Wait 'Til Next Pentecost (Reflections on Pentecost 2026)

 

When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit…” (John 20:22)

Although Hallmark makes cards for everything from Groundhog’s Day to your dog’s birthday, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a “Happy Pentecost!” card. That’s a shame because this holy feast really should be lifted up as a special celebration. It’s actually one of the six principal festivals on the Christian liturgical calendar. It’s the Feast of the Holy Spirit, the Third Person of the Trinity. It’s also the birthday of the Christian Church. We tell the story every year of those twelve scared and confused followers of Jesus—cowering in their upper room—who suddenly burst out of their hiding place to proclaim to everyone in every language the Good News of the resurrected Jesus. Don’t you think we ought to shoot off some fireworks in honor of this? Or, at least, hold a weenie roast on the church lawn or something?

Of course, a lot of Lutheran congregations mark this day with the Rite of Confirmation. Unfortunately, we at Faith Lutheran of Philadelphia don’t have any kids who are Confirmation age this year. That’s just as well. I’m starting to get a quirky, uneasy feeling about laying my hands on the heads of fourteen-year-olds, praying they receive the Holy Spirit, and then watching them flee the building like kindergarteners when the bell rings for recess…never to be seen again.

Martin Luther taught us a relationship with Christ comes when the Holy Spirit calls us through the Gospel[i]. The trouble is, not everyone gets a chance to really hear or experience the Gospel. They might not even know what the word “Gospel” means[ii]. The three young fellows who will be taking my Confirmation class starting this August do not attend church or Sunday school. No surprise. Neither do their parents. Nevertheless, Mom and Dad are going to subject these boys to the Purgatory of my weekly online pedagogy in order to fulfill some family traditions or obligations or whatever wacky reasons they have for doing so (Maybe just to keep the little desperados busy for forty minutes on a Tuesday afternoon. Who knows?).

Now, imagine me trying to pound Luther’s Small Catechism into these adolescent skulls. I suspect grasping the Great Reformer’s understanding of the Ten Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Apostles Creed will prove a daunting if not completely Sisyphean task if these kids know neither creed, prayer, nor commandments and have no clue as to why they should be learning about them. I’m going to have to start with some really basic stuff like “What is religion?” “What is God?” “What is the Church?”

Since Pentecost is supposed to be the birthday of the Christian Church, I thought I’d spitball an explanation of this curious institution. But first, I have to start with a definition for religion itself. I’m thinking that as far as Western Christian thought goes, a religion is an attempt to answer seemingly unanswerable questions. You know—like “What is the soul?” “What is Creation and how do we relate to it?” “What is spirit?” “Is life eternal?” “What is good and evil?” Stuff like that. We Christians try to answer these questions through our shared mythology. By “mythology,” I don’t mean stories which aren’t true. I mean stories which contain universal truths and have the plasticity to be told throughout the generations over and over again with multiple interpretations—all of which could be right and speak to our human experience. They are stories which make us wonder and bring us into contact with God and into relationship with one another. These shared stories are reinforced by our rituals and festivals. The Church—the gathering together of all who love and believe these stories—is the vehicle for this reinforcement.

So what is the purpose of the Church? Ideally, the Church gathers us into community. The Church teaches and upholds our common values, reminding us to love one another, care for all God has made, and, when necessary, advocate for justice. And the Church is the provider of comfort. She provides comfort to the terrified and guilty conscience, interpersonal support, and unconditional love and acceptance. That is why the message on our LED sign now reads, “We haven’t met you, but we already love you.”

When I was about fourteen, after I’d made my Confirmation in an LCMS[iii] church and received my presentation Bible and a box of offering envelopes (“Congratulations, my son. You’re now an adult in the faith. Time to pony up the cash!”), my family started attending an LCA[iv] congregation. My mom enrolled the whole clan in a Bethel Bible Series[v] class. What struck me about this experience was not just the fact that I was learning the Bible along with my parents, but older members of the congregation—middle-aged folks—were treating me like a contemporary and allowing me to address them by their given names. I felt validated and appreciated by that congregation. This is a power the Church has if she will use it.

In the lessons the Revised Common Lectionary assigned for the Day of Pentecost, we have two different versions of how the apostles received the Holy Spirit. These stories were written by different authors to different communities, possibly a generation apart. Don’t try to reconcile them, just take each for its own sake. We usually lift up Luke’s version in Acts (Acts 2:1-21). We like the blast of the mighty wind, the tongues of fire, and the miraculous, godly speech gushing like a fire hose from the mouths of the formerly pusillanimous and dimwitted disciples. But John’s story (John 20:19-23) has a more subtle, gentle manifestation of the Spirit. Jesus meets the disciples personally, wishes them peace, and breathes on them. It’s almost like reviving them with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He’d have to be very close to them for them to feel his breath.

I think there’s been too much “violent wind” blowing about Christianity in America these days, and some folks think it scares people off[vi]. I’m going to suggest we go a little more with John’s story. No shouting, no speaking in tongues, no rallies on the National Mall. The world doesn’t need more of that. We need peaceful, loving, honest, person-to-person relationship. That’s something you can’t get from staring at your cell phone. That’s what I want to teach my confirmands.

Meet me here next Pentecost. I’ll let you know how well it worked.

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[i] See Luther’s Small Catechism. This is part of his explanation to the Third Article of the Apostles Creed.

[ii] “The word gospel literally means “good news” and occurs 93 times in the Bible, exclusively in the New Testament. In Greek, it is the word euaggelion, from which we get our English words evangelist, evangel, and evangelical. The gospel is, broadly speaking, the whole of Scripture; more narrowly, the gospel is the good news concerning Christ and the way of salvation.” This definition is thanks to gotquestions.org.

[iii] Lutheran Church Missouri Synod. Once the biggest group of American Lutherans, the LCMS went uber conservative in the early 1970’s. No women clergy. No LGBTQ+ clergy either. You get the idea.

[iv] Lutheran Church in America. A predecessor body of the ELCA.

[v] This is a really cool series which teaches Bible concepts through pictures. It’s pretty thorough. You can learn about it at www.bethelbibleseries.org

[vi] You might think I’m referring to the ultra-right wing Christian Nationalist Movement. You’d be right.

Lord, Protect Us! (Reflections on Easter 7, Year A 2026)

 

“And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.” (John 17:11)

So, Jesus is gone. At least he’s not around in the flesh anymore. In the First Lesson for Easter 7 in the Revised Common Lectionary (Acts 1:6-14), Jesus takes off for the right hand of the Father leaving his buddies standing around on Mt. Olivet staring at the clouds with their mouths hanging open. A couple of angels show up, telling the disciples that Jesus will be back some day, and suggesting that, maybe, they have better things to do than stand around looking at the sky.

Our liturgical tradition gives us ten days between the celebration of Jesus’ ascension and the celebration of the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. I like that the disciples—as well as the BVM, Mary Magdalene, Jesus’ siblings, and all the other folks who loved Jesus and wanted to be his followers—get a little bit of downtime to decompress and pray and try to sort out what should come next (That’s healthy, don’t you think?). I’ll bet they missed Jesus even while they were still trying to get their brains around the idea that their crucified friend had been raised from the dead. But now, he’s really gone. Pretty soon the clock is going to start again, and they’re going to have to pick up the spiritual ball and try to move it down the field themselves.

In the appointed Gospel Lesson (John17:1-11), Jesus, just before his arrest and crucifixion, prays this “farewell prayer,” in which he asks the Father to protect the followers he’s going to be leaving behind. I have to wonder just what Jesus wants these boys protected from.

Look at the Second Lesson (1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11) for Easter 7. Peter (or, more likely, a disciple writing in the Apostle’s name several years after Peter’s death) is encouraging a Christian community that seems to be getting its butt kicked by society. The writer says the community to whom his letter is addressed is “sharing in Christ’s suffering,” and they are “reviled for the name of Christ.” Well, that sucks. Either the Father wasn’t listening when Jesus prayed for protection for his friends, or the insurance policy Jesus asked for wasn’t meant to be protection against persecution, marginalization, or any kind of earthly suffering. So, what was Jesus praying for?

Peter’s pseudepigraphal[i] letter writer warns his readers, “Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour. Resist him, steadfast in your faith, for you know that your brothers and sisters in all the world are undergoing the same kinds of suffering (vv.8-9).” Jesus prays his followers will know oneness, unity, brotherly love. I think this is a prayer to protect us from a loss of faith, a loss of solidarity, and assimilation to the ways of a sinful world.

In the world of the text, it was pretty understandable that some early Christians would want to fall away and avoid the oppression to which the rest of the community was subject. The cost of discipleship just seemed a little too high to pay. In our own time, when nobody gets kicked out of their neighborhood or put in jail for being a Christian, the roaring lion is a little more subtle.

We need protection from our own temptation to hate or despise other human beings. Face it: as Christ’s representatives, we in the Church have done a pretty crappy job with this unity thing. We are far from one holy, catholic, and apostolic church. We’ve battled, criticized, split up and—at times—gone to war with one another over arcane matters of doctrine. We’ve burned each other at the stake and denied the presence of the Holy Spirit in those we’ve opposed. It’s okay for us to disagree, but we’d better be on our guard against a desire to dominate, discriminate, or demonize others. It is unacceptable for any follower of Christ to see another human being—regardless of their faith tradition, race, sexual identity, nationality, or any other identifier—as less than a holy person created in the image of God. We can debate and argue, but we can’t ever fall prey to judging who is or isn’t worthy of God’s compassion or our own.

We also need, in these confusing, frustrating, and potentially frightening times, protection from the temptation to despair. I can see how someone could look at the colossal mess we’ve made of this world and just want to say, “Screw it! I give up!” and shut ourselves in our homes and play games on our phones. But despair is not an option for a Christian. Yeah, there’s plenty wrong out there, and we may not know which way to turn. So, we can always do what the disciples did: we can gather together in fellowship and devote ourselves to prayer. It’s okay to take a little downtime and wait on the Holy Spirit. But please remember we always need to be here for one another. 90% of caring for another is just showing up. We can let the Holy Spirit show us what that other 10% needs to be when the time comes.

The best witness we have to the love of Christ will be our love for one another and our undying desire to share this love—in generous compassion and patient understanding—with the rest of the world. That’s how the world will know we are Christians.

May God deliver you from the evils of anger, intolerance, despair, frustration and resignation this week and always. Thanks for coming by. We’ll talk again soon.

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[i] “Pseudepigrapha” refers to text which is attributed to a person other than the actual writer. I could’ve said “ghost writer,” but pseudepigraphal is a cool word, don’t you think?

The Power of Mom (Reflections on Easter 6, Year A 2026)

 

St. Paul on the Areopagus

"If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” (John 14:15)

Back in my home congregation in Long Beach, California way back in the day, there was this really nice family, the Shireys. The Shireys, Ken and Marge and their two sons Mark and Paul, were regular Sunday morning fixtures at St. Luke’s Lutheran. I’ve written before about Mark[i], a totally brilliant man and, quite possibly, the weirdest dude I’ve ever known (and I’ve known some weird dudes!). His brother Paul was quiet and more reserved, but also pretty darn smart.

You might imagine that having two genius boys in one household might be a recipe for sibling rivalry, but this wasn’t the case with the Shirey boys. The story, as I heard it, was once when they were very young, Mark and Paul got ready for an all-out, down-and-dirty fist fight as brothers are sometimes wont to do. This pugilistic attempt at fraternal bloodletting had barely gotten underway when the boys noticed their mother was watching them. Marge was horrified, and, rather than scolding the two combatants, she just started to cry. The boys were struck to the heart. They immediately declared a truce, apologized to their mom for their behavior, and—as far as I know—never fought again.

Never underestimate the influence of a mom.

In the Gospel Lesson appointed in the RCL for Easter 6, Year A (John 14:15-21) Jesus sounds for all the world like a stereo-typical Jewish mother. “If you love me,” he says, “you’ll keep my commandments.” (Using a little guilt there, Jesus?) If you think about it, you’d never want to hurt or betray someone if you really loved them. The Shirey boys’ love for their mother stopped their squabbling and brought them to a place of obedience. So, our love for Jesus and our knowledge that our selfish disobedience wounds the heart of God should put the brakes on our natural inclination to act like jerks. If it doesn’t, just think what your mom would say if she saw you doing that thing or saying that thing you were taught not to do or say!

Our moms, whether living or deceased, have a way of staying with us. There’s always a grain of our upbringing planted in our hearts, and we are never without it. In our Gospel Lesson, Jesus promises his beloved friends (and us too) that we will never be without him. He will not leave us orphaned, he says, as he gives us a basic lesson in understanding the Holy Trinity. It’s like this: Jesus is in God. God is in Jesus. Jesus is in us, so God is in us, too. 

I may not be the world’s best Confirmation teacher. The sad part about that job is I can’t give anyone faith. I wish I could, but in reality, I can only give my young students information. Real faith comes from God’s Holy Spirit. The Spirit can call us through the written Gospel, but I think she’s most effective when she calls us through the Gospel witnessed in a life lived with piety, honesty, and love. Nothing is a more powerful witness than the love of someone who loves the Lord.

But what if that witness isn’t there? I think what we’re looking at now with Gen-Z is the first generation raised without any religious background at all. Gen-X and Millennial parents may have abandoned the Church because it was simply assumed a religious tradition would be important to them because it had been important to their parents or grandparents. Going to church was “the right thing to do.” But that was not a sufficient enough reason for them to pursue religious observance. They needed mentoring in the faith. They needed more open dialogue. They needed safety to question. Basically, they needed more than we in the Church were willing or prepared to give them.

But there’s good news. Young people coming of age now are a generation of seekers. They may not know anything about the Christian faith, but that means they don’t carry the baggage of preconceived ideas. They’re like the Athenians in the First Lesson (Acts 17:22-31) of whom Paul says, “I see how extremely spiritual you are in every way.” They’re willing to listen and learn a little something about the “unknown God.”

Since this message will be delivered on Mother’s Day, I’ll point out that there are now some wonderful women’s voices[ii] articulating the faith for a new generation of curious young adults who are looking for something authentic and meaningful. But possibly the most influential voice is still that of your own mother. How did she show you the Gospel? What did her faith mean to her? If your mom’s still alive, you might want to have a chat with her about her spiritual life. If you are a mom, you might want to have a talk with your kids about their spiritual life. It might be a nice way to celebrate the day.

Thanks for reading this week. Happy Mother’s Day, and may God bless your witness!

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[i] You can read my piece on Mark by clicking here.

[ii] Off the tip of my head, I’m thinking of the new Archbishop of Canterbury, Sarah Mullally. She’s the first woman to head the Worldwide Anglican Communion, and she and Pope Leo seem to be getting on famously. Bishop Marianne Budde, Episcopal Bishop of Washington, DC, has been another voice raised for people on the margins. The outrageous Nadia Bolz-Weber has been named the ELCA’s first-ever “Pastor of Public Proclamation, articulating the Gospel for a new generation and lifting up those left outside the church doors. Professor Elaine Pagels of Princeton University is one of the most authoritative voices about the origins of our scriptures and the writings of the Early Church. I also recommend the writings of the late Rachel Held Evans, a contemporary writer taken from us way too soon, but someone who really understood the current generations’ longing for authentic faith. There are other women writers and scholars I like too, but I mention these five because they’re all mothers and it’s Mother’s Day.

We Are "Haves" (Reflections on Easter 5, Year A 2026)

 

The Stoning of St. Stephen (Mariotto Di Nardo 15th Cnet)

43 Awe came upon everyone because many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. 44 All who believed were together and had all things in common; 45 they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. 46 Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, 47 praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved. (Acts 2: 44-47)

There’s a pretty nasty story in the First Lesson from the Revised Common Lectionary for Easter 5, Year A (Acts 7:55-60). It involves the first Christian to die for the faith, a deacon named Stephen. Stephen gets stoned, and not in a good way. It was something of a custom among the high religious muckety-mucks of the time to throw heavy rocks at anyone they thought was a blasphemer until said alleged blasphemer died from a cracked skull or other related injury. This was certainly an unpleasant business, but so was crucifixion. First century folks seem to have been remarkably inventive when it came to ways of killing people they didn’t like.

To understand Stephen’s death, you need to know a little back story. Above is a quote from the First Lesson from Easter 4 (last week’s First Lesson) in the RCL. It describes a nascent form of socialism practiced by the early Christians. Then as now, this economic arrangement was pretty radical. I guess all societies liked to divide their populations into “haves” and “have nots.” In the world of the Bible text, it was generally believed that you were a “have” because God liked you better than God liked the “have nots.” If you were righteous, God would bless you. If your life sucked, it was because you must’ve gotten on God’s naughty list somehow and you deserved the suckiness that was your lot.

But then came Jesus and the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Suddenly there were folks who wanted to love others as Jesus had loved them—without distinction of person. No more “them” and “us.” Only “us.” The early church, on fire with God’s Spirit, offered more than just a compelling message. They offered the charitable and generous spirit to back it up. The “haves” shared with the “have nots,” and they all had fellowship together. They sat down at table with one another and ate with glad and “simple” or “humble” hearts.[i] It’s not hard to see how a community that was generous, humble, grateful, friendly, and non-judgmental could be attractive to others. This sort of makes you wish every church was full of folks like this, doesn’t it?

Unfortunately, every family has problems. As egalitarian as our early Christian ancestors were, a little favoritism started to sneak in. The gentile widows and orphans felt they weren’t getting the same charitable treatment the Jewish widows and orphans were getting. The Apostles decided to handle this in a remarkably democratic way by having the whole congregation of believers elect a committee of seven men to oversee food distribution. The requirements for the Board of Deacons were the men chosen had to be in good standing with the community, they had to be wise, and full of the Holy Spirit. Stephen was among the seven chosen for this job, and, apparently, he was pretty good at it. The Bible suggests he might’ve even had the gift of healing. He was also a really good apologist for the faith and was able to debate eloquently with those outside the Christian community.[ii]

Now just imagine if you were a scribe or Pharisee or some other religious bigshot. You see the Christians growing in number and you might be getting your boxers bunched up. What if people stopped listening to you? What if they stopped donating to the temple and started giving to the poor instead? What if there stopped being a visible class distinction between the righteous and the sinners? It’s just no fun being a “have” if there aren’t “have nots” to look down on, is it? And this Stephen guy makes a really good argument for being a Christian. So, what do you do? You trump up some false charges of blasphemy against him and have him stoned to death.

What I see in this story is not what the religious authorities did, but what they were unable to do. Stephen went to his death praising God. The earthly authorities could take his life, but they could not take away his faith. Like Jesus[iii], Stephen chose to forgive those who persecuted him. They could make him die, but they could not make him hate.

In our Gospel Lesson for Easter 5, Thomas tells Jesus he doesn’t know the way Jesus is going. Jesus tells him, “I am the way.” Philip asks for a vison of the Father. Jesus tells him, “I am in the Father, and the father is in me.” No mystical experience is necessary. Anyone who knows the way of Jesus—the way of gentleness, generosity, humility, forgiveness, gratitude, compassion, and love—is a “have” with something no amount of pain, disappointment, poverty, persecution, or illness can take away.

Saint Peter (or, more likely, a disciple writing to the church in Rome after Peter’s death) sums it all up in the Second lesson for easter 5:

But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the excellence of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. (1 Peter 2:9)

Have a good week, my friend.

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[i] The Greek word our lectionary translates as “generous” is apheloteti. I don’t know why the NRSV translates it as “generous” as “simple” and “humble” are the definitions I find in my dictionary. The KJV used the term “singleness of heart.” Of course, if you take it in context, the early Christians were certainly generous in the way they shared what they had.

[ii] See Acts 6:8-10.

[iii] See Luke 23:34.

It's Sheep Sunday Again (Reflections on Easter 4, Year A 2026)

 

There’s a curious tradition in the Church during the fifty-day celebration of Our Lord’s resurrection. The Lectionary for the first three Sundays in Easter always focuses on the risen Christ. We see Jesus meeting the astonished women as they leave the empty tomb. We see him appearing to the disciples and “Doubting Thomas.” We see him being made known in the breaking of the bread to the travelers on the road to Emmaus. In the last three Sundays, the focus shifts to Jesus packing his bags and getting ready to return to the Father, making sure that his buddies are ready to receive the Holy Spirit, start the Christian Church, and generally carry on without his physical presence. But in that middle fourth Sunday—for reasons my seminary education and the miracle that is Google are inadequate to explain—we hear about sheep.

Why do we get this “Good Shepherd” Sunday? Beats me. At least we get a chance to recite that most popular Psalm of David’s which so many of us memorized in Sunday School (Psalm 23). God is the caregiver who wants only the best for us, leads us where we ought to go, and is the source of every blessing we’ll ever know. It’s unfortunate that this lovely Psalm is so often used for funerals. It’s really about life.

The gospel reading (John 10:1-10)—as the Bible commentaries remind me—may be a bit of Jesus’ commentary on the events which preceded it in chapter 9. Remember, back in the day there were no numbered chapters and verses in the Bible. When Jesus uses this sheepfold metaphor and talks about “thieves and bandits (v.8), he’s still talking smack about the Pharisees who kicked the man born blind out of the synagogue. They refused to recognize God’s work because it didn’t fit in with their preconceived notions.

In the Bible “shepherd” was often used as a metaphor for the leaders of the people whether such leaders be kings or religious figures. I’m naturally tempted—given the current circumstances here in the U.S.—to launch into a diatribe on false shepherds and excoriate Christian Nationalists, but I think it might be more interesting to drill down on what this passage says about Jesus and the sheep themselves.

In verse seen Jesus says, “I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep.” The gate has two functions: it keeps the sheep in the sheepfold where they are safe, and it lets them out to the pasture where they can feed and have abundant life.

In his wonderful 2011 memoir Bred of Heaven[i], the Welsh journalist Jasper Rees writes about spending a week on a sheep farm in the Cywarch Valley. Wales has about three times more sheep than people, and the Welsh have been in the sheep business for over 3,000 years. Jasper lovingly points out that sheep enjoy a long and well-deserved reputation for being some of the dumbest animals our good Lord ever created. They’re not particularly adroit at decision-making, so they depend on the shepherd (and often the sheep dogs) to move them from one pasture to another and into and out of the sheepfold. Sheep need to keep moving, and much of a shepherd’s work is managing this locomotion.

Jasper recounts an event when he and the farmer’s son, Owain, attempted to repatriate an errant sheep belonging to a neighbor’s flock. This critter had somehow managed to fall in with Owain’s sheep. When he and Jasper attempted to capture it, it ran from them just as Jesus said a sheep would. It didn’t know their voices. Eventually, Jasper managed to grab the outlaw sheep by the fleece while Owain put a bag over its head. Blinded, the sheep forgot to keep running away and just laid down. Without vision, sheep don’t move.

Can you guess who we are in Jesus’ sheep metaphor? Yup. That’s right: we’re the sheep. We need vision, and we have to keep moving. Martin Luther told us the Church is always reforming. Jesus is always leading us to new pastures.

I’ve often written about a vision for the American Church. In the years ahead we’ll get away from giant, expensive buildings. Our clergy will be bi-vocational and not depend on the Church as a source of income. We’ll stop emphasizing individual salvation and we won’t worry about going to Heaven. Our job will be to love and serve our neighbors and bring the Kingdom of Heaven here to Earth.

I am sensing something of a renaissance within my own congregation. We are getting out of the sheepfold and reaching out to the community with our public events. We are inviting outsiders to participate. Currently, we’re working on developing a new model of worship with our Wednesday night fellowship. We’re also working on a new model of Christian Men’s Ministry. This won’t be the old way of having the men form a property committee or a supper club, but a real fellowship where truths are spoken and scripture is taught.

We already grow vegetables on the church lawn for our Lutheran food cupboard, but we have been approached by our Seventh Day Adventist friends about opening a food cupboard for our neighbors in need right here in our facility.

Our Good Shepherd is calling His sheep out of the comfort of the sheepfold and into newer pastures. Jesus is also calling each of us as individuals. We’re called to come to the Gate—either to enter the fold and be part of the flock, or to get out of our comfort zone and explore how our lives can better serve and give glory to God.

However the Shepherd is calling you, keep moving safely in the knowledge that He IS our shepherd, and we shall not be in want.

Peace be with you, my friend. Do come again.

  

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[i] Rees, Jasper: Bred of Heaven: One Man’s Quest to Reclaim His Welsh Roots (London, Profile Books, Ltd. 2011). Really fun book. You don’t even need to be Welsh to enjoy it.

Do You See Him? (Reflections on Easter 3, Year A 2026)

 

Now that you have purified your souls by your obedience to the truth so that you have genuine mutual affection, love one another deeply from the heart. (1 Peter 1:22)

Back in 1990 (I think it was) I took a long road trip from LA to Chicago to attend a buddy’s wedding. Since this is a pretty long drive, another LA friend offered that her mom in Tulsa would gladly put me up for a night (rent free) if I wanted to rest during the long journey. I was only too happy to accept the hospitality—and hospitable it certainly was.

My friend’s mom, like all nice Oklahomans, believed in introducing an out-of-town guest to all her family members and just about everyone she’s ever met. This nice lady happened to be the church secretary of Prince of Peace Lutheran Church. She invited me to her place of employment to meet her boss, the pastor. She also gave me a tour of the facilities at Prince of Peace, a congregation located in a predominantly African American neighborhood. In the church parish hall, I stood awestruck in front of a gorgeous painted mural depicting Our Lord’s ascension into Heaven. The painting covered an entire wall, and the figure of Jesus was life-sized.

And he was Black.

I, of course, being a white Lutheran boy, had always grown up with Sunday School pictures of a blond, blue-eyed, European-looking Savior. It was quite an eye-opener to me to realize Jesus could appear to others as someone relatable to their experience. I stood looking at the mural for a few minutes and went away thinking, “That’s pretty cool.”

Just how does Jesus appear to us? In the gospel reading for Easter 3, Year A in the RCL (Luke 24:13-35), Jesus is unrecognizable. He is stranger on the road. The two disciples walk with him but have no idea who he is. It’s only when they extend Christian charity and offer him a place to stay the night and something to eat that his identity becomes real to them. Jesus told us:

“…for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’… ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.’” (Matthew 25:35-36, 40)

Jesus can appear to us in the stranger or the one in need, but Jesus also appears to us through the Word. I think I had a vison of the Lord once during my seminary days during a chapel service led by our professor of Old Testament and Hebrew, a visiting academic from the Church of South India, the Rev. Dr. James Vejayakumar. Vejay, as we called him, was standing in the chancel after having just consecrated the Host. He held the loaf of bread in his hands. He was a small man, shorter than myself, with curly black hair, deep black eyes, and a coffee-and-cream complexion. He wore the vestments of his denomination which looked strange and Oriental. I thought this was what the historical Jesus might have looked like.

As I made my way up the aisle to receive the sacrament, I thought of the words of Luke’s gospel:

“Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” (Luke 24:32)

Vejay had, indeed, opened the scriptures to me and my classmates, and we experienced the Bible as we had not experienced it before. Truly, this must’ve been the way people felt when Jesus taught them. Jesus came to us in this foreign gentleman and came alive in the Word.

But we needn’t do missionary work among the needy or take seminary classes to encounter Jesus. For Cleopas and his companion, Jesus is made known to them in the breaking of the bread. We share the meal weekly of Christ’s body and blood, made tangible to us in the bread and wine of the sacrament, but we are also experiencing Christ in the very act of eating together. Jesus told us

“For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” (Matthew 18:20)

Every Sunday during the consecration of the elements, we pronounce the Memorial Acclamation: Christ has died, Christ is risen, and Christ will come again. How does Christ come to you? Where have you found Jesus? Where do you expect to find Jesus? You may not recognize the Lord at first but keep looking all the same.

Christ be with you, my friend.  

 

Peter's Transformation (Reflections on Easter 2, 2026)

Although you have not seen him, you love him, and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls. (1 Peter 1:8-9)

It’s something of a tradition that the gospel passage we get for Easter 2 in the Revised Common Lectionary is always this story of “Doubting Thomas (John 20:19-31).” Smart Bible scholar folks have a theory about this. Without getting too much into the historical/literary critical weeds, let’s just say that around the end of the first century of the Common Era there may have been a little rivalry between the disciples of John and the disciples of Thomas. Subsequently, when John’s disciple writes his resurrection narrative, he makes Thomas look like a doofus for not taking his buddies’ word that Jesus really is raised from the dead[i]. 

(Of course, if the Johannine account is correct, you can hardly blame Thomas for being a little skeptical. It’s not like people get raised from the dead every day! But I digress.)

Yes, poor Thomas looks like a doubting, faithless doofus in John’s gospel. He, therefore, stands in stark contrast to Peter, who looks like a doofus in all four gospels. I mean, how would you like it if the one thing everyone remembered about you was the fact you shot your big pie hole off about being faithful to Jesus even unto death, and then—the second things got a little uneasy—you denied you even knew the guy? And not once, but three times?

But the Peter we meet on Easter 2 isn’t the same guy we saw on Good Friday. Somehow a switch got flipped, and the old, cowardly, say-it-before-you-thought-about-it Peter has given way to the bold and eloquent messenger of the Gospel we meet in our first reading (Acts 2:14a, 22-32).

I’d hate to have been Good Friday Peter, wouldn’t you? The guy must’ve been feeling a boatload of emotions, and none of them were good. In a braggadocio moment the night before he swore he’d stand by Jesus even if he had to die for him. He was ready to draw his sword and do battle to protect his rabbi, but when the temple police slapped the cuffs on Jesus, Peter ran away like the others. Then he denied he was Jesus’ disciple. I don’t think this was calculated. I think fear just oozed out of him before he knew what he was saying.

The gospels tell us Peter wept bitterly that night. I imagine him slumped in some dark, dirty corner of  Jerusalem ally, his head between his knees, his body heaving with sobs. What were those tears about? Shame and self-loathing when a man sees himself as being weak and cowardly? Disgust at his own hypocrisy? Grief for the certain death of the friend, teacher, and leader whom he so dearly loved? Utter despair and disillusionment for the movement which promised to be about joy and liberation, but which has turned out to be about nothing at all?

But then came Easter. Peter encountered the risen Jesus and something in him was resurrected too. Peter became like an addict who has conquered addiction. Like a woman escaping an abusive partner. Like a bankrupt starting over. Like a hostage set free. In the power of Christ’s resurrection, he shed the demons of fear, shame, guilt, and self-doubt and became the rock Jesus had prophesied he’d become. He’d become a real adult—whatever his chronological age might’ve been at that moment.

It’s believed he eventually left Judea and Galilee to share the joy he found in Jesus around the Mediterranean world. His journey took him to Antioch in Syria, across the sea to Corinth in Greece, and finally to Rome.

By the time the epistle we call 1 Peter was written (probably sometime in the late 90’s of the Common Era), Peter would be dead. It’s doubtful the Galilean fisherman could write in such sophisticated Greek, so the letter was probably composed by a disciple who had known Peter in Rome.

The letter would’ve been written to that Roman church, and I’m sure that congregation could relate to Peter’s story. Some of them may have lived through the Great Fire of 64 CE and seen everything they owned destroyed. They may have known the terror of flaming death all around them with no place to run, escaping only by crawling through the sewer. They certainly knew the grief of losing beloved leaders as both Peter and Paul would be executed by the imperial authorities. They also knew disappointment as they waited for Jesus’ return and Jesus appeared to be taking his good, sweet time about coming back. Worst of all, they were living under persecution for their faith, marginalized and even criminalized for loving the Savior they’d never met in the flesh.

But through all of this, they received the outcome of their faith just as their leader Peter had done. Some may have been peasants, and some were even slaves, but they loved Jesus and knew Jesus loved them. In turn, they could love one another. They could rejoice even in their suffering because the earthly authorities which took Peter from them could not take away their baptism, their love, or their hope.

What is the outcome of our faith? I like to think it’s real maturity—a maturity which leads us to be like those early Christians who so resonated with Peter’s story. We are to be a community of love; forgiveness for ourselves and others; courage in the face of chaos, doubt, and uncertainty; selflessness; and, finally, peace.

May your faith bring you to that peace, my friend. Thanks for visiting my blog this week.

 

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[i] If you’d like to learn more about this, I suggest you check out Elaine Pagel’s wonderful book Beyond Belief: The Secret Gospel of Thomas (New York: Random House, 2003)