Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 22 Yr A October 4 2026, Sts. Martha and Mary, Eagan

Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 22 Yr A October 4 2026, Sts. Martha and Mary, Eagan
Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20, Psalm 19, Philippians 3:4b-14, Matthew 21:33-46

This is not a pretty parable. Matthew is talking mighty tough. A landlord purchases land, makes some improvements, and then leaves. After an undetermined amount of time, he sends his representatives to collect what is owed him. Instead of the tenants handing over what is owed, they beat and kill the landlord’s representative, not just one, but two, and then they kill his son. How can this parable even begin to reveal the kingdom of God?

This absent landlord, who knows how long he’s been away, finally sends in some of his people to check on the place. Maybe the tenants thought he’d permanently gone away, maybe they thought he was dead. You’d think that after the first murder, the landlord would quit. Well, that landlord is just crazy. And, what’s even crazier is this landlord sending his own son, after all this violence, as if something about that is going to change. As if people who have been beating and killing are just going to stop being violent because they just decided they don’t want to do that anymore.

Crazy indeed, crazy love. It’s not just crazy; it’s crazy love. The kind of love that brooks no reason, that will listen to no counter argument, and that will never, ever give up, risking even violence, rejection, and death in order to testify to God’s commitment to these tenants…and to us.

It sounds to me a lot like us, as tenants I mean. Such violence, such injustice, such foolishness. And yet God’s crazy love for us never, ever, ends. Makes me want to cry really, and I believe God weeps every time we, God’s children, turn to violence to solve our problems or to exert power. How can we go on being so violent, when we have a God whose love for us, for all creation is so amazing, so abundant. How can God continue to love us, when we keep on falling down, when we keep on blaming, mistreating, and hurting one another?

Because we really are just like these tenants. The tenants carry on the work of the vineyard in the landowner’s absence. It’s not fair is it? To do all the work and the landowner gets all the profits. The tenants are entitled to a piece of the pie, the tenants are entitled to some of the profit, so in some twisted way the tenants decide justice would be served by killing the messengers, even the landowner’s son to get the inheritance. This parable highlights our own human sense of justice and righteousness and even entitlement. We are the tenants. But in this parable, that is not the landowner’s, God’s, sense of justice and righteousness.

We hear this story all the time. About how unfair this life is. It’s that transaction with God again. If you work hard, and do everything right, your reward should be wealth and happiness and blessings from God, we think that’s what’s fair. But that’s not the truth. The truth is that many of us work hard, and still, pain, and suffering, and tragedy is present in our lives. But we are not entitled to success, or happiness, or even blessedness. We sometimes even talk about what we deserve or don’t deserve. We work hard, we deserve a good life, we deserve recognition. We deserve a life free from pain, free from heartache. But that’s not the way God works, it’s not the way scripture shows us and it’s not the way our lives show us. We experience pain and heartache, and we experience happiness and fullness of life.

Maybe Matthew tells this kind of a violent story because we cannot hear, truly hear, the stories that show us God’s compassion, God’s mercy and justice. Maybe Matthew tells this kind of a violent story because Matthew knows we are a violent people. But you know what? I don’t want to be that way. I don’t want us to be a people who don’t pay attention to God, to Spirit, to Love. I don’t want us to be an entitled people, an exceptional people. I don’t want us to be a violent people. I don’t want us to go on and on watching people getting killed, and to accept that as normal. I don’t want to see it anymore.

I want us to be a compassionate people. A merciful people. A just people. I want us to be people who love one another and care for each other, whether or not someone deserves love and care. I want us to follow Jesus, the one who shows us how to love, the one who shows us how forgiveness and healing work. The one who gave everything, so that we may have life. So that we may have life, not wealth, not happiness, but life.

So how do we do that? How do we build a community of compassion, and of mercy, and of justice? Do not be afraid. Indeed, it is fear that gives rise to violence. Fear of the ones who are different from us, fear of losing what we have, fear of losing our loved ones and fear of losing our very lives.

You see, we are all broken, and it is that very brokenness that makes us compassionate, or hateful. 
There’s a story in Bryan Stevenson’s book, Just Mercy, that I want to tell you about. In the book are many stories of incarceration, and many times I cried as I listened to the stories of people whose lives have turned for the worst, and yet who continue to have faith, hope, and compassion. This story in particular though illustrates our brokenness, and the compassion or hatefulness that results.

Bryan Stevenson tells the reader about a guard at the prison where he is visiting a client. The client, Avery, is there because after a life of foster care filled with emotional and sexual abuse, he hears the demons in his head and that results in stabbing a man and killing him. Mr. Stevenson regularly visits the prison as the legal counsel, he reports to the warden and then is signed in, all according to the proper procedure. The first time Mr. Stevenson encounters this particular prison guard, he is questioned extensively, bullied, and then subjected to a strip search, all against the law. Mr. Stevenson had seen a truck in the parking lot, a truck with confederate flag stickers plastered all over it. The prison guard makes sure Mr. Stevenson knows that is his truck. Mr. Stevenson listens to Avery, but the only thing Avery wants is a chocolate milk shake. Each time Mr. Stevenson sees Avery in prison, Avery asks for a chocolate milk shake, and Mr. Stevenson replies that he cannot get a milk shake into the prison. After many visits and much work, a court date is set for an appeal of Avery’s conviction, with the evidence of Avery’s upbringing in the foster care system. That same prison guard is the one who brings Avery to court each time, and the prison guard spent his time there listening to the proceedings. When Mr. Stevenson encounters that guard again at the prison, he approaches with trepidation, but the guard is a changed man. He tells Mr. Stevenson of his own abuse in the foster care system. He says he thought he was the only one who had been treated that way, and realized Avery was treated even more poorly and violently than he. The guard learned compassion as he looked into the eyes of the one he had judged a loser. He learned to respect Bryan Stevenson, the lawyer who was helping so many on death row. He even stopped at a Wendy’s on the way back to the prison after court one day, to buy Avery a chocolate milk shake.

We are all broken by something. We have all hurt someone and have been hurt. And we are witnessing over and over again the reality of our brokenness. But it is in that place of our brokenness, that makes us compassionate or hateful. Our brokenness is the source of our common humanity. We have a choice, to be compassionate or to be hateful. Embracing our brokenness leads to mercy. Jesus comes into that place of brokenness and says, let go of the hate, let go of the bitterness. Do not take revenge or retribution. Instead, know that we are all in this together, you have been dealt a life that is yours, filled with good fortune or bad, filled with love or abuse. You are capable of extreme compassion, you are capable of forgiveness.
Jesus’ love is the love that is unreasonable, it is the love that will never, ever give up, risking the violence showered upon him, the rejection of his friends, and death on a cross. And on that cross, Jesus loved, saying, forgive them, they don’t know what they are doing.

We know that love takes a decision. We know that compassion means doing something. Look into the eyes of the ones you are afraid of and be transformed. And then, get to work. Work to relieve the suffering and pain of another, and your problems will begin to feel small. Work to change laws that are unjust, systems that continue to oppress, work so that our community is compassionate. And bring a chocolate milk shake to someone this week. Amen.

 

Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost Yr A Proper 20 September 20 2026, Grace Church, Mpls

Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost Yr A Proper 20 September 20 2026, Grace Church, Mpls

Exodus 16:2-15, Psalm 105:1-6, 37-45, Philippians 1:21-30, Matthew 20:1-16

So your teenager walks into the house after school, or after football practice, or band rehearsal, or just takes a break from homework, or even about an hour after dinner, and looks through the cupboards, opens the refrigerator door, and says, "Mom! There's nothin to eat."

At least that’s been my experience. Which is why this story in Exodus about the Israelites makes so much sense to me. Aren’t we just like them? Whining, whining, whining, "God, we have nothing to eat, and what’s more, we don't like what you’ve given us to eat." I do think that if I were wandering in the wilderness with Moses and Aaron for 40 years, I might be a little whinny too. “God, we’re tired, we’re hungry, we may as well have stayed in Egypt for all this gets us.” And they are reminded that in Egypt they were slaves, at least in the desert they are free.

It’s a great story. In the verses that follow these we just heard, God instructs them to gather up what they need for themselves and their families. Each family gets just what they need, no more, no less. Then Moses instructs them not to save any of it, don’t take more than you need, he tells them. Well, some didn’t listen to Moses, and hoarded the food that God had provided for them, they put it in their pockets and their backpacks, and it got wormy and smelled bad. So not only do they not seem to want or like what God provides for them, they go ahead and eat it anyway, and then save some up for later, only for it to go bad on them. Lord, lord, lord, give us something to eat, give us something better to eat, we don’t like what you’ve given us, but even though we don’t like it we’ll hoard it for ourselves and risk losing what is right here in front of us.

Matthew’s gospel is paired with this story from Exodus and it carries the theme even farther. Matthew’s story is a tough one, it always seems so topsy-turvy, so inside-out. The day laborers that show up at the end of the day get paid the same as those who showed up early to work, and work or no work, everyone gets paid the same. 

What is God’s kingdom like? What is God’s economy like? God’s kingdom is not business as usual. These kingdom parables in Matthew serve to show us that God is doing this absolutely new thing, there is no business as usual. In this kingdom everything is re-ordered. It’s not even as simple as the last will be first, and the first shall be last. God coming into our midst, living, loving, suffering, dying, and being raised from the dead creates life in a way it has never been before.

So this kingdom parable doesn’t sit well with those who heard it centuries ago, and it doesn’t sit well with people who hear it today, when some have come to believe there is always a reward. For example, if we live a particular right way, or do all the right things, there will be a reward. For some that reward is heaven. This parable refutes that kind of thinking. Our wages are paid at the baptismal font, not at the grave. The new life, the defiant, embodied, joyful life in Jesus is available from the beginning. We live our whole lives loved by God, the delight of God’s life.

Following Jesus is not about earning our wage or getting our reward in heaven or even on earth. Following Jesus is about responding to God’s amazing and abundant love, about being bathed in God’s grace, right here, right now. Following Jesus is about the fruits of our baptism; following Jesus is about responding to the joys and challenges of our lives in ways that show forth the grace that God has given us. Following Jesus is not easy nor is it clear, it is not about finding Jesus, it’s about being found by God’s love. Following Jesus is about grace and forgiveness, the grace and forgiveness that God offers us, and the grace and forgiveness that we offer one another as we love our neighbors as ourselves.

God does ask us for our undivided attention, and God gives us all we need. Those wandering in the wilderness have so much trouble accepting God’s gift of enough, and instead made their own god out of the gold they had found. They got greedy. We get greedy, and we are encouraged in our greediness by a culture that constantly encourages us to buy more, and bigger, regardless of our ability to do so, regardless of need. Now, as much as the Hebrew people needed to hear “no other gods, only me,” and as much as the Jews of the first century needed to hear the inbreaking of God’s kingdom re-orders all that they knew to be true, we, in the 21st century need to hear this message that we are sought and we are found, that God loves us abundantly and claims us. Our wages are paid at the baptismal font, we are new creations.

This is good news indeed as we as a country stand at this precarious place, the slippery slope if you will. This place in our collective lives where we know we are called to be followers of Jesus, and sometimes we don’t know what to do about that, or we know the risk and are unsure of stepping out and taking it. One thing we are certain about, is that God calls us into community, and it is in community that we learn to love one another. And in community we know that every one of us is loved, regardless of wealth, social status, color of skin, ability, or so many other categories we place people into. 

There was a group that gathered last Monday night to address these very questions. How do we be followers of Jesus in public? What do we do about injustice? How do we protect our multiracial democracy? And we spent some time identifying the cloud of witnesses on whose shoulders we stand, those who have gone before us as witnesses who risked everything for the things that Jesus calls us to, loving one another, feeding one another, mercy, compassion. This coming Monday night we’re going to go a little deeper into what public discipleship, public ministry looks like. One of the ways we will practise that is by having conversations with one another, getting to know our neighbors in this church better. And we will begin to plan the ways we can step out in faith and make a difference right now.

God gives us enough grace for every single day. We do not need to hoard love or wait for a distant reward. We are already found, and we are already loved. Gathered here in this community, we find the courage to stand together. We can love our neighbors without limits. We can share God's abundant gifts with a world that is hungry for hope. Let us step out our doors this week ready to serve. Amen.

 

Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 18, Yr A, Sept. 6 2026, Sts. Martha and Mary, Eagan MN

Rev. Dr. Kathy Monson Lutes
Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 18, Yr A, Sept. 6 2026, Sts. Martha and Mary, Eagan MN
Exodus 12:1-14, Psalm 149, Romans 13:8-14, Matthew 18:15-20

I had the great good fortune a few years back to take classes at the Vancouver School of Theology, in Vancouver, British Colombia, in the Indigenous ministries program. In one of those classes we spent some time telling food stories. The people in the class were First Nations people from Canada, Alaska, and the United States, and Anglos like myself from those same places, and one fellow from Africa. Our professor had us tell food stories because they reveal so much about culture and relationships with one another, and with the land. The class was about food, water, and sustainability. A Navajo woman told us about the corn and the corn pollen. Corn is one of the main staples of the Navajo. Every spring, Navajo families plant large fields of corn. But its use goes far beyond just nutrition--it's also an important part of Navajo prayer. The pollen of the corn is dusted off the tassels and used in ceremonies as a blessing, and is offered in prayer. Corn is used to make many traditional dishes, including kneel-down bread, blue corn mush, dried steamed corn and roasted corn. The corn is also used during a ceremony when a Navajo girl comes of age--a large corn cake is cooked underground in a circular pit lined with corn husks.

Well, that's her story. And I had an opportunity to tell my story. About Lefse, of course. I told them that my mother, who was of Irish descent, stood next to my great aunt Minnie, who was Norwegian, as she mixed the Lefse dough, the potatoes and the cream and the flour, until the consistency was just right. Just right could only be felt, not measured. My mom stood by aunt Minnie while she rolled the dough out flat on the lefse rolling board, with the lefse rolling pin, until it was just right. There was no way to measure that, you just had to feel it. My mom stood by aunt Minnie while she peeled the lefse off of the lefse rolling board and set it flat on the griddle over the wood fire of the kitchen stove. Years later, I stood by my mother's side, feeling the lefse dough to see that it was just right, rolling the dough until it was thin enough, placing it on the electric lefse griddle as it turned just a little bit brown. Years later, my sons and my daughter in law, stand by my side, mixing the potatoes and the flour until the dough is just right, rolling it out just thin enough, placing it on my mother’s lefse griddle until it is just a little bit brown.

The story is less about the corn pollen, or the lefse, or the tortillas, or the bread, and much more about the relationship, the connection to those who came before, and those who come after. It is about who we are and to whom we are related. It is about how our diverse cultures form us as a people, and how our story sustains us. The story we hear today from Exodus is a story like that. It is a story that forms Israel as a people, and it is a story that remembers who they are. Today's portion of the story almost reads like a recipe, it is that and it is a call to remembrance and to reconciliation and forgiveness. It says this is who we are and what we do together, this is what we eat, why we eat it, when we eat it, and who we worship. It calls Israel to remember. This story says to the people, and to us as well, this is hard, being a people is hard, and you can do hard things. This is a story of survival, of tragedy, of heartache, and of hope. It says, if we can hang together, we can make it. It is a family story.

This is a really important story for us to remember today. It seems we have forgotten about being a people, a people who live in a world of reconciliation and forgiveness. A people who live in diversity, and respect.

We, right here, have a story centered in a loaf of broken bread, made real by Jesus' love for us, and when we tell the story, and eat the broken bread, Jesus' brokeness makes us whole, our fragmented parts are put back together again. We are healed, we are whole, we are forgiven, we are set free.

And in the gospel of Matthew our family story tells us about how followers of Jesus are in right relationship with one another, even when the relationships are troublesome. Churches are full of troublesome people, imperfect people, sinful people. And some of these people are us.

Church though, in this part of Matthew is a future reality, it is not present in the mind of the author as we know it today. So this passage is not necessarily about church as we experience it today, but it is most certainly about family, about community, and about connections, it is most certainly about how we interact with one another, and I believe it is most certainly about how we approach one another with forgiveness. We don't forgive to help the other person, and we don't forgive for others, we forgive for ourselves. We forgive, because not forgiving kills us from the inside out. Forgiveness is never about the one forgiven, it is always about the one doing the forgiving. Jesus knows this, of course. Forgiveness is about right relationship.

Being in relationship can be at times wonderful, at times fulfilling, and at times very very painful. Such is the nature of trying to love one another in a fallen world. We witness bad behavior and anger all around us. Anger is often a response to hurt, or even fear. And we are living through some hurtful and fearful times. But what if we forgave instead? The problem we have is that many think forgiveness is about the other person. Like it is a transaction of some sort. You can only forgive if the other person is sorry, or if the other person changes their behavior, or if the other person does what you want them to do. But forgiveness is not a transaction. Forgiveness is about a transformed heart. Anger really gets us nowhere. Anger only kills us from the inside out. Anger only hardens our hearts and cuts short our lives.

Forgiveness changes us. Forgiveness covers us with its grace. Forgiveness can even rewrite the narrative of our lives. And, just as importantly, we are forgiven. In all of our impetuous imperfection, in all of our risky races, in all of our messy murkiness, we continue to be the delight of God's life, we continue to be loved perfectly, and forgiven abundantly. God continues to come to us in love, God comes to us in the unreasonable incarnation, God comes to us in Jesus. Each and everyone of us has that which we must forgive in ourselves and in the others in our lives. But we don’t want to, we want the one whose behavior is bad or sinful or unlikeable to be punished, or to lose something, their lives, their health, an election. But in the bread, in the wine, in each other, God says to us, there is nothing, absolutely nothing you can do that will separate me from you. God says, I forgive you now, and I will forgive you forever. 

Thanks be to God.

 

Sixth Sunday after Pentecost Proper 9 July 5 2026, St. Martha and Mary, Eagan MN

Sixth Sunday after Pentecost Proper 9 July 5 2026, St. Martha and Mary, Eagan MN
Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67, Psalm 45: 11-18, or Song of Solomon 2:8-13
Romans 7:15-25a, Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

We have heard these words from the gospel of Matthew so many times, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” These words follow the calling of  the disciples, Andrew and Simon the fisher folk, and Matthew the tax collector. They dropped everything and immediately followed Jesus. But this passage that we hear today extends that call, it is an expansive invitation from Jesus to all who can hear, including you and me, to follow. 

When they fall upon my ears, I listen, but I am not convinced that following Jesus is easy, or that the burden is light. Sometimes, like you, I think following Jesus is really hard. It’s hard to step to a different drummer, when succumbing to the values and morals of our culture seems like it would be so much easier. It’s really hard to be the voice in the wilderness that says, resist, resist all that would demean and destroy God’s creation, resist all that would raise the rich and the powerful over and above those who are poor and outcast. Resist the easy fix and the easy answers. When you do, Jesus promises, I will give you rest.

All I know is that we can do hard things.

Let’s step back just a bit and see what has happened to get us to this place in Matthew’s gospel. Matthew’s story begins with reporting the glorious works of God being done in Israel, and at this point shifts to focus on Israel’s failure to respond to those works. At the beginning of this chapter 11, Jesus was speaking to the crowds concerning John, the one we call Baptizer. Jesus was singing John’s praises, at the very moment John was in prison awaiting his fate. At the same time, Jesus is railing against those who hold power, and against the common people, all who he compares to stubborn children who would not play well with others. In a passage that was left out of our lectionary reading, Jesus castigates the people for being inhospitable and lacking repentance.

And then Jesus does something I think we’ve all done, he stops what he's doing and saying, and he prays. Jesus' prayer at this point reveals the intimacy Jesus has with God. I think Jesus shows us that prayer, being present with God, is necessary when we are called to do hard things. It is what equips us to do hard things.

And then this invitation, come to me, follow me, take my yoke upon you. Jesus knows this is hard, probably the hardest thing we ever do. Jesus is asking the people he encountered, and loved and cared about, to exchange the “yoke” they lived under, which is the control of the empire of Rome, for the “yoke” that Jesus offered, the yoke of love, the yoke of reconciliation, the yoke of forgiveness.

We don’t use the word yoke much anymore. The yoke was a piece that went across the shoulders of two large animals, usually oxen, each enclosing the heads of the animals. The yoke was heavy, it kept the animals doing the job the farmer wanted them to do.

When we imagine that yoke, the image becomes clear. Jesus says, leave the heavy burden that is holding you hostage, and take on a new yoke, the yoke of love, the yoke of reconciliation, the yoke of forgiveness. Jesus was asking the people of his time to do something very hard. Jesus was asking them to risk everything, their lives and their livelihood, to be free of the empire of Rome. Jesus promises that when we exchange the yoke of the powerful for the yoke of the one who will be crucified, we will find rest.

I think we live in very similar times today. The burdens are huge and heavy. Can we even do that hard thing that Jesus asks? We are shown by our leaders that power over people is much more desirable than working with each other to come to the common good. We see and hear those who are in power that the goal is to make as much money as possible for oneself. There is fear that our way of life, both our secular way of life and our church way of life, is under attack by those who want us to be and do something that we are not. We live at a time and place where we are increasingly taught to believe that true joy, deep satisfaction, and the realization of what we were created for comes through watching out only for ourselves. We do not see very clearly the model that shows us that being in relationship with, and bearing the burdens of those around us is a good and right way to live.

Is the hard thing laying the burden down? Or believing Jesus, who says, come to me and I will give you rest, my burden is easy, and my burden is light. You see, Jesus doesn’t simply call our expectations into question, but Jesus  gives us another way to live. God is the one who bears our burdens. God is the one who shows up in our need. God is the one who comes alongside us. Nothing demonstrates this more than the cross – God’s willingness to embrace all of our life, even to the point of death, in Jesus, to demonstrate God’s profound love and commitment, love and commitment that will not be deterred…by anything.

It’s not necessarily what we want. We often would prefer a God who takes away our problems and pain rather than coming beside us.  We often would prefer a God who takes away our problems and pain rather than equiping us for them. It’s not usually what we want, but pretty much exactly what we need. That’s the rest Jesus is talking about. It’s not an easy rest, it’s not usually what we want, but it’s exactly what we need.

And we are reminded that God always shows up where we least expect God to be: in the need of our neighbor, in the person that doesn’t look anything like you, in the person who believes and thinks and acts differently than we do and, just as importantly, than we think they should. And that in all these circumstances, our call is the same: to care for them, to meet them where they are, to accept them as we are able.

It’s not easy. But ease is not what Jesus asks of us. Jesus asks us to exchange the burden of the world for the relationship Jesus offers. To exchange the burden of the world for the kindom of God. It is hard, and we can do hard things. This is what following Jesus looks like. As we undertake this new yoke, we discover God in Jesus is already there. Waiting for us, encouraging us, forgiving us, bearing us, loving us. Which is what makes the burden light, the yoke not just easy but joyful. Pick up the yoke that Jesus offers, the yoke of love, the yoke of reconciliation, the yoke of forgiveness.

It is hard, but we can do hard things. It is joyful, and love does win. Amen.

 

Second Sunday after Pentecost Proper 5, June 7 2026, St. Martha and Mary, Eagan MN

Second Sunday after Pentecost Proper 5, June 7 2026, St. Martha and Mary, Eagan MN
Genesis 12:1-9, Psalm 33:1-12, Romans 4:13-25, Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

I was in seminary with a lot of Lutherans. Lutherans are funny people, and I think they think Episcopalians are peculiar people. But I digress. My Lutheran classmates, even by the time they got to seminary, already had it in their DNA, that a sermon is structured thusly - tell a story, followed by a three point sermon, tell another story. Simple. I’ve never knowingly written or preached a sermon following that structure, but today I find my self with the three points. So, if you hear nothing else, hear this

Faith is a risk - Mercy is the cost - Blessing is the work

Faith is a risk. Oh my gosh, this story of Abram. Up to this point in Genesis, the whole first twelve chapters is a crazy sweeping story of creation, and turning away from God, and a flood, and confusion, and the pride and arrogance of Babylon. And then, this major transition at chapter 12 when Abram is introduced, and chosen. The Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you..” You know the rest. 

We are never told how a refugee from Mesopotamia would even know who the Lord, Yahweh, is, or even why Yahweh would bother with him. There is evidence in Joshua that Abraham and his brother and father and family, gasp, served other gods, that means they worshipped idols, remember, there were lots to choose from. Welcome to the Bible, details are rarely given. So once we meet Abram in Genesis 12, the action moves. “Hi Abram; I’m the God Yahweh. Now, follow me to an unknown place so I can make you the father of a new nation and a source of blessing for everyone else.” 

In this story, Yahweh, God, promises that Abram, who will be Abraham, - an aside - notice how names are changed when transformation happens, Abram to Abraham, Saul to Paul, Simon to Peter - fascinating. God promises that Abraham will be the father of a great nation, as numerous as the stars in the sky or the sand on the shore. 

What we may see happening in this story of Abraham is that each stage of Israel's journey is like a new beginning, a reminder that Israel’s story is bound to, and perhaps fulfilling the purposes of the original creation story. And we also see that faith for Abraham is a tremendous risk, separation from his clan, following an unknown God, and yet Abraham moves in a direction of peril and possibility. Abraham’s yes to God’s call brings forth something entirely new in creation. That faith is risky business.

Remember a time when you moved in a direction of peril and possibility, when you leaned into risky faith, and you received a new name, Brave, Courageous.

Mercy is the cost. Jesus is walking along. Not at the seashore this time, where he called the fishers as followers, but at the city gate. And his only words to the tax collector were “follow me.” Not very different from Abraham’s story really, what does Matthew, the tax collector, really know about this itinerant Jew? And, why does Jesus call Matthew? Matthew is a collaborator with the Empire to oppress his neighbors, maybe even caught up in something too big for himself. Jesus calls him out of all of that to a new way of being, a life of discipleship, and Matthew seems willing to pay the price, the cost of discipleship is high, the cost of mercy may be one’s life.

The Pharisees ask, “Why does your teacher, and now Matthew is one of them, eat with tax collectors and sinners? Tax collectors participate in oppression, sinners are outside the circle of power. And Jesus says, “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.” Jesus is merciful, to follow Jesus means mercy. Sin and mercy are not in opposition. I think in our culture, sacrifice, or self-sacrifice has come to be defined by a kind of righteous martyrdom. But that is not what Jesus is or asks for. Mercy is what the sinner, you and me, offer to one another, oneself, and our neighbor. Mercy is the cost of following Jesus, mercy is the cost of love. Mercy is knowing that every one of us is created in God’s image, and offering to the other that reflection, that knowledge, that reality, of God’s love and grace. Mercy costs our self-righteous smugness, mercy costs our judgement. For some, the cost of mercy is too high, for followers of Jesus, the cost of mercy is priceless.

Blessing is the work. This woman had been suffering from bleeding for twelve years. That would have done all of us in. She’d heard about Jesus, but she knew there were a multitude of reasons  why it would be a bad idea to go into the marketplace and hope against hope that if she could just touch his cloak, she would be healed. She was unclean, not just for a week, not even just after having a baby, but for twelve years. No one would have her in their presence, she should not be near anyone, she should accept her fate and stay isolated and alone, apart from her community. But there she was, in Jesus’ circle of people, and she reached out. She grabs her blessing and then Jesus publicly affirms what she’s done and who she is. Everyone around her also hears that blessing. Everyone in this story is blessed by the presence of Jesus. 

I have been involved in these last few months in so many conversations about how we followers of Jesus make any difference at all in our communities, in our kinship circles, and in our larger civic world. We make a difference by living boldly and courageously. We know that faith is risky business, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Ruth, Naomi, Mary, Elizabeth all show us that faith is risky business, and that God can be trusted. Let us risk boldly for God’s love in our world. 

All of us walk this very messy path of faith, all of us fall on the floor and meet Jesus in the person who helps us up. No matter who we are, or what we have. In the rising up, we are made a new creation, in God’s image, and that alone gives us everything we need to risk mercy for God’s sake, for your sake, for the kindom’s sake. 

Remember God’s blessing, carry God’s blessing with you. Be God’s blessing in your conversations with family, with friends, with those you love and with those you may someday learn to love. That is your work. 

Amen. 

Blessing

May God give you grace not to sell yourself short; grace to risk something big for something good; and grace to remember the world is now too dangerous for anything but truth and too small for anything but love. And the blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, be upon you and remain with you for ever. Amen.

 

Sixth Sunday of Easter Yr A May 10 2026 St. Marth and Mary, Eagan MN

Sixth Sunday of Easter Yr A May 10 2026 St. Marth and Mary, Eagan MN
Acts 17:22-31, 1 Peter 3:13-22, John 14:15-21, Psalm 66:7-18

My husband Rick and I were married 36 years when he died. We met through YMCA camp, I was the waterfront director and he was a camp counselor. But the point of this story is baseball. When Rick and I met and were dating, we went to the Metrodome for Twins baseball. Now, in those days, I rolled my eyes at baseball, boring! And actually fell asleep during baseball games. But I went, because he seemed to enjoy it and I loved him so I went. We got married, and had kids, and brought our kids to the Metrodome for Twins baseball. As long as the kids could walk under the turnstile, they were free. We packed our own hotdogs in our picnic basket, and got to the dome early so we could sit way down in front, or on the third base line to watch batting practice. Before the game began, we'd move up into the nosebleed section into our own seats. I actually grew to love baseball, our kids love Twins baseball. It's crazy what we'll do for love. 

In the fifteenth chapter of John, following what we read today is, "This is my commandment, that you love one another, just as I have loved you." And what we have from John this week is a follow up to what we heard last week. John reminds us, you know how to do this, love is hard, and you can do hard things. John reminds us that love is about a relationship, love God, love yourself, love others. And in John, Jesus reminds us that we will not be left alone, love is a hard thing after all, and so Jesus does not leave us alone, Jesus leaves us with the Advocate. Advocate is one way to translate the Greek word, Paraclete. Paraclete can function relationally by designating one who brings help, consolation, comfort, and encouragement. All of these meanings however, derive from the most basic meaning of the word to “come alongside another.” 

There was a time in our history when a person who was standing for trial in a courtroom literally stood in the box the entire time. A Paraclete is the one who stands with, the one who holds up, and the Paraclete was the one to come alongside to help the person stand throughout the trial, and if needed, to stand in for that person. This is the image that John evokes in this passage, this is the truth of what Jesus does in this passage. Jesus shows us what God's love for God's people looks like, we are not left alone, we are not left to our own devices. 

One thing that is hard about love, among many things, is that our society has led us to believe that love is about a feeling. Love is the same as romance, or passion, or sex. Love comes and goes. You can fall into and out of love. But that is not the love that God commands, that is not the love that this story shows us. A real love story is a story that shows a relationship that endures, a relationship in which the lovers treat each other well, respectfully, compassionately, lovingly, even when they don't feel like it, even when they don't want to. There are some wonderful love stories out there. How about  a real love story in which a father pushes his son's wheel chair for the whole race, so that the son will know what it is like to run. Or another love story when one friend, who is blind, puts his friend who has no legs, on his back and they go about living life together. A real love story is when a couple watches baseball together, because they've grown to love baseball together. 

Love is holding another person up, when all we want to do is fall down. Love is holding another person up when it seems impossible to stand another moment. Love is standing there for another person, speaking on behalf of the other, being the voice for the voiceless, love is showing up. And it is hard, so Jesus leaves this Spirit, this Advocate, this Paraclete, with us, so that we are not left alone. 

Love is hard, and you can do hard things. Have you ever known that Spirit, that Advocate, that Paraclete coming alongside of you? This Spirit is sometimes hard to identify. But it lives somewhere in the wind and the flame of compassion, of grace, courage, faith, peace, laughter, music, strength, and joy.  

Love is hard, and you can do hard things. When is a time when you have wanted to just lie down and not get up again, but someone came by your side and held you up? When have you been broken and spent, and someone came by your side and gave you words of encouragement? When have you been ready to throw in the towel, when have you been ready to call it quits, and someone came by your side and said, that's why a baseball game is nine innings, you’ve got plenty more chances. When have you stood by the side of one you love, when doing so may have seemed doomed. 

An understanding of Advocate is "to speak on behalf of another." In John, this is a manifestation of the third person of the trinity that is different from the more familiar Spirit, wind or fire. The Advocate will stick up for you, and you will stick up for others. You will bear witness, you speak on behalf of love, you will stand by the side of the other or the beloved, you will hold one another up, because you can do hard things, because God loves you, and because Love wins even when the Twins don't.

Another story about Advocate - or Holy Spirit. I’ve played the flute now for a long time. I was very fortunate, my parents encouraged me, I was in band and able to take private music lessons. Once in high school, there was an expectation that all of the band students would prepare a piece of music and participate in a music competition. Again, I was fortunate in that the person from whom I had private flute lessons was a piano player as well, and therefore, an accompanist. Since then, I’ve had some opportunities to play and be accompanied by some pretty wonderful pianists. An accompanist is a partner in the music. The job of the accompanist is to get the best out of the soloist; to help the soloist to do their very best. When the soloist is nervous, like a high school flute player would be, the accompanist encourages her playing, and even occasionally covers mistakes. There is a sense of joy in making music by oneself, but I think my greatest musical joy is in making music with others. 

There is a new creation, a spirit if you will, that lives in the particular time and place that music is made. The picture of the accompanist for me is one of partner, and even co-creator, without whom music is less. Music can be played or sung, and with the accompanist, it is more beautiful, and more fun. It is this image I encourage you to hold on to as we continue to read through John in the next few weeks as we hear more about this Advocate, the Holy Spirit, the Accompanist, who teaches us to love in hard ways, and in joyful ways.

Alleluia, Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia.

A Prayer for Mother’s Day…for all of us.

 For women being celebrated by their children and grandchildren today…
       may your joy be complete.

For women separated from their children today, due to physical or emotional distance -and for those with difficult relationships with their mothers…
       may your joy be in what was and what yet may be.

For women whose child – born or unborn – has died – and for those whose Mother has died…
       may joy be present in the midst of your grief.

For women who lost a child in abortion…
       may the joy of peace be yours.

For women who have given a child in adoption…
       may you be bathed in the overflow of joy you provided to another.

For women who are expecting or dreaming of a child someday – and for women who are struggling to conceive or adopt…
       may your hope lead to joy.

For women who are not called to have children of their own…
       may you find joy in community.

For women who raise or love the children of other women as their own – and for women who adopt or foster children…
       may your love bring you joy.

For women one and all…
       may you find joy in the truth that you are wonderfully made.

For the miracle of life, we give thanks to the Lord. Amen.

Blessing

May God give you grace not to sell yourself short; 

grace to risk something big for something good; 

and grace to remember the world is now too dangerous 

for anything but truth and too small for anything but love.

And the blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, be upon you and remain with you for ever. 

Amen! Alleluia!

 

 

 

Easter Vigil - Grace Episcopal Church, April 4, 2026

Easter Vigil - Grace Episcopal Church, April 4, 2026

This is the night, when you brought our forebears, the children of Israel, out of bondage in Egypt, and led them through the Red Sea on dry land. This is the night, when all who believe in Christ are delivered from the gloom of sin, and are restored to grace and holiness of life. This is the night, when Christ broke the bonds of death and hell, and rose victorious from the grave, we heard Huldah sing all of this. 

We’ve just rehearsed the stories of our faith, the stories of God’s activity in the life of God’s people, the story of reconciliation, restoration, resurrection, in the midst of wandering, whining, and wailing. We’ve seen bones that join together and wind and spirit to give them new life. We’ve had our hands in water that cleanses, water that hydrates, water that is poured over us.

On this night, death does not have the final word. This week we have kept vigil, we have listened to litanies and prayers, we have sat in the silence and wept, we have been to the cross with Jesus, we have recognized our complicity in the whole mess, we have held one another’s hand, we have wondered whether we are worth all this pain and trouble, we have told the stories of who we are and whose we are, and we, like Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women who go to the tomb to see Jesus, are afraid, afraid that it may not be true, given all that we’ve seen and experienced in the recent months.

But we, here in this room, know the ending of the story. And we know at the two pivotal times of the church year, Incarnation and Resurrection, the angel says, “Do not be afraid.” And tonight we hear, "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here but has risen” Indeed this is good news, received with fear and great joy. What are we to do with this Good News, that death does not have the final word? Can we believe it? The women go away unsure. And Peter, wonderful Peter, ran home amazed at what happened. God has raised Jesus to new life, Love prevails, rising again out of the grave. 

On this night, we are surprised by joy, we are surprised by hope, Love prevails. God acts decisively on behalf of all creation, on behalf of the Peters, who deny Jesus, and the Judas’, who betray Jesus, the Roman soldiers and the apathetic bystanders, the Mary’s and the Martha’s, you and me. 

We rehearse this pattern year after year, day after day, not to impose it onto reality, but rather to remind ourselves and each other that this pattern is at the very heart of reality: that love does prevail, that no matter how grim the night becomes, joy will come in the morning. Every story we tell points us to God who loves creation so very much, that God is willing to take extreme measures to show us that Love prevails, that death does not triumph.

We see Jesus. Jesus who was born into this world, our world, born in a barn, to parents of questionable status. Jesus, who taught in the temple when he was twelve. Jesus who ate with tax collectors and sinners, who hung around with women and children. Jesus who fed the hungry, five thousand at a time. Jesus, who spoke with the woman at the well, who healed the blind man, who raised his friend Lazarus from the dead. Jesus, who went to the margins, Jesus, who literally gave new life where there was no life at all. 

Incarnation, the embodiment of God’s love, shows us that God stoops into our time, our lives,and walks this road with us. Jesus’ life, and love, pain and sorrow, death and resurrection, show us that it is not God’s purpose to remove the hardness from this life, or to remove brokenness from the world, but to show us a new way to live. Resurrection shows us that God actively works in human history because God never gives up on the creation God loves so very much.

This Easter story, this story that Love prevails, that death does not triumph, matters. 

Sometimes we get impatient - 

sometimes we want to give up - 

sometimes the darkness seems so thick - 

sometimes joy seems so far away. 

But we continue to tell these stories, to live these stories, in order to strengthen our skills as we walk through the pattern in our own lives; joy, struggle, suffering, resurrection. We fill up with courage, and hope, so that we may be the carriers of joy into the world. 

Jesus calls disciples, the ones who followed while he walked this journey on earth, and you and me, Jesus’ disciples today, to teach us who we are, to teach us about being citizens of the new kingdom. On Tuesday, your clergy took time out of their Holy Week, to gather and renew our ordination vows. Our bishop spoke to us about how, in an age marked by anger, scorn, and division, joy is an act of revolution. The purpose of the church is to cultivate an alternative economy that trades in joy and love. While happiness, or feeling good, depends on our circumstances, joy grows from keeping our eyes fixed on the promises of God, and soaking ourselves daily in God’s goodness. 

And on this most holy night, we witnessed Nicole’s baptism, and renewed our own baptismal promises 

to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, 

in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers, 

to persevere in resisting evil, 

to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ, 

to seek and serve Christ in all persons, 

loving your neighbor as yourself, 

to strive for justice and peace among all people, 

and respect the dignity of every human being. 

We are Easter people. We live with hope and with joy in the reality that death does not have the final word, but that Love prevails. Alleluia, alleluia.