We Need a Slap in the Face

On February 23, 2025February 23, 2025 By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year CLeave a comment

These words from Jesus are some of the most difficult words to preach in the entire Bible. They are so counter-cultural, so offensive, that we would rather ignore them.

But these are the words of Jesus, and these are some of his very first words. So, if we want to call ourselves Christian, we cannot ignore them.

So, to avoid offending too many people, losing too many congregants, and, frankly, to avoid getting fired, preachers have this special knack of using a little hermeneutical smoke and mirrors. We pull this off by talking less about what the passages are saying, and more about what they are not saying. It’s a technique that preachers employ to keep their congregants happy.

And sadly, and tragically, this is one of the main reasons that many churches today, and many so-called Christian people, act nothing like Jesus.

Here’s an example of how it is done:

“But if anyone strikes you on one cheek, turn the other also.”

Now, Jesus is not saying here that should be pushovers.

“Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you!”

Now, Jesus is not saying here that we should help those who are perfectly capable of helping themselves.

“Love your enemies.”

Now Jesus is not saying we have to like them!

See how that is done? Preachers get away with this all the time, and their congregations let them, because the preacher is saying the things they only wished Jesus said.

And then, to put the finishing touch on this chicanery, preachers quickly skip to the end of the passage and point out verse 36: “Be merciful, as your heavenly Father is merciful.”

It is then they say: “You see. None of us can be like God. Therefore, Jesus really does not expect us to do any of these things. He is just laying out some very high ideals—ideals that we can never live up to. Jesus is trying to reveal just how sinful and unworthy we are.

That’s when preachers leave these words of Jesus and go off on a tangent about grace and the need to accept Christ as our personal savior because none of us are like God, and we all fall short of the glory of God.

Now, I believe in grace. I need grace. I am by no means close to being a merciful as God, so grace is my friend. Grace is my hope. Grace is amazing. But here’s the problem with using grace as an excuse to not obey these counter-cultural commands of Jesus, and it is a huge problem— At the end of the sermon, Jesus (as if he knows we will try to use grace as some get-out-of-doing-what-I-say card) says, beginning with verse 46:

Why do you call me “Lord, Lord”, and do not do what I tell you? I will show you what someone is like who comes to me, hears my words, and acts on them. That one is like a man building a house, who dug deeply and laid the foundation on rock; when a flood arose, the river burst against that house but could not shake it, because it had been well built. But the one who hears and does not act is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. When the river burst against it, immediately it fell, and great was the ruin of that house.’

So, what are we to do with these passages? When someone slaps us in the face, does Jesus really want us to turn and give them the other cheek to slap? And are we really supposed to give people the very shirts off our backs? Give to everyone who begs of us? Really?

No, this just can’t be. For it is directly opposed to almost every instinct we possess.

We read these words of Jesus, and many of us have a problem. Let’s face it. We have a big problem.

Now, are you ready for some good news?

Well, you are going to have to wait, because the bad news is still coming.

The truth is: these very difficult and offensive words of Jesus expose an even bigger problem for most of us. Think about it…

When was the last time that you have taken a stand against an evil, an injustice, stood up for someone who was being marginalized and scapegoated, and because of that stand, because you stood up and spoke out, the supporters of that evil, not only sent you a nasty email, defriended you on Facebook, personally confronted you, but became so offended they physically attacked you by slapping you in the face?

What I am asking is: when was the last time that we’ve even had an opportunity to turn the other cheek?

When was the last time someone who was very cold approached you, and knew you well enough to ask you to give them the very coat that you were wearing? When is the last time anyone has asked you to sacrifice warmth so they could be warm? When was the last time that you even had the opportunity to offer someone in need the shirt off your back?

When was the last time that someone in great need came to you and begged for you to help them? I am not talking about the person you see holding a sign at an intersection, “Help. Homeless Vet.” I am talking about someone whose name you knew, someone who knew your name, someone who felt like they could trust you, someone coming to you personally, swallowing their pride, and asking you for help?

Jesus says we are to love our enemies, but when was the last time that we’ve made an enemy? After all, isn’t confrontation something we all like to avoid? Isn’t it better, especially in this day and time, to mind our own business, keep our thoughts to ourselves, especially when it is about religion or politics?

Our problem is not that we are unwilling to turn the other cheek. Our problem is that we are so private, so unconcerned about anyone other than ourselves, that we never get off our blessed assurances to cause any confrontations.

Our problem is not that we are unwilling to give someone the shirt off our back. Our problem is that we are never around anyone who needs our coat.

Our problem is not that we are unwilling to give to the needy who personally approach us and beg of us. Our problem is that we do not personally know anyone in need.

Our problem is not that we are unwilling to love our enemies. Our problem is that most of us have never created any. We are so afraid of anything that might cause us a little discomfort, we never put ourselves out there to make any enemies.

And if we ever become bold enough to speak out, to take up for another or some gospel principle, if we know we have offended another, we usually go out of our way to always avoid that other. If we turn to go down an aisle at Kroger and see them, we will quickly turn and go to the opposite end of the store. Or we might leave and finish our shopping at Food Lion.

And because we stay away from those we have offended, because we keep our enemies at such a safe distance, we are simply nowhere close enough to them to even think about loving them.

You’ve heard the wisdom of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.

The late Presbyterian author and preacher Frederick Buechner spoke of this wisdom:

If your enemies are close—

You see the lines in their faces and the way they walk when they’re tired. You see who their husbands and wives are, maybe.

You see where they’re vulnerable. You see where they’re scared.

Seeing what is hateful about them, you may catch a glimpse also of where the hatefulness comes from.

Seeing the hurt they cause you, you may see also the hurt they cause themselves.

You’re still light-years away from loving them, to be sure, but at least you see how they are human even as you are human, and that is at least a step in the right direction.

It’s possible that you may even get to where you can pray for them a little, if only that God forgive them because you yourself can’t, but any prayer for them at all is a major breakthrough.

I believe Jesus is urging us to come close enough to others that we will truly be able to see them as beloved children of God, that tere is no “us” and “them.” There is only “us” as the Most High is kind to the ungrateful and to the wicked.

Now, here is the good news:

The good news is: You are here! You have put yourself out there! You are not so self-absorbed and selfish that you stayed home this morning. Your self-concern has not crowded out your moral concern.

The good news is: You are here, and together, as a church, we are going to go places where we will encounter people who are in such need that they may ask for our coats. And we will have opportunities to sacrificially offer them our shirts. We will get to know people who are so desperate that they may beg of us. And we will have opportunities to selflessly give.

Together, we will speak up, speak out, and stand firm for the gospel of Jesus Christ, for the prophetic justice he taught, and for the unconditional love for all people he modeled.

And yes, because this way of Jesus is socially unacceptable today in our country and in our city, we are certain to make some enemies. Like churches all over this country who are boldly standing up and speaking out, our property may be vandalized. Our flag will continue to be stolen. We are apt to stir up so much anger in some people that they will not only de-friend us on Facebook, send us ugly emails, but they may want to slap us in the face!

But together, because it is impossible to do it alone, together, as part of the household of God, we will not ignore them. Nor will we run and hide from them. We are having a discussion in our fellowship hall this Wednesday night to learn to have conversations with them. And we are having a workshop next month with Father John Dear to learn how to resist them nonviolently. We will learn together how to turn other cheek. We will learn together how to pray for them and how to love them. We will learn what actions we can take to make this world more peaceful, just, and equitable.

And no, we will never be as merciful as God, far from it. But we are going to do all we can do to stand up for mercy and to plead for mercy whenever poor people are called parasites, immigrants are scapegoated and transgendered and non-binary people are erased. We will stand together and stand up to the wicked in power who, full of lies, greed and hate, enrich themselves while trampling the poor, and then, we will at least be on our way, prayerfully, lovingly doing what we can, where we can, to become like the wise one who built a house on rock. And when the rains fall, the floods come, and the winds blow and beat on our house, it will not fall. Amen.

Far from the Shallow Now

On February 9, 2025February 9, 2025 By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year CLeave a comment

Luke 5:1-11 NRSV

One morning, Jesus is preaching down at the lake. The crowd that had gathered is so large, Jesus felt like they were about to push him right into the water!

During the sermon, he sees two boats belonging to some fishermen who were on shore washing their nets. He gets into the boat belonging to Simon, and he asks Simon to anchor the boat a little way from the shore, where he continues his sermon.

Luke doesn’t record the words to Jesus’ sermon, but from his sermon in the very next chapter, we could probably take a good guess: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hunger now, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Love everyone, even your enemies…” It’s a sermon of abundant mercy, extravagant grace, and boundless love!

After the sermon, Jesus tells Simon that he wants to do a little bit of fishing himself: “Let’s leave these shallow waters and let down the nets.”

Simon responds: “Master, with all due respect, I, along with my long-time business associates, James and John, have fished these waters all night long, and we haven’t caught a thing. Yet, if it will make you happy, I will go out a little deeper and put down the nets.”

Well, as soon as the nets hit the water, they catch so many fish that the nets begin to break. They quickly call out to James and John to get the other boat and offer them a hand. And when they come, they fill the boats with so many fish that both boats begin to sink.

As Simon takes in the overwhelming scene— nets breaking, boats sinking, fish everywhere, a scene of failure and scarcity transformed into triumph and abundance, a scene of what can happen when you leave the shallow to dive into something deeper, what can be experienced when you obey the commands of Jesus—Simon is overwhelmed, and falling down at Jesus’ knees, he says: “Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!”

It was as if Simon suddenly realized that it only seemed that Jesus was finished with his sermon that day. Jesus may be fishing, but he is still preaching. Through the abundant catch of fish, Jesus is still proclaiming God’s abundant mercy, extravagant grace, and boundless love. Believing he is underserving of such love, how unworthy he is of such abundance, Simon asks Jesus to go away.

But Jesus never goes away easily. “Simon, not only are you worthy to receive the abundant, extravagant, over-the-top love of God, you are worthy to share it with others and change this world! So, do not be afraid; for you are no longer going to be catching fish, you are going to be catching people!”

“I am asking you, Simon, along with your business partners James and John, to leave your shallow, contained, little world to venture out with me into a deeper, larger, revolutionary reality.

The truth is, Simon, I need you to go deeper. I need as many people as I can get to go deeper. The problems of the world are too great, and your lives are too short to waste any time wading in the shallow. And the grace of God is too extravagant. The mercy of God is too abundant. The love of God is too boundless for you to keep your it all to yourselves.

I need you to leave your shallow, safe world of spending all your time making a living to meet the needs of your immediate family, and I need you follow me into the deep, risky reality of sacrificing your time to meet the needs of the entire human family!

I need you to leave your shallow life that feeds you, and your children, and accept a deeper life that helps feed every child of God!

I need you to move beyond your shallow, narrow mission of caring for your own home, and accept the deeper, wider mission of caring for the entire planet!

I need you to lose the apathy towards issues that do not concern you and your limited of circle of family and friends to possess a deep empathy towards all who experience injustice!

I need you to move beyond your shallow understanding of success. Simon, no matter what you have been taught, success is not defined by the amount of fish you catch, or the size of your house or back account. It is so much deeper than that!

Your success is measured by how many people you loved extravagantly, abundantly, and graciously.

I need you to go deeper, Simon. You too, James and John, and be my disciples and fish for people. Do the hard, messy, oftentimes frustrating, and risky work to meet the needs of people, to care for and to liberate people. I need you to move far from the shallow now to do the deep work of love. And I am not talking about personal and intimate love, but a love that has public and political ramifications.

Now, here’s what I believe is the real miracle in this story. We read it in verse 11. After Jesus invited them to leave the shallow for something deeper, to leave the fish business to be in the people business we read: “When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.”

This is miraculous because when it came to accepting the extravagant grace and love of God revealed in the large catch of fish, Simon, seemed to have some difficulty: “Get out of here, Jesus! I am a sinful man!”

However, when it comes to following Jesus to a deeper life, to love others to selflessly and sacrificially, extravagantly and liberally, he, with James and John, leave everything and follow.

This is miraculous, because it is the exact opposite of how we humans usually work. We seem to have no problem accepting the grace of God for ourselves. We have no issues receiving the love of God for us personally. But we prefer to keep it shallow. We prefer to keep it personal. We prefer to keep it safe, keep it contained, keep it conservatively to ourselves. We are almost always reluctant to go deeper.

Because going deeper is dangerous. Going deeper is costly, and it is risky. Going deeper can be overwhelming. In the deep, fish break our nets and people break our hearts. Going deeper may mean leaving our friends and family behind.

I want to thank Katie Nunn for sharing her talent with us by creating this extravagant artwork that is adorning our baptistry today. When she first thought of this idea, which to me, speaks to the abundant and extravagant love we are called to share with others, she said she was tempted to think that the art might be “too far out” for church. But then, thinking about what this church means to her and to others, she thought, when it comes to love, for this church, there’s no such thing as being “too far out.”

In other words, Katie has joined a congregation of disciples, who, with Simon, James, and John, when it comes to love, have chosen to go deep, to go far out from the shallow.

We are disciples who have decided to go on a journey to share the abundant mercy, extravagant grace, and liberating love of God with all people, all the while knowing the journey will not be easy, comfortable, or popular.

Late author and professor John Augustus Shedd once said: “A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.” And today, we are on a ship with Jesus. He is the captain who navigates our journey out of the harbor into deep, dark, and dangerous waters.

The darkness of these days, like deep water, requires more than a shallow response. The times are too serious, and our time is too short, to waste any amount of time playing around in the shallow.

When the president makes an executive order to “eradicate” any opposition to the sick religion of White Christian Nationalism or the cult of MAGA, while disparaging any religious thought that calls for mercy and compassion, empathy, and equality, we must go deeper.

When the tax status of non-profits and institutions that serve the common good are threatened, when aid to the poorest people in the world is cut off, our stewardship practices, our civic engagement and our commitments need to go deeper.

When houses of worship receive warnings by the government that sanctuary provided to the immigrant will not be honored, that we may be targeted, our commitment to the word of God “to treat the foreigner living among us as native born, to love them as ourselves” gets called into the deep (Leviticus 19:34).

When programs designed to celebrate diversity, create equity, and foster inclusion are eliminated in favor of protecting the privileged, our faith compels us to go into the depths of human solidarity and belonging.

So, if you have come here this morning because you want to dip your toes in the safe shallow end of the pool, to wade, splash around, and enjoy yourselves, to nourish your private, personal relationship with the Lord, to remain neutral when it comes to public policy and politics that hurts the poor and the marginalized, then I am afraid, you have come to the wrong place! We don’t even have a kiddie pool for children in this place, as we are even training them to swim in the deep end.

Because we know that a shallow, safe, personal, and private faith, a faith that has the sole purpose to feed one personally, allows children to starve, and the entire creation to hunger.

A shallow faith allows the spread of a false gospel that is unconcerned with the living conditions of anyone else living on the earth as well as the state of the earth itself.

Shallow faith enables false prophets to reject Jesus, or worse, to act in ways that are the antithesis of Jesus, ways that are anti-Christ, and still claim they are following Jesus.

Shallow faith is afraid to enter into the depths of human suffering and oppression. It finds contentment inwardly, in one’s own family, job, possessions, and even church.

Shallow faith is afraid to rock the boat, afraid of losing a friend or upsetting a co-worker or family member.

Shallow faith is afraid of the sacrifices and the changes that need to be made.

And sadly, church is where people can be the most afraid, and thus the most shallow, the most small-minded and the most close-minded, the most self-interested and self-preserving

But the good news is that church can also be the place where people can be the most courageous, a place where we are challenged to be more open, more selfless, and more self-expending, where we are pulled by Jesus into the deep, dark, and dangerous places, far from the shallow.

To those difficult places where we have a deep conversation with that climate change-denier or anti-vaxer. Where we go out of our way to help an asylum seeker. Where we contact our legislatures to object to the wicked assault on trans people. Where we call out racism and white supremacy wherever we see it, on the school board, the city council, even in our own families.

The good news is that the First Christian ship of Lynchburg, Virginia has left the harbor. Jesus is our captain. And we are far from the shallow now! Amen.

When Jesus Falls Out of Favor (and nearly off a cliff!)

On February 2, 2025February 2, 2025 By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year C1 Comment

Luke 4:14-30 NRSV

Once upon a time, in a land far away, but not so different from our own, excitement was in the air as folks began gathering in the narthex, sipping their coffee. Everyone was looking forward to the sermon. Because today, they had a special guest preacher!

Many were just glad to have a break from listening to their pastor who they’ve had to now put up with for a year and a half. But some were really looking forward to hearing one of their own, someone who had moved away, made a name for himself, and made them proud. He had come back home for a visit and had been asked by the Elders to fill the pulpit.

No one paid attention as the announcements were being made. In the pews, heads moved and necks stretched, as everyone was trying to catch a glimpse of their hometown pride and joy.

After the Children’s Moment and the Pastoral Prayer, the young man stood up in the pulpit.

“Look! There he is!”

“My, hasn’t he grown!”

“He looks just like one of us, with his dark eyes and complexion.”

The worship leader handed him a scroll. He unrolled it and began reading words from the prophet Isaiah:

‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

   because he has anointed me

     to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives

   and recovery of sight to the blind,

     to let the oppressed go free,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.’

He rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the worship leader, and sat down. All were smiling as he had just read one of their favorite scripture passages.

It is then, that he stood back up and dropped the mic by declaring: ‘Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing!’

Countless amens could be heard throughout the sanctuary. One congregant shouted: “Hallelujah!” Another exclaimed, “Praise Jesus!” Another said, “I wished he was our full-time pastor!”

Everyone was pleased as they could be! Because the scripture he read was being fulfilled for them. Good news for the poor meant good news for them, because they didn’t consider themselves to be among the rich oligarchs that were in power.

And because they were living in an occupied territory, release to the captives, meant liberation for them!

Because they had lost hope and had a difficult time seeing anyway forward, recovery of sight to the blind meant recovery of hope for them!

And because they felt oppressed by the Romans, freedom for the oppressed meant freedom for them!

So, amen, brother! Preach it!

They could not have been more enthusiastic with their hometown hero! All throughout the sanctuary, you could hear proud comments like: “Why isn’t that Joseph’s oldest boy?”

After the choir sang the anthem, the young preacher stands back up, takes a sip of water, and begins the sermon: “There’s no doubt many of you will say: ‘Doctor, cure yourself.’ ‘Do here also here in your hometown the things that we heard you do Capernaum.’”

“That’s right!” someone shouted!

Another yells: “Charity begins at home!”

Someone else screams, “America First!” (I mean, “Israel First!”)

On the edge of their seats, their ears are itching to hear what their hometown boy had to say next!

It is then he says something like: “You know that no prophet is accepted in his hometown

Someone cupped their hands to their mouth and shouted: “We’ll always accept you Jesus!”

Another yelled: “That’s right! You are one of us!”

Still another shouted: “We’re with you all the way!”

He takes another sip of water and then begins to proclaim that Isaiah’s prophetic vision of good news, liberation, recovery of sight, and freedom is not for them only, or even for them first. It is for everyone, maybe even especially for those who need it the most, folks that may not be from around here

In the congregation, shoulders tense, and heads turn. More comments could be heard, but the enthusiastic tone becomes disconcerting: “Wait a minute! I know he’s not talking about diversity, equity, and inclusion, is he?”

Jesus, though, is undaunted by the sudden aggravation in the air, because he wasn’t there to win a popularity contest or to scratch itching ears. He’s there to tell the truth, even if that truth is unsettling, because Jesus knows that the truth of God’s inclusive and equitable love, as offensive as it may be, is the only way to create a more peaceful and just world.

Jesus then reminded the congregation why the prophets are never popular in their hometown by referring to two stories, one about the prophet Elijah and one about the prophet Elisha.

“You remember Elijah, don’t you? And the story of those three and half years it hardly rained a drop, causing a severe famine throughout the region? Now there were countless widows living in Israel during that time who were starving to death. But God didn’t send the prophet Elijah to help any widows in Israel. No, instead, God sent the prophet to save a widow in Lebanon.”

Apart from a few gasps, the congregation fell so silent you could hear a pin drop.

“And you remember the prophet, Elisha? There were many lepers suffering in Israel, but instead sending the prophet to heal those in Israel of their disease, God sent Elisha to heal a leper in Syria.”

The sanctuary exploded! People rose to their feet. Some began shaking their fists in the air.

How dare he say that the blessings of God extend beyond our borders, to other cultures and ethnicities!

The audacity he has to say that God’s mercy, justice, and freedom are not just those of us who have the proper papers or the right genes!

And how dare he infer that God may even favor someone from Lebanon or from Syria, over us!

The unmitigated gall he has to say that this scripture is fulfilled in our hearing, but not fulfilled for us!

Overcome with rage, the congregation turns on Jesus.

Some demand an apology.

Others call his words “ungracious,” his tone “nasty.” And his service “boring.”

One accused him of being a left-wing lunatic who was bringing woke politics into the synagogue!

Someone else cried: “Deport him!” Another shouted: “Send him to Guantanamo Bay!”

They become so angry that before Jesus is able to finish the sermon, they chase him out of the sanctuary and run him clear out of town right to the edge of a cliff. But he doesn’t fall off the cliff. He somehow sneaks through the crown and escapes.

How quickly had Jesus fallen out of favor and nearly off a cliff!

But that’s the world in which we live—a world where empathy is considered a sin. Because empathy involves loving our neighbor—not the just ones who live next door, but the ones who live in Lebanon and Syria, in Mexico, Gaza, Columbia, Cuba, and Venezuela—as much as we love ourselves.

The word “freedom” has always been a threatening word when it is applied to a group people that another group of people deem “other” or “less.”

“Diversity,” “equity,” and “inclusion” have always been offensive words to those who want good things for themselves only, or at least, for themselves first. Equality can feel like oppression to those accustomed to privilege. And in our nation, that means that the angry mobs have historically been white people.

It was only a little over 60 years ago, a time that those currenlty in power are trying to take us back to, empathetic people from all over the United States traveled to the South to take a stand for the civil rights of all people. Some were called Freedom Riders, as they rode buses throughout the South to nonviolently resist unjust Jim Crow laws.

Like the time Jesus preached freedom for the other in the synagogue, an angry mob formed. And on Mother’s Day in 1961, in Anniston, Alabama, 50 white men, many of them religious, attacked a Greyhound bus carrying black and white Freedom Riders with pipes, chains, and bats. They smashed windows, slashed tires, and beat the sides of the bus to terrorize the Freedom Riders who were inside.

Once the attack subsided, with the Freedom Riders still on board, the police pretended to escort the damaged bus to safety, but instead they abandoned it just outside the Anniston city limits.

Another armed mob surrounded the bus and began breaking more windows. The Freedom Riders refused to exit the bus and received no aid from two highway patrolmen who were watching nearby. When a member of the mob tossed a firebomb through a broken bus window, others in the mob attempted to trap the passengers inside by barricading the doors of the bus.

The mob fled when they feared the fuel tank was about to explode. Somehow, the Riders were able to escape the ensuing flames, only to be attacked and beaten as they exited the burning bus.[i]

Kindness, grace, and compassion have always made people wickedly angry when it is applied to outsiders. Some people have always called empathy a “sin,” because empathy involves caring for someone other than yourself, or other than “your” people. Thus, the powers of wickedness have always tried to trump the power of love. Darkness has always sought to overcome light.

The good news is that darkness is no match for even a little bit of light, and love always wins. The good news is that Jesus did not fall off that cliff, and through the resurrected body of Christ, he is still alive and preaching in our world today.

I know that it may feel like we are standing at the edge of a great cliff. Our feet may be slipping as the rocks move under our feet. Some of us have slipped, and our feet are dangling over the edge. We’re barely hanging on. But we are not falling.

Somehow, someway, as Jesus escaped those angry worshippers who chased him to an edge of a cliff outside the city limits of Nazareth, and as the Freedom Riders escaped that bus set on fire outside the city limits of Anniston, Alabama, we too have escaped.

We are still here. Jesus and his followers may have fallen out of favor with the powers-that-be, but we have not fallen off the cliff!

And despite the opposition in our nation today, the intimidation in our state today, and the hostility in our city today, we are still proclaiming good news today, not just for ourselves, but for all people.

We are still committed as ever to fulfilling the promises of God for black and brown people—

Proclaiming God’s liberation for non-binary and transgendered people—

Proclaiming God’s freedom for undocumented people, asylum seekers, refugees, migrants, and victims of war.

And proclaiming a hopeful vision of God’s peace and justice—

God’s empathetic vision of mercy and compassion—God’s prophetic vision of diversity, equity, and inclusion—shining our lights so all can see it!

The dark winds of wickedness are howling, but our candles are still burning!

On the edge of a cliff, we may feel we are barely hanging on today. We may have fallen out of favor. But we are not falling off! Say it with me: We are not falling off! Amen.

[i] https://calendar.eji.org/racial-injustice/may/14

Sorry, Not Sorry, Amen

On January 26, 2025January 26, 2025 By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Non-Lectionary2 Comments

I don’t know about you, but it seems like the older that I get, the more honest and forthright I become. The filter with which I was taught to cover my mouth doesn’t work as well as it once did.

For example: When any person says that gender is a binary, black and white issue, they are not just being unkind, they are being stupid!

Did I say that out loud?

And when a preacher says it, they are not just being stupid, they are being cruel. And when the President of the United States says it, they are not just being cruel, they are being wicked!

I’m just honestly telling it like it is. Sorry, not sorry.

I used to admire older people who unapologetically told it like it was, affirming their boldness by saying: “Well, at your age, you’ve earned the right to just come right out and say it!”

Now that I am older, I am thinking that it wasn’t so much that they had earned the right to lose their filter as much as they had become aware that their time on this earth was limited.

We just don’t have the time anymore to beat around the bush, to waste precious time mincing and sugar-coating our words. There’s no time to “diddle-daddle around,” as my grandmother used to say.

Or it could be that with age comes wisdom, and we realize that harsh honesty is always better than soft BS! Speaking a truth flat-out is always better than tiptoeing around that truth, even if the truth makes those around us squirm.

This seems to be the wisdom of the writers of those Psalms we call the “Lament Psalms” which make up about one-third of all the Psalms.

I love these Psalms for their sheer honesty. They are unashamedly real. They openly speak to the reality of our pain, frankly speak to our frailty, and candidly speak of our failures. They also speak straight to the reality of the pain of our world: the plight of the poor; the despair of the displaced, the fears of the vulnerable, the evil of war, and the scourge of disease.

And they hold nothing back when they speak to the wickedness of those in power, and the injustices that ensue, economic and social.

And they speak of the reality of what sometimes seems like God’s apathy or even absence in the world.

In the tenth Psalm, we read the Psalmist honestly questioning:

Why, O Lord, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?

These psalms sometimes speak the truth of what seems like the cruelty of God. In the sixth Psalm, we read:

O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger, or discipline me in your wrath.”

Professor Walter Brueggemann writes that the Lament Psalms “break the force of denial” teaching us the importance of telling it like it is. They teach us the importance of declaring out loud that things are bad when things are bad. And they teach us to honestly say that when it comes to God, and God’s relationship with the world, even on our best days, we have our doubts.

However, that’s not our tendency, is it? Many of us were brought up to believe that any amount of crying, complaining, protesting, or lamenting means that our faith is weak, that we are being immature, “whiny little babies.” And to ever question God, well, that is simply out of the question!

However, the Lament Psalms move us in the opposite direction. They persuade us to not only tell it like it is, but to publically tell it like it is to God.

And these Psalms teach us that it this kind of truth-telling, that is the key to experiencing the hope we desperately need.

The thirty-second Psalm speaks to the danger of keeping silent:

While I kept silence, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long…my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer.

In other words: “For fear of offending someone, I didn’t speak up, I didn’t tell the truth, and it nearly killed me!”

Psalm 6 is one of my favorite Psalms. For here the Psalmist tells it like it is to God like none other.

² Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing;
O Lord, heal me, for my bones are shaking with terror.
³ My soul also is struck with terror,
while you, O Lord—how long?
⁶ I am weary with my moaning;
every night I flood my bed with tears;
I drench my couch with my weeping.
⁷ My eyes waste away because of grief;
they grow weak because of all my foes.

Here the Psalmist tells the truth, the whole truth, to God. There is no holding back, no pretending to be strong because others will think they are weak. There is no denial. This Psalmist keeps it very real. And notice what happens next! Look at what happens somewhere between the verses of seven and eight.

Somewhere between the verses, God shows up. Peace comes. Hope happens. Life is restored. Thus, in verse eight, the Psalmist is able to confidently proclaim:

⁸ Depart from me, all you workers of evil,
for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping.
⁹ The Lord has heard my supplication;
the Lord accepts my prayer.

Now, we don’t know what exactly happened between verses seven and eight. We just know that something happened, and that something was Divine. Somewhere between the verses God breathed new life on the Psalmist. When the Psalmist told it like it was, God showed up.

Maybe God came through a still small voice, or through a wave of peace beyond their understanding. Or maybe God came through love expressed by a friend, or through a visit from a concerned neighbor. Perhaps someone cooked supper and brought it over, or simply offered a listening ear or an empathetic embrace. We just know that somewhere between the verses, God, in some inexplicable yet certain way, came.

We witness this while reading nearly every lament psalm. Whether the lament is honestly expressing personal pain, or the corporate pain of a nation. Listen once more to Psalm 10. The truth the Pslamist speaks is so real that it is still true today, 2500 years later. Listen again to the timeless lament:

2 In arrogance the wicked persecute the poor—

3 For the wicked boast of the desires of their heart,

   those greedy for gain curse and renounce the Lord.

4 In the pride of their countenance the wicked say, ‘God will not seek it out’;

   all their thoughts are, ‘There is no God.’

5 Their ways prosper at all times;

   your judgements are on high, out of their sight;

   as for their foes, they scoff at them.

6 They think in their heart, ‘We shall not be moved;

   throughout all generations we shall not meet adversity.’

7 Their mouths are filled with cursing and deceit and oppression;

   under their tongues are mischief and iniquity.

8 They sit in ambush in the villages;

   in hiding-places they murder the innocent.

Their eyes stealthily watch for the helpless;

9   they lurk in secret like a lion in its covert;

they lurk that they may seize the poor;

   they seize the poor and drag them off in their net.

10 They stoop, they crouch,

   and the helpless fall by their might.

11 They think in their heart, ‘God has forgotten,

   he has hidden his face, he will never see it.’

12 Rise up, O Lord; O God, lift up your hand;

   do not forget the oppressed.

13 Why do the wicked renounce God,

   and say in their hearts, ‘You will not call us to account’?

And then, it is here, somewhere between verses 13 and 14, that something happens, and again, that something is Divine.

14 But you do see! Indeed, you note trouble and grief,

   that you may take it into your hands;

the helpless commit themselves to you;

   you have been the helper of the orphan.

15 Break the arm of the wicked and evildoers;

   seek out their wickedness until you find none.

16 The Lord is king for ever and ever;

   the nations shall perish from his land.

17 O Lord, you will hear the desire of the meek;

   you will strengthen their heart, you will incline your ear

18 to do justice for the orphan and the oppressed,

so that those from earth may strike terror no more.

Again, we don’t know how it happened, we just know that something happened. Somewhere between the verses, God showed up, as the Psalmist becomes convinced that God who once seemed to be blind to the injustices of the wicked does in fact see!

When the Psalmist honestly and publicly laments: This is not right. This is not fair. This is unjust. This is mean and cruel and evil and stupid. This is wicked. When the Psalmist courageously calls out injustice, calls a spade a spade, a crook a crook, despair is suddenly transformed into hope and sorrow into joy, as somehow, someway, somewhere God comes.

Perhaps someone, having listened to the cries of the powerless, courageously, unapologetically, and yet, graciously, stood up, looked the wicked ones in the eyes and honestly spoke truth to power, pleading for mercy on the behalf of the powerless, making the wicked the squirm in their pews.

Perhaps someone spoke up at a meeting of the city council, wrote a letter to the editor, or honestly corrected a misguided friend or family member who had been brainwashed by lies and misinformation.

Maybe it was something like a group of interfaith clergy who got organized, and in a sign of prophetic solidarity exchanged pulpits to honor a truth-telling prophet named Martin Luther King Jr.

Maybe this small act of solidarity grew into a mighty movement as the group of clergy, who honestly and publicly called out the injustices in the land, the evil of sick religion and the wickedness of greedy politics, began working together with their congregations to feed the hungry, to shelter the homeless, and to defend the marginalized—to stand up for the sacred value and dignity of all persons.

The courageous group of clergy never held back for fear of offending someone, for fear of losing a congregant or a big donation, as they unapologetically renounced the spiritual forces of wickedness in the land and unashamedly resisted evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they took.

Then, their public faithfulness began to inspire others. People throughout the region became more aware, and more wise, knowing that they no longer had the time to diddle-daddle around with their faith. Their time was too short, and the times were too serious.

With hearts wide-open to the honest cries, to the pain, and to the needs of others, especially the most vulnerable in their midst, they understood that they must honestly and publicly take a stand and work somewhere between the verses of lament and the verses of hope, until all of God’s children are able to get those verses where they are able to confidently sing:

O God, you do see! You do hear! And the arms of the evil doers will be broken. The Lord will seek out their wickedness until there is no more. The Lord will be king forever and ever! Justice will be done for the oppressed. And the wicked will strike terror no more!

Sorry, not sorry, Amen.

Elementary Christianity

On January 22, 2025January 22, 2025 By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn FCC Newsletter3 Comments

As published in the weekly newsletter of the First Christian Church of Lynchburg, VA January 22, 2024

This morning I awoke to the wonderful headline: Donald Trump Demands Apology from Bishop Who Hurt His Feelings. The article was referring to the President’s reaction to Episcopal Bishop Marianne Budde’s sermon at the Washington National Cathedral yesterday when she pleaded for mercy toward LGBTQ people, immigrants, and children in the presence of the new administration.

The final three minutes have gone viral and have made headlines around the world. Her prophetic words greatly upset the President and others as Trump has demanded an apology, calling her “nasty,” and a member of Congress has called for her deportation. Clergy, including me, have lauded her bravery in speaking truth to power advocating for the powerless. However, other than the fact that she spoke these words in the presence of the President, a part of me grieves the fact that her words made such headlines, as such prophetic advocacy should be commonplace among all who call themselves Christian.

Sadly, many would label her courage to speak truth to power as “advanced Christianity,” when it is actually “Christianity 101” or even “elementary Christianity.”

Luke introduces the good news of Jesus with a song of praise by his mother speaking truth to power:

He has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty (Luke 1:52-53).

And Jesus himself began his ministry quoting the prophet Isaiah who spoke truth to power:

‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor’ (Luke 4:18-19).

Every person who calls themselves a Christian has the authority and the responsibility to speak truth to power defending those in our country who are most fearful today. Doing so is foundational to our faith. It is the most basic form of discipleship. During these next four years, may we make prophetic advocacy such a common occurrence that it no longer makes headlines.

If you have not already done so, I encourage you to listen to the Bishop Budde’s entire sermon. The following is a link from NPR (ciick “Watch on Youtube” and start from the beginning:

https://www.npr.org/2025/01/21/nx-s1-5270031/bishop-confronts-trump-during-sermon-at-inaugural-prayer-service

You Are God’s Beloved

On January 12, 2025January 12, 2025 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 January 5, 2025January 5, 2025 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 23^rd and at the University of Lynchburg on the 25^th.

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 December 29, 2024December 29, 2024 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 December 22, 2024 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 December 8, 2024December 8, 2024 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.

Just Love

Author: Rev. Dr. Jarrett Banks

We Need a Slap in the Face

Far from the Shallow Now

When Jesus Falls Out of Favor (and nearly off a cliff!)

Sorry, Not Sorry, Amen

You Are God’s Beloved

Home by Another Way

Christmas Contemplation

For Unto Us, A Child Is Born

Christmas in the Boondocks

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