and lead them out of their plight.

            This is what they believed about Jesus.

            They lived in this turmoil, and it was boiling all around them that day, and it would intensify as the days went on. We know that following this day, things would deteriorate, and people would scatter, some clinging tightly to Jesus, yet running scared, hiding away as best they could from potential trouble. Others would turn in opposition, drawn by the magnetism of the crowds around them, seeing Jesus as someone to be despised.

            This day might have been sunny, but clouds were on the horizon.

            As we turn our sights this day towards palm branches, donkeys, cloaks, and parades along the road, we pause also to think of the week ahead: Holy Week. The steps that Jesus took leading to his crucifixion.

            We begin first by thinking of the times in which we live, which are filled with…what? You guessed it. Turmoil. We are struggling as a people, living in a world where we, too, wish for salvation in respect to our personal lives and hearts: the troubles we have that we wrestle with every day, even if they might seem trivial in comparison to others. We all have our burdens, our fears, our griefs, our pain.

            We also are struggling in a time in our lives for salvation in respect to our experience as citizens: politically, just like the Jews, wrestling under the weight of decisions made on our behalf by our government. And while we try with all our might sometimes to wish for our faith and our politics to be separate, we can’t really separate ourselves from the land in which we live and the laws under which we operate. From the beginning until now we have always wrestled with these things. We want laws that favor us and our needs; we want fewer of them, we want more of them, we want things to make our lives feel smoother and safer. We may or may not like the ways our government is operating at any given time.

            And from our constant struggle with such turmoil, we want salvation. We want someone to come along who is finally going to bring us, and our country, some real, abiding, and lasting peace.

            What causes the turmoil is often the reality that our vision of what it means to live in peace differs from the vision of others. Our views might be almost diametrically opposed. It seems to me that it is so starkly, vividly true in the days in which we live, more than ever.

            And no matter where any one of us stands on that amazing spectrum of beliefs and the ways we hope and pray our lives will be governed, we all are experiencing turmoil.

            And though we may want to separate our faith from all the chaos that is going on in the political and social realm of life, Jesus still enters and wants to save us here. And though Jesus is known as a man of peace, he still manages to stir things up. And though Jesus may not have made proclamations about the political issues of the day, he spoke to them. He spoke of the poor, the outcast, taxes, money, health, and how to live in relationship to one’s neighbor. He touched the untouchable, challenged people to a new relationship with wealth, and spoke with mercy and respect to outsiders and foreigners.

            He shook things up and made the religious hoi polloi mad.

            Jesus calls us to recognize the turmoil in our world. It exists. It’s inescapable. We, the privileged, can easily pretend it doesn’t, I suppose, if we wish. We can stop reading the news, watching TV, and surfing social media. But then, if someone points out to us that we, and others, live in a world of turmoil and need salvation, does that stir us up? And if it does, does it mean we have joined the ranks of the religious hoi polloi, getting angry because someone has pointed out to us the frustrating truth? We see where Jesus’ resistance to the religious who’s who led: to the cross.

            Jesus’ trouble-stirring led to a different kind of salvation, a different empire, a different commonwealth, a different realm, not of this earth. And yet we live here on this earth just the same. Jesus lived among us just the same. He did not ask us to exit our lives and not be involved or care so that we could feel cozy and safe.

            He walked into Holy Week, stirring things up, by just being himself: God’s presence in the world; one who loved all sorts of people; taught lessons about wealth and security; healed, welcomed, invited, warned, and let people know a different sort of salvation was at hand.

            And so we, too, can live in the turmoil of our times, following Jesus to the cross, knowing that if we stand for what we believe, and are guided by the one we love – the one who loves us beyond imagination – we will encounter challenges. People might not like what we say, or do, or what we stand for.

            Imagine facing that sort of challenge. To be willing to stir things up, knowing that it might get us into some trouble, and taking the risk.

            As we enter Holy Week, just as Jesus entered Jerusalem, let us face forward into the turmoil. Let us let God stir things up in us. Let us stand fully, and boldly, as Jesus’ followers in this world as he heads toward the cross, and as we move forward in our lives, be willing to stir things up, too. Amen.

  • See How He Loved Them – Sunday, 3/22/26

    John 11:1-45

    What a tender story we have here of a family of people who clearly loved, and were greatly loved, by Jesus. People who were close to the man, and as family among themselves, were also family to Jesus. We see Jesus moved and disturbed, crying real tears, in ways we have never seen before. Before this, Jesus taught and touched and healed many, but we see little emotion coming from him, save for the earnestness and conviction in which he was preaching and living.

            We have a story of two sisters and a brother, living in the same home, caring for one another. Martha, who just following this event in the next chapter of the gospel of John would serve Jesus at a dinner she and her sister Mary would hold. Mary, who was already referred to in our passage as the one who anointed Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair. This, too, would be reported just following the text we’ve read today. And we have Lazarus, their beloved brother.

            These were people who got close to Jesus when he was in their area. People who missed him, though they knew, along with the disciples, that due to his teaching, he was no longer welcome in Bethany, where they lived. How heartbreaking it would be to draw close to someone, to long for their nearness, their wisdom, and their challenging words, knowing that everywhere their beloved Teacher went, people hated him!

            People, really, like you and me, who have friends. Who love wise people and listen to them as much as we can. Who would really be fascinated with a person who had such wisdom and did such wonderful things as Jesus. A person who really cared about us; who showed us special attention. Whose presence we could feel even after they left our home. Someone who had more to say than the average person, and who had a power that took us to places we never dreamed we’d go in our lives.

            We’d want that person around. And how amazing to think, and know, that that person really loved us!

            Lazarus was ill. Very ill, to the point where things just didn’t look good for him. Mary and Martha had already seen and heard of the things their blessed Teacher and friend did, and perhaps though they knew he wouldn’t be safe back in their town, they had to let Jesus know about their beloved brother, a man they knew Jesus treasured in a special way.

            And so they sent a messenger to Jesus. And they waited.

            I wonder how long they had to wait. Days? It was the plodding nature of time in those days – no instant messaging, no phone. Send word and wait. The message got delivered. “Lazarus, the man you love so much, is very ill.”

            And what did Jesus do? Oh, it would seem like such a huge betrayal! Instead of rushing off to check in on his beloved friend, he seemed to shrug and say, “No worries.” Something about glorifying God and the Son of Man. That was Jesus, being symbolic, being cryptic. Everything had a purpose for Jesus. One more lesson to teach for the Son of God; one more lesson to learn for humankind.

            And so they waited, and Lazarus, beloved friend of Jesus, beloved brother of Mary and Martha, deteriorated. Perhaps they thought he had days, or hours, or minutes, and they wrung their hands and wept and hoped. The messenger returned. “I told him, but he didn’t seem in any hurry.” How disappointing. How could it be? How could he be so calloused?

            The disciples, too, were aware of this. Poor Mary, poor Martha, poor, poor Lazarus. But oh, so much was going on, so many healings, so many upset people, so many miracles, so much conflict! Two days passed, and some of them, perhaps those not so close to Mary, Martha and Lazarus, forgot all about the folks from Bethany.

            Then Jesus declared, “OK, it’s time to head to Judea. Back to Bethany. Again.”

            And the disciples’ chins dropped. “You have got to be kidding! You just escaped a bunch of angry Jews there, ready to throw stones, and you want to go back?” Oh my. This Jesus. Such a puzzling fellow, full of vigor and certainty, and all manner of strange ideas. In reply, he taught, using imagery about light. Something for them to hear, and to wonder about. To consider later on and say, “Oh! He was talking about himself: the message and understanding he brought – about action when the lights are on, about striking when the iron is hot – about courage and conviction and the fact that there is something greater out there than we timid mortals generally realize. Something that gives us a sense of urgency and bravery, because what we’re all about, what we’re learning, and what is being poured into us, is greater than rocks and stones and screaming religious leaders.”

            And so, breaking from the flowery, cryptic speech, he spoke of a sleeping Lazarus and a trip to wake him up. What? A jaunt to Bethany to dodge stones and shake a guy awake? Jesus knew what they were thinking. “Time for some plain truth, friends. Lazarus is dead.”

            Shock, with heads shaking. Someone wanted to say, “We should have gone back then,” but knew better. No one else wanted to go back into the lion’s den. But Thomas, bold, questioning, enthusiastic, unique Thomas, said, “Well, then, we may as well be prepared to die.” Thomas, a man of the worthy cause. And apparently, the disciples agreed, for they headed back to Bethany.

            As they approached, here came beautiful Martha. Some likely peered at her as her form grew ever clearer and her pace quickened as she saw the traveling crew. Word got around about people’s travels, for she aimed to meet them before they could make it all the way to where she was. And they likely scanned her demeanor for tears of anger and rage. She could have spat out her words, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” Blame. You are too late, Lord! You waited! Why, oh why? And yet the words were more pleading than angry, and she continued, looking at the man with love. “But even now, I know God will answer your prayer.” Even now, Martha believed, even after what appeared to be a huge betrayal. She loved Jesus, and he loved her, and there was something in that love that was soaked in trust, in something greater than the reality of the immediate moment in front of them.

            At Jesus’ declaration that Lazarus would rise again, Martha professed her belief in a resurrection to a life beyond death. A beautiful hope. One to which we all cling. We’ll see our loved ones again someday on that beautiful shore. It’s in our hearts. We believe there is more to life beyond that veil, because we just do. This life just can’t be all.

            And to this, instead of saying “You’re right, Martha,” he launched into metaphorical, metaphysical, spiritual teaching mode again, and in it, he pointed to himself. “I am the resurrection and the life. Everyone! Believe in me, and you will live!”

            But Jesus did NOT say that he would one day, someday, in some blue beyond, bring resurrection life to people like Lazarus and Mary and Martha and the disciples and those who believed him. He said, “I AM the resurrection and the life.” I AM. The resurrection and the life is IN ME. It IS ME. Not “was,” and not “will be”. He said, I AM. Now.

            And then he encouraged them to believe. In him. In whatever ways Jesus was, and lived, resurrection. In whatever ways Jesus was, and lived, life. Believe. What does it mean to believe?

            Martha showed it, and is known to be, in John’s gospel, the first person to utter a declaration of faith. Little credit do we give to the women of the gospels, whose statements of faith hold so much power and understanding in only a few words. How often do we hear, when we speak of the “faith of our fathers,” that what we rest on as a foundation is the “faith of our mothers,” too – not just of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Peter, John, and Paul, but the faith of Martha and the Marys: the women who were present in utterly crucial moments of the life of Jesus and the early church. The women’s appearances in the stories may seem sporadic and few, but each time they occur they hold within them a punch of great power. A lot is said about the nature of life and faith and God when spoken to, and through, women. Martha’s statement of faith, one that many repeated and still believe, was this: “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”

            What an amazing thing to say. She didn’t say, “Yes, I believe you are a special man who has healing powers.” She recognized Jesus. She loved him, and he loved her and her sister and brother very much. It wasn’t just because Jesus did nice things for people. There was a relationship there, where she knew him from her heart, and she knew that he knew her, too. And it was in that, and beyond that, that she believed. Martha, our mother in faith.

            She took off to get her sister. Jesus was here, and it was time to experience, if nothing else, his presence, his love, his wisdom, and his comfort. If this was all there was to receive from him, it was enough.

            And yet also came Mary, full of regret at the missing presence of the healer who surely would have touched their brother and made him whole. She bowed before him, moistening his feet with her tears as she would very soon moisten his feet with oil. She did not reach out and slap Jesus or grab him by the shoulders. “If you’d been here! Oh, if only you’d been here!” An open sorrow, an open grief, in the presence of her friend. Somehow, even if there was anger, there was still so much love.

            And in that love, Jesus was moved.

            Jesus, a compassionate man, healing, touching, teaching. But rarely moved to tears. Jesus, a man with deep molten well of love within. Jesus, while enlightened on his path, wisdom coming from the deep river of God’s power, surely seeing the greater picture, knowing the glorious end and BEING the resurrection, BEING the life, could have felt perhaps a sympathetic neutrality in light of what he knew to be the ultimate truth. But he felt deeply. Like the depth of pain and suffering that led to Lazarus’ untimely death, and the depth of pain and suffering of Lazarus’ sisters and friends. About this we can be comforted, knowing that God, in Jesus, knows just as well what that is like, at the moment of our deepest losses. He sees the bigger picture, yes, but he also weeps with us because he feels it with us, as we lay in our tombs of trouble, consternation and despair. He does not trivialize our trials.

            And thus, Jesus went to see where Lazarus was. The women invited him. No bitterness. Not saying, “Why bother, Lord? It’s too late now. He’s been dead too long; it won’t be pleasant.” They knew it wouldn’t be pleasant, and they warned him. But they took him. Because they loved him and he loved them.

            And then it was that he showed them the purpose of the darkness through which they had gone: the darkness of Lazarus’ illness, his failing health, the hope that Jesus would come, the deterioration, the sending of the summons, and the death. He prayed, calling attention to the people and to God, that all of it, every moment, had a greater purpose, and that purpose was for them to see that in Jesus there was a greater power. A greater love. One that overpowered death and brought a man back to life, even after seemingly impossible circumstances.

            And because of this, many believed. Many believed, and because of this, they – Lazarus, Mary, and Martha, knew, and celebrated, and shared this presence of God among them through the man Jesus. Perhaps Martha’s statement of faith would have stood strong, even had Lazarus not been raised from the dead.

            But in this instance, in this moment, Jesus’ loving miracle foreshadowed his own death and resurrection, and proclaimed that the darkest tomb, under the nastiest of circumstances, was not dark or nasty enough to prevent new life. Resurrection. A resurrection of Jesus, in that moment, not in some future by and by, some future last day.

            That day.

            What does that story say to us?

            First, we must know that Jesus loves us. Oh, how he loves us! We must pray to have the faithful trust of Martha and Mary who loved and declared their faith in spite of the tragedy that befell them. Martha declared that faith before Jesus raised Lazarus, not after. She was the mother of our faith, miracles or no miracles.

            We also must know that we have our own moments in tombs. In tombs of discouragement and frustration, where we feel minutes stretch to hours and hours to days and days to weeks with no light in sight. Where we feel we may never be restored or refreshed. And yet Jesus comes. God comes, and takes that experience, those moments, and calls us out into the light of day, even if strips of burial cloth still cling to us.

            And in all of these things, God is made known. Resurrection is now, you see. Not someday, but now. In every Lazarus moment, as you trust like Martha and Mary, know that you will walk out of that tomb, unbound and free, in the light of the day. Resurrection is NOW, and God is here now, and you are made well and whole now, and you can follow Jesus and be guided by him NOW. Just as you are, even if the stench surrounds you.

            Hearing the voice of Jesus, let us trust, and let us come out of our tombs, and live in the resurrection and the life right now, knowing that in all our moments in the tomb, God is alive in us and we shine in the brightness of God’s glory, now and always. Amen.