Author: Rev. Dr. Jarrett Banks

B.S. Wingate University, 1988 M.Div. Southern Seminary, 1992 D.Min. Gardner-Webb University, 2005 Served churches in Kentucky, Georgia, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Arkansas and North Carolina Currently serving at First Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Lynchburg, Virginia

You Are God’s Beloved

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year CLeave a comment

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22 NRSV

I often wonder where it all went wrong. How did it get so bad? Of course, I am talking about Christianity. Why did it become so mean, so hateful, and so ugly? If following the way of love that Jesus taught, modeled, and embodied, is the road we should be traveling, many Christians not only seem to be off track, but they seem to be going in the exact opposite direction.

It’s like, instead of going home by another way, the wise men went back to King Herod and collaborated with the empire, and for the sake of wealth, power, cheap eggs and gas, told the King exactly where he could find the boy Jesus and exterminate him.

Because it’s like many have never heard any of the stories of Jesus. How he with his parents fled violence as refugees in Egypt. How he grew up to lead a revolutionary movement of non-violence resisting the powers that be. How he called out their corruption, their greed, and their lust for power. How he was a radical advocate and ally for anyone who was marginalized by the culture or by sick religion. How he challenged systems of injustice that hurt women, alienated foreigners, demeaned Eunuchs, and were blind to the needs of the poor.

         It’s like some Christians today have not just misinterpreted the gospel but have rewritten it for their own self-interest.

         I often wonder if part of the problem is the way it was all introduced and explained to me in the first place. For years, every Sunday, I heard the same message. I was born into this world a lowly sinner and because of that sin, I was separated by God and would be punished by God for all of eternity, unless I did something about it, namely accepting Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior, and then getting baptized to wash all my sins away.

         I would go home from church almost every Sunday feeling absolutely rotten, worthless, dirty, unloved. Well, one day after church, when I was ten years old, I had had enough. I was tired of all the guilt, so I told my parents that I wanted to be baptized. I wanted to get clean. I wanted God to love me.

They told me that I needed to pick up the telephone and call the preacher and tell him that I wanted to be baptized, which I did. On the phone, he said he would come over to my house later in the week to talk to me about it.

I remember sitting outside on the patio with him when he said something like: “Jarrett, were all born into this world separated by God because of sin. But God loves us very much.”

I must have had a confused look on my face, or he must have thought I was a tad on the slow side, because that was when he got out a spiral notebook, opened it up, and began drawing me a picture.

He drew what first looked like the logo for McDonalds, but then he said, “It’s like there’s these two mountains.” He wrote my name on one mountain and the word “God” on the other mountain. He called the space in between the mountains “a valley,” and there wrote the word “sin.”  He said, God is here on this mountain, but you are way over here on this other mountain, and sin is the valley that separates you.

Then he drew a bridge connecting the mountains and writing the word “Jesus” under the bridge, he said: “But God loves you and sent Jesus, who never sinned, to die on the cross, to be a bridge so you can cross over the valley to be on the side with God.”

He then asked me: “Jarrett, don’t you want to be on the mountain with God?”

I thought to myself: “Or stay on this other mountain and one day go to hell forever? Nah, I think I’ll take that bridge, thank you very much.”

He said: “Jarrett, when you are baptized, it is a way of saying that you believe Jesus died for you on the cross and rose again, and it is like you are crossing the bridge, to be with God. When you are baptized your sins are washed away. Your sins are forgiven, so they no longer separate you from God.”

“Well, how fast can I get baptized?” was my reply.

But later, I had questions. I had lots of questions. The main one was: “If God loves us so much why did God put us on the wrong mountain in the first place? Why did God create us as sinners? And: “If God really loves us, why would God threaten to punish us for all of eternity if we do not choose to be with God and get baptized?”

But whenever I would raise such questions, I would get this convoluted response about free will, that God only wants people who choose to love God to be with God.”

And if I replied: “Well, that sure doesn’t sound like a very good and loving God to me, as that sounds like God only loves people who love God back.”

It was then I got: “Jarrett, it is not for us to question it, but to just believe it.”

But all of this would lead to even more questions, like: “If Jesus was perfect and never sinned, and if baptism is about having your sins forgiven and washed away, why did Jesus get baptized? Surely Jesus wasn’t separated from God? Right?”

“Of course not,” I thought “Because he wasn’t a sinner. And sin is what separates us from God. And there was this vision at Jesus’ baptism of heaven being opened wide, the Holy Spirit descending in the form of a dove, and this voice from heaven saying the most beautiful words, words that are the antithesis of: “You are a sinner, separated or cut off from God”— “You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

So, why was Jesus baptized?

The answer that I most heard, even in seminary, was that by getting baptized in the manner we are encouraged to be baptized, Jesus was “identifying” with us. Jesus was becoming like us.

I was taught that this was the scandalous good news of the incarnation. That God identified with us poor sinners. That God, the source and essence of all that is, became flesh, became one of us.

That may be sound theology, but what if it is actually the other way around? What if got it completely backwards, or at least, there is much more to it?

Early church theologian Athanasius, put it this way: Jesus became one of us, so that we might become like him.

Instead of Jesus being baptized like us, maybe it’s more like we are baptized like Jesus.

For isn’t that the goal of every disciple, to be like Jesus?

Maybe we have misunderstood the nature of baptism, because we have misunderstood the whole notion of this thing we call forgiveness.

For how many of us were taught that we are sinners, separated from God, and need to be forgiven, to have those sins washed away in order to be named as one of God’s beloved children? Instead of being taught the exact opposite: that because we already are God’s beloved children, God forgives us? How many of us were taught that forgiveness is a condition to receive God’s love, instead of being taught that forgiveness is the result of God’s love?

We need forgiveness, only the most depraved believe they don’t need, and Baptism is indeed about forgiveness, but baptism is primarily about love. Baptism is about affirmation. Baptism is about a holy covenant, an intimate relationship. It is about our sacred identity as children of God. And forgiveness is a by-product of that identity.

When Jesus is baptized, Jesus hears God say these incredibly important words of love, affirmation, and identity: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” And the good news is that when we are baptized or when we remember our Baptisms or our confirmations, we are to hear the same thing: “You are my child, my beloved, and with you I am well pleased.”

Like Jesus’ baptism, when we are baptized, whether we were infants, children, or adults, God promises God’s unconditional love for us. God calls us, names us, and claims us as God’s beloved children.[i]

Think of how different this world would be today if more people understood this. That everyone, regardless of their religion, or lack of religion, believed that every human being is a beloved child of God.

I can’t help but to believe that it would turn the world upside down, and Christianity back right-side up.

There would be more less meanness and more kindness, less inequality and more justice, less blame and more responsibility, less judgment and more grace, less indifference and more empathy, less violence and more peace, and less fear and more love.

So, this morning, I am not sure who needs to hear it. Perhaps we all need to hear it. Even if we have heard it before or have always believed it, we need to hear it again and again and again.

So, let’s listen carefully to the word of God. For the heavens are wide open. There is no separation between heaven and the earth. The Holy Spirit is descending, and God is speaking—in the quietness of an evening snowfall in the laughter of children playing in the snow—in the solitude of a morning walk, or in a raucous crowd watching a basketball game—lying in bed on a cold Sunday morning, on sitting on a pew in a sanctuary—listen, there is no separation between God and the earth.

You were not born on the wrong mountain because there is only one holy mountain.

There is no separation between God and “you.” There has never been, and there never will anything on heaven or on earth that separates you. Did you hear that? “You.” “You” is such a powerful world, especially in the second-person singular. When someone says, “you,” they see you. They have identified you. And this “You” is coming from God. Do you hear it? Listen carefully. Block out everything else. Listen to the creator and essence of the universe:

“You are my beloved child. And with you, I am well pleased.[ii]

[i] Inspired and adapted from David Lose https://www.davidlose.net/2019/01/the-baptism-of-our-lord-c-forgiveness-and-so-much-more/

[ii] Inspired and adapted from Karoline Lewis https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/the-power-of-you

Home by Another Way

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year CLeave a comment

 

Participating in a nonviolent Moral Monday March in Raleigh NC in 2015

Matthew 2:1-12 NRSV

As many of you know, my wife Lori works downtown at the Free Clinic of Central Virginia which has recently suffered major damage from a fire which was started outside in the parking lot. The building has been condemned and it will take weeks, maybe eve months, before it can be used again. It is a tragic situation as many with low income depend on the clinic not only for healthcare, but for emergency dental services. So, as a church in Lynchburg, it is important that we pray for the staff, and for the Free non-profit’s board of directors, that they will be able to wisely respond to this disaster so they can continue serving this community.

Our church’s support of the Free Clinic seems to be more important when we consider that it was one of our very own, Anne Bishop, who worked with another one of our church members, Jack Scudder, to found the free clinic thirty years ago.

Lori and I had the opportunity to visit with Anne on the Sunday after leading my first worship service here, and I had the honor of officiating Anne’s memorial service just a couple of weeks later. To describe Anne’s trail-blazing, pioneering spirit which led her to start the Free Clinic, during her service, I talked about the unique way that Anne drove a car.

Whenever Anne traveled, she always made sure she returned home by another way. To make the trip more interesting, and to learn more about her surroundings, she was always fond of taking a different route home, even, when she traveled in other country. When she traveled overseas, she would order maps and highlight the roads to make sure she always arrived back to her starting point by another way. Her daughter Kathy said: “After returning a rental car in England, the clerk, who evidently had some type of GPS history on the car, asked: ‘Ma’am, did you drive down every road in Great Britain?’”

It was then that I pointed out that “Home by Another Way” are the exact words that Matthew uses to describe the journey of the wise men after they worshipped Jesus, laying down their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Having been warned in a dream not to return to King Herod as the king had requested, Matthew says they went “home by another way.”

I then pointed out that death is often described as a homecoming or a homegoing, and as people of faith, we believe this journey home called life matters. How we go home makes a difference. Do we go home following the instructions of King Herod? Do we collaborate with the empire, bow down to those in power, accept the status quo, go with the culture? Or do we choose to go home by another way?

Do we go home following the way of power and greed, of fear and violence? Or do we go home following the way of love and generosity, of compassion and of peace?

After King Herod’s encounter with the Wise Ones looking for the child who was said to be “king of the Jews,” Matthew says that King Herod was “afraid.” And then adds: “And all of Jerusalem with him.”

For the nation instinctively knew that if its self-absorbed, narcissistic, authoritarian leader was afraid, everyone should be afraid. Because, as almost always the case with the King Herod’s of the world, fear leads to violence.

Obviously, the Wise Ones sensed Herod’s fear, and knowing his violent reputation and his propensity to stoke and orchestrate violence against the innocents, when they went to bed that night, one, or maybe all of them, had a dream which warned them to go home by another way.

For when it comes to fear and to violence, when it comes to bowing down to authoritarians who stoke fear and promote violence, wise people of faith are always led to go home by another way.

 It was surreal to awakened on the first day of the year to the news of violence in New Orleans. And it certainly didn’t take long for the King Herods of the world to use that violence to stoke even more fear in the nation, scapegoating immigrants, which will certainly lead to more violence.

The good news is, as you may have read in the newsletter this week, our church’s outreach team has proposed that our church use 2025 to go home by another way, by committing ourselves to a movement of nonviolence.

During this first quarter, our church is honored to have the opportunity host Father John Dear, a world-renowned author and advocate for nonviolence who was nominated by Desmond Tutu for the Nobel Peace Prize. As this year’s Turner-Warren/Shumate Lecturer, Father Dear will host a workshop on non-violence on March 22, speak here in this sanctuary the 23rd and at the University of Lynchburg on the 25th.

We may have awakened this year to the news of violence and fear, but we are going to go through this new year by another way, a way of love and grace, a way of truth and compassion, a way of doing justice and making peace. We are going to go through 2025 by a way of nonviolence, a way of living that is encouraged by all the great world religions, as it is rooted in the belief that the creative force of the universe is love; God, God’s self, is love.

Thus, peacemakers like Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr. gave their lives teaching that the most important thing that human beings can do is to exercise this creative force by learning to love the way we were created to love. For Gandhi and King, following a way of nonviolence was understood as the science of how we create life in the image of God, how we create a world that practices justice, truth, and compassion.

Dr. King noted that Gandhi was probably the first person in history to lift the love ethic of Jesus above mere interaction between individuals to a powerful and effective “social force on a large scale.” “Love, for Gandhi,” said King, “was a potent instrument for social and collective transformation,” and [the nonviolent resistance philosophy of Gandhi] was the only morally and practically sound method open to oppressed people in their struggle for freedom.”

Dr. King understood that although the way of nonviolence sounds passive and ineffective, it is the most active and effective resistance of evil in the world.

 Through the way nonviolence, courage displaces fear. Love transforms hate. Acceptance dissipates prejudice. Hope ends despair. Peace dominates war. Faith reconciles doubt. Mutual regard cancels enmity. Justice for all overthrows all injustice. And the redemptive community supersedes the systems of gross social immorality.

Nonviolence is not for cowards and passive people but requires much bravery and courage.

Nonviolence is not just a temporary attitude. It’s a full-time way of life. Nonviolence is assertive spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. Nonviolence is always informing and persuading the opponents of justice.

Dorothy Day wrote in 1967 that she regretted that she had not done more to promote nonviolence “as a way of life.” Father John Dear comments: “I think we can all do more to nourish, study, cultivate and promote nonviolence as a way of life, as a spiritual path, as the basis for people in power, as a political methodology for change, and as a hermeneutic for Christian discipleship. Active nonviolence is the best hope for humanity.”

In response to the fear that King Herod possessed and stoked among the people, and to the violence that would surely follow, after paying homage to the baby Jesus, the Wise Men decided to go home by another way, the way of nonviolence. But they were not retreating. They were not running away. And they were not being passive in any way.

Choosing to go home another way was very active resistance. It was a way of telling the world that they would not bow down to King Herod. They would not be attracted to his power, seduced by his fame, duped by his wealth, or conned by his charisma.

And neither are we.

By choosing to go home by another way, the way of nonviolence, we are joining a movement of most active resistance—

One which actively wages peace, not war; passionately fights poverty, not people who are poor; ferociously attacks homelessness, not the homeless; aggressively opposes bigotry, not people who are queer.

We are choosing to go home by a way that dynamically endangers easy gun access, not school children; assiduously admonishes men who attempt to control the bodies of women, not the women who are those bodies.

This way wholeheartedly works to banish unkind immigration policies, not immigrants. It vehemently demands fair living wages, adequate housing, and free access to education and healthcare, not the exact opposite.

We are choosing a way that fervently heals spiritual trauma and never causes it; vigorously protects the environment and doesn’t threaten it; and tirelessly works for justice that is restorative, not punitive.

We are choosing a way that defeats evil, not the evil doers. It destroys fascism, not the fascist. It kills Christian Nationalism and religious extremism, not religious people. It vanquishes the fool heartedness of our neighbors, not our neighbors.

So, you see, this way is not for the coward nor the passive. It is for the courageous and the brave.

And it is also for the wise.

Because choosing the peace-making, compassion-loving, justice-doing way of nonviolence is always our best response to the fear-mongering King Herods of this world, especially when those kings can cause an entire nation to be afraid with them.

The question our gospel lesson asks us today is simply: Will we be wise ones too and choose this way? Will we be brave and courageous and choose to actively resist the King Herods of the world?

I pray we will. Amen.

Christmas Contemplation

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year CLeave a comment

Luke 2:41-52 NRSV

It’s only been a few days since we celebrated his birth, but we fast forward twelve years when we read this morning’s lectionary gospel lesson where, in the same chapter of the story of his birth, Luke tells a story of 12-year-old Jesus that sounds something the contemporary holiday classic movie Home Alone.

After visiting Jerusalem for the Passover festival Mary and Joseph, with other members of their family had packed their bags and boarded the plane. From their seats in coach, they couldn’t see where Jesus was sitting, but assumed he as sitting somewhere among the large crowd of passengers. After a long day of travel, as they were retrieving their luggage from the baggage carousel, they picked up Jesus’ suitcase and handed it off to someone who began passing it down the line of relatives to Jesus, but at the end of the line, there’s no Jesus.

Because the boy never got on the plane and was now lost in New York, I mean Jerusalem.

It took three days of frantic searching before they found him in the temple, sitting among the rabbis, listening to their teachings, and asking questions. Don’t you wonder what questions twelve-year-old Jesus had for the Rabbis and what answers he gave in response to their questions that amazed all who heard him that day?

But it’s not Jesus’ questioning that gets my attention in this story. It’s Mary’s questioning. For I love the way Luke describes it: “Mary treasured all these things in her heart.”

The Greek word translated treasure means “to thoroughly keep.”

The thinking of Mary is thorough. Her questioning is meticulous and scrupulous. She thoroughly thinks it all through. Mary wonders, ponders, considers—she “treasures” the significance of what has happened.

And maybe, on this first Sunday after Christmas, this should be the mind of every disciple. A mind that is thoroughly evaluating and reevaluating, thoroughly questioning and wondering, thoroughly meditating and contemplating the meaning of Christmas.

What does it all mean to us? What does Christmas mean to the world? What does it mean to have faith in a God, who we believe is the creator, the source, and the essence of all that is, a God who we believe is Love love’s self becoming flesh, in the most humble, most selfless and most vulnerable of ways, to dwell among us, being with us, living in us, living through us, living for us, for all people, for the entire creation?

One of my favorite preachers, the Rev. Karoline Lewis writes: “Mary invites us into that contemplative space…not to obtain answers, but to ponder God’s place in and purpose for our lives. Mary summons us to sit and wonder…[reminding] us that an essential act of discipleship is reflection. Because none of what God is ever up to should be easy to get or at once understood.”

Lewis suggests that the best gift the church can give to people at Christmas is the gift of a safe and brave place for their own ponderings, a gift of space where reflection, questioning, and even doubting, are welcomed, and even encouraged, a gift of time that “demands only meditation and musing.”[i]

Especially in these days, when thinking doesn’t seem to be in vogue.

I’ve said it. You’ve said it. We’ve all noticed it. “Our country has a critical-thinking crisis.”

Well, we may not have put it in those exact words. But on this First Sunday after Christmas, it’s just not very nice using words like “stupid” or “idiots.”

We live in a world where there seems to be little time for any silence, much less for any meditation and contemplation. These days people are quick to allow others to tell them how to think and what to think without any questions. It’s what makes Fox News, some places on the internet, and churches where people are expected to check their brains at the door both popular and dangerous.

For a world where reasonable, reflective, critical thinking, and intelligent discourse have lost favor is a world that breeds authoritarianism and supports fascism. It is a world where an unstable, wannabe dictator can get a way saying something as ridiculous as: “What you are seeing is not happening.” And, without question, people will believe him.[ii]

I believe it’s fair to say that the lack of critical thought can be blamed for the most heinous and evil of all world events as it has led people to believe that something that is as obvious as our common humanity does not exist, to believe that one race, one nation or one religion is superior to another or favored by God over another, to believe that some people are cut-off or separated from God, while others are close to God.

So, perhaps the best sermon a preacher can preach on this Sunday after Christmas is one that invites us to join Mary after finding Jesus in the temple that day. It’s a sermon that gives us permission to think—a sermon that encourages us to follow the example of Mary to think deeply or to “treasure in our hearts” what this miraculous event we call Christmas truly means, to ask what our hearts are telling us in response to divinity becoming humanity, to the holy becoming flesh, to Love, love’s self, becoming a part of the creation and dwelling among us.

Franciscan Friar Richard Rohr, founder of the Center for Action and Contemplation, writes that contemplation is a way of “listening with the heart” in such a way that it awakens a new consciousness that is needed to create a more loving, just, merciful, and sustainable world.

Contemplation is the practice of being fully present—in heart, mind, and body—that allows us to creatively respond and work toward what could be. Contemplative prayer helps us to recognize and to sustain the Truth we encounter during moments we experience great love and great suffering, long after the intensity of these experiences wears off.”

So, on this Sunday after Christmas, let us ponder and wonder Christmas. Let us meditate and contemplate Christmas. Let us treasure Christmas. Let us make time for silence, and take time in silence to question our hearts and to listen. Not to hear the answer of popular culture, the answer of politicians, or even the answer of your church (and should I dare say) not even the answer of your pastor. Let us listen to hear a truth where Christmas becomes more than something we celebrate for a season, but a way of life that informs our being and instructs our living all year long.

Let us make time in these days of Christmas to listen to our hearts. What are our hearts telling us this morning about God being born as a vulnerable infant, in the body of a brown-skinned, Jewish Palestinian, to an unwed mother?

What are our hearts saying in response to a choir of Angels who invite not the rich and the famous to see the baby, but poor, lowly shepherds, those working the nightshift out in the fields tending to the sheep of another?

What do our hearts say when we read that the ones who feared the baby the most were those with the most privilege and power?

What are our hearts telling us when we hear the story of the baby and his parents fleeing their country as desperate refugees, crossing the border into Egypt as undocumented immigrants?

Father Rohr contemplates Christmas:

If we’re praying, [Christmas] goes deeper and deeper and deeper. If we are quiet once in a while…it goes deeper and deeper and deeper still.

There’s really only one message, and we just have to keep saying it until finally we’re undefended enough to hear it and to believe it: there is no separation between God and creation.

         This is the good news of Christmas, because, as Rohr observes:

Separation is the sadness of the human race. When we feel separate, when we feel disconnected…from our self, from our family, from reality, from the Earth, from God, we will be angry and depressed people. Because we know we were not created for that separateness; we were created for union.

So, God sent one into the world who would personify that union—[one] who would put human and divine together; [one] who would put spirit and matter together.”

[When we] wake up in the morning pondering and wondering: What does it all mean? What’s it all for? What was I put here for? Where is it all heading?

Rohr muses:

I believe it’s all a school. And it’s all a school of love. And everything is a lesson—everything. Every day, every moment, every visit to the grocery store, every moment of our so-ordinary life is meant to reveal, ‘My God, I’m a daughter of God! I’m a son of the Lord! I’m a sibling of Christ! It’s all okay. I’m already home free! There’s no place I have to go. I’m already here!’” Rohr then adds “But if we don’t enjoy that, if we don’t allow that, basically we fall into meaninglessness.[iii]

Rohr considers:

Friends, we need to surrender to some kind of ultimate meaning. We need to desire it, seek it, want it, and need it.

I know no one likes to hear this, but we even need to suffer for it. And what is suffering? Suffering is the emptying out of the soul so there’s room for love, so there’s room for the Christ, so there’s room for God.

On this first Sunday after Christmas, let us thank Mother Mary— For giving us permission to be still, to get quiet, to meditate and to contemplate, for encouraging us to ponder and to wonder, to find a safe and brave space to listen to our hearts to find meaning, purpose, and belonging, to empty our souls making room for love, to be enveloped with grace and held in love by the source and essence of all that is.

[i] https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/keeping-company-with-mary

[ii] https://www.bbc.com/news/av/world-us-canada-44959340

[iii] https://cac.org/daily-meditations/only-one-message-2021-12-24/

For Unto Us, A Child Is Born

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year C4 Comments

Luke 1:39-45 NRSV

It’s the Fourth Sunday of Advent, and all our waiting and expectation is almost over. We have gathered here this morning and will gather here again Tuesday evening if we are able to receive once again the long-expected baby Jesus. Even in this dark time, we are like Mary’s cousin Elizabeth, as something inside of us is leaping for joy!

Our anticipation stands in sharp contrast to that first Christmas, when this baby was not received by everyone. In response to the good news of Christmas, Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” But not everyone thought of Christmas as good news.

The shepherds were filled with fear. King Herod, despite all his soldiers guarding him at the Palace, was sore afraid, driven to commit unspeakable acts, as he saw this baby’s birth as a threat to the empire. Even Joseph, the man engaged to Mary, didn’t readily receive the baby. In the beginning he spent many a sleepless night questioning: “Who’s really the father of this baby?”

In our sentimentalization of Christmas, we tend to forget that Jesus was conceived by a woman who was not married. The church and society have a history of giving ugly names to such babies. Thankfully, I don’t here many children called the “b-word” anymore. It is such a sad and offensive name to describe a child, so ugly that I find it inappropriate to say aloud from this pulpit, especially on this last Sunday before Christmas.

I do, however, sometimes hear the word illegitimate, to describe such children.  And that too, illegitimate, is a sad, ugly term for anybody, much less the very Son of God. Today, we also use other sad and ugly terms for children: “illegal,” “alien,” “vermin” and “abomination.”

In contrast to that very first Christmas where very few received this baby, in a few days, we will gather with the Church around the world to welcome and embrace the baby. With triumphant voices we will sing, “Come let us adore the baby!”

And there’s a counter miracle occurring here. We embrace the baby, but this baby is also embracing us. In the birth of Jesus, God came close to us, because we didn’t believe we were worthy enough to come close to God. So, before we congratulate ourselves on our willing and eager reception of this baby, let us wonder at this baby’s reception of us.

Not knowing we could reach up to God, without getting killed, in love and with love, God reaches down to us. God takes on our humanity so that we might know that we are a part of God’s divinity. God came as a child to show us that we are all beloved children of God. With every child born, we are born into this world in the image of God. We all have divine value, a sacred worth, a holy purpose. We were born in love, of love, for love, to love.

As someone who has been in the church for nearly sixty years now, and a minister for almost 40 of those years, people often tell me that I should write a book—A wonderful book of church stories filled with stories about you.

A Presbyterian minister from Northhaven, Minnesota did just that. In his book entitled, The Good News from Northhaven, Michael Lindval writes about his Presbyterian congregation.

It was his first Thanksgiving as pastor of the church. On the Sunday after Thanksgiving they were having an infant baptism. Much like the baptism of Phyllis Rose we had on the Sunday before Thanksgiving, the congregation was full of friends and relatives of the couple whose child was being baptized. Dr. Angus McDonald II, and his lovely wife, proudly presented their new son, Angus III, otherwise known as Skip, to be baptized. And the entire church could not have been more happy.

When it was time for the baptism, Rev. Lindval turned to the congregation and asked what is traditionally asked in some churches that baptize infants. He addressed the congregation and asked: “Who comes to stand with this child?”

Immediately, the grandparents, aunts and uncles and an assortment of relatives and friends, stood up and joined the parents at the front as they held the baby, presenting the baby for baptism.

When the service was over, after the congregation shook the minister’s hand upon exiting the church, Rev. Lindval, walked back through the sanctuary and noticed that one person had remained. He recognized her as someone who always sat on the back pew, closest to the back door.  She was a social worker, he remembered.

He greeted her, telling her he was glad to see her in worship, but she seemed to be at a loss for words.

After an awkward silence, she commented on how lovely the baptism was, and then, fumbling for words, said to the pastor, “One of my clients, her name is Tina. She has had a baby, and well, Tina would like to have the baby baptized.”

The pastor suggested that Tina should make an appointment to come to see him, along with her husband, and then they would discuss the possibility of baptism.

The woman looked up at the pastor and said, “Tina doesn’t have a husband.  She is not a member of this church but attended the youth group some when she was in Junior High. But then she got involved with this older boy. And now she has this baby. She’s only 17.”

The pastor awkwardly mumbled that he would bring the request before the next meeting of the Session, their church’s board meeting.

When the pastor presented the request before the Session, as you might imagine, there was some questions.  “Who’s the father?” “Where’s the father?”  The pastor said that he didn’t know. “Does Tina have any other family?” “I don’t know,” the pastor said. Heads turned.

“How could they be sure that Tina would be faithful to the promises that she was making in the baptism?” was a concern brought by more than one.

The pastor only responded by shrugging his shoulders, but thought to himself, “How could they really be sure about anybody’s promise?”

With much reservation, the Session reluctantly approved the baptism of Tina’s baby for the Fourth Sunday of Advent.

When the Fourth Sunday of Advent came, the sanctuary was full as children were home from college and many of the members had invited guests. They went through the service singing the usual Advent hymns, lighting the advent candle, and so forth. Then, it came time for the baptism.

The pastor announced, “And now, would those to be presented for baptism come forward.”  An elder of the church stood up and read off the three-by-five note card, indicating that he did not remember the woman or the child’s name, “Tina Corey presents her son, James, for baptism.”  The elder sat back down with an obvious look of discomfort on his face.

Tina got up from where she was seated and came down to the front, holding two-month-old James in her arms. A blue pacifier was stuck in his mouth. The scene was just as awkward as the pastor and the elders knew it would be.

Tina seemed so young, so poor, and so alone.

But as she stood there… holding that baby… with poinsettias and a Chrismon tree shining brightly in the foreground, they could not help but to think of another poor mother with a baby, young, alone, long ago, in somewhat similar circumstances. Yes, in another place and time, Tina and Mary seemed like sisters.

And then the pastor came to that appointed part of the service when he asked, “And who stands with this child?”  He looked out at the mother of Tina, who came that day, dressed in a very meager way, and nodded toward her. She, almost hesitantly stood and moved toward her daughter and her grandson.

The pastor’s eyes went back to his service book to proceed with the questions to be asked of the parents when he became aware of movement within the congregation.

A couple of elders of the church stood up. And many, on the same row as those elders, stood up beside them. Then the Junior High Sunday School teacher stood up. Then a new young couple in the church stood up. And then, before the pastor’s astonished eyes, the whole church was standing, and moved forward, clustering around the baby.

Tina began cry. Lindvall writes that Tina’s mother gripped the altar rail as if she were clutching the railing of a tossing ship, “which in a way she was”—a ship in a great wind. Moving forward this day so much closer to the ultimate destination of us all. And little James, as the water, touched his forehead, grew peaceful and content, as if he could feel the warm embrace of the entire congregation. Every person in the room was standing if this was their child, as if they were all family.

The scripture reading was from 1 John 3:1, “See what love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are.”

On Tuesday night, we will gather here to celebrate the birth of a baby born into our family. But it is by this baby that we have been made family.

Maybe you came to this service this morning and plan to come Tuesday night all by yourself. Maybe you do not have much family, maybe you lost the family you had, or perhaps your family is far away.

But on this Fourth Sunday of Advent, here, right now, do you hear that rustling in the pews around you?

It’s the sound of your family. It’s the whole human family, taking shape around the manger.

Christmas means the Word has become flesh and is dwelling among us.

And what is that word?

“See what love the Father has given to us so we should be called children of God. And so we are” (1 John 3:1).

For unto us a child is born, so we will understand that we are all born in love, connected by love, bound together with love.

For unto us a child is born, so no child born should ever be called “illegitimate,” “illegal,” “alien,” “vermin” or an “abomination.”

For unto us a child is born, so we will stand up to stand with all God’s children.

For unto us a child is born, so every child will be welcomed, loved, and affirmed; every child will know their divine value, their sacred worth, and holy purpose.

For unto us a child is born, so all children will receive the hospitality of a cold cup of water, a hot meal, and warm shelter.

For unto us a child is born, so every child can be safe from gun violence, at home and at school, can live lives of peace, free of violence of any kind.

For unto us a child is born, so every child will have access to equitable education, a fair living wage, affordable healthcare, equal protection under the law—everything they need for a future full of promise, potential and peace.

For unto us a child is born, so every child will know freedom, justice, hope, and love.

For unto us a child is born, so every child will experience life: abundant and eternal.

For unto us a child is born, so blessed is the fruit of every womb.

Christmas in the Boondocks

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year C1 Comment

Luke 3:7-18 NRSV

As a preacher, I often wonder about this thing we call a sermon. Like, why do we do it? Why do preachers prepare and deliver them, and why do you sit and listen to it?

I tend to believe that you are here for the sermon because need a little encouragement. In a world that can be dark and despairing, you need to hear a word of light and hope. In a world that can be sad and chaotic, you need to hear a word of joy and peace.

On top of all the problems in the world, war in Ukraine and in the Middle East, the acceptance of fascism throughout the world, including in our own country, you have all kinds of stress in your life. Some of your children are not doing as well as you would like. Some of you are having a difficult time taking care of aging parents. And some of you have your own health worries. Some of you are still dealing with grief over the loss of a loved one. And you are still struggling with forgiving that friend who let you down or loving a neighbor who betrayed you. So, you come to this place every to sit in a pew to get a little inspiration, to find a little peace.

So, I, along with hundreds of other moderate, educated, mainline preachers in our pretty, city pulpits, seek to give you a dose of what we think you want on Sunday mornings. Instead of saying anything that might add to the stress in your life, we try to say something to fill you with such peace, that when the time in the service comes when we pass the peace, you actually have something to pass. During the sermon, we seek to metaphorically pat you on the back on Sunday mornings assuring you that everything is going to be alright.

I am very tempted this morning to talk about my new granddaughter and how the birth of a little baby can change our world; then somehow compare that to the birth of Jesus peaching a soft, sweet, sentimental sermon of comfort and peace.

But then I encounter a text like this morning’s gospel lesson and read the account of a preacher who doesn’t remind us of any grandfather we know whose heart has been softened by the birth of a baby. His name is John, and he’s also a far cry any educated, moderate, mainline preacher in a pretty, city pulpit. He’s a harsh man with a harsh voice crying out in the boondocks far from the lights of the city.

No one ever called John “moderate.” And no one ever called him “mainline.” And there was seemingly nothing peaceful, about his message of hell, fire, brimstone, and impending judgment.

When John stood in the mud of the Jordan River and looked out in the congregation, he didn’t seem to see what I see when I look out on Sunday mornings. I see mostly good people who truly want to be better. John saw a snake pit. He preached: “You bunch of poisonous snakes! There’s a bunch of dead stones in this muddy river, but God is able to raise up a family out of these stones. There’s a heap of dry chaff, mixed all up in with the wheat, and you know what God’s going to do? God’s coming with fire to burn off the chaff. I wash you with water; and if this water is too cold for you… there is one who’s coming right behind me who is going to scorch you with fire!”

“You better get washed. You better get clean!  If you haven’t treated someone right, go make it right. If you have something you can give to those who have nothing to give, give it. If you have any prejudice in your heart, you better get rid of it. This may be your last warning. Today is the day. Now is the hour, for the ax and the fire are surely coming!”

Now I think, who wants to listen to a sermon like that? As it turns out, lots of people. Luke says: “multitudes” came out to hear him. And genteel, educated preachers in our nice city pulpits everywhere, scratch our heads and ask: “why?”

Perhaps you don’t come to church to listen to a sermon solely to be encouraged. Perhaps you also come to hear the truth.

Multitudes travelled way out into the boonies because that redneck preacher who looked like he could handle a snake or two named John was telling people the truth.

And perhaps that is why we are all here this morning. In a world where we are bombarded with lies…in a world in which we are overwhelmed with deceit, disinformation, propaganda, gaslighting and indoctrination… in a world where people make up stories to control us, using us for their selfish and greedy purposes…in a world where the rich and powerful control the media and malign the media they don’t control…and in a world where money is always the objective, we need to hear someone who will unashamedly speak to us, honestly and truthfully. We come here out of a deep yearning to hear a word of truth from God, because we know deep in our hearts that it is only that truth that will set us free and give us the peace we all desire.

That is why more people went out to hear John preach in the boondocks than have ever come here to hear me preach in the comfortable city sanctuaries where I have preached. Multitudes trudged through the briars and dust and went to hear a fire-breathing preacher who stood, not in a beautifully crafted and decorated pulpit, but in the muddy Jordan River, and spoke of axes, judgment, and fire. They went to hear the truth, even though they knew that truth was going to hurt. Because they somehow instinctively knew that it was the truth and only the truth that was going to set them free and give them a lasting peace.

If John was here today, I believe he would tell you that preachers like me often sell you short. And maybe he would be right.

For I have noticed, when every now and again, I unintentionally slip up and step on a few toes, a lot harder than I would ever intend to, inferring that some of you are not right…That some of you could do a little better…That some of you need a bath…That some part of you needs to be cut off, removed; something in you needs to be burned away…When I challenge you by saying something like: peace is only going to come on earth if you do something, that justice is only going to be done, if you use your privilege and power and act…When I explain how, even now, we are participants in the systems of oppression we deplore… you know what happens? Why, people line up after the service to say, “Thank you preacher. I really needed to hear that!” “You really got on top of my feet today! Thanks for being honest.”

I wonder what would happen if preachers all over the world had the gall to discuss all the lies and disinformation in our world today that is behind the growing popularity of fascism. What if we inferred that all of us could do more to stop it, that we could be more vocal in our condemnation of it, that our silence today only helps to normalize it, and such normalization is actually part of the historical playbook of fascism?

 What do we think our congregants would do if we challenged them— telling them the truth that when they hear their neighbors, co-workers and family members say things like: “People are just over-reacting;” “Things will not get that bad!” “The people in power? Why, they’re only talking. They don’t really mean what they say.” Our system of democracy is not fragile”—when they hear that, and then they say nothing, they only help to normalize fascism.

What would happen if preachers made a historical comparison between our silence today and the silence of those in 1860 when their friends defended slavery, saying things like: “We are actually doing them a favor!” What would happen if preachers compared our silence to those in 1930’s Germany when their friends defended concentration camps, saying something like: “Oh, they are just work camps. They are only helping people learn the value of labor and hard work!” What would happen if we compared our silence with those who said nothing when everyone around them was calling Martin Luther King Jr. “a troublemaker?”

Yeah, saying those things will certainly make some people mad. Some may not turn in their pledge cards. It may cause them to leave and never come back. But I have a feeling they’ll be many people lined up in narthexes everywhere to thank us, because people know the truth that before something can be born anew, something old must die. Before love can win, someone must be willing to pick up and carry a cross. Before justice can be done, work must be done. Before peace can happen, sacrifices must be made. Before Christmas can be celebrated, gifts must be given.

That is why people came to hear John preach. They came for the candor, for the honesty, and for the truth. From his prolific sermon illustrations (the fire, the ax, and chaff), we know that what John was preaching was the death of something old and the birth of something new.

This is why the multitudes traveled out into the boonies to hear John preach. Because when John told the people what they needed to change, what they needed to prune, cut off and burn up, the wilderness began to look something like the Garden of Eden. The muddy Jordan became the River of Life. Out of the dry dust, a flower began to bloom. Peace on earth became a little bit more of a reality.

This was the message of John the Baptist. People flocked to hear John, and I believe come to worship every Sunday so they can hear the truth: that none of us are who we ought to be. All of us could do better. We could be better.

We come here to ask God to hold up a mirror in front of us so we can see our complacency and our complicity. We ask God to search us and know our hearts; to test us and know our thoughts, to see if there is any wicked way in us and lead us the way that is everlasting. And having accepted the truth, we come to drop to our knees and ask God to take an ax and cut us down, or kindle a fire and purge us, so we can be reborn, so we can be cleansed and changed, so we can then do all that we can do to change the world. John preached the possibility of such a transformation.

And he’s still preaching it today. We can’t get to Christmas without first meeting him out in the boondocks. Multitudes have. By God’s grace, so will we.[i]

[i] Inspired from a sermon entitled Here Comes the Judge by William Willimon.

It’s Advent, and the Church Has Been Put on Alert

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year CLeave a comment

On this First Sunday of Advent, the lectionary gospel lesson puts the church on alert. If Luke was working with Homeland Security, the watch condition would be raised to the color, red, as the times in which we are living are severe. If there has ever been a time for the church to be prepared, wide awake, and paying attention it is now.

And what are we looking for? What are we making preparations for? For Jesus to show up of course!

The problem for some of us, including your pastor, is that sounds absolutely terrifying!

For that is how I was certainly introduced to this topic raised in a church where there was no shortage of end-of-the-world Sunday School lessons and doomsday sermons. In the sixth grade, I had a Sunday School teacher who talked about the imminent appearance of Christ every Sunday for an entire year. She clouded my head with charts and graphs, all indicating that Jesus was to appear in the clouds before my high school graduation.

In seventh grade, our youth minister took us to see the movie The Late Great Planet Earth that depicted people disappearing in the rapture. Planes, trains, and automobiles were suddenly without drivers. I watched in horror as planes crashed into crowded cities, trains derailed, and automobiles collided on every street.

And if this was not enough to permanently scar me for life, it seems like every revival preacher I heard preached that they were certain that the Lord was going to show up in their lifetime. This especially bothered me since most of those revival preachers were retired pastors, and to me, looked like they only had only one, maybe two good years left.

Today, we can find preachers all over the internet who are still preaching the imminent coming of Christ in this manner. They point to world events like Russia’s war with Ukraine and Israel’s war with Hamas, the involvement of North Korea and Iran—all signs that Jesus will soon be appearing.

And they’ll use scripture passages like our gospel lesson this morning to admonish Christians to stay alert, to be on guard watching for signs in the sun, moon, and stars. So, every eclipse, solar flare, supermoon, and shooting star is a sign that we are getting ready to meet Jesus! There will be distress among the nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. So, every tsunami, hurricane, or the threat from melting ice caps, becomes signs that we are about to meet Jesus.

So, we are to be always on guard. Everyday, we must be on alert and prepared to stand before Jesus, because we don’t want to Jesus to come back unexpectedly, like a trap.

Thus, when I was a teen, this was the scripture my mom would use to discourage me from watching R-rated movies, drinking a beer, and smoking cigarettes:

“Jarrett, you need to know that the Lord could show up anytime. And if he catches you doing anything you are not supposed to do, he may not take you back to heaven with him.”

Although she probably didn’t realize it, my mom was using scripture the way the church has used it for 2,000 years, to control people with fear.

How sad and ironic is thar when it could be said that the greatest challenge our world faces today is fear.

From Pharaoh in the first chapter of Exodus (v. 8-10) to the fascist tyrants of our day, fear is used to turn those who are in some way different from us into the enemy. Fear causes us to be selfish. Fear is what makes us want to shout: “America first.” Fear causes us to horde, believing we will never have enough for ourselves if we continue to allow others to pour into our country. Fear drives wedges of distrust into our communities and makes any form of compassion or kindness seem dangerous.

Fear causes us to define ourselves and those around us not by what we share, but by what makes us different. Fear creates an “either/or” and “us/them” mentality that makes it nearly impossible to find any common ground, let alone see one another empathetically. Fear drives us inward. It hardens our hearts, darkens our vision, and makes us miserable.

Perhaps fear has always been our greatest problem as human beings, part of our evolutionary DNA. Maybe that is why the most common command in Scripture is: “Do not fear,” spoken 120 times by some angel, some priest or prophet or by an ordinary person.

I believe this is why I am drawn to the words of hope in verse 28 of our gospel lesson this morning. While many will faint in fear when they see bad things happening in the world, Jesus says: “Now when these things begin to take place, [we can] stand up and raise [our] heads, because [our] redemption is drawing near” (21:28).

It’s a promise that may be difficult to believe, because “these things” refers to foreboding signs in the earth and heavens, catastrophe and chaos among the nations, the powers of the day being shaken, and the coming of the apocalyptic “son of man” in power and glory.

So, how can we courageously stand up, and fearlessly keep our heads up, when the whole universe is burning down? How do we live in these days and in the coming days and not fear?

This is why I am glad that Luke is not the only gospel writer to write such apocalyptic narratives. A couple of weeks ago, we heard a hopeful word from Mark who said that such bad things happening just means that something beautiful is about to be born.

Matthew also wrote about Jesus talking about “the son of man coming in glory.” It is in Matthew 25 that we read:

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, (notice that he uses the same language as Luke) and all the angels with him…All the nations will be gathered before him…Then the king will say…“Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 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.” Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

I believe this passage in which we read Matthew’s description of the Son of Man coming in glory, helps explains why the church should be put on alert, be prepared and on watch today. We need to stay awake and pay attention for opportunities today to see Jesus in the chaos, catastrophe, and calamity of our world. Where? In the eyes of someone who is hungry and needs something to eat, or in the eyes of someone who is thirsty and needs something to drink. We need to stay on constant watch for opportunities to support organizations like Park View Mission, Meals on Wheels, or Lynchburg Daily Bread.

In these perilous days as missiles fall from the sky in Kyiv, bombs are denotated in Gaza, and fascists all over the world are stoking the fires of fear and division, the church is in a red alert situation to be on watch for opportunities to see Jesus in the eyes of a stranger, a foreigner, an immigrant, or a refugee who desperately needs a safe place of welcome, acceptance and hospitality. We need to be on watch for opportunities we may have to provide sanctuary.

In a world where politics is not only force that is more extreme these days, but extreme weather wreaks havoc on us all, especially those who are poor and vulnerable, the church needs to be woke enough to see Jesus the eyes of anyone who needs a safe and dry place to be and comfortable warm clothes to wear. We need to be on watch for opportunities to support warming shelters or places like Miriam’s House and Rush Homes.

In a world where sickness and disease is big business and access to affordable healthcare is tenuous, the church needs to be on watch for those who are sick or experiencing pain and be prepared support health providers such like Johnson Health Center, Community Access Network, or the Free Clinic.

During this time when tyrants seem to have the upper hand, when fear of marginalized groups is used to win elections, the church needs to be placed on full alert, on guard to see Jesus in the anxiety of someone living in some form of confinement, facing some sort of oppression, far from thriving, barely surviving. We need to be on watch for those opportunities we have to compassionately show up in solidarity.

Want to see Jesus this Advent Season? In these times of chaos, calamity, and catastrophe, we certainly need to be wide awake and watchful, hyper-vigilant and keenly aware of opportunities to see his imminent appearance. But don’t look up in fear. Look down with love. Look down and do justice.

Though signs may appear in the heavens like a shining star over Bethlehem, Jesus will not be found in the skies above. Though the capital city shakes, Jesus will not be seen in places of power. If we want to see the one who came into the world as a brown-skinned, middle eastern, undocumented refugee born in a lowly stable, we need to look for him down in the places we least expect to find him, suffering and crying among the least.

So, although the times in which we are living are severe, and the world around us seems to be falling apart, we can courageously keep standing, and fearlessly keep our heads up, because, as Luke says, our redemption is drawing near. Because when Jesus appears before us as we are being vigilant in caring for the least of these among us, it means that we are loving this world as we were created and called to love this world, with a just and equitable love that has the power to redeem, bringing wholeness to all of creation.

A Crowded Table

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year B1 Comment

Sermon delivered during the Interfaith Service of Unity at Peakland Baptist Church in Lynchburg, VA, Thanksgiving Day 2024

Isaiah 25:1-9 NRSV

I begin the sermon with the two questions that are on everyone’s mind today: #1 “Will this divided nation ever come together?” And #2 “When will there finally be peace on earth?”

Nah. That’s not it. The questions on everyone’s mind today are: #1 “What’s for dinner?” and #2 “Who’s all invited?”

The prophet Isaiah answers the first question “What’s for dinner?” with a song about God’s promise of a generous and extravagant table where (as we read in the New Revised Standard Version):

The Lord of hosts will make a feast of rich food, a feast of well-matured wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-matured wines strained clear.

I imagine Isaiah adding: “Did I mention we’ll be havin’ well-mature wines and rich food?”

Isaiah understands that life is best celebrated with plenty of delicious food and the best wines, particularly when times have been dark, when the table’s been empty, when the cupboards ae bare—when tyrants have the upper hand, when the shadows of chaos and catastrophe cover a nation, like it is being punished for their poor choices causing the entire creation to suffer.

In the previous chapter of Isaiah, we hear the desperate lament of the prophet:

The earth is utterly broken, the earth is torn asunder, the earth is violently shaken…the moon… abashed, and the sun ashamed (24:19, 23).

A dark shroud of universal dismay and despair covers the land. And there, under the dismal cover of darkness, everything good seems to be wasting away.

Of course, the first thing Isaiah grieves is the wine cellar. Isaiah cries out:

The wine dries up, the vine languishes, all the merry-hearted sigh, the mirth of the timbrels is stilled, the noise of the jubilant has ceased (24:7-8).

It is in this dry, dark, and desolate setting that a shocking announcement is made by the prophet. It comes in the form of a gracious invitation to attend a most extravagant dinner table with rich food and plenty of delicous wine!

Which brings us to the second question on our minds this day. Now that we know what’s for dinner, we want to know who’s all invited?

And here comes the real shock. Who’s invited? All are invited to enjoy the feast.

And notice that it’s like Isaiah understands that such radical inclusion will be difficult for some folks to believe. So, the prophet uses the word “all” five times in three verses to make sure he gets his point across!

In verse 6 we read that the table is “for all peoples.” And just in case some interpret all peoples to mean just the legal, documented citizenry, the prophet adds, “all nations, and all faces.”

Talk about a crowded table! A table where everyone whose got a face is welcome!

“All are welcome.” That’s the words that we are accustomed to seeing outside some of our houses of worship or our meeting places, right? All are welcome. But it was my son who once pointed out the fallacy of that simple welcome. Referring to the sign outside a church building where I once served, he commented: “Dad, all can’t be welcome unless someone is doing the welcoming. A better sign would read, ‘We welcome all.’”

I had never thought about that. But he’s right. For all to be welcome, someone must do the welcoming. Someone must put in some effort. Someone must take some initiative. Someone must have some radical intentionality to create the revolutionary hospitality. Especially if all faces are invited. Especially if strange faces might show up. And most especially if the table is going to be crowded with strange faces.

I will never forget the first time that my wife Lori came home with me to meet my parents back in 1987, a few months before we were engaged to be married. I am very tempted right now to tell you that it was Thanksgiving, but it was actually Easter.

After attending worship that Sunday, my family gathered around a very crowded table for dinner, nine of us scrunched up together to sit at a table made for six. My aunt and uncle and cousin joined my brother, sister, Mom, Dad, Lori, and me. I was sitting at one end of the able. Dad was seated to my left. And Lori was seated to my right.

As my father asked the blessing using the vernacular of King James in 1611, to make Lori feel welcome at the strange, crowded table, I took my foot under the table and gave Lori a little love-tap on her ankle. (Most inappropriate during the high Old English Eastertide blessing my father was offering, but I suppose that’s what made it so much fun). Feeling my affection under the table in the middle of the prayer, Lori made eye contact with me gave me the sweetest little grin. I know, we were so bad.

A few minutes went by, when Lori got the notion to reciprocate, reaching out her toe to tap my foot. But when she looked over at me, she was rather disappointed to see that I didn’t react. So, she did it once more, this time, a little more playfully. But again, I was as cool as a cucumber, sitting there eating my dinner like it never happened.

That’s because it never happened. Lori, in a state of confusion sat back and peered under the table, only to discover that she had been flirting with my father!

But here’s the thing. My dad also never reacted. He too sat there like it never happened.

Now, I can only come up with two explanations for Daddy’s stoic lack of response. The first one, which I refuse to believe, is that is he enjoyed it and didn’t want her to stop. So, the conclusion I have chosen to draw is that he realized that Lori, bless her heart, didn’t really know what she was doing, and thus he made the decision to extend grace. Instead of embarrassing her, he chose to forgive her, accept her, and love her.

To set a crowded table where every face is welcomed, all those at the table must be intentional when it comes to grace, more so if strange faces are present. All the grace Daddy offered that day would have been for naught, if my cousin, or one of my siblings, was gawking under the table judging all the inappropriate footsie carryings-on.

To set a gracious table, one where every face fed feels safe, appreciated, respected, affirmed, liberated, and loved, takes some work, especially for those faces who have not been feeling those things. To set such a table might mean that we have to go so far as to turn over a table or two. It might mean we need to get into some trouble, in the words of John Lewis, “some necessary trouble, some good trouble.”

Because as history as proved, there are always privileged tyrants in the world who believe it’s their role to play the judge: deciding who deserves a seat at the table and who should be excluded or deported.

I believe it is notable that the Hebrew word for “tyrant” is repeated three times in three verses (verses 3, 4 and 5). In Isaiah 13 and 49, we read that Babylon was the tyrant. But here in chapter 25 the lack of a specific reference conveys the frequent cyclical threat of tyrants throughout history—tyrants in every age whose refusal to demonstrate love and grace, to treat every face with equality and justice, benefits them and their friends at the top, while everyone else suffers, while “the wine drys up, the vine languishes, and all the merry-hearted sigh.”

In every generation, there are those seek to enrich themselves at the expense of others. And fearing a revolt of the masses who will certainly suffer, they lie and make up stories, conning the masses to believe that it’s not them and their oligarch cronies who are preventing them from having a seat at the table, sharing in the rich bounty of the table, but it’s some poor marginalized group who’s preventing them.

It’s the poor and the immigrants, the Eunuchs and the sexually different, the widows and the unmarried, we should fear. They are the ones who are poisoning our blood, making us weak, destroying our culture. The tyranny of the greedy and the powerful who are now at head of the table have nothing to do with our low position or no position at the table, or why there is so little on the plate in front of us.

So, not seated at the prophet’s extravagant table set with rich food and fine wines for all faces, are the tyrants. Because the problem with just one tyrant at the table is that all faces will no longer feel welcomed at the table, especially those who hunger and thirst for a seat at the table, those who have been the victims or the scapegoats of tyranny. These were Isaiah’s people, the faces for whom the prophet was most concerned: the faces of all who have been pushed to the margins: the faces of widows and orphans, the faces of Eunuchs and foreigners, the faces of the poor and needy.

This is the sacred table I believe people of faiths are being called to set in our world today: a large, crowded table where there is no injustice, no bullying, no cruelty, no hate, and no oppression whatsoever.

Setting such a gracious table will most certainly require possessing the courage to flip a table or two, as we will have to work diligently to prevent anything, or anyone, opposed to love from taking over the table.

Public dissent is essential around the table, because the one thing that tyrants count on is the silence of others. As the old German saying goes: “If one Nazi sits down at a table with nine people, and there is no protest, then there are ten Nazis sitting at that table.”

However, when the nine stand up, speak up, and speak out, taking steps to ensure that just love remains at the table, either the fascist will leave the table, taking their prejudice, fear, hate and toxicity with them, or they will find grace for themselves, experience liberation and redemption, and be given a welcomed place at table.

And in the safe space of the table, as the people eat and drink together, as they share their grief and cry together, as they are filled with grace and love together, the dark shroud that had been covering their world will begin to dissipate, and suddenly they will once again be able to celebrate and to laugh together.

Gathered around the crowded and diverse table, Palestinian and Jew, Ukrainian and Russian, Indigenous people and colonists, queer and straight, documented and undocumented, able-bodied, and differently-abled, brown, black and white, all God’s children begin to understand that they share more in common than that which divides them, most importantly, one God, one Lord, and Creator of all faces. And there around the prophetic table, they are able to see their great diversity as the very image of God.

So, what’s for dinner?

As prejudice leaves and fears are relieved and tears are wiped away, mercy and compassion are for dinner.

As disgrace is forgiven and barriers begin to fall, grace and love are for dinner.

As despair dissipates and sorrow fades, hope and joy are for dinner.

As plates are passed and the wine is consumed, as people are seen, their voices are heard, and their beliefs are respected, as enemies become friends, and strangers become siblings, peace and salvation are for dinner.

And who’s all going to be there?

Here, now, this afternoon, tomorrow, next year, and well into the future, around our family tables, around the tables of our faith, around the table of our city, around the table of our nation, around the table of the earth, all who believe in love and need love, all who hunger and thirst for justice, are going to be there! Your faces are going to be there, and my face is going to be there. We are all going to be there, regardless of our religion or lack thereof, ensuring that no one and no thing opposed to love, no matter how powerful, will be there.

And the good news, proclaims Isaiah, is that our hungry and thirsting God will be also there, seated in our midst at the very crowded table, swallowing everything in heaven and on earth that divides us from one another, and consequently, from the love of God.

God will be there with a ravenously righteous appetite, swallowing even death, forever. And the most divided of nations will be united as all become one, and on earth there will be peace, as the entire creation is born again. Amen.

When Christ Is King

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year B1 Comment

John 18:33-37 NRSV

Some of you may remember Yakov Smirnoff, the Ukrainian comedian, who was made famous in the 1980’s with the saying: “America: What a Country!”

When he first arrived in the United States, he was not prepared for the incredible variety of instant products in American grocery stores.

He once told the story of visiting a grocery store  just days after he came to America. He said:

“I love this country, I walked down one aisle and saw a jar of powdered orange juice—’just add water the jar’ said.  Isn’t that wonderful, just add some water and you get orange juice!”

He went on: “I walked down another aisle and saw a box of powdered milk. Just add water and you get milk.  Then ran across a box of powdered eggs. Just add water, and you get eggs.”

He said, “I then went down another aisle and saw a container that said, ‘Baby powder,’ and I thought to myself, ‘America: What a country!’”

I have wondered if those of us who have been a part of churches where infant baptism is not practiced are sometimes tempted to believe that when it comes to baptism. That all a congregation must do for someone to be made into a Christian, a follower of Jesus, is to just add some water. Just fill up the baptistry with water and get a person wet!  And before they can dry off, we are patting ourselves on the back saying: “Good job! We did it!! Our work as a church is now finished!” Hallelujah, praise the Lord!”

Consequently, the promises spoken and the commitments made during some baptismal events are solely made by the person being baptized. No promises are made by the congregation. The congregation’s work is over.

However, with the infant baptism that we just observed, it was only the congregation who made the promises, as precious little Phyllis Rose wasn’t able to promise anything. When an infant is baptized the work of the congregation is just beginning.

And, how appropriate is it in 2024 that we are making such commitments on this Christ the King Sunday, as commitments have never been more needed to following the peculiar, counter-cultural, other-worldly, other-realm way of life that Jesus decrees.

As Jesus reminded Pilate after he is arrested, when Christ is our King, our Kingdom, our truth, our worldview, our understanding of birth, life, and death, of meaning and purpose, is not from this world.

Jesus’ statement that if his followers were from this world, they would fight to keep him from being handed over, speaks to the hyper-masculinity of our current world.

Throughout world history, authoritarian tyrants have used hyper-masculinity as the solution to large, complex societal problems, such as some of the problems our country faces today: climate change, inflation, income inequality, loss of manufacturing, and the rise of artificial intelligence.

A history of sexual violence toward women and a felony record only helps such autocrats who claim that they alone have the manly strength to fix all that is wrong, offering a simple explanation for all problems of the nation: We are having these problems because there are these people who are making us weak, less masculine, like immigrants (who are polluting our blood) and LGBTQ people (who are polluting our sexuality and gender).

This reign of hyper-masculinity favors the super-rich, because as the poor continue to get poorer, instead of blaming the rich, the true source of their problems, they’ve been conned into blaming those who have polluted their sexuality and blood.

The reign of Jesus is the exact opposite, because the reign of Jesus heralds the truth that God favors the poor, the meek, and the peacemakers. The reign of Jesus heralds the good news that God favors those who hunger and thirst for justice and is on the side those who are grieving.

The reign of Jesus supports the most vulnerable, stands on the side of the marginalized, defends the rights of women, elevates the widow, and defends the Eunuch.

The reign of Jesus fills the hungry with good things and sends the rich away empty. The reign of Jesus casts down the powerful and lifts up the lowly and decrees that the Kingdom of God belongs to little children like Phyllis Rose.

This is why our commitments today through this service of baptism to guide Phyllis in the way of Jesus are so important. In a world where Phyllis will be bombarded with lies, made-up stories, and propaganda pulling her in the opposite direction, we as the church must be intentionally vigilant in our efforts to guide Phyllis in the gospel truth.

In a world where many do not understand Jesus’ kingship, and others, even those in the church, reject it outright, we’ve made promises before God today to demonstrate to Phyllis that Christ is our King. That the voice that we listen to has never sat on any earthly throne or ever once occupied the White House.

And the voice we listen to tells us that those in this world who have power over us, those who control our thoughts and our actions, are not the strong, the powerful, and the hyper-masculine. But they are the weak, the powerless, and the most vulnerable among us.

And that the perfect example of those with the most power in our lives, in our world, is the tiny precious infant we have baptized this day.

Because, when Christ is King, little children reign supreme.

When Christ is King, the least among us are the greatest, and the last are first.

When Christ is King the humble are exalted and the meek inherit the earth.

When Christ is King, there is no longer male or female, but all are one.

When Christ is King (in the beautiful words of feminist artist Judy Chicago), then…

All that has divided us will merge

And then compassion will be wedded to power

And then softness will come to a world that is harsh and unkind

And then both men and women will be gentle

And then both women and men will be strong

And then no person will be subject to another’s will

And then all will be rich and free and varied

And then the greed of some will give way to the needs of many

And then all will share equally in the Earth’s abundance

And then all will care for the sick and the weak and the old

And then all will nourish the young

And then all will cherish life’s creatures

And then all will live in harmony with each other and the earth.

And then everywhere will be called Eden once again

Amen.

Birth Pangs!

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year BLeave a comment

Mark 13:1-8 NRSV

One of the great things about living in southern Louisiana were the countless stories I heard about two infamous Cajuns named Boudreaux and Thibodeaux.

One story goes like this:

Pastor Boudreaux was the pastor of a small, rural church and Rev Thibodeaux was the pastor of similar church directly across the road. One day, they were both standing out by the road in front of their churches, each pounding a sign into the ground as fast as they could. The sign read:

“Da End is Near. Turn Yo Sef ‘Roun Now Afore It Be Too Late!”

As soon as the signs got into the ground, a car passed by. Without slowing down, the driver leaned out his window and yelled as loud as he could: “You bunch of religious nuts!”

Then, from the curve in the road Boudreaux and Thibodeaux could hear tires screeching, and then, a great big splash!

Pastor Boudreaux yells at Rev. Thibodeaux across the road and asks: “Do ya tink maybe da signs should jus say ‘Bridge Out’?”

I wonder sometimes if I am like that poor driver, as I am quick to look past scripture like Mark chapter 13 thinking that such passages about the end of days is for the nuts of my faith. After reading each of the lectionary lessons, I told Jeremy and Maria earlier this week that I was going to sidestep Mark 13 and preach the epistle lesson of Hebrews. My thinking was that, right now, no one in this church wants to hear about the end of the world. If we wanted to hear about dooms day, we’d just turn on the TV and watch the news!

And right now, to keep ourselves from sinking any further into the depths of the utter despair, many of us are trying to avoid the news.

However, all week, there’s something about this strange, cataclysmic passage in Mark that kept drawing me to it, something hauntingly relevant, eerily significant.

Most scholars believe Mark was written during, or just after, the catastrophic Jewish revolt against the Roman occupation of Palestine in the year 66. The Roman army crushed the revolution destroying the Jewish temple, and the Jewish people could not have felt more defeated and more hopeless.

Thus, the message of Mark’s Gospel is a message of hope proclaimed amid great devastation and despair. To really hear the message, to truly understand its meaning, we need to listen from a position of desolation, chaos, bewilderment, and panic.

See what I mean when I say, “hauntingly relevant?”

In the ancient world, whenever the forces of darkness seemed to be on the winning side— whenever the powers of deception, division, and oppression seemed victorious over truth, unity, and freedom— whenever fear, hate, and greed seemed to conquer love, justice, and compassion— people sought hope by turning to a peculiar genre of literature called “apocalyptic.”

“Apocalypse” is a word that sounds foreboding and dystopian. We associate it with “impending doom” or “the end of days.” But it literally means “to uncover” or “to reveal” a vision of hope during those times when all hope seems lost.

It’s where the book of Revelation gets its name as it is written a beautiful letter of hope to Christians in Ephesus who were suffering under the tyranny of a narcissistic authoritarian name Caesar Domitian. The book of Daniel is another example of such literature as it was written to encourage Jewish people to refuse to bow down to another narcissistic autocrat named Nebuchadnezzar.

The purpose of all apocalyptic literature is to inspire resistance to the fascism and oppression that is in every age. And it does so “by envisioning an imminent future in which God comes to the rescue in spectacular, vividly poetic fashion,” righting all wrongs and setting things right, inaugurating a new era of liberty, justice, and compassion.[i]

Apocalyptic literature paints a hopeful portrait of God pulling back the veil of what we read in the paper, or watch on the news, to reveal what God is truly up to in this world, revealing that God is still at work transforming sorrow into joy, despair into hope, and death into life.

Despite all appearances, Mary’s song that we call the “Magnificat,” like Hannah’s song from 1 Samuel that inspired our Call to Worship this morning, is even now being fulfilled. Wickedness is perishing. Righteousness thunders. Grief is becoming gladness, times of trial, times peace. The powerful are coming down from their thrones. The lowly lifted up. The hungry filled with good things, and the rich sent away empty. Despite all appearances, under the great veil of darkness and despair, love is winning, justice is coming, healing is happening, freedom is ringing, possibilities are growing, and the entire creation is being born again.

In Mark 13 we read Jesus’ warning to the faithful not to be led astray. Jesus challenges his disciples to see the good news behind the veil, the love behind the fear, the mercy behind the hate, while resisting being among the many who will led astray by those who say, “I am he!” or something like “I alone can fix it.”

When we hear of wars and rumors of wars, of nations that are rising up against nation or are deeply divided, when we hear of natural disasters, when we witness the entire creation crying out in angst and agony, the challenge for the faithful, says Jesus, is to believe that all of this is but “the beginning of the birth pangs.”

“The beginning of the birth pangs.” What a beautiful, hopeful, and expectant description of the suffering of this world! The groaning of creation is but a sign that something new, something wondrous, and ironically enough, something inconceivable, is about to be born. Our grief that is associated with the oppression and hate of this world is but a holy movement of liberation and justice that is even now in gestation. Our grief is the dawning of a new era of healing, mercy, and love.

I believe Jesus is saying: Right now, things are terribly bleak. People are being led astray, many in my name. You have great, seemingly unsurmountable obstacles before you, as large as the giant blocks of stone Herod used to build the temple. You are reeling in shock, sadness, and anger. You are fearful for your neighbors who are vulnerable, undocumented, Muslim, or transgendered. You are grieving the loss of friends and family led astray by lies, fear, and hate.

But that pain that you have? That ache that feels like you’ve been punched in the gut? That wrenching inside of you that keeps you awake at night?

It only means that you are in labor! It only means that something miraculous is about to be born! The misery you feel and the suffering you are enduring are but birth pangs from the Holy One— signs of the inbreaking of the kingdom of God, signs that God is on the move and moving inside of you. Your grief, your stress, and your sleepless nights are but holy contractions letting you know that God is coming in you and through you, to rescue, to restore, and to rebuild.

Jesus is saying: Take heart! All the obstacles before you, no matter how large and impressive, will be thrown down. The mighty upon their thrones shall fall. The hungry fed. The lowly lifted up. The yokes of oppression broken. For the God of love and justice is turning the whole world upside-down, or right-side up!

This past Thursday local clergy with the executive directors of Interfaith Outreach and Park View Mission met downtown at the El Mariachi restaurant for our weekly meeting to support one another while figuring out how to solve all the world’s problems, starting of course here in Lynchburg.

Like all good clergy gatherings, we started the meeting complaining about bad religion, lamenting over the state of the Church today—how many, maybe the majority of churches today, are not just off-track, but having been led astray, they are actually heading in the opposite direction from which they should be going. We shared our grief how this has led to our current national crisis.

We grieved the number of good people we know who have given up on the church. How at one time they claimed to be Christian and were part of a church, only to watch the people in their church behave in the most un-Christlike of ways, disparaging and denigrating the people whom Jesus cared for the most: the poor, the vulnerable, and the marginalized.

We concurred with Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber who said:

People don’t leave Christianity because they stop believing in the teachings of Jesus. People leave Christianity because they believe in the teachings of Jesus so much, they can’t stomach being a part of an institution that claims to be about that and clearly isn’t.

Todd Blake from Park View and Shawne Farmer from Interfaith Outreach lamented the great needs in our city and shared their fears that things were only going to get worse.

Then, in our grief, we began to brainstorm together. We explored ways we could take the love and justice movement (that we believed we were somehow a part of as an interfaith clergy group) and expand it. We talked about ways we could invite others to join, not our churches, but to join a movement we are calling “Just Love Lynchburg,” a movement whose only agenda is love and justice. We discussed creative ways to recruit volunteers to support the work of Interfaith Outreach, Park View Mission and others who are doing good work, mobilizing volunteers of different faiths or of no faith who believe that the greatest thing we can do while we are on this earth is to love our neighbors as ourselves, especially our most vulnerable and marginalized neighbors.

  We started talking about building a “Just Love Lynchburg” float for the upcoming Christmas parade. We talked about how going to church and inviting people to come to church with us isn’t going to make this world a better place, or our city a more just and equitable place—that only love can do that.

Excitement around our table grew. We got a little loud. And suddenly and miraculously, El Mariachi transformed from a Mexican restaurant into a labor and delivery room!

Now, I am sure our exuberance baffled the other patrons who overheard our hope and witnessed our joy while they sipped their sipped their margaritas and dipped tortillas in queso. Some of them probably scoffed, whispering to one another, or at least thinking: “what a bunch of religious nuts!”

The good news is, even for all who scoff and doubt, the veil is being lifted, and the holy truth is being revealed. Despite all appearances, under the current cover of darkness, defeat, and despair, love is winning. For the pain we are feeling today only means that the Holy One is moving, moving even now, in each one of us. Our sufferings are but birth pangs, letting us know that a little something miraculous is growing inside of each of us, and those little somethings, collectively, because we are all in, together, have the power to change the world.

Thanks be to God.

[i] https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/lectionary-commentary-for-twenty-sixth-week-after-pentecost

A Word from the Lord

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year BLeave a comment

I Kings 17:8-16 NRSV

More than one person has reached out to me this week saying, “I hope you’ve been working on your sermon, because I really need to hear a word of hope and encouragement from you.”

But there’s a tiny little problem with that. I am not sure I have such a word, because after this week, I need someone to share a word of hope and encouragement with me.

What I need today, and what I believe you need, is not a word from a preacher. What we need today is a word from the Lord.

The good news is that is how our Hebrew Lesson this morning begins. In verse 8 we read:

The word of the Lord came to him.

Whenever I read a verse like this one, someone will inevitably comment: “I sure wished the Lord spoke to people today like God did back in the day.”

Well, I believe God is still speaking. The problem is we’re usually not listening.

The passage continues:

Go now to Zarephath and live there; for I have commanded a widow there to feed you when you arrive.

The good news is that the Prophet Elijah is listening. For he sets out and goes immediately to Zarephath.

And when he comes to the gate of the town, just as the Lord had said, he meets a widow who is gathering a couple of sticks to build a fire for supper. Elijah calls out to this one who has been commanded by the Lord to invite him to supper: “Will you pour me a glass of water? And while you’re at it, bring me a slice of bread?”

But she answers:

As the Lord your God lives, I have nothing baked. I have only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug.

Like many our nation today, maybe she wasn’t listening when the Lord commanded her to extend hospitality to strangers when they arrive at your border.

Or perhaps she heard the command. She just doubted the command. But maybe she didn’t so much doubt the command as she feared the command.

Perhaps she wanted to follow the command. She just didn’t feel like she was able, that she had any more to give. For she had fought so hard, given so much, only to have everything for which she worked for taken away.

Like us, the widow remembered more triumphant times: when freedom was won for the enslaved; opportunity won for immigrants; liberation won from fascism; civil rights won for minorities; reproductive rights were won for women; and civil rights and protections won for the LGBTQ community.

But now there’s a great famine in the land, and paralyzed by grief, the widow didn’t know how to follow the commands of the Lord. How could she keep giving? How could she continue loving? She had almost nothing left. She’s distraught and disillusioned, dejected and depleted. She didn’t see any way forward.

The last time she checked her pantry, she saw that she had only enough flour and oil to make one final meal for her and her family. Then, in the midst famine in the land, she knew that they would surely die.

Elijah then says something to the widow that many of us need to hear today. The prophet says: “Do not be afraid.”

But, there’s something patronizing, hollow, even offensive, about those words.

Hebrew Scripture Professor Katherine Schifferdecker imagines the widow responding:

Easy for you to say! You’re not the one preparing to cook one last meal for yourself and your son before you die. You’re not the one who has watched your supply of flour and oil relentlessly dwindle day-by-day, week-by-week, as the sun bakes the seed in the hard, parched earth. You’re not the one who has watched your beloved son slowly grow thinner and more listless.

In other words: the privileged audacity to tell me not to be afraid! You’re not a widow. You’ve never been devalued, been the victim of injustice or ever been this vulnerable.

We can hear her saying:

You’re not an immigrant. You’re not transgendered. You’ve never had anyone despise your very existence. You’re not poor. You don’t depend on Affordable Care or live on Social Security. You don’t live in Ukraine or Gaza or in states where women have fewer rights. You’ve never had to worry about being refused medical care and you have never feared dying from a miscarriage. You’ve never had to plead for your life to matter, only to get ridiculed for doing so. You’ve never been labeled “the enemy from within” or “the problem with the country.”

You’ve never walked in my shoes. You don’t know how many miles I have marched for liberty and justice. You don’t know how many friends I’ve lost, how many family members I’ve offended, the bullying I’ve endured, by standing on the side of those demeaned by sick religion and by a culture of greed. You don’t know all I’ve sacrificed. You’ve never felt my prayers of anguish and tears.

But Elijah says to her once more: ‘Do not be afraid; go and bake a little cake and bring it to me, and afterwards bake something for yourself and your son’ (1 Kings 17:13).

Schifferdecker continues:

How dare this prophet of God ask me for cake, knowing that I have so little? Who does he think he is, asking me for bread before I feed my own? I told him that I have only ‘a handful of meal, a little oil, and a couple of sticks.’ There’s not enough. And Death waits at my door.

Then the good news, a word from the Lord comes:

For thus says the Lord the God of Israel: ‘The jar of meal will not be emptied, and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the Lord sends rain on the earth.’

When you are knocked down and can’t see any path forward, when you feel like we have nothing left to give, if you can somehow, someway summon the courage to rise up to continue following the difficult and risky commands of the Lord, loving courageously and giving generously, if you dare to step outside our comfort zones to follow the steps of the Lord, you can be assured that “Your jar will not be emptied, and your jug will not fail.”

 So, she got up, maybe hesitantly, perhaps fearfully, but that didn’t matter.The only thing that mattered was that she got up and faithfully followed the Lord’s command. And she and her household ate for many days.

The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord that he spoke by Elijah (1 Kings 17:14-16).Do you hear it? Are you listening? It’s a word from the Lord.

 Maybe we hear it, but we are still doubting it, still fearing it.

 Following the commands of Jesus these days is just too dangerous. We need to play it safe. Focus inward. Get out of from politics. Stay away from trouble.

As sure as the Lord God lives, it’s too risky to speak truth to power. We can’t continue to call out their lies and their greed, their stoking the fires of fear, their fanning the flames of hate, their sowing the seeds of vulgarity, division, and violence.

As sure as the Lord God lives, we just don’t have enough power now to fight for the rights of women which have been stripped away, the rights of immigrants threatened with deportation, or fight for the rights of transgendered people, that those with all the power now, want to erase.

Have you heard the news? Do you know what is going on? There’s an anti-Christ spirit gripping our land! As sure as the Lord God lives…

We can’t afford put the needs of others over our own when it is more popular to serve only ourselves.

We can’t identify with the least when it is more popular to scapegoat them for all the country’s problems.

We can’t welcome the immigrant when it is more popular to dehumanize and deport them.

We can’t be peacemakers when it is more popular to support a militia.

We can’t preach loving our enemies when it is more popular to call for their executions.

We can’t care for our environment when it is more popular to scoff at science.

We can’t mention words like “racism,” “sexism,” “Antisemitism,” “Islamophobia,” and “transphobia” when it is more popular to hate.

We can’t support affordable healthcare, fair living wages and access to equitable education when it is more popular to do the exact opposite.

We can’t follow Jesus these days when it is more popular to just worship Jesus.

We simply don’t have enough left to follow the risky commands of the Lord.

We don’t have enough sticks to lose ourselves.

There’s not enough meal in the jar to deny ourselves.

And there’s not enough oil in the jug to even think about picking up a cross.

When morale is low and our sticks are about to run out, when we can see the bottom of the jar, and we’re squeezing mere drops from the jug, the grace of Jesus seems too extravagant, the mercy of Jesus too generous, and the love of Jesus too gracious. The light that Jesus commands us to shine takes too much energy and involves too much risk! And we are afraid we just don’t have what it takes.

We doubt such light. We question such light. We fear such light.

Our defense mechanisms are telling us that, right now, it’s best to keep the light hid, out of sight, tucked away under a bushel. Fear tells us to take down the flag, get off the internet, and retreat behind locked doors.

But then comes a word from the Lord.

Are we listening?

When an anti-Christ spirit possesses the nation;

and we’re tempted to believe we do not have enough sticks to keep the fire burning;

that we need to retreat into the sanctuary;

that we need to accept a personal, private Jesus, keep him deep down our hearts and out of the public square;

that we need to be tightfisted with grace, scrimp on mercy, and be stingy with love;

Behold, we hear a word from the Lord:

“Do not be afraid. Because when you follow the commands of God, your jar will never be emptied and your jug will never fail, and as long as you are working for justice, you will always have a great big pile of sticks!”

There’s no number of bomb threats from Russia, no amount of misinformation from Elon, no amount of lies on Fox News, no amount of false prophets in our churches, bullies on the city council, or fascism in the White House, that will  ever empty your jar.

There’s no amount of hate in Congress, meaness in the Senate, and Christian Nationalism on the Supreme Court, that will ever cause your jug to fail!

There’s no new policy, no executive order, no tweet, and no political rally that will ever deplete your basket of sticks!

In the Second chapter of Kings, we read about a man who brings the prophet Elisha a prophet’s tithe: Twenty loaves of bread and some fresh ears of grain in a sack.

Elisha accepts the tithe, but says, I want you to take this food and give it to 100 people who who are very poor.

The man responds: “But there’s just no way. There is not enough food here to set before a hundred people.”

But then comes a word from the Lord: “Because of your great faith in giving to the Lord during this time of scarcity, I have this feeling that there’s is going to be more than enough.”

The man set the food before the people, and there was not only enough, but it was indeed more than enough, as they had leftovers.

Just like they had after the disciples fed 5,000 people with a few loaves and a couple of fish.

Just like I am sure they had had after Jesus turned water into all that delicious wine!

Just like I am sure they had after the father welcomes the prodigal son home with that extravagant dinner party!

The good news is that God is still speaking today. God is still filling jars and replenishing jugs, and in God’s kingdom, the sticks that fuel the fire of the Holy Spirit are renewable resources!

So, let’s listen up! Don’t doubt, and don’t be afraid!

Let’s follow the commands of the Lord. Let’s love generously, love extravagantly, and love graciously! Let’s deny ourselves. Take up a cross. Take a risk. Continue to put the needs of others ahead of our own. Let’s make some folks uncomfortable. Be willing to lose a friend. All the while being kind, doing justice, walking humbly, speaking truth to power, preaching good news to the poor, and proclaiming freedom to the oppressed.

Let’s show the world that hope will never be silent, faith will never fade, and love will never cower.

Because, although we may think we don’t have what it takes, there is enough. There will always be enough.

No, in God’s abundant mercy, there will always be more than enough.

This is the word of the Lord.

Thanks be to God.