Tag: Bible

Preparing the Way for Peace

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

Isaiah 11:1-10; Matthew 3:1-12

As if we needed it, Advent is the annual reminder that the world is not as it should be. But it is also our reminder that God is not finished with this world yet. It’s a reminder that God has plans for this world, and you and I are a part of those plans.

Advent is a holy tension. We wait and watch, but we wait and watch with hope. We light candles, because we believe the light still rises, and peace on earth is still possible, even during a time of deep violence.

Today, our nation remembers another Sunday morning when the world was plunged into deeper violence, when fear and grief reshaped lives overnight.

We remember Pearl Harbor today, not to glorify war, but to deepen our longing to be a people shaped by the peace that God promises. On a day we remember a time when peace collapsed, when meetings for diplomacy didn’t happen, when steps to find equitable solutions were not taken, we gather to proclaim a new day, a new time when swords are beaten into plowshares, and peace is not a distant dream, but a way of life.

And through our scripture lessons this morning, two prophets speak about this time: Isaiah and John the Baptist. Two voices, centuries apart, but carrying one message: God is breaking into this world with a peace that transforms everything!

Isaiah speaks with poetry. John speaks with fire.

Isaiah shows us the world God intends.

John tells us how we must prepare for it.

Isaiah invites us to imagine and dream.

John insists we repent and change.

Together, they give us the full message of Advent: the hope and the urgency; God’s promise and our responsibility.

I love that Isaiah begins Advent with a stump, and Matthew begins with a wilderness. Isaiah says: “A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse.” Matthew tells us: “In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness.”

A stump is what remains after something has been cut down. Here, it belongs to Jesse, the father of King David, symbolizing the seemingly dead royal lineage of David.

A wilderness is a place where familiar paths have disappeared. It’s a place of withdrawal, isolation, and loneliness.

 And yet, both are places where God begins again. Both are places where grace breaks in. Both are places where hope refuses to die, and love finds a way!

Some of us have walked into Advent this year with stumps in our lives. There have been losses, endings, dreams cut down, seasons cut short.

Some are walking toward Christmas this year surrounded by wilderness. There is much uncertainty, weariness, loneliness, and feelings of lostness.

But both Isaiah and John remind us of the good news: that God does some of God’s best work in the places that seem barren. God is in the business of making a way when it seems like there’s no way.

Isaiah gives us a breathtaking vision of God’s business in this world. It’s of a world ruled not by fear, corruption, hate, and violence, but by justice, tenderness, compassion, and reconciliation.

Wolves lie down with lambs. Children play safely at the entrance of a cobra’s den. Predators and prey live at peace.

This isn’t some fantasy. It’s the reordering of the entire world. Isaiah saw what scripture calls “shalom:” a peace that heals, restores, and reshapes not only society, but the entire creation.

Isaiah says this peace will be led by a Spirit-filled one who will: “judge the poor with righteousness…and decide for the meek with equity.”

In other words, peace and justice are inseparable. We cannot have one without the other. Peace without justice is fragile. Peace without equity is deceptive. Peace that ignores any harm to others, or to the creation, is not peace at all.

On this December 7th, as we remember our parents and grandparents waking up to the violence of Pearl Harbor, we must not pretend that violence belongs only to the past. For every day we wake up to stories of good people being yanked from their cars, or off the streets, on their way to work, on their way to school or to a thanksgiving dinner with their family, detained by masked men and deported because of the color of their skin. We wake up to stories of fishermen blown up in boats without due process or any chance to speak their truth.

 We see a world where fear is weaponized, food for the hungry is politicized, meanness is rationalized, human dignity is discounted, and inequity is engineered rather than accidental.

On this Pearl Harbor Sunday, we confess the many ways violence still shapes our world, and we cry out for the peace Isaiah dares to imagine and for which Christ commands us to prepare.

And then a wild, fiery preacher named John bursts into our story. He’s wearing some strange clothes. He’s got this crazy diet, and a voice that sounds like a siren screaming in the desert.

And his first word is not, “Peace.” No, it is, “Repent.”

Now, at first his preaching sounds like one of those hell, fire, and brimstone preachers we’ve heard before. We think, “no wonder they call him a Baptist!” At first, his message sounds like the opposite of Isaiah’s message, but the more we listen to it, we discover that John is not contradicting Isaiah. No, he’s showing us the way to Isaiah’s vision of peace.

You see, John knows that peace never arrives in this world easily. Peace is not passive. It’s not something we just sit back and wait for. Peace requires transformation. If peace is gonna come, then people gotta change!

If Isaiah shows us what peace looks like, John shows us what peace requires.

John calls us to turn from every way that does harm: our habits; our politics; our systems; our silence; our consumption; even our religion, especially our religion; to embrace a life of nonviolence. And he makes it clear that peace on earth is not some naïve dream from some woke, left-wing lunatic; it is a moral imperative from God. John is the prophet who prepares us for the world Isaiah describes.

John’s challenges his hearers to “bear fruit worthy of repentance.” In other words: Don’t just want peace and sing about peace. Live peace. Practice peace. Embody peace in your decisions, your priorities, your words, your vote, your compassion, your courage, your lifestyle.

Repentance is not self-hatred. It’s not guilt. And it’s not shame. True repentance is liberation. It’s simply returning to God’s way of peace that was intended for the creation.

On a day when the nation recalls the devastation of war, repentance becomes not just a personal religious ritual, but a moral commitment. It’s a commitment to dismantle hatred. It’s a commitment to stand with the vulnerable. It’s a commitment to uproot the seeds of harm before they ever take root in our lives or in our world.

That is the fruit worthy of repentance, as John says. That is the path toward the world Isaiah imagined.

And let’s not miss this. John’s harshest words are not aimed at the people the religious leaders dismissed as outsiders, unbelievers, or unclean. John’s sharpest critique is directed at the religious establishment itself, the ones who believed they were closest to God because of their heritage, their appearance, their privilege, their assumed moral superiority. He turns to them and says, “Do not presume… the axe is already lying at the root.”

John doesn’t say this because God delights in their tjdestruction. He’s not warning them because God wants to punish or shame them. John speaks this harsh word because God seeks to prune. God seeks to cut away anything, no matter how pious, polished, or patriotic, that destroys real peace in the world. And that includes any movement that weds faith to nationalism and proclaims that God’s blessing is the property of one nation, one party, one people. It includes any faith that blesses fear, excuses cruelty, or elevates domination as destiny.

We cannot cling to anything that kills equity.
We cannot preserve the things that preserve injustice.

We cannot call violence “protection,” or prejudice “tradition” or “heritage.”

We cannot keep watering the roots of fear, greed, Christian nationalism, or complacency, and then pretend we are bearing the fruit of peace.

Advent is the holy season of pruning, not for punishment, but for preparation. Advent will not allow us to believe that for peace, repentance is optional.

Isaiah teaches us what God’s peace looks like.

John teaches us how to make room for it.

Isaiah lifts our eyes.

John steadies our feet.

Isaiah speaks hope.

John calls for courage.

And together they prepare us for the Christ who comes not with military might, not with political coercion; but with justice, mercy, grace, humility, and fierce love: the Christ who judges with righteousness; the Christ who defends the meek, heals the sick, forgives the sinner, feeds the hungry, and includes the outcast.

This Advent, perhaps peace begins with us by letting something go:
a resentment we’ve carried too long; a fear that narrows our compassion; a selfishness that feeds our apathy and fuels our greed; a prejudice we inherited; a silence we use to avoid conflict.

Perhaps peace begins with healing something inside us.
Or perhaps peace begins with speaking a truth we’ve been afraid to name.
Or standing with someone who has been pushed to the margins.
Or choosing generosity in a season obsessed with consumption.
Or refusing despair in a world that seems addicted to it.

Or perhaps, on this December 7th, peace begins with remembering that violence is not inevitable, war is not destiny, and equitable solutions are real, and love, not hate, is what truly makes a nation great.

Advent is the season when we stare at the world’s stumps and declare, “A shoot’s gonna spout, and I can see it!”

We look at the wilderness and say, “A voice is calling, and I can hear it!”

We remember the wounds of history and pray with renewed commitment: “Never again!”

And we see the darkness all around us and still light our candles, because we trust the promise that the light still rises.

It rose from the stump of Jesse.
It rose in the waters of John’s baptism.
It rose in Bethlehem.
It rises in every act of justice.
It rises in every step toward peace.
It rises, even now, in us.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

The God of the Living

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Luke 20:27-38

This morning, we gather in a sacred circle of love with parents and grandparents, their family and friends, and the wider church family to dedicate ourselves to God and to one another. We will make promises this morning to support a family as they raise their daughter in love, envelop her with mercy, teach her the stories of our faith, and to resist the powers and authorities that would deny her life.

We declare today what Jesus declared in the Gospel of Luke: that our God is not the God of the dead, but the God of the living.

That means we have a living, active, public faith. It’s not a private, personal faith without works that the book of James pronounced dead. It’s a living, working, breathing, forward-marching, justice-seeking, hope-singing faith. It’s a faith that lifts up little babies and baptizes big dreams. And it’s a faith that always refuses to let despair have the final word.

The story in Luke 20 begins with a question, but it’s not an honest question. The Sadducees, a group of religious elites who didn’t believe in the resurrection, have come to Jesus with a trick question with the purpose of trapping him in theological quicksand.

They spin this wild scenario about a woman who marries seven brothers, one after another, each dying without having children. Then they ask, “In the resurrection, whose wife will she be?”

Their question sounds absurd because it is absurd. For they’re not trying to understand the ways of God. They’re only trying to protect their ways, to defend their black and white, tidy little world where their control goes unchallenged, where the poor stay in their place, and where God doesn’t mess with the systems they’ve built to protect their power and privilege.

But Jesus, as he so often does, flips the table. He says, “You’re asking the wrong question. Resurrection isn’t about hierarchy or control. It’s about life, free, full, meaningful, unending, abundant life.”

It is then Jesus shakes their world with these powerful words: “God is not the God of the dead, but of the living; for to God all of them are alive.”

The God of the living is the one who refuses to be confined to any religious box or to be controlled by any political party.

The God of the living is the one who is forever calling life out of tombs and hope out of heartbreak.

The God of the living is the one who breathes over the chaos, creating a new world, and calling it good.

The God of the living is the one who takes what the empire crucifies and declares, “Love will win!”

This is the God who is still speaking, still creating, still re-creating, still resurrecting us from all the small deaths we endure today, like the death of empathy, the death of mercy, the death of social justice, the death of diversity, equity, and inclusion.

When we dedicate Maggie this morning, we are declaring our allegiance to this God, the God of the living, who says to all matter of death: “Rise up and live!”

When we dedicate Maggie, we are saying that we will raise her not in fear but in faith, not in greed but in generosity, not in apathy but in active love.

In a world that often chooses death (death by selfishness, death by bigotry, death by poverty, death by racism, death by environmental destruction, death by indifference), we are promising that we will stand with the God of resurrection who always chooses life.

Hannah and Austin, in dedicating Maggie today, hear this blessing from the church: As a parent, you are participating in resurrection. Every sleepless night, every patient conversation with your child, every prayer whispered over her fevered forehead— it’s all resurrection work.

Raising a child is resurrection work because it is an act of resistance. It is believing in the future when the world tells you to give up. It is saying, “As bad as things seem today, I still believe in tomorrow.”

You are forming in Maggie a living faith, one that will not just memorize Bible verses, but will embody them. One that will not just believe in Jesus, accept Jesus, but will follow Jesus, bearing witness to a faith that will learn to feed the hungry, to welcome the stranger, to defend the marginalized, and to speak truth in love.

When you hold Maggie and whisper prayers, when you read her stories of courage, when you teach her to say “please” and “thank you” and “I’m sorry,” and “I love you,” you are introducing them to the God of the living, the One who delights in her laughter, in her curiosity, and in her wide-eyed wonder.

You are shaping a world in which Maggie can live fully, freely, and faithfully.

And First Christian, this dedication isn’t just a family’s promise. It’s our promise too.

We are the village that surrounds all the children in our congregation with love. We are the people who will teach them how to sing, how to serve, and how to stand up for what’s right.

When we dedicate Maggie this morning, we are committing to build a world where all children can breathe clean air and drink clean water, where food is available and healthy, where their schools are safe and fully-funded, and where their neighbors are kind.

We’re committing to the slow, holy work of resurrection, to dismantling systems of death so that every child can live abundantly.

We are committing to be the church that loves all God’s children, no matter their color, gender, ability, sexuality, or identity, because to God, all of them deserve life, abundant and free.

The Sadducees were trapped in a world too small for the God Jesus proclaimed.

They couldn’t imagine life beyond the limits of their power, so they made up and absurd scenario to debate and stop Jesus because they feared that the God he was revealing was much more than they could control and much bigger than any binary box they’ve tried to put God into.

But Jesus taught them that the resurrection isn’t some theory to be debated. Resurrection is a truth to be lived.

Jesus taught that every act of love is resurrection.

Every cry for justice is resurrection.

Every march on behalf democracy and every silent vigil on behalf of peace is resurrection.

Every child lifted up in dedication is resurrection.

When we bless Maggie today, we’re making resurrection visible to the world.

We’re saying to the powers of death, “You will not win here.”

We’re saying to the forces of despair, “You will not have the last word.”

We’re saying to the powers of fear, “You can stop speaking now.”

And we’re saying to the God of the living, to the God of resurrection, that we will live like resurrection people.

To raise children who believe that love is stronger than hate.
To build communities that value life more than profit.
To be the kind of people who feed the hungry, comfort the grieving, stand with the oppressed, care for the planet, and keep singing hope, even in the dark.

Because to believe in the God of the living means more than believing in life after death. It means believing in life before death. It means believing that the kingdom of God can be glimpsed in the way we treat one another. It means that every child we nurture, every parent we support, every injustice we confront, every prayer we pray, every neighbor we love—it’s all resurrection work.

So, when Jesus says, “God is not the God of the dead, but of the living,” he’s just talking about heaven. He’s talking about this very moment— about the breath in your lungs, the heartbeat in your chest, the promise in Maggie’s eyes.

He’s talking about the way God’s Holy Spirit moves in this congregation and in this community. He’s talking about the way God keeps showing up, calling us to live, to love, to care, to feed, to lift one another higher, to believe in a better tomorrow.

As we dedicate Maggie today, we are bearing witness to the world that our God is the God of the living. And we, by grace and commitment, are a people of the living. And we will go from this place to build a world worthy of her life and the lives of all God’s children.

We will be bold enough to proclaim resurrection in a culture obsessed with violence, in a society dying with greed and hate, in a nation that withholds food from the hungry. We will love so fiercely that future generations will say of us: “Those were the people who truly chose life!” “Those were the ones who stood in the shadows of death and made resurrection visible!”

Because the God of the living is still breathing life into this world.
And that means our work and our hope is not finished yet.

Amen.

Pastoral Prayer

God of the living,
You are the breath in our lungs and the light in our eyes,
the pulse that moves through creation and the promise that will not let us go.
You are the beginning and the end,
and still You meet us right here, in the middle,
in this church, in this moment, in the ordinary holiness of our lives.

We give You thanks today for the gift of life:
for children who remind us how wonder works;
for parents who pour out love without counting the cost;
for seniors whose wisdom steadies our steps.
We thank You for laughter that catches us by surprise,
for tears that speak what words cannot,
and for the holy mystery that keeps drawing us back to You.

God, we confess that we do not always live as people of the living.
We get trapped in fear,
in cynicism,
in systems that trade life for profit and power.
Forgive us, O God.
Breathe new life into this congregation.
Teach us again to see Your image in every child,
Your presence in every neighbor,
Your Spirit in every act of justice and mercy.

We pray for those among us who are struggling:
for the sick and the sorrowing;
for those weighed down by anxiety or grief;
for those who have lost work, or hope, or direction.
Be near to them, God of the living.
Surround them with grace that will not let them go.

We pray for our world:
for peace in places of war;
for food in places of hunger;
for safety where children fear;
for compassion where cruelty has taken root.
Remind us that Your kingdom is not an idea for tomorrow,
but a movement for today
that resurrection is not just a promise after death,
but a power that transforms life right now.

And as we prepare to hear Your Word and dedicate these children,
open our hearts to Your living presence among us.
Make us brave enough to live as resurrection people
to raise our children in love,
to build communities of justice,
and to trust that Your Spirit is still breathing life into this world.

We pray all this in the name of Jesus,
the Christ of the living,
the friend of the broken,
the hope of every generation. Amen.

Child Dedication Liturgy

Today we celebrate the gift of life and the goodness of God who entrusts children to our care.

As a community of faith, we stand with these parents who bring their child, Margaret Evaline Grooms, before God, seeking grace, wisdom, and strength for the journey ahead.

We dedicate not only this child, but also ourselves, to be a people who nurture, teach, protect, and love.

For we follow the One who said, “Let the little children come to me, for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs.

Charge to the Parents
Hannah and Austin, you have been given a sacred trust: to care for this child; to love them with patience and joy; to teach them the stories of faith; to model the way of Jesus in your home and in your life.

Do you promise to raise your child in the love of God, to encourage curiosity and compassion, to seek justice, to practice kindness, and to walk humbly with your child in faith?

Parents: We do, with God’s help.

Do you promise to teach your child that they are wonderfully made, beloved of God, and that nothing in life or in death can ever separate them from that love?

Parents: We do, with God’s help.

Charge to the Congregation

Church, this child does not belong to these parents alone— she belongs to all of us.

We are called to surround this family with a community of care: to teach, to listen, to celebrate, and to stand with them in every season.

Do you, as the gathered body of Christ, promise to support these parents in their sacred calling, and to help this child grow in love, faith, and justice?

Congregation: We do, with God’s help.

Do you promise to create a world where every child is safe, fed, valued, affirmed, and free to become all God intends? If so, please stand.

Join me in welcoming this child as we read together.

We welcome this child into our church family.
We promise to love them, to pray for them,
to teach them by our words and example,
and to walk with them as they grow in faith, hope, and love.
May our life together reflect the grace and joy of Christ.

Prayer of Dedication

God of the living,
we give You thanks for the gift of Maggie,
for the laughter, wonder, and light she brings into the world.
Breathe Your Spirit upon her, that she may grow strong in body and kind in heart.
Grant these parents wisdom, courage, and joy in their calling.
Surround them with love that will not let them go,
and a community that will not let them fall.

May this child come to know the depth of Your grace,
to trust Your goodness,
and to live in the fullness of Your love.

We dedicate Maggie and ourselves to Your care and keeping,
in the name of the God of the living:
Creator, Christ, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Invitation to Communion
At this table, we meet the God of the living,
the One who welcomes children and sinners, saints and seekers.

Here, life conquers death.
Here, grace outshines guilt.
Here, love gets the last word.

So, come with your doubts and your dreams,
your gratitude and your grief.
Come, for this table is set for all of God’s children.
There is room enough for all here.

Invitation to Generosity
God is the giver of every good gift:

life and breath; laughter and love;
children to nurture and a community to sustain us.

As we dedicate our Maggie this morning, we also dedicate ourselves.
We give that others may live,
that every child may know the security of love,
that hope might have hands and faith might have feet.

Let us bring our gifts with joy,
trusting the God of the living to use them
for the healing of the world.

Commissioning and Benediction
Go now as people of the living God,
as people who believe that love is stronger than fear,
that hope is greater than despair,
and that new life is already breaking forth among us.

May the Spirit of the living Christ go with you,
to guide your steps,
to guard your hearts,
and to bless all the children in your care.

Go in peace,
to love and to live as resurrection people.

Amen.

What’s Written on Your Heart

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year C2 Comments

Some appeal to guilt: “If you don’t give, how will we keep the lights on and the camera rolling?”

Some appeal to fear: “If you don’t tithe, God will not bless you.”

Some appeal to self-interest: “Give, and you’ll get an unexpected check in the mail.”

And some appeal to nostalgia: “This is the church your grandparents built. You owe it to them to give.”

So, this stewardship season, I want to make something clear: you will never ever hear anyone in this church suggest that pledging your tithes and offerings, your service and your presence, is a way to bribe God, to buy blessings, to feed our souls, or keep our consciences clear.

Furthermore, we are not being asked to make a pledge to the 2026 budget because we recently had to replace the hot water heater, the roof may leak in a heavy rain, and we’ve hired an expensive professional to relocate a large family of bats which have taking up residence in the attic.

That’s because, we believe your pledges, your service, must come from a deeper place.

It was the prophet Jeremiah who proclaimed: “The days are coming,” declares the Lord, “when I will make a new covenant…I will put my law in their minds and write it on their hearts.”

We give because God’s law has been put in our minds and written on our hearts.

Now, when we hear the word “law,” we might think about rules, regulations, and restrictions, what we can and can’t do. But Jeremiah isn’t talking about that kind of law. He’s talking about something much deeper than any rule or ritual.

Jeremiah is talking about the moral rhythm of God. He’s talking about justice, kindness, mercy, and humility. He’s talking about empathy and compassion, engraved not on tablets of stone, but on the living tablets of human hearts.

This is the reason we pledge our gifts. We give, not from guilt, not from obligation, not from a belief that we will get something in return, not even from a command. We give because the rhythm of God’s morality has been written on our hearts.

And when this is written on our hearts, we don’t have to be told to pledge, to give, or to care, to love, to be kind, to show mercy, and to do justice. We just do. We don’t even need a stewardship campaign to tell us we need to embody radical welcome and revolutionary love. It is just who we are.

So, as we think about stewardship this month, as we consider pledging our tithes and our offerings, our service, and our presence, to make this world more just, loving, and peaceful, an important question we should ask ourselves is this:

What is it that is written on our hearts? Because the reality is, everyone has something written inside of them.

Sadly, for many, it is fear—put there by wicked men who seek power by dividing us.

For some, it’s scarcity. It’s the fear that there’s not enough.

For some, it’s fear of the other, immigrants taking what we believe is ours.

For some, it is cynicism. It’s the fear that nothing in this world ever changes, anything I give simply will not matter.

The good news is that not only does God have a powerful eraser, in the words of the prophet, “forgiving wickedness and remembering sin no more,” the good news is that God is still writing. And when God writes, God never uses the ink of fear, but always writes in the ink of justice.

Onto our each of our hearts, God is writing justice, not selfishness; compassion, not comfort; and selfless love, not self-preservation.

Here’s some more good news. Your choosing to be here this morning is a good sign that that the ink of God is flowing through your veins. That’s why I believe you are sitting in a pew this morning. That’s why you give. That’s why you serve. That’s why you show up when your neighbors need you, and that’s why you rally when your country needs you.

Jesus illustrated this truth with a story of a woman, a widow with no power, no protection, and no position. She doesn’t have wealth. She doesn’t have influence. All she has is the ink of God on her heart.

She shows up before a judge who, the text says, neither feared God nor had respect for people. We know the kind. He doesn’t care about justice. He doesn’t care about her. He doesn’t care about God. He cares only for himself.

But because of that something written on her heart, nevertheless she persists. She keeps showing up. She keeps knocking. She keeps demanding justice.

Now, we don’t know what her case was.

Maybe her landlord was exploiting her.

Maybe her neighbor had taken her land.

Maybe she had been cheated out of her inheritance.

Maybe she was being denied healthcare, due process, or civil rights.

Most certainly, she was a victim, or should I say “a survivor” of misogyny.

Whatever it was, she kept showing up.

And although the judge doesn’t have a moral, empathetic bone in his body (again, we know the type, don’t we?), even he gives in. Not because he suddenly finds compassion, but because she refuses to go away.

Now, this is not a story about nagging God until God gives us what we want. This is a story of faithful persistence in the face of injustice. It’s a story about a woman who knew something about the power of showing up. The odds were against her, but she kept showing up. The judge was morally depraved, but she kept showing up. Her friends told her she needed to accept things the way they are because nothing in this world ever changes, but she kept showing up because God’s justice, the rhythm of God’s morality was written on her heart.

It was the same rhythm that propelled Marion Stump to show up in Miller Park yesterday at the No Kings Rally— demonstrating that when justice is written on your heart, when the ink of God is coursing through your veins, not even pancreatic cancer can keep you from showing up!

This is why this is a perfect text for our stewardship season in this time and place. Because giving is a form of showing up. Serving is a form of showing up. Speaking out, organizing, marching, standing with the vulnerable, fighting for democracy — all of it is showing up before the immoral powers and principalities and saying: “There will be justice here.”

As the widow kept knocking at the courthouse door, we must keep knocking at the world’s door. And every gift of generosity, every dollar given, every act of kindness, every time we show up, is one more knock, one more insistence that justice matters, and love will win.

Now, here’s a statistic that gives me hope today: Researchers say that if just 3.5% of a nation’s population mobilizes in sustained, nonviolent action, they can turn the tide against authoritarianism. Think about that. Not half the country. Not even a tenth. Just 3.5%. That’s about one in every thirty people. If one in thirty people with justice written on their heart keeps showing up, keeps marching, keeps knocking, keeps giving, keeps serving, keeps praying, you can change the direction of a nation. This nation can be turned toward justice again.

So, we must never believe our offering doesn’t matter, our presence doesn’t count, our gifts are too small, or that our persistence is not power. Because every time we show up, every time we give out of what’s written on our hearts, we’re part of that 3.5%. We’re part of the turning. We’re part of God’s kingdom breaking in.

Good stewardship is and has always been heart-based. It’s justice-based. It’s love-based. It’s what Jeremiah saw when he said:

No longer shall they teach one another, saying, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest.

When the covenant is written on our hearts, we don’t need coercion. We don’t need compulsion. We don’t need manipulation. Because the Spirit itself bears witness in our hearts, and when God’s handwriting burns in your chest, you wake up every morning asking: “How can I give myself today for justice, for peace, for love?”

And the good news is that the world doesn’t need an extraordinary event to change. It changes through ordinary persistence. Through the widow who won’t give up. Through the disciple who keeps showing up. Through the church that keeps preaching hope, even when hope seems hard to find, because every time we show up, we bear witness to the covenant of God written inside of us. We demonstrate to the world: “Greed will not have the last word. Hate will not have the last word. Fear will not have the last word. And love will one day ultimately and finally win.

Disciples, we are the people who keep showing up. We show up for one another. We show up for our neighbors. We show up for the nation. We show up wherever anyone thirsts for justice and hungers for love.

Because when the covenant of God is written on your heart, you can’t sit still in the face of suffering. You can’t stay silent in the face of injustice. You can’t keep your hands closed when the Spirit is calling you to open them.

The widow kept showing up before the unjust judge, and we keep showing up before an unjust world—not out of guilt, not out of duty, not to get something in return, but because there’s something divine inside of us that will not let us rest.

It’s what Jeremiah called a new covenant. It’s what Jesus called the kingdom of God. It’s what we call faith in action.

So, this stewardship season, we’re not asking you to give out of fear or guilt or obligation. We’re asking you to give because you’ve got something written on your heart.

Give because you believe that love is stronger than hate, and there’s a love inside of you that will not let you go. Give because you trust that justice will prevail. Give because you know that hope still has work to do in this world!

Give, because you’re part of that 3.5% who refuse to bow before kings, who refuse to be silent in the faces of those in power with no regard for people or God, who refuse to quit knocking, who refuse to stop showing up.

Because that’s what the church is.

It’s not a building that needs maintaining, but a movement that needs to keep marching.

And we will keep showing up—not until we get what we want, but until the world becomes what God dreams it to be.

Until every heart bears the handwriting of God, and every gift, every prayer, every act of courage echoes that same eternal truth:

We give, we serve, we love, we persist, because it’s written on our hearts!

Amen.

Pastoral Prayer

God of persistence and promise,
You are the One who writes truth on human hearts,
who carves compassion into our very being,
and who teaches us to keep showing up
in hope, in prayer, and in love.

You have written Your covenant not on stone tablets
but in the living flesh of our hearts.
So even when the world forgets justice,
even when the powerful ignore the cries of the poor,
Your truth keeps pulsing within us,
calling us to rise again, to knock again,
to believe again that love will have the final word.

We thank You for the saints and prophets
who never stopped knocking on the doors of indifference.
For the mothers who marched,
for the workers who organized,
for the dreamers who still believe in a more just tomorrow.
May their persistence live in us.

And forgive us, O God, when we grow weary in doing justice.
Forgive us when our compassion has an expiration date,
when our generosity depends on convenience,
when our prayers fade because the answers take too long.
Remind us again that the work of justice
is not measured in days or dollars or ease,
but in faithfulness, in showing up again and again.

In this season of stewardship, teach us to give not from fear or guilt,
but from gratitude and conviction.
Let our generosity be an act of defiance
against greed, apathy, and despair.
Write Your covenant deep within us,
until our giving, our praying, and our living
all bear witness to Your love at work in the world.

We pray for those whose hope feels faint today:
for the tired caregiver; the underpaid worker;
the neighbor who feels unseen; the soul that feels unheard.
May they find strength in the knowledge
that You are the God who listens, the God who remembers,
the God who still answers cries for justice.

And so, we will keep showing up.
We will keep praying, keep working, keep giving,
until the widow’s cry is answered,
until Your justice rolls down like waters,
and Your mercy like an ever-flowing stream.

We ask this in the name of Jesus,
the One who kept showing up,
the One who never gave up,
the One who lives and reigns through love.
Amen.

Because of Christmas Day!

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Short ArticlesLeave a comment

 

John 1:1-14

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

This past week, a lot of people have asked me: “Are you having church on Christmas day?”

My response was that Christmas Day should be so important to the life of the Christian, we should be in church every year on this holy day, and not just when it happens to fall on Sunday once every seven years!

The reason we lead worship which begins with Advent and ends with Christ the King Sunday, is because we believe the life of the Christian should be governed, directed and guided by the birth, life, death and resurrection of Jesus. Our lives as Christians begin and end on this earth with this birth that we celebrate on Christmas Day.

The words of one of my favorite Christmas carols go like this: “Long time ago in Bethlehem, so the Holy Bible say, Mary ‘s boy child Jesus Christ was born on Christmas Day. Hark, now hear the angels sing, a king was born today. And we will live forevermore, because of Christmas Day.”  Because of Christmas Day.

The good, glorious news of this holy morning is that we know who our God is, how our God acts and what our God desires; we know who we are, how we should act and what we should desire, because of Christmas day.

Left to our own devises, we could not get close to God, so on Christmas Day God came close to us. Our God who was thought to be distant became as close as God could possibly be to us—becoming one of us—becoming flesh to dwell among us, giving us the best gift that God had to give, the gift of God’s self. Thus, as Christians we know how to live.  And we know how to die. Because of Christmas Day.

Just think about it! When we lose a loved one to death or encounter evil in this world, we grieve, but how can we grieve with hope and assurance? How do we grieve with a peace that is truly beyond understanding? How do we know that God is always a giver and never a taker?  Because of Christmas Day!

Because on this day, God proved to the world how far God is willing to go to give us life! God loves us so much that God emptied God’s self, poured God’s self out to us and for us through a vulnerable little baby born in a stable who grew into a man show us the way to life, abundant and eternal. And although we rejected not only this way, but also him; although spat upon him, tortured him and killed him by nailing him to a tree, God brought him back to life for the very ones who crucified him—revealing in a real and powerful way that God will never give up on us. God will never forsake us. God will always be there for us, forgiving us, loving us, transforming our despair into hope and our deaths into life.

One day, someone asked me why I don’t preach more about the judgment of God, the wrath of God, and preach less about the love and the grace of God. How can I preach with confidence that God is never using the pain of this world to punish us for our sins, but God is always here with us loving us and forgiving us and doing whatever God can do to work all things together for the good? Because of Christmas Day!

Because God came into the world in Jesus to heal the sick, give sight to the blind, eat and drink with sinners, forgive the adulterer, and promise a thief paradise.

Why is our invitation to communion wide-open to all people every Sunday morning? Why are we compelled to love others and share with others so freely and so unconditionally?

To others—to those others who do not deserve our love and have not and will not earn our love—to those others who may reject our love and even abuse our love. Why do we keep on sharing with and keep on loving those who may never share with us and love us?  Because of Christmas Day.

Because God was born to an underserving woman named Mary, was worshipped first by undeserving shepherds, called undeserving fishermen to be his disciples and died for undeserving people like me and you.  Because we have received grace, we are compelled to extend grace.  Because we have been forgiven, we are compelled to forgive. Because of Christmas Day.

“Long time ago in Bethlehem, so the Holy Bible say, Mary ‘s boy child Jesus Christ was born on Christmas Day. Hark, now hear the angels sing, a king was born today. And we will live forevermore, because of Christmas Day.”

Because of Christmas Day.