When Your Family Members Act Stupid (Reflections on Epiphany 7, Year C 2025)

 

“Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive and you will be forgiven.” (Luke 6:37)

Okay. Nobody’s family is perfect. I won’t say my own family was completely dysfunctional, but I can’t help but recall a troubled time in my youth when my dad, being out of work, fell prey to a multi-level marketing operation. For at least a year in the history of the Griffiths clan my parents were suckered into a combination religious cult and Ponzi scheme. The outfit which seduced my unemployed pater promised to save the world through its health food, vitamin supplements, and non-toxic cleaning products. It also promised that—if the Old Man could sell enough of their stuff and convince others to sell it too—he could get stinking rich in no time. The company offered the perfect incentive of altruism mixed with greed.

So, for over a year or so, my sisters and I were subject to our parents’ holier-than-off-the-retail-shelf zeal about these wonderful supplements and cleansers and were forced to partake of supposedly healthy snacks and protein drinks. For kids raised on Fruit Loops and Coco Puffs, this was like asking us to eat spoonsfull of dirt. Fortunately, my dad realized that he wasn’t cut out to be a hustling salesman, and the spell was broken. I never found out how much money he lost on that deal.

Everybody’s family has some embarrassing moments in their history. Yours does too. If you ever feel uneasy about the people who raised you, I suggest you start reading the Book of Genesis beginning at chapter 12. There you’ll find the stories of the Great Patriarchs of the Judeo-Christian-Islamic faiths, and—in case you think your family is messed up—you’ll be the Brady Bunch compared to folks God called to be a blessing to the nations.

In the First Lesson for Epiphany 7, Year C in the Revised Common Lectionary (Genesis 45:3-11, 15), we get the culmination of the story of Jacob’s children. Jacob was married to two wives simultaneously. This was the result of some treachery practiced on him by his own uncle. He slept with both wives and with their lady’s maids and had children with all four women. Unfortunately, he only really loved one of the women and favored her son, Joseph, over all his other progeny. This caused the boy’s jealous brothers to want him dead. In an act of forbearance, however, they decided only to sell their brother into slavery in a foreign land and tell their Old Man the kid was eaten by a lion. I guess they thought that was the decent way of getting rid of a sibling they hated.

Fast forward several years, and a famine strikes the land of Israel. Joseph, through a lot of adventures I won’t go into, has become the Prime Minister of Egypt. His ten treacherous brothers come down to Egypt looking to buy grain and don’t recognize this aristocratic Egyptian as the brother they betrayed. Joseph now has his enemies in his clutches, but he finds out from them that his kid brother, Benjamin (the younger son of his birth mother), is still living with Dad back in the land of Canaan. Joseph decides against having his ten brothers executed as spies but tricks them into going back to Canaan and bringing Benjamin with them. When they return with the boy Joseph frames Benjamin for theft so he can keep him with him in Egypt. One of Joseph’s older brothers, Judah, then makes a rather selfless move. He tells the Egyptian bigwig that their aging father will die of a broken heart if Benjamin doesn’t come home to him. He then offers to stay in Egypt as Joseph’s slave in order to let his little half-brother go free.

This heroic offer touches Joseph. He has an attack of conscience, reveals his true identity to his brothers, forgives them for their past dirty deeds, and offers to move them and their father down to Egypt to escape the hard economic times and enjoy his wealth and good fortune. Forgiveness and reconciliation save God’s chosen people and Genesis concludes on a pretty cheerful note. Roll the credits.

Unfortunately, not every family’s saga ends happily ever after. There are some hurts which just can’t be swept aside so easily. There are children estranged from parents and siblings who won’t speak to each other. There are wounds which go so deep they just can’t be brushed off, and Jesus’ admonition in the Gospel Lesson (Luke 6:27-38) about loving enemies, praying for abusers, and turning the other cheek may sound empty, impossible, or even stupid to some people.

When we’re trapped in these inter-personal animosities, I think there are three things to consider. The first is empathy. Before we decide to curse someone into the fires of Hell, it might be a good idea to try to understand what lies beneath their actions or words. It might be fear or hurt. Knowing this, of course, doesn’t excuse the behavior of an abuser, but it might have a softening effect on those who are abused.

(I was, of course, only kidding earlier about my parents’ crazy embrace of the multi-level marketing scam. My sisters and I never considered we were ever abused. But, as I muse on this episode, I realize that every stupid thing we’ve ever done must’ve seemed like a good idea at the time. My folks were the product of their own time and upbringing. They’d lived through the Great Depression, and they had no desire to relive it.)

The real goal for all of us should be reconciliation. If you were Joseph and you saw the brother who had betrayed you become Benjamin’s protector—sacrificing himself to protect your little brother and your dad, you might come to believe that he’s seen the error of his ways. True reconciliation comes with repentance. An honest “I’m sorry” is just as important as an “I forgive you.” But it’s hard to bring someone to contrition if you’ve constantly got them on the defensive. That’s why empathy is so important.

Finally, a time comes when we need to practice some self-love. President Nixon famously said in his farewell to the White House staff, “Others may hate you, but those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them. And when you do, you destroy yourself.” Despite its historical irony, this was a very wise remark. Contrition is important for forgiveness, but not necessary. There are times when reconciliation is just not possible. Still, we choose to forgive because holding onto hatred is poisonous to our souls.

What would Jesus do? What would he have us do? This passage from Luke speaks for itself.

Think of others, my friend. Be open to forgiveness. Thanks for letting me share.

Who Are We Blessing and Cursing? (Reflections on Epiphany 6, Year C 2025)

 They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases, and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. And everyone in the crowd was trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them. (Luke 6:18-19)

They came to Jesus to be healed of their diseases. I hope none of you suffer from diseases this winter, but we’ve been warned there’s a pretty nasty flu virus going around. Of course, you can always get a flu shot and try to protect yourself.

If, however, you happen to be in the Republic of the Congo, you might not be so fortunate. There’s an absolutely deadly strain of M pox running loose in that population with no vaccine available to stop it. Up in Uganda there’s an outbreak of Ebola, but no vaccine will be coming for those people. An unelected foreign national who has somehow gained influence over the United States government considers inoculating Ugandans and Congolese and stopping the Ebola or M pox spread falls under the category of fraud, waste, and abuse.

I think I hear what Jesus is saying in the Gospel lesson for Epiphany 6, Year C (Luke 6:17-26). He’s expressing God’s love for the poor—a love emphasized over and over again in Luke’s Gospel. But I also hear what this current moment in our nation’s history is saying, and it’s very different. When I read the news coming out of Washington, I’m hearing the opposite of what Jesus is teaching:

Woe to you who are poor, for your poverty is none of our concern.

Woe to you who are hungry, for we won’t be sending you any more food.

Woe to you who weep now, for you will go on weeping. You will catch preventable diseases, and your children will die of malnutrition because the wealthiest man in the world has decided your lives aren’t important.

And woe to you who are criticized and reviled for preaching the word of God. There will be a resolution presented before the House of Representatives to condemn your sermon as a “distorted message.[i]” A disgraced army officer will go on social media and accuse your denomination of laundering money. The grant money appropriated to you by the US Congress for non-religious humanitarian work will be called “illegal[ii].”

But blessed are you who are rich. You will get even richer.

Blessed are you who are full now, for there’s a big, fat permanent tax break coming your way.

Blessed are you who are laughing now, for you are now in charge.

Blessed are you when all speak well of you, for you have really put one over on the suckers.

I struggle with this message. I have a definite conflict between honoring my ordination vow to preach the truth and stand up for the poor and the marginalized, and my responsibility as a parish pastor to provide a calm and safe worship experience which allows my congregation to come quietly into the presence of God—blessedly free of controversy or anything upsetting. I guess the first duty won out this time.

I’m not trying to make people angry like the Howard Beal character in that old movie Network. In fact, I think anger, no matter how righteous, is often counterproductive. I’m not even telling you to go out and protest—at least not yet. But I am trying to say that what is happening in Washington—the arbitrary withholding of humanitarian funds and the shutdown of the United States Agency for International Development—is a direct contradiction of the Holy Scriptures.

Luke’s Gospel is full of references to economic justice. The Virgin Mary sings of God’s regard for the poor (1:46-55). Jesus tells the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (16:19-31), in which a man wastes food but lets a beggar starve. Even dogs show the poor man more compassion than does the wealthy man. But when they both die, the poor man is carried away to the bosom of Father Abraham. The rich man is in torment in hades and is reminded by Abraham that he had Moses and the prophets to teach him about compassion. Jesus tells the parable of the rich fool (12:13-21) as a warning against greed. Perhaps the most obvious example of all is the parable of the Good Samaritan (10:25-37) in which we are reminded to love our neighbor as ourselves by showing mercy. Jesus tells us, “Go and do likewise.”

Many states of our Union have laws against ignoring or refusing aid to those in emergency situations. To hear a cry for help and refuse to respond is called depraved indifference. The laws against such indifference are often referred to as “Good Samaritan Laws,” a reference to the teachings of Jesus.

I dearly hope the federal courts will put a stop to the impounding of funds intended to aid the needy in the US and around the world. Let’s pray this will come to pass. In the meantime, we will continue to do what we do. We will not withhold generosity or compassion. We will continue to support Feast of Justice and continue our sponsorship of two school children in Latin America. We’ll take up our special offerings and support the work of our Synod. And we will continue to pray “Thy kingdom come; thy will be done.”

Luther reminds us:

“God’s good and gracious will comes about without our prayers, but we ask in this prayer that it may also come about in and among us.”[iii]

Keep praying. Keep your hearts open. Keep seeking God’s will. It’s more important now than ever.

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[i] See https://www.congress.gov/bill/119th-congress/house-resolution/59

[ii] See https://clintschnekloth.substack.com/p/musk-and-flynns-attack-on-lutheran?

[iii] Luther’s Small Catechism, explanation to the Third Petition.

Tips for Fishing for People (Reflections on Epiphany 5, Year C 2025)

5 Once while Jesus[a] was standing beside the Lake of Gennesaret and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, 2 he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gotten out of them and were washing their nets. 3 He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. 4 When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” 5 Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.” 6 When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to burst. 7 So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. 8 But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’s knees, saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” 9 For he and all who were with him were astounded at the catch of fish that they had taken, 10 and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” 11 When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him. (Luke 5:1 – 11)

Like all ELCA Lutheran clergy, part of my seminary training involved three months of institutional chaplain experience called Clinical Pastoral Education or CPE.[i] I was fortunate to be accepted to do my CPE in the Ivy League at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. At the time the Chief of Chaplains at Penn was a modest but extremely insightful United Methodist pastor named Ralph Ciampa. As a CPE trainer, Pastor Ciampa would frequently accompany student chaplains as they visited with the patients and would help these students process the experience of ministry to those suffering from serious illness. If a student asked Pastor Ciampa “How did I do?” the Chief of Chaplains would turn the question back on the student by asking “What were you trying to do?”

I think—don’t you?—that it’s important for us in any ministry endeavor to know what our goals are. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before in this blog, a big fat chunk of my ministry (sort of my “side hustle” if you will) is officiating funeral services for the unchurched in my community. Over the years I’ve gotten pretty good at it, and I suspect one of the reasons is because I know what I’m trying to do with this ministry. I’m not trying to give closure, because I don’t believe one should ever want to close the books on someone they loved. I do, however, want mourners to know their loved ones’ life mattered, that they have permission—healthy permission—to grieve, that the one they love is in God’s loving hands, and that they are not alone in their grief as others have come to support them and honor the deceased with them. I also want to use the opportunity of a memorial service to teach the assembled a little bit about the Christian faith. After all, as a disciple of Jesus, I’ve been called to “fish for people.”

Don’t get me wrong. My memorial services aren’t a Billy Graham Crusade. There isn’t an altar call, and I don’t try to pray everyone into Heaven. I’m even pretty uncomfortable with a doctrine which says, “Believe in Jesus or burn in Hell.” I mean, who are we to decide whom God will receive into God’s loving arms?

No. If we’re going to fish for people, we’d best be sure of the sort of bait we use. I’m pretty sure that fear of Hell and damnation aren’t the best ways to express the love of Christ, and I think sharing that love is what we’re really trying to do.

I’ll grant many of us look at this fishing expedition with some reluctance. Well, get in line. Isaiah in our First Lesson for Epiphany 5 in the Revised Common Lectionary (Isaiah 6:1-13) is not a little uncomfortable being a man of unclean lips in the presence of Almighty God. Not only did he feel unworthy of God’s commission, but I’ll also bet he was afraid of being squashed like an ant on the sidewalk by a just and powerful deity. God, however, had other ideas. God knows a good potential prophet when God sees one.

Ditto our old friend, Simon Peter in the Gospel Lesson (above). Peter must’ve though he was the last person who could be of any use to Jesus or the Kingdom of God. Granted, he had to live with Jesus for about three years and make a bunch of mistakes. He almost drowned[ii], he got called “Satan” [iii], and he denied he even knew Jesus when his rabbi got arrested.[iv]. It finally took Jesus’ resurrection and the anointing of the Holy Spirit[v] to get this guy into the preaching mode. Fortunately, Peter, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit stuck it out, and this fragile and very human former fisherman became the fisher of people Jesus always knew he would be.

I suspect a lot of us may not be feeling the call to be ambassadors for Christ. Many in our pews are older adults. We’ve had all the kids and grandkids we’re going to have, and we’ve made all the friends we’re going to make. Our mission field—the lake in which we might fish—seems pretty small these days. But remember, we’re not being called to build churches or fill pews. We’re being called to proclaim the goodness and love of the Lord. You may have an influence of which you are not aware. Often, after I’ve preached a memorial homily, people will approach me and ask where my parish is and if they can have a card or some information about worshiping there. I always oblige them, but truth be told, rarely do they ever show up on a Sunday morning. But that’s okay. If they’ve heard the love of God, if their consciences have been moved, if they’ve become inclined to pray a little more, or even if they only feel for an instant that they are part of God’s loving embrace, I may have done my job.

You don’t have to be Billy Graham or a TikTok influencer to fish for people. The bait you throw out to hungry human fish is the love of God you carry in your heart. It’s your willingness to forgive, listen, and understand. It’s your generosity to those in need and the simple help, the quotidian favors and kindnesses you give to your neighbors. It’s your joy in the abundance of God and the gratitude people see in your life regardless of your circumstances or the world’s selfish expectations. It’s the way you endure your hardships, and the way you say—without proselytizing, shaming, or expecting anything—“I am a Christian.”

I am reminded of a famous quote from the poet Mya Angelou:

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Keep fishing, my friend. You might be better at it than you know.

  

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[i] This was sometimes called Cruel Perverted Experience by some seminarians.

[ii] See Matthew 14:28-33.

[iii] See Matthew 16:21-23 and Mark 8:31-33.

[iv] See Matthew 26:69-75, Mark 14:66-72, Luke 22:56-62, and John 18:25-27. This was a pretty big embarrassment for old Simon P. You think?)

[v] See Acts chapter 2.

What Are You Waiting For? (Reflections on the Presentation of Our Lord, 2025)

 

"The Presentation of Our Lord" (Bartolomeo, It. 1516)

“…for my eyes have seen your salvation…” (Luke 2:30a)

So what are you waiting for? We spend a big chunk of our lives waiting, don’t you think? When you’re a kid you can’t wait to grow up. You wait for Christmas, or for graduation, or for your first car. We anxiously count down the days until a baby is born. We wait for the opportunity to get that new job, or for escrow to close on our home, or for retirement, or the birth of a grandchild.

Sometimes there are things we hope we can see before we die. It might be something that’s just silly, like one more Super Bowl victory for our favorite team. Or it might be something which is deeply impacting. We want our child to get out of rehab and assure us he’s on the right track in life. We want to see a certain project come to completion and know our work has not been in vain. We want to patch things up with an estranged loved one. Then we can die in peace.

For some of us, we’re waiting for the world to change.

IN the gospel lesson in the Revised Common Lectionary appointed for the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord (Luke 2:22-40), we see two seniors who’ve been hanging around the temple in Jerusalem, praying and waiting for God to do God’s thing and restore a broken nation. The Bible says Simeon—a pretty darn good old dude who was righteous and devout—was “looking forward to the consolation of Israel.” That is, he was waiting for some word of comfort for his people. Anna, the octogenarian widow, wanted to share the Good News of Jesus’ birth with those who were looking for “the redemption of Jerusalem.”

These two geezers wanted to see things put right. They loved the Lord, and they knew from their youth what God desires. It must’ve been hard for them to live under Roman occupation, knowing a pagan dictator was calling the shots in the land that had been promised to their ancestor Abraham and his descendants. They must’ve grieved the violence with which the Romans kept order and the violence with which the Zealots opposed that order. They must’ve seen the greed and corruption of the temple officials and the hypocrisy of the Pharisees. I’ll bet they felt their own identity as God’s Chosen People had been poisoned by a fractured and godless world.

But then a young couple came to the temple, showing devotion to God by observing the customs of the faith. And they had with them a little baby boy who was to be presented to the Lord.

A quick word, if I may, about this practice of presentation and purification. Jesus would’ve been circumcised on the eighth day after his birth, but Mary wouldn’t be able to go to the temple or synagogue for another 33 days under Levitical law. Because the ancient Hebrews had a thing about blood, women who had given birth—and you must admit we all came into this world in a pretty messy way—were deemed to be ritually unclean until 33 days after the birth of their son. If Jesus had been born a girl, Mary would have to wait 66 days (Go figure!). Mosaic law decreed that the firstborn of anyone—be they human or animal—was to be presented as an offering to the Lord. Naturally, one would not want to give away their child, so parents could present their firstborn and redeem him with a burnt offering of a goat and a sin offering of a turtle dove or a pigeon. If the couple were poor and couldn’t afford a goat, two pigeons were the discount rate. [i]

There are some things about this passage which I find rather touching. The first is that Mary and Joseph were obviously poor because they paid the poor peoples’ rate—two pigeons to redeem the Savior of the world. I also love the image of this old guy, Simeon, holding up the baby boy like a proud grandpa seeing the next generation of his family name. He knows this child is the representation of his hope. The Holy Spirit has called him to the temple to meet the one who will lift up the oppressed and put the arrogant in their place. Of course, as Simeon tells Mary, this isn’t going to be a day at the beach for Jesus. He will be opposed—and, indeed, continues to be. The Good News doesn’t mean the absence of suffering.

I also love Anna. I’ve known so many Annas in my time—little widow ladies who love their place of worship, never miss a Sabbath service, serve on altar guilds and sing in choirs and send out birthday cards and anniversary cards to folks in the congregation. The Church thrives on the faithfulness of all the Annas and on their prayers. They are the ones who have lived patient lives and can speak with authority about the goodness of the Lord.

Anna and Simeon won’t live to hear Jesus preach or see him perform miraculous healings. But they live knowing God has not abandoned them. They keep believing in the righteousness which is to come.

I am reminded of Dr. Martin Luther’s King’s last sermon, often called “The Mountaintop Speech,” which ended in a rhetorical flourish:

Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life; longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land! I may not get there with you, but I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land! So I'm happy tonight, I'm not worried about anything! I'm not fearing any man! Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!

Dr. King was assassinated the day after he made this speech.

Perhaps we all are waiting for those things we might not get to see—an answer to climate change, a lasting peace in the world, an end to poverty and gun violence, a renaissance for the American Christan Church or whatever it is that touches your heart right now. We may not see it come to pass, but we have seen the Light of the World. We have heard the voice of Jesus, and we still believe in our hearts.

The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of the Lord stands forever. (Isaiah 40:8)

Peace be with you, my friend.

 

 

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[i] See Leviticus 12. A famous exception to this rule was made by Hannah in 1 Samuel 1:1 – 2:11. She wanted a child so badly she was willing to give her son, Samuel, to serve in the temple as soon as he was old enough. The command to give the firstborn is found in Genesis 17:10-12.

Upsetting Sermons (Reflections on Epiphany 3 & 4, Year C 2025)

 

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” (Luke 4:21)

A lot of folks come to church to feel good. Unfortunately, some occasions arise when we leave our houses of worship feeling perplexed or challenged or—maybe—even a bit offended. Hey! If Christianity were easy, don’t you think more people would be practicing it?

The gospel lessons appointed in the Revised Common Lectionary for Epiphany 3 and 4[i] might pitch a screaming slider across the plate of some who hear them. Jesus isn’t afraid of a little controversy.

When we pick up our Lord’s story on Epiphany 3 and 4 Year C (Luke 4:14-30) he’s just gotten off to a pretty good start. He’s been baptized by John the Baptist and declared God’s beloved Son. He’s also just rebuked the temptations of the devil. Since John was thrown in the slammer for calling out King Herod[ii], it looks like Jesus is now the main prophet on the scene. He goes about preaching in synagogues and is getting a really good reputation.

I’ll bet the good folks in Nazareth were pretty darn proud of their local son whose star seems to be on the rise. They let him preach in the synagogue where, taking his text from the prophet Isaiah, he gives what we might consider his inaugural address. He reads the prophet’s words which declare God’s Spirit commissions God’s people to lift up the poor, release the captives, free people from oppression, and reset the whole economy.

Jesus basically tells his hometown crowd, “Yup. That’s what I’m here to do.”

A quick word about that economic reset: The passage Jesus read was from Isaiah 61:1-2. The prophet was referring to laws in the book of Leviticus (Leviticus 25:1-17) which required a sabbatical year rest for farmland. This helped replenish the soil and was an organic way to care for the land before the invention of nitrogen rich fertilizer. The law further declared a fiftieth-year tradition of returning all land to its original owners, and demanded fair sale prices for land, depending on how close you were to that fiftieth year. This Jubilee[iii] was a good practice ecologically and economically, but we have no way of knowing if the Jews ever actually observed it.

Since all this stuff is in the Bible, the people in the Nazareth synagogue didn’t seem to have any trouble with it. I imagine they were all nodding their heads in agreement. Maybe they were thinking, “Boy. Mary and Joseph’s son sure reads well. He might go far yet.” But perhaps they didn’t quite get the point that Jesus had come to rescue people on the outside of polite society. The mission statement he read from the scroll of Isaiah was a call to compassion for people whom others might not judge to be worthy.

If Jesus just kept his mouth shut, he may have been invited to coffee hour after the service. But no. He had to go and provoke the congregation. If you check out verses 23 and following, Jesus points out that his hometown crowd gets no special treatment. If they think they deserve the same healings and miracles Jesus performed in Capernaum, they’re just out of luck. Jesus has come for the needy, not the affluent, for the sick and not the well who have no need for a physician. He then goes on to remind them of their own history and how the prophets Elijah and Elisha performed miracles—feeding and healing—for foreigners.

Well that tore it. That got the crowd really pissed off. Luke says they were “filled with rage,” and dragged Jesus out of town with the intention of throwing him off a cliff. I guess they couldn’t deal with the notion that Jesus was calling for grace and compassion for other people—people who weren’t like them and, in their view, probably didn’t deserve God’s abundant mercy.

I wonder sometimes if our whole sinful society isn’t suffering from a bad case of wounded entitlement. When Jesus declares his mission to proclaim good news to the poor and release people from oppression, there’s a tendency for some people to ask, “But which poor? Why are they poor? Isn’t it their own fault?” When confronted with the suffering of others we might want to reply “I’ve done hard work myself. I’ve gone without. I’ve suffered—so those people can too.” Or we can respond “I’ve done hard work myself. I’ve gone without. I’ve suffered—and I didn’t like it, and I hope others don’t have to endure it.” It seems our sense of fairness is always at war with our call to compassion. We fear someone might be taking advantage of us and we despise cheaters more than we desire the wellbeing of all God’s people.

What would Jesus have us do?

This past week, at the National Ecumenical Prayer Service at the Washington National Cathedral, the Episcopal Bishop of Washington DC, the Rt. Reverend Mariann Budde, asked the President of the United States for mercy for those who are afraid—the LGBTQ+ community and undocumented workers. I would consider these people to be under the heading of the poor and the oppressed, the folks for whom Isaiah and Jesus seemed to be concerned. I listened to the bishop’s gentle and sweetly phrased homily, and I did not hear her scold or condemn the president. I only heard a plea that our government should have some feelings for those on the margins.

But some folks got upset.

And that’s okay. Sometimes our faith should challenge us. Sometimes we should wrestle with the practical and the ideal, with what we feel we can do versus what our faith teaches us we should do. Sometimes we should reject simple, safe answers—especially when we are followers of Jesus. And if our faith makes us uncomfortable at times, maybe it's because we're really learning how to live it.

Let me know what you think.

 

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[i] Yes, I’m going to include the lesson for Epiphany 4 in this post. Why? My congregation orders from the ELCA publishing house inserts for the Sunday worship bulletins which contain the propers of the day and the appointed lessons. If a certain saint’s day or other commemorative falls on a Sunday in Ordinary Time (that is, during Epiphany or the Post-Pentecost seasons), we have the option to observe either the commemorative or the numbered Sunday. The subscription my congregation gets always has the lessons for the commemorative, so we won’t be observing Epiphany 4 next Sunday, but we will celebrate the Presentation of Our Lord.

[ii] Luke 3:18-20

[iii] Fun fact: The word Jubilee comes from the Hebrew word jubel, which means a ram’s horn. The start of the fiftieth year was supposed to be marked by the blowing of a trumpet made from such a horn.

The Hour is Coming (Reflections on Epiphany 2 Year C 2025)

"The Marriage at Cana" G. David (Dutch c. 1500)

Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee and revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him. (John 2:11)

As a general rule, I really like weddings. I don’t do quite as many of them now as I did back in the early days of my ministry (I’m not sure why—I wonder if it has anything to do with that freakin’ Universal Life Church popping out “ordinations” for wedding officiants like a Pez dispenser!), but I always enjoy weddings when they come along. It seems a wedding is the only occasion which can get a Millennial or a Gen Z into a suit and tie. That’s cause for jubilation right there.

Putting aside my own nuptials, I think my favorite wedding was one I officiated back in September of 2023 when I got to marry Michaela—a brilliant, cheerful, and talented young lady from my congregation—to Joe, a decent, hard-working paramedic. Joe and Mickey (as I call her) are a splendid pair of human beings. They’re kind, thoughtful, intelligent, and absolutely others-centered. They were high school pals who became sweethearts, dated through their college years, and they fit together like chocolate on a pretzel. They plighted their troth on a lovely, sunny fall day in an outdoor ceremony with lots of friends and family looking on and beaming beatifically with joy in their union. Since I’ve been Mickey’s pastor ever since she was a tiny little girl, I was pretty gleeful myself.

But then a strange feeling came over me as she was reciting her vows (Actually, she didn’t so much recite as extemporize. She’s good at doing things at the last minute). I suddenly realized that the little girl I’d known for a quarter of a century was now an adult woman. I was certainly very proud of her, but I also couldn’t help but feel a certain sadness as if I’d somehow lost something. After the ceremony, the father of one of the bridesmaids (another kid I’d watched grow to maturity) came up to me and, as if reading my mind, simply said, “Well, they’re all grown up now.”

Yes. They’re grown now, and the place in their lives occupied by parents and grandparents and even their pastor has shifted. Two have become one, and however close or important we might’ve felt to the newlywed, we have to accept we have been ever so slightly demoted. We all have to take one step back in importance. A wedding is a new start, but it’s also—in a way—an ending.

I guess this is why Jesus in our Epiphany 2 Gospel lesson (John 2:1-11) is somewhat reluctant to reveal his glory at the wedding at Cana. When his mother asks him to do what seems to be impossible, his reaction is to say, “My hour is not yet come[i].” Maybe he just wants to enjoy a little more time in anonymity. Yes, John has proclaimed him the Lamb of God, and yes, he has begun to gather disciples, but so far there haven’t been any extraordinary signs pointing to the fact that he’s the hoped-for Messiah. I think Jesus knows that when he starts showing such miraculous signs, everything will change, and his life and the lives of those who love him will never be the same. Faith will be gained, but something will also be lost.

But here was a need to be met. If the wine at the wedding ran out too soon, the family could be disgraced[ii]. Jesus had to do something, so he revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him. His hour had come after all—whether he wanted it to or not.

Our evangelist John tells us this was the first of Jesus’ signs. I think the term “sign” is interesting if we look at it like it’s a road sign pointing the way somewhere. To get hung up on the miracle of water turned to wine is to miss the point. It would be like staring at a road sign but paying no attention to the location to which that sign directs us. Weddings are moments of transformation. Two become one, family relationships change, Jesus took the ordinary bath water and turned it into vin rose. But everyone’s relationship to Jesus changed, too. He wasn’t just a journeyman rabbi. Now he was possibly the Messiah. Now there was a mystery to be imagined about what he would do and what could happen because of him. Now the disciples had to decide what was expected of them, and we have to decide what is expected of us.

Everything changes. Joe and Mickey got married and now are wonderful and caring foster parents. Parents become grandparents. Kids grow up. Workers retire. Times change. New things are invented, and old, familiar things vanish. But we have brought the world’s greatest change agent to this wedding party. Jesus is with us.

Faith teaches us that every moment of transition is an opportunity for blessing. Something is lost, but something new is being created. Traditional churches may be closing, but I believe something new and wonderful is emerging. We are yet to taste the good wine.

Keep hoping, my friend. You don’t know what surprises God has in store for you.

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[i] Verse 4 reads: “And Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour is not yet come.’” Just for the record, if I’d ever addressed my mom or my wife as “Woman,” I think they’d both slap the taste out of my mouth. I don’t know how Jesus got away with it.

[ii] Both my Harper Collins Bible Dictionary and Readers Digest Illustrated Dictionary of Bible Life and Times agree that your basic wedding in Jesus’ day should last about a week. You could go longer if you were able, but seven days called for a LOT of vino!

You Make Our Father Proud (Reflections on the Baptism of Our Lord, 2025)

 

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1b)

If my dad were still alive, I imagine he and I would have some disagreements. You see, my old man was very conservative. He made Archie Bunker look like Bernie Sanders. I don’t know what he’d think if he knew that, sometime shortly after he passed, I had done the unthinkable and changed my party affiliation to Democrat. Had he been buried and not cremated, he might’ve spun in his grave like a Black and Decker drill bit. He’d probably disagree with me on issues of racial justice and LGBTQ+ rights too. The old boy was a product of his time, and pretty stubborn once he got an idea in his head.

Of course, I don’t mean to make this sound like my dad was a bad guy. I think, as an adult, I’ve learned to separate the wheat from the chaff. All of us are, as Luther would remind us, both saint and sinner. For all of my parents’ shortcomings, I was, on balance, very lucky to have had them. They kept me fed and clothed and sheltered, got me educated, and brought me to the services of the Lord’s house and taught me the Chrisitan faith. I can say a lot of good things about my late father, but perhaps the best part about being his son is knowing that, in the end, he was proud of me. Indeed, he was well pleased with all of his children—and that took some doing given that none of us turned out to be particularly high achievers by worldly standards. Nevertheless, he was delighted that we all did what we enjoyed doing. Dad might be disappointed in my politics, but I know he’d be proud that I’m a pastor.

It might be an interesting question to ask yourself: Would your parents be proud of the way you turned out?

In the gospel lesson for the Baptism of Our Lord (Luke 3:15-17, 21-22), the voice from heaven declares the newly baptized Jesus to be his Beloved Son, with whom God is “well pleased.” The phrase “well pleased” sounds a little tame to me, like something you’d say if the restaurant cooked your steak the way you wanted it. I looked this up in the Greek, and the phrase comes from a compound word eudokesa (which my interlinear Bible translates as “I have found delight.” The root word is docheo which means to suppose or recognize or get an insight about something. If I had to translate this sentence from Luke’s gospel, I’d say, “You are my Son, the Beloved; I see something really, really cool in you!”

If you read through Luke’s gospel up to this point, you’ll notice Jesus hasn’t really done anything yet for his Heavenly Father to recognize as good or be proud of. God has rather patiently overlooked the stunt Jesus pulled as a twelve-year-old when he ditched his parents and hung out in the Temple in Jerusalem, and for which he got a good dressing down from his mom (Luke 2:41-52). After that episode, however, Luke tells us he was a pretty good kid who grew up to be a good adult who humbly came to the Jordan to be baptized like all the rest. That simple act brought a manifestation of the Holy Spirit and a verbal pat on the back from the Almighty.

Naturally, the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord might make us want to think about the meaning of our own baptisms. It’s got me thinking about how I teach baptism and its significance to the clever if somewhat attention-challenged teenagers who are preparing to affirm their baptisms through the Rite of Confirmation. What I’m discovering these days is a lot of kids don’t really have a point of reference for their religious instruction. Mom and Dad send them to Confirmation class, I think, because it’s “the right thing to do,” but I have to wonder how much of the faith they’ve really been exposed to. They may live in a society which is culturally Christian, but just how many folks are intellectually or spiritually Christian? Have these youngsters experienced piety in their home? Have the parents stepped up to the admonition in the baptismal liturgy to teach or at least talk to their kids about what this belief system is all about? How can youngsters affirm a sacrament they don’t understand?

Let me tell you: It’s not easy teaching middle schoolers these days. Every kid seems to have a smart phone and the attention span of a gnat. They’ve all been exposed to a lot of stuff in this culture, but it seems to me they’ve not been exposed to independence (parents seem more anxious and frightened for their children than they were when I was a kid) or responsibility. It’s taking them longer to grow up, and it’s a rare youngster who, like the boy Jesus in the gospel, goes searching for answers from the elders in the Temple.

So, how do we give baptism meaning to the generation of the semi-churched? We can’t just assume that our church vocabulary carries any kind of meaning for Gen Z, so I think it’s time we go all the way back to the basics. We need to define our vocabulary, even a word like religion. What’s a religion? For me, it’s the desires and feelings of our hearts about that which is ultimately true, which we believe but we can’t prove or even express—things about the soul, creation, the meaning of life. You get the idea. We can only express these things through our shared storytelling, and we reinforce our stories through rituals and traditions like Holy Baptism.

What does this story of Jesus’ baptism teach us? For one thing it shows us Jesus came to be one of us, to experience what we experience. And if Jesus is one of us, then the voice of the proud daddy from the clouds is also meant for us. The water of baptism washes away our disgrace, self-doubt, and disappointment with our lack of achievement by worldly standards. The fire of baptism burns away the chaff anger, guilt, and our unfair judgment of ourselves and others.

Every Sunday when we make our confession and receive words of forgiveness, we can be reminded that we belong. We’re adopted. We’ve been chosen because God has looked at our sinful, broken, and often confused selves and said, “I see something really, really cool in you. And you make me proud.”

I hope you feel God’s love and approval this week. Thanks for checking out this blog. I hope you’ll come again.